Post by Steele on Jul 9, 2019 16:15:13 GMT -5
O'HARE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, CHICAGO, IL
We see the main entrance to Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. Hundreds - if not thousands - of people are milling about as they come and go, the automatic doors of the vast edifice rarely finding a moment’s peace as they constantly open time and time again to accommodate the throng of commuters entering and exiting the building.
The camera slowly begins to advance on the sliding doors that resemble the jaws of some gigantic steel and glass monster, repeatedly opening and closing to devour its feast of human plankton. As the camera reaches a distance of about fifteen feet from the doors, the maw opens once more and regurgitates a young man in his mid-twenties into the daylight. He is dressed in a pale blue T-Shirt with a rose motif underneath a stylish lightweight jacket, his blond-streaked hair swept back behind his ears. Chewing a piece of gum, he pulls a pair of sunglasses from his breast pocket and slides them onto his face.
Looking around at the thrall of travellers, he seems somewhat disappointed as he shrugs and begins walking to the pick-up zone, his hard-shelled case trundling along behind him. He casts several glances around himself as he walks, checking each poster that lines the route as he goes.
He shakes his head in dismay at something or other that apparently irks him, before stopping dead in his tracks. In front of him sits a rather nondescript-looking Crown Victoria, ostensibly red in colour but it is very obvious from the fading paint job that this is a repurposed police cruiser. Next to the car stands a balding middle-aged man, pasty white and overweight, holding a placard which reads;
- ROCKY RHODES -
The middle-aged man notices the young blond man staring and calls out to him.
TAXI DRIVER:
Hey, you Rocky Rhodes?
ROCCO ROSE:
No, I fuckin' ain’t. It’s Rocco. Rocco Rose. Seriously, is this the welcome I get?
TAXI DRIVER:
Hey don’t blame me bud, someone else gives me the names, I just drive the car.
ROCCO ROSE:
Yeah whatever. Take this.
Rocco practically throws his suitcase to the driver, who barely catches it. As he fumbles to collapse the telescopic handle and stow the case in the trunk of the car, Rocco climbs into the passenger seat and pulls out his phone. He swipes at the screen a few times, and then presses the phone to his ear and waits impatiently.
ROCCO ROSE:
Dan? Hey Dan, it’s Rocco. What the fuck man? I just landed in Chicago and let me tell you something, I’m disappointed. No photographers? No posters? No limo? It's just a beat-up old cop car! They couldn’t even get my damn name right on the placard. I tell you what man, it's a good thing it’s only a short ride to Cicero otherwise heads would be rolling, Dan. Could be your head, Dan. Don’t let it be your head. I expect better than this. Anyway, call me when you get this message alright?
As Rocco hangs up, the taxi driver opens his door and heaves himself into the seat. The car visibly shakes from the weight of his body hitting the upholstery. The suspension creaks nervously.
ROCCO ROSE:
Is this thing even gonna get out of the parking lot?
TAXI DRIVER:
Hey, relax. I had it serviced just last week. It’s as good as new. So anyway, what you say your name was again? Ricky Rose?
ROCCO ROSE:
It’s Rocco.
TAXI DRIVER:
Rocco, right. Well, it’s better than Rocky Rhodes. Sounds like a-
ROCCO ROSE:
A chocolate bar, yeah, that’s why I shit-canned that idea when I chose my name.
TAXI DRIVER:
Chose your name? What, you go into witness protection or something?
ROCCO ROSE:
You don’t know who I am?
TAXI DRIVER:
Not a clue kid. Sorry.
ROCCO ROSE:
Jesus.
Rocco stares silently out of the window as the taxi driver starts the car and pulls away from the airport. The mood in the car is one of general discomfort, the silence only broken by the wheezing of the overweight driver. Rocco rolls down his window to try and alleviate the smell of body odor emanating from the driver's sweat-stained XXL shirt.
The taxi driver drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he sits at a red light, before finally turning back to Rocco.
TAXI DRIVER:
So, uh, should I know who you are? What are you, like a rock star or something?
ROCCO ROSE:
I’m a pro-wrestler.
TAXI DRIVER:
Ah, see – that’s why I didn’t recognise you. I ain’t really been into wrestling since I was a kid.
ROCCO ROSE:
Right. And I guess next you’re gonna tell me all about how it’s all fake and homoerotic and –
TAXI DRIVER:
Hey kid, I don’t give a damn whether it’s real or not. You do you. So anyways, who you working for? What brings you to Chicago?
ROCCO ROSE:
PWE. It’s a new company. And the first show’s at the Cicero Stadium next week. They’ve called me up here to do some interviews and shit like that. Because I’m gonna be their top star, of course.
