OOC - Permission given to use Misty...
September 13th, 2013 - 8:30 PM - Cane Garden Bay, Tortola
[The scene fades in on a small small deck overlooking a beautiful scene of Cane Garden Bay. Perched high above the water, the deck sits attached to a small vacation rental home in the gorgeous rolling hills of Tortola. The ocean side crisp air blows silently as the sun starts to set. The locals start to close their windows and shut their doors as their day continues to wind down. Sitting up on the small deck on a wicker chair is Drake Green. Wearing a pale pink button up linen shirt, white pants, and sandals, Drake sips a short glass of scotch on the rocks while he smokes a cigarette and takes in the beautiful view. His hair is a bit messy and his five o'clock shadow has now grown into a thin beard. He has soft music playing in the background. Music that is no doubt calming but seems a little too romantic for two men alone in a beach house. A chime is heard emanating from his pocket. He pulls out his iPhone and checks. A large smile creeps over his face as he reads the message on his phone. He jumps up, flicks the cigarette over the balcony and heads inside. He walks through his rented bedroom and into the next room where Max, wearing yellow cabana shorts and a bright blue tank top, is sitting reading a book. He looks up with a slight look of worry as Drake enters the room.]
Drake: Hey, Maxy.
Max: Yes, D.
Drake: What’s with all of the candles.
[Drake looks around the room and notices the multitude of candles lit around the house.]
Max: They keep the bugs away.
[He shakes his head and smiles, laughing at Max to himself.]
Drake: Do you have any wine?
Max: Umm, you’re asking the recovering alcoholic if he has any wine?
Drake: Come on, dude. Don’t exaggerate. You recovered like seven years ago.
[Max turns around to face Drake as he looks through the cabinets in the sitting room.]
Max: It’s an ongoing process, D. It takes time and discipline. None of which you know anything about. What do you need wine for any? You don’t drink wine.
Drake: Well I just told Misty I bought a really nice bottle of local wine this afternoon and she should come by and drink it with me.
Max: You lied to her?
Drake: I wouldn’t call it lying.
Max: Oh, I’m sorry. So you did buy a really nice bottle of local wine this afternoon then?
Drake: Ok, maybe I lied a little bit. But now I need wine. You think you could go grab some for me?
Max: You’re on your own.
Drake: Come on please? She’s gonna be here in like fifteen minutes.
Max: Better hurry then.
Drake: Thanks.
[Max turns back around to his book, with a small smile now creeping over his face.]
Max: Welcome.
[Drake turns and looks around and then grabs the set of keys off of the table. He heads out of the front door and begins to walk down the crowded dirt road. He passes several natives who look at him with a puzzling eye. “It could be the pink shirt or the bright white pants” he thinks to himself as he looks at his watch and decides to pick up the pace. He starts to jog a bit as he gets closer to the center of town. He stops a couple of local townspeople and asks them where he could buy some wine but it is as if they don’t understand him or they choose to pretend not to. He carries on, finally coming to a small local store. He walks in and a great big twinkle emerges in his bright green eye. The walls are lined with liquor, beer and wine. He shuffles over to the wall and grabs three bottles of red wine off of a shelf, paying no mind to cost or quality. He grabs a bottle of scotch as he passes that section and he heads over to the counter where the cashier is standing.
Its at this point that Drake realizes he is a tad drunk. He takes a hard look at the cashier. Their wide shoulders and broad chest, coupled with the flowing long hair and feminine facial features are making it very hard to determine whether or not this is a man or a woman. He lines up the wine and the booze and smiles at the...person.]
Drake: How much?
Cashier: Ce sera dollars soixante-cinq.
[Drake seems taken back by the cashier’s deep voice and the fact that they are speaking a different language.]
Drake: What?
Cashier: Ce sera dollars soixante-cinq.
Drake: Yeah, I don’t speak...umm...Tortolan.
Cashier: C'est dommage maintenant donnez-moi dollars soixante-cinq.
[Drake scratches his head.]
Drake: Ok. I don’t know what you are saying to me. I’d like to buy my booze and leave. How much?
[The cashier smirks at him when they realize that Drake is a bit annoyed.]
Cashier: Sixty-five.
Drake: Finally, English.
[Drake assumes his regular cocky smile like he has accomplished something but it quickly fades and his eyes sink down as he reaches for his wallet but only finds an empty pocket.]
