The Winner and New European Champion...

[The scene opens a busy city street. The camera pans right, from a traffic-jammed street full of beeping horns, to a large glass building on the left. The camera looks up to reveal the building is several stories tall. We cut inside. A closed door opens and out walks the Extreme Wrestling Scene's Franchise Player, Trey Vincent.]

Trey: Where have you been Dennis?

Dennis: I

Trey: Doesn't matter. Did you find out what I need to know.

Dennis: Yes. I have good news for you.

Trey: Good, I need some. Let's go to the bank.

Dennis: How did they like your idea?

Trey: Not very much. Apparently, Fox has enough reality shows scheduled for the fall season. They weren't even interested in the reality concept of a private investigator who also is the most amazing sports entertainer of all time. I don't get it. Trey Vincent equals ratings. I could raise Fox out of its status as the number four company in the country, but no. They want to keep showing fat doughnut eating cops every Saturday night at 8. They'll pay. Business has been picking up for me since I debuted at Bedlam.

Dennis: Free advertising.

Trey: Yeah. I just put my phone number out there and people are calling now for all sorts of stuff. I actually get to pick now. Look, it sucks they don't want the show, but it isn't over yet. I have a vision Dennis. I am going to shove myself into every television I possibly can. I've got Sunday's covered with the EWS.

[A digitized classical tune begins to play. Trey looks down and grabs his cell phone from his belt.]

Trey: Talk to me.....who is this?....Are you kidding me?.....how much?......[he makes a fart noise with his lips] What EVER! Darling, you must be joking. Trey Vincent only works for one thing, and that is money....How did you get this number?......What?......Are you serious?......Well, then I'm all ears.

[Trey listens for about 30 seconds. At times he looks confused, happy and confident. Though he is silent, his face continues to perform for the camera.]

Trey: What's your name darling? Taylor Thompson? Really. You have a nice voice, single? None of my business? Everything is my business. Fine, I'll come meet you. Dennis, a pen and paper. Oh wait, nevermind. (Trey reaches under his white winter hat and pulls out a small notebook and a pencil.) Go ahead. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. And how do I get there? No kidding. Wow. Sweet stuff. So your interest is purely professional?....Fair enough. Very true. Okay, how about we say in an hour? Cool. See you in a bit then.

[Trey hangs up and looks at the camera.]

Trey: Another change of plans. Let's hit the road. Where the hell did I park?

Dennis: I'm hoping you went to a parking garage.

Trey: Yeah, I did. But which one?

Dennis: You don't remember?

Trey: Sure I do. Turn the camera off. I don't want to rip off "Seinfeld." Oh, before you do, what was the good news?

Dennis: You have a match this Sunday. Against Prototype. For the European Title.

Trey: At long last my years of dedication have paid off. I have busted my ass in EWS since day one, and it's finally paying off. It sure took long enough. Well, sports entertainment fans, I will get more into this later, but for now, let me just take a look back at all the great memories in the EWS thus far. I am undefeated. Everyone who has tried to pin me has failed. I am unstoppable. There is only one regret thus far. That is that all the Trey Vincent fans here have yet to see the greatest move in sports entertainment, the Big Time Fist Drop. But I want to let all the worried Trey Vincent fans to know that the move will become a part of my regular arsenal now that I am free of these silly orgy matches.

Trey: Prototype, you are stepping into the big leagues now. You're stepping into the big time. Prototype, you are finally going to get some sort of reaction, because all of the Franchise Player's fans will boo you and give you your 15 minutes of fame as you do battle with the sports entertainment icon, the real deal, Trey Vincent. Now, somebody told me that you are a champion.

Dennis: I did.

Trey: Right, that was you. Are you sure?

Dennis: Yeah, I'm sure I told you.

Trey: (He rolls his eyes.) I meant are you sure he's a champion? Well, I don't know a thing about this supposed champion, so I hope you got a videotape of his work.

Dennis: You don't have it under your hat?

Trey: No.

Dennis: Must be in the Pathfinder.

Trey: Indeed it must.

Dennis: Yes.

Trey: No doubt about it.

Dennis: Precisely.

