Post by Stace Matthews on Jan 31, 2006 22:47:49 GMT -5
The scene opens, inside of a small lobby, with the sound of two small children in the play area on the far end of the room. Among those waiting in the four rows of seats is the jaw dropping Stace Matthews, flipping through a pamphlet entitled, “Every Penny Counts” but she’s clearly not all that concerned with it’s message.
Not that she sticks out from those around her, but she cares about her appearance and it shows in her choice of clothing, yet another Neiman Marcus ensemble. Her pinstriped sheer matches her purse that’s tucked between her ankles.
“Stace Matthews.” A nurse calls out from behind the reception desk.
She grabs her purse and heads towards the door to the left of the desk. The camera follows, of course, because a pro-wrestler’s life is aired out for all to see these days.
“How you doing today Mrs. Matthews?”
“No complaints.” Stace replies. “Nervous.”
“Johnny not with you today?” The nurse continues the small talk.
“No.” Stace answers with a hint of trembling in her voice. “His little sister is here with me.”
“She didn’t want to come back with you?”
“Yes, she’s in the bathroom.” Stace reveals.
“That’s good.” The nurse nods as she opens the door of an examining room. “I’ll send her back when she comes out.”
“Thanks.” Stace appreciates.
“No problem at all.” The nurse assures. “If you’ll wait in here, Dr. Alexander will be right in.”
“Thanks again.”
It doesn’t take but a minute of nail biting, thumb twiddling and reading everything on the wall. The usual waiting for the doctor activities that seem like an eternity and for Stace Matthews it’s no different. Something eating her on the inside is showing in her face. A knock at the door brings the doctor into the room.
“Good to see you Stace.” He greets with a handshake.
Fred Alexander, a general practitioner that has cared for the Matthews since the big move to Accident from Corpus Christi. He’s a good ole’ boy, proud to wear his flannel under his white coat, disheveled hair, pop bottle glasses. He’s always one to flash a genuine toothy smile.
“Freddie,” she acknowled. “How you doing?”
“Doing well! I saw you and Johnny on the television.” He admits. “I don’t care, like him or hate him, he knows how to work those fans.”
“Yes he does.” She agrees.
“How long have you guys been home this time?” He continues, almost as if he’s stalling for something.
“I got home about an hour ago. Johnny had to fly to Vegas for a promotional.”
“Oh!” Alexander lights up with concern. “So, he’s not here with you.”
“No.” Is somehow choked out of a ball of nerves in her throat.
“Is anyone here with you?” His concern continues to fear her.
“Yes.” She squeaks, her eyes now swelling.
“Okay.” He rolls his stool over and takes her hand. “It’s okay.” Nodding his head as he speaks. “As you know, we took some biopsies last month.” Stace joins him with a confirming nod.
Meanwhile the scene changes; opening outside of a bustling airport, soon recognized as Dulles International in Washington DC by the sign above the doors on the outside. The man in black is seated on a bench to the right side of the people hustling in and out of the entrance to get to their destinations.
His silver tinted sunglasses clash with his black attire as they beam the sun away from his precious, sparkling greens. He’s cleaned up, but dressed down since we last saw him fleeing the ringside area, wearing black biker boots, jeans and a plain black T-shirt that hugs tightly to his chiseled physic. He may not be the meatiest, but what he has is finely cut and it’s flaunted nicely as he gets elevator eyes from a trio of women passing by.
“I can’t fuckin’ believe this.” He mumbles looking down at his cellular as it rests on his right knee. “Call me at six in the morning to do this shit.”
Of course he’s puffing away on a Red, but what’s most disturbing is the acrimonious expression and body language. Whatever is consuming him on the inside is oozing out through every pore and just looking at him the valet second guesses approaching and decides he’s better off remaining at his post.
“Hey!” A kid shouts out as his mother drags him past the resident rule-breaker. “It’s Johnny V!”
The kid breaks free of his mom’s death grip and rushes towards Vivacious. Startled, he throws his hands up knocking his telephone to the concrete as the small child keeps coming. His mother chases after him, but he gets to Vivacious with several seconds to spare.
