“Bill…bill…” Then a cream-colored envelope; no address, just "Karen" written in gold ink.

Frowning, Cliche tossed the rest of the mail on the floor and tore open the letter. The contents: a plain white card bordered in gold filigree and inside, merely the words "My dear Karen, I accept.” It was signed simply, “C".

It took Cliche several heartbeats to put it all together, but when she did, she looked up - eyes wide, morning hair dishevelled around her face - and gasped aloud: "Ohmigod." It was finally going to happen!
******
"I'm telling you - Charlize is getting her ass kicked!" Brittany Daniel chirped, her voice drunken, obnoxious as she shouted into the cellphone. "NO! I'm totally serious...no, I don't know the chick... dunno, she just came out big, kicked Char in the stomach and started going to town...kicked her in the stomach...kicked…hello? HELLO!!?"

A waitress in crisp white shirt and black pants arrived with a solemn expression, clearing her throat to get Brittany's attention. "Ms. Daniel? No cell phones, I'm sorry!"

Brittany pursed her lips, glaring at the girl, then said, "Hey, I gotta go. Apartment Nazi. Yeah - call me later..." she snapped closed her phone and made a dour face at the attendant.

A throaty Charlize groan brought Daniel's attention back to the carpet, and impromptu applause rippled through the room. Karen Cliche was in control and the sweet scent of upset was more than ripe in the air. Charlize lay in stupor on her back, shoulder length blonde hair back off her face in a tired pool beneath her skull, arms up limp in repose above her head. Her brows knit in a stunned frown and her head lolled side to side in groggy denial of the beating she was taking. Her black cotton two piece rumpled about her breasts and hips - Karen had been tugging and bullying and Charlize already looked frazzled.

Cliche rose up on her knees, eyecatching in red cotton two piece and those tangled black curls down her pale back. She grasped Charlize' ankles and pulled those long, tanned gams upright into an insolent wishbone, pressing in close with her hips, lips tight as she worked to hold Theron down. An exquisite moment: no matter what happened, people would talk about Karen wishboning Charlize. It was a sign of dominance, it was something you did to a girl just because you could and she couldn't stop you. It made a point. As Charlize groaned, trying to shake off the punishment, it was clear she was getting the message.

"Time...TIME!" Charlize pouted out, chest jerking as she pleaded. Cliche pursed her lips and tossed the legs aside like so much junk mail, standing, fluffing up her damp hair, adjusting her trunks as she stalked across carpet. She was scowling, anxious to get back on, but Charlize, or rather Charlize' handlers, had beaten Karen to death at the negotiating table. Theron would have the so-called "Oscar Winner's Priviledge": Three time outs to be used at her discretion any time during the bout. Theron could only lose by submission, whereas Cliche could be submitted OR pinned…on and on.

Karen had never seen anything like it. "You should’ve seen the contract they gave me!" she griped to a friend. "Like a friggin' PHONEBOOK! It's a fight for Christ's sake - what's with the paperwork?"

Charlize sat up on her right hip, blonde curls cranky and damp about her face, in her eyes. Her lips parted in a hurting pout and she clutched at her lower back with her left hand - right hand flat against the carpet to prop her up. She winced, drawing the audience in and Karen's eyes grew flat with resentment.

Typical: Theron got 'heroically' to her knees, convincing the crowd of her pluck and a few of those dolts started to clap and shout encouragement.

In the audience: Cat Bell; Brittany Daniel; Lexa Doig - a lot of TV girls - had turned out. Anytime Charlize hooked up with one of their own, the small screen stars gathered, fascinated to see Theron's reputation (and her body) put to the test.

Karen remembered the challenge that had won her this dance…over six months ago - the hot lights, the noisy arena - Charlize exiting the FCBA ring in her white robe, surrounded by attendants…

"Charlize! Charlize!" Karen had shouted, jumping a rail and moving in from behind. One of Theron's sycophants had intercepted her, pushing her back by her chest, but Cliche just kept shouting. "When's it going to be my turn, hey? You gave Lauren Graham a shot! You gave Cat Bell a shot! You fought Lolita Davidovitch! Remember when you used to fight everybody? ANYBODY? Remember when you had guts?" Somebody had shoved an autographed picture of Charlize into Karen's hands, but she'd tossed it away and kept yelping. "You used to be GREAT Charlize, but look at you now! When did you become Charlize Zeta-Jones? Huh?"

Charlize had stopped, cocked her head, and Karen thought she might turn around at that point, but she hadn't. The regal procession continued on and with two bully-boys on her, Karen couldn't follow. She screeched after Theron's back, hurling mindless taunts and insults - anything to get noticed. She'd thought it had all gone for naught. And then that cream coloured envelope had arrived...

Charlize was up, hands on her hips, walking it off. She rolled her head, circled her arms, then nodded and an attendant barked, "ACTION!"

