"There's no place like home... -Dorothy; from The Wizard of Oz.

---

[The scene fades in to a small office. The walls are old but solid oak with the finish slightly faded. In the dim light we can see the name of the glass door. "Roy Taggart, PI". Behind the desk is hardened looking older gentlemen, who more than slightly resembles Ray Liotta. He stares at the glass door as if he were expecting it to open and after a few moments, sure enough it does. In walks Drake Green. Wearing a black suit with a white shirt and a dark blue tie loose around his open collar. He has a cut on his lip and his hair is a mess; he looks like he's had a rough few days. He takes a step through the door way before Roy Taggart cuts him off.]

Taggart: I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out. You know, after all these years, I almost wanted it to be you.

Drake: I just want to know why, Roy? After everything we've been through...how could you?

[Taggart stands up in an angry burst.]

Taggart: Because I deserved it. I put my blood and sweat and tears into this for years and for what? A lousy paycheck and a handshake? Thanks for coming, Roy, You're a great guy, Roy. You're always dependable, Roy. Well I had enough!

[He shouts at Drake, forcing the former SCW World Heavyweight Champion to step back a foot.]

Taggart: I'm not gonna be anybody's old reliable sidekick anymore.

Drake: What about my father, huh? What about all the years you spent with him. With me? Does that not mean anything to you, Roy? You're willing to throw away our friendship...

[Drake steps a bit closer to him.]

Drake: You're willing to throw everything that my father gave you...for this?

Taggart: YOUR FATHER GAVE ME NOTHING! He gave me a chair to keep warm for you so you can swoop in and get all the glory. So I can be your sidekick like I was his all those years ago. Well it ain't happening, pal. Not anymore. Now I'm only gonna ask one time.

[Taggart stares at him before pulling out a .38 revolver from inside his suit jacket, pointing it straight at Drake.]

Taggart: You're either against me....or you're with me.

[The two exchange a long stare before Drake holds his hands up in the air.]

Drake: It's your play, Roy. But I'll never be with you on this one.

CLICK

[Taggart pulls the hammer back on his gun, still pointing it at Drake.]

Taggart: It's a shame it had to end this way. Sorry, partner.

[He brings his gun up straight but before he can pull the trigger, Drake slips out a 9mm.]

BANG!

[Roy grabs his chest but it's too late. Red blood starts to seep through his white shirt. He falls back onto his chair, dropping the gun to the floor as blood drips from his mouth and his eyes roll back into his head. Still pointing his smoking pistol in Roy's direction, Drake finally lowers his gun and walks toward his fallen friend. He stands over him, holsters his gun, and then nods at Roy's fresh corpse.]

Drake: No....I'm sorry partner.

CUT!

[A loud ringing bell is heard as lights flash in the room.]

Taggart: How'd that look?

[Drake's dead friend now stands up and is alive and well. A man runs over toward them, it is action movie director Michael Bay.]

Bay: That was amazing. I can't believe we got that in one take. I'm gonna need some reaction shots from you Drake but why don't you guys take a break for a minute.

[Drake nods as he walks off what is now clearly a Hollywood movie set.]

July 1st, 2015 - Set of "Jack Hammer 2: The White Rose" Paramount Studios; Hollywood, CA - 3:30 PM

[Drake walks over to wear a man with slicked back blonde hair is standing. Wearing a bright pink shirt under a blue suit with a matching blue tie, Barry Goldstein starts clapping and smiling as Drake walks up to him.

Barry: Bravo! Bravo! I think we got a statue in your future, kid.

[Drake shrugs his shoulders as brushes past Barry and grabs a bottle of water that is sitting on a counter behind him.]

Drake: Yeah...maybe a Razzy.

Barry: What are you kidding me? This thing has little golden man written all over it, Champ.

Drake: Yeah, right. You don't win Oscars with terrible dialogue and no plot. And don't call me that any more.

Barry: Don't call you Champ? You are the Champ.

[Drake shakes his head.]

Drake: No, I'm not. I'm an actor in a shitty movie.

Barry: Drake...what's going on with you?

Drake: I just...

[Drake looks around the room the large Paramount set.]

Drake: Look, I like doing the movies and everything. I really do. But this just isn't it for me right now.

Barry: What the fuck, kid? You can't just walk off this fucking set.

Drake: No one said anything about walking off the set, Barry. I honor my commitments. It's just...I want to-

[Barry cuts him off.]

Barry: Oh no...not back-

[Drake, in return, cuts him off.]

Drake: Yes, Barry. I want back in.

Barry: Drake...I'm sorry...but there is no way Mark Ward is gonna come around. I mean last time I called him he said rather let me fuck him in the ass with a large orange traffic cone than resign Drake Green. I mean...I'm sorry, kid.

[Drake smiles.]

Drake: He said that?

Barry: Well I may have used my own words but the point is the same. He's not gonna do it, Champ.

Drake: I have faith you'll figure it out. Call Christian, he's a nice guy.

SLAP

[Drake slaps Barry on the shoulder and starts to walk back toward the set.]

Barry: Drake?

Drake: Just do it, Barry. Just get it done. That's where I wanna be.

[Drakes walk back on the set as Barry pulls out a small vile, twists it open, and quickly blows a bump of cocaine up his knows. As soon as he does he frantically covers it up and looks around to make sure no one saw him. And then he mutters under his breath.]

Barry: Not a fucking chance that happens...

[He looks over to Drake who is now filming again as the scene fades out.]

---

"You and I have been here before, Casey. More than once. Actually, more than twice. And each time the result is the same. I'm not sure why Mark Ward chose you as my first opponent but to be completely honest, I couldn't care less. It doesn't matter who gets in that ring with me. It doesn't matter if I win or lose. What matters is the show. What matters is how entertained the SCW Universe is. You and I have a history, a history that seems to be repeating itself. Years ago you flocked to the side of another corrupt, sleazy, piece of shit boss named JJ Dixon. You catered to his every need, enjoying your time as his hired muscle. You relished the idea of being his chosen one. The hand picked to star to carry his ACW World title, and what Happened? You lost."

"I don't hate you, Casey. I really don't. I know that deep down inside somewhere there is a good man just hoping and wishing to break free. I can see that hidden in your eyes. But for some reason, you continuously make terrible choices. You keep backing the wrong guy and you keep coming up short. This time won't be any different, Mr. Williams. It's not because I need to win to prove a point or that I need this for the fans, because I don't. You're going to lose this Sunday in Uruguay because evil never wins. You chose the your side of the line, my friend, and just like every time before...it was the wrong side."

---

July 20th, 2015 - Outside of Bakersfield, CA - 10:00 AM

[The scene sets in outside of a run down looking cement building. It has over grown shrubbery around it and a gravel driveway leading up to it through what seems like a heavily wooded area. A Ford pick-up truck comes pulling up the driveway as it stops in front a short, black haired woman, wearing a tight black t-shirt and blue jeans hops out. Her arms are covered with tattoos and eyes are as blue as the sky. She is Jenny Green. Around from the other side of the pick-up truck comes Drake, wearing a red and black flannel button up over a white v-neck t-shirt and faded blue jeans. He walks up next to her and smiles.]

Drake: Well?

Jenny: Well what?

Drake: I just bought it.

Jenny: What do you mean?

Drake: What do you mean, what do I mean? I just bought this place. Closed on it yesterday.

Jenny: Isn't it like, condemned?

[She has a genuine look of concern and worry on her face but Drake just laughs it off.]

Drake: No it's not condemned, man. Here check it out.

[He walks toward the door and unlocks, holding it open for Jenny to walk through.]

Jenny: Umm...I'd rather not.

Drake: Just go inside.

[She begrudgingly listens to her older brother. As she walks in she notices the place looks almost as run down as the outside. There is an old boxing gym in the middle of the wide open floor with some beat up gym equipment in one corner and some lockers in another.]

Jenny: What is this place?

Drake: It's an old boxing gym. Some former World Champ used to own it but it's been abandoned for a while. There's an apartment in the back.

Jenny: Apartment? You can't be serious, Drake. You can't live here.

Drake: Why not?

Jenny: This place is a dump.

Drake: Look just go check out the apartment.

[Her eyes glare at him.]

Jenny: Do I have to?

Drake: Just go.

[He points at the hallway next to all of the lockers. She hesitantly heads in that direction. The hallway is long and narrow but the paint is noticeably brighter and more well maintained the rest of the place she has seen so far. After a couple of turns, they come to a large medal door.]

Jenny: What is this a bunker?

Drake: This is my favorite part.

[Drake puts another key into the high security lock and opens the door. As they walk in, the lights turn on automatically. Jenny's eyes widen as she looks around.]

Jenny: Wow.

[Nestled in the back of the third-world looking gym is a state of the art, ridiculously expensive looking condo.]

Jenny: Are you kidding me?

[Drake laughs.]

Drake: I told you a former world Champion lived here.

Jenny: Was it Floyd Mayweather? Jesus, Drake...

Drake: See why I bought it out now. Just needs some updates out there and it's perfect.

Jenny: Are you gonna turn the gym out there into a part hall or something.

[She giggles.]

Jenny: What the hell are you gonna do with that huge space anyway?

Drake: I figured I'm just gonna clean it up and use it to train. Add a proper wrestler ring in there and add some Crossfit stuff.

Jenny: You gonna find any time between all these movies you keep making, Superstar?

[She smiles and punches him the arm playfully. Drake half smiles at her and then gets very serious.]

Drake: Nope. No more movies.

Jenny: Oh no...gonna be a hermit up here in the woods?

Drake: No, Jen. I'm going back.

Jenny: To SCW? That dude fucking hates you. He's never gonna give you a new deal. You said so yourself.

Drake: I know...

[He rubs his slightly over grown beard.]

Drake: But I don't care. I'm gonna find a way. It's where I belong. It's where I need to be.

[The scene cuts to black.]

 November 29th, 2014 - Drake Green’s Penthouse Condo; Las Vegas, NV - 9:00 PM

[The scene fades in with Drake Green cooking in his marble countertop kitchen. He seems noticeably overwhelmed as he tries to stir some shrimp that is in a frying pan. He takes a sip out of a beer bottle as he wipes some flour off of his dark blue button up shirt thats rolled up at the sleeves. He’s wearing a pair of faded blue jeans with a white belt, and a pair of older Chuck Taylor sneakers; much more casual than we are used to seeing him. There’s a buzz at the front door and Drake picks up his head from the stove. He takes one last sip of his beer before tossing it in the garbage can. He sniffs the air above the stove and takes in his humble attempt at a romantic dinner, checking on it before he goes to the door. He walks around the corner, out of the kitchen, and down the hallway. On his way he places a Listerine patch on his tongue and then fixes his messy hair in the hallway mirror. He smiles at himself before opening the door and seeing his date for the evening, Liz Smalls.]

Drake: Hi.

[He flashes his bright green eyes at her in an almost cheesy way.]

[Liz smiles, sneaking in as Drake held the door open. Liz was wearing a classy black dress, with matching heels. Her bright blonde hair was a startling contrast to the dress. A flower was tucked in her hair. The ‘Coast 2 Coast Covergirl’ sat her Chanel bag down on the coffee table in the living room, looking around.]

Liz: This is a nice place. Oh em gee, did you decorate yourself?

[The bombshell admires the artwork and other trinkets that line the walls and shelves in Drake’s home. Drake chuckles a bit.]

Drake: I wish I had this kind of taste. The realtor suggested a decorator that she uses.

[He makes his way back over to the stove and stirs the shrimp thats sitting in the pan atop the gas ‘Viking’ range. He looks back up at Liz and smiles again.]

Drake: Did you want something to drink? Wine or anything?

Liz: You do know I’m only 20, right?

[Liz sits down on the couch, crossing her legs as she does.]

Liz: Oh! When I used to go out with Delia, we would buy out VIP and I’d drink my ‘juice’. So I can totally handle some wine, but...its up to you.

[Drake has a bit of a surprised look on his face.]