TAXI DRIVER:
So you’re their big-name signing, huh? Kinda like the next Hulk Hogan?
ROCCO ROSE:
Well we’re both from Venice Beach, so... yeah, I guess. But don’t think of me as the “next” anything. I’m the first of my kind. Everything you thought you knew about professional wrestling – well that was just the warm-up.
TAXI DRIVER:
Sounds like you’ve got a lot planned then.
ROCCO ROSE:
Believe me, you don’t know the half of it.
We jump to the inside of a small and unremarkable room inside a building somewhere in the vicinity of the Cicero Stadium. The room looks to be some kind of conference room, with inoffensive beige walls and not a lot else in the way of decoration. Today, the room is a buzz of activity. Rocco Rose sits on a stool, an empty one beside him, as makeup artists buzz around him and a stylist fixes his hair. A lighting tech adjusts a lamp and directs it Rocco's way as another two men bring in a large board emblazoned with PWE branding behind him.
The door opens and Rocco turns, almost putting the makeup artist off her stroke.
Into the room walks an attractive young Latina woman wearing a red blouse and blue mid-length skirt. She smiles at Rocco and walks over to speak to another member of staff who begins to fix a microphone to her top. Rocco whispers to the makeup artist.
ROCCO ROSE:
Who's she?
MAKEUP ARTIST:
That’s Luisa Gonzalez. She’s the interviewer.
ROCCO ROSE:
You know I wouldn’t mind interviewing her...
Rocco watches Luisa as the makeup artist applies the finishing touches to his cheek and the lighting tech gives the signal that he is finished. Luisa walks over and shakes Rocco's hand.
LUISA GONZALEZ:
Hi Rocco, I’m Luisa. Are you ready to begin?
ROCCO ROSE:
Oh I’m ready.
LUISA GONZALEZ:
Excellent.
Luisa sits down on the empty stool next to Rocco and the cameraman begins to film.
LUISA GONZALEZ:
Rocco Rose, welcome to Premier Wrestling Entertainment! Thank you for joining me today.
ROCCO ROSE:
Well thank you for having me...
LUISA GONZALEZ:
Now as you know next week PWE will host its first live show and as one of the first four wrestlers signed to our company-
ROCCO ROSE:
The first, get it right. I was, am, and always will be number one.
LUISA GONZALEZ:
My apologies, as the first signing for PWE, you and the other three men who have already been signed – those being Rock Stone, Jay Muir and Eli O'Brady – have been put together in a tournament to crown our first-ever World Heavyweight Champion at Summercade. So the big question is, do you think you will be the man to come out on top and win the gold?
ROCCO ROSE:
I mean, I already told you. I’m number one. I’m contract number one as far as the talent roster goes, and I’ll be champion number one come the end of Summercade. I’d have thought that much would be obvious. Why don’t you try asking me something a bit juicier, Lisa?
LUISA GONZALEZ:
It’s Luisa, but... Ok, so you’re confident of victory in this tournament overall. You’ve been drawn in the first round against Jay Muir – obviously you feel you’re going to win that match but tell me, what’s your game plan heading into Voltage on July 18th?
ROCCO ROSE:
Hmm, I’ll probably show up at the arena about half an hour before the bell, sign a few autographs, sell a few T-shirts. Go out for my match with whatever-the-hell-his-name-is, roll him up, and then head on out to the club. Have a few drinks, take a few girls back to the hotel, you know, the usual.
LUISA GONZALEZ:
Well, I was hoping to get something a little more in-depth about your match with Muir, rather than your plans for, uh, after the show...
ROCCO ROSE:
Hey, you can come too if you want!
Luisa barely breaks her stride, but she gives him a brief look that screams “really?”
LUISA GONZALEZ:
I’ll pass, thanks. Back to Jay Muir – how do you intend to get to the point where you can simply roll him up for the win? Have you done any research into your opp-
ROCCO ROSE:
Now hang on, have YOU done any research into ME? I don’t think you have, otherwise you'd know that I don’t need to do research into anybody. I’ve got a background in amateur wrestling. I know every hold in the book necessary to get my opponent on his back for the three-count. And I know a few tricks that help me get there too...
LUISA GONZALEZ:
Well you may have a background in amateur wrestling, but Jay Muir has a professional fighting background of his own. He’s dangerous man. There are some who are tipping him to move on to the final at Summercade if he can hit one of his finishers on you.
