Fade in.
The Trump International Hotel and Tower
New York City
Hotel Reception
# Ding! Ding! Ding-di-di-ding-ding! #
It’s late evening and the AWA World Heavyweight Champion finds himself impatiently palming away at a small bell on a large oak-finish reception desk. He sports a huge smug grin on his face. The AWA Title lingers on his left shoulder, the lovely Lita snuggling by his side in a customary low-cut top and tight jeans.
Edge: They knew I was coming. Eh, hello, excuse me… AWA Champ over here!
Edge shakes his head in disbelief, Lita strokes his arm in an attempt to calm her man.
Edge: Don’t they know who I am? I should be getting the full works, the whole red carpet treatment… but, no, instead, I get… well, finally!
The hotel manager approaches in a rather inexpensive suit accentuated with the cheap-looking name-tag pinned on the lapel of his jacket.
Hotel Manager: Can I help you sir?
Edge: Help? Why yes, yes you can.
Edge’s nod and polite smile are over-exaggerated to the point it appears somewhat sarcastically put-upon and demeaning towards the man behind the desk. He gestures to himself, his title belt and Lita.
Edge: Obviously you know who we are, AND surprise-surprise, we have a reservation for a suite.
Lita giggles and rubs her hand across Edge’s chest as the champ appears even more smug with himself after his latest retort. The Hotel Manager punches away at the keyboard of his computer. The brief silence emphasising Edge chewing on a piece gum almost in an intimidating manner.
He continues to type away at the keyboard, Edge appears annoyed.
He removes his shades and taps the counter, coughing arrogantly to grab attention.
Edge: What are you doing?
Hotel Manager: It’ll just be a moment, sir. I’m just checking the reservations log.
Edge turns to Lita nodding in approval.
Edge: Oh, he’s just checking the reservations log.
He suddenly snaps back round, leaning menacingly over the counter.
Edge: Just give me my damn room! See I’ll make it real simple for ya’, I’m getting a little tired standing here… you know, it gets a little tiring carrying this title belt around all day long, then again; you wouldn’t know that feeling, huh? See you’re not the champion, are you now pal? No, see, I am the champ! And on a side note – just in case you happen to watch the AWA and have this “theory” like all them other idiots that Randy Orton or Shawn Michaels is gonna’ change that fact this Monday Night at Fight for the Right let me tell you right now that you can save it! ‘Cause, guess what? It ain’t gonna’ happen! I’m the champ, alright, and what the champ wants is the key to his suite, so he can go up to his room and… - do something that you only dream about in those reoccurring wet-dreams you have - …have hot, wild, passionate, torrid SEX with the lovely, luscious Lita.
Edge gives Lita a little snarl and Goldust-esque air-bite before barking almost like a dog. Lita gives the Hotel Manager who looks a little uncomfortable a teasing smile by biting her bottom lip.
Lita: I know first hand why they call him the Rated R Superstar, hah.
Edge: So why don’t you give me the key, and I’ll do the polite thing and tip you anyway… even though you probably don’t deserve it.
Hotel Manager: Erm… *clears throat* uhuh, well… I see your reservation here, unfortunately it is not ready yet. However, you are more than welcome to go upstairs to the bar.
Oh no, the dreaded lull. Edge cricks out the tension in his neck. The disappointment and annoyance clearly amounting.
Edge: Okay.
Edge turns around, taking Lita in his arms, even pulling out a smile for his lover.
Edge: Baby, why don’t you go up the bar, order us up a couple martinis and then I’ll meet you up there, huh?
Lita: K, babe.
A quick kiss later, and Lita is skipping her way out of the shot and toward the elevators. Edge on the other hand slowly turns around to face the Hotel Manager with a burning look of contempt in his eyes.
Edge: Okay, listen to me for a second. I don’t know kind of shambles your running here now, but I normally get the whole V.I.P treatment courtesy of Mr Trump so unless you want me to make a personal call and have your ass fired you better listen carefully.
The Manager gulps. Edge leans over, the title belt still in full view over his shoulder.
Edge: You see, there’s a reason people like me are champions.
Edge taps the title’s face plate.
Edge: You see, Randy Orton and Shawn Michaels… they’re gonna’ find out that reason real soon, and if things keep going the way they’re heading it looks like you will too. There’s a reason why people like me are champions, and, there’s a reason people like you are stuck standing behind a desk in your… what, mid-to-late thirties? With a haircut that looks like someone put a bowl on your head and asked a blind man to cut around it. So you get my keys ready, you get our bags up to the room and then you come and get us! Get it?
Hotel Manager: Yes sir.
Edge: Good.
Edge smiles, and slips his shades back on before heading out of shot leaving an almost petrified hotel manager hurriedly trying to sort out matters in a panic.
Black.
2. ONE STEP AHEAD
Fade in.
Madison Square Gardens
New York City.
Backstage, AWA Production Area.
(Pre-Taped.)
The shot opens showing Edge in fancy designer shirt and Rated R skull cap standing against a background of grated steel mesh which sports a large AWA poster/placard. By his side stands the lovely Lita with her arm around his waist and his across her shoulders. The AWA World Heavyweight title, the subject matter for this weeks AWA Fight for the Right, glistens in the reflective glow of several spotlights as it drapes over his shoulder.
Edge: At New Generation I made my statement of intent, I made it clear for all to see.
Edge’s eyes emit this feeling of intensity like we’ve never witnessed from him before. He slings the title off his shoulder, stepping forward clutching it with both hands and holding the face plate into camera shot for all to see.