Drake: FUCK!
[He startles the cashier as he screams out. He looks at his watch and sees that he only has five minutes until Misty is going to be at his rental house.]
Drake: Look, sir...ma’am. I forgot my wallet. I’ll be back in the morning and I’ll pay for everything.
Cashier: No. You pay now.
Drake: Come on. You know who I am. I’m Mr. Showtime. You can trust me.
Cashier: Non, si vous n'avez pas d'argent, alors vous n'obtenez pas quelque chose de moi. Vous devez quitter mon magasin dès maintenant ou je vais appeler la police. Personne ne me prive. Sortez. Sortez.
Drake: No, look. No police ok? There’s a really hot girl coming over and she needs wine. Understand. FUCK!
[He blurts out the “F” word as he looks at his watch. Three minutes.]
Cashier: Watch.
[Drake quickly makes eye contact with the cashier.]
Drake: What? Excuse me?
Cashier: You want booze. I take watch for money.
Drake: You’re out of your head right? This is an eight thousand dollar watch.
Cashier: No money, no booze.
Drake: How about my shirt.
[The cashier looks puzzled.]
Drake: This is a $200 Robert Graham.
[The cashier’s look gets even more puzzled,]
Drake: Stone Rose?
[The cashier raises up their arms as they have no idea what Drake is saying.]
Drake: You can sell it.
[The cashier thinks for a moment and then the camera immediately cuts to Drake running out of the shop, shirtless, carrying a brown paper bag full of booze. He sprints back up the road, weaving in and out of people walking alongside the road. He gets back to the rental house just in time to see a taxi pull away.]
Drake: Shit!
[He looks around the back of the house and decides to sneak in from the porch. Starting to sweat from all of the running, he climbs over the railing and into the room. He hears voices from the other room as he carefully put the wine on a shelf. He pulls one bottle out of the bag and grabs two glasses off of the bar. He turns to walk toward the room and remembers he doesn’t have a shirt on. Just as he goes to grab one, the door opens.
In the doorway stands Misty, wearing small heels, dark colored jeans, and a black top with a deep purple trip. Her hair is up and back in a ponytail and her face is covered in a thin layer of makeup. She has a smile on her face as she’s Drake. He smiles back but then realizes that’s shes not just smiling but laughing at him.]
Drake: What?
Misty: You’re shirtless, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses, sweating, to a background of candles and Jack Johnson. You’re kidding me, right?
[A look of what seems like embarrassment comes over Drake's face.]
Drake: It's not what it looks like.
Misty: Uh huh.
Drake: Seriously. The candles and music are all gushing out of Maxy's feminine side.
Misty: And your shirt?
Drake: It...umm..
[Drake hesitates for a second, not wanting to let Misty know he had initially lied to her.]
Drake: I was just kinda warm.
Misty: Put a shirt on, will you?
[Drake smiles as the scene cut to the two of them on the small deck attached to the bedroom. Drake is now wearing a light blue V-neck t-shirt and the two of them are drinking wine, laughing, and having a good time.]
Drake: So then, after all of that, I tell him Climax Control is in San Francisco.
[Misty laughs.]
Misty: That’s hilarious. So what did he do?
Drake: He spent the entire trip at the hotel. He didn’t even come see me wrestle.
Misty: The whole time?
Drake: That’s Barry Goldstein for you. The most stubborn person you’ll ever meet. Well, maybe the second most stubborn.
[Drake smiles at Misty.]
Misty: I’m not stubborn. Just strong willed.
Drake: Whatever you call it. So it’s getting kinda late. You can just crash here if you want.
[Misty laughs.]
Misty: Yeah, I’m sure you would love that.
Drake: What?
Misty: You don’t have to be so obvious.
Drake: I’m being honest. I, as your friend, am concerned for your well being. We’re in a foreign country and you shouldn’t get in a random cab this late at night.
Misty: So I should just stay here with you then?
Drake: Yes. And Maxy you know. I’ll sleep on the couch and you can take my bed.
Misty: You’re sweet, but thanks. I’ll be ok.
Drake: Ok, fine. We can share the bed but I get the better pillow.
Misty: What am I gonna do with you, Mr. Green?
Drake: Please, call me Drake.
Misty: Sorry. Bad habit.
[Misty takes a gulp of her wine glass.]
Drake: I like you, Misty.
