by Paul O'Brien
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
February 2nd 1971. Los Angeles.
The heat was sticky and unwelcome in a room without windows. Added to that was a cigar puffing contest, a broken fan, and enough tension to start a war.
“Nice room, Niko,” Tanner Blackwell, from Carolina territory, said sarcastically as he took his seat.
Niko replied with his middle finger. “Okay, welcome to Los Angeles. It's my pleasure to have you all in my territory. Eh... let's get straight to it. Danno declined to be chair, so Joe Lapine gets the job based on seniority.”
The owners doled out a respectful, but brief round of applause for Joe Lapine, from Memphis, as he stood.
His first point of business was to give his condolences to the widow of the former chairman on behalf of the Council.
“Thank you all for making me feel welcome since I took over from my husband,” Ade replied for the record.
At this stage, everyone was fed up looking somber for that old bastard, but they trotted out the sorry for your trouble face one more time. They knew it was all hollow formality and bullshit. Most of the room resented Ade even being there because, one, her husband was such a prick to them for so long; and two, she happened to possess a vagina.
Joe ran his eye around the table and noticed there was an empty seat. “Before we get onto business, where's Curt?” Joe asked the room as chairman. “Is he traveling late?”
Most of the owners looked puzzled or unaware of his whereabouts. Niko cleared his throat. “From what I understand, Curt Magee is gone.”
Danno looked at Proctor for a reaction.
“Gone where?” Joe asked. “Don't fucking say heaven.”
Niko wiped the sweat from his wrinkled brow. “There was a dispute in Texas with the local TV station there, something to do with ownership. Apparently they shut it down and Curt couldn't hang on any longer while they figured it out.”
There was general shock and empathy around the table – except from Proctor and Danno. It was hard to know if either had heard a word since they entered the room.
“A fifty year territory – gone, like that,” Niko continued with a click of his fingers.
“What happened?” Ade Schiller asked out of concern for her greenness in making the same mistake.
Niko scoffed at being even asked to explain.
“A bit of respect to a fellow owner, Niko,” Joe said.
“You're probably going to find this out sooner rather than later sweetheart, but there's really only two things that keep this business alive.” Niko extended his thumb as a visual aid, “One – wrestlers that people want to see.” He then duly extended his pointing finger. “And two – the TV to put them on. ‘Cause honey, without TV, we're all a bunch of broke, angry men shouting at each other in an empty hall. We wouldn't last two months.”
Ade nodded like she knew this all along. “Yeah. My own gates are starting to fall off.”
She hoped her comment would spur on pearls of wisdom from her 'colleagues.'
“I noticed that,” Jose Rios, from Mexico, uttered as he looked at the cash returns to the Council. “Fall off is a polite term to use.”
“Maybe you could have a little pink cake sale to raise some cash over there?” Niko mumbled back across the table to Ade.
“So Curt defaults Texas back to us? To the Council?” Ade asked.
“No, the territory is his. He can sell it to who he likes. They just have to kick back up to us if they want to run down there.” Joe replied.
“Why are we here, Joe?” Proctor wanted to know. “I'm dying in here and we're talking about nothing.”
“Let's get to our main business, shall we?” Joe asked the room for a consensus.
Danno and Proctor both agreed with a nod of their heads. Everyone seemed in agreement.
“Well... there has been serious concern, I think that's fair?” Joe stopped and took the temperature of his fellow owners. “Between us, with regard to the ongoing tension between two of our members.”
“Just get to it,” Danno said.
“Okay. We feel that this escalating... let’s just say relationship, between you two is going to end up costing us all money. Some of the rumors going around about the stuff that's happening to you two is a little shocking, to tell you the truth.”
Danno stood up and pointed to Proctor. “I will not work with that man ever again.”
Never in the history of the NWC was there such a statement.
“Excuse me, Danno?” Joe interrupted. “But with all due respect, you have the belt. We took a vote to give it to you on your word that you would share the champion with us all equally.”
Danno never took his eyes off Proctor. “And have I been good to my word?”
“Yes, but...”
“I'm done here.”
Danno left the room in silence.
Ricky waited like an expectant father in the stairwell. Danno walked down from the meeting in a hurry.
“How did it go?” Ricky asked.
“Bought us some more time.”
“For what?”
Danno burst out the door.
February 10th 1971. Boston.
Another raw brick hallway. Another show finished. Two more before the wrestlers could go home for a day. Then another twenty day loop around the East Coast. The day off would do everyone good, except for the ones that had to do media. There had been a lot more of that lately. Wrestling was a hot topic again. Papers, magazines, radio.
Times like this were the wrestler’s equivalent of 'making hay while the sun shined.' The crowds were huge, which meant the payoffs were bigger than usual. A smart wrestler could retire to a nice small business off the back of a run like this.
That's why the injuries would have to be unbearable to get one of them to come off the road.
Ginny stood, chewing some tobacco by the pay phone at the end of the hallway. Chewing some Beech-Nut at the end of the night was Ginny's nightcap. He’d given up drinking many years ago. He had to make up a story about there being a hole in his stomach and doctors telling him that he would die outright if he continued.