“You think you can beat him Johnny, huh, you going to take his title on Sunday, huh Johnny?” The kid slurs excitedly. “Mom, hey Mom, it’s Johnny V, from the wrestling show on TV. He’s gong to be the champion after Sunday and I got to see him.” The kid hoots as his mother clutches him up and drags him away without a word. “Look he’s right there, right there Mom!”
Vivacious shakes his head as he leans forward to pick up his telephone. Distracted, he doesn’t notice the man that sits down beside him on the bench.
“So, are you really Johnny Vivacious?” The man asks, further surprising the resident rule-breaker of PCW.
Vivacious sits back and slowly turns his head to his left to acknowledge the airport security guard.
“Yeah.”
“Some show you put on last night man.” The guard laughs out loud. “I didn’t think I was going to stop laughing.”
“Glad to serve your entertainment pleasure.” Vivacious nods sarcastically.
“Really man, I’m rooting for you to win this thing.” The man let’s on. “You’re one of the reasons I started watching again to be honest.”
“Is that a fact?” Vivacious ribs. “What were some of the others?”
“Well the fact that PCW is an independent and that’s where all the true talent really is these days."”
“If you say so Buddy.” Vivacious smirks. “If you say so.”
He stands up and grabs the handle of his luggage.
“Take it easy and goodluck.”
Vivacious nods with a belittling look. “Thanks, but I won’t be needing luck. This one’s in the bag.” He promises.
Vivacious turns while sliding his telephone into the change pocket of his jeans. With luggage in tow he makes his way inside of the airport. Within the mob going in all directions, Vivacious moves with the flow down the thoroughfare towards the gates. Just ahead, the TSA, the government employees that are to secure air transportation at all levels. They man the x-ray machines where lines of people mill through of all ethnic backgrounds and age. Two of which have caught Vivacious’ attention.
The woman ahead of him pushing seventy years of age and the man three lines over in shrouds and a turban. He takes his sunglasses off and hangs them on the neckline of his T-shirt. Looking forward he rolls his eyes at the time it takes the woman to close the space ahead of her as a person moves through. Suspiciously, he eyes the man standing three lines from him until he makes eye contact. Quickly turning away he notices someone else.
“Damn.” He mumbles under his breath at the site of the head turning raven-haired Italian to his right.
“Excuse me?” The feeble woman ahead of him in line asks.
“I said “Ma’am”.” He lies. “The line has moved ahead of you.”
“Oh, why thank you son.” She smiles. “Such a nice young man.”
Again, Vivacious rolls his eyes as she snails forward. He turns his focus back to the red head as she reaches the x-ray machine. The guard at the machine goes down to his knees in front of the woman and helps her take off her overpriced Stilettos. He takes several peeks up the woman’s skirt as the other guard keeps her distracted by running her shoes through the machine. The whole scene causes Vivacious to snicker.
“Right.” He talks to himself. “Like she’s going to blow up her fuckin’ shoes. Fuckin’ perverts.”
He glances over at the bushy bearded man screaming in his native tongue at the guards at the machine who clearly don’t understand a word of it. The guards get frustrated by the man’s volume and his children bouncing around causing a huge distraction and allow him by without running his bag through the machine. Vivacious shakes his head in disbelief of what he just witnessed, but continues forward as finally the aged woman ahead of him reaches the machine sounding the alarm as she walks through the metal detector.
“Ma’am, do you have anything on you that I should know about?” The guard asks.
“No.” She answers. “I don’t believe so.”
The guard runs his wand around the woman and her lower left leg sets off the alarm.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step over here please.” The guard directs as Vivacious steps forward and drops all of his change and metal into the basket and runs his luggage through the x-ray machine. “Ma’am what do you have on your leg?” The guard continues behind Vivacious.
The x-ray machine sounds as metal is found in Vivacious’ bag. The guard on the control panel opens the bag and rifles through it.
“Sir, has your bag been in your possession the entire time?” He asks while Vivacious nods. “Did someone else pack your bag for you?” The guard continues to go through the luggage as Vivacious shakes his head. “Oh here it is. Sir, you can’t board the plane with a pair of tweezers.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Vivacious jokes as the woman shrieks behind him.
