Popping ratings, and other things

Trey Vincent stepped off the plane. He tapped something in his jacket pocket that rattled with each tap. It was very early Sunday morning. After retrieving his bags, he headed out to the lot and found his Nissan Pathfinder. It was just about time to get a brand new one. He'd had this one for over a year now. It still ran fine, but it was still time to get a new one. He was Trey Vincent. The man, god damn!

During the drive home, between yawns and thoughts of one chick he met backstage, with long curly brown hair, dressed in this cute little red sweater and the cutest little yellow mini-dress he had ever seen. Oh and those high heels. She had really tiny breasts, but long, long legs and a killer ass. He had actually taken her black panties with him. Man, she was good.

It was a GREAT night. He didn't even bother to take her dress off. Sure, he had to reschedule his flight, but, dude, you don't give up the shot when it's there. That's the difference between Vincent and a lot of people. You either seize opportunity or you hope somebody will recognize your talent and reward you.

Fuck that, Vincent said to himself.

Vincent had worked himself into the main event at Massacre and made a mediocre main event outstanding. Just his mere presence in the front row.

He thought back on the signs that had pissed off JCon and Wippit.

Wippit, Guud? Ah, The Irony.

JCon Swings From Jims Johnson

JCon Fears Talent

Wippit Fears Height

DILDO LOVER

And he wasn't sure if they caught it, but early in the main event he had put up a sign that said The Scrubs Behind Me Cant See! and when KroW appeared, Vincent had produced his Will KroW For Food and KroW Has West Nile Virus signs.

He couldnt WAIT to get home and view the tape. He patted his jacket again. The tape was producing the rattling. He had made sure to snag a copy. Right after he watched some porn, fell asleep and woke up, he was gonna watch it for sure.

You know what Vincent found even funnier? After the match ended, he saw Wippit Guud. A man who he had been stuck behind in jOlt for months. And yet he kept getting pushed and pushed and pushed. Wippit getting into main events when jOlt opened up for the disastrous Season 2.

Now, Wippit was starting to break.

Opportunity.

And then he thought about JCon. There are not even words to describe the hatred Vincent feels for him. Vincent HAS JCon's number.

LIttle fucking rip-off of Trey Vincent.

He saw what Vincent did backstage in jOlt. JCon learned.

God. Damn. Him. He learned, Vincent said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Vincent was not a saint backstage. He wasn't a quiet guy who went about his business. Those guys are idiots. From day one in jOlt, Vincent figured out who was in charge and he got in his ear. But with the Mafia crap going on and the place closing, it got insane to figure out who was running the show.

He was promised the International Title. Azrael whatever the hell his name was had a lot to hide. So deals were made. You see, while some people book storylines and angles, Vincent books based on what is best for him. There was a nice little piece of information out there, even still, about Azrael, who ran off to The Asylum. Good for him. He wasn't a sports entertainer. jOlt was gonna have a REAL champion.

Then the place closed. Vincent waited for the word he was gonna go over in the finals of the Trey Vincent International Tournament.

The new bosses had another idea however. JCon.

Vincent was shocked.

He'd been screwed.

He thought he was imagining things.

JCon got the next big thing push in jOlt.

Vincent didn't, but he got over. And JCon vs. Vincent at jOlt's last pay-per-view Unwanted was a war. A very stiff war. Vincent had created a great plan. If not for some lousy refereeing...But Vincent made JCon his personal bitch later in the jOlt battle royal for the World Title. The one Erik Rave eventually won.

"JCon wanted to be me. Now he's doing his best impersonation. But everyones gonna see," he mumbled to himself. "He aint entertaining. He aint Trey Vincent."

Now JCon was just about untouchable. He had a stable backing his ass up, and a boss pulling his strings. He was calling himself a Franchise Wrestler. A JCon. One Letter Better.

Test the new model against the original. Trey Vincent is the Icon. In Vincent's mind, the J in JCons name might as well stand for jobber. Vincent is the ONLY Franchise PLAYER in sports entertainment today.

Its as if Vincent died and JCon had tried to steal his identity. He was making money off what Vincent taught him.

Vincent shook his head and smiled.

Even if he hated JCon, he had to respect him just for that.

But that didnt mean one day JCon wont learn his lesson. He will. JCon will pay. Everyone who ever stepped foot in jOlt and contributed to its failure will pay. Vincent had burned the list into his mind. JCon, KroW, Wippit Guud, Chris Register, Chris Titan, Shawn Steele. But JCon was too strong right now. But who knows, maybe KroW will run JCon over in a hummer next and there won't be an issue anymore. Vincent chuckled at that thought.

"I'm one, letter, SPLATTERED! BWAHAHAHA."

Vincent knew who was most vulnerable. Wasn't it obvious?

It was 5:30 a.m. when he parked in the garage. It wasn't a new experience being up this long. But Trey Vincent didn't much like it. Mainly being sober. If he was drunk off his ass, well, it would be just another night. It was tough to drink after a sports entertainment show...he was already buzzing from it. Drinking seemed to drag him down on those nights he worked.

The elevator dinged and Vincent stepped out into the small hallway before his penthouse door. Vincent did a double take as he started out the elevator. A woman was there. She looked very familiar.

"What the hell?"

"Hey sweetie," she said smiling coyly. "I thought you'd be home about two hours ago. I've missed you so much." She was wearing one a longsleeved green crewneck tee shirt, knee-length black skirt with a slit up the side and platform open-toed shoes.

"Who are you again?"

She laughed. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Sorta. Wanna come in?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

Vincent scratched his forehead and fished the key from out his pocket. He unlocked the door and shoved it open. After you. She headed inside and stopped in the doorway. The front of Vincent bumped into her backside. He hadn't expected her to stop short. She suddenly decided it was a good time to touch her toes. Vincent tossed his black travel bag over her bent body and it landed with a thud inside. He walked her inside and slammed the door shut. Slowly, she rubbed against him, side to side, which became a circular motion.

The woman stood up and turned around. Vincent looked at her mainly black hair with streaks of blonde, red and purple. Now both of their fronts were locked together.

"You piece of shit," she said with a smile.

"Wait." He looked at her again. "Oh my god! You added purple to your hair! No WONDER I didnt recognize you. You're that girl I said looks like the girl from Scrubs. But tons hotter. With the breasts," he said looking down at her large breasts. "OH YEAH, I remember you now. You're the bartender I met after I was pissed about jOlt closing. What odd timing you have coming back into my life. You still a vegetarian?"

"I was NEVER a vegetarian," she said laughing. "You bastard."

Vincent smiled. "Yeah, you do like eating meat, don't you? Seriously, why are you here?"

"You know why I'm here."

"I wanna hear you say it."

She was silent, staring into his eyes. So he forcefully shoved her against his front door.

"Say it."

She smiled. "I wanna be on TV."

Vincent chuckled. "What's your name again?"

"Does it matter?"

"Nah."

NEXT CHAPTER: Naming a future porn star >>

©2002 John Leary