Post by Gerard Angelo on Jan 23, 2022 2:28:13 GMT -5
The Toyota Center lot is still filled with cars, fans trying to exit and head home after Clash. In the back of the arena, the door opens and Gerard walks out, carrying his gear bag. Opting for a pair of sweats and a hoodie, instead of his usual suit. He grimaces a bit as he walks, free hand going to rub his lower back, a lingering gift from Odin. He was going to be feeling the effects of that one for a while.
Gerry walks over to the waiting limo and opens the door, tossing his bag in on the seat before climbing in gingerly. He shuts the door and sees Deon Jones offering him a champagne flute.
“To celebrate your first victory!”
Gerard smiles, taking the glass as Deon raises his up.
“To many more.”
They both drink as the driver starts to pull away. Gerry drains his glass, leaning back, letting out a little burp. Deon is going through his phone with a slight smile.
“So I’ve got some big news,” Deon says with excitement, “I have meetings lined up with both DC and Marvel. Both want to add you to their cinematic universes.”
Deon’s smile has turned into a shit-eating grin as Gerry shrugs, setting his glass down on the small hideaway table.
“I don’t wanna take on any new roles right now.”
Deon’s face drops.
“What are you saying?” He asks, his voice wavering slightly, “This is a huge opportunity!”
“I know that,” Gerry says calmly, “And I appreciate you. I just want to focus on wrestling for right now.”
“Gerry, this is a lot of money left on the table.”
Gerard shrugs.
“It’s not about the money. I have a chance to carve out a legacy here. I can’t have any distractions.”
Deon grinds his jaw but nods.
“Fine,” he concedes, “You’re the boss.”
They sit in silence over the next few moments, Deon texting on his phone, until the limo hits a pothole, causing the car to jerk. Gerard winces as he feels a tinge in his back, bringing a hand up to it.
“Your back okay?”
“Hasn’t felt right since that asshole slammed me on the floor.”
Deon sighs.
“Looks like we’re gonna have to manage that this week. You at least have an easier time next week?”
Gerard laughs.
“Last Man Standing against a former World champ, Lissie Hope.”
Deon rubs a hand over his lower face.
“You sure they’re investing in you?”
“This is all part of the game,” Gerard says, dismissively waving a hand, “Lissie is overconfident and distracted.”
“Isn’t she the one Sean thinks is hot?”
Gerry snorts.
“Sean thinks anything with a vagina is hot.”
They both share a laugh.
“Are you going to be good to go for that match?” Deon asks with concern, “I know those matches can be brutal.”
“I’ll ice the back when I get home,” Gerard says with a shrug, “I’ll be good to go. I have no choice. This is one of the most brutal matches in history. The match you have to reach deep down into the darkest part of your soul and bring out that awful person that everyone has inside of them. The person I used to be. Do you know the stuff I did?”
“I remember vaguely,” Deon said.
“I lit someone’s home on fire. I dug up someone’s dead parents. I filmed the owner of the CWA’s wife having an affair and caused the beginning of the end for that place. I’ve injured people on purpose. I’ve ruined relationships with people just to get the tiniest edge I could exploit in the ring. What lengths would I go to win?"
Deon said nothing since it was rhetorical. Gerard continued.
“I’ve worked on myself a lot. I’ve been to therapy. Trying to leave that person behind. But doing that stuff leaves behind something. A mark that never goes away. A stain on your soul.”
A grim look took over his face.
“It calls to me every day. It wants me to embrace it again. And for a match as brutal as Last Man Standing, I will have to. Lissie is just pulling herself out of that dark pit. But is she willing to let all of her progress go just to beat me? I know I’m going to. I have to win at whatever cost, even great personal loss for myself. It’s why I can’t have any distractions.”
Again they sit in silence for a while as the limo cruises down the interstate, Deon pretending to look at his phone as Gerry stares out the tinted window.
“You know,” Deon said, breaking the tense silence, “I heard Marvel was throwing around the idea of casting you as Ghost Rider.”
Gerry sighs
“That would be cool, but I just want to focus on wrestling for a little bit while I establish myself in ADub.”
Deon nods, knowing not to push.
“Do you know who DC was thinking of?” Gerry asks.
“Yeah.”
“Well, who?”
“Green Lantern,” Deon said, looking down.
“You’re fuckin’ with me.”
==========
I did what I said I was going to do.
I beat Odin, soundly, in the middle of the ring. I made the man who thinks he’s a god bleed.
It got called an upset. A shocking win.
It’s not.
I’m the goddamned Living Legend. One of the announcers called him an all-time great, and I just put him down like an old dog. Crazy thing is, I’m still working off that ring rust.
Two matches in and I’m in the finals of this tournament. This should scare the shit out of you all. I’m not even in peak form yet and I’m on the cusp of getting my opportunity at the US title.
But I can’t get ahead of myself here. I still have to worry about the finals. The main event of Clash. It feels good to be employed by people that know stars.