Truth was, he wasn't able to handle it. Some people were allergic to seafood; Ginny was allergic to alcohol.
Other wrestlers limped past him or delicately iced up their joints on the way to their cars. Pain or no pain, the cash payoffs were burning a hole in their newly bought polyester pants. They were rich on the road, but broke by the time they got home to their struggling families. It was the wrestler's curse. No one thought the well would dry up in the good times.
Or, they never thought they'd have to come off the road.
Ginny crushed a quarter into his hand. The hand that still worked. He was in agony, but the other passing wrestlers would never know. Most of the time the act didn't stop when they left the ring.
“Where are the rats, Ginny?” a fresh-faced farm boy wrestler from Oklahoma asked. Ginny didn't like the term 'ring rats.' He hated when the Boys talked about their conquests like that.
“What's wrong with calling them ladies?” Ginny asked.
The young wrestler frowned at the old-timer. “Cause they're fucking rats, Ginny. They come to the shows to be fucked by the stars.”
Ginny could see how statements like that seemed forced in the young guys. That's the way the road worked on you. Made you do things and say things that you never would at home. Give a man a roll of cash and no way home and it won't take long to see the worst of him.
“We're going to Dreamer's Bar,” the young Oklahoman offered to Ginny as he left. “Good match tonight.”
The exodus from the locker room to the exit slowed to a stop. Ginny kept chewing and smiling, just in case there was a straggler still in the showers.
His whole body filled with an anxiety that wouldn't let him wait one more second before he sunk the quarter into the phone.
Back in a small, tidy apartment in New York, Ricky picked up his ringing phone. “Hello?”
“It's me,” Ginny
whispered.
“Are you okay?” Ricky asked, sensing immediately something was wrong. He knew Ginny long enough to know that he hated using phones. “Ginny? What's wrong? You okay?”
Ginny paused and looked down at his dead arm. “I was fucking working with this greenhorn and he dropped me...”
“Jesus.”
Ginny took a cautious look down the hallway. “Thing is, my arm is... I might need to take a week or two...”
Ricky began to plan the shortest route in his head. “I'll be there in a little while.”
“No. I'm fine. I need you to call Danno about that job. I'll take the driver's job. Just for a while till I get fixed or whatever.”
Ricky was a little taken aback by Ginny's turnaround. “Okay.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Ginny hung up.
Ricky knew what Danno's terms would be.
February 11th 1971. New York.
“Sir?” asked the pretty secretary from around the waiting-room door. “Are you ready to change?”
Ricky thought about it for a second. He noticed the various Stations of the Cross that were hung around the room. The good Lord himself was there to witness his lie. “Sure.”
“Good. The first step is admitting that you have a depraved hunger inside you.”
Well, that was a bit harsh.
“Is the meeting through here?” Ricky wondered as he followed the brightly dressed woman down a small corridor.
“You have to do your interview first.”
“Interview?”
The secretary nodded as she opened the door. “We need to see just how far your deviance has sunk. Have a nice day.”
Ricky sat in the beige room and counted the lamps. There were a lot. And candles. And crucifixes. Nine lamps, floor and table top, about fifteen candles and lots of crosses.
Fuck you, Danno. You fat piece of shit.
The door opened beyond the large desk and a very young-looking, thin, well-groomed man threaded through the doorframe and walked into the room.
Ricky stood and offered his hand. The man walked around the outstretched greeting and hugged Ricky really tightly for a really long time.
“Bless you, my son,” the man whispered closely into Ricky's ear.
The man finally broke the embrace and offered his guest to take a seat. “My name is Rufus Shimmin.”
“Shimmin?”
'“Yes, Shimmin. Like swimming without the 'w' and the 'g.' Shimmin. And put in an 'h', obviously.”
Ricky nervously sat himself back down. “Okay.”
Rufus confidently threw himself into his big chair behind the desk. “And you are?”
“Rick...”
“Apart from a sinner, I mean,” laughed Rufus, cutting through Ricky's introduction.
“Kevin... Myers.”
Rufus threw his feet onto the table. Even the bottoms of his shoes were immaculately kept. “Okay, Kevin,” Rufus opened disbelievingly. “Let's see if we can't get you back on the road to salvation.”
He reached under his desk and positioned a Super 8 camera facing Ricky.
“What are you doing there?” Ricky asked, leaning out of shot.
“I like to study my sessions later,” Rufus answered.
Ricky shuffled his seat to the right of the lens. “Turn it off.”
“Excuse me?”
“Turn it off.”
Rufus dropped his feet from his desk and disappointedly pushed the camera away from Ricky. “It's a policy here, Mr. Myers.”
“I came here for a group. One group. That's it. You give me a piece of paper or something to say that's what happened and I'll be on my way.”
Rufus was shocked at Ricky's demands. “I can't do that.”
“Why not?”
Rufus left his chair and positioned himself out front on the corner of his desk. “'Cause you can't walk out of here the same way you walked in. It's our promise.”
