Making Their Way, The Best Way They Know How - Part 7
Dec 15, 2016 21:58:41 GMT -5
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Post by jamesradford on Dec 15, 2016 21:58:41 GMT -5
Terry Hero’s Gold Gym
Venice Beach, California
12/14/2016
Bobby Benson finished ironing his undershirts, neatly folding them and placing them in his designer travel bag. Everything in that container had been meticulously placed for optimum efficiency, and it had a sense of order about it that sometimes conflicted with Benson’s flamboyant personality.
Deep down though, that was Bobby. A walking contradiction of chaotic style and order that had served him over the past twenty years in putting him just slightly ahead of everyone else. It still wasn’t far enough ahead to finally retire, but he was making inroads now that would ensure in the next few years he would be able to put his feet up on a beach somewhere in Florida.
That thought was in his mind when a wrap came at the door. He stopped his packing, and turned over his shoulder. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Terry Hero stepped through, closing the portal behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned against the wall, eyeing Bobby with a suspicious glare.
“So what was all this about, Benson, and don’t bullshit me.”
Bobby raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but he turned back towards his suitcase, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Why, whatever do you mean?”
Hero came off the wall, and strode over to tower over the wiry manager menacingly.
“You know damn well what I mean! Why did you bring this hayseed all the way out here, and don’t give me that bullshit that he needed some extra training? Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges, but he already has all the tools. Hell, even his promo work isn’t terrible, though it’d be nice if he bared his teeth a little. That little Asian filly tore him a new one, and he’s trying to tip toe around the girl like he’s afraid to hurt her feelings.”
Bobby nodded, brow furrowed. “I know, but that’s just who James is.”
Terry regarded Bobby with a skeptical stare. “Nobodies that fucking nice, but especially not in our business.”
Bobby shrugged, and continued to arrange his hair products in the side compartment. “James is. That’s part of the reason I brought him out here. To see what he could achieve if he broke out of his shell, and tried a few things different. Also to show him someone who played the face, but still had the stones to drive home his business behind the scenes.”
Terry Hero grunted, stepping over to one of the chairs in the room to take a seat. “You know, I used to be a nice guy too.”
“Oh yeah?” Bobby asked, smirking at the thought. “What happened?”
“I met you.” Terry said curtly, staring a hole into the wiry man’s back.
“Yeah, and now you have this luxurious house/gym that you call home, with those remote control golden arches out front that keep your legions of fans at bay. Cars, boats, public appearance, your face on lunch boxes. And why Terry? Because I paved the way for you to make an ass load of money and set yourself up for the rest of your life.”
“Yeah, Bobby,” Terry replied, rolling his eyes. “That was all because of you.”
Bobby spun around, eyes blazing. “Did I say that, you fucking pre-Madonna. I said I paved the way, but you built it. If I had been smarter, I’d have made sure to tweak those contracts so that they were more beneficial to me, and then I guess we’d see who put in what.”
Bobby sighed, shaking his head as Terry glared at him. “Terry, I brought James here to try and get him to assess some things on his own. I already know he’s got the talent, and people really seem to like him, but he’s got to get past this notion of respect. He needs to cut his teeth a little. Coming here has given him a glimpse of what the wrestling business can do for him if he’s willing to put forth the effort, and sometimes putting forth the effort means leaving some of your preconceived notions behind.”
Terry shook his head, and stared at the neatly packed suitcase. “You are one cagey fuck, Bobby Benson, but you’re right. Question is, will all of this actually make any difference. You saw the kid’s response to that wallflower. Some people just don’t have what it takes to play the game.”
Bobby stepped back over to the bed, and closed the suitcase, clasping the locking top. “James Radford has what it takes, it’s just buried beneath a suit of armor. He’s still walking around the world like he’s everyone’s white knight, and when he catches on that isn’t what anyone wants or needs, he’ll let that armor fall, and become what I know he can be. Maybe it’ll take a few more losses, a few more wins. Either way, I’m in it for the long haul now, and there’s no turning back.”
Terry laughed, drawing a dangerous look from Bobby that didn’t dissuade the man in the least. He pushed out of his chair and made his way towards the door, still chuckling. “Man, I tell you Bobby, you are a real piece of work. I’m surprised you can even look at yourself in the mirror anymore with that line of shit you’re selling, but hey..” Terry turned to look over his shoulder with a shrug. “Who am I to judge? Maybe you’ll get that golden goose before it’s over with.”
