Roots.

[Gerard Angelo]

The mid-day sun beats down on the nearly abandoned parking lot of a small strip mall in San Diego. All that occupy the lot are a few scattered cars and seagulls scavenging for food from the fast food containers littering the asphalt. A gull ironically sticks its beak inside a discarded Popeye's box as an Ultra Blue Jaguar F-Type R pulls smoothly into the strip mall. The sports car glides into a parking spot, sending a few of the seabirds scattering as they flap out of the way. The Jaguar's hum stops as the car is powered off, the metallic painted door swinging open. Gerard Angelo steps out of the car, peering around at the desolate strip mall from behind his expensive sunglasses. It all looked very different from the last time The Hollywood Hero was here, though that was over fifteen ago. It had been a very busy and vibrant area for the businesses that inhabited it all those years ago. Gerry remembered having to wait for nearly a half an hour every time he wanted to eat at the P.F. Chang's that used to be here. Now there was maybe a handful of businesses in the strip mall, scattered between empty shops. The busiest one might have been the Popeye's, and Gerard figured half the clientele were doing drugs in the bathroom instead of buying chicken.

But Gerard wasn't here for biscuits. He turned his attention to the one place that had stood the test of time, the Starsmore Wrestling Academy. The building was an old gym converted into a wrestling school. It was in that building that Gerard took his very first back bump and almost quit right after it. It was in that smelly, old, building that the young, arrogant, and rich pretty boy had been roughed up nearly every day for his first month, but kept coming back for more. Gerard even had his first few matches here, as they would pack the basement with fans. Gerard was pretty sure they charged ten bucks a head for those shows, yet he only remembered getting pizza for his troubles. He smirked at the memory. That was just part of the business.

Gerry straightened out his blue dress shirt before buttoning his gray suit jacket, shutting the door behind him as he strode towards the Academy, his Berluti slip-on's making barely a sound on the hot asphalt. The Man Without Peer stops just outside the building, looking up at it as the memories continued to flood his mind. The place has barely changed since Gerry was eighteen, the second ‘A' in the academy was still burned out on the electric sign along with a few more letters. He tried to peer inside the converted gym's windows, but they were tinted and all he could see were dark blobs. Gerard realized he was stalling and suddenly wondered why he felt so nervous. Gerard Angelo was The Hollywood Hero. He wasn't supposed to get nervous. The Hollywood Hero was always confident, bordering on cocky. It wasn't just a gimmick, Gerard was the gimmick. He lived and breathed it. It was who he was.

Yet, the past few weeks had had him questioning himself. Angelo was trying to put all the stuff with his father aside, though that was easier said than done. Even if that wasn't a factor, he had a movie that needed to get filmed and finished. Not to mention he had two straight losses at Trauma, grinding his momentum from Deadly Intentions to a screeching halt. Gerry's mind was all over the place and he was walking into Collision Course with exactly zero momentum and confidence. How was he suppose to beat one of the most dominant World Champions in recent history right now? If this was a couple of years ago, maybe even a couple of months ago, Gerard would've just shrugged it off. The Hollywood Hero would've talked a lot of shit and would have walked into Collision Course and gotten his teeth kicked in by Kyle Shane. Then he would've just played it off as not a big deal, and went about trying to find his footing in the mid-card.

Gerard liked to think he was much wiser now. He realized that he might never get another World Championship match the rest of his PCW career. Gerard had to go out and take this one in a ridiculous upset over Dominator in the Deadly Rumble. Even his cocky ass knew he got lucky that night. So his first title match in Pure Class Wrestling could be his last. He had to make the most of it. Of course it was easy to think that, but in reality, he was going up against a man who's had a death grip on the PCW title for a calendar year. No pressure, right? So Gerard took two weeks off from filming Iron Horse(much to his director's dismay) to clear his head and get refocused on wrestling. And what better way to do that then to go back to where it all began. He was hoping that maybe going back to basics and getting his old mentor's advice would set him on the right path.

Jonathan Starsmore, the man who trained Gerard Angelo, among others, was a wrestling genius. He had varying degrees of success as an in-ring competitor. But after he had to retire due to a back injury, he found his true calling in the business, which was being a manager. Starsmore managed several wrestlers to top titles around the world, along with a few tag teams to gold. Gerry was hoping he could pick the brain of the wrestling savant and try to formulate a game plan to finally take down The God of Game. That's what Gerard hoped at least.