Misty: Drake-
Drake: No, no. Let me finish. You’re a very refreshing person to be around. I don’t mean I wanna date you or even sleep with you. Well...maybe sleep with you…
[Misty chuckles.]
Drake: It’s just nice to be able to talk someone, that’s all. You know with Max it’s either about how I drink too much or how I should be training, or lifting weights, or watching film. And with Barry, I mean all the guy cares about is me making him money. He’s nice enough but that’s all it is. I guess what I’m saying is, there’s something inside of you. Something that’s broken, like me. And it’s nice to talk to someone who gets it.
Misty: You don’t seem so broken to me, Drake.
Drake: Let’s just say I hide it a bit better than you.
Misty: Why do you hide it?
Drake: I figure no one really wants to hear about it. That as long as I’m Mr. Showtime then everyone will love me. They’ll cheer for me.
Misty: It’s not all about them, Drake. It has to be about you too.
Drake: Thats the problem. The people want me to win for them. I want to win for them too. They’ve been behind me this whole time and they deserve me to hold that title up just as much as I do. But lately something has changed.
Misty: Like what?
Drake: I can’t really describe it. It’s like that deep desire to win that sits inside, the competitive nature, it’s getting angry. Like it wants more than what I’m giving it.
Misty: Maybe you should stop drinking.
[They share a smile.]
Drake: Maybe I’m just talking out of my ass.
Misty: It’s good to get it out sometimes.
Drake: It’s nice to say it to someone who actually listens.
Misty: Well, it’s my pleasure. You listened to me complain so its the least I can do.
Drake: I wouldn’t call that complaining. Just bitching.
[Drake smiles and Misty gives him a shot in the arm with a smile of her own.]
Misty: Why do you always have to ruin it when I start to think you’re nice?
Drake: Bad habit.
Misty: Yeah I guess we’re both full of those.
Drake: Maybe in another life we could’ve been something, Misty.
Misty: Oh yeah?
Drake: Yeah. I would just screw it up in this life anyway.
Misty: Not if I did first.
Drake: Friends?
Misty: Friends.
[They cheers and drink their wine as the scene fades out.]
September 15th, 2013 - 10:45 PM - Cane Garden Bay, Tortola
[The camera fades back in to a backstage room at Climax Control. The room is brightly lit, with one overhead light that seems to have a bulb of way too much wattage stuck in there. Surrounded by the beige colored styrofoam drop ceiling tiles, the light is as bright as the high noon sun. The walls are a thick rectangular brick, painted white like hospital walls. Drake is sitting on a small stool while the backstage Doc checks out a cut above his right eye that is still pouring out blood. The front of his pink button up shirt is covered in blood, so much so that it is starting to leak through the shirt onto his skin. He sits nervously, tapping his feet, as the Doc continues to examine him. Max, wearing a black SHOWTIME t-shirt, black pants and shoes, paces back and forth just as nervously as Drake taps his feet. He watches as the Doc fastens a winged bandage over the cut.]
Doc: I think that’ll do it for now, Drake.
Drake: Do you think it’s going to need stitches, Doc?
Doc: I think you’ll be fine. Just let it heal for a week or so.
Max: Can he compete next week?
Doc: I think by next Sunday you should be fine. Like I said, you shouldn’t need stitches.
Drake: Not that it matters. Hot Stuff isn’t gonna give me a match.
Max: You don’t know that.
[The Doc stands up and grabs his case.]
Doc: You know where to find me if you need me, fellas.
Drake: Thanks, Doc.
Max: Yes. As always.
Doc: It’s a pleasure.
[The Doc leaves the room and Max takes a seat where was just sitting.]
Max: You ok, D?
Drake: Am I…? Is that a joke? Two weeks ago I get embarrassed on television. First by some skank Hot Stuff hired to try and convince me to be his lackey and now by Max freaking Burke? Are you kidding me?
Max: I don’t know what to say.
Drake: I do. That guy is lucky he high tailed it out of here before I got backstage. Next week he’s a dead man.
Max: What are you gonna do? Beat him down? That brings you right down to their level, D. Don’t you see? That’s what Ward wants. He wants you to retaliate. Because once you are that angry, that desperate, he’s got you right where he wants you.
Drake: I don’t care where he wants me! I’m gonna beat the ever living crap out of Max Burke, all over St. Lucia.
Max: Why don’t you take that aggression and focus it in the ring. Take it out on whoever your opponent your opponent ends up being.