As he turns around he notices that the guard has removed her orthopedic leg and is sending it through the x-ray machine. Vivacious can’t believe his eyes and chooses it in his best interest to pay attention to what’s going on with his bag.
“I’ll tell you what.” Vivacious leans forward to speak to the guard as he places his change back in his pocket and zips his bag up. “There’s a very shady ten year old about twelve people back, when he gets up here be sure to tackle his little ass and go through his GI Joe backpack, okay?”
Of course the guard doesn’t find any humor in the statement as he glares at Vivacious.
“Fuckin’ dickhead!” Johnny barks. “Can I get on the fuckin’ plane now?”
The guard waves Vivacious through with a dirty look. He drags his luggage off of the machine and heads toward the terminal. As he passes under the flight board he notices, in red, his flight to Las Vegas has been delayed.
“Son of a bitch!”
No sooner did he notice that his flight was delayed, his telephone start to ring.
“Yeah?” He answers. “Uh huh, who? Greg, I don’t know any Greg, sorry.” He listens to the caller as he takes a seat in the terminal corridor. “Okay, so you’re the cat that books all the promotional shit, gotcha! What can I do for you?”
Gregory McPeterson, PCW’s answer to the masses. He’s the guy that books all the promotional appearances for the superstars. It’s Gregory McPeterson’s name and office splashed all over the PCW website as the contact when you want to request a wrestler for your birthday party or celebrity office functions.
Vivacious shakes his head and mocks as he listens. “Right. Well, I’m fixin’ to catch a plane there now, but it’s been delayed.” It could be that he was cut off, but nonetheless whatever McP was conveying displeased the Man in Black. “That’s bullshit man. I can’t control the fuckin’ airport!” Another few seconds of rage inducing words on the other side. “Whatever! Fuckin’ fine me again you piece of shit asshole!” He pauses again for a few seconds. “What do you mean suspension?!”
Back at the doctor’s office, the camera is focused on a bawling Stace Matthews as her sister-in-law helps her to the passenger side of the Matthews Aston Martin V12 Vanquish and closes the door. She dials a number on her cellular as she rounds the front of the vehicle, but closes her telephone before she gets in the car.
“He didn’t answer.” Lindsay tells Stace. “He’s probably in the check right now.”
She starts the car and it pulls out of the parking lot of the medical center. The scene fades as the car starts down the road.
Not that she sticks out from those around her, but she cares about her appearance and it shows in her choice of clothing, yet another Neiman Marcus ensemble. Her pinstriped sheer matches her purse that’s tucked between her ankles.
“Stace Matthews.” A nurse calls out from behind the reception desk.
She grabs her purse and heads towards the door to the left of the desk. The camera follows, of course, because a pro-wrestler’s life is aired out for all to see these days.
“How you doing today Mrs. Matthews?”
“No complaints.” Stace replies. “Nervous.”
“Johnny not with you today?” The nurse continues the small talk.
“No.” Stace answers with a hint of trembling in her voice. “His little sister is here with me.”
“She didn’t want to come back with you?”
“Yes, she’s in the bathroom.” Stace reveals.
“That’s good.” The nurse nods as she opens the door of an examining room. “I’ll send her back when she comes out.”
“Thanks.” Stace appreciates.
“No problem at all.” The nurse assures. “If you’ll wait in here, Dr. Alexander will be right in.”
“Thanks again.”
It doesn’t take but a minute of nail biting, thumb twiddling and reading everything on the wall. The usual waiting for the doctor activities that seem like an eternity and for Stace Matthews it’s no different. Something eating her on the inside is showing in her face. A knock at the door brings the doctor into the room.
“Good to see you Stace.” He greets with a handshake.
Fred Alexander, a general practitioner that has cared for the Matthews since the big move to Accident from Corpus Christi. He’s a good ole’ boy, proud to wear his flannel under his white coat, disheveled hair, pop bottle glasses. He’s always one to flash a genuine toothy smile.
“Freddie,” she acknowled. “How you doing?”
“Doing well! I saw you and Johnny on the television.” He admits. “I don’t care, like him or hate him, he knows how to work those fans.”
“Yes he does.” She agrees.
“How long have you guys been home this time?” He continues, almost as if he’s stalling for something.