Drake: Actually I had no idea. The way you carry yourself, you’re so mature.

[He rolls his eyes slightly without her noticing and then makes his way around the giant island in the kitchen and over to where Liz is sitting.]

Drake: Do you want to pick a bottle? They’re over there.

[He points to a giant wine fridge built in inside of his living room. Liz stands up, walking over to get a better view of it. The selection is incredible, most of which Liz has never even heard of.]

Liz: Hmmm, how about you pour me a glass of whatever would make me feel...good.

[She giggles playfully, walking over to a mirror in the living room, fixing her hair, observing her makeup. She reaches up, pulling the flower out of her hair and sitting it on the stand holding the mirror.]

Liz: So, Drake, what’s the deal? Back when I was doing promotional stuff with you for Barry, you acted like I was an annoying little brat. Now you want to wine and dine me?

Drake: I make it a point to not…”shit where I eat” so to speak. Barry is not only my best friend he’s also my agent. I wouldn’t wanna put him into a situation where it could get...complicated. Red or white?

[Drake heads for the wine fridge.]

Liz: White is fine please.

[Drake pours her a glass, handing it to her. Liz holds it up, staring at it. Drake pours himself a glass next.]

Liz: Is this gonna taste good or am I gonna gag?

[Drake can’t help but smile at her as her naivety makes her cute in an almost helpless kind of way.]

Drake: Honestly, I have no idea. But if it does...we can open every bottle in there until we find one you like, deal?

Liz: Deal!

[Liz smiles, standing up and clanking glasses with Drake. She takes a quick drink, sipping it carefully as it goes down smoothly.]

Liz: Mmmm. Thats really good.

[She takes another sip before sitting back on the couch.]

Liz: Join me?

[He looks over at the shrimp on the stove and then turns back towards Liz.]

Drake: Sure.

[He walks over to the couch and sits a few inches away from her. He can’t help but check out her legs as he sits across from her. He runs his hand through his hair before taking another sip of wine.]

Drake: So tell me something about Liz Smalls I don’t know. Something I can’t read about in a magazine or in one of your…

[He does air quotes.]

Drake:...Liz Facts.

[He smiles as he takes another sip awaiting her response.]

Liz: Hmmm, there’s alot that nobody knows about me.

[She takes a sip of her wine before sitting the glass down on the table in front of her.]

Liz: I guess something nobody really see’s is that alot of the stuff said about me really bothers me. I know I haven’t always been, um, perfect. I’ve made alot of mistakes but so do most other 19-20 year old girls who have been spoiled their entire lives.

[She looks down at her manicured hands in her lap.]

Liz: Sometimes I want to just slap everyone and tell them to leave me alone, but then...I’d look weak if I gave in, right?

[He tilts his head as if he’s taken back by the deep response. He sets his glass of wine down on the reclaimed wood table in front of them, just inches away from hers, and crosses his legs as he angles his body toward her.]

Drake: No, you wouldn’t. Something I’ve learned is that no matter what “they” think...you’ve got to get that emotion out. That feeling…

[He taps himself on his heart.]

Drake:...it doesn’t go away on it’s own.

Liz: I guess you’re right, but, doesn’t make it any easier. When you are as...um, how do I put this?

[Liz contemplates the word choices in her head.]

Liz: Popular as I am, people will always say something negative. Like, I’ve been called a quitter because I left SCW because of my concussion. The same one’s who call me a quitter don’t realize or understand that I’m extra careful because my daddy died in a ring. I don’t want that to happen to me, Drake.

[The Covergirl looks down, a smile on her face as she continues talking, but its not because she’s happy, more to mask her emotions.]

Liz: Whatever. They’re idiots anyway.

[Drake nearly knocks over both glasses of wine when he hears what Liz just said.]

Drake: What do you mean your dad died in a ring?

[Liz notices the sudden change in Drake’s demeanor.]

Liz: Well...my daddy was wrestling in Cali and, I was home in bed. My daddy never lived with us, so I had no idea he was even wrestling that night, I didn’t even know what wrestling was. I was only 3 at the time.

[She leans back against the back of the couch, inhaling a deep breath, fighting through the nerves.]

Liz: Anyway, he had a match and...at the end, his opponent punched him in the chest.

[She pauses again, fighting back tears, but not wanting to look emotionally unstable around Drake, especially since this is the first time they’ve spent time together away from a business setting.]

Liz: My daddy went down, and he never got up. The referee stopped the match, and medic people tried to help, but there was nothing they could do. His heart had literally stopped in the ring, in front of hundreds of people. They all saw my daddy die…

[Drake immediately grabs his glass of wine and pounds the rest of it, trying to hide the haunting expression on his face. He stands up and beelines toward the bottle resting on the kitchen island. He fills his glass and with his back turned to Liz, takes a huge breath and exhales. He turns back to her.]

Drake: I had no idea. That must’ve been tough.

[Liz picks up her own glass, taking another drink.]

Liz: It was. The worse thing is I was so young, that I barely remembered him. My mommy never even told me what happened to him for the longest time. She just acted like he disappeared, so I grew up resenting him, thinking he left me or something.

[She stands up, walking into the kitchen, looking at the shrimp sizzling before turning back towards Drake, walking closer to him. Her perfume is intoxicating as she stands right in front of him.]

Liz: Didn’t realize you cared so much. You looked pretty freaked out when I told you about my daddy.

[Drake is almost speechless.]

Drake: I..umm..I don’t even know. I...My father died in the ring when I was seven.

Liz: Wait, are you serious?

[Liz stares at Drake, reading the confused expression on his face.]

Liz: What happened Drake?

Drake: He...he was in a tag match and these guys just…

[Drake takes another huge sip of wine.]

Drake: They were aggressive and...his neck broke. They said it was instantaneous.

[He finishes the rest of the glass before pouring more and topping off Liz’s glass.]

Drake: Wow, this got deep pretty quick, huh?

Liz: Drake, I’m sorry. I had no idea.

[Liz takes a bigger drink than normal, sitting her glass down on the island in the kitchen. She then takes Drake’s glass from him, sitting it next to hers.]

Liz: Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get the shrimp ready for us?

[Drake stares into her eyes. He thinks for a moment about how he expected this night to start off, and end, and how that couldn’t be further from how it’s actually playing out. He places his hand on top of hers and smiles at her.]

Drake: No. I have never cooked for a girl before. I got this.

[He smiles again and she smiles back.]

Drake: But you can stay right there while I finish if you want.

Liz: Well, okies. I’m not the best cook anyway honestly. Betcha didn’t know that about me either.

[Liz giggles, walking across the kitchen floor, her heels clanking. She seats herself at the table, looking down at the expensive plate and silverware in front of her.]

Liz: I’m not too hungry, I’m actually a little nervous. Yasss I’m nervous.

[Liz realizes she left her wine glass on the island and sighs.]

Liz: Can you get my wine for me pleeeease? I left it on the island and I don’t feel like getting up right now. I probably shouldn’t have wore heels to a dinner at someone’s house.

[She giggles again, but its Liz...she has to always put out this image, the high class, expensive taste, spoiled Covergirl image. The dress, heels, and expensive handbag tie into that image.]

Drake: Sure.

[He gently grabs her glass of wine by the stem and walks it over to Liz and sets it down in front of her.]

Drake: You look great. I mean...great. But if you’re not comfortable...you’ll look great barefoot too.

[He winks at her as he walks back over to the stove.]

Liz: Is your floor super clean? I wouldn’t wanna mess up my pedi. Do you know how much my pedi’s cost?

[And this is probably the Liz Smalls he was expecting. He responds without looking back to her.]

Drake: The lady comes every morning and charges me $100 so it better be clean. Oops.

[As he stirs the shrimp he realizes that he burnt the hell out of his dinner.]

Drake: Umm...you like take out?

Liz: What about shrimp???

[Liz stands up, slowly reaching down and removing her heels, sitting them at the bottom of the island in the kitchen. She walks over to look at the shrimp and see’s what Drake was talking about, and pouts.]

Liz: Buuut I can’t eat take out. Mommy always told me I could get fat if I eat stuff like that.

[Drake turns to her. He looks her up and down and then moves a bit of her hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear.]

Drake: It would take A LOT of take out…

[He picks up his glass of wine and takes another large sip and then swirls the wine around in the glass.]

Drake: Can I tell you a secret?

Liz: Mmmhm!

[Liz replies matter of factly.]

Liz: I’m like the best at keeping secrets! I didn’t even tell anyone that Tessa used to fart in public when Mean Girls would do appearances.

[Liz, realizing she spilled the secret, puts a manicured hand over her mouth as if to say ‘oooops’. Drake can’t help but let out a laugh.]

Drake: Ok, my secrets not that bad. I don’t know a god damn thing about wine. That thing was here when I bought the place and I just filled it up ‘cause I thought it would make me look more sophisticated or something.

Liz: THAT’s your secret?

[She laughs, and finishes the rest of her glass, feeling it a little since its been awhile since she’s drank. She sits the glass down.]

Liz: Well, you have good taste. Hashtag...Liz Fact.

[A laugh slips out again and he’s actually surprised he’s laughing at that and having a good time with Liz. He takes a deep breath.]

Drake: Why did you agree to come here? I mean, I gotta be honest...I have a pretty bad reputation with SCW Bombshells…

Liz: Honestly...wait, we should probably sit down first. My head is spinning a little.

[Liz grabs Drake’s arm, over-dramatizing it a bit in typical Liz fashion as he helps her over to the couch. They both sit down and Liz giggles.]

Liz: Okies...thankies. Sorry, I’m feeling that wine a little bit. But um…

[She pauses]

Liz: I came because, why not? You’re a successful, attractive, smart guy and I had time to kill in Vegas. Okies, I’m lying, I wanted to make sure I stayed out of trouble while I’m here. I wasn’t the um...most innocent bombshell when I worked here. I got into some incidents at the clubs and I kinda wanna avoid that this time. But, what about you and Misty? Give me the juicy details because I can’t stand that gremlin.

[Drake stares down for a moment and then looks up at Liz.]

Drake: There’s not much to tell.

[He leans back on the couch.]

Drake: We tried it and it just didn’t work.

Liz: So what about the other bombshells? I didn’t really hear much about your bad reputation with them. Spill it!

[Drake gets a little flustered which is highly unusual for the over-confident former Heavyweight Champion.]

Drake: I’ve done some things I’m not proud of. With people I’m not proud of but…

[He looks in her eyes.]

Drake: You have really nice eyes.

[He quickly tries to change the subject.]

Liz: Thankies!!!

[Liz almost on cue, batts her eyes at the compliment.]

Liz: When I was little, I did a lot of commercials but none for my eyes really. I did hair and toothpaste commercials. Now, I have my own nail polish. Maybe I should do commercials for eye-wear or something.

[She giggles, patting his lap with her hand.]

Liz: You have...nice facial hair. I like the stubble, rough look...you can pull it off.

Drake: It’s complete laziness. No thought of style was put into it at all.

[He cracks a smile.]

Drake: Can you believe they want me to grow a mustache for this movie?

Liz: JUST a mustache thingy???

[Drake laughs.]

Drake: YES! I told Barry I’d up his cut if he gets them to let me drop it. I do not want my face on a million posters with a mustache.

Liz: Yassss thats GA-ROSS! You HAVE to get them to drop that.

[She laughs, also leaning back now, kicking her feet up onto his coffee table, without asking.]

Liz: Sooo, since we’re not eating now, thanks to you being a worse cook than me, tell me about yourself. What don’t I know about you? I already told you something about me!

[Drake finishes off his glass and again leans back on the couch, lifting his feet up on to the table and setting his Chuck Taylor’s next to Liz’s bare feet.]

Drake: What do you want to know...I’ll tell you anything you want.

Liz: Well, how did you get where you are? I was raised in entertainment. I started off competing in beauty pageants as a little girl, and was noticed by agents, which lead to commercials and photoshoots and then Maybelline and now wrestling.