Drake: Mark isn’t going to give me a match, Maxy. He knows that not only does he not have to pay me if I don’t wrestle but also, I don’t get closer to the title without a few wins under my belt this month. He’s punishing me, Max. And there’s nothing we can do about it.
Max: What about Underwood? Can’t we talk to him.
Drake: I don’t know.
[Drake runs his hands through his hair, showing his frustration.]
Drake: It may all be pointless. I might as well take him up on his deal. How bad could it be anyway?
Max: You can’t start thinking like that, D. We have a goal and we’re almost there. Just a few more matches. We don’t need to be in debt to that man for anything. Not even for a free cup of coffee.
Drake: You’re right. It’s just bad timing with him. Why he couldn’t start this shit after I got a title shot? At least then he wouldn’t be holding me back from anything.
Max: Well hopefully you sneak on to the card next week.
Drake: Yeah, I doubt that’s-
[Drake is interrupted by a loud knock pounding on the door. He looks to Max with a look of surprise and worry.]
Drake: You don’t think-
Max: No. No way they would try something now.
[The pounding on the door continues.]
Max: I’m gonna answer it.
Drake: Wait.
[Drake grabs Max by the wrist as he starts to get up.]
Drake: You’re with me right?
Max: Of course.
Drake: No matter what?
Max: D, you’re the only family I got.
Drake: Ok.
[The pounding gets louder.]
Max: I’m gonna get this.
Drake: Ok.
[Max gets up and makes his way toward the door. Right as he goes to grab the doorknob, the big heavy white door swings open. Practically falling through is Drake’s agent and friend Barry Goldstein. His ear length blonde hair is slick back tight and his face is clean shaven. He is wearing black slacks and shoes, a red button down shirt with the collar open and a light grey plaid sport coat. In his ear is Marlboro red and in his right hand is a thick cigar and he has a white t-shirt over his shoulder which he throws down on the table as soon as he gets into the room.]
Max: What the hell?
Barry: Well you coulda opened the damn door, Slim Jim.
Max: If I knew it was gonna be you on the other side I probably would’ve locked the door.
Drake: Settle down, boys.
Barry: Jesus!
[Barry walks over to Drake to get a closer look at his eye.]
Barry: What did they do to you, Showtime?
Drake: Don’t get me started.
Barry: Who did this to him?
[Barry looks at Max and points toward Drake.]
Max: Max Burke.
Barry: What did he get tired of wrestling dark matches or something?
Drake: Mark Ward put him up to it.
Barry: What? Why did…
[Barry has a look on his face like he just discovered the secret to eternal youth.]
Drake: What?
[Barry sits down across from Drake.]
Barry: Well I started to notice there weren’t many checks rolling in with the name Drake Green written on them so I put in a call to my old friend Erik Staggs. He told me Ward had blacklisted you for the remainder of the tour here.
Drake: Blacklisted?
Barry: Yup.
Max: That’s unbelieveable. This guy’s got a lot of nerves.
Barry: He didn’t go in to any real detail. He certainly didn’t tell me they were making play dough out of your face either.
Max: I guess that explains why you’re here.
Barry: Yeah, Macho. I gotta protect my best investment.
[He gets up and puts his arm around Drake.]
Barry: Besides. I missed you mother fuckers.
Max: We missed you too.
Drake: So what do we do now?
Barry: What do we do? We get on my plane, we go to Jalousie and the ridiculous vacation suite my agency has reserved for us for the week. Only you gotta sleep in the bathroom, Maxy. No room for washed 80’s stars there.
Max: Yeah go to hell…
Barry: We drink till our dicks fall off, you get coffee Macho, and we have some freaking fun!
Drake: What am I gonna do about a match?
Barry: You let the me worry about the business side of things, ok Showtime? You gotta get some rest and heal up that eye ‘cause Barry Goldstein is here to save the day and he’s gonna fix everything. Ok?
Drake: Sure.
Barry: Good, now put this on.
[Barry picks up the white t-shirt that he originally came in with and hands it to Drake.]
Barry: Can’t have you getting any blood on the italian leather seats on the jet, ya know what I’m sayin’?
[Drake takes off his blood stained pink button up and throws on the white t-shirt.]
Barry: You boys ready?
Max: Ready as I’ll ever be.
Drake: Let’s do it.
