Post by Deleted on Jun 27, 2022 7:11:57 GMT -5
Office of Dr. Lewis DeVille
Midtown Manhattan
New York City
Midtown Manhattan
New York City
It's been a minute since I've had a session. A lot of people look down on people like me that need help in sorting out the cobwebs inside ones brain. That's never really bothered me. They think it's a weakness. The reality is it's a strength. To recognize there are things beyond your own control that you don't have the ability to sort out on your own takes a certain strength and courage on its own. I've never been one to hide anything from the universe in which I belong. From my disregard for my own safety, to my past wars with militant enemies, to my sexual exploits and everything in between... my therapy included... has always been on full display.
That being said, I maybe should do this more regularly. I have a tendency to put my sessions off because I have so many projects that I'm trying to work on all at once. Something has to suffer, right? Might as well be my own mental health. I won't put my business obligations on hold. I surely wouldn't put fatherhood on hold. I can't and won't put OCW on hold.
Mental health is all that's left.
Lying back on the lounger, I stare up at the cheap drop ceiling tile. Like so many times before, DeVille is late. Like all those times, I've begun counting the little dark specks on the tile and every single time, the outcome never changes.
998 specks.
It's never one more or one less but even still, I count them all the same.
"Thaddeus," DeVille says pleasantly as he enters his office and spies me all stretched out.
"What's up Doc?" I greet him with my customary salutation.
Closing the door behind him, he quickly takes a seat behind his desk and lowers his bifocal lenses to the tip of his nose. "That joke still amuses you?"
"Mehh," I begin to answer. "Not really. It's just expected of me."
"Not by me," he interjects. "I think you're pulling your Classic Thaddeus and putting expectations upon yourself while no one else really is."
"Really Doc? Let's not analyze a simple greeting."
"Okay," he says as he shuffles a few papers around. "How are you today?"
"I've never been better," I answer him. "OCW is picking up more steam already. I begin shooting my film shortly. Things are just fan-fucking-tastic at home. I mean, I don't even remember the last time Lauren and I had a fight. At least, not a serious one."
"Hmm," says DeVille.
"What?"
"Nothing," he replies.
"Your 'hmm's' are never just 'nothing', Doc," I say, turning my head toward him. "What is it?"
"Well, you mentioned your home life, your personal life, your professional life, but..." his voice trails off.
"But what?"
"Not a single mention of your father," he says before sitting quietly.
For a long few moments I sit quietly. To be entirely honest, I've largely put him out of my mind. Some of those viewing this probably already know, but many might not. My relationship with my father was a rollercoaster. It was broken at its worst and contentious at its very best. Last year, I spent months trying to find out the truth of my mothers death and the reality of it is, that he was physically responsible.
I do not feel guilty for how he died.
I do not feel guilty for delivering justice in my mothers name.
I do not feel guilty for my father leaving this mortal plane.
"Thaddeus?" Doc interrupts my thought process.
"There's nothing to talk about," I finally answer him. "He's dead, he's buried... let's leave the skeleton where he lies if you don't mind Doc."
"Before long Thaddeus, you'll need to open up and discuss his death."
"Yeah well, today is not that day."
"Let's talk about your supposed sex addiction for awhile can we?" he asks. "How's that going?"
"I don't like the way you say 'supposed'," I retort quickly. "It gives me the impression that you're invalidating my vice. Lauren did the same thing in the beginning and it pissed me off."
"I'm not trying to invalidate it Thaddeus, I'm trying to tell you, and I have been trying to tell you that your problem isn't sex."
"I could not agree more," I fire back with a smile. "I love it and I'm good at it."
DeVille chuckles to himself uncharacteristically for a second.
"What I mean is that I don't think you have an addiction," he says through his laughter. "These trysts, these hook ups or whatever you kids call 'em these days. How do they typically begin?"
I look over at him again, but I don't answer right away. Honestly, I've never put too much thought into it.
"Look at me," I joke. "That's how it begins."
"Yes Thaddeus," he says with a mocking tone. "You're aesthetically pleasing to the eyes. But that can't be it. Not even you can just look at someone, neither of you say a single word, and you both end up naked in a bed somewhere."
"It's not always a bed," I fire back quickly. "Sometimes it's a car. Sometimes its on the plane. A couple times on Marcus Welsh's desk. And once or twice in a Catholic confessional.
"Those were my favorite if I'm being honest, Doc."
"Walk me through it," he insists.