Karen charged headlong at Charlize, hurtling into her like a blitzing linebacker, wrapping up her hips and tackling her bodily onto the bed. Charlize' head whipsawed as she grunted in shock - long bodies bounced and writhed as Karen clawed her way on top. She looped her right leg over and straddled Charlize, mounting her belly. Blonde desperately grabbed at brunette wrists, struggling to repel the attack: Karen leaned forward, straining at Charlize, brunette fingers curled into talons in Theron's grip. Karen grunted with the effort of forcing Charlize' arms down again and again. Charlize whined, gulping her hips beneath Karen, trying to buck and roll her off. A desperation bridge finally did it, toppling brunette to the right as Charlize quickly rolled in the opposite direction, fleeing the bed with wide eyes.

Karen's kamikaze attacks were breathtaking. Charlize had never seen the like. Chest heaving, eyes glaring, Karen stood on the bed, tossed her hair out of her eyes and leaped - actually leaped - at Charlize; smashing down onto her and sending both girls haphazardly to carpet. Karen stood quickly: Charlize sat up slowly, legs outstretched, spread at a forty five degree angle, leaning back on both hands in behind her for support; mouthbreathing; stunned again; and vulnerable.

So Cliche went to work! Fists tightly clenched and raised, Karen stomped her right foot down onto Charlize' tanned left thigh. Stomped it. Stomped it. Charlize sat there and sobbed in disbelief, posing in shock for Karen's work. Now the left thigh. Stomping it. Stomping it. Foot bashing into lean, taut meat.

Charlize' breathy whimpers, “Unnnnnhhhh….unnnnnhhhh….unnnnnhhhhh…”

Stooping, Cliche grabbed Charlize' right bra strap in her left hand, tugging Char to; Charlize' head tilted, her bewildered face staring up into Karen's. Cliche reached back with her right, brought it around CLAP! against Charlize' cheek, tossing Theron's head hard to starboard with a gasp.

Tug; right hand back; CLAP!

Tug; right hand back; CLAP!

Charlize staring, eyebrows high, mouth open - her face just kept lolling back into position as she sat there, looking up into Karen's full-bodied slaps. Fight winning slaps: they were landing with the concussive force of right crosses.

"T...Time! Time!" Charlize blurted, eyes welling up with tears.

"NO!" Karen shrieked, losing her temper. She lifted her right hand, then lowered it, pushing off with her left hand in disgust. Charlize sat stupidly on the spot - as though she'd fallen down PLOP into a puddle and for some reason, couldn't get up. Cliche stalked angrily around, hands on hips, hair wild. An attendant checked his wrist watch, and once again, Charlize was allowed to regroup, rise and attempt to rally herself.

Theron cried quietly, rubbing her cheek with her right hand, shaking out her legs. Karen shook with rage, but held it in: these were weapons Charlize had; part of the game. It was not cheating: Karen could not let herself feel taken advantage of or allow herself to get discouraged. These were not advantages for Charlize, they were crutches. Signs of weakness. Cliche waited, and at the signal from the attendant, she rushed at Charlize with cold-hearted intentions.

Theron sidestepped - first time she'd read Cliche right all night - and allowed brunette to stagger past, palms flat against the wall. Theron circled left, hands open: Cliche turned, fists clenched and Charlize accepted the unspoken invitation. Theron picked up her dukes, elbows in, bare knuckle fists collected near her chin, and the girls circled warily clockwise in widened stances.

Karen poked a hard left out straight from the shoulder, knocked Charlize' face back with a bright WAAK of knuckle on bone. They stepped simultaneously, extending long left hands into one another's mouths. Knuckles of either woman's left hand cracked against forehead or cheek, both girls cruelly seeking out each other's left eye. Karen tossed a rare right hand against Charlize raised fists, leaned in and helped herself to Theron's trembling waist with two moist left hands PEK! PEK! Theron scowled, teeth clenching: those were tasty shots.

It happened quickly! Charlize shied away, left cheek lumping up, eyes moist with concern, and Karen boldly moved forward. Theron stepped her left foot forward, brought the hook off her hip, looping it slightly, catching Karen on the temple coming in and Cliche's legs spasmed. Karen's knees locked and she stomped in fence post holes, trying desperately not to swoon onto her face. In an instant, Charlize became an apartment wrestler again, taking full advantage of her foe's sudden hurt.

Charlize left hand on Karen's right bra strap.

Tug.

Right uppercut: Charlize clipping away to chin, carrying through like the statue of liberty with her fist as Karen's head shot back in a blur of black.

Push and tug: Charlize' left hand still gripping crimson top. Karen's head whiplashing, eyes glassy.

Tug.

Right hand in pale belly. Karen's sob filled the apartment with anguish, sending tingles up the spines of the TV actresses in attendance.

Naomi Watts smiled a tight smile, her eyes hard as she sipped champagne.