Trey: This sucks. Okay, I'll deal with Prototype later if I have the chance. Right now, I've got bigger things to deal with. Let's hit the road.

Static.

[We open in a loooooong and winding driveway.]

Dennis: Are you sure this isn't a street?

Trey: Yeah, I'm sure. She said her driveway was really long.

[The driveway is large enough to allow two-way traffic and is paved dark black. Pine trees stand guard as if they are green soldiers along the side of the road. And the trees are so thick that there is nothing to be seen behind them except more trees. Though it is still midday and sunny, the trees block out most of the light. Some might find these conditions claustrophobic. They continue along the path for another 30 seconds or so before an opening becomes visible. It is the gateway to paradise.

After their vehicle clears the last of the forestry, we see endless acres of a yard. The car drives up close to a palatial white house complete with columns, at least four stories tall, tons of picture windows. The driveway becomes a circle at the end and Trey drives around the fountain in the middle of the driveway. Both men get out of the vehicle and walk toward the house on the other side of the fountain. They walk up four large stone steps and pause at the large oak door.]

Trey: I'll be damned (he says surveying the property).

[Suddenly, the front door opens and two men hovering near the seven-foot mark step outside. Behind the men is a breathtakingly beautiful woman. She has the face of a model and long straight brown hair. Her eyes are catlike and mysterious. Her face is expressionless. She nudges the giants and they step aside, but hover right behind her. She stands at about 5-feet-7 inches tall. She is wearing a tight blue sleeveless T-shirt and light blue jeans. She extends her right hand to Trey. He looks at it for a second and then takes her hand in his and kisses her fingers, never breaking eye contact.]

Taylor: So nice to have you here.

Trey: So nice to be here.

Taylor: Won't you come inside? (She pulls her hand free and turns around. She heads into the house. The camera gets a nice shot of her ass, but then the giants tackle Dennis and we go to static.)

[We open up on the patio behind the home. Trey and Taylor have cozied up to each other on one side of a glass table. They are seated on separate white and gray cushioned patio chairs, but only separated by inches. Taylor looks over at the camera.]

Taylor: I'm so sorry Dennis.

Dennis: My own fault.

Taylor: (She returns her attention to Trey. She suddenly reaches out to him and takes off his sunglasses, folds them up and hangs them on her shirt.) Such beautiful blue eyes. Why do you hide them?

Trey: It's sunny. Taylor, if I may say so, you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever known in my life.

Taylor: And if I may say so, I have never met a more captivating man then yourself. But, I did bring you here for business. I'm not just some rich b###h. Well, I am. But there's more to me than that.

Trey: Yes?

Taylor: I must first admit, I don't like wrestling.

Trey: Neither do I.

Taylor: You don't? Then why do you do it?

Trey: I don't wrestle. I sports entertain.

Taylor: What's the difference?

Trey: Money. Fame. Glory. Wrestling makes stars. But sports entertainment makes icons. Sports entertainment makes superstars. Sports entertainment takes ordinary human beings and makes them become bigger than life itself. People worship sports entertainers. Idiots bring signs to shows that say Trey Vincent Is God. Well, I may not be god, but if God were a wrestler, he would be Trey Vincent.

Taylor: I see. Well, Trey, even though I don't like sports entertainment or wrestling, or whatever you call it, I did happen to be flipping through the channels and saw your ad for a private investigation agency. And then it blew my mind when I went online, typed in your name and I not only got your agency, but a site for your wrestling company. So, of course, I tuned in Sunday once I learned you would be on the show. I saw you destroy three men single-handedly. You went into a match where the odds were against you, and you came out virtually unscathed.

Trey: I did.

Taylor: (She rubs his hand.) I need a man like that. Do you know why?

Trey: No, why?

Taylor: Look, I know that you're a private investigator and all, but I need someone to, well. (She looks down at the table and turns away from Trey.) I'm so embarrased to say it.

Trey: (He takes her hand.) Hey. Hey. Look at me.

[She does.]

Trey: You got me here. What could you be so embarassed about?

Taylor: It's just...look, the bottom line is this. You saw the house. It's no secret that I have a lot of money. You know how I got the money?