"I'm not teaching you how to have sex," I retort.
"Thaddeus stop with the jokes," he admonishes me. "Walk me through a typical interaction. You've hooked up with many people through Twitter or at the Velvet Rabbit. How does it begin?"
"Innocently," I answer him quickly. "Like with Twitter, I'll just be scrolling the timeline and stumble onto someone I think looks very attractive. So I'll give them a compliment with literally no intention of fucking them."
"What do you usually compliment?" he asks.
"Eyes typically," I answer him. "I love eyes. They're like little windows into the soul. It's like peaking behind the curtain and seeing the private person instead of the public personas so many of us portray."
"Why do you pay these people compliments?"
"I like making people feel good," I answer him truthfully. "My business is filled with a lot of head cases just like me. A lot of us have similarly faulty wiring in the brain and... Some of us don't know how to handle regular life after the crowds have gone home and the lights and cameras are all shut off.
"So, I just like to remind people that they're valued even when it's quiet."
"What next?" he asks.
"Usually they pay me one back," I answer with a shrug.
"And then things escalate quickly," he assumes correctly. "Then before you know it, you've met up with them and things are happening."
"Well I don't know if it's exactly like that but... it's pretty close."
"Thaddeus, it's not an addiction," he says and I look toward him again waiting for him to elaborate. "I'm of the opinion that you and so many of those you end up in bed with..."
I go to speak up but he raises his voice to curtail my attempt.
"OR CONFESSIONALS... all have similar issues with parental upbringing."
"I don't think many of their dads killed their..."
"That's not exactly what I mean," he interrupts. "I'm just saying on a common thread sort of level that they and you have had an absentee parent or one that just wasn't very good at their job, or in your specific case, one that was taken from you at a very young age.
"Tell me real quickly, since you've been in rehab for this supposed addiction, how many times have you had a relapse?"
"None," I answer back quickly.
"So you went from a different man or woman two or three times a week, to... just your wife?" he redirects.
"Yeah," I say with a smile.
"And how hard... DIFFICULT... has that been for you?" he asks.
"It hasn't really," I answer. "I mean I'm tempted to risk everything to have a go at Sloane Taylor, but I never would. I mean, I would and so would she, but I mean neither of us would risk everything and hurt Sebastian or Lauren like that.
"That's just not how I operate. It's certainly not how Sloane operates."
"Okay let's recap," he says as he makes a note in his notebook. "Your extramarital activities start by just trying to be a nice guy and being complimentary. Things escalate and you end up in bed with them. You enter rehab for what you think is sex addiction because you've slept with a dozen other..."
His voice trails off as he notices me motioning upward.
"More than a dozen?"
"Significantly more," I answer him honestly.
"Yeeeeeshhhhh," he says aloud as he regathers his thoughts. "Okay so, you enter rehab and Sloane Taylor aside, you've had no desire to have relations with anyone other than your wife?"
"Well, I wouldn't say the desire isn't there," I correct him. "A month ago I'd have tried to get it in with Cass Baumer in a heartbeat. Others too. What I am saying, is that it hasn't been difficult to control my temptations."
"I want you to pull out of rehab," Doc insists.
"Doc, I don't pull out of anything," I joke with a laugh.
"What you have is abandonment issues Thaddeus," he continues, ignoring my joke. "Not sex addiction. You're just wired differently than a lot of people. You have certain gifts like your looks and other things that move things along quicker than they would a guy like me. You're seeking the affection and comfortable feelings you didn't have when you were growing up and it lands you in the arms..."
"I don't stick it in their arms," I joke. I... really can't help myself sometimes.
"Thaddeus!" he shouts.
"Sorry Doc," I say with a chuckle.
"What I'm saying is it's your upbringing causing you to seek the emotional support, the affection, from strangers that you never got at home."
On the elevator ride down to the ground floor of the building I realize DeVille gave me a lot of things to consider. While he might be fully convinced, I'm not ready to say that I don't have an addiction. I mean, he very well could be right. Before and while I was with Adi Gold, I never really gave whoring myself out much thought. Sure, I'd flirt with people all the time. It's just how I am. I'm a very flirty guy, but back then it was always innocent. It wasn't until after Adi and I split up that I starting sowing my wild oats, as the adage says.
Out on the street, I eye my baby: my restored classic Heritage Softail.
