Mando Bk 01 Good Ass Badass Ch 05

Mando 1 chap 5

CHAPTER 5: THE DANCING HUMMINGBIRD

DANNY continues her story

I look at my watch and almost shit. "Oh, Christ under a Christmas tree! It's almost time to go." I push out my lower lip. "I don't feel like going. Kammy, do you have anything for bird flu, mad cow disease or scarlet fever?" She stands there patting her foot, glaring, and not saying a word. That patting foot and scowling eye brows says enough. Then she blind sides my ass by taking another route to calm me. She  keeps me busy answering questions and telling stories.

"Danny, it's really half an hour or so before you make your debut, so tell me something I've wondered about. How did you know you were lesbian and a dyke?"

"Well, girl, it wasn't an absolute with me. I was a rough and tough cookie in high school. Once a senior football player date-raped a friend of mine. I paid him a visit that put him to the hospital for a week. A friends' mother comes into the PX all bruised and battered. I whisper, "Don't tell on your husband; just nod your answer. Were the stairs you keep falling down drunk and mean? She nods. Her husband was a seasoned veteran and had taught hand-to-hand combat to Marines for ten years. No one who knew him would dare go against him. He was a mean drunk who love to pick fights and take out his anger brutally on the nearest person. He never lost a bar brawl. He treated his wife like dirt once too often to suit my taste."

Kammy scooted to the edge of her seat. "What did you do? A high school girl would be signing her own death warrant picking a fight with a man like that, surely."

"Ordinarily, yes. I knew I'd get the shit  stomped out of me by going toe to toe in a fair fight, so I tipped the scales in my favor by waiting every night for almost two weeks to catch him sloppy drunk so I'd live to tell the tale. He comes staggering home drunk one night and gives me my chance. I catch him by surprise and beat him until he couldn't walk and then called an ambulance just before I got home."

"Did you get hurt?"

"Some light bruises, but I was boxing then so the bruises were nothing new."

"How long was he in the hospital?"

"A week or two, I think. They pulled his broken teeth, wired his fractured jaw shut, set his broken arm and wrapped up his rib cage to keep the broken ribs immobile. Not one man on the base would fight him, so when a sixteen-year-old girl beats the b-Jesus out of him everyone noticed. The fact he was sloppy drunk didn't seem to mean anything. From then on I was treated with respect by every swinging dicks on base and at school, but at a distance. No boy asked me out after that, although I'd only punched out guys who hurt my friends."

"Hell, Danny, you'd think it'd just make them behave."

"That makes sense, but I guess they only wanted to date girls they could feel up and would put out. Anyway, girls and mothers that befriended me were safe, and I had lots of friends. Therefore, my social life was with those I protected. If I wanted love and affection, it was them or nothing."

"Ah. You weren't born a lesbian. You became one by choice, right?"

"Yes, or necessity. But I didn't consider myself a dyke until a couple years ago. Even though I've been called a dyke half my life I've never tolerated it from anyone except friends. I was a lesbian, plain and simple. I liked girls. That's what Lesbians do. We like girls. We're not divided into lesbians and dykes. That's the way I saw it. I hadn't given it much thought after I stopped boxing until a situation forced me to recall what my father told me. He said terms like dyke and lesbian are dehumanizing and DE-womanizing when used outside of one's social circle. When used for a winning athlete for example, the word "Dyke" implies she is not a real woman. He declared when news crews tagged me as a dyke they were insulting all women, not just one."

"Huh? I'm not following you? How was that an insult to all women?"

"Because those terms are not gender specific to acknowledge the victor was a woman. For example, when a woman kicks a man's ass in a sport, the fact that a woman beat the man doesn't count because she's a dyke and not a real woman. See? She's a man in a woman's body, or so masculine she's more man than woman."

"Ah. And that is a slap on all women because it implies "a real woman" can't beat a man in that area. Right? And that implies inferiority because of gender and ignores the skill and ability that separates winners from losers, right?"

"Yes, Kammy, that's the way I see it. Dad reminded me that I wasn't more man than the one I defeated. When a friend at the officer''s club commented that I was a better man than my opponent, He said, "Think so? Maybe she's just more woman than he could handle."