ROCCO ROSE:
The key word there is “some”. It doesn’t matter which demographic you sample, any survey is going to have its share of morons. “Some” people might be tipping him to win but that doesn’t mean jack shit. “Some” people think the earth is flat, but that doesn’t make them right. “Some” people are mentally deficient. Smart people will pick Rocco Rose to win. “Some” people will wipe the drool off of their chin and tell you Jake Moir is going over.
LUISA GONZALEZ:
It’s, uh, Jay Muir actually... But the thing I wanted to-
ROCCO ROSE:
He can call himself Jay Muir or Jake Moir or freaking Santa Claus for all I care, it doesn’t matter what his name is because the only name that means anything in PWE besides Magnus Cramshaw is Rocco Rose. And that’s only because Cramshaw is signing the checks. I am the only person in this company with a name but I promise you this – after Voltage, after Summercade, EVERYBODY will know Jay Muir's name. Everybody. You wanna know why?
LUISA GONZALEZ:
Why?
ROCCO ROSE:
Because after I’m done with him, everybody is gonna know Jay Muir as the first step I took on the way to becoming World Heavyweight Champion. Everywhere he goes, people are gonna point at him in the street as he tries to keep his head down, keep a low profile – but it won’t be enough, he's going to be too famous. They’ll see him slinking by in the shadows where he belongs and they’ll point, and they’ll laugh, and they’ll say, “look! It’s Jay Muir! I remember when he was a wrestler! Whatever happened to him? Oh now I remember – he got his ass handed to him by the world’s champion, Rocco Rose!”
Rocco relaxes, and looks over to Luisa.
ROCCO ROSE:
Any more questions? Because I got a date.
LUISA GONZALEZ:
You’ve got a date? But you’ve only been in the city for a few hours!
ROCCO ROSE:
Excellent question. Her name’s Carla, she’s blonde. Well-stacked. And... Yeah that’s about as much as I know. So... If that’s everything then I guess I’ll be going.
LUISA GONZALEZ:
Already?
Rocco stands up and begins to unclip his mic.
ROCCO ROSE:
Sorry sweetheart, but I am a busy man. Why don’t you and I grab a drink later?
LUISA GONZALES:
I'm busy too. Working. We’ve got a show to prepare for.
He shrugs.
ROCCO ROSE:
Well you could be busier not working, if you know what I mean?
She gives him a disapproving look.
ROCCO ROSE:
Alright, suit yourself. I’m outta here.
He throws the clip mic over his shoulder as he leaves the interview, and Luisa turns to the camera.
LUISA GONZALEZ:
Did you get all that?
A bar, somewhere near Cicero. It’s evening but still light enough that we find Rocco sitting alone outside at a patio table, drink in hand. He’s in full-on relaxed mode, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the table.
His cellphone rings, and he grabs it.
ROCCO ROSE:
Yellow? Dan! You finally got back to me you asshole!
DAN:
Sorry Rocco, hectic day.
ROCCO ROSE:
Tell me about it. I trust you’ve fired whatever inept intern organized my travel?
DAN:
I keep telling you, the agency doesn’t have that kind of money to give you a fuckin' ticker-tape parade through the streets of every town you go to.
ROCCO ROSE:
It doesn’t have to be ticker-tape man, come on. A regular old parade is fine.
DAN:
Quit the bullshit. Have you been online?
ROCCO ROSE:
No, I’ve been on a date. Why?
DAN:
Your interview is blowing up.
ROCCO ROSE:
Really? In a good way or a bad way? Hang on, I’ll put you on speaker.
Rocco puts his agent on speakerphone as he pulls up the Twitter app. Sure enough, video of his interview is being retweeted left, right and center. Comments are pouring in from wrestling fans and non-fans alike. Rocco reads some of them out.
ROCCO ROSE:
“Disgusting pig” ... “Sexist moron” ... “Arrogant prick” ... Can you believe this, Dan?
DAN:
I know, right?
ROCCO ROSE:
This is amazing!
DAN:
You’re getting so over.
ROCCO ROSE:
How many of these are genuine?
DAN:
...
ROCCO ROSE:
Dan?
DAN:
Alright, we did a few. Enough to get the ball rolling. But they’re MOSTLY legit!
ROCCO ROSE:
Nice. So anyway, NOW do you think I can get that parade?
DAN:
Wait til you win something yet. Ok, I’ve got a load more interviews lined up for you. Do you think you can call in to one of the radio stations tonight?
ROCCO ROSE:
Not tonight Dan, I’ve got a date.
DAN:
Another one? What the – oh god, don’t tell me it’s that chick from PWE! Rocco? Rocco!
Rocco doesn’t respond, he just hits the red button on his phone. He leans back in his chair and smirks, before calling over a waitress for another round of drinks.