That being said, I maybe should do this more regularly. I have a tendency to put my sessions off because I have so many projects that I'm trying to work on all at once. Something has to suffer, right? Might as well be my own mental health. I won't put my business obligations on hold. I surely wouldn't put fatherhood on hold. I can't and won't put OCW on hold.
Mental health is all that's left.
Lying back on the lounger, I stare up at the cheap drop ceiling tile. Like so many times before, DeVille is late. Like all those times, I've begun counting the little dark specks on the tile and every single time, the outcome never changes.
998 specks.
It's never one more or one less but even still, I count them all the same.
"Thaddeus," DeVille says pleasantly as he enters his office and spies me all stretched out.
"What's up Doc?" I greet him with my customary salutation.
Closing the door behind him, he quickly takes a seat behind his desk and lowers his bifocal lenses to the tip of his nose. "That joke still amuses you?"
"Mehh," I begin to answer. "Not really. It's just expected of me."
"Not by me," he interjects. "I think you're pulling your Classic Thaddeus and putting expectations upon yourself while no one else really is."
"Really Doc? Let's not analyze a simple greeting."
"Okay," he says as he shuffles a few papers around. "How are you today?"
"I've never been better," I answer him. "OCW is picking up more steam already. I begin shooting my film shortly. Things are just fan-fucking-tastic at home. I mean, I don't even remember the last time Lauren and I had a fight. At least, not a serious one."
"Hmm," says DeVille.
"What?"
"Nothing," he replies.
"Your 'hmm's' are never just 'nothing', Doc," I say, turning my head toward him. "What is it?"
"Well, you mentioned your home life, your personal life, your professional life, but..." his voice trails off.
"But what?"
"Not a single mention of your father," he says before sitting quietly.
For a long few moments I sit quietly. To be entirely honest, I've largely put him out of my mind. Some of those viewing this probably already know, but many might not. My relationship with my father was a rollercoaster. It was broken at its worst and contentious at its very best. Last year, I spent months trying to find out the truth of my mothers death and the reality of it is, that he was physically responsible.
I do not feel guilty for how he died.
I do not feel guilty for delivering justice in my mothers name.
I do not feel guilty for my father leaving this mortal plane.
"Thaddeus?" Doc interrupts my thought process.
"There's nothing to talk about," I finally answer him. "He's dead, he's buried... let's leave the skeleton where he lies if you don't mind Doc."
"Before long Thaddeus, you'll need to open up and discuss his death."
"Yeah well, today is not that day."
"Let's talk about your supposed sex addiction for awhile can we?" he asks. "How's that going?"
"I don't like the way you say 'supposed'," I retort quickly. "It gives me the impression that you're invalidating my vice. Lauren did the same thing in the beginning and it pissed me off."
"I'm not trying to invalidate it Thaddeus, I'm trying to tell you, and I have been trying to tell you that your problem isn't sex."
"I could not agree more," I fire back with a smile. "I love it and I'm good at it."
DeVille chuckles to himself uncharacteristically for a second.
"What I mean is that I don't think you have an addiction," he says through his laughter. "These trysts, these hook ups or whatever you kids call 'em these days. How do they typically begin?"
I look over at him again, but I don't answer right away. Honestly, I've never put too much thought into it.
"Look at me," I joke. "That's how it begins."
"Yes Thaddeus," he says with a mocking tone. "You're aesthetically pleasing to the eyes. But that can't be it. Not even you can just look at someone, neither of you say a single word, and you both end up naked in a bed somewhere."
"It's not always a bed," I fire back quickly. "Sometimes it's a car. Sometimes its on the plane. A couple times on Marcus Welsh's desk. And once or twice in a Catholic confessional.
"Those were my favorite if I'm being honest, Doc."
"Walk me through it," he insists.
"I'm not teaching you how to have sex," I retort.
"Thaddeus stop with the jokes," he admonishes me. "Walk me through a typical interaction. You've hooked up with many people through Twitter or at the Velvet Rabbit. How does it begin?"
"Innocently," I answer him quickly. "Like with Twitter, I'll just be scrolling the timeline and stumble onto someone I think looks very attractive. So I'll give them a compliment with literally no intention of fucking them."
"What do you usually compliment?" he asks.
"Eyes typically," I answer him. "I love eyes. They're like little windows into the soul. It's like peaking behind the curtain and seeing the private person instead of the public personas so many of us portray."
"Why do you pay these people compliments?"