She slaps her thigh and guffaws.."That's clever. Sounds like your dad had your six."

"Always."

"Back to when you beat up those guys for hurting your friends and their moms."

"Yes, what about it?"

"Did you ever do it again? Beat up men for hurting women, I mean."

I nod. "That's what got me into professional boxing."

She gives her head a quick shake as she does a double take. "Say huh?" She frowns and scratches her left temple. The connection is?"

"When I punished another wife beater my father, the base commander, had a talk with me. His concern was that I beat each person progressively worse. He says, "Sugar, wanting to punish men for beating up women is understandable, but it causes a hell of a big problem. Until now you're only guilty of assault and battery, but with that temper of yours, you're working your way up to manslaughter or murder. You hearing me?"

Kammy's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That's scary."

"Fucking A. I understood what he meant easy enough, but didn't know where that left me. I say, "Yes Dad, but we can't let them get away with hurting their girlfriends, wives, and kids just because they feel like it whenever they want, can we? I mean, someone's got to stand up for those who can't stand up for themselves."

"Did he agree?"

"Yes. He takes my hands in his and says, "What we've got to do for you is find a better way to help and protect women. Think about it. What can you do that will benefit hundreds of women, instead of one at a time?"

I slowly shake my head. "Kam, I didn't have a grain of an idea what he was getting at. He says, "If you think about it a couple of weeks you'll find a solution." About four weeks later, I had an epiphany. A vision on a grandiose scale."

Kammy beams. "It was the Humming Bird Foundation, wasn't it? The women's health center?"

I nod. "Right. I envisioned a place for battered women, those with unwanted pregnancies, and barren to help each other. It would have an adoption agency to connect expectant mothers with childless parents, and homeschooling for young mothers in residence, and scholarships to higher education and vocational training. I envisioned our own beautician and nail parlor schools, and other vocational and self-improvement classes. We would partner with local community colleges for vocational and career programs. Later, we would add an addiction center, cancer research hospital, and a medical park that specialized in women's medicine and health."

"Wow. How did your dad react? Did he shake his head and say, dream on sweet cakes?"

"No, he asked me how I intended to finance my plan. I'd been boxing as an amateur, and my manager had been after me to go pro. That gave me an idea. "Dad, I can earn the money boxing."

His eyebrows shoot up and he cocks his head to one side. "How, exactly? We're talking about hundreds of millions, Danny. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, but the big bucks are in men's professional boxing. TV viewing rights, licensing fees, talk shows, big purses, and major odds if one were to work at it."

He scratches his head. "I'm hesitant to ask this, Sugar, but what has men's boxing got to do with a woman boxer?"

I grin at him. "Wouldn't it be something if a woman became good enough to win the world championship title in what's considered a man's sport?" I slap him on the shoulder and say, "Hey! I got in this mess by beating up men, so beating them up to get out of it, makes sense, right?"

Kammy giggled. "That's funny. Did he think so?

He laughed and said, "That's a poetic ending to the story, but is the story fact or fiction?" He looked me dead in the eye and asked. " If you think it's possible, what's the game plan? How will you get good enough? Once you are ready how will you get your challenges accepted instead of treated as a silly joke?"

"Easy," I say. "Go pro in women's boxing now, but only train and spar with men. I'd train by men's rules of three minute rounds, but box women in two minute rounds. My stamina would increase, and I'd keep improving by sparring with former title holders and contenders. Maybe start with college golden glove boxing and work up from there to take the Women's World Championship. Then I'd challenge the male champion as another world champion, not a woman."

Kammy slapped her lap again. "Brilliant."

"My thoughts too. I was proud as hell of my idea. I was pumped."

Even though Dad was slow getting on board with the idea, he didn't shoot it down. He says, "Let's talk to your manager and get his take on this." We did. And girly girl, that guy latched onto my program quicker than IRS agents on a lottery ticket winner. He brought in a promoter and laid out a step-by-step two-year plan, but it took almost three years. My dad and the manager were emphatic that the key to victory was the skill of putting down an opponent in any round I chose in advance. I was a little thick, I guess; I wasn't following their line of thought. All I was hearing was circle talk. You know, spinning around and round, but going nowhere."