[Liz, saying all of that in one breath quickly, takes time to suck in a deep gulp of air, smiling after.]

Liz: You have to have a story behind the success.

Drake: It’s always been about the wrestling. After my dad passed away my brother and I were raised by his best friend and tag team partner Max. We were a tag team and then..

[Drake pauses for a second and leans forward. His eyes water for a moment before he realizes it and he catches himself. He clears his throat and then looks up and over at Liz.]

Drake: I haven’t had an easy life. My brother passed away about eight years ago now. It’s been….not easy. And then Max just this summer. You know I have a sister who lives with her mom in California but...it’s kind of lonely. I think that’s why I just shut down around people sometimes. Everyone knows Mr. Showtime but that’s not me, you know? It’s an act. It’s a job.

[Even as Drake tries hiding his emotions, Liz can pick up on them. She gives his leg a gentle rub.]

Liz: I understand, believe me. So many people look at us, and they think we’re invincible or something because we wrestle, but, at the end of the day, we’re normal people too. Well, not normal, I’d never be BASIC...but you know what I mean.

[She laughs, hoping her joke can help him cheer up a little.]

Liz: I’m really sorry about your brother, and your family life though. Its hard to enjoy life when you lose people that mean so much to you. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your brother?

[Drake lets out a deep exhale.]

Drake: It was a car accident. He was on his way home from a barbecue on the Fourth of July, meeting some producers for some action movie. If you thought I’m good looking you shouldve seen this guy. He had that look...that Hollywood look. It’s a shame...he was my best friend in the world.

Liz: I’m sorry...but, you know he would be proud of you, right? I mean look at you. Drake Green, former world champion, movie star, the talk of Vegas. How could he NOT be proud?

[Drake stares at his empty glass of wine for what seems like a long moment. He turns to Liz with a look on his face like he just thought of something.]

Drake: Hey...you wanna know something about me that nobody around here knows?

[Liz notices him stare at the empty glass and takes it upon herself to get up, and bring the bottle that Drake had previously opened over to the couch. She hands the bottle to him, before walking to the island to retrieve her empty glass. She returns to the couch, kicking her feet back up on the coffee table and holding her glass towards him.]

Liz: Fill me up please…

[As Drake pours them both a glass, she smiles, sipping it.]

Liz: Now, go ahead and tell me what nobody else knows!

[He finishes pouring, finishing the bottle, and then takes a quick sip.]

Drake: I am a classically trained ballroom dancer.

[Liz was in the middle of a sip and nearly lost it at Drake’s revelation. She puts a hand over her mouth and swallows before laughing.]

Liz: YOU...a ballroom dancer? You’re kidding, right?

[Drake chuckles.]

Drake: Nope. I would totally dominate Dancing With the Stars.

[He takes another sip.]

Liz: Thats actually pretty funny, I’d totally pay to see it.

[She glances straight ahead of her, looking at her feet and then his Chuck’s right next to her.]

Liz: I’ve actually learned alot about you tonight. Like, never have you cook me dinner again or I’ll starve.

[They both chuckle, and turn their attention to each other.]

Liz: And that you have alot more to you than just being the handsome wrestler/actor guy thingy.

[Drake stares at her for a second. He looks over her golden hair and supple lips and bites his bottom lip.]

Drake: How much would you pay?

Liz: Hmmmm let me think…

[She puts a finger on her chin, pondering the question playfully.]

Liz: I think I would pay around...i don’t know, the cost of the burnt shrimp you wasted. Oh, and I’d even include however much this bottle of wine costs because we totally like...killed it.

[She giggles and closes her eyes for a few seconds before opening them.]

Drake: Deal.

[He hops up off of the couch and darts over to his stereo. He clicks a couple things on his iPod and within seconds, Salsa music starts playing throughout the speakers in the living room. He walks back over to the couch and holds his hand out to Liz.]

Liz: Wait, you said YOU were going to dance. We didn’t say anything about me!

[Liz doesn’t have much of a choice as Drake lifts her off the couch by her hand. He pulls her close to him as she looks up into his eyes.]

Liz: I love to dance, but you DO know I’m a little um….whats the word when you feel lightheaded after you drink?

Drake: Beautiful?

Liz: Yassss! I think thats it...I’m beautiful.

[Liz rubs her eyes with her free hand, feeling a little sleepy, but the music pumping through the room is enough to wake anyone up.]

Liz: So, do I still have to pay you now, or is that like...not gonna happen because you’re making me dance too?

Drake: I haven’t made my mind up yet.

[Drake swings her around as they dance and then he pulls her in close as the music slows down to a more sensual beat. He runs her hand down his back and looks at her. Again he looks at her lips and then into her eyes. He leans in closer so his lips are just in front of hers.]

Liz: Drake?

[She stares at his lips, her pouty, glossed lips quiver a little as she stares at him.]

Drake: I…

[He shakes his head back and forth ever so slightly and then shuts his eyes as he presses his lips against hers, hoping for the best. After a few moments of kissing, Liz pulls away slowly, letting go of his hand, her cheeks sport a rosy shade to them.]

Liz: Umm...wh---what just happened?

[The slightly buzzed Covergirl looks down nervously, wiping her lips. Drake scratches his head a bit as if he’s confused himself.]

Drake: Actually, I’m not sure.

[He comes to his senses and shakes his head back and forth.]

Drake: I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. It’s just the wine and the dancing, and your lips are just sooo...I’m sorry.

Liz: I should probably get going now...I think its late.

[Liz looks around for her heels, forgetting where she sat them down at.]

[Drake hurries over toward the kitchen island.]

Drake: They’re umm...right here.

[He picks them up and walks them over to her. He stares at the floor for a moment before looking back up at her.]

Drake: You don’t have to go.

Liz: Well, we have a long day of shopping ahead of us tomorrow, right?

[Liz holds her heels in her hands, not yet slipping them back on.]

Liz: I don’t know if I should be driving back to my hotel though. Do you...um, have someone that could drive me, maybe? Possibly?

[She asks, avoiding eye contact.]

Drake: I do have this..you know...title match tomorrow too. I could drive you...but...I don’t want to.

[He immediately thinks that came out wrong.]

Drake: No I mean I would totally drive you...if you wanted me to...I just…

[He stares in her innocent, puppy dog eyes.]

Drake: I don’t want you to go.

Liz: I guess I could stay for a little while longer, but...no more dancing.

[She giggles, dropping her heels to the floor, clanking the ground hard as they fall.]

Liz: Oooops!

[She giggles again]

Liz: I have that battle royal thingy tomorrow too, even though everyone in SCW hates me and thinks I’m annoying. Ma...maybe I could just, take the couch tonight? I don’t think its smart for either one of us to drive. You’ve drank even more than I have.

Drake: Not everyone hates you, you know.

[He picks her heels up and walks them over to the island, this time setting them right on the marble top.]

Drake: I can sleep on the couch. Or there’s a futon thing in the other room but I don’t think I’d wish that on anyone. You can sleep in my room.

[Liz yawns, shuffling back over to the couch and plopping down next to her Chanel bag.]

Liz: Nooo, its okies, really. I can totally fall asleep here. I would have to go back to my room in the morning though before we go shopping so I can get all pretty before I go out in public.

[Drake sits down next to her again.]

Drake: A...you’re not sleeping on the couch. B…

[He takes her hand and looks in her eyes again.]

Drake: You don’t have to go anywhere to get pretty.

Liz: You say that now, but trust me...when I wake up in the morning it’ll look like I have a birds nest on my head.

[Liz laughs at her own joke, squeezing his hand.]

Liz: Do you say that to all of the girls you bring over? That they’re already pretty. How many bombshells have you used that line on?

[Drake looks at her with a crooked smile.]

Drake: Can I tell you another secret?

Liz: Mmmhm

[Drake leans in close to her.]

Drake: I’ve never brought anyone else here before.

[He looks into her eyes and again, gets distracted by her lips. He bites his lower lip again for the thousandth time as he inches closer her to again almost uncontrollably. Liz, doesn’t notice his face getting closer to her.]

Liz: I don’t know if I believe you...you said yourself that you have a reputation with the bombshells. There’s no way I’m the only one you’ve brought over!

[She shifts on the couch, pulling her legs off the coffee table and tucking her feet under her as the dress tightens up due to her position.]

Drake: That’s a fair assessment but...I never lie. I may do really dick things. But I never lie...ever.

[He looks her in the eye.]

Drake: Your turn. I’m pretty sure I’ve told you every dark secret I’ve got.

Liz: Okies, you want dark?

[She takes a deep breath before exhaling, untucking her legs again. She leans in closer to Drake, resting her head on his shoulder, yawning.]

Liz: The only reason I married Sebby was so that he wouldn’t be deported back to France. I loved him, cared for him...but he asked me to marry him, otherwise he would be deported. I knew how much he loved this country, so... I did it. Then it kinda just worked...for awhile. Until he ended up getting back in touch with his ex, and asking me for a divorce. Now, I think he’s going back to France anyway to be with her, and I had to pay him in our divorce settlement. Soooo frustrating.

Drake: The fucking French, man.

[Drake chuckles.]

Drake: Not that I’ve been married or divorced but I have a step mom who...is just an idiot. She can’t take care of herself let alone my sister so I basically have an alimony payment to her every month.

Liz: Isn’t that like...crazy? We work hard for our money and then people just wanna take it away. And then I look like I’m greedy when I demand big money to wrestle somewhere, but nobody knows what the cost of living is for me and my family! We’re accustomed to a certain way of life.

[Liz takes her head off of Drake’s shoulder, looking him in the eye.]

Liz: Why am I the bad person all the time? Like, seriously!

Drake: You’re not a bad person. It still blows my mind how much money I make. I used to make $25 a match...and that wasn’t even that long ago. Two years ago I was broke...like sleeping in bus stations in New Jersey broke. Paramount pictures handed me a check for two million dollars the other day. It’s just insane to me.

Liz: 2 million dollars? Thats crazy. I’m not getting near that for my new movie I’m about to start filming!

Drake: That’s only half.

[Drake laughs.]

Drake: I’m sorry..that was mean. We can call Barry if you want….

Liz: Funny. He hasn’t taken my calls in months. I don’t know what his problem is. I think I was getting into too much trouble in Vegas and he kind of washed his hands of me. Whatever, his loss.

[She exudes confidence in her words, but one look in her face and you can tell she’s still bothered over her manager parting ways with her. Drake touches her chin and pulls her face in his direction.]

Drake: Hey...you’re a star. Remember that. People pay a lot of money to see you...don’t let that get lost on you. But with that comes the responsibility of putting on the show. It’s important.

Liz: Trust me, thats something I never forget. If I live off of my looks, or my reputation, I’ll fade away and somebody else will step up and take my spot. I’m not ready for that.

[She yawns]

Liz: And since I’m not ready for that, I think I should get some sleep. I have to be well rested for that battle royal tomorrow. I hate those kind of matches though. Its so chaotic and there’s a chance I could break a nail. Ugh.

[She reaches up, brushing the hair out of her face.]

Liz: But, my name is on the poster, right? I made an agreement to be there, so I wanna do my best.

Drake: Just remember...everyone else in that ring doesn’t matter. In a battle royal..just have fun. You have fun and you just might win. And if you’re lucky...I’ll actually buy you dinner instead of trying, and failing massively, to cook for you.

[Liz smiles, she’s thoroughly enjoyed the night, though, she may not admit it. Not yet at least.]

Liz: Well, how about you go grab me a blanket and I’ll sleep here? I see a video game thingy over there, you can play games or something while I sleep.

[Drake shakes his head.]

Drake: If I have to fight you...you’re not sleeping on this couch. Come on...I’ll give you a pair of sweats and you can take the bed and then I don’t have to be creepy and play video games while you sleep.

Liz: Fiiiiiine! I’m too tired to fight you...even though I would totally win!

[Liz laughs, standing up from the couch, picking up her Chanel bag as the scene fades out.]