"I like making people feel good," I answer him truthfully. "My business is filled with a lot of head cases just like me. A lot of us have similarly faulty wiring in the brain and... Some of us don't know how to handle regular life after the crowds have gone home and the lights and cameras are all shut off.
"So, I just like to remind people that they're valued even when it's quiet."
"What next?" he asks.
"Usually they pay me one back," I answer with a shrug.
"And then things escalate quickly," he assumes correctly. "Then before you know it, you've met up with them and things are happening."
"Well I don't know if it's exactly like that but... it's pretty close."
"Thaddeus, it's not an addiction," he says and I look toward him again waiting for him to elaborate. "I'm of the opinion that you and so many of those you end up in bed with..."
I go to speak up but he raises his voice to curtail my attempt.
"OR CONFESSIONALS... all have similar issues with parental upbringing."
"I don't think many of their dads killed their..."
"That's not exactly what I mean," he interrupts. "I'm just saying on a common thread sort of level that they and you have had an absentee parent or one that just wasn't very good at their job, or in your specific case, one that was taken from you at a very young age.
"Tell me real quickly, since you've been in rehab for this supposed addiction, how many times have you had a relapse?"
"None," I answer back quickly.
"So you went from a different man or woman two or three times a week, to... just your wife?" he redirects.
"Yeah," I say with a smile.
"And how hard... DIFFICULT... has that been for you?" he asks.
"It hasn't really," I answer. "I mean I'm tempted to risk everything to have a go at Sloane Taylor, but I never would. I mean, I would and so would she, but I mean neither of us would risk everything and hurt Sebastian or Lauren like that.
"That's just not how I operate. It's certainly not how Sloane operates."
"Okay let's recap," he says as he makes a note in his notebook. "Your extramarital activities start by just trying to be a nice guy and being complimentary. Things escalate and you end up in bed with them. You enter rehab for what you think is sex addiction because you've slept with a dozen other..."
His voice trails off as he notices me motioning upward.
"More than a dozen?"
"Significantly more," I answer him honestly.
"Yeeeeeshhhhh," he says aloud as he regathers his thoughts. "Okay so, you enter rehab and Sloane Taylor aside, you've had no desire to have relations with anyone other than your wife?"
"Well, I wouldn't say the desire isn't there," I correct him. "A month ago I'd have tried to get it in with Cass Baumer in a heartbeat. Others too. What I am saying, is that it hasn't been difficult to control my temptations."
"I want you to pull out of rehab," Doc insists.
"Doc, I don't pull out of anything," I joke with a laugh.
"What you have is abandonment issues Thaddeus," he continues, ignoring my joke. "Not sex addiction. You're just wired differently than a lot of people. You have certain gifts like your looks and other things that move things along quicker than they would a guy like me. You're seeking the affection and comfortable feelings you didn't have when you were growing up and it lands you in the arms..."
"I don't stick it in their arms," I joke. I... really can't help myself sometimes.
"Thaddeus!" he shouts.
"Sorry Doc," I say with a chuckle.
"What I'm saying is it's your upbringing causing you to seek the emotional support, the affection, from strangers that you never got at home."
On the elevator ride down to the ground floor of the building I realize DeVille gave me a lot of things to consider. While he might be fully convinced, I'm not ready to say that I don't have an addiction. I mean, he very well could be right. Before and while I was with Adi Gold, I never really gave whoring myself out much thought. Sure, I'd flirt with people all the time. It's just how I am. I'm a very flirty guy, but back then it was always innocent. It wasn't until after Adi and I split up that I starting sowing my wild oats, as the adage says.
Out on the street, I eye my baby: my restored classic Heritage Softail.
Reaching into the saddlebag and retrieving my turtle shell helmet and black sunglasses, I put them both on before firing the engine of the old bike. Revving the engine once or twice to regulate the idle speed, I kick up its kickstand and check my mirror to pull out on to the street. Pulling up beside me and blocking my exit is another motorcycle. A real sexy one, too. The rider, obviously a woman, kills her engine and I kill mine. She pulls off her purple helmet revealing the head beneath it.
Looking behind my for a moment then back to Veronica Strader, I greet her.
"Y'all Strader's stalkin' me or what?" I ask of her. She scoffs and rolls her eyes, but doesn't immediately answer. "No office hours this week, Ronnie. I start shooting my film tomorrow and I got a lot to get done."
"Heard you been wantin' to fuck a Strader," she calls out over the traffic noise passing by. "Settle for a couple of drinks and a chat?"