Ricky was unsure of what to do next. He pictured a group in a circle telling stories. Some place he could go but not take part.
Rufus playfully tapped Ricky's knee with his foot. “How often do you have thoughts of that nature?”
Ricky began to fell hugely uncomfortable. “What nature?”
“Well, you're a big man, Mr. Myers. I'm sure it’s hard to contain all the urges that must run through a body like that.”
Ricky stood up. “How about I smack your jaw?”
“Pray with me.”
Ricky grabbed Rufus by the jaw. “We're done here,” he said as he grabbed a business card from the desk.
The secretary bundled in the door. “Leave him alone,” she screamed.
Ricky looked around the room for peepholes. “What the fuck is wrong with you people?”
“You have a chance to change, Mr. Myers.”
Ricky got into his car outside the white building. Ginny was sitting in the passenger seat cradling his arm. “Well?”
Ricky didn't want to answer, but he wanted to go back into that building and kick the shit out of Swimming or whatever his fucking name was.
“It's going to be okay,” Ricky said as he leaned over and kissed Ginny.
“Didn't work then?” Ginny asked.
Ricky angrily started the car. “How's your arm?” He pulled into traffic without really looking.
“The same.”
Ricky slammed on the brake. “Fuck them. I want to do something.”
A couple of cars behind started to honk.
“Like what?” Ginny asked.
“I don't know. You want to go dancing or something? Let's get on a plane and go somewhere for a few days.”
“Move, asshole,” shouted a voice from behind.
“We have groceries in the trunk. We don't want the ice cream to go all funny.” Ginny said.
Ricky calmed down a little. “You're right.” He pressed on the gas and headed down the road.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
April 17th 1971. Los Angeles.
“No fucking way. Let some of those pieces of shit come down here and try and take it off me,” Babu said as he put his foot through his dressing room door.
“Take it easy,” Danno pleaded. “Don't get us thrown out of here.”
A young intern walked to where the door used to be and looked warily into the room. “They're ready for you, Mr....” The intern checked his clipboard. “Babu?”
Babu nodded and the intern walked quickly away.
He ushered Danno into the corner of the room. “What the fuck am I doing here?” he whispered.
“You're going to be great. It will play to your strengths.”
“I'm mute, remember.”
“What does that matter?”
“It's a fucking talk show.”
“It's a talk show sketch. National TV. You know how long it’s been since our business has been allowed on national TV?”
Danno nodded for Babu to follow him into the bathroom where they could talk openly. “I would never position you to look foolish or weak. Never. You're my champion. It's my job to make you look strong.”
Danno locked the bathroom door behind them for extra peace of mind. The space remaining in there was tight.
“Why are you telling me to lose to these assholes?”
“It's business, Chrissy. That's all,” Danno explained to the frustrated giant. “We've made our money for now. We play this right and we get it back again.”
“Ah, fuck the business for a minute, Danno. What about them disrespecting your wife, ruining your anniversary, nearly killing the two of you with the car exploding outside your house? They retired Folsom. He'll be lucky if he can walk without a cane for the rest of his life. You should have blown the fucking head off Proctor King when you had the chance.”
“We can't forget the business, Chrissy. That's not what we do.”
“There's no ticket sales in this.”
“You're wrong.”
“I'm not dropping the belt to those animals in Florida, Danno. Not after everythin
g they've done to you and this company. Fuck them. All of them.”
Babu smashed open the stall door with his hand. “I take pride in that belt. I work hard and always give the people a good show for their money. They won't do that.”
“Proctor is a better worker than you think. He'll do business the right way when the time comes.”
“Well, he's not getting the belt. I still have respect enough to not let him walk all over you, even if you don't.”
Babu opened the door and walked toward the set.
Danno could feel the squeeze of the tub seat around his hips. He tried to maneuver himself to find a little comfort while the lights were dimmed. At the top of the studio, he could see people making their way back to their seats after the bathroom break. To his left was the vacated desk of the host, Jonny LaFleur. Over to his right, he could see Babu stepping out of his ape's costume. The sketch was over and now it was up to Danno to try and change the perception of the business to a national audience.
Jonny came flying back into his seat. He didn't make small talk or even look at Danno while a bevy of people huddled round him to touch him up, wipe him down, and tuck him in.
Jonny LaFleur was a man of a certain age who seemed to be desperately trying to cling onto times long past. He was caked in makeup, had unusually white false teeth and had one of the worst hairpieces of all time.
In his own eyes, he was gorgeous.
“And we're coming back,” a voice shouted from the darkness. The large 'applause' sign flashed. The audience clapped accordingly. The lights cranked up and Danno's eyes struggled to adjust.
The voice from the darkness starting again. “And 5... 4... 3...” The voice went silent.
“Welcome back, everyone, to Talk More with Jonny LaFleur. My guest at this time is...” Jonny picked up the blue card in front of him and looked at Danno for the first time. “Danno Garland, who is a professional wrestling champion...” Jonny stopped himself and looked to the crowd. “No... that can't be right.”