 
Sex, Lies, and Wrestling Tape

---

“The most common lie is that which one lies to himself; lying to others is relatively an exception.” –Friedrich Nietzsche

---

September 20th, 2014 – Bouchon Bistro; Las Vegas, Nevada – 10:00 AM

[The scene fades in to an outdoor section of a local Las Vegas brunch spot, The Bouchon Bistro. Seated across from one another are Drake Green and Misty. Misty is wearing her hair up in a messy-but-cute bun on top of her head, which compliments her white long sleeve t-shirt and black Rayban sunglasses. The opaque tint of her designer eyewear provides a stark contrast to her somewhat pale complexion. She picks up a large mug full of tea and takes a sip as she stares across the plastic table at the SCW Heavyweight Champion. Drake is wearing a dark grey v-neck sweater over a white t-shirt, covering himself up a bit on the unseasonably chilly September morning. His hair is in his usual makeshift messy faux-hawk although it appears a bit more greasy than usual. His face is unshaven and looks as though it has been for quite sometime. On top of his nose sits a pair of expensive looking Lacoste sunglasses, shielding his eyes from the bright Vegas sun and defending them in their delicate, hung over state, which he is desperately trying to hide from Misty.

Drake pans around the rather packed outdoor patio, taking in the local scenery. He looks down and Misty’s slightly bandage hands and he finally brings it up.]

Drake: So are you gonna tell me what happened or…

[Misty tries to act like she’s not sure of what Drake talking about.]

Misty: What do you mean?

[Drake flashes half of a smile and points toward her hands.]

Drake: What did you do to your hands?

Misty: Nothing.

Drake: Nothing?

Misty: I was just fooling around with Eden and…really it was nothing. Are you feeling ok? You don’t look too good.

[Drake immediately drops the topic as he goes in to somewhat of an internal panic mode. He’s trying frantically to hide the morning-after-bing-drinking sweat coming down his brow and he double checks with his tongue to make sure the half-a-dozen Listerine strips he shoved in his mouth before he picked her up were still holding down their end of the bargain. He nervously smiles across the table at her and pushes his expensive sunglasses up the bridge of his nose.]

Drake: What do you mean?

Misty: I don’t know, have you been sleeping? I know with Max gone-

[He interrupts her.]

Drake: I’m good, one hundred percent.

Misty: Okay…if you need to talk or anything-

[He interrupts her again.]

Drake: Really, I’m good. You don’t have to worry.

[She stars back at him across the cheap plastic outdoor table and can’t help but smile at him. She removes her hands from her mug of Earl Grey and sets them in his. The warmth still lingering in her fingers emanates in to his hands and he can’t avoid smiling back at her.]

Misty: I need to tell you something.

[Drake’s smile fades a bit.]

Drake: Okay…

Misty: I’ve thought long and hard about what you said to me that night in Yuma, before Violent Conduct and I owe you an apology.

Drake: For what?

Misty: For not responding to you. I was shocked in the moment and I just couldn’t think of the words. You caught me off guard and for me to not say anything…

[She stops herself, sniffling a bit, and then continues.]

Misty: It was cruel.

Drake: Look-

[This time it is her cutting him off.]

Misty: Of course I love you, Drake Green. I’ve loved you since the night you sat next to me on that beach. I may not have known it yet; my brain probably couldn’t process it with all of the shit that I was dealing with but my heart knew. The heart always knows.

[His smile returns.]

Misty: These past few months have been the happiest I’ve been in a long time and to know that you’re finally able to be open and honest with me is the greatest gift you could possibly give me. I know how hard you’ve worked to stay sober and let’s be honest…

[She giggles a bit.]

Misty: …you have women throwing themselves at you constantly and to know that you have that love inside of you to ignore them…to be committed to me…there’s no better feeling. You make me happy, Drake…and I’m so grateful for that.

[Drake stares back at her. He looks in to her eyes and processes everything she just said to him. He thinks about how everything she just said isn’t true. He isn’t sober, he had his last drink about twenty minutes before picking her up this morning while he was parked in a gas station parking lot. He’d been out nearly all night with Barry Goldstein drinking and doing God knows what else. Drake certainly doesn’t know because he can’t remember half of the evening thanks to the excessive amount of alcohol and painkillers he put in to his body over the course of the past twelve hours. Sober? Drake isn’t even sure if he knows what that word really means.

He looks back at her thinking about the love that she just professed to him and he can’t help but think about the passionate night he spent with Delia Darling in Yuma, Arizona just days prior to Violent Conduct 2. The worst part about the whole thing was that although he felt terrible about breaking Misty’s trust, he didn’t have an ounce of guilt about what he did. In fact, he would do it again. With all of these thoughts running through his mind, he tightens his grip on Misty’s hands and says the only thing that he thinks is right.]

Drake: I love you too.

[He smiles back at her as the scene fades out.]

---

”For some reason I always find my way back to you, Sean. All roads lead back to my nemesis apparently. It’s amazing isn’t it? No matter how many times I prove that I’m better, no matter how much more gold sits on my waist…I still have to keep reminding the SCW Universe where you stand on the ladder. The truth is, I enjoy it. I relish in it and I can’t wait to do it again. There’s something special to me about beating you and doing it convincingly. It gets me excited, even more excited than sending Rage crashing through some tables and even more exhilarating and rewarding than the SCW Heavyweight Championship. This rivalry, our story, is the one I live for the most. Everything I have going on outside of the ring doesn’t matter when he step in there together, Jackson. None of it does. The only thing that does is the blood and sweat we shed for the people, MY people.

Watching you cut interviews is somewhat of a hobby of mine. Your mannerisms, the way you speak, the look in your eyes when a reporter asks you a question…I take it all in. I study you because I know that all roads do lead back to ‘The Mental Rapist’. It’s you and me, Sean, it always has been and always will be. Whether it’s New York, or Las Vegas, Canada or Missouri…the show stops with you and I. We both know it so we shouldn’t hide it. I’m looking forward to doing what I do best, beating you. It may not be the first time but I’m happy to know it won’t be the last. See you soon, old friend. I’ve missed you.”

---

September 25th, 2014 – Hilton Hotel; St. Louis, Missouri – 7:00 PM

[The scene sets back in inside of a hotel suite in the Hilton Hotel in St. Louis. Drake is sitting at the foot of the king-sized bed. He is wearing a black, skin tight tank top exposing his tattoos and black “Nike” gym shorts. With a remote control in his hand, he stares intensely at the flat panel television mounted up on the wall across from him. The front door to the suite opens up and in walks Barry Goldstein wearing a light colored Seer Sucker suit with a white shirt and a gold tie on. He walks in with a six-pack of beer and a large square bottle of “Fiji” water. He sets the six-pack of beer down on the table across the room and takes out a bottle, popping it open with a bottle opener and taking a refreshing gulp. He pulls another one of the six-pack and offers it to Drake.]

Drake: I’ll just take the water for now.

[Barry looks at him with a puzzled look but hands him the square-shaped bottle anyway. Drake snatches it and sets it aside next to him on the bed. Barry walks over and looks over at the television.]

Barry: What are we watching?

[Drake stays silent as Barry looks over to what is on the screen. It’s an old match…a World Tag Team title defense by Team Gorgeous…Johnny ‘The Body’ Green and Maximus the Magnificent (AKA Max Proffo). They are defending their titles against Death & Destruction…two oversized wrestlers who are equal parts terrifying and nasty.]

Barry: Holy Shit! Is that a young Slim Jim?

[Drake responds to him while still staring straight ahead at the screen.]

Drake: Yeah…

Barry: So that must be your Pop then, huh?

Drake: Yeah…

Barry: Wait a second. This isn’t the match where-

[He cuts Barry off.]

Drake: Yeah…

[Drake turns to look at Barry.]

Drake: It is.

[Drake confirms to Barry they are watching the match where Drake’s father died in tragic fashion inside of the ring.]

Barry: At the risk of sounding insensitive, Champ…why the hell are you watching this? With what just happened to Max…

Drake: I need to see something for myself.

Barry: What?

Drake: It’s hard to explain.

Barry: Try me…

Drake: Right there!

[Drake hops up and points at the now paused screen where his father, Johnny Green, is taking a double-team piledriver move.]

Drake: That’s the move that killed my father.

[Barry sits there for a second, shaking his head back and for a bit.]

Drake: Does anything look out of the ordinary to you?

Barry: You mean other than the manslaughter?

[Drake snaps his head and gives Barry a nasty look.]

Drake: This isn’t a fucking joke, Barry.

Barry: Look I don’t see anything, ok? I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking at.

Drake: The move…to me…FUCK!

[Drake throws the remote across the room, breaking it against the wall and Barry stands up quickly.]

Barry: What the fuck?!

Drake: Sorry…I-

[Barry cuts him off.]

Barry: Look, Champ. I know you’re going through some shit but this is a little fucked up, man. I mean…that’s your father. Of course it’s not gonna look right. How can it?

Drake: That has nothing to do with it.

Barry: Then what is it?

Drake: He was sick.

[A confused look comes over Barry’s face.]

Barry: What?

Drake: My father…apparently he had a rare form of ALS. It manifests itself with massive muscle and bone degeneration…especially in the neck and spinal chord.

[Barry stares at him for a second and then looks back up a the paused television set.]

Barry: So you think that’s what happened to your Pop? Why it all happened?

Drake: I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it all out.

Barry: How did you find out about all of this?

Drake: His wife told me.

Barry: Phyllis? The crazy mountain lady?

Drake: That’s the one.

Barry: And you believe her?

Drake: I don’t know, I mean it makes sense. I remember him always going to the doctor and I know he was on medication. I just don’t know what they were.

Barry: Can’t you find some old records or something?

Drake: I’ve tried but I can’t find anything.

Barry: I can put some calls in if you like…

Drake: Thanks.

Barry: But I gotta ask…does it really matter? I mean…it doesn’t change anything.

Drake: Well…there’s something else.

[Barry stares back it him with a blank expression, waiting for Drake to finish his thought.]

Drake: This form of ALS…

Barry: Yeah?

Drake: It’s hereditary.

[Barry’s face drops.]

Barry: Shit.

[Drake stares back at him with a similar uncomfortable expression.]

Drake: Shit is right.

[The camera cuts out.]

---

”I’ve been so concerned with my arch enemy Sean Jackson that I completely ignored the fact that there are other people in this match too. My partners, the reigning SCW Tag Team Champions Big B and Despayre and of course Sean’s partner’s…Andrew Garcia and whatever his tag team partner’s name is.”

“I have mixed opinions tagging with the Champions. The positive ones are for the obvious reasons, they’re pretty fucking good. They’re the Champions for a reason and they are a hell of a lot of fun to watch in the ring. Big B is a powerhouse and Despayre, as crazy and odd as he is, is probably the most underrated wrestler in all of our business. That’s a fact. The problem that I have with these guys isn’t what they can do in the ring it’s some of the company they choose to keep. Rage and Gabriel aren’t too of my favorite people and the fact that they all seem to remain so close is puzzling to me. Something doesn’t fit there. Either way, I couldn’t ask for better partners in a six-man tag team main event. Cheers, bookers.”

“To be completely truthful I know very little about Andrew Garcia and his nameless partner. I know he does actually have a name but I can’t think of it right now and I’m a bit too drunk to be bothered to look it up? Sasha, maybe? I don’t know…he’s got dreads…I think. Or is that the other guy…? Never mind. The only thing I do know about these guys is the fact that they were or are trained by Casey Williams. Hopefully for their sakes he didn’t actually show them anything otherwise this could be the shortest main event in Climax Control history. If I’m being totally truthful, a rarity these days I know, my focus will be elsewhere on Sunday. I wish these guys good luck because I know Big B will probably crush them both, but my eyes are on Sean. I’m walking in to St. Louis with one thing on my mind and that is to once again embarrass Sean Jackson.”