The movie star took a deep breath and pushed the door open to the gym. The first thing that assaulted his senses was the smell of sweat and the sounds of clanging weights. It was sweltering hot inside like it always was. All of his memories started flooding back to him. Gerry looked up at the first of two rings in the center of the gym where a group of four students, made up of three guys and a girl, were back bumping under the watchful eye of a trainer Gerard had never seen. He remembered having to run the ropes in that ring until his legs felt like Jell-O. Where he would do a hundred bumps a day while he sweated to the point of dehydration. He wondered if the blood stain was still on the mat from an inadvertent elbow that busted his head open. The Hollywood Hero looked around the gym being kind of empty. Aside from the students in the ring, there might have been a handful of rookies lifting free weights and jumping rope along the sides around the dual rings. Everyone was so focused on their own work that nobody even acknowledged the celebrity in the room. He continued looking around at the outdated work out equipment and various posters hung on the wall of different wrestling shows, and that's when he saw him. His once muscular body had given way to pudge and a beer belly straining against his sweat-soaked wife beater. The man's hair, while balding even over a decade ago, had forsaken the top of his head. What dark hair he had left was streaked with grey and white. His portly face was covered by a five o'clock shadow as he stood watching his students lift, his still massive arms crossed over his hairy chest. This was the legendary Jonathan Starsmore. Gerard smirked and removed his glasses from his face, folding them and putting them into his jacket pocket. He strode over to where the legendary manager was standing. Jonathan turned as he noticed the well-dressed man walking towards him. He put his usual scowl on his face, not realizing who Gerard was at first. Gerard shot him his trademark smirk as his former teacher eyed him down. Something finally registered for Starsmore and he grinned back at his former pupil.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore fuckin' eyes." Jonathan walked up to Gerard as he said this and pulled him into a bear hug. Gerry let out a groan as the older man lifted him off his feet and squeezed the air out of him with his still powerful arms. Jonathan realized the pain he was causing the younger man and set him down giving him an apologetic smack on the shoulder. Gerry straightened out his suit and smiled.

"Nice to see you too, Jon. You're still spry for an old man."

"Shut the fuck up," Jonathan said with a smile as he put his hands on his most successful pupil's shoulders, "What the hell are you doing down here? Not even bothering to gimme a damn call beforehand. I would've made the trainees clean up a bit."

"That's exactly why I decided to surprise you. You would've made a big deal over nothing." Gerry says this with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Not a big deal," Jonathan scoffs. "It's not every day a massive Hollywood star and the PCW title number one contender comes to visit an old man. How long has it been since I last saw you? Two, three years, maybe?" Gerard suddenly felt awful. This was a man who was a huge part of his life. He helped shaped him into the man he was today. Yet, Gerard couldn't make time for someone who was more of a father to him than his own. These past few weeks were really putting things in perspective for him.

"I dunno, but it's been far too long."

Jonathan cracked a smile at those words. By now though everyone else in the gym had stopped what they were doing to watch the living legend and his world famous pupil interact. Jon looks around at everyone watching him and his face twisted into another scowl.

"What the fuck are you all looking at?" Starsmore yells out, his round face growing red. "Get back to work you god damn fools!" The vein in his head bulges out as everyone quickly turns away an scurries back to what they were doing. Jonathan's teachers yelling at the students now, trying to deflect any of Jon's anger. Gerard can't help but laugh. The old man was in his sixties and he still struck fear into his student's hearts like it was two thousand and one again. Jonathan made sure to glare daggers at everyone in the immediate area before turning back to Gerry.

"Follow me." He says, heading towards the back of the gym towards his office. Gerard follows his father figure, walking past the two rings. The trainees in the ring stare at him as he strides past, bringing back memories of when he would get submission holds slapped on him for reasons like he was too smug. Jonathan turned the old brass knob on the wooden door and pushed it one to reveal his small office. The room seemed even smaller due to the desk being littered with stacks of papers around an old iMac desktop computer. Jon sat in the leather chair behind his desk and Gerard shuts the door behind them, sitting in the orange plastic and metal chair opposite of the teacher.

"So what brings you here, kid?" Jonathan asks, leaning back in the chair. "I figured you'd be busy training for your title shot this week, so I assume this isn't a social call."

Gerard gives a sigh. "You're not wrong. The title shot has been on my mind since I won the battle royal. I took a few weeks off from acting to focus on it, and now I dunno what to do. Kyle Shane seems to be unstoppable. He's taken the best shots of almost every heavy hitter in PCW, laughed in their faces, and put them down. I lucked my way into this spot." Once more Gerry feels as if he's eighteen again, the facade of his cocky, over-confident, Hollywood Hero persona washed away in the presence of Jonathan. He wouldn't have believed how honest he just was if he hadn't spoken the words himself. "It was the least entered Deadly Rumble in the history of PCW. Maybe Kyle was right."