[The three men head toward the door. Max opens it up and lets Drake and Barry out first. He then closes the light and walks out behind them as the scene cuts out.]
“Campeona. She was beautiful. She was perfect. How could she really have been a figment of my imagination. It doesn’t make sense. I felt her. She was alive. She touched me in a way that no one has before. There was a connection that was too intense to not be real.
I’ve spent days rationalizing all of this in my head. I couldn’t tell Maxy about. I’m too afraid he’d try to lock me up in the loony bin for it. He has to know that I’m still not over it. Who could be? You have the best night of your life, with the most beautiful and perfect women you’ve ever met just to wake up in the morning and she’s gone? I know what you’re gonna say….she’s not real. And you’d probably be right. But still, could you really be over something like that. The feelings I felt were real, whether she was or not.
Did I really just say that? How could the feelings be real if she didn’t exist. Maybe I do belong in the loony bin. Either way, I’m not telling Max OR Barry. Barry has enough to deal with. He’s been on the phone with Erik Staggs for almost two days in a row trying to get me a match. I told him it better be Max Burke. I don’t need nor do I want a shot at his title. I just want to beat the piss out of him. We’ll see. Hopefully Barry can work his magic. In the meantime...Campeona….”
September 19th, 2013 - 2:45 PM - Jalousie, St. Lucia
[The camera fades back in to a beautiful sunny beach in the Jalousie Resort. The beach is packed with locals and vacationers alike. Laying on matching beach chairs are Max and Drake. Drake is laying shirtless, with a blue and white bathing suit and his Ray-ban sunglasses on. His beard now full and the cut above his eye is reduced to a small red line above the eyebrow. He smokes a cigarette and has a fruity looking frozen beverage with a long twisted straw sticking out of it on the table next to it. Max, also shirtless, is wearing a bright red Adidas bathing suit and has his oversized Maui Jim sunglasses sitting across his nose. He too enjoys a cigarette but he has a bottle of water on his beachside table.]
Max: This is nice.
Drake: You ain’t kidding.
[Drake stares down a pair of college girls in bikinis.]
Max: So what’s going on. Gonna see Misty this week?
Drake: What is with you? That’s like the third time you’ve asked me that.
Max: Because it’s good for you to have some companionship.
Drake: I got you and Barry.
Max: Companionship beside an old man and that crazy nutcase agent of yours.
Drake: Misty is just a friend.
Max: So.
Drake: Just drop it ok?
Max: Ok. I’d just like to see you have someone else in your life besides me, that’s all.
Drake: Now that you mention it, I heard from Jenny the other day.
Max: Your sister?
Drake: Yup.
Max: You’re kidding! How is she?
Drake: She’s good. She moved back in with her Mom.
Max: She left the uh…
Drake: The stoner, yeah. About a month ago.
Max: Well, that’s good. Her mom is just up in Bakersfield. That’s only a few hours away.
Drake: I was thinking about going to see her. Hopefully Barry’s working his magic and getting me a match or otherwise I may just fly home tomorrow and go see her.
Max: I’m sure Barry will come through. As much as it pains me to say it, he always does.
[Just then Drake looks to his right to see Barry walking along the beach. He is wearing khaki colored bermuda shorts, a pair of brown leather Sperry’s, a blue and white button up short sleeve shirt, and a big pair of sunglasses. Just under his sunglasses, his nose is covered with white sun screen.]
Max: Speak of the devil.
Drake: What the hell is wrong with this guy?
[Barry, getting closer, starts waving his arms to get their attention. He finally gets over to them and plops down on to the beach chair on the other side of Drake.]
Barry: I’ve been looking for you guys forever.
Drake: Sorry. We’ve been right here. Relaxing and checking out the scenery.
[Drake motions toward the two college girls.]
Barry: Yeah well, I’ve been on the phone with Erik Staggs all morning. Not like you guys have been doing anything productive but I’ve been working this whole time.
Max: And?
Barry: Main event with Damien Kingston. Who loves me?
[Barry throws his hands up in admiration of himself.]
Drake: Who?
Barry: The Liberty guy.
Drake: I have no idea who you’re talking about.
Max: You know the guy who walked out Nick Jones.
Drake: The guy with the tattoos? The arrogant prick?
Max: That’s the one.
Drake: I thought we said Max Burke?
Barry: Couldn’t get him.
Drake: What the fuck? Why not?