 TWO STEPS BACK

---

”Every man must do two things alone; he must do his own believing and his own dying. –Martin Luther

---

July 17th, 2014 – Starbuck’s Coffee – Flamingo Road; Las Vegas, NV – 1:30 PM

Phyllis: Drake, didn’t you hear me? You’re dying…

[Drake stares straight ahead, almost motionless, as he looks at his former stepmother Phyllis Green. He blinks once or twice before picking up his cigarette and taking another drag. He exhales out in to the open air and lets out a deep sigh.]

Phyllis: Drake-

[He cuts her off.]

Drake: Yeah, I heard you.

Phyllis: And you don’t have anything to say?

Drake: What do you want me to say? Thanks for letting me know I’m dying? Or how about thanks for letting me know I’ve been blaming Max for twenty years for my father’s death for no fucking reason at all? What the fuck, Phyllis?

Phyllis: I’m sorry. I just didn’t know how to tell you.

Drake: Jesus Christ…you know you can’t just walk in and out of my life and expect me to believe that you actually give a shit. I’m done with this conversation.

[Drake grabs his sunglasses and puts them on and takes one more drag of his cigarette. He flicks it off on to the curb and slides on his designer Lacoste shades as he stands up.]

Phyllis: Drake, wait-

Drake: Fuck you!

[Drake cuts her off in a stern voice, forcing a blank look on her face. He drops down a few dollar bills on the table as he picks up his black suit jacket and puts it on.]

Drake: Take care of yourself, Phyllis.

[He turns around and starts walking, leaving her sitting at the outdoor Starbucks table. He lets out a deep sigh of anger and frustration as he turns the corner. He walks along the street until he sees a small, hole in the wall style bar. He takes a quick look to his left and right, to make sure no one recognizes him, before ducking in the front door. The place looks like your everyday dive bar with neon beer sings hanging in the windows and posters of local Las Vegas bands hanging around on the walls. A large billiard table sits off to the right where two men are playing. Drake bee lines for the bar and takes a spot on a stool. He immediately raises his right hand for the bald headed bartender’s attention that comes over and greets him with smile.]

Bartender: What say ya?

Drake: Scotch, neat.

[The bartender’s smile fades at Drake’s curtness but nevertheless he makes the drink. Drake smiles with a ‘thank you’ under his breath as he accepts the glass. He turns around, still wearing his oversized sunglasses, and takes in the scenery. He notices a good looking young woman standing over by the pool table, watching the men play. A smile comes over his face as he looks over her long legs. He notices her high red heels and her short black skirt and his interest gets peaked. They make eye contact and exchange smiles as Drake takes off his designer shades. He motions her over and she gladly accepts, walking over to him one seductive step at a time.

A slight breeze blows the through bar that makes her dirty blonde flop a bit on her shoulders. Her overdone blue eye shadow hides her dark eyes and her bright red lipstick matches her cheap heels. She gets up to Drake and in a very cliché way asks him a question.]

Blonde: Got a light?

[She smiles as presses a Newport in between her lips, hoping that she’s assuming correctly. Drake pulls out a lighter and flicks on the flame in a very James Bond way. He sets the lighter down on the bar before engaging the blonde in conversation. He outstretches his arm as he introduces himself.]

Drake: My name’s Tom…Tom Seaver.

[He’s not sure why he lies but he gets a small thrill when he does. She reaches out and grabs his hand and lets out a bit of smoke as she smiles.]

Blonde: You can call me Gina.

[The two hold hands for just a moment before she slowly slips her hand out of his. He eyes her up and down one more time and when he looks up a rather large man is standing behind her.]

Man: Can I help you son?

[Drake stares up at the slightly older man. He’s wearing a plain brown hat with salt and pepper hair sneaking out from underneath it. His torn denim jeans compliment his dirt green polo. In his right hand sits a bottle of Budweiser and in his left, a pool cue.]

Drake: Actually, no. I think we’re ok. But I’ll let you know if we need anything.

[Drake condescendingly slaps the man on the shoulder and turns his attention back to the blonde girl.]

Man: I think you better leave, son.

Drake: There it is again…son. Is there something I can help you with?

Man: Yeah, there is.

[There’s a long pause while Drake waits for the man to elaborate.]

Drake: And that would be…?

Man: You could get the fuck out of here.

Blonde: Abe!

[The blonde girl turns around in defense of Drake.]

Blonde: Me and Tom were just talking here.

Man: I see what you’s were doing. I don’t like it.

Drake: Look-

[The man interrupts Drake by poking him in his chest with his pool cue.]

Man: I didn’t ask for your opinion asshole. I told you to get lost.

[Drake’s smile fades as he turns back to the bartender. He scoops up his glass of scotch and washes a bit down his throat He sets the glass down and lets out a small sigh.]

Man: What’s the matter boy, you deaf? I told you to-

[Mid-sentence, Drake turns around and snatches the pool cue out of the man’s hand.

THWAAAACK!

The man falls backwards and wobbles in to an empty table after Drake smacked him over the head with the pool cue so hard that it snapped in half. The blonde shrieks as she watches a bit of blood start to stream down his face. Drake drops the broken cue and then grabs the man by the shirt collar. He balls up his right fist and unleashes on the man, letting out all of his pent up frustration Punch after punch, he feels the weight of all of his world lift off of his shoulders.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

He pulls his the man in close and smiles at him before tossing him down to the tile floor. Drake turns around to see the few bar patrons staring at him with a both a bit of disbelief and a bit of horror on their faces. Drake turns back to the bar and finishes what is left of his scotch, setting the empty glass back on the marble bar top. He drops a few bucks in front of him before quietly picking up his Lacoste sunglasses and slipping them on over his nose. He turns back around, nods to the blonde who is staring at him in complete shock, and heads for the door; stepping over the fallen big man in the process. He pushes open the bar door and walks outside and as he gets to the curb he stops. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. As he exhales the first drag a large smile comes over his face just as the scene cuts out.]

---

”There are a lot of emotions running through my mind this week. Lots. For one, I am again the Sin City Wrestling Heavyweight Champion. Something I’ve yearned after for the last ten months and something I’ve dreamed about for a long, long time. I’ve earned my place back at the top of the world and I don’t plan on letting it go anytime soon. This time I’m not letting go, they’re gonna have to pry it out from my dead hands and that’s a promise. Second, I’m fucking pissed off. I’m pissed off at a lot people for a lot of reasons but the best place to start is my asshole of a step mother. On the eve of one of the most important battles of my life, one of the most important times of my life, she drops this shit on me. Now when I get back to Vegas after this mini tour I have spend whatever free time I have in a doctor’s office hoping that she’s just an idiot, that I’m not really dying. Great.”

“I’m pissed off that my neck hurts. Of course things weren’t made any better by that over grown cheap shotting prick Rage. If there’s one thing I hate in this world it’s people that don’t have the guts to hit me when I’m looking at them in the eyes. This is something that will have to be dealt with shortly. I don’t need second rate superstars running around and claiming a shot at my title. Especially losers like that.  This title deserves to be in the ring with real stars. Speaking of which…”

“I’ve never actually spoken to Equinox. I’ve followed his career a bit and he’s been gaining some incredible steam. The people in the crowd, my people, seem to love him and that’s good enough for me. I always love seeing new stars born and with the stranglehold that he has on the Roulette division at the moment, I’m glad I’ve got a chance to tag with him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty sure they guy is off of his rocker. I’m almost certain he’s a certifiable bag of nuts. I guess I’m just happy I have to team with him and not against him. He’s made a ton of strides in his short time in SCW and I’m exciting to have a front row seat and see what he can do on Sunday. It’ll be interesting at the very least.”

“I know nothing of Big B, like literally nothing. I know he was one of that asshole Nick Jones’ entourage and I know he made the right move in getting out of that pack and stepping out on his own, well sort of on his own. He’s made a nice name for himself in the tag division and he’s done fairly well since aligning himself with Despayre. He’s another one I’m looking forward to seeing close up and first hand. Despayre is probably the most under rated super star in all of Sin City Wrestling. He’s incredibly talented and knows his way around the ring when most others don’t. He’s a multi-time tag team champion who, in my opinion, deserves a hell of a lot more than what he’s rewarded with. I’ve been waiting for a long time to see him step out of the shadows and go on a well deserved singles run but it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe the bear is hold him back?”

“All three of my colleagues share something in common with me, we all care. We all want to put the best show on we possibly can for the fans. But the difference between me and them, and more specifically me and the Bosom Buddies…is I don’t associate with a cheating piece of shit like Rage. For all of the good that they stand for and for all of the good they can do they have one major flaw; judge of character. For the life of me I can’t comprehend or understand why they can associate with such a bottom feeder like Rage. The Seven Deadly Synns lost a lot of stock in my book when they allowed Rage to waltz back into their family. So, unfortunately, you’re all guilty by association. Every last one of you. It is now my personal mission to rid SCW of anything Rage and regrettably you two fall under that category. As long as Rage is running happily along side the two of you, you’re both a target…and pretty easy ones at that.”

---

August 7th, 2014 – Spago Restaurant; Beverly Hills, CA – 9:15 PM

The scene sets back in inside of the fancy Beverly Hills restaurant, Spago. Sitting on the terrace, the large brick walls give off a romantic feel as they glisten in the candlelight. Sitting at a table, directly in the middle of the terrace, are Drake and former SCW Bombshell Champion Misty. Drake is wearing a dark blue sport coat over a white shirt. In his breast pocket sits a matching white pocket square. He opted for the casual look this evening, wearing a set of ‘Toms’ and blue jeans. Misty, her pale skin glistening in the moonlight, wears a tight black dress with a purple ribbon across her waistline. She runs her finger around the rim of her wine glass, staring intently into the delicious looking glass of burgundy. She looks up to see Drake, with his scruffy face and bright green eyes, staring just as intently at her wine. Misty looks over to see Drake’s diet coke and she shuts her eyes.]

Misty: Shit.

Drake: What?

Misty: I forgot you weren’t drinking.

Drake: It’s ok, I’ve grown fond of diet coke.

[He winks at her and she fights off the smile she wants to instinctively give him in return.]

Misty: Look, I appreciate that you feel like you need to make something up to me but…what do you want? Why all of this?

Drake: What? Two friends can’t just have dinner and catch up?

Misty: Two friend can, yes. But not you and me, so what’s up?

[Drake stares at her for a moment, debating in side of his own head if he should tell her what Phyllis had come to Vegas a few weeks ago to tell him. He stares at her beautiful face and then shakes his head a bit.]

Drake: I just missed you.

[Misty lets out an annoyed chuckle.]

Misty: You know, I thought…

Drake: Thought what?

Misty: I don’t know. Nothing I guess.

Drake: It’s ok, you can say it.

Misty: I thought maybe you were going to you know…apologize.

Drake: Apologize for what?

Misty: Being a jerk maybe?

[Drake smiles.]

Drake: All right, fine.

[He takes a sip of his diet coke and sets his napkin down on the table.]

Drake: I’m sorry I was such an ass. Better?

Misty: It’s a start.

Drake: Seriously, though. I am sorry. It was really tough for me to get through that neck thing. You were there for me and I pushed you away, I’m sorry for that.

[Misty stares at him. She lets her dark eyes connect to his bright eyes and she can’t help but smile at him.]

Misty: What am I gonna do with you?

Drake: Well you could start by saying congratulation…I’m the Heavyweight Champion for God’s sake.

Misty: Where are my manners? Congrats, champ.

[She raises her wine glass to him and takes a drink as Drake follows suit with his diet coke.]

Misty: So what’s next on the Champion’s agenda? Big tag match coming up, no?

Drake: I guess.

Misty: You guess?

Drake: Yeah…I have other…people…on my mind.

Misty: Rage?

Drake: Yes, him.

Misty: What are you going to do?

[Drake stares straight ahead in Misty’s direction. He peers almost straight through her as he answers a bit monotone.]

Drake: I haven’t decided yet. It’ll happen and when it does it’ll be swift.

[He snaps out of it a bit.]

Drake: But I’m not here to talk about work.

[Misty leans in a bit and smiles a bit seductively.]

