“ . . .and let’s have a round of applause for contender D.D. ‘Hammer of Jesus’ Dunphy for a fine, spectacular performance this evening . . .”
Dunphy was not to be seen. Boos and catcalls continued. Naomi found herself standing in the aisle beside her third-row seat which (it seemed) she’d abandoned. She was clutching her camera which she’d forgotten to use. She was exhausted, emotionally drained as if she’d been locked in a pitiless struggle herself, and had been defeated.
There was jostling in the aisle. Security guards were preventing anyone from approaching the ring.
“Ma’am, move along. Everybody clear the aisle.”
Clearing the aisle was not so easy. Slowly she made her way up the steps, to the exit. This involved a good deal of jostling and many minutes. But the exit was also an entrance. Many patrons were streaming in.
In her bag she’d found Marika’s card—Dayson Fights, Inc. She tried to show this to a security guard insisting that she was a friend of D.D. Dunphy and was expected in Dunphy’s dressing room but the guard scarcely glanced at it.
“Ma’am, this area off-limits. You need special ID here.”
SHE WOULD LEARN: the fight had had to be stopped because D.D. Dunphy had been too badly injured to continue. The gash above her eye could not be remedied by mere styptic medication but required stitching.
Though the gash had been caused by a foul that appeared to have been intentionally committed, and though Dunphy had been unexpectedly “winning” at the time, and points would be deducted from Aya, still Aya was the winner of the fight because she’d been ahead on the judges’ scorecards. There was no way to prove that the head-butt had been deliberate. Dunphy’s corner protested vehemently but the decision of the referee and the judges was final.
From Marika, she would learn this. Embittered Marika explaining to Naomi why the fight had been stopped and the championship lost—“That should have gone to D.D.! Everybody knows.”
IT SEEMED THEN, the interview with D.D. Dunphy scheduled for the next morning had been canceled.
Except, a call came to Naomi on her cell phone. She’d been about to call the airline to see if she could move up her return ticket to New York City but there was a harried-sounding Marika on the phone.
She could see Dunphy for a few minutes if she wished—“To tell our side of the story.”
Waiting then for Dunphy to arrive. In another windowless drafty utilitarian “banquet room” in a hotel.
Marika was vehement, on her cell phone. In a corner of the room and ignoring Naomi.
Naomi could overhear only a few sibilant words, curses. Dyed-blond Marika was not so attractive as she’d appeared initially and she was not so friendly to Naomi as Naomi had recalled.
There was fury at Dayton Fights, Inc. There was genuine indignation as if the championship belt had been buckled about their boxer’s waist and had then been taken away, by force, by another.
Naomi was not listening to this. Naomi was a neutral party, a documentary filmmaker. She was scrolling news on her cell phone seeking Dunphy, D.D. Then she realized—of course—she should be seeking Aya, Siri.
The news items were terse, merely factual. Siri Aya, 29, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, retained Midwest Boxing League women’s welterweight title in Cleveland fight last night defeating D.D. Dunphy, 24, Dayton, Ohio.
She was wondering how badly injured Dawn Dunphy had been. The worst of a boxer’s injuries (she had to suppose) are not visible to the eye.
Not exterior bleeding but interior bleeding. That would be fatal.
Marika was standing over her. “H’lo? She’s on her way. She’s coming.”
She. Naomi had to think for a moment who she was.
Marika added, hotly, “You need to say in the interview that D.D. was cheated of the championship. Make that clear. A head-butt, that’s a foul. That’s like an assault. Twenty-two stitches! That’s why Tyson bit Holyfield’s ears, twice—Holyfield head-butted him. Those shits, it was a conspiracy. Cass is consulting a lawyer, if he can sue. Except if you sue, you’re fucked. No one will touch you. TV, ESPN, Vegas—forget it. Cass is demanding a rematch. Aya’s manager made a deal with the referee. You’d have to be blind to miss that. Aya’s a crack-head. They clean her up for training. They feed her steroids. Half her fights, they’re fixed. Deals are made. You can’t say any of that in the film—(though everybody knows it)—but you can make it clear how Dunphy was cheated of the championship. Twenty-two stitches! Next time, she’ll bite the bitch’s ears off. She’ll fucking destroy her. You better believe, there will be a next time—a rematch. Understand?”
Mutely Naomi nodded yes, she understood.