“I got home about an hour ago. Johnny had to fly to Vegas for a promotional.”
“Oh!” Alexander lights up with concern. “So, he’s not here with you.”
“No.” Is somehow choked out of a ball of nerves in her throat.
“Is anyone here with you?” His concern continues to fear her.
“Yes.” She squeaks, her eyes now swelling.
“Okay.” He rolls his stool over and takes her hand. “It’s okay.” Nodding his head as he speaks. “As you know, we took some biopsies last month.” Stace joins him with a confirming nod.
Meanwhile the scene changes; opening outside of a bustling airport, soon recognized as Dulles International in Washington DC by the sign above the doors on the outside. The man in black is seated on a bench to the right side of the people hustling in and out of the entrance to get to their destinations.
His silver tinted sunglasses clash with his black attire as they beam the sun away from his precious, sparkling greens. He’s cleaned up, but dressed down since we last saw him fleeing the ringside area, wearing black biker boots, jeans and a plain black T-shirt that hugs tightly to his chiseled physic. He may not be the meatiest, but what he has is finely cut and it’s flaunted nicely as he gets elevator eyes from a trio of women passing by.
“I can’t fuckin’ believe this.” He mumbles looking down at his cellular as it rests on his right knee. “Call me at six in the morning to do this shit.”
Of course he’s puffing away on a Red, but what’s most disturbing is the acrimonious expression and body language. Whatever is consuming him on the inside is oozing out through every pore and just looking at him the valet second guesses approaching and decides he’s better off remaining at his post.
“Hey!” A kid shouts out as his mother drags him past the resident rule-breaker. “It’s Johnny V!”
The kid breaks free of his mom’s death grip and rushes towards Vivacious. Startled, he throws his hands up knocking his telephone to the concrete as the small child keeps coming. His mother chases after him, but he gets to Vivacious with several seconds to spare.
“You think you can beat him Johnny, huh, you going to take his title on Sunday, huh Johnny?” The kid slurs excitedly. “Mom, hey Mom, it’s Johnny V, from the wrestling show on TV. He’s gong to be the champion after Sunday and I got to see him.” The kid hoots as his mother clutches him up and drags him away without a word. “Look he’s right there, right there Mom!”
Vivacious shakes his head as he leans forward to pick up his telephone. Distracted, he doesn’t notice the man that sits down beside him on the bench.
“So, are you really Johnny Vivacious?” The man asks, further surprising the resident rule-breaker of PCW.
Vivacious sits back and slowly turns his head to his left to acknowledge the airport security guard.
“Yeah.”
“Some show you put on last night man.” The guard laughs out loud. “I didn’t think I was going to stop laughing.”
“Glad to serve your entertainment pleasure.” Vivacious nods sarcastically.
“Really man, I’m rooting for you to win this thing.” The man let’s on. “You’re one of the reasons I started watching again to be honest.”
“Is that a fact?” Vivacious ribs. “What were some of the others?”
“Well the fact that PCW is an independent and that’s where all the true talent really is these days."”
“If you say so Buddy.” Vivacious smirks. “If you say so.”
He stands up and grabs the handle of his luggage.
“Take it easy and goodluck.”
Vivacious nods with a belittling look. “Thanks, but I won’t be needing luck. This one’s in the bag.” He promises.
Vivacious turns while sliding his telephone into the change pocket of his jeans. With luggage in tow he makes his way inside of the airport. Within the mob going in all directions, Vivacious moves with the flow down the thoroughfare towards the gates. Just ahead, the TSA, the government employees that are to secure air transportation at all levels. They man the x-ray machines where lines of people mill through of all ethnic backgrounds and age. Two of which have caught Vivacious’ attention.
The woman ahead of him pushing seventy years of age and the man three lines over in shrouds and a turban. He takes his sunglasses off and hangs them on the neckline of his T-shirt. Looking forward he rolls his eyes at the time it takes the woman to close the space ahead of her as a person moves through. Suspiciously, he eyes the man standing three lines from him until he makes eye contact. Quickly turning away he notices someone else.
“Damn.” He mumbles under his breath at the site of the head turning raven-haired Italian to his right.
“Excuse me?” The feeble woman ahead of him in line asks.
