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A main in a dark gray suit was coming down the aisle. Dressed like he was a high-end preacher. Yellow book in hand, like it was his bible. He was halfway down the airbus before he stopped walking. Came to an abrupt stop. Midthirites I’d guess. Seasoned. Pretty unremarkable except for the huge band-aid over his broken nose. The brand-Aids were bloodied, large enough to obscure the top part of his face. He’d suffered a good blow We paused. He regarded my injuries. I did the same with his. Yellow book in hand, he turned around and went back toward business class. I turned around, heading deeper into the poverty section of the plane. My mind photograph what I seen. Injured man in suit. I doubted if those were fortune 500 injuries. Light skinned man. He was a very muscular and toned. He had short brown hair and a small goatee on his chin. Gray suit and red shirt. The shirt was the $200 kind and the suit had to cost ten times that. is very muscular and toned. He has short brown hair and a small goatee on his chin I looked back again. Book in hand, he made his way back through the curtains that separated the classes. In the end, it wasn’t his injury that made me notice him, I’d seen many injuries on people. It was his clothes and his deep-set eyes. His eyes had maintained an unblinking cold stare. He could’ve been the air marshal. For a moment I saw the dead body left on the marble floor. My flesh turned hot. Maybe they knew about the preacher. Maybe my fake passport had been compromised and they knew. Maybe they’d be waiting for me at the other end of this journey. Mrs. Jones was in front of me, staring at me. Standing up, she was stunning, the way her black dress hung over her breasts and the smell of her modest ass was like two shots of Viagra. That was the effect she was starting to have on me. She wiped her eyes, smiled at me. “I’m impressed.” “How so?” “You lasted a whole five minutes with Chatty Cathy.” “I was ten seconds from asking for a parachute.” “You were going to jump?” “Was about to throw her out.” “And you’d waste a parachute?” “Good Point.” She laughed “So you’re Mrs. Jones.” She smiled. “What else she tell you?” “Nothing. Was she supposed to tell me something?” Her smile faded. She let go of her illusion. “Sorry for crying. Trying to stop, I really am.” “What’s Wrong?” Figured it couldn’t have been that bad, and if anything it would take my mind off the feeling of defeat. I had the crown of Sultan with in grasp. But it just wasn’t to be. Always next year right? And I had a GOLDEN opportunity in front of me. “Guess I’m just mentally and emotionally tired of being mentally and emotionally tired.” “When you’re done crying, you’ll be good as new.” She smiled again, this one real. We stood there, moving around that tight space, a line of people going in and out of the toilets. I realized why she was there. She was avoiding going back to her seat. Me too. “Can you…uh…can you recommend any hotels in London?” “Which part? In the city, outside the city? What area did you have in mind?” “Anywhere. First timer. Never been to London.” “Maybe Central London. Try Bloomsbury. Nice hotels in that area. Try Myhotel.” A perk of being a wrestler. Always know where the hotels are “You own a hotel?” “No, it’s called Myhotel. Nice place. Sushi Bar. Great lounge.” “Sounds…sounds…” “Sexy?” “Well, I wasn’t going to say that.” “It’s trendy and hip and sexy.” She shifted. “Is that where you’re staying? At that trendy and hip and sexy hotel?” “Depends” “Depends on what?” Point blank I asked, “Your husband’s not meeting you across the pond?” “No.” She hesitated. That simple question changed the temperature. “No, he’s not.” “So your alone?” She looked down at her wedding ring, took in a slow breath. I had been too obvious But the man part of me had to go there. Always had to try, even if it was in vain. Hunters. We were all hunters. “Your marriage…your husband…everything okay?” “All I can say is…we make promises we know we can’t keep. Promises that start with always and end with forever. We take on the impossible and fail miserably. Or stick it out and pretend that there was some great reward for enduring a life lived in depression and torture.” Again, we paused. Her reply was deep. Took me by surprise. “A cynic.” “You noticed.” “Of course.” She motioned toward the Chatty Cathy who had invaded our space. Mrs Jones said, “I used to be just like her.” “Talkative?” “No. Idealistic. Happy. Ignorance is truly bliss.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. Crying again. “Would you like to do dinner?” “Dinner? On the plane?” “In London.” “Your asking me out to dinner?” “Yes.” We stared a bit. Her eyes went down. Maybe she was appraising my crotch. Or admiring her wedding ring. Maybe she was just looking at the floor. Wasn’t sure. “You’re a beautiful woman.” “Makeup running. Eyes swollen. I don’t feel beautiful.” “Well you are.” She bit her top lip, disturbed, thinking. “What’s on your mind?” “This.” “What about this?” “This…this…you’re flirting with me. I haven’t been flirted with in…forever.” “Then your husband should be charged with neglect.” “Or should I charge you with criminal trespass?” “Can’t jail a man for thinking about doing something.” Mild turbulence. More staring between us. I held her gaze the way her dress held her slender frame, with both respect and disrespect, tight and loose all at once. Her brown eyes narrowed. She waved her wedding ring. “Testing the waters?” “I’m a very good swimmer.” We stood there, saying nothing as people went in and out of the bathroom. She touched her wild hair and walked away. She looked back. We stared at each other for a moment, maybe five long seconds. Then she went inside one of the vacant bathrooms. And I was left with the feeling of satisfaction and what if. Smirked and changed mind frames to the chance of beating Josh. Gavin was a epic battle. A battle that ended in a draw. But there is a new dawn on the horizon. This one is darning a carrot to the road of victory. And one more seasoned veterans of the land of Next I headed down the aisle, passed my seat, kept going until I got to the blue curtain, stopped like I was at the rim of a foreign country, flight attendants guarding that area like border patrol. I looked for the man with the broken nose. That $6,000-a-seat section had reclining chairs, half facing forward, half facing backward, the seats in sets of two, side-by-side recliners with red partitions in between. Two rows