Almost Paradise ~ RP#1 Vs. Courtney Leinart
Sept 22, 2016 15:34:04 GMT
Valentina Lemay, Jack Owyns, and 1 more like this
Post by Deleted on Sept 22, 2016 15:34:04 GMT
:::OFF CAMERA:::
It’s not surprising whenever my brother Hayden visits. Mainly because he calls first to make sure our father isn’t in the apartment but also because there is usually a pattern.
It had been six months since the last time.
Check.
He had called stating that he missed his baby sister
Check
He sounded burnt out over the phone with that certain drawl to his voice that indicated that he was actually sober, which meant he wanted one thing and one thing only and it was not the company of his ‘baby’ sister. It was Money.
Oh, money, the root of all evil, but the one thing you could not live without in this world. Especially if you had grown accustomed to the lifestyle that I had. My mother was born into so she had a certain reputation, so you can imagine why we hardly spoke at this current time and then my father who was considered new money. Someone that had acquired it after hitting a windfall or working a high profile job which allowed them to accumulate it over time, but lacked the certain... Breeding that came with always knowing you had money at your disposal.
No, dear old dad grew up in middle America. Like most of the people that watched me and the rest of the EOW wrestle on television with stars in their eyes. Whether it be because they envied us for our skill, envied the men who got to touch the bodies of us attractive ‘eye candy’ ‘babes’ in a ring or because they simply wanted to have the money that came with being on television but in all honestly, if you wanted to get rich... Wrestling was not the way to do it.
No, the best way to get a lot of money quickly with the least amount of depreciation to yourself was to marry someone already rich and then live it up, as they say.
Hayden’s mother was not born into money.
So while Dad was travelling the country, his first wife Cordelia was at home nursing the accident my father had left in her womb. I even believe that for the first five years of Hayden’s life, he didn’t even know he existed. You see, their marriage was a ‘drunken Vegas’ debacle that quickly was remedied with a quick and easy divorce. Cordelia got a large one-time settlement check and another mouth to feed and my father got to walk away like nothing happened. That was until Cordy showed up at one of his shows and caused a big row about it all.
They tried to make it work for a few months, but of course, my father’s eyes were on younger, prettier women. I.e. my mother, Patricia.
And then so ended that relationship and despite Cordy’s attempts to keep Hayden away, well... He refused to not see his father. The visits were often strained and uncomfortable. Hayden was trying to win the approval of his father, but failing because my father was all about his little girl. Me.
Do I feel bad that my father basically abandoned my older half brother to give me his attention? I suppose I should, but I don’t. I blame my upbringing and the selfishness that comes with it.
Of course, when my younger brother Holden was born only eleven months later, well Hayden became an afterthought. Another bill for my father to pay, until he grew old enough to follow in Martin Riley’s footsteps.
Opening the door, my brother, who had decided to grow out his blonde hair and have that... hipster coiff hanging in a limp unwashed ponytail halfway down his back was standing in front of me and surprisingly, despite my assumption based on our phone conversation, he looks relatively bright-eyed. In fact, he didn’t have the appearance of someone looking for money to feed his heroin addiction at all but that of a man that had decided to clean up, completely.
He grabs me in a hug, tight as if he actually cares about me. I gingerly pat his shoulder and feel a little uncomfortable that he’s held the hug a little longer than what I deemed socially acceptable. He grabs my shoulders to look me over.
“Look at you! Grown up a lot since last I saw you.”
I scoff.
“Please, Hayden. You saw me six months ago and I am hardly a girl anymore.”
He laughs, “Oh Ro. You’re always so negative. It’s the thing to be called and want to be a girl rather than a woman. It makes you appear younger, vibrant, attractive.”
“Am I not any of those things still or is twenty-six the new Fifty?”
He laughs.
“Of course not. You look great as always.”
He invites himself in. At least that much hasn’t changed. He takes a seat on the sofa and I can’t help but notice that despite the fact that he doesn’t appear to be addicted to anything at this moment, he still has this aroma of unwashed and pungent. Quickly I think about how I might have to call someone to come and steam clean the white designer sofa he had taken up a seat on.
“So, what do I owe the pleasure, Hayden?”
I walk over to the wet bar. Pour myself and him a drink and bring it back, handing it to him he takes a sniff and takes a small polite sip before placing it on the table in front of him. He leans forward, placing his elbows on his upper thighs.
“I want you to go into business with me.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“What sort of business?”
“Manager.”
I laugh.
“I have just started my wrestling career, I hardly want to be your manager Hayden. And besides that, based on your track record I would only be out to lose big on this sort of investment.”
He shakes his head.
“No. I can’t wrestle. My knees are already shot and if I take another head injury... well the doctors say that it wouldn’t be good. No, I want to be YOUR manager.”
I chuckle.
“Oh, Hayden. You are too funny.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are, but the answer is no. I don’t need a manager and for the same reasons as before, I don’t want you to have anything to do with my career. I have worked far too hard to have you squander it.”