But I’ll be standing across the squared circle from one of the “faces” of Action Wrestling.
Lissie Hope.
I could be like everyone else here and call you derogatory names and such, but I’m new here and I don’t know you like that. Granted, everything said about you could be warranted. I guess we’ll see.
You’re one of the most interesting people in the whole damn company. Your life reads like a movie. One of those tearjerkers that hits you right in the feels and sweeps awards season. It’s got everything. Joy and sadness, trials and tribulations. The highs and the lows. Now your scratching and clawing your way back to where you think you’re supposed to be. The Trials and the US championship are the keys to that. Showing that your efforts weren’t in vain.
Inspiring.
One problem though.
This isn’t your lead role, Lissie.
It’s mine.
This isn’t a feel-good, girl power, story. This is me manifesting my destiny. Gerard Angelo wins the tournament and goes on to become United States Champion. That’s box office.
It’s not just because I’m better than you.
It’s because you’re distracted.
Distracted with things on the outside of Action Wrestling. Distracted by things with your mother. Distracted with other tournaments aside from the one you’re currently in. Distracted by love.
You’re more worried about being the so-called “ambassador” for Action Wrestling than you are about actually wrestling here. Worried about making an impression elsewhere, when there is so much that you could still accomplish here.
They call you a “pillar” of this place, but if you were a pillar the roof would’ve caved in already.
But Action Wrestling wants to see you at the top again?
I can almost appreciate the arrogance.
Almost.
The arrogance that you think you can sleepwalk through this tournament. I’d almost agree.
You had to face Max. A man that’s distracted by an upcoming MMA fight, who stated that's all he cares about.
You had to face Kidsgrove. A man that was distracted by what a few idiots in Texas thought of him than trying to win.
It almost seemed like you're destined to go to Revolution as the number one contender.
Except you have the misfortune of running into a Living Legend.
Nothing’s distracting me. I can almost taste the US title.
I may have outside interests, but when the bell rings, this is my singular focus. I’m not worried about giving my current flavor of the month a little kiss at ringside during a match.
Yet, you’re the person that you think the company is getting behind?
Give me a fuckin’ break.
I didn’t even need to win my first match to advance in this. Now I’m sure you’d use that against me, but you know what it tells me?
This place has too much invested in me for me to not succeed. I bring fresh eyes to the product. I expose everyone to the rest of the world.
I’m a bonafide star. I’ve proven it everywhere I’ve been. This will be no different.
I’m giving you a fair warning. Take me lightly, I will humble you. Come at me distracted, I will embarrass you.
=============
Sounds of training ring out through the gym. Students honing their craft run the ropes and practice up-downs in the three full-sized rings jammed into the small wrestling school, while a few students chat and hang out around the ring aprons. Gerard was in one of the rings, practicing his front rolls and kip-ups. Sweat drips from his brow and down his nose, making small wet spots on the canvas.
“Gerry!” Yells a booming voice, causing everyone to look over at its owner, including Gerard. The voice's owner is a big man, leaning towards fat, but you could tell his frame used to hold up mountains of muscle. His once thick hair is thinning at the top forming a bald spot, temples streaked with silver. A bushy silver goatee attempts to draw attention away from his double chin.
Gerard grins as the man hobbles over to him on his cane. He had only woken up from his coma a few months ago, but he was already moving around well.
“You think you can just come back here and not call me?” the man says gruffly, leaning on his cane. Gerry slides out of the ring.
“C’mon, Jon,” Gerard says with a grin, “You’re supposed to be resting. Maria would kill me.”
“Bah,” Jon says, waving one of his meat hooks in the air, “She worries too much.”
“Well, she is your wife,” Gerry says dryly but was hooked into a rib-breaking hug by the big man that did no favors to his sore back. Jonathan Starsmore was the man who first trained Gerard in the art of professional wrestling. Once a famed powerhouse of the ring, injuries forced him to retire. Afterwards, he grew in notoriety as a teacher. Jon became a father figure for Gerard due to his problems with his father and Jon didn’t have any kids of his own.
Jon hears his former pupil grunt and lets him go, looking down.
“You hurt your back?”
“Just sore from my match.”
Jon nods.
“I saw! You got your ass kicked by that big bastard the whole time!”
Jon gives a deep belly laugh and hits Gerry on the back, causing him to stumble forward.
“I won the match,” Gerry protests.
“Not fast enough,” Jon says grinning, “But that’s okay. We never stop learning.”
Jon looks around.
“Speaking of learning, why aren’t the kids mobbing a former World champion movie star?” He asks, “You’d think they’d wanna learn from someone still wrestling!”
“Silverback told them if they bothered me he’d stretch them out.”
Jon gives another deep laugh.
“That man is crazy! C’mon,” He says, waving a hand, “Let’s go chat in my office.”