Charlize pushed Karen back to the bed, sat her on the edge. Cliche's head lolled as she sat up pretty: now it was Charlize' turn to swing away righty. Great lusty clapping right hand slaps, robust upside Cliche's head. Ringing blows - Charlize following through with her right hand well past her left shoulder as she held Karen upright. Tugging and clapping, tugging and clapping: the blonde putting healthy wallop onto every shellacking stroke.

Karen's eyelashes fluttered, lips parted. Her right hand pulled feebly at Charlize' left wrist - too weak to dislodge the blonde from her hold of the top. Charlize' eyes blazed, her colour high. With Oscar-winning disdain, she shoved the unknown onto her back, then lifted the legs up and over, making sure Karen was all-on the bed. Charlize lifted her fists and bellowed, taking a moment to strut 'round the foot of the bed as the crowd roared lustily in sympathy.

Lexa Doig pursed her lips, hiding her disappointment while Brittany Daniel shook her head in disgust, grabbing another cocktail off a passing tray and quaffing it with a toss of her tousled head.

Teri Hatcher turned to Marcia Cross and frowned, shaking her head in disappointment. Marcia just clucked sympathetically.

Only Cat Bell of the TV stars, appeared the least bit happy to see Charlize turn things around. After all, Theron's legacy was Cat's legacy; if Charlize dumped to every tramp on Sunset, what did it matter if Cat beat her? And Cat LIVED to beat Charlize!

Charlize returned to the bed, eyes glittering with anticipation, and with a flourish, she leaped onto the prone brunette, finally imposing will on Karen. She took her time now. She choked and hugged and scissored. She bundled poor Karen up in all sorts of awkward positions, twisting her this way and that, tieing her up. Lying atop Karen's back, Charlize pushed the brunette's face into the pillows with a full nelson snug in position, feeling the girl's wracking sobs shudder through her body.

Sitting astride Karen's buttocks, Charlize took Karen's left hand in both of hers and twisted it up behind her back in a cruel half nelson. Karen cried aloud, cheeks tearstained, long body helpless upon the bed. Charlize smiled prettily, dimpling her cheeks.

All manner of headscissors: Karen forced to bend forward on her haunches or lie on her back, clutching at Charlize' long, still-strong legs about Karen's ears. All Cliche's grand plans to take Theron out below the waist began to fade. She hadn't done the job, and now she was being made to pay.

It was Charlize constantly, methodically, clutching at Karen, embracing her, pulling her in. Theron's torso and belly seemed to hunger for the warmth of Karen's back and buttocks, always snuggling up close and making Karen suffer hot contact. Cliche grimaced, bared her teeth, pulled at the bedspread with her fists. Lying on their sides, Charlize behind Karen, legs wrapped happily about Cliche's hips, blonde could pull brunette hair at leisure, both hands gathering up long locks, while Karen could only writhe and flail her legs in frustration. Karen gnashed her teeth and groaned; Charlize cooed, nestling her chin in over Karen's shoulder, purring as victory became more and more certain.

Cliche struggled in a doomed, yet defiant way; bucking and writhing her hips whenever Charlize mounted her belly and forced her wrists down. She struggled, rolled belly-down, refusing all pin attempts, but accepting even more punishment via chokes, chinlocks and other assorted cruelties.

But Karen was caught in blonde quicksand and there was no escape. Charlize kept at her, constantly wrapping Karen up, torturing her, using her. The suspense was gone, and yet the entertainment was just beginning for some. Theron dragged the fight on well past the point of good taste, dismantling Karen brick by brick, taking her apart like a swiss watchmaker on a Timex as if to say, "How DO these things work, anyway?"

Charlize sat upright, hands splayed on her thighs, her buttocks pressing into Karen's pelvis. The brunette lay insensate on her back, head on the pillows. Eyes closed, Cliche's mouth worked silently, the lips moist with defeat. Her face shone under the overhead light, dark hair falling off her brow to pool across white pillowcases. Charlize took a moment to appreciate the sight, then got up off her prey.

Standing on the floor at the side of the bed, Charlize reached for Karen's ankles and worked to jostle and reposition brunette deadweight. A soft moan escaped Karen's lips as her hair fanned out in a track across the rumpled bedspread. Charlize pulled Karen's long legs over and draped then down the side of the bed, then shifted grip to the ankles from behind. Grinning broadly, Charlize lifted the brunette's limp legs up straight, wishboning the woman and pinning her shoulders.

Karen mumbled drowsily, head lolling gently to and fro. Her hands up over her head, Karen relaxed into defeat, unaware of what was happening, too punished and worked over to stop it. Charlize leaned in with her left knee for balance on the edge of the bed and held the wishbone in place as some wit in the audience counted “ONE! TWO! THREE! YEAH!”

You wishboned girls just because you could, and there was nothing they could do to stop you. You wishboned girls to make a point. And when you wishboned a brunette nobody for a pin fall in front of her peers…that's a billboard, baby!