“Just... think about it. You may be a Riley and you may have all the training from Dad but you’re still new to all this as an athlete.”
“I grew up around it a lot more than you did Hayden.”
“True. But what about those that would take advantage of it. Besides, Maybe I could negotiate a better contract. I know that Dad basically bought your contract.”
I take a seat. It was true I didn’t like that part but I was determined to prove that it didn’t matter, that regardless Valentina had made a good decision in bringing me in.
“I heard that Ernie Parker is looking to recruit talent. Maybe if you win a few matches you can get a better deal from him.”
“No,” I say.
“No?”
“You heard me. I assume that your ears are still something that is not permanently injured correct? Truth be told I don't trust you and as sober as you appear to be right now, your... appearance says otherwise. Couldn’t you at least have showered before you came over.”
Hayden stands.
“Very well Rochelle. You have made it very clear. You always were a bitch.”
He walks away. “Just don't come crying to me when you get taken advantage of.”
I watch until he’s at the door, pulling it open. Then I look toward the full ceiling to floor windows that show a good view of the New York skyline.
“Even if I did get ‘taken advantage’ of my dear brother, you would be the last person I would ‘cry’ too.”
The door slams behind him and I chuckle to myself behind the glass.
There were some people in life that I held high regard for, whether it because they actually did mean something to me or because they had accomplished something to which they had earned my respect. Hayden Patrick Riley was not one of those people. The door slams loudly. I take another sip, smirking behind the amber liquid.
Despite what some may think, I was no fool. Everything I did was calculated and thought out.
***
:::ON CAMERA:::
“No. No. Are you complete morons over there? You can’t even set up a simple camera. This isn’t brain surgery you know.”
The screen still remains dark but the voice of Harper Riley is clearly heard chastising the camera crew that had come to film her.
“The lens cap is still on you stupid oaf.”
The picture is now clear and it is a direct show of a woman’s ample cleavage. As the camera autofocuses and the woman moves back, one can now see that the owner is none other than Harper herself. She’s dressed for the still rather warm unseasonal weather of September. A white sleeveless, no doubt designer shirt. The buttons only are done up part way so that her assets are a very obvious distraction.
She’s wearing a pleated skirt in navy and in fact, based on the style of the outfit it appears to have a nautical theme to the outfit itself. Which is fitting considering that as the camera moves out, she is sitting on a very nice looking yacht, although it isn’t moving indicating that it is still docked.
“That’s much better. Don’t worry, I’m sure this fumbling appearance of inexperience is all chalked up to your being distracted by my good looks. I can’t blame you.”
“Ummm...” The voice of one of the men behind the camera fumbles for words. “You’re very pretty Miss Riley...”
“No need for any of your empty words right now. Your main job is to film my promo.”
“We’re already filming, Miss.”
Harper’s eyes roll. “You could have told me. I swear they couldn’t send me some people who knew what they were doing. Very well. I will start and maybe you can try to edit this out.... Wait... don’t. I want everyone to see the kind of incompetence I have to deal with, including Valentina. Perhaps she could... get you some additional training or something. Heaven forbid someone else should have to deal with this... buffoonery.”
“Sorry Miss...”
“Let’s get started shall we?”
She takes a deep audible breath before tipping her nose up, placing her hands on her crossed knee.
“I am not one to give the audience watching this any sort of pleasantries. Especially my opponent, Courtney. A woman who claims to be a Queen of Staten Island. Hmm. It’s nice to be able to just give oneself a title, isn’t it? I know many, especially in this business have been able to state things and not many will actually go very far to disprove it. And it’s not as though it bothers me. You can call yourself the Queen of the FreshKills landfill and it would be just as or no less fitting.”
She stays relatively straight-faced.
“My point is, that it doesn’t change your ability to get in that ring, does it? Your name, your heritage, your financial status. All of it is useless because really, what does money have to do with any of that? Nothing. My point. It is the hard work, the ‘sweat and tears’ that we all have put into becoming what we are. And I know that you have a few years more experience actually in a ring than I, Courtney but what do you have to show for it? What did those two years do to give you an advantage over me? I took the liberty of reviewing your profile and medical records that were released to us all. So that I might properly study and be prepared for the battle we are about to show the world. You see, I never take anyone for granted. I never, ‘underestimate’ a single soul because no matter experience, nature or heritage, sometimes it is all about smarts.”
Harper lifts up a folder from beside her.
“Hmm. Well if we’re going to talk about ‘smarts’ when it comes to your in-ring ability to scout an opponent, well that hasn’t exactly improved since your first year has it? I suppose for someone like me, someone that grew up watching wrestling. Grew up being taught the moves and how to anticipate, even before I could actually get into a ring legally? That really is a hard place for you to be right now. My expertise in this area far outweighs yours. And I like to always bring this up first because despite how big you are, how hard you can punch or how fast you can move, this is very much a mental sport. If the only thing you can do is be a big giant idiot that has a good right arm, eventually someone is going to take you down just by outsmarting you. But I know that this isn’t all you have to offer, so let’s continue.”