Drake: Well, then Mr. Green, tell me. Why are you here?

[Drake smiles back at her a bit. He peers around the restaurant and then something catches his eye that makes his grin grow wider. He stands up and grabs Misty by her hand and pulls her up.]

Drake: Follow me.

[He darts across the terrace with Misty in tow and they push through the doors and in to the busy restaurant. They walk over to the hallway near the coat closet and Drake stops short, letting a waiter walk boy. As he goes to turn around again, Misty grabs him by the arm and stops him in his tracks.]

Misty: What are you doing?

[Drake smiles at her with his green eyes and then in a quick motion, he pushes open the coat closet door and yanks her inside with him, closing the door behind them.]

Misty: Drake! Are you insane?!

Drake: Maybe.

[He smiles one more time before grabbing her by the waist and pulling her in close in a tight embrace. They kiss passionately for a moment before Misty pushes him back a bit.]

Misty: I can’t do this. I can’t keep doing this with you.

Drake: Doing what?

Misty: I know who you are, Drake. I know a lot more about you than you think. I’m not Tessa Flannigan ok? You can’t just shack up with me when it’s convenient for you. I’m a mother. I’m not some club hookup.

Drake: I know. I don’t want you to be some random anything.

Misty: Then what do you want?

Drake: You. All I want is you. I can’t promise you anything other than that. I don’t where I’m going with this but what I do know is that these past few weeks without you around have been fucking terrible.

[Misty lets out a laugh.]

Drake: I miss you and I want you here with me.

Misty: I don’t know, Drake.  You live in California and…

[Drake interrupts her.]

Drake: Not anymore. You were asking what I ‘bought’ this week…

Misty: Yeah…

Drake: I bought a condo in Vegas. I bought that condo for us. Maybe not right now but maybe…down the road we could…

[Misty grabs him mid-sentence and pulls him in for another passionate embrace. This time Drake doesn’t let her pull away as he slowly runs his hand up her back. He kiss her neck gently and he gently tugs on the zipper and pulls it down the a long the back of Misty’s dress. Her dress drops to the coat closet floor as the camera cuts to black.]

 The Return of the Show

December 6th, 2013 – Drake’s Mountain House; Bakersfield, CA – 3:30 PM {Two Days Before December 2 Dismember}

[The camera fades in to a large living room that is brightly lit from the floor to ceiling windows that line the far wall. Staring out the window, drinking a glass of scotch, is Drake Green. He is wearing a pair of jeans, brown shoes, and a gray cardigan over a white button up shirt. He stares out the window into the woods surrounding his home in the mountains of Bakersfield, CA. He contemplates the last few months of his wrestling career, and whether or not he wants to continue. His bright eyes look over his professionally manicured lawn that is lined by designer looking rock wall that heads down the mountain side. He breathes a sigh that seems to be filled with a bit of relief as he turns around.]

Drake: I’m considering it.

[He turns around to stare at JJ Dixon, sitting cross legged on Drake’s leather couch drinking a glass of scotch of his own. He is wearing a black suit and a matching black tie over his slightly wrinkled white shirt.]

JJ: I think you’re making the right move…

Barry: I’m sure you think so.

[The camera moves over to Barry Goldstein, who is leaning up against the wall opposite the couch. He too has a glass of scotch, the color of which matches his brown sport coat and his gold tie. He takes a puff off of his big cigar before taking off his tinted glasses and running his hand through his slicked back dirty blonde hair.]

Barry: I just don’t see what’s in it for Drake, JJ.

JJ: What’s in it for Drake? He gets a new contract that will earn him more than he’s ever earned before. That’s what is in it for him.

Barry: Percentage wise maybe but percentage of what? We can’t even guarantee he’s gonna have any on screen time? He’s gonna be the Champion of company with no roster, no television deal, no events…what’s the plan? I understand you both want to screw Mark Ward but my interest here is purely financial and this is a shit investment. I mean so what I you buy the company out from underneath him? Then what? All you’re really doing is buying a name and archives.

Drake: What if we attach the ACW World Champion to SCW television?

JJ: How would we do that?

Barry: No, that’s brilliant. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.

JJ: But how could we make that work?

Barry: You’re way over paying for the ACW name as it is. Why not take advantage of that? You think Ward is even gonna read that contract? No fucking way. He’s gonna be so excited about the cash he can now blow on cheap hookers he’s not gonna give a shit about what Japanese holdings company he’s doing business with. You just add a ridiculously high appearance fee for the ACW Champ and everybody wins.

Drake: You really think that will work?

JJ: It will work. Mark is so full of himself he won’t read the contract. Barry is right.

Drake: Ok, I’m going to do this JJ. But I gotta be honest with you about something.

JJ: What’s that?

Drake: I don’t trust you. I haven’t trusted you in months. You’re a snake and I don’t put it passed you to screw me over once you’ve gotten Mark back. I think you’re a conniving, sad excuse for a man and I’m scared to shake your hand.

[JJ stands up and sets his glass of scotch down on the table in front of the couch.]

JJ: Look, D.

Drake: Drake. You can call me Drake.

JJ: Ok…Drake. I know I fucked up…big time. I ruined everything I had. No one knows this more than me. I didn’t take care of my stars-

[Drake cuts him off.]

Drake: Your stars? I don’t give a shit how you treat me, JJ. It’s the fans. They don’t serve to be duped and treated like they’re not important. Like they don’t matter. They’re the ONLY thing that matters. Without them we do not have a leg to stand on. You need to apologize to them.

JJ: You’re right. Right after we do this with Mark it will be the first thing that I do.

Drake: No. You have to do it first. There’s no way I’m stepping out on that stage with you on Sunday night before you apologize to them. If you want me, then they have to care about you…period. If they don’t then this is never going to work.

[JJ steps up close to Drake and stretches his hand out.]

JJ: You’ve got a deal.

[Drake sizes up JJ for a moment. He stares down at his glass and swirls around the remaining bits of scotch and ice. He takes the final sip before landing the glass down on the window sill. He grabs JJ by the hands and steps in closer.]

Drake: We’ve got a deal. But if you fuck me…or the fans…I promise you I’ll come after you for everything you’re worth. Are we understood?

[JJ smiles.]

JJ: Absolutely. This is great news.

[JJ walks over and shakes Barry’s hand.]

Barry: I’ll rewrite the contracts up and have them at your doorstep first thing tomorrow morning. Just make sure they get over to the Japs.

JJ: Of course, I will take care of it.

[JJ takes in a deep sniff of the air.]

JJ: Can you smell that?

Drake:…

JJ: Mark Ward is already shitting his pants.

[Drake and Barry smile back at JJ before JJ leaves. Drake walks JJ to the front door and closes it behind him. He turns around to see Barry standing right behind him.]

Barry: You trust him?

Drake: No, but what other choice do I have? I spent all my money on this fucking house.

[Drake smiles.]

Drake: Plus…I miss Maxy.

Barry: Yeah, about that…

Drake: What?

Barry: He’s not coming. He didn’t have the heart to tell you.

Drake: You’re kidding, right?

Barry: No. He said he met the love of his life out there. He doesn’t want to leave.

Drake: You think he’s still pissed?

Barry: Probably, but come on. We’ll get the best trainers out there.

Drake: How? I’m broke.

[Drake and Barry chuckle.]

Barry: I’ll front you, Champ. But I want 15% now.

Drake: 15% of me? That’s a lotta fucking dough.

Barry: Not anymore it isn’t…

Drake: Right. Look, thanks for sticking by me these past couple months, Bar. I appreciate it. You’re a real good friend.

Barry: Friend? Friends got nothing to do with it, Showtime. You’re a cash cow. Where am I gonna go?

[Drake laughs and the two men share a quick hug. They say goodbye and Drake closes the door behind him and he walks back to the living room to clean up the few glasses of scotch and the empty bottle. He comes across a picture of Rosie, his ex-girlfriend, he has sitting on the baby grand piano on the edge of the room. He picks up the picture and smiles for a bit before putting it back down and exiting the room, turning the light off in the process.]

December 31st, 2013 – Drake’s Mountain House; Bakersfield, CA – 11:50 PM

[It had been a few days since Drake had endured one of the worst physical beatings of his career. Despite coming out on top in the finish, Mark Ward’s message was sent loud and clear. He didn’t particularly care about taking the title from Drake so much as he cared about physically punishing him. It worked. Drake has two broken ribs, again, a hairline fracture in his forearm, and a severe concussion. He was keeping it under wraps as much as he could but to anyone who knew him, he looked hurt. The camera fades back in to Drake’s living room. There are about two dozen people enjoying themselves at Drake’s for New Years. Sitting by himself, wearing a light pale blue sweater and a pair of blue jeans, Drake sits up against one of the large bay windows, starting out into the mountains, something that seems to be his favorite pastime as of late. After a moment, a female’s hand touches Drake on his shoulder. He turns around quickly to see his bay sister, Jenny Green. She is wearing a blue dress with high black heels. Her arms are near covered with tattoos and her dark black hair is up on her head. She smiles at Drake who faintly returns the smirk.]

Jenny: Are you ok?

Drake: Yeah, I’m cool. Just relaxing.

Jenny: Can I introduce you around? This is your house you know…

[Drake grabs Jenny’s hand as it sits on his shoulder.]

Drake: I’m hanging out with my mountain at the moment.

Jenny: Drake…it’s New Year’s Eve. What’s going on with you?

[Drake breathes out a long sigh and then turns to face his younger sister.]

Drake: Honestly?

Jenny: No, I want your dis-honest answer.

Drake: I miss Max.

Jenny: I know you do big bro but you can’t just sit around moping about it. Look around you. Your house is full of beautiful women, it’s almost midnight, snap out of it dude.

[Drake smiles. He stands up and pans around the room. A waiter walks by with glasses of champagne on a tray and Jenny quickly scoops up two flutes and hands one to her brother.]

Jenny: See, it’s a party, a pretty swanky one too.

[Jenny joins Drake in looking around the room.]

Jenny: Who are all of these people?

Drake: Actually, I have no fucking clue.

[They laugh together.]

Jenny: Where did they come from?

Drake: Most of them are Barry’s people and some of the Japanese people work for JJ. The rest…I don’t know.

Jenny: You feeling ok? I saw that match ya know…

Drake: Yeah, I’m cool. No new scars for you to cover up or anything.

Jenny: Too bad.

Drake: You wanna get outta here? There’s got to be somewhere better to be then here. I was thinking about grabbing the plane and going to see Max. Maybe try to talk him into coming back to work.

Jenny: Now? It’s almost midnight, Drake. Why don’t I go find you a nice girl to kiss in a couple minutes and you can stop acting like a Nancy?

[Drake shoots her a dirty look.]

Drake: You know I hate that name.

Jenny: Well…?

[Drake pans the room again.]

Drake: I think I’m gonna take-

[Before Drake can finish his sentence, Jenny sees a tall blonde walk by. She grabs her by the arm and pulls her over. She is about an inch taller than Drake probably because her black heels stand nearly six inches high. Her small, tight, black dress is rather poofy at the bottom and is a stark contrast to her pale white skin. Her blonde hair is pin straight and just passed her shoulders with bangs in front. Her bright blue eyes provide a nice brightness above her ruby red lips. She’s startled at first but when she makes eye contact with Drake a small smile creeps over her lips that she seems a bit too desperate to hide.]

Jenny: Hi! I’m Jenny…what’s your name?

Blonde: Penny. My name is Penny.

[The blonde stares back at Drake, waiting for him to introduce himself.]

Drake: I’m Drake.

[He stretches out his hand she softly grabs it, providing a quick shake, and then she drops as if she is afraid to touch it any longer. Her smile gets bright and a tint of rosiness comes over her pale white cheeks.]

Blonde: I know who you are.

Jenny: Don’t worry. Everyone else does too. So what are you doing here?

Blonde: I work for Mr. Goldstein’s office. He invited the whole office so I just thought I’d come by and…

[She trials her sentence off as she makes more eye contact with Drake. Jenny rolls her eyes a bit and then smiles at her brother.]