Did you figure it out, or did they think you were thicker than a Hippopotamus dick??"

"No, and no. The manager is patient and pedantic. He takes the stogie from his lips and uses it as a jabber to pound each point home. He says., "When you fight the big boys to work your way up to challenge the champ, you must be certain you can down the opponent in any round in the last three rounds of the fight, and have the stamina to pull it off. By establishing a pattern of winning late, no one will give a thought to a first round win against the world champion."

Kammy is pensive. "Hmm. Does that have merit? What's he talking about?"

I bob my head and say, "I hoped it did, so I asked him, "Is that possible?"

"He pops the cigar back between his teeth, clamps down, leans forward, and talks around his chewed up tobacco stump and says. "It is if you can put down any contestant in any round you choose― AND ― if you catch him off guard by not following your usual pattern of an even paced start― AND―if you do exactly what I tell you ―AND― if you're willing to get your ass kicked from here to breakfast perfecting a signature punch combination." He thumps his cigar on his ashtray and says in a sly voice. "Can you imagine the odds on a first-round knock-out by a female challenger for the world championship title?"

I shake my head. "A lot, I'm hoping."

"Try a hundred to one, or more." My eyes must have opened wider than a basketball hoop and my jaw felt like an express elevator heading for the basement."

Kammy shakes her head. "No shit."

He sees my astonishment and explains. "Like you said, you win the women's world championship to get the guys' attention, and then challenge him as a champion boxer, not a woman." He yanks his cigar from the tray and punches the air with it as he makes each point. "The sponsors will go nuts, the purse will swell, the TV prime time will bring in major coin, and the boxing world will be in a betting frenzy. The odds on you winning will get ridiculous because bookmakers will use it as a sucker bet."

His lips tighten around his cigar as he leans back, then puffs, and says, "If that doesn't do it, the public and sports journalists will shame him into taking the bait."

Kammy nods her understanding. "OK, Danny. Since you started the foundation after you won the championship fight, what made you the most money, the fight or wagering?"

I laugh. "I made big bucks from both, but wagering buried me and the foundation under mountains of money."

"You and the foundation? Did you have money to bet on yourself?"

I bob my head before answering. "I had a small pot, but a silent investor lent the foundation seed money of two hundred fifty K to parlay on the first fights to have enough to bet big on the champion fight. He stipulated that the fighter receive twenty percent of the winnings. We did that at three and four to one odds. We repaid the investor after the first fight with interest, and only parlayed our winnings after that. Two fifty became a million, we kept the two fifty and bet seven fifty on the next fight. That earned Two million, four K. We kept the seven fifty and bet the profit, see?"

She saw, and lit up like the Christmas tree in Times Square. "Clever. If you lost the next fight, you still had the stake from the last fight. Brilliant. What was the bet on the championship fight?"

We had eight mill -- my twenty percent of one point six mil left six point four. five for the foundation, one point four for dad. We barely got a mill each covered, so the balance was on the win bet.

My father founded the foundation before the woman's championship fight so most wagers could be made by a third party instead of me. We had five million laid down at a hundred five to one. That, plus movie rights, book rights, cartoon rights, license fees for the Dancing Humming Bird-that's my nickname- and fashion lines, the foundation had the money it needed. My father and I kept our personal winnings, and the foundation kept the big bucks of five hundred million plus ongoing revenues from licensing."

Kammy mulls over everything we'd discussed for a minute and then says, "Danny, your life is a straight line for consistency."

"How so?"

"You've always been a rescuer and protector. That's what you do now. Right? And―HEY!

She stops talking and glares at me.

"What? What is it, Kammy?"

"You aren't worried about people recognizing you as a dyke; it's the limelight you hate. You're afraid fans will recognize the Champ, and the Hummingbird foundation for women will get brought up. Then women will tell their stories about how your foundation saved their lives, changed their lives, or gave them a new start and you'll be miserable."

"Now why would I be miserable?"

"You know why. Because every time you tell one of those stories, it tears at your heart and sends tears streaming down your cheeks. You do that when you hear them, too, I bet. Don't lie. You do, don't you?"

The bitch is right. It turns my eyes into Niagara Falls and I hate it because I hate being seen weeping. I dig in my purse and hand Kammy two pictures. "Here, Kammy, look at these."