Barry: He’s already booked defending his title. Look kid, I got you the main event ok? Three hours ago they didn’t even want to give you a match. Who cares who it’s with. Pay day bitches!
Drake: So let me get this straight. You get two or three matches in SCW, you walk out on one of them, and you’re in the main event. This is exactly what’s wrong with Hot Stuff and that’s why I can’t concede to him. The fans deserve better. Something doesn’t add up there.
Barry: Apparently they were trying to get Kevin Carter back but they couldn’t hammer out all of the details of his deal. Sounds like he needs a better agent.
[Barry winks at Drake.]
Drake: Yeah well, Carter was probably still at home wiping the tears away from losing his title. What a cry baby. Guy like that doesn’t deserve the title in the first place.
Max: So what about this Kingston guy?
Drake: What about him? Sure he’s a tough kid. I’m sure he’ll bring everything that he can and I’m sure it’ll be a tough fight. But that doesn’t matter. If he has to be the one then it’s him. Just like all the rest, I’ll knock ‘em down.
Max: I wouldn’t take this guy lightly, D. I’d say lets hit the film this afternoon.
Drake: Does it really matter, Maxy? I know what guys like this are all about. I’ve seen them a thousand times before. They walk and talk and act like they’re tough guys. They try to pick fights with everyone around them but in reality, they are just insignificant card fillers. The days of “Argh I’m gonna beat you up” are long gone. It doesn’t matter how much breath you waste saying it. You’re just saying the same thing over and over and over again. It’s getting a bit tiring for me.
Max: Still. He’s tough and this isn’t gonna be easy.
Drake: We’re in Sin City Wrestling, Maxy. It’s never going to be easy. Especially when you have guys like Kingston hanging around because they are dangerous. They get their heads filled up when they are in other organizations and they show up here and they actually believe they belong in the main event right away. I’m not saying Kingston isn’t good. I watched his couple of matches, the ones he didn’t walk out on by the way, and he’s tough. His moveset is dangerous in a good way and even though he’s a prick, the crowd enjoys it and that’s always a plus for me. But just because he’s got an over inflated and unwarranted ego doesn’t mean he belongs in the main event.
[Max rubs his head and Barry seems uninvolved in the conversation, still staring at the college girls.]
Max: I wouldn’t think that way, D. You can get surprised that way.
Drake: I don’t want you to misunderstand me, Max. I get it. Kid’s got talent. But because a whiny cry baby couldn’t make the match, he’s in the main event. I don’t know, maybe I’m just angry. I’m freaking pissed it isn’t Max Burke in the ring with me.
Max: I understand. But you got put that personal stuff behind you. You have to rise above Mark Ward and all of his bullshit. It’s time to concentrate on Kingston.
Drake: You’re right.
Barry: So you guys wanna hit that club we saw later?
Max: Sounds good.
Drake: Yeah, maybe later. I got some fill to watch with Max.
Max: Alright. Let’s do it.
[The three men get up and start walking across the beach as the scene fades out.]
”Damien Kingston. The epitome of the new wave of professional wrestling. The indy kid that everyone hates to love. You’ve got the look down, that’s for sure. What is it, 32 tattoos? You preach your beliefs and to a point I respect that. You truly fancy yourself in a way that few others do. You have a message that you believe and that goes a long way with me. You have a purpose. You’re not just some argle bargle pro wrestler who likes to “beat people up.” I won’t underestimate you there.
But you’re still inferior. Not to me. I’m not that full of myself. You’re inferior to everything that my fans stand for. For truth. The truth that you live is a lie. You continue to gobble up your own diarrhea of the mouth like you’re God’s gift to professional wrestling. You speak about liberty as if you know anything about it.
For justice. What do you know of justice? You go unpunished for walking out of a match because you were losing it. You don’t have the stomach to digest the taste of defeat. Instead you’d rather run to the back like a coward and that’s the problem that I have with you. You say you deserve to be in the ring with the best because you truly are the best but I really need to let you in on something. Being the best doesn’t mean winning every match that you are in. Nobody goes undefeated in professional wrestling. Being the best is about weathering that storm. It’s about taking a loss on the chin and moving forward. I lost to Nick Jones too. It sucked but it happens. Two weeks later I fought for the SCW Championship and guess what, I lost that too. It happens and it’s part of the life that we have chose. But to walk out of the ring simply because you couldn’t hang? By definition you don’t belong here.