Jenny: Yeah…I’m gonna go back over to my friends now.

Drake: No you don’t have-

Jenny: Dude…it’s almost midnight. I’m not gonna get any action over here…

[Drake smiles.]

Drake: Thanks for umm…

Jenny: Don’t mention it.

[Jenny walks away and Drake turns back his attention toward the blonde. He stumbles to think of anything to answer because truth be told, he really isn’t interested in anything she has to say. He takes a moment to think of what to say to politely excuse himself.]

Drake: Look, I-

[The blonde grabs his arm and yanks toward the center of the room.]

Blonde: It’s almost midnight!

[She pulls him in to the middle of the crowd of people at the party in his own living room and everyone begins to count down.]

TEN!

NINE!

EIGHT!

SEVEN!

SIX!

FIVE!

[The blonde positions herself close to Drake, eagerly awaiting a kiss from the celebrity whose New Year’s party she is attending. Drake frantically tries to think of a way to get out of that scenario as he looks around the room before his eyes settle on a picture hanging on the wall. The picture is of Drake when he was about 21years old with Max. He focuses in on Max.]

FOUR!

THREE!

[He looks hard making eye contact with the printed version of his former trainer and best friend.]

TWO!

What would you do Max?

[He thinks to himself for a moment as the countdown finally stops.]

ONE!

[Drake looks one more time at his friend and then wide, twisted grin comes over his face.]

Drake: Fuck it!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

[He grabs the blonde by the back of the neck with his left hand and pulls her in forcefully giving her a passionate smooch on the lips as the camera fades out.]

I’d been waiting for a few weeks now to see who it would be. To see who the dickbag Mark Ward would select next. I guess he noticed that surprise opponents don’t work and are just a waste of effort because this time he had no problem telling me, along with the whole world, who my next title defense would be against. Cyrus King, the old pebble in my shoe. I use that expression for a reason because let’s face it, you’re little more than that. You were bothersome when you aligned yourself with that disappearing act of Lukas Von Aelfric back in ACW. You were a little more than annoying when you joined up with Max Burke and attacked me a few times but you were pretty easy to put away last time.

Unlike you, I truly believe the words that come out of my mouth. When I get out in front of the millions of Showstoppers and tell them all that is I want to defend this belt against every single former ACW Superstar I mean it. We all deserve a crack at this belt. We all worked toward something at one point and whether we got along well or not, we all meant something to that great company. There’s a long list of competitors I’d love to give a shot at this belt. My friend Ben deserves one. So do Simon, Steve, Jeremiah, and Casey and probably even Ethan Brody and Landon Axel. You are on that list, Cyrus. I’m going to deny that but I need to make one thing clear. You are at the very bottom. You’ve done nothing to prove to me that you are able to carry the mantle of All-Pro Championship Wrestling. Not one thing and quite frankly, I’m a little insulted that you were the one that Mark Ward picked.

Loser. I don’t know if you remember that word but I still do. It was the word I had used to describe you. It is the only word simple enough to explain the lack of tenacity or ability that you possess. Last time we had this dance, you spoke a lot about ending me. About how you were the King and about how I was going to bow down to you. What happened? You got knocked out cold. I’ve bested you and your tiny little head before and I’ll do it again. Maybe then Hot Douche Mark Ward will show the bollocks he claims to have and get in the ring with me himself. Until then, you’ll have to do. ACW must live on…

END FEED.

 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.]

 July 11th 2013 8:50 pm

[The camera fades in to a dimly lit restaurant. A soft piano is playing in the distance as the patrons enjoy a quiet dinner on this warm Las Vegas evening. The walls of the restaurant are covered by what seems to be exposed dark gray brick, but as you look closer you can see it’s just a plastic façade. Large, burning candle sconces are fastened to the walls every four feet or so to help sell the castle feel the restaurant seems to be going for. The camera pans around the large dining room focusing on different patrons. An older couple sitting against the back wall, celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary, shares a champagne toast together. A young lesbian couple seems to be having an argument as they go back and forth but try desperately to keep their body language and voice levels down.

The camera comes to a halt on a small table in the center of the dining room. A young woman with strawberry blonde hair, wearing a bright lime green dress with a floral print on it and matching heels, sits across from her date. A good looking young man with dark hair in a makeshift faux-hawk, stubble on his cheeks and chin, and bright green eyes. He is wearing a dark blue blazer, a white and blue pinstriped shirt with an open collar, blue jeans and white Puma sneaker. He is Drake Green and he is on his date the waitress with the southern drawl, April.]

April: So that’s when my Daddy upped and moved us to Nevada. Right when the cattle ranch was opened.

Drake: And where are you from exactly?

April: Texarkana. The Texas.

Drake: I didn’t know there was any other side.

April: Well, being in Texarkana gives you quite a unique opportunity. See, you can stand in both Texas and Arkansas just by moving a couple little feet.

[Drake smiles.]

Drake: Isn’t that something.

[April smiles back.]

April: Are you mocking me, Drake?

Drake: I wouldn’t think of it.

[The two lock eyes and smile for a moment.

POP!

A waiter opening another bottle of champagne for the older couple startles them.]

April: Gee, that was loud.

Drake: Isn’t that something?

[Drake looks back over at the older couple.]

Drake: These two people have been together for fifty years. That’s nearly two of me.

April: That is two of me.

Drake: I can’t even imagine what that’s like.

April: I can, two soul mates spending their entire lives together. What an amazing feeling that must be.

[Drake looks back at her.]

Drake: You wanna get outta here?

April: I told my Daddy I’d be home by midnight, Drake.

[Drake gets up and pulls his chair around the table next to hers. He sits down, grabs her hand in his and gives it a quick kiss. He looks up at her and smiles.]

Drake: I’ll have you home by 11:45.

[April bites her lip gently and smiles back at him again.]

April: Okay.

[The camera cuts to Drake and April walking down a quiet street holding hands. There are several people on the street, all walking quietly. Drake has thrown his blue blazer over the shoulders of April as they walk.]

April: So tell me something I don’t know about you.

Drake: Like what?

April: I don’t know. How about here you got that name Drake? Not very common.

Drake: It’s a family name. It was my mother’s maiden name. She was an only child and she wanted her family name to live on.

April: That’s sweet. Where are they now, your parents?

Drake: Not around anymore.

[April stops walking and turns to Drake.]

April: I’m so sorry, I had no idea-

Drake: No, it’s ok. Its’ been along time now. My mom passed when I was only a few weeks old. My dad…I was seven.

April: Do you have any brothers or sisters?

Drake: I do. I have a younger sister. She lives somewhere in Oregon now with her hippy boyfriend. I haven’t seen here in a few years.

April: Just one sister?

[Drake thinks for a moment. He thinks about his best friend, his brother Nick who passes away just over seven years ago. He thinks about how much he misses him and how great things would be if he was still around.]

Drake: Yeah. Just the one.

[They start walking again.]

April: Tell me about her.

Drake: Not much to tell. She’s two years younger than me and she’s a nutcase. Smokes alotta weed and plays guitar. Last time I spoke with her was Christmas time. She asked me for some money to fix her car and promised to pay me back before the end of January.

April: Well, she’s only a few months late.

Drake: That was Christmas 2011.

[The two share a chuckle as they come up to a quaint little row house.]

April: This is me.

Drake: So it is.

April: Thanks for such a great night, Drake.

Drake: No. Thank you. This was really refreshing.

[April takes Drake’s blue blazer off of her shoulders and hands back to him. She smiles with her eyes at him and then extends her hand toward him. Drake smiles back at her and hesitantly grabs her hand and shakes it.]

April: Goodnight, Drake. I hope we get to do this again soon.

Drake: Me too.

[Drake pulls April close to him and moves in for a kiss but she moves her head slightly to the right and away from Drake’s lips.]

Drake: What’s wrong?

April: I’m not the “Kiss on the First Date’ type of girl, Drake. I’m sorry.

Drake: No, don’t be sorry. Are you kidding me? I like that.

April: Are you sure?

Drake: Yes.

April: Ok, good. ‘Cause I can’t wait to see you again.
   
Drake: How about next Tuesday?

April: It’s a date!

Drake: Great. I’ll see you then.

[April slowly moves a way holding on to Drake’s hand as long as possible. She finally lets his grip slips away and she smiles as she disappears behind her front door.  As he turns around he throws his blazer back on and then pulls his iPhone out of his pocket. He turns it back on to see he has 6 new voicemails. He sees that they are all from Max so he calls him back right away.

RING…

RING…

RING…

Finally Max answers.]

Max: D.

Drake: Max, what’s going on?

Max: You better come home, D.

Drake: Everything ok?

Max: You gotta see this.

Drake: Ok. I’m on my way home.

[The camera cuts out.]

July 12th 2013 12:30 am

[The camera fades back in to the exterior of Drake’s home. A black Porsche Cayenne GTS speeds up the driveway and screeches to a halt right in front of the blue stone walkway that leads to the front door. Drake gets out of the car, still in his blue blazer, and walks briskly up to the front door. As he gets the he can see Max, who is wearing a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, standing with Barry, who is wearing black jeans and boots, a black and white striped button down with an open collar, and a pink blazer. As he gets closer he can see what they’re staring at. There are words that seem like they’re painted on in red to the large double front doors.

“HE IS COMING”

As Drake gets closer Max turns around to him.]

Max: Can you believe this shit?

Barry: Some fucking, young punks.

[Drake walks up close to the door and examines the writing.]

Drake: What does it mean?

Max: I don’t know.

[Drake touches it with his fingers.]

Drake: It’s thick. Doesn’t feel like paint.

Barry: I don’t know, champ. It gives me the fucking creeps.

Drake: What do you think, Max? Kids?

Barry: Who else could it be?

Max: Could be Nick Jones. He’s known to purposely do shit to mess with people.

Drake: Yeah, but this isn’t him. Can we get this cleaned up?

Max: I already called the cleaning crew. They’ll be hear in the morning.

Barry: Thank fucking god. I thought I was gonna have to stop coming over here. Thought this place was cursed.

Drake: Yeah, right.

[Drake pulls open the front door and heads into the his home. Barry and Max follow suit. They get into the living and Drake throws his blue blazer down on the couch.]

Drake: I’ll be right back.

Barry: We still going out?

Drake: Yeah. Give me like fifteen minutes.

[Drake walks through a door on the other side of the living room and into a small office. On the back wall are several championship belts enclosed in glass cases, along with a framed “Action Packed” t-shirt and a signed copy of Slamfest Magazine with Jordan Williams on it. Across from the memorabilia wall is a chair with a small table next to it with a green screen behind it, sitting in front of a camera. On the table sits a remote control, an ash try, a lighter, and a cigarette. A small smile creeps over Drake’s face as he walks over to the chair and plops down. He picks up the stogey and sparks it up. He takes a few strong pulls and a slight sense of euphoria fills his body. His smile gets bigger as he picks up the camera’s remote control and clicks it on.]

Drake: Nick, my good friend Nick.

[Drake giggles.]

Drake: take that word for a second. Friend. What does it mean? It means trust. It means companionship. It means…oh fuck who knows. I certainly don’t any more and quite honestly I don’t know if I give a shit. There’s something about though, something that gives me a little warm fuzzy feeling inside. I rented the Wrestleclassic PPV when you beat Blade Alexander for the title. I remember watching you thinking, this guy is a real douchebag.

[Drake laughs as he takes another pull off the cigarette.]

Drake: You were the one. When I signed on that dotted line, this is the match that I wanted. Ever since that Wrestleclassic , I wanted to punch you in the face. I mean, really just smack you. I don’t want to beat you. Don’t tell Barry I said that, he’ll have a fucking heart attack. He’s angry enough this match isn’t on a PPV. He keeps going on and on about losing money. I don’t care about any of that though. I just care about one thing, Nick.

[There’s a loud knock on the door.]

Barry: Come on we’ve got a 2:30 appointment.