“I said “Ma’am”.” He lies. “The line has moved ahead of you.”
“Oh, why thank you son.” She smiles. “Such a nice young man.”
Again, Vivacious rolls his eyes as she snails forward. He turns his focus back to the red head as she reaches the x-ray machine. The guard at the machine goes down to his knees in front of the woman and helps her take off her overpriced Stilettos. He takes several peeks up the woman’s skirt as the other guard keeps her distracted by running her shoes through the machine. The whole scene causes Vivacious to snicker.
“Right.” He talks to himself. “Like she’s going to blow up her fuckin’ shoes. Fuckin’ perverts.”
He glances over at the bushy bearded man screaming in his native tongue at the guards at the machine who clearly don’t understand a word of it. The guards get frustrated by the man’s volume and his children bouncing around causing a huge distraction and allow him by without running his bag through the machine. Vivacious shakes his head in disbelief of what he just witnessed, but continues forward as finally the aged woman ahead of him reaches the machine sounding the alarm as she walks through the metal detector.
“Ma’am, do you have anything on you that I should know about?” The guard asks.
“No.” She answers. “I don’t believe so.”
The guard runs his wand around the woman and her lower left leg sets off the alarm.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step over here please.” The guard directs as Vivacious steps forward and drops all of his change and metal into the basket and runs his luggage through the x-ray machine. “Ma’am what do you have on your leg?” The guard continues behind Vivacious.
The x-ray machine sounds as metal is found in Vivacious’ bag. The guard on the control panel opens the bag and rifles through it.
“Sir, has your bag been in your possession the entire time?” He asks while Vivacious nods. “Did someone else pack your bag for you?” The guard continues to go through the luggage as Vivacious shakes his head. “Oh here it is. Sir, you can’t board the plane with a pair of tweezers.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Vivacious jokes as the woman shrieks behind him.
As he turns around he notices that the guard has removed her orthopedic leg and is sending it through the x-ray machine. Vivacious can’t believe his eyes and chooses it in his best interest to pay attention to what’s going on with his bag.
“I’ll tell you what.” Vivacious leans forward to speak to the guard as he places his change back in his pocket and zips his bag up. “There’s a very shady ten year old about twelve people back, when he gets up here be sure to tackle his little ass and go through his GI Joe backpack, okay?”
Of course the guard doesn’t find any humor in the statement as he glares at Vivacious.
“Fuckin’ dickhead!” Johnny barks. “Can I get on the fuckin’ plane now?”
The guard waves Vivacious through with a dirty look. He drags his luggage off of the machine and heads toward the terminal. As he passes under the flight board he notices, in red, his flight to Las Vegas has been delayed.
“Son of a bitch!”
No sooner did he notice that his flight was delayed, his telephone start to ring.
“Yeah?” He answers. “Uh huh, who? Greg, I don’t know any Greg, sorry.” He listens to the caller as he takes a seat in the terminal corridor. “Okay, so you’re the cat that books all the promotional shit, gotcha! What can I do for you?”
Gregory McPeterson, PCW’s answer to the masses. He’s the guy that books all the promotional appearances for the superstars. It’s Gregory McPeterson’s name and office splashed all over the PCW website as the contact when you want to request a wrestler for your birthday party or celebrity office functions.
Vivacious shakes his head and mocks as he listens. “Right. Well, I’m fixin’ to catch a plane there now, but it’s been delayed.” It could be that he was cut off, but nonetheless whatever McP was conveying displeased the Man in Black. “That’s bullshit man. I can’t control the fuckin’ airport!” Another few seconds of rage inducing words on the other side. “Whatever! Fuckin’ fine me again you piece of shit asshole!” He pauses again for a few seconds. “What do you mean suspension?!”
Back at the doctor’s office, the camera is focused on a bawling Stace Matthews as her sister-in-law helps her to the passenger side of the Matthews Aston Martin V12 Vanquish and closes the door. She dials a number on her cellular as she rounds the front of the vehicle, but closes her telephone before she gets in the car.
“He didn’t answer.” Lindsay tells Stace. “He’s probably in the check right now.”
She starts the car and it pulls out of the parking lot of the medical center. The scene fades as the car starts down the road.