NOLA, the Wrestleplex

It’s several weeks ago.

Hall of Famer Bronson Box and BRAZEN Tag Party partner the massive “Texas Strong” Felton Bigsby are sparring in the ring trying to rediscover their long dormant “mentor, student” synergy from years ago. Felton’s manager, the canny business lady Doris Hilton, has just traded words with her other less pandered-to charge Gordy Lovett and sent him off to occupy himself in embarrassing fashion. Gordy shuffles away from the practice rings and walks into the sparsely populated gym proper. The Texas Stampede looks like a poor old dog somebody kicked a little too hard.

Jeans, roach kicker cowboy boots and a homemade ZZ Top crop top. The giant raw boned Texan plops down with a frustrated grunt on one of the weight benches. Looking like the weight of the world is on his shoulders Gordy focuses on the huge bank of floor to ceiling windows that look out over the beautiful New Orleans skyline. Only about five hours from his neck of the woods in east Texas but he might as well be on Mars, he feels so damned far away. 

A very recognizable voice from over Gordy’s shoulder jerks him back into reality.

Voice:
You’re a better man than me, lettin’ her talk to ya that way. 

Angus Skaaland leans over the parked barbell eating an apple. Gordy has barely looked over his shoulder to see who it is before the instinctual politeness kicks in.

Gordy:
Pardon me, sir. Were you wantin’ to use there here bench? I can mo- 

Angus shakes his head and smiles a very ‘holy shit, is this kid for real’ sort of smile. He walks around, pats the beefy young hoss on his broad shoulder, and takes a seat on the bench beside Gordy.

Angus:
No kid, you’re good. Name’s Angus.

He hucks the half eaten apple over his shoulder and reaches for Gordy’s huge hand for a shake. The polite young man, having been raised right, reciprocates.

Gordy:
Gordy Lovett, Mr. Skaaland. Wow, it’s an honor to meet ya’ sir.

Angus:
I know ‘xactly who you are, Gordy. Sorry for droppin’ eaves over there but it sounds to me like the relationship you have with old Doris… emphasis on the fuckin’ old, over there… 

The Motormouth of Malcontent stifles a chuckle.

Angus:
…seems a little lopsided respect-wise when it comes to you and Temu Bo Jackson up there. Personally? I know Felton Bigsby, and the guy is a goddamn diva. Boxer and Auntie Lindz both filled his poor little head so full of their horseshit its leakin’ out of his eyes.

Lovett chuckles and rubs the back of his neck nervously with one of his ham sized hands.

Gordy:
Aww heck, I don’t know about all that, Mr. Skaaland. Ms. Hilton takes care of me, and ol’ Felton’s got years on me. Gotta pay mah dues, ya’ know? I want to do this wrestlin’ thing right, earn mah stripes ‘round here. I’m chompin’ at the bit to prove mahself, Mr. Skaaland.

There are two wolves inside Angus Skaaland right now. One wolf… the much much MUCH larger wolf… is licking its chops listening to this poor, kindhearted rube. Big piece of meat this young, this malleable, this gullible is a once maybe twice in a lifetime find. The other wolf, sad little thing, has an honest to God soft spot for simple country boys and knows the wrestling business needs this kind of pure babyface as much as they need his personal brand of awful dickhead to keep this whole nutty game movin’ forward-like.

As much as he’d like to sink his claws into this poor simpletons brain meat and turn him into his worst self, he knows this kid is a unicorn and should probably be protected from Hagzilla, Doris fuckin’ Hilton.

Angus:
Gordy, listen. I’m going to tell you a little story. Long long fuckin’ time ago when I was young and dumb just like you, that witch Doris damn near-

Same shoulder, different voice.

Voice:
Oh I think that’ll be quite enough outta you, darlin’.

Doris Hilton stands resolute, tapping her stiletto, her eyes narrowed at Angus Skaaland. The Motormouth stands up and looks her straight in the eyes.

Angus:
Could have bowled me the fuck over when I heard you were managing WRESTLERS now, Doris. What, runnin’ your rich daddy’s empire back in Houston not enough for ya’? Gotta step all over my goddamn lawn? And in my promotion, to boot. You’ve got some dangly iron ones on you, I give you that.

Hilton crooks a finger in Gordy’s direction.

Doris:
Gordy, if you would please step away from that filthy, lyin’ little imp, that’d be just fine, love.

She looks back to Angus like someone might look at a warm dog turd they just stepped in.

Doris:
As you well know, I do whatever the hell I want, little man. You left your post around here, Angus. You and your loud little friend Eric and that smelly old hillbilly you’re both so fond of. You skedaddled and left quite the void around this company from what I understand. There’s been a power vacuum around here for years now, so many people scrambling to fill it. Well, me always havin’ my ear to the ground, I heard of an opportunity. I reached out and I took it. Considering my client is over there trainin’ with a Hall of Famer and yours… well, what ARE you doin’ here, praytell? Lookin’ to kneecap that pale little Warner boy and take your old job back?

Angus looks across the room with an unbothered ‘oh really, is that so’ sort of smile on his face.

Angus:
Felton is a needy little prick, and Box? HA! Yeah, good luck with that one, Grandma. Ya’ really don’t know shit about DEFIANCE, do ya’? And you know even less about ME. I can not WAIT to watch this place eat you alive, you ugly old-

The Texas Stampede, having heard just about enough, is finally pushed to say something.

Well, whistle, anyway.

He presses his tongue against his teeth and lets loose a whistle that could burst an eardrum.

Gordy:
OK, gosh almighty! You two are like two mean ol’ javelinas goin’ at it like that, dang. I’m sorry to interrupt but I think it’d benefit yall to calm down some, yeah? And Mr. Skaaland, I know you ain’t fond of Ms. Hilton but that kind of language could get y’all fired. I’m sure all the fans would love to see you back in any capacity, sir. And… it sure ain’t right to call a woman… umm… what you was about to say there. Sir.

Again Angus is bowled over by how pure of goddamn heart this kid is. Eh. Doris is small potatoes anyway.

Hopefully Box bites her fuckin’ ear off or something during Tag Party.

Angus:
You know what, Gordy? You’re absolutely goddamn right.

Angus turns to Doris with a sarcastic little half bow.

Angus:
I meant what I said, Doris. DEFIANCE is going to chew you up and spit you the fuck out and I absolutely can’t wait to kick back and watch it happen.

She scowls as she watches Angus reach out and shake Gordy’s hand again.

Angus:
God fuckin’ help you, you're a good egg Gordy Lovett. I’ll see you around, kid.

The business card he tries to hand over is immediately snatched away by Doris with a ‘really, now’ look.

Angus shakes his head and smiles as he heads for the exit.

She tears it into pieces and narrows her eyes at Gordy as she silently walks back to the practice ring area where Bronson and Felton are still hard at work.

Gordy watches Angus leave the gym, then looks over at Doris back at ringside across the room.

He goes back to sit back down on the weight bench only to see another one of Angus Skaaland’s business cards sitting there waiting for him. He looks back over towards the rings to make sure Doris isn’t looking, bites his lip, hesitates for a few moments, and goes about pocketing the card.

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