With that, Terry threw open the door and exited, leaving the portal hanging wide open to remind Bobby that it was time for him to get out. Bobby sniffed the air in distaste, grabbed his bag, and then marched out into the hall. James was already waiting out at the front gate where a Taxi had come out to meet them to take them to the airport. He could tell that his manager had something on his mind by the sour expression he had as he tossed his bag into the cabbie’s trunk.
“Penny for your thoughts?” James asked good naturedly.
Bobby looked at James with the same sour expression, and replied. “Save the penny’s, James. Bring me dollar signs.”
James wasn’t sure what to say, so all he could do was nod, not realizing that Bobby Benson had been serious as a heart attack.
The Tsongas Center
Lowell, Massachusetts
12/15/2016
James Radford stood in front of an AWE backdrop wearing his usual garb, only this time, his face was set in stone, and the southern charm he was famed for was nowhere in sight.
“Mrs. Zombie, you and I need to have a chat.”
He said it flatly, and matter of fact.
“But I don’t think that this can be the kind of chat where words will suffice, no, I figure it’s the kind that will only get through with blood. You say that everyone puts on a front, it’s how they’re living, and that you and yours live in reality. Well, dear, I beg to differ. The only thing that I’ve seen or heard so far is the same old malarkey that everyone else in this gin joint is pushing, with the exception of Dom DiBona, which I say more power to him to expunge the status quo.”
James grinned, but it was a mirthless one.
“My comparison between Dom and I wasn’t one of style or poise, but of intent. He wanted to prove himself just as much as I did, and you know what, you’re right, Mrs. Zombie, I failed. He won that contest, and now he goes on to the Paramount Championship, while I’m stuck here in the Alpha Cup with you. Only this time, I’m not dealing with someone who knows anything about respect. I’m dealing with another competitor whose grand claim to fame is telling me how she’s going to be that much better than me. Again!”
James shrugged, questioning with his stare.
“You talk a whole lot about reality and ‘the truth’, and I guess anything can seem true when its viewed at a slant. I can spin you all sorts of yarn that’s absolutely true, but if you spin that truth on a dime you find out that it’s all left to interpretation. Best I can tell; your interpretation is all about pessimism. Your reality is a dark place where no one is who they seem, and no one means what they say. Everybody is just putting on a front, and deep within is this dark specter clawing to be free. According to you, you’re going to help me out. You’re going to uncover that truth in me, and hell, apparently I’m even going to thank you for it.”
James chuckled darkly.
“You were right about one thing, there aren’t any real saints in this world, and I never claimed to be. I just said that I wasn’t going to shit on you just for the sake of squatting. That I respected your talent, and the family that you come from. That I wasn’t going to try and cheat you, and hoped for a fair contest.”
James came closed to the camera, tipping his hat up.
“But that doesn’t mean that I won’t fight fire with fire. I don’t give a damn who you are, if someone pokes at you enough you're going to lash out. Because everyone has a limit, and you can only going to be pushed so far.”
James suddenly settled back, his eyes softening, and the southern charm grin finally flashed.
“But even then, that doesn’t mean that you can’t show mercy. That doesn’t mean that you can’t have respect. That doesn’t mean that you can’t hold your head up high, even in defeat, and not give your opponent the satisfaction of seeing you wallow in it. That doesn’t mean that you can’t shake hands before and after the contest, knowing that you both gave your very best, and make no mistake, I am going to give you my very best. If that means I lose, then that means I lose, but that won’t change the fact that after it’s over I’ll look to you with the same respect, if not more.”
James winked, pulling his hat back down.
“Because despite your slander, despite your cryptic view of the world, I still believe there are good people out there. I also believe that no one is perfect, and even good people sometimes do bad things. In those cases, it’s up to the individual to try and put things right, and you know what, in some situations you just can’t. Well, this isn’t one of those situations.”
“We’re going to try and hurt each other, Mrs. Zombie, because that’s what we do, and the profession we’ve chosen. That’s the truth. That is reality. We both knew what we were getting into when we signed on the dotted line. Just as true, we both need this. I failed to gain the Paramount Championship, and you’re damn right that smarts, just as much as I’m sure it chaps your ass that you failed to claim the Resilience Championship. The Alpha Cup is our last bastion of hope.
James smiles at the word.
“Now there’s one for that colorful vocabulary of yours. Hope. You say that you’re going to reveal my true self to the world, that you’re going to bring me enlightenment. Well, Mrs. Zombie, how about I just do what I do, prove myself in and out of that ring, and maybe in the process I can help you to reinstate that word back into your spirit.”
A wink.
“I would say good luck, but I figure you don’t believe in it, so I’ll just say, see you there.”