Edge: This title means everything. Everything to me…. everything and more. It means more to me than keeping Rated RKO together. It means a whole lot more to me than Randy Orton, that’s for sure. At New Generation when I speared Randy Orton straight out of his boots, I let him know just how far I was willing to go… the steps that I was willing to take.
Edge rubs his chin, the tip of his tongue running across the top row of his teeth.
Edge: But, you see, if I know Orton like I think I do then, I know that he was just as prepared… if not more… to take the plunge and do to me exactly what I did to him. Oh, he made it clear that it wasn’t about Rated RKO when it came down to it at Fight for the Right. He wasn’t in this for the team, he was in it for the title… my title. So, young Randy wanted to be selfish, I mean, otherwise he would have done what he was told to do like a good little boy and fell in line.
Edge chuckles to himself.
Lita: But no, it’s always got to be about “The Legend Killer”, huh babe? Randy Orton always wants to be the centre of attention.
Lita added dismissively.
Edge: One thing…
Edge holds up a finger.
Edge: The one thing that Orton didn’t take into consideration is that fact that unlike himself, I’m no idiot. No, on the contrary, I’m the champ. And, hey, I know Orton better than he thinks so.
Lita: He’s SO predictable.
Edge: Did he… did Orton buy all that crap about staying on the same page? Did he really swallow all that garbage I was feeding him about having each others back? Maybe he did… hey, who knows whether or not he did? Personally though, I don’t think he did. See, I’m not so naïve like the rest of you morons.
Signature heat for generic heel putdown.
Edge: I mean, he’d have you believe as part of his “sob story” that he was the innocent party in this whole incident. You know how it goes, that he was betrayed, that I turned my back on him and that, oh and here’s a new one, that I’m the bad guy – hah.
Lita: Oh poor Randy.
Says Lita in the most insincere tone she can muster.
Edge: Oh boo-hoo, cry me a river Randy, the act ISN’T fooling anyone, stud!
Edge shakes his head with both eyebrows raised.
Edge: Oh no, oh no-no-no. No, don’t let him fool you, don’t think that for one minute that he wasn’t poised in position ready, waiting even, for the right moment… for the opportunity to present itself so he could stab me in the back and give me the – oh, good-golly-gosh dare I say it – “dreaded” RKO as soon as I least expected. The only thing was…
Edge smirks.
Edge: …I was expecting it, alright. So I threw Randy a classic case of the Kansas City Shuffle – where I got him looking left, and I hit him from the right! I doubled bluffed. I had Orton convinced that I trusted him, I made him believe that I was oblivious to his little scheme – what a façade that was… I knew all along what he was up to. He was so convinced I was under a false-impression of security that I had let my guard down. Oh boy, did he have another thing coming.
Edge and Lita laugh smugly.
Edge: But, let’s just get something straight now, Orton isn’t the victim, he isn’t “hurt”… nah, not at all. You know what though? He’s just mad. Yea’, he’s just mad that I beat him to the punch. He’s just mad that I beat him to it.
Edge smiles as a thought just occurs – we can practically see the lightbulb spark above his head.
Edge: Then again, come to think of it, what’s new? I mean that’s natural, huh Randy? What with me being one step ahead of you like always. It kind of seems like a reoccurring theme don’t you think? Seems kinda’ like it to me that I always beat you to it. I mean, remember the rumble on the Pilot Episode for the AWA title? Let me ask you Randy, who won that?
Edge attempts to conceal his toothy grin.
Edge: Who won it?
He’s playing with his opponent now.
Edge: Did you win it, Randy?
Lita can barely control her laughter.
Edge: Oh no, that’s right…
Edge slowly raises the dangling title into the air.
Edge: …I DID!
Lita: Although to be far to Randy he was up against an unfair advantage, I mean, you are better than him.
Edge: A lot better.
Lita: That’s why you left him flat on his back on Monday Night and not the other way about.
Edge: Exactly, hah. But surely… SURELY… Orton’s not trying to tell me that he didn’t see coming, is he? Surely, he didn’t think that I’d just stand back and knowingly let him plot away at my downfall without doing a damn thing about it, did he? Ah…
Edge nods having just realised something.
Lita: What, babe?
Edge: He obviously didn’t know I knew. I mean, after I speared him you should have seen the look on his face – he looked dumbfounded. Hang on a second…
Edge strokes his goatee.
Edge: …come to think of it, he’s always got that expression on his face.
Lita snorts with laughter, quickly drawing her hands to her face. Edge turns into shot.
Edge: Did you really think that I’d be so careless going into the biggest match of my entire career, huh Randy? Do you think that I would have left myself wide open for you to just get a free shot. Nah, see I’m too clever for that. Surely you weren’t so stupid in your miscalculations, eh? Then again when I speared you last Monday Night at New Generation I think that’s exactly what I proved, wouldn’t you agree Randy?
Lita: The proved exactly what you set out to do.
Edge: Lita’s right, Randy, I did what I wanted. I proved that in this business you don’t have to be the biggest, that you don’t have to be the strongest, that you don’t have to be the toughest, hah, hell you don’t even need to be…
Edge puts on a mock stupid voice, somewhere along the lines of a cross between Sylvester Stallone and Barney the Dinosaur as he imitates Orton with both arms outstretched into the air in the “hey” pose.
Edge: …the “Legend Killer”.
He sneers in a degrading manner.