Trey: Drugs?

Taylor: (She laughs and slaps his thigh.) No.

Trey: Escort service?

Taylor: (She cracks up again and pulls his hat down over his eyes playfully.) No. Just let me say it. Trey, I was a model.

Trey: You're kidding (he says with a sarcastic tone). You're so ugly, who the hell would want to take your picture?

[Taylor gets up and grabs him by the throat. With ease, Trey breaks the hold and sits her down on the table. Both are smiling. Taylor chuckles.]

Taylor: Look, Trey, this is embarassing for me, okay? I mean, I'm 29 years old. I always pictured myself being married by now, maybe with a kid. I can't even find one guy who doesn't want me either for my money or my looks.

Trey: Well, you could always start a roaring fire with your money and then fall face-first into it.

Taylor: (She smiles widely.) You are such a wiseass.

Trey: Are you telling me you want to marry me?

Taylor: (Her jaw drops.) What? No. No. The point I was getting to was that, a problem has developed of late. My career hasn't been as high-profile of late, but that doesn't concern me. It's just, I enjoy going out and socializing at the big parties. But of late, anytime I'm off of my land, there has been one guy causing a lot of problems for me.

Trey: A stalker?

Taylor: Basically, yeah.

Trey: So you need me to?

Taylor: I need you to protect my body.

Trey: Now, when you mentioned you could help me get my TV show?

Taylor: Let me finish. My friends are throwing me a big birthday party. It's kind of like a send off. You see, in about a month, I'll be heading to Europe one last time and then basically, I'm retiring from modeling. In the model world, 29 is ancient. I don't know how I've survived this long. Granted it's not as big time as I'm used to, but still. It pays great.

Trey: You're going to Europe?

Taylor: Right. So this is kind of like going to be a huge deal. They've rented out a great place for the whole night. Hundreds of people will be there. Tons of press coverage. And there, my dear, will be plenty of friends of mine from the television industry. Explain to me your concept of the show you want to do.

Trey: Well, imagine "Cops," but instead of that, it will be "Trey Vincent: Private Eye, Professional Sports Entertainer."

Taylor: Well, we can talk about this once I know who will be there, but here's what I think you should do. Don't force them into making this like a weekly reality TV show. Just pitch the idea, don't pitch a schedule. If they like the idea, you can make a pilot. If they like the pilot, then the sky's the limit for you. But Trey, as....great as you are, nobody is going to hand you a weekly reality television series, no matter how good looking, I mean, how charismatic you are. (She blushes and looks away from him.)

[Trey goes back to his seat and after a couple of seconds, so does Taylor.]

Trey: But I am Trey Vincent.

Taylor: You know why they won't take you weekly?

Trey: Why?

Taylor: Because you are in a little nothing federation.

Trey: I am, I know. But I need the cash. You know, I think maybe it would be best if you paid me.

Taylor: I told you, I'll pay you if I can't get you a deal with a network. It'll probably be cable.

Trey: Cable? Aw. I want to be forced into everyone's homes. Not just cable subscribers.

Taylor: (She rubs his leg.) You'll get there once you join a real federation. You know what else might not hurt? Winning a title. I know it probably won't help a bit where you're working, but gold does still have some influence.

Trey: It's funny. I have a European Title match this Sunday.

Taylor: Really? This is interesting.

Trey: It's pretty low class, I thought. Europe sucks compared to us.

Taylor: Have you ever been to Europe? My god, there are such breathtaking places and such great history. Trey, I've been to Ireland. Just unbelievable. Paris, France? Yeah, the people suck, but that is without a doubt one of the coolest places on the planet. Spain, England, Italy. Trey, if you win that title, I will give you something very special.

Trey: Money?

Taylor: No! (She whispers into his ear.) Europe needs to be represented by a great man. A worldly man. A champion.

Trey: Are you serious about what you said you'd give me?

Taylor: (She smiles shyly.) Yes.

Trey: I mean, that's sweet and all, but....

Taylor: Trey, I'm not a slut.

Trey: I never said you were. But I'm a man, you're a woman.