up. I saw his dark gray suit pants, his shoes. He, was in a rear-facing seat, one row in. I crept across the border. The yellow book was in his lap. He held it like it was his holy bible. Two empty whiskey bottles were on his tray. He was horizontal. Might’ve been sleeping. His monitor was on a movie. The thick covers they gave the privileged were pulled up to his injured nose. On the way back I looked at other passengers. No one was interested in me. There was an overweight woman in floral spandex squeezed between two people. There was a crying baby in the section of the plane the happy actress had come from. So the happy actress wasn’t a setup, so far as I could tell. The woman in black seemed legit too. Nobody would cry that long without being in emotional strife. There were no dots to connect. There was no conspiracy, none that I could find. And there weren’t any vindictive preachers on the plane. I looked at my swollen hands. There was a mild tremble. I grabbed a few newspapers, headed back to my third-world section of this flying world. The front page of the New York times had an article on THE DAY THE LORD CRIED. Three days ago a preacher named Gavin, had been slaughtered in his home. The paper said the scene was gruesome, looked like a fight had broken out. Almost like a two man war. That wasn’t how it was supposed to look. Like a two man battlefield at the end of a war. I was almost done with the business. In a few hours, outside of the three properties I owned, I was becoming a NEXT Star. I remembered being homeless, on the run, living on the streets of California. I tossed the New York Times into an empty seat, kept the British papers in hand. On the way back, with guilt swirling inside me, everybody looked suspicious. At this rate, by the time the plane landed, the small children would be suspects But no one was after me. At least not on a plane An airplane was the safest place to be. It would be a different story when I was on the ground. When I was close to my seat, I saw something else. Something that made me clench my teeth. I had been robbed! - [ * ] - So yes, even the greatest Lion can be defeated. Don’t boast and brag about it, Gavin, because it’s not like you yourself pinned me. Hell, it wasn’t even a lose, but what the fuck else is a draw? I’m telling you now… you want a fight, you can bring it all day. I’ll be here standing right behind you just waiting for that one chance to push you off of the NEXT mountain. It’s reality, fucker. Josh Phoenix Man, you are just amazing. No wait, no you're not. Your redundant, lame, old. Your promos don't change from week to week. The same shit talking every god damn promo. Take a page from my book and get creative. The buzz around the locker room is that you're talented. Which matches are they watching? You don't impress me at all. In fact, I think my little brother would give you a challenge; and he's cerified retarted It's simple. You don’t have anything on me, kid. You can talk a big game but as we’ve seen numerous times that doesn’t matter against me. You can bark the biggest bark but you’re going to be the bitch in this match. You’re going to be the one I can bend in ways a human isn’t supposed to bend. You’re going to feel pain like you’ve never felt it and you’ll thank me after it’s over. I’ll help you realize your potential. What is your potential? Your potential is warming up the crowed, in other terms Josh, you make a great curtain puller. Up until now, no one cared about you. No one knew your name outside of the opening match. Now you want to step up to the one they call the best and try to escape with a win? You’re going to try and take his status here in NEXT? You’re going to try to hang with the only man not to lose to Gavin Payne? Sorry, try some other time. Tell me what advantage you have over me in this match. Experience? You don’t have any experience over me because I’ve been in numerous world matches that matter and you haven’t. It’s like if I were to some how become really, really bad and have a open for a side show promotion match. You have experience in that field and I don’t. I never want experience in that field. Versatility? I’ve seen aerial, submission, technical, power, and everything in between and they have all fallen in a broken mess. They have all realized that the only thing they could do is become a broken heap of mess for someone to clean up after the match. Desire? After coming up a second short against the World Champion Gavin Payne, it’s easy to say I have all the desire in the world to gun for his head and his championship and to continue to prove everyone wrong. After you, Josh, who is left? How many more protentail X-Core divison stars really want to get embarresed by this hungrey Lion? My desire is to keep it off wrestlers like you. I have to because you all will ruin the name of NEXT. You can’t replace me as much as you might want to. I just gave you facts about how I’m better than you. You’ll bring speculation and you’ll bring stories that are going to try and intimidate me. Spare them, please. I’ve heard them all eight times over. You can tell me that I’ve been saying the same things over and over again. I love that one. I do because people don’t listen. I’m sure you won’t either. Your name is already tainted. When your name is mentioned in a match, no one worries about facing you. Your name doesn't strike fear in anyone. Instead, they know you're beatable. No one goes in facing you thinking they're gonna lose. They know there is a ninety percent chance they're gonna win, and a ten percent chance that you might get lucky. I mean that's how you signed a contract with NEXT right? Oh burn. But seriously Josh, you don't bring a threat to the ring. Hell congrats on being employed. Congrats on even making it big time. Do you deserve to be there? But every dog has his day right? Even that shitty one. But me, I do strike fear. I'm the guy that makes their opponents nervous. Not only do I beat them in the ring, I beat them verbally. Just like I'm doing to you. But feel free to use this shoot against me. It's the only chance you've got to try and hate on me right? This match isn’t going to be fun for you. This match is going to be proverbial rape. There is nothing you can do to stop it so you’re just going to take it. I’ve done this too many times so I know what I’m doing. Hell, to change things up I might throw an American flag over you and fuck you for old glory’s sake. I’ll make you my Real American Bitch. -- That’s a Wrap! -- |