"Gerry, it's not about luck or anything like that, kid. You just took advantage of what was in front of you. Not like you could control who did and who didn't throw their hat into the ring." He stared across the desk at his star former pupil, not having seen this side of Gerard in a very long time. "If you ask me, Shane knows that you're gonna be trouble for him on Sunday, so he's trying to get inside your head before then. Don't let him win already, kid."

Gerard chewed his bottom lip. He knew Jonathan was right. Kyle was doing his usual bullshit. He was good at finding something that would eat away at his opponent in the weeks and days leading up to a match until the guy or gal was scatterbrained. That, combined with Shane's near superhuman ability to eat a beating like he was Wolverine, was enough to ruin even the best-laid plans. Gerry shook his head. He was determined to not be just another victim for Kyle Shane.

"You're right like always, old man," Gerry said with a laugh. "But aside from Kyle Shane being a huge dick to compensate, he's one tough son of a bitch. That's why I came here. I need your help with a game plan. No one has been able to knock this guy off when it mattered for a year. And week after week he becomes more of an insufferable asshole."

"Until someone takes the title from him, the champ gets to talk however he wants. He's earned the right."

"I know but I already can't stand hearing his mouth when he's talking about everyone else. Imagine what it'll be like if I lose to him." Gerry runs his hands through his hair, already imagining the smug look on Shane's face if it came to pass. Jonathan furrows his brow, becoming agitated with his former student.

"So use it as god damn motivation, Gerry!" The yelling takes Gerard off guard as Jon's face grows as red as it did out in the gym. "I don't give a damn what the little prick says. You're Gerard fuckin' Angelo. You've won world titles before. You've beaten people who were the so-called ‘unbeatable'."

Gerard is still in shock as Jonathan yells at him. He hasn't been spoken to like this in a really long time. Part of him was kind of annoyed but another part found it refreshing and a little necessary.

"What does that little fuck even have to say about you?" Jon asks the damn broken as his anger flows freely like Niagara Falls. "That you're not in his league? That you're a B movie star? That you haven't won a title in PCW?"

"Yeah, pretty much that's all he's got."

"Fuck him. He's sat on his throne so long that he's grown soft. Listen, I've been following Pure Class Wrestling since the day I heard you signed, kid. Shane has done nothing since becoming champion except face guys who are in the twilight of their careers. He makes all these jokes and talks lightly of you because he knows he's a fraud champion." Gerry makes a ‘yikes' face at Jonathan's words.

"Fraud is a little strong, no?"

"You're not in an interview on Jimmy Fallon, Ger. You don't gotta be professional here. I know you don't like the guy, and neither do I from what I see on television. So be real with me here. Tell me what you really think. I saw you during your contract signing. Gimme some of that reality" Starsmore places bother his elbows on the desk, folding his hands together to prop his chin upon. Gerard thinks for a minute and then sighs.

"Kyle Shane is selfish, entitled, asshole. He thinks because he's the champion we all need to bow our heads and whisper in his presence. In reality, he's an immature man-child who would fold at the first sign of real adversity. He thinks because he overcame a rough upbringing to become a wrestler give him the right to pass judgment on everyone." Gerard has stood up while he is talking, loudly, even though it was just Jon in the room. "He was a guy who walked into PCW and got handed opportunities from day one, while I had to scratch and claw my way to just one. And I'm not gonna squander my opportunity just so some overgrown child can talk about me in stupid video game cliches. I want to be the one knock that stupid smirk off Kyle Shane's face."

Jonathan grins at Gerard, feeling like he finally reached the kid he remembered have so much promise all those years ago.

"Kid, I hope you brought some training gear with you," Jonathan said as he stood up with his taller student. "That's suit looks too nice to be rolling on my mats." Gerard smiles back at his mentor, knowing that if anyone can find a weakness in Shane's game, it's him.

It's a few hours later and Gerry is still on the ring apron, his white tank top soaked with sweat like his hair. Jonathan walks over to him and hands him a bottle of beer. Gerard graciously accepts and twists the bottle cap off, the hiss of carbon escaping audible for a second. He clinks bottles with Jonathan, who leans against the apron while taking a swig of beer.

"Those kids you're training are pretty good," Gerard says with a smile, wiping the sweat off his brow with the top of his wrist. "They almost caught me a few times."

"Yeah, they got bright futures. You're still looking quick in the ring, kid. Still explosive after two knee surgeries." Gerard laughs and smacks his left knee.

"Best doctors money can buy." He laughs it off again and takes a sip of his beer. They sit in silence for a few moments, Gerry looking up at the clear night sky through the skylights. He rubs his thumb on the condensation of the bottle before turning to Jonathan to ask the question that been nagging his mind all night.

"Have you talked to Kara, lately?"

