There’s a pastor in front of a church full of people, and for some reason he looks just like Lane’s old biology teacher, the one that failed him for cheating. This was the first time anyone had caught him cheating at something significant. Most of the crowd looks exactly alike; they don’t even seem to have actual faces. Except for Sesame Street character Big Bird, who for whatever reason has a front row seat. New FUSE announcer Eugene Ware is eating cold baked beans right out of the can, for no reason at all.
“He is survived by his parents, Jerry and Audrey, and the business he loved…to destroy,” the pastor says.
There doesn’t seem to be a lot of emotion in the air. In fact, Big Bird is balancing his check book.
“This young man,” the pastor started, and gestured at the casket in front of him, which had a framed picture of Lane hitting John Covel in the face with the Universal title on top of it, “was more talented than many people will ever understand, however…”
The pause that hangs in the air then seems to last forever.
“He lost to a girl,” the pastor said.
And the crowd bursts into laughter, an avalanche of laughter.
“Hey Eugene,” Big Bird says with a voice that is not his own, “want to get out of here and score some smack?
“I thought you’d never ask,” is Eugene Ware’s reply.
The duo skips out of the church, and the rest of the faceless crowd stays to laugh. The picture that rests on the casket is now Aimz pinning Lane Stevens at an event that hasn’t happened yet.
And then the church blows up.
* * *
It is at this moment that Lane sat up in his bed, panting.
“What the fuck,” Lane said quietly to himself, and looked around at the dark hotel room.
* * *
Indianapolis, Indiana - The next day
Most steel chairs are made in India, or china.
But Bob Hopson had a dream, that people would pay twice the amount for the same exact steel chair except the back of the chair had a big American flag sticker on it. His company was called, “Freedom Chairs”.
Needless to say, this has not been a very successful venture. He did succeed in selling a large amount of the chairs to some churches that were suckered in by his charisma, and there were a few office buildings close to where the twin towers stood that bought a large volume. Orders came in now and again, but for the most part it was a struggle.
Bob’s worries were less on this day however, as he was entertaining a guest, an attractive female guest in a blue pants suit that left things way more to the imagination than Bob liked.
He had envisioned his corporate headquarters being a huge tower, but as it turned out he had a piece of a strip mall, about ten miles out from where the chairs were actually made.
He was next to a Burger King.
“So Miss…” Bob started and paused, offering her a seat.
“Masters, Bridgette Masters,” Lane Steven’s agent said and accepted the seat.
Her mouth smiled politely, but she wanted to throw up. She saw how this balding man was leering at her, and it displeased her greatly.
“I’m going to get right to the point here Mr. Hopson,” Bridgette started.
“Sure you don’t want a cup of coffee?” Mr. Hopson offered, starting to rise from his seat. She put him back in his chair with a simple hand gesture that he found himself almost compelled to obey.
“Pro wrestling is big with today’s youth; I could show you some studies on demographics that would make your eyes about pop out of their sockets Mr. Hopson. Now combining steel chairs and America, it makes no sense. But steel chairs and wrestling have been synonymous for some time.”
She starts to reach into her briefcase, for documents that simply aren’t there. Granted, she could have easily found studies to support this, but why waste the time when you are dealing with a chuckle head that can’t stop eyeing up your curves?
“I believe you, Bridgette, I do…” Bob said, with a hand placed thoughtfully on his chin. She puts the briefcase away, suppressing a small smile. “But I’m not sure if I want to sink the remaining spare capital I have into an advertising campaign centered on a use for our product that isn’t even intended. Who has ever even advertised steel chairs anyway?”
“Exactly,” Bridget replied instantly, and smiled at her prey. “Who has the balls to do that? I know one guy that might.”
“Huh?” was all Bob could get out.
About an hour later a silly middle aged man would part with a decent chunk of change to hire his first ever spokesmen, and Bridgette Masters would take fifteen percent.
* * *
Meanwhile…Detroit, MI
Or, to be more specific, the Starbucks on Griswold St.
The River Rat was seated at one of the corner tables, with a laptop in front of him. He wore a black FUSE shirt with the lettering crossed out. He keyed slowly, and maneuvered through cyber space thanks to the wireless network. Coming towards him is a man that looks a little out of place in this establishment or any establishment for that matter. The gigantic Jeb Stewart is carrying two drinks with him.
“If I could rename this place,” Lane gestured all around him, “I would call it the big box of faggots.”