Jon starts to hobble away on his cane and Gerard goes into a stride as they walk towards the back of the building passing by students practicing the basics. Reaching the back of the school, Jon twists the knob of a steel door, opening up his office. It’s a glorified closet with a desk, chairs, and a computer. Back in the day, the desk was littered with papers and videotapes of wrestling matches. Recently, Jon was convinced to put everything on his computer despite his protests. Gerard wanted to slap whoever taught him Facebook though. Jon sits down in a leather chair that creaks under his weight, and slides on his glasses before clicking the mouse.
“Who you facing this week? Wait, don’t tell me. It’s that Lizzie girl, right?”
He starts tapping on the keyboard with two fingers.
“Let’s start to get a strategy set. What does she do best? Hmm.”
Gerard sits in the folding chair across from his mentor, watching him mutter to himself about technology. Gerard drums on the desk before just asking his question.
“Have you spoken to Kara?”
“She called me for Christmas,” he said, “We had a nice chat.”
Jon squints at the computer screen as a look of annoyance crept across Gerard’s face.
“And you don’t tell me? You know I’ve been trying to get in contact with her for months now and-”
“Haven’t you put that girl through enough?” Jon asks curtly, cutting Gerard off. They stare at each other before Jon sighs.
“Look, you were both my students at one point. You’re like a son to me and she’s like a daughter. I want you both to be happy. And that doesn’t mean together,” Jon says, raising a hand to cut off any protest.
“You need to leave her alone,” He continues, “It hasn’t worked out any of the times you two tried this. It always ends in heartbreak, usually for her. She’s in a really good place right now. She’s doing some modeling in Europe, and enjoying life.”
Gerard chews his lip as he processes this.
“I just want to tell her I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Jon says with a nod, “I know you love her. But if you really do, let her go. It’s the best for both of you.”
Gerard doesn’t say anything but his mind was racing. Jon pushes his glasses up on his thick nose.
“You don’t need any distractions. That’s how mistakes happen. Mistakes make losses.”
Gerard clenches his jaw before relenting with a nod. Jon smiles.
“That’s my boy. Now, where to find this Lizzie’s matches.”
“It’s Lissie,” Gerard says, spinning the keyboard around, “I’ll just log into Paramount plus.”
“The hell is that?”
===============
Tell me though, Lissie. Is this whole facade you put up, this entire character you created, just all for attention? You want to be a star so fucking bad that you would do and say anything to grab some spotlight?
Whole redemption arc based around you? Check.
Randomly kiss your girlfriend during a match to get clicks and views? Check.
Get into Twitter spats with bozo wrestlers about tournaments in companies that don't matter? Check.
Insulting the very championship you're trying to win to bury an opponent? Check.
You don’t think that little narrative slipped by, did you?
To paraphrase, the United States Championship is equivalent to the best supporting actor award? It doesn’t matter to you?
Interesting.
You just want to win this title for the attention. Champions matter more. You know this. You get more television time, you get to go do press as a face of the company. You get to be on the posters, the programs, the promotional chairs the fans sit their fat, sweaty, asses on at events.
The championship is just a prop for you. Something that forces you into the spotlight you so desperately crave and no one can ignore it.
You’re in luck though. This Monday, you get to stand across from the biggest star in all of entertainment. More people are going to know who you are than ever before, Lissie. I’m going to pull you up to my level and give you a little taste of what it’s like to be a real star.
But I don’t share my spotlight for long.
It might be long enough for you to get a call to be on whatever moronic reality competition MTV is putting out these days. I’m sure you’d jump at that chance.
My eyes are on the prize. I’m not distracted from the ultimate goal.
This is my era now.
Learn to love it.
==============
The gate to the house opens, the matte blue Jaguar F-Type pulls up the driveway, pulling into the open door of the garage. It pulls in next to a few other sports cars and parks. Gerard taps his thumbs on the wheel. Alone with his thoughts, he barely remembered the drive. He tried to process everything that happened today, put everything in order. One thought kept stabbing into his mind, digging like an icepick. The woman he loved wanted nothing to do with him. A bitter pill to swallow. Jonathan was right, but it still felt like a white-hot knife jabbed into his heart.
He wanted to numb himself so it didn’t hurt so damn bad.
Just a little distraction.
Gerard finally got out of the car after some time and went inside. He poured himself a Scotch and drained it, hoping it would numb him.
It didn’t.
Gerard wandered into his bathroom, staring into the mirror over the sink, taking in his own reflection. He reached up and pulled on the mirror, opening up his medicine cabinet. He stared at the various ointments and antacids before his eyes fell on a prescription bottle. Gerard grabbed it, staring at the label. Old pain killers from one of his knee surgeries. He wondered if they were still any good.
Just need a distraction.
Gerard opened the bottle and stared inside, looking at six pills. He mulled it over.
Maybe just one for the old back.
Gerry shook one out of the bottle and popped it in his mouth, dry swallowing it.
He didn’t need any distractions.