The question hangs out there in the void as Jonathan takes a long, deep, drink from the beer bottle as he decides what to do.

"Yeah, she sent me a ‘Happy Thanksgiving' text. And before you ask, I haven't seen her in years, kid.

Gerry chews his lip as he looks down at the beer. Kara was his ex-wife that he hasn't seen maybe five years. She was a former professional wrestler herself that Gerard met at the academy. Gerard and she had an on again off again relationship for years before Gerard confessed his love for her and asked her to marry him. She said yes and they were married that same year(Jonathan had even given her away since she had her own family problems) and they were happy for a little while.

But like it always does, fame and the wrestling business claimed another relationship. She had to retire due to concussion issues and their relationship couldn't handle Gerard being on the road 355 days a year for work between wrestling and his budding movie career. Combine that with all of the temptations Gerard faced between both his careers and his trouble at home, well Gerard fucked up as men often do. They were divorced quickly, Gerard owed her that at least, and she ran away to Europe. Last Gerard heard she was doing something with fashion in Milan.

"Well, if you talk to her again," Gerard looked at Jonathan, remembering the anger in his voice when he found out Gerard had cheated on the girl he looked at like his daughter, "Tell her I'm sorry."

Jonathan nods and puts his hand on Gerard's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Yeah, kid, I will."

He lifted the bottle of beer to his lips and drained what was left in it, leaving Gerry on the apron as he walked back to his office to grab another. Gerard didn't notice as his thoughts were still on Kara, remembering the first day he met her. He sighed and looked back up at the stars through the skylight.

"One day I hope you'll forgive me." He said before chugging the rest of his beer, setting down the empty bottle on the ring steps.

"For everything."

=========


Senator-Elect Anthony D. Angelo put down his fork and wiped his mouth with the napkin on his lap as he chewed the last piece of filet mignon in his mouth. The night had been a wonderful celebration of his victory in the Mid-Term Elections last month. The gathering was held in the private party room of The Butcher's Best in Manhattan. The guest list included all those who contributed to his campaign, including those who worked for him and donors, his business friends, and his new friend Vladimir Semenov. Semenov had graciously offered up his kitchen and bar for them, so they spent the night eating and drinking their fill like Vikings of legend.

Tony looked down the table as everyone around him laughed and joked as they drank and ate. He saw Vladimir drinking a cup of coffee with no plates or utensils around him. It hadn't gone unnoticed by Tony that Semenov hadn't drunk or eaten all night. The Russian made eye contact with Angelo and smiled at him. He got up and walked over to the Senator-Elect from New York and placed a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Come with me, Tony," the Russian business owner said with the same smile, "I have some Cubans for us."

Tony got up and put his suit jacket back on. His bodyguard got up to follow, but the billionaire told him to stay put with a hand gesture. He followed Semenov into the kitchen where they sidestepped cooks and sous chefs as they made their way outside to the back loading dock. Semenov turned and smiled at the American before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulled out two hand-rolled cigars. Vlad but the ends of both and handed one to Tony, who gladly accepted it. The restaurant owner took a book of matches out of a pocket and struck one, lighting Tony's before charring the end of his own. Tony puffed out a cloud of blue-gray smoke that lazily traveled up into the night sky.

"So what did you want to talk about, Vlad?"

The Russian shot another smile at Tony with the cigar clenched between his teeth. He let out a cloud of tobacco smoke, pulling the cigar out.

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't forget your end of the deal, my friend." He ashed his Cuban, the grey matter hitting the concrete of the loading dock before blowing away in the light breeze. "We did a lot to make sure you got in there."

Tony rubbed his jaw and stared at the crime boss known as The Butcher. He knew he could make one phone call once he was in office and have this man taken down before lunch. But that wouldn't be good for business.

"I haven't forgotten, Vladimir. But this is only the first stage of the plan. I will hold up my end of the bargain so long as you hold up yours." Tony stared him in the eye as he said this. They were the coldest blue. Vladimir's face broke into another smile.

"Do not worry, Tony. I've talked to my friends in Moscow. The plan is already in motion."

It was Tony's turn to smile.

"You're gonna be handsomely rewarded for all your help, Vladimir. I don't forget."

"And neither do I." The butcher said coldly. Tony just smiled at him before taking a long pull of the expensive cigar, choosing to ignore the half threat, for now.

"In a few years time, we will both be where we deserve, Vlad. I'm a man of my word."

The two powerful men from two different worlds stood in silence as they finished their cigars. Both men had a healthy respect for each other, but neither trusted the other at all. Tony knew that Vladimir was integral to his plan and vice versa. Right now they were allowing themselves to enjoy the small victory. The rest of the war was to be won soon.