For liberty. What does the word liberty actually mean to you? To me it means the quality of being free. Freedom from physical restraint and the power of choice. I’m not sure if you really understand it’s true meaning and that’s pretty sad since you brandish the word everywhere. To me it sounds like the only liberty you want to have is to bitch and complain about everything around you without having the balls to get up and do anything about it. You say you are here to change professional wrestling, but instead you’d rather walk out before your match is finished. I know your kind, Damien. And it’s a sad joke of a kind. The kind that makes me feel bad for you.”
September 19th, 2013 - 2:45 PM - Jalousie, St. Lucia
[The scene fades back in to restaurant and bar. The bar is outdoors. The floor is made of concrete and is sunken down a few feet, requiring a small set of steps to enter the area. The bar is made of aging copper, half oxidized and colored green. The tables that surround the dance floor are covered in white tablecloths and surrounded by brass colored chairs with ladder backs. Hug from the surrounding building and flying overhead are multicolored lights, resembling Christmas lights. The place is quite crowded even though it doesn’t look like what you might expect to see in a resort town. The camera catches Drake walking down the steps. He is wearing a light khaki suit with brown leather shoes and bright lavender shirt with an open collar. His belt buckle is rather large and reflects the lights coming down from above. He enters the bar and takes a look around before spotting Barry and Max. Barry is wearing a black velour sport coat with a white open collared shirt and gray slacks. Max is a bit more dressed down. Wearing a button up short sleeved shirt and jeans. Drake makes his way over and takes the seat across from them.]
Barry: Hey, Showtime!
Max: You made it. We we were starting to get worried.
Barry: Yeah. Slim Jim here was about to send out the search and rescue.
[Max chuckles off Barry’s comment.]
Max: You ok, D?
Drake: Yeah, I’m good.
Barry: So what did you think of Kingston when you were watching the film?
Drake: He’s...umm...he’s an attacker. He goes after it pretty good. It’s not gonna be easy that’s for sure.
Barry: Just remember, you get paid more if you win.
[Barry holds up a shot glass and downs the drink.]
Drake: Thanks for reminding me.
Max: So what’s the plan for the rest of the week. You wanna hit the gym tomorrow?
Drake: Sounds good. I was thinking I’d try to get a hold of Hot Stuff.
Max: D-
Drake: I gotta put an end to this nonsense, Maxy. I can’t give him what he wants. I have to go ahead on my own, you know, just us. But there’s got to be something that he wants that’ll get him off my back.
Max: Just be careful with him. He’s a slimey bastard.
Barry: I say join him.
Max: Come on!
Barry: What? You’ve got the boss or at least one of the bosses of the company you work for telling you to join him and he’ll take to the top and you’re turning him down? Doesn’t make any sense to me.
Max: It’s like signing with the devil.
Barry: The devil has feelings to, ya know. All I’m saying is you want that SCW Championship bad, Ward can give it to you. Probably on a silver platter too.
Drake: I can’t. Not him, not now.
Barry: Look, you pay me to make those decisions for you. Let me make the decision. I’ll make the call right now and square this away.
Drake: The answer is no, Barry. I mean that.
Barry: Ok. But the money-
Drake: I mean it.
Max: Let it go, Barry.
Barry: My lips are sealed.
[Barry mimes zipping up his lips.]
Barry: So I gotta tell you about this cute little Asian…
[As Barry starts to tell them about his new girl, Drake starts to pan around the room. He looks around the other tables, taking in the surroundings. The older couple, no doubt celebrating a milestone anniversary. A young couple, possibly a honeymoon. He watches couples as and other as they dance on the dance floor to the french folk music being played by the small band in the corner. As he peers around he notices something familiar in the crowd. A woman. She is wearing a long tight white dress and brown sandals. Her hair is dark and wavy and her skin a beautiful light brown that glistens in the moonlight. She turns her head and smiles at him just before she disappears into the crowd.]
Drake: Campeona..
[He whispers her name and jumps up from the table. Max and Barry call after him but he either ignores them or doesn’t hear them. He makes way over to the dance floor and starts to look around at an almost frantic pace. He sifts through the dancers, peering around them looking for her. He passes by a group of young women who try to incorporate him into their circle but he flashes a quick smile and politely refuses. He continues his search to no avail. She’s gone. Was she another figment of his imagination? Could she be here in St. Lucia? He shakes his head rubs his eyes a bit before realizing that he must have been seeing things. He looks back over to Max and Barry who seem to be in some sort of a heated discussion.
