Count Me In
Tokyo Rose
She couldn't believe it. Her eyes watched the television, but she couldn't believe what she was seeing. The lights in her apartment were dimmed, and she sat on the couch cradled in a throw blanket. On the coffee table was a box of tissues and a half empty bottle of wine.
Today had been one of the worst professional days of her life. For forty-five minutes she had to listen to Shane Carver yell, curse, and belittle her for not doing what she had been hired to do.
But what had she been hired to do?
She never quite got a grasp on that. Most of her days were spent doing busy work within the XWF offices.
Her co-worker Amy had said that Mr. Carver was just angry about how the show had gone down on Saturday and not to take it personal. And she had believed that until she had gotten an email about how any staff members being perceived as "dead weight" would be let go.
Earlier in the day she had seen Kevin and Susan, friends of hers, each packing up their cubicles into a small cardboard box. She was devastated. The writing was on the proverbial wall. She couldn't remember the last time she had gotten an assignment in the field.
And what was she going to do if they fired her? She had student loans to pay and a brand new lease on her apartment. How would it look if her first job in the real world was a colossal failure? Her dad would disown her.
So when Jessica Mendez finally sat down to watch Saturday Night Impact on her DVR a light bulb went off. It started when she saw this guy, Angelus he went by, kicking Mr. Carver in the face. That's when she realized that you didn't just wait for your moment to materialize, you made your moment happen.
After the show ended she grabbed her cell phone off the coffee table and placed a call to the XWF travel department.
"Yes," she said into the phone. "I'd like to book a flight to Houston. First one you have out."
Hadouken
It's the same wherever I go. The flashing lights, the noise, the admiration, the hecklers, and the precious few that give a damn about what I represent. I had no idea how much last Saturday was going to change my life, but it did, for better or for worse.
Am I complaining?
Heck, no. I wanted this. I wanted to be the guy on the rise.
Sometimes you get what you ask for, right?
I roll back to my hotel in downtown Houston after a nice long run. When you're on the road as much as I am the only real way to see a city is to go for a run through its streets.
As I'm walking through the lobby door I see a father and son waiting on a couch in the lounge area. The dad is currently distracted by a magazine and doesn't look up when I enter. However, I spot the look of recognition in the boy's eyes and he's off the couch like a rocket.
The boy approaches me and I see he's wearing a Yan Yungsung t-shirt. It's a cheap photo-press job that has a photo of Yan giving a thumbs up and his name is in bold letters underneath.
The kid looks about thirteen.
"Hey man," he says and holds his t-shirt out. "Could you sign this?"
I almost laugh as I pull my earbuds out of my ears and pause my ipod.
"You want me to sign that shirt?"
"Yeah, I was kinda hoping he'd sign it," the kid says pointing to the photo of Yan on his chest. "But when I asked he mentioned something about being hungover. Whatever that is. My dad and I waited out here all night too."
"I'll sign it. You got a sharpie?"
The kid looks at me dumbfounded and it's like his brain is taking cycles to create a coherent thought to form into a sentence.
"Uh, yeah," he says, fumbling into his pants, voice a little shaky.
Finally he produces a black sharpie and passes it over to me. I pop the top and my nostrils are stifled with the strong, pungent smell.
I smile and look down at the grinning face of Yan and a thought crosses my mind. I tell the kid to turn around and that I'll sign the back of his shirt.
I scribble:
"Dear Yan, hope the head is feeling better. Sorry I had to kick your French Asian ass all over Houston at the pay-per-view. Nothing personal. - Angelus"
"Dear Yan, hope the head is feeling better. Sorry I had to kick your French Asian ass all over Houston at the pay-per-view. Nothing personal. - Angelus"
I hand the sharpie back to the kid and he's smiling ear to ear.
"You probably just caught Yan at a bad time. You know he's up in room 402. I'm sure if you knock real loud on his door he'll be in much better spirits to sign for you. Tell him his buddy Anj sent you."
"Okay!" the kid hollers and I watch him go racing back towards his dad.
I make my way for the elevator bank when one of the suits at the front desk flags me down. I sigh. I just want to get a hot shower in and head over to the arena.
"Mr Angelus," he says. "You have company up in your suite."
I stop in my tracks.
"What are you talking about?"
"You have a visitor from your… uh… place of employment."
I feel my pulse start to quicken. Was it Tax or Page trying to land another sneak attack?
"How long they been up there?"
"Not long. They went up in the elevator shortly before you arrived. Were you not expecting company?"
I shake his question off and thank him for the heads up.
I shake his question off and thank him for the heads up.
When I get on the elevator I realize I've been clenching my fist.