"Uhhhh," I check the time on my Rolex. "Yeah I got about two hours before my next appointment. There's a Four Seasons a couple blocks up, they got a bar on the ground floor. Nice and quiet this time of day."
"Your town Thad. After you," she states as we both re-fire our engines.
After making our way through town to the Four Seasons, Veronica and I enter through the lobby and choose a corner booth away from the bar.
"Hey Thad," greets our waitress.
"'Sup Patty?" I greet her back. "How's the kids?"
"Just fuckin' great man," she says with a sigh. "What'll you have?"
"The usual, and Ronnie..." I say, pointing toward my surprise guest.
"Whatever he's havin'," she says to Patty. "And a triple shot of Gold Patron."
"Patron," I say to Ronnie with a smile. "Why Miss Strader, it's not even 6PM."
"Yeah well, you're playin' hardball so I need something to stop me from jumping across this table and strangling you."
Somehow, I don't think she's joking.
"Let's not talk business... there's plenty of time for that."
"You really think we're just..." she clams up as Patty returns with our drinks, only resuming once Patty is out of earshot. "...gonna sit here and get to know each other?"
"That's exactly what I think," I admit to her before taking a long swig of my beer. "Business is just business. It doesn't have to be so adversarial outside of the office."
"Okay, that's fair," she says before taking a drink of her own. "What you wanna know?"
"Tell me about you, like growing up, your parents, etcetera."
"Why?" she asks in protest. "It's not like it'll change your opinion of me and my family."
"That's where you're wrong," I argue. "My feelings about you and your family were centered around business. But over the years I've found that if you get to know your business rivals on a personal level then... it's possible to find common ground and it makes future business a lot easier."
"I was adopted," she relents. "Meghan Strader and Matthew Knox are my biological parents."
"I adopted my oldest son," I say to her. She hesitates a moment while taking a drink. "In an odd twist of fate, his father killed his mother just like mine did."
For a moment, Ronnie looks at me. I know how I portray myself. Just because I'm arrogant, cocky and supremely confident, doesn't mean that I don't also have skeletons in my closet. I have feelings too.
"Tell me Thad," she redirects. "Why OCW? Why now?"
Leaning back against the booth, I hesitate to answer.
"With your money, you could have bought your beloved XWF for the right price," she says almost with a hint of anger in her voice.
"Why do you think?" I ask her.
"I think you're using OCW and all of us as a play thing," she begins. "Something to cure your boredom while you're on the shelf and can't compete.
"I love OCW. While you bled black and blue for most of your career, I bleed red and black. OCW gave me a second chance and I was sure not to disappoint. I'm damn proud of what I've done here and I'm sorry if I'm coming across like a bitch, but this is my home and you're an outsider."
Leaning forward, I sigh deeply. "Ronnie, I love this business. From tip to tail..." my voice trails off a moment as I inadvertently use a turn of phrase my father used regularly. "I don't know why people think I have some deep seeded hatred for OCW. I was only here a few months last year but I enjoyed every second of it. My intent when I left was always to come back.
"You know as well as I do how hard it is to find a truly good, truly strong promotion. One that has the staff and the roster equally passionate with the product they put out. I've been all over the world Ronnie. Yeah, my home is and always will be the XWF. But, you know how it is when you have our money. You can have more than one home. OCW to me, was everything I was looking for in a viable alternative to the XWF.
"With my contract expiring at the end of May, I knew I'd be looking around. I found what I was looking for a long time ago and Ronnie, I'm not here to punish anyone. I'm here for the same reasons you are. To make OCW bigger and better than it's ever been."
Pausing for a moment, I let her process what I've told her.
"I am not your enemy."
We sit silently for what seems like an eternity with our eyes locked on one another. I don't know how to get through to these people that I'm not in OCW to hurt them. I'm just a guy with a passion for the sport we all love.
"I called you a cancer," she says quietly. "Fact is Thad, everything hit us all at once. You and Sahara coming in and taking over. I lost my championship I fought hard to keep. And worst of all, my mother's dying."
A silent tear falls from her eye. Saying nothing I stand up from my side of the booth and quickly make my way to hers. Sitting beside her, she doesn't even look up at me. Myself, I've never been one to shy away or hide from my emotion. That's what makes us human. I realize though, that not everyone is like me. Not everyone is comfortable displaying their raw emotion in front of others. Especially someone they perceive as their enemy.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I pull up a picture and slide the phone in front of her. Initially, she doesn't look down. When she does, she sniffles and breaks her own silence.