Taylor: You're a poor man. How can you talk about raising the EWS to a new level when you can't even afford a house? You live in your car!

Trey: It's roomy.

Taylor: Okay, how about this. I'm going to do something I probably shouldn't. I'm going to give you my trust. But Trey, believe me when I say this. You hurt me, those guys who beat up your friend, well, they'll do a hell of a lot worse to you. And Trey, that will be after I get my revenge. You see Trey, if you hurt me bad, and I'll hurt you in unimaginable ways. And you won't know it until it's too late. But if you stay true to me, I could be the most important person in your life.

Trey: Ok, so....

Taylor: Since you will be my new bodyguard, I want you to stay here with me. I am going to teach you how to not only keep your money, but how to save it. I am going to teach you how to become a man. I know in the sports entertainment biz, you're all man. But outside of it, you're still a boy.

Trey: I?

Taylor: You are a boy.

Trey: You can make me into a man outside of the ring?

Taylor: Yes. You've got the attitude of a winner, but the life of a loser.

Trey: I guess you're right.

Taylor: A lot of people despise you because of your attitude. But you know what makes them happy? They know that you live in your car, so they all mock you behind your back. But what are they going to do when you not only dominate the sports entertainment industry, but also have a mansion, cars for every day of the week, a pool, your own employees, and whatever else your heart desires. And the rest of them? Forget about it! You'll be untouchable. You'll be rich, successful, happy and they'll all be peons who can live through you. They'll be the idiots who come up to you all nervous and beg for an autograph. Now? You'd have to give it to them. But when you learn how to be a champion of life, you can have your people beat the living hell out of those people.

Trey: That would be nice.

Taylor: Wouldn't it?

Trey: Yeah.

Taylor: So, here is my final offer to you. You can stay here with me until I leave for Europe. I won't pay you with money, but I will pay you in several other more rewarding ways. And I will make sure you get in contact with someone about your show. I will turn you into a man to be feared in every part of life, both in reality and on TV.

Trey: The ultimate reality TV show. I like it.

Taylor: But here's what I want. I suspect the man who has been stalking me will show up at my party or at some point that night. I want him gone. If he finds out I'm going to Europe, I'm afraid he'll follow me. And I'll be vulnerable over there.

Trey: Taylor, you've got your man. As long as...

Taylor: Yes?

Trey: My room needs to have a TV and a VCR.

Taylor: (She thinks for a second.) Not a problem. Why?

Trey: I'm hoping to hear what the Prototype has to say about wrestling the franchise player and losing his title.

Taylor: That's who you're wrestling?

Trey: Yep. He's the European Champion. For now. But the days are counting down. Soon I will begin investigating the man known as Prototype. I will see what he is. And I will show all my fans how he pales in comparison to the icon. Hey Prototype, I'm gonna give you a phone number for my company. It's 1-800-999-8874, or so it's easier to remember 1-800-XXX-TVPI. Call that number and tell the operator that you want to hire me for a couple of reasons. Reason one: to find your talent. Though I doubt it will be a pointless investigation, because you obviously have none when compared to Trey Vincent. And reason two: hire me to protect your manhood so you don't suddenly lack in testicular fortitude and decide not to show up for our match. You see, there is only one way you will keep my title. That's if you don't show up.

Taylor: What are you doing?

Trey: Oh, you see, we have to cut promos about our opponents. That's what I'm doing.

Taylor: I get it. Okay. Continue.

Trey: Nah, I'm done for now. How about we head inside and you show me where I'll be staying. As for you Prototype, get your picture taken with that title in the next couple of days. Because come Sunday, all you are going to have are memories of being a champion for a week. All you are going to have is memories of getting a first class top of the line ass whooping unlike any you have ever received before, courtesy of the EWS Franchise Player. I am going to perform sports entertainment move after sports entertainment move until you bow down to the icon and the real deal and admit that you are just another pretender. I'm gonna give you the sports entertainment lesson of your lifetime. This is my game. This is my world. This is your 15 minutes of fame. I hope you enjoy it, because after Sunday, your life will never be the same.

NEXT CHAPTER: Golden Showers >>

©2001 John Leary