Shoryuken
When the elevator doors opened onto my floor I stepped out cautiously. The corridor was quiet and I eased down the carpeted floor toward my hotel room door.
I paused there and listened for any sounds from the other side. I heard some chattering. It was low, but hard to decipher due to the droning sound of a vacuum from further down the hallway.
My hand went to the doorknob, and I slid my electronic key through the slider and went inside. I had braced myself for some type of altercation and had leaned into the door heavily in case someone was standing behind it.
There was no one.
Sitting on my bed, however, was a girl looking not a day over twenty-five.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Opportunity," she said with a smile.
"Seriously, who the hell are you? You're dressed too nice to be an escort."
"I think I'm flattered. My name is Jessica Mendez."
"Am I supposed to know that name? Or..?"
"Just introducing myself," she said, and rose from the bed and came over to shake my hand. She was pretty, with long, dark hair and a tan complexion. I suddenly inhaled the smell of her perfume.
"Well, let's back up a step. Why are you in my hotel room?"
"I'm going to take a gamble and say that you've been pretty busy since Saturday. Am I right? Lots of sudden demands on your time now?"
I couldn't even attempt to let my face lie for me. Since Saturday I had been inundated with interview requests and people trying to just steal five minutes of my day. Things were getting a little crazy.
"I won't say you're wrong."
"I wouldn't say I'm wrong either. I also know that you're one of the only members of the roster without a PR rep or brand manager."
"There's a reason for that."
"Oh?"
"I don't want one. I don't need one."
"I get that and more than anything I respect it. You've definitely done pretty good on your own. But I think you can get farther."
"Look, Jessica was it? I appreciate the sales pitch. I'm sure XWF sent you over here to help out. You seem like a nice girl. Why don't you go see if Ursula needs some help? I mean, christ, chick can't keep her trap shut long enough without putting her foot in her mouth."
I looked over as Jessica had now made it to the window and I could see her looking out onto the city of Houston.
"XWF didn't send me over," she murmured. "I came by myself. I was kinda hoping we could help each other?"
"What are you talking about?"
"HQ is sort of cleaning house on most personnel. Don't ask me why. I figured I could help you out with some of the stuff outside of the ring and I'd be good for something."
"Have you ever done anything like this before?"
"No," she said with a small smile. "But I'm a fast learner and I think I have a good idea on what'll work."
"I don't know," I started.
"Tell you what, just give me one shot, and if it sucks you can fire me before Carver does."
I sighed. Fortune favors the bold, right?
"What do you have in mind?"
"I'm so glad you asked!"
Episode: One
Subject: Angelus
Date recorded: 12/11/12
Location: Undisclosed
Between Yan Yungsung and Ursula promos I feel like I have to download Rosetta Stone or use Google translate to understand anything they are saying.
Do either of you speak English? Are words hard?
This is what's wrong with the XWF. This is what's wrong with professional wrestling in general. We've got a girl like Ursula, a nobody, whose only highlight seems to be that she's built up this legendary career in her mind.
Seriously, Ursula, can you hire a ghost writer to write your lines?
Or can you at least leave your "trash talk" back in nineteen-ninety-two where it belongs? I didn't think anyone actually said, "your ass will be grass" anymore.
Thanks for the nostalgia.
What makes you worth it Ursula or Yan for that matter?
What makes you worth the energy to even sit here and talk about you?
I want to know. I want to know what makes either of you two worthy of stepping into the ring and going toe-to-toe with the whole damn show?
Ursula, I want to know what a brain damaged little sycophant like yourself thinks about being pushed ahead of every other deserving wrestler who should be in this match competing for a shot at the European championship.
What do you think it is that got you this far?
Was it your way with words? Clearly not.
Your charisma? Don't have any.
Your ability to just run your mouth like a damn idiot? Getting warmer.
It sure as hell wasn't luck. Luck is for losers. Luck is for people who have no definable explanation for how they became successful.
Luck, in other words, Ursula, is not a currency you deal in.
It's come to my attention that you don't know anything about me and that's fine.
I'd rather keep it that way.
Because for you ignorance is indeed bliss and after 12/12/12 I'll be first in line to help you pack your Hello Kitty suitcase and send you on your way back to whatever humanity starved pit you crawled out of.
So here's a little tip for you.
Consider it on the house.
Tomorrow night go get yourself all jacked up for the match.
Look in the mirror and tell yourself what a good job you're doing being a nobody.
Then, walk down that ramp, wave goodbye to everyone, get your ass kicked from one side of the Astrodome and down the other.
Then, proceed directly to the nearest iHop or Denny's and fill out a job application where someone like you with half a brain can remain relevant.
That's your big ending, Ursula.
Time for your curtain call.
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