"Who's he?" she asks.
"His name was Jim," I answer her. To this day, I don't recall a single time that I've talked about Jim to anyone outside of my inner circle. "He was my best friend. I met him when I was 15 years old and he was my right hand man until the day that he died."
A tear of my own rolls down my cheek.
"He didn't tell me for months that he had lung cancer," I continue on. "Watching him die was one of the hardest things I've ever been through. It was a lonely place to be."
She looks at me with moist eyes. Reaching up, I wipe a tear away from her eye and she grabs my hand gently, but doesn't pull it away.
"I'm truly sorry you're going through this," I tell her sincerely. "On behalf of OCW, we stand behind you..."
Without warning, using both hands she grabs my face and pulls it to her own. Despite the initial shock, I don't really resist the temptation. Regardless of our professional rivalry, I think we both realized that in spite of that, we're also both human beings. We have desires, wants, needs, passions aside from a wrestling ring and the adoring crowds. We're both young, and attractive. It's only natural for there to be some gravitational pull toward one another. Sexual or otherwise.
After making out for a rather lengthy period of time, she finally shoves my face away from hers.
"Move," she says while giving me a light shove.
"Where are you going?" I ask as I step out of the booth while grabbing my phone off the table. She makes her way out of it then grabs my hand, pulling me through the bar room. "Okay where are we going?"
"Shut up Thad," she calls out as we're apparently making our way to the restroom.
"Yes ma'am."
Inside the restroom, she closes the door behind us and throws her arms around me, again pulling me into making out while I try feverishly to text my wife.
"Hey are you guys gonna..." chimes some dude from behind us before Ronnie interrupts.
"Get! Out!" she shouts at him. Opening the door, she shoves him out then locks it behind her before putting her hand on my belt buckle.
Text sent.
"You really wanna..."
"I said shut the fuck up Thad," she repeats.
"Yes ma'am," I say with a slight grin.
Looking behind my for a moment then back to Veronica Strader, I greet her.
"Y'all Strader's stalkin' me or what?" I ask of her. She scoffs and rolls her eyes, but doesn't immediately answer. "No office hours this week, Ronnie. I start shooting my film tomorrow and I got a lot to get done."
"Heard you been wantin' to fuck a Strader," she calls out over the traffic noise passing by. "Settle for a couple of drinks and a chat?"
"Uhhhh," I check the time on my Rolex. "Yeah I got about two hours before my next appointment. There's a Four Seasons a couple blocks up, they got a bar on the ground floor. Nice and quiet this time of day."
"Your town Thad. After you," she states as we both re-fire our engines.
After making our way through town to the Four Seasons, Veronica and I enter through the lobby and choose a corner booth away from the bar.
"Hey Thad," greets our waitress.
"'Sup Patty?" I greet her back. "How's the kids?"
"Just fuckin' great man," she says with a sigh. "What'll you have?"
"The usual, and Ronnie..." I say, pointing toward my surprise guest.
"Whatever he's havin'," she says to Patty. "And a triple shot of Gold Patron."
"Patron," I say to Ronnie with a smile. "Why Miss Strader, it's not even 6PM."
"Yeah well, you're playin' hardball so I need something to stop me from jumping across this table and strangling you."
Somehow, I don't think she's joking.
"Let's not talk business... there's plenty of time for that."
"You really think we're just..." she clams up as Patty returns with our drinks, only resuming once Patty is out of earshot. "...gonna sit here and get to know each other?"
"That's exactly what I think," I admit to her before taking a long swig of my beer. "Business is just business. It doesn't have to be so adversarial outside of the office."
"Okay, that's fair," she says before taking a drink of her own. "What you wanna know?"
"Tell me about you, like growing up, your parents, etcetera."
"Why?" she asks in protest. "It's not like it'll change your opinion of me and my family."
"That's where you're wrong," I argue. "My feelings about you and your family were centered around business. But over the years I've found that if you get to know your business rivals on a personal level then... it's possible to find common ground and it makes future business a lot easier."
"I was adopted," she relents. "Meghan Strader and Matthew Knox are my biological parents."
"I adopted my oldest son," I say to her. She hesitates a moment while taking a drink. "In an odd twist of fate, his father killed his mother just like mine did."