She studies them and does a low whistle. "Whew! These pictures of those poor women are heartbreaking. They have, busted lips, noses, black eyes, bruised and swollen faces, and the one wearing a hand cast was beaten without mercy." She looks up. "Danny, are these battered women from your shelter?"

I shake my head. "No, Kammy, those are me after training during the time I was perfecting my winning combination moves that made me practically invincible. I didn't dare challenge the male champions until I could beat any other man I fought. I had to execute the patterns and punch combinations flawlessly with impeccable timing. Some of the methods were never threatening in the professional ring, which made them unexpected. I worked two years turning them into powerful punches, but those pictures show I was a little slow in building the extra muscle power required to make it work."

She frowns and shakes her head. "Danny, there's no way I could have the will and staying power to endure what it took to accomplish what you did. Damn, girl, you must have had mean or highly skilled sparring partners to trash you like that. Why didn't your trainer stop those fights?"

"He wasn't there. It was at another Gym."

"With gloves? That looks more like bare fist damage. "

"Yes, it was bare knuckle fights. That's how I checked my progress. When I'd get cocky, thinking I was hot shit in the ring, I'd go for proof. I refused to challenge the champ until I could beat the brutes in and out of the ring.  I knew the women's Center would never happen if I quit or failed. After beatings like those I reminded myself of the reason I must endure such brutal punishment. It was so thousands of women wouldn't have to; my dream would endure only if I did. I promised myself and those women I'd do what it takes to make it happen, Kammy."

She's awestruck. "Shit on fire, woman, are you like Wolverine" You heal yourself after each fight?"

I giggle and shake my head. "No, Wolverine heals, but I hurt." I gestured toward the pictures. "That's what it took. I wanted to help those women so badly a little pain and discomfort seemed like a reasonable price to pay for so many fresh starts."

Kammy is staring at me as if she's seeing me for the first time. "Girlfriend, people like you are a rare breed."

"That's what it took to build the Women's Center, Kammy, not just money. Hearing stories from the women whose liberation and second chances I fought, hurt, and bled for puts everything in perspective. The world championship title wasn't the real reason for entering the ring. I went for the title because it was necessary, not because I wanted it. That fighting, bruises, and pain resulted in hundreds of thousands of women getting second chances, being healed, restored, and believing in themselves. It empowered them to improve their lives."

Tears trickle down my face as I explain. "Kammy, I'll tell you what brings tears to my eyes when confronted with the incredible miracles made possible through our women's foundation. It's the question: What if I had given up? What future would I have robbed from these ladies and children? What hopelessness would I have condemned them to?"

Kammy makes a face. "That's a gut-wrenching thought."

My tears flow as I finish the story. " Cancer survivors would be dead; battered women and children would continue to get bruises, broken bones, and crushed spirits. Childless couples would still have no children. Fetuses would not become babies and adopted children. Rape victims would suffer from anxiety, fear, false guilt, and self-loathing the rest of their lives. Women owned by their addictions would be on a one-way street to self-destruction. See?" I paused for breath.

I look into Kammy's eyes as I help her understand the reason I push myself. " Young unfortunate girls would remain locked into a harsh, demeaning, dangerous, caustic lifestyle with little hope of escape. Children would still cringe at the sound of an angry male voice. Women with no trades, skills, or education would remain prisoners in toxic relationships for financial support. Many would become prostitutes." I stop. Telling that story drains me. Picturing the possible outcome of failure upsets me big time every time.

"That both breaks and warms my heart, Danny. I mean it really hits hard."

I nod. "Yes, and the Hummingbird Aviary Park wouldn't be there to provide thousands of jobs for our girls and women and their children, or preserve so much wildlife or bring so much joy to its millions of visitors. These women wouldn't own their own businesses, daycare centers or schools. They wouldn't be health care professionals, business women, beauticians, high school and college graduates, store and office managers, opticians, mechanics, chefs, dental hygienists, electricians or coaches. And on and on it goes."

Kammy shakes her head. "Damn, Danny, that is beyond upsetting. It's scary and devastating to think of how many of those women would to this day still have no hope of escape."