A lady sitting nearby looked revolted by that comment, and started to gather up her belongings. Jeb almost said something to Lane about his volume, but decided against it. He simply set down and set one of the coffees in front of Lane. The River Rat immediately took a sip of his, and nodded to one in particular in approval of what he tasted. Jeb sniffed his several times like a concerned animal before trying it.
“They call that Joya del Dia Blend, my man. Note the soft cocoa finish,” Lane said, and Jeb put his drink down.
There was about 30 seconds of silence between them, as Lane continued to key something into the laptop.
“Why do you hate her so much?” Jeb finally said, and immediately Lane knew he was referring to Amy Campbell.
At first Lane said nothing.
“I mean, I know what it is you are arrangin’ over there…I know what you intend on doin’ this week, but I just want to know why. For goodness sake, what if her parents come to the show?” Jeb whispered.
“Then they will see one of the many ugly truths about Aimz that everyone else will,” Stevens finally replied, and stopped typing.
He slowly spun the laptop around towards Jeb for dramatic effect, and the look on The Affliction’s enforcer’s face was one of disbelief. He then turned the laptop back towards him again.
“And as for your…why question, well I’ve thought about that a bit too,” Lane said, a small smirk beginning to register at the corners of his mouth. “You never knew me when I had not made it. I had been through so many ridiculous gimmicks on the road, getting dicked over by little greedy assholes in the tiny circuits. Did you know I actually wrestled as ‘The Astronaut’ Buzz Spalding?”
Jeb chuckled aloud.
“Yeah, no shit” Lane offered with a chuckle of his own. “That happened. All I ever really wanted to do was make a comfortable living doing something I loved. I worked so hard to get an edge, I watched so many tapes, I perfected my craft the best I could. Maybe I wasn’t the best wrestler, but I was a winner goddamnit, and I was good enough. But do you know the kind of shit I saw on TV? People like Amy Campbell who could lose as many matches as they wanted to, but no one cared because she was a sideshow. People liked women competing with men, it was a big draw, so all the promoters forgot about the integrity of the business. So then I got myself a new gimmick, as the guy that wants to bring companies like FUSE to the ground…but here’s the thing.”
Lane leaned in close to Jeb.
“It isn’t a gimmick,” he said, and winked.
Jeb finally took a sip of his coffee; he looked as revolted as the woman sitting near them did earlier.
Lane started again.
“These Highwaymen think things have changed around these parts, just because they got Johnny Cash theme music and a name. This isn’t like the movies, it isn’t going to be all okay. There are costs to going to war with us, costs that Aimz will have to endure. Costs that our new golden boy Jonathan Rhine will have to endure. A lot of people lose their smiles in this business…well guess what, they don’t just lose it like, whoops, fell out of their pocket. I fucking take it.”
The River Rat puts his hand in the air and squeezes it together, as if he just grabbed something.
“WE fucking take it,” Lane said, giving Jeb a playful punch in the shoulder.
“Whose walking around with your smile Lane?” Jeb finally got a word in edgewise.
The River Rat did not get a chance to answer, as his cell phone vibrated. Lane put one finger up, as if to say ‘hold on’ to Jeb, and reached in his pocket for the phone.
“Hey Bridgette, what’s the haps?” Lane said.
And he smiled.
“That’s great news, I can film that before the show.”
Another pause.
“Yeah, I found the pics. A lot of sickos with a long memory on the internet, my dear. Yeah…I’ll seeya soon, later.”
Stevens hung up. Jeb stared at him curiously.
“I’m going to be in a commercial,” The River Rat announced proudly.
* * *
Here is that commercial.
Fade up.
Two men are standing around in an office wearing button up shirts. The background is generic, cubicles and stacks of papers. The walls are beige and lifeless.
“You going to get that report in, Johnson?” one of the men says
“I’m running a little behind on it,” the other man replies.
“Well,” the first man starts, “make sure you have that on my desk by five, I don’t think…”
THWACK!
A steel chair enters the frame, and slams into the first man right in the back. He falls over, and his mug of water goes tumbling through the air. Lane Stevens walks into the frame holding the chair and unfolds it. His shirt says, “Pro Wrestler”.
“WOW! IT DIDN’T EVEN DENT! WHAT AN AWESOME CHAIR!” the other man exclaims, seemingly unconcerned for his boss’ welfare.
“No, it sure didn’t,” Lane says in a really deep voice that he has been practicing, “And you can sit in it too.”
Sure enough, Lane sits down in the chair, and gives a big corny thumbs up.
“Have a big event to plan? Make an order today. And tell ‘em Lane sent ya!”
We fade out to the company logo, and a 1-800 number.