For a moment, Ronnie looks at me. I know how I portray myself. Just because I'm arrogant, cocky and supremely confident, doesn't mean that I don't also have skeletons in my closet. I have feelings too.
"Tell me Thad," she redirects. "Why OCW? Why now?"
Leaning back against the booth, I hesitate to answer.
"With your money, you could have bought your beloved XWF for the right price," she says almost with a hint of anger in her voice.
"Why do you think?" I ask her.
"I think you're using OCW and all of us as a play thing," she begins. "Something to cure your boredom while you're on the shelf and can't compete.
"I love OCW. While you bled black and blue for most of your career, I bleed red and black. OCW gave me a second chance and I was sure not to disappoint. I'm damn proud of what I've done here and I'm sorry if I'm coming across like a bitch, but this is my home and you're an outsider."
Leaning forward, I sigh deeply. "Ronnie, I love this business. From tip to tail..." my voice trails off a moment as I inadvertently use a turn of phrase my father used regularly. "I don't know why people think I have some deep seeded hatred for OCW. I was only here a few months last year but I enjoyed every second of it. My intent when I left was always to come back.
"You know as well as I do how hard it is to find a truly good, truly strong promotion. One that has the staff and the roster equally passionate with the product they put out. I've been all over the world Ronnie. Yeah, my home is and always will be the XWF. But, you know how it is when you have our money. You can have more than one home. OCW to me, was everything I was looking for in a viable alternative to the XWF.
"With my contract expiring at the end of May, I knew I'd be looking around. I found what I was looking for a long time ago and Ronnie, I'm not here to punish anyone. I'm here for the same reasons you are. To make OCW bigger and better than it's ever been."
Pausing for a moment, I let her process what I've told her.
"I am not your enemy."
We sit silently for what seems like an eternity with our eyes locked on one another. I don't know how to get through to these people that I'm not in OCW to hurt them. I'm just a guy with a passion for the sport we all love.
"I called you a cancer," she says quietly. "Fact is Thad, everything hit us all at once. You and Sahara coming in and taking over. I lost my championship I fought hard to keep. And worst of all, my mother's dying."
A silent tear falls from her eye. Saying nothing I stand up from my side of the booth and quickly make my way to hers. Sitting beside her, she doesn't even look up at me. Myself, I've never been one to shy away or hide from my emotion. That's what makes us human. I realize though, that not everyone is like me. Not everyone is comfortable displaying their raw emotion in front of others. Especially someone they perceive as their enemy.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I pull up a picture and slide the phone in front of her. Initially, she doesn't look down. When she does, she sniffles and breaks her own silence.
"Who's he?" she asks.
"His name was Jim," I answer her. To this day, I don't recall a single time that I've talked about Jim to anyone outside of my inner circle. "He was my best friend. I met him when I was 15 years old and he was my right hand man until the day that he died."
A tear of my own rolls down my cheek.
"He didn't tell me for months that he had lung cancer," I continue on. "Watching him die was one of the hardest things I've ever been through. It was a lonely place to be."
She looks at me with moist eyes. Reaching up, I wipe a tear away from her eye and she grabs my hand gently, but doesn't pull it away.
"I'm truly sorry you're going through this," I tell her sincerely. "On behalf of OCW, we stand behind you..."
Without warning, using both hands she grabs my face and pulls it to her own. Despite the initial shock, I don't really resist the temptation. Regardless of our professional rivalry, I think we both realized that in spite of that, we're also both human beings. We have desires, wants, needs, passions aside from a wrestling ring and the adoring crowds. We're both young, and attractive. It's only natural for there to be some gravitational pull toward one another. Sexual or otherwise.
After making out for a rather lengthy period of time, she finally shoves my face away from hers.
"Move," she says while giving me a light shove.
"Where are you going?" I ask as I step out of the booth while grabbing my phone off the table. She makes her way out of it then grabs my hand, pulling me through the bar room. "Okay where are we going?"
"Shut up Thad," she calls out as we're apparently making our way to the restroom.
"Yes ma'am."
Inside the restroom, she closes the door behind us and throws her arms around me, again pulling me into making out while I try feverishly to text my wife.
"Hey are you guys gonna..." chimes some dude from behind us before Ronnie interrupts.
"Get! Out!" she shouts at him. Opening the door, she shoves him out then locks it behind her before putting her hand on my belt buckle.
Text sent.
"You really wanna..."
"I said shut the fuck up Thad," she repeats.
"Yes ma'am," I say with a slight grin.