Drake: I’ll be right there.

[Drake turns back to the camera.]

Drake: I just want them to cheer my name. And they’ll do that Nick. They’ll do it if I drop you and they’ll do it if I lose. Do you know why? Because they love me. I’m not some sad selfish man like you. A man that needs to constantly talk about how great he is and how wonderful and amazing his accomplishments are. Because none of them matter, Nick. If the fans don’t love you then what is it for? Personal pleasure? Ego? None of that fits here, bro. So go on, make like you and be a douchebag.

[Drake gets up and clicks the camera off. He takes one last long pull of that smoke and then heads toward the living room and the camera fades out.]

July 12th 2013 2:30 am

[Barry and Drake are walking down a narrow path in what seams like woods, which is odd for the middle of Nevada. They get to what looks like a small shack, with run down shingles on blacked out windows.]

Drake: This can’t be it.

Barry: What?

Drake: You thought that graffiti on my front door was creepy and look where you’re bring me in the middle of the night.

Barry: Just trust me ok. This guy is the fucking man.

Drake: Ok.

[They step up to the door and Barry knocks three times.]

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

[A screechy female voice from inside pokes through the wooden door.]

“WHO IS IT?

Barry: It’s Barry. We’ve got the 2:30.

[The door creeks open and standing in front of them is a thirty-something year old woman with long light brown hair standing in heels, a bra, and panties. Attached to the strap of her bra is the number “7” in glitter paper. She starts to talk to them in a very monotone, cigarette influenced voice.]

Seven: Welcome to Ali’s Therapeutic Services. Ali is a very busy man and although you have an appointment for 2:30, I need to assess the importance of the situation. Please, on a scale from 1 to 10, please elaborate on the gravity of your situation.

[Barry and Drake turn to each other and shrug.]

Barry: Let’s say a six.

Drake: I was gonna say five.

Seven: Well?

Barry: Five and a half.

Seven: Right this way.

[The woman leads them down a narrow passageway into what looks like a waiting room. There is another thirty-something year old woman standing behind counter in the same uniform; heels, bra, panties. She has a number “3” pinned to her bra strap. Sitting on a bench is a young man in a plaid shirt and blue jeans. His hair is messy and his glasses have extremely thick lenses.]

Seven: Please have a seat here and wait for your name to be called.

[Drake and Barry take a seat next to the young man on the bench and watch the woman walk away. Barry turns to Drake and smiles.]

Barry: Huh? Pretty fucking awesome huh?

Drake: Barry…did you take me to a whorehouse?

Barry: No. This is Ali, man. This guys is the real fucking deal. He’s a shaman from India or Pakistan some Fucking-stan. He knows his shit.

Drake: Some fucking-stan? Really?

Barry: Look, just trust me ok? I know things like this.

Drake: Ok, Barry. I trust you. But if one of these Newport smoking housewives tries to touch my junk I’m outta here.

[Just then, the woman from behind the counter calls out for them.]

Three: Mr. Green?

[Drake stands up.]

Drake: That’s me.

Three: Ali will see you now.

[Just as Barry and Drake start to make their way into the room, the young man from the bench stands up and interrupts.]

Man: Excuse me? Excuse me?

Three: Yes sir?

Man: I….I…I had a 2:15 appointment. It’s now 2:33 and I’m still waiting. This isn’t fair. These guys just got here.

Three: Sir, we’re going to have to ask you sit back down.

Man: This isn’t fair. I demand to see Ali. I will not stand for this.

Three: Sir, if you do not sit down and relax we’re going to have to ask you to leave.

Man: But-

Three: But, nothing. These gentleman are a 5 and a half. You sir, are a 12. Now sit down.

[Drake and Barry chuckle to themselves as the young man sits back down.]

Three: My apologies, gentlemen. Please follow me.

[Drake and Barry continue to follow the woman down the narrow hallway.]

Barry: Look, champ. Ali is a very serious guy. Don’t get disappointed if he doesn’t even acknowledge that you’re in the room.

Drake: That’s cool.

Barry: Ok, good. I just don’t want you to get upset or anything.

Drake: Me?

Barry: I know, I know. Just a disclaimer.

Drake: I think I’ll be ok.

[They get to another door and she knocks three times.]

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

[The door opens to reveal yet another woman, this one blonde, wearing the same uniform; heels, bra, panties. This lady has a glittery “9” attached to her bra strap.]

Nine: Come in, please.

[She smiles intently at Drake as the two men walk in. They walk passed her and around another corner. They turn into what seems to be a room draped in black sheets. At the center of the room is a bed of pillows sitting in front of a rather large middle-eastern looking man with his eyes closed, wearing a black robe and a large gold turban. As the two men get closer he stops them.]

Ali: Who’s there?

Barry: Hey Ali, its-

Ali: Goldstein? Barry Goldstein?

Barry: Yes. Yeah it’s me.

Ali: Barry Goldstein 2004 Premature ejaculation. 2007 erectile dysfunction.

Barry: Hey-

Ali: 2009 erectile dysfunction again.

Barry: Ok-

Ali: 2011 Premature ejaculation and night terrors.

Drake: Night terrors?

Barry: My last divorce.

Drake: Ah.

[Ali opens his eyes and motions for them to come sit down.]

Ali: Tell me, Barry. What can I do for you today?

[Drake and Barry sit.]

Barry: Actually-

Ali: Mr. Showtime?

Drake: You got me.

Ali: Oh my god, my kids are never going to believe this. Nine! My camera!

[The woman walks over with a camera.]

Ali: Take a picture of me and the Showstopper.

[Ali leans in and puts his arm around Drake as she takes a picture.]

Ali: This is so exciting. Please, tell me why I have been bestowed such an honor.

Drake: Actually, I don’t know. Barry here thought it’d be a good idea for me to come here.

Ali: Barry? Please elaborate. Fill us all in.

Barry: Well since you know him so well, Champ here’s got a big match coming up. I thought maybe a little bit of your wisdom could help us out a little bit.

Ali: Ok, how can I help?

Barry: I don’t know, man. Maybe a couple of Hail Allah’s or something?

[Ali laughs.]

Ali: Barry this is not what I do here. You know that. Please, Drake. Tell me about this match. Who is it against and how can Ali help you?

Drake: Well it’s Nick Jones. And I thought maybe you can give me some guidance as far as how to focus my energy or something.

Ali: I see. Nick Jones is indeed a formidable opponent. He is also a douchebag.

Drake: I know! That’s what I was just saying a little while ago.

Ali: Up top my brother!

[Ali holds out his hand for a high five and Drake obliges.]

Ali: Ok, Drake. I may have a way to help you. Please, let us hold hands.

[All three men grab each other’s hands in a circular set up. Ali closes his eyes and he very softly starts to chant some ethnic words. After a moment his eyes open and suddenly drops both Drake’s and Barry’s hands.]

Drake: What is it?

Ali: I cannot help you.

Barry: What?

Drake: Why not?

Ali: I do not wish to discuss this any further. Nine!

[The woman walks back over.]

Drake: No wait. You gotta give me something here, Ali.

[Ali looks at Drake and pauses for what seems like an eternity.]

Ali: You are surrounded by darkness, Mr. Green.

Drake: What do you mean?

Ali: That is as much as I can say.

Drake: Bullshit.

Barry: Hey, Drake-

Drake: No. I want to hear this.

Ali: Ok, fine. There is a shroud of ugliness that surrounds you. It is not an internal darkness, Mr. Green. It is something that is coming for you. It will over power you and there is nothing you can do to stop it from happening.

Drake: What does that mean?

Ali: It means that someone, not someone near you now, but someone is coming for you Mr. Green and when he does, it may not be smart to be around.

Barry: The door…

Green: Isn’t there something I can do to stop it?

Ali: You cannot wash water and you cannot burn fire. Some things, Mr. Green, some things you just cannot change.

Green: Who is it? Is it Nick Jones?

Ali: I cannot say.

Green: What the fuck does that mean?

Ali: It means that I cannot say. Now if you will excuse me I have another appointment waiting.

Green: This is bullshit.

[Drake and Barry get up and walk toward the door. Just before they leave, Drake turns around and walks back toward Ali.]

Drake: You know what?

[Drake picks up Ali’s camera and throws it on the ground and then stomps on it, breaking it to tiny little pieces.]

Drake: There. There’s something dark for you.

[Drake storms passed Barry and out of the room as the camera fades to black.]

July 13th 2013 4:00 pm

[The camera fades into a dressing room. Drake Green is pacing back and forth in front of the vanity and the small sofa. He is wearing a light gray suit, brown shoes, and an open collar lavender shirt. Max is sitting on the couch, wearing a black suit and a white shirt with a black tie. He looks up at Drake who is nervously pacing back and forth.]

Max: You ok, D?

Drake: Yeah, I’m fine.

Max: You’re not still bugged out by that whole shaman thing are you?

Drake: …

Max: I fucking told Barry not to being you there. It was only gonna fuck with your head.

Drake: It’s not that.

Max: What is it?

Drake: It’s everything. Its; the graffiti, the weird letters that Barry keeps getting that are addressed to me, the hang ups I get at the house. And the weirdest part, I keep feeling like there is someone watching my when I’m sleeping.

Max: This guy really got you, D. Maybe we should cancel the match with Nick Jones.

Drake: What? No way. You know how many people bought tickets to see me? I couldn’t do that to them. What time is this thing anyway?

Max: I don’t know. Barry said four o’clock so it should be soon.

[Just then there’s a loud knock at the door. Drake walks over and answers it and there is young man wearing a headset, a polo shirt, and khaki shorts.]

Man: They’re ready for you, Mr. Green.

Drake: Ok, I’ll be right out.

Man: Sure thing.

[The young man shuts the door.]

Drake: How do I look?

Max: Like a champion.

Drake: Ok, good. I’ll see you out there.

[Drake opens the door up and sees the young man with the headset. He follows him through the hallways, up a small set of stairs and then onto a stage where there is a place for him to sit in front of a crowd for a press junket. Standing in front of the table is a heavyset woman with short dark hair. She comes the reporters down.]

Woman: Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I’m sure you all know who this is. You’ll have 30 minutes to ask all of your questions. Will begin with Trisha Geer.

Reporter 1: Drake, how confident are you feeling coming in to this match with Nick Jones.

Drake: Pretty confident, Trisha. I always try to approach every match the same. I just prepare mentally and physically and try to make sure I’m at my best on Wrestleday.

Reporter 2: Are any at all intimidated by Nick Jones?

Drake: No. Not at all. Look, I’m not gonna sit up here and say Nick Jones sucks ‘cause it just isn’t gonna happen. The dude is tough, Tougher than most people I know but that’s not what makes him as good as he is. Its’ the trash talking. He gets in your head and he doesn’t leave until he knows he has you beat.

Reporter 3: Do you think you’re gonna win.

Drake: I try not to play those guessing games, Miss. It rarely turns out ways you would suspect it. My focus on Sunday night is to put on a show. Because hey, I am the Greatest Show on Earth and that’s what the fans pay to see. I’m gonna make sure they get a match that they’ll never forget.

Reporter 2: So what is your overall opinion of the man?

Drake: He’s a d-

[Drake stops himself from using curse words in front of children.]

Drake: He’s at the forefront of the SCW title picture and he should be. He’s the company’s top guy and he’s got a Man of The Year award too. Not to mention all of that and more but he’s the only two-time SCW Heavyweight Champion. Which means if I beat him I’m likely in the Simon Jones category.

Reporter 1: So do you see yourself in the SCW Main Event going forward if you do in fact beat Nick Jones at Climax Control on Sunday?

Drake: I think we’ll see that either way. The truth is the people love me. I’m there guy. So even if I lose, they still want me in the main event, so that’s where I’ll be. I’d love to sit here and chat but I got a trainer that’s really up my ass. Don’t forget to catch Climax Control live on Sunday.

[Drake gets up and walks out of the pressroom as reporters try to sneak in more questions. He walks through the door to the backstage area and the camera fades out.]