Harper licks her finger to flip through the pages.
“Well actually, I’m rather confused by this report. It seems as though you really don't have any real advantages against me physically. For a ‘newb’ I outrank you in all areas more or less. Oh, I know that you're going to probably talk about your heart or how you have passion. Despite what some try to say, wrestling is not the place for passionate hearts. When you wear them on your sleeve they get easily smashed.”
Harper shrugs.
“But you know Court... can I call you Court?”
She gives a truly devious smile, one that indicates that there is more going in the head of the Long Island native.
“You see Court, Don't take this as anything truly personal. In all honesty, outside our match, I really could care less about you as a person. It's not that I even dislike you. Hating people is a waste of time and my time is extremely valuable. In all honesty, you should feel glad that I even took this much time to acknowledge you directly. As I said, not personal at all. I recognize that people are different. Different tastes, different lifestyles and different wants and needs. And all of those when comparing them between us is like night and day. You chose to be relatively non-existent since you signed your contract, where I have started to scout my opposition. I even made the effort to... dress down and appear at the first Victory show. So when it comes to the... heart you say you have, my question is...”
She smirks, pushing a strand of her otherwise perfect blonde hair from her face. It shows off her perfect nails, a french manicure no less.
“Is yours made of glass? I just need to know so I can make sure to have the janitors on standby to sweep up all the pieces. I look forward to your rebuttal Court. I do enjoy a good debate.”
She flips her wrist at the camera crew and the camera shuts off.
:::OFF CAMERA:::
I immediately roll my eyes.
“Thank-God that's over with. You know how painful it is having to put on a plastic smile?”
I look to my right where I am offered a long stemmed glass of champagne and then she sits. She has a beer bottle in her other hand. I turn my nose up at it. Nasty stuff common domestic beer was, regardless my cousin Holland prefers it.
For two months out of rehab, she looks pretty good. Gone are the dark circles and bags. She had also filled out, she looked nearly skeletal before. Now she was dressed similarly to me. I was always a little envious of her girl-like appearance growing up, even now although we were the same age, she appeared much younger than I was. Thankfully she didn't have too many lasting effects to her appearance from the heavy drug use.
“I do.”
Holland was my maternal cousin. Her mother and mine were sisters but Taryn had opted to give up on the high society lifestyle to marry a Fireman in Cincinnati. Unfortunately, it didn't help her heart defect that claimed her life when Holland was five. But being raised by her father had actually turned her into a mostly morally sound person. Mostly because despite having grown up in the middle class, she still had this air of being society royalty.
I notice that she looks longingly out at the water. I'm not great at offering comfort but I hope that my actions speak for how much I do actually care about her.
“I want to thank you for offering to help Jack. Please don't tell him that I asked you too, though. It's obvious that he has moved on from me. I feel like I failed him so if your lawyer can help him get Mackenzie back, then I can have some closure.”
“Holland, your life is getting better every day. You have been sober from Cocaine for nearly two months. You are getting the reconstruction surgery on your ankle so you can dance again. Your life is not over.”
She smiles sadly. No, Holland Blue’s life had been a tornado since she left home for NYC 8 years ago. Abuse, heartbreak, misfortune, death and addiction. Her depression was, in my opinion, well deserved. However, she was fundamentally a good person and it brought a bit of pleasure to my black little heart to help her get back on her feet.
“But no, I got the impression that you no longer mattered when I name dropped you. I wouldn't stress too much about it. You will find new love and have everything you wanted. And I will make sure that it happens.”
She throws her arms around me and I limply reciprocate. I wasn't really a hugger but I understand why she felt she needed to do it. I had been the one to pick her up out of the gutter. I don't blame Jack. It was Holli's decisions that led to her vices, not his. Men are a dime a dozen, with her looks she can easily find another.
I had still yet to meet with the infamous Jack Owyns but I was sure than when I did it would be nothing short of entertaining. I wasn't blowing smoke out his ass when I complimented his ring strategy nor was I interested in ‘fucking him’ as Felix has so eloquently put it. No offence to Jack or Holli but I had much higher standards and considered myself to be extremely high maintenance. But as I suspected Jack did exactly as I thought he would. As for who would come out the champion? That was a little harder to determine considering the talent that had made the final four. While I may not like Felix Hartley’s promiscuous and nonchalant attitude about life, in general, she was well trained. Unfortunately, there wasn't too much past the outer sixteen coatings of makeup, possible plastic surgery, and skin. Inside the woman had thoughts nearly as dark and self-serving as my own. Nearly, because no one could be as devious, scheming and manipulative as I was. I just made a point of not letting anyone realize I thought that way.
That was the true secret.
I wasn't lying about who I was, it was just on a need to know basis about my ultimate plans to achieve MY dreams.
I nod at the captain as soon as the camera crew has left the boat. And he starts the engine. My father's boat. It was named ‘Almost Paradise’. It was my father's nickname for my stepmother, Nikki. Everyone loved her.
Cancer was a despicable disease and had taken a true light of the world. But I digress, that is a story for another day.