He decides that rather than going back to the table he would just make his way over to the bar and order himself a drink. He walks up to the copper bar and waits a moment for the bartender to come over. The smaller gentlemen walks over, wearing black pants and a bright red vest over his white shirt, and smiles.
Bartender: Hello, sir. How may I help you?
Drake: Just a Johnny sir, black. Please.
Bartender: Of course. One moment.
[Drake rubs his eyes again. He starts to think about Damien Kingston and all the film he had just tried to soak up. He won’t admit it to Max or Barry, but he’s scared. The guy is an animal in the ring and with all of the beatings Drake had been taking lightly, he doesn’t know if his body will live up to the challenge. The bartender comes over and drops off his scotch.]
Drake: Thanks.
[Drake drops a bill on the bar and then takes a long sip of his drink. He puts the glass back on the bar and takes a deep breath, enjoying every last second the scotch goes down his throat. He stares for a minute at his glass, before he is interrupted.]
Misty: Hey there.
[Drake looks over to see Misty standing to his right. She is wearing dark jeans and a dark purple top. He checks her up and a small smile creeps out of his mouth,]
Drake: Hey.
Misty: You, ok?
Drake: Yeah, I’m cool. Just enjoying a cocktail.
Misty: By yourself?
Drake: Unless you’re joining me.
Misty: I can’t. I’m meeting Ruby. I just came down here for a second.
Drake: Ahh, Ruby. Just Ruby?
Misty: Well…
Drake: Tell Max Burke I said hello.
[Drake turns back toward the bar and takes another gulp of his scotch.]
Misty: He’s not that bad.
Drake: Tell that to my face.
Misty: Are you sure you’re ok?
Drake: Yeah, I’m cool.
Misty: We gonna have that dinner?
Drake: How about tomorrow?
Misty: Ok. I’ll see you then.
[Misty leans in and gives Drake an awkward half hug.]
Drake: Goodnight.
Misty: Goodnight.
[Misty turns to leave.]
Drake: Hey wait a second.
[Misty turns back.]
Drake: Why don’t you blow them off? Let’s do that dinner tonight.
Misty: I can’t tonight, I’m sorry. Definitely tomorrow.
Drake: Yeah. Tomorrow.
[Drake feigns a smile.]
Misty: Goodnight.
Drake: Goodnight.
[He holds up his glass as if he is cheersing her and then takes another gulp. He watches her as she walks away and up the stairs. Again he takes a long gulp of his scotch, this time finishing the glass. He puts it back on the bar and motions for the bartender to come over and refill it, which he does. Drake picks up his newly filled glass and turns back around toward the dance floor.]
“Maybe I am just that crazy. Max said I took everything I want in life, the SCW Heavyweight Championship, and rolled into a picture of the perfect woman. I even named her Campeona, the female word for champion. It doesn't make much sense to me but I guess the mind plays funny tricks sometimes. After all, I did have poisonous venom from a scorpian in my body. Who knows? But why can't I get this picture of perfection out of my mind. Maybe Misty was right. Maybe I should stop drinking. Again, who knows?
And then there is Damien Kingston. A main event with a formidable opponent that could very well embarrass me on live television. My ribs aren't fully healed yet, I'm pretty sure I have a concussion, and that cut above my eye isn't healing very well either. On top of all of this, there is Mark Ward. Something that I am going to have to deal with sooner or later. Could Barry be right? Is it worth sacrificing the love of the people to sell out for that seemingly elusive gold belt? Maybe Barry is right. Maybe its worth it. All that money. All that fame. But then what could I say to my people? I could never be right with them again and as silly as that seems, that matters to me.”
[He takes another gulp of his scotch as he peers around the crowd. His eye catches the small group of women who tried to pull him into their dance circle before. He remembers their faces but he can’t quite place them. And then, after a moment and few more sips of his scotch, it hits him. They are the college girls from the beach earlier in the day. He makes eye contact with one of them. A tall blonde with a small waist and an even smaller red dress on. She runs her fingers through her hair and then motions to Drake to come over. He takes a look down to his glass of scotch and ponders for a moment.]
Drake: Fuck it.
[He downs the rest of the glass, drops it on the bar, and heads over to the blonde in the red dress as the camera fades out.]
