Post by SalTal on Dec 18, 2010 19:48:05 GMT -4
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Welcome to Happy Ending T.V.!
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Recorded the 16th of December, 2010. Sally taps into her creative side, bumping into some familiar faces in a trip back in time. In between all that, her thoughts on Level-One, her match, the ending year, and what 2011 might hold in store for everyone ...
Starring:[/i] Sally Talfourd, CJ Gates, Pence Weatherlight, Mark Mania, Young Mannie, JR Kingston, Diamante Valentine, Biggs, Leila Farrahi, Hurricane Jeff[/color]
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"Sally Talfourd presents ..."
is written across the screen, fades out, then
"In association with Action Packed Wrestling"
is next to appear, holds, then fades out for
"Happy Endings T.V."
which fades out again to a shot following a crowd of people. The shot is different, mind you. It's sepia tone, looking all old-school. And, funnily enough, everything else looks old school. The camera follows a bunch of people in the classic trench-coats that you see in Alfred Hitchcock and Humphrey Bogart films. The collars are upturned to keep out the rain as it streams down. The wind blows the trash and the nearby leaves that have gathered on the street further down the road. The people rushing come to a stop around a news stand, a throng of a crowd ten people deep. The camera moves in between the people to get to the front. Fedora hats covering many a man's head part ways, and old-time voices can be heard.
“I can't believe it! I thought that dame was gone for good!”
“We're better off if that gal stays gone! My misses didn't have my dinner ready last night, all 'cause of her!”
“You don't say? Mine's been going out at nights with the other dames down the street!”
Then we all see it! Newspapers galore. Piles and piles of them, and a bunch hanging up from the cover that shelters them from the rain. People stare at them in amazement, then buzz about them with their friends. The headlines all read the same:
SALLY TALFOURD SPOTTED IN WISCONSIN!
Focus in on the newspaper, zooming in to take up the whole screen. There's a picture of a glamorous looking woman dolled up to the hilt, the big glasses taking up the face, a fur scarf wrapped around the neck, a dazzling white dresses peeking out behind a thick black coat with more fur trim. The hair is pulled up into a bun with an ornate pin through it which dazzles with the lights above her. A few inches of her legs are visible below the hem, and the high heels (black) reflect the flash of the camera that took the photo. In one arm is a purse, another the and under the other a handbag. Around the woman is a bunch of photographers, all clamouring to get 'the' photo of the woman. The camera zooms in further on the face of the woman until it becomes an unfocused blur of sepia and black and white.
Then it focuses back in, but the colour has come back to life. The colour is all there in the face of that same woman. It's missing the glasses, but the rest of the outfit is the same as that photo. There's a smile across the red lips of the woman who we all know as Sally Talfourd. She brings up a delicate finger and gently brushes her cheek, careful to not mess the perfect make-up. The blush, the blue eye-shadow, and the thick mascara that is a trademark of the years gone by. She shift in her seat – a barstool at a counter – and then shrugs up her shoulders to push the fur collar up around her neck. The camera comes out and it's only now that we notice something: While Sally is a dazzle and painting of colours, everything else is not. It's the same sepia tone, the same bleeding shadows and mono-tones. There's a man the other side of the counter, all dressed up with a bowtie and an apron on. The bartender, obviously. He is standing back, ringing a glass around in a towel as he watches out over his alcoholic kingdom. Sally turns back to him and then nods at the empty glass she has in front of her.
“Yes ma'am.”
Sally sits back on the stool, and it's then that a loud slam breaks the delicate silence and a stream of dulled light floods the bar. The front door opens, and in blows bits and pieces of the snow with the wind that follows the silhouetted man through the door. The man walks in, taking off his coat and shaking it off. He hangs it on the stand near the door, then walks up to the bar. He takes a seat on the counter adjacent to Sally. Sally tries to avoid eye contact with the guy as he places his order with the second bartender who has walked up out of the cellar. He mumbles something, measures out his drink in the air, then stares at Sally until she finally looks up from the empty space on the bar in front of her.
“Sally Talfourd, right?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Who are you?”
“Christopher James Gates, I work for the Wisconsin Tribune. Yes, yes, I'm a reporter. But you should know, I'm more of Sally Talfourd fan than I am a good reporter. I heard you were … do you mind?”
This guy, who looks a whole lot like CJ Gates, looks at the empty stool beside Sally, as if to ask her permission to sit there. Sally shrugs her shoulders with a motion of apathy as if to say she didn't care either way if he sat there on not. With the opportunity available, Christopher jumps at the opportunity and is next to her as the adoring puppy-like fan he said he was. There's a start contrast, Sally's brilliant colours and CJ blending into the old-time scenery around him.
“Yeah, like I said, I heard you were in town. And I remembered that you had once said you were someone who wasn't exactly a fan of Martini bars … you said they were pretentious I believe?”
“You really are a swell fan if you remember that darling ...”
“Well, I can't lie to a pretty young lady like you. Anyway, when you made the front cover of the Times, and it said you were in our little town, I knew you'd be where you'd lest be expected to be.”
“So what? Are you looking for an interview?”
Sally asks with morose and disappointment in her voice. Not so much that she might have to do one, but in something else. In someone else. In herself. Her drink finally arrives – a Martini. She nods and smiles at the barkeep as she carefully raises the glass to her lips, takes a sip, and then places it back down with only the faintest touch of red lipstick around the rim. A good lipstick doesn't run.
“Well, if you had the time. Otherwise, I'd be more than happy to just sit and chat. I really am a fan of what you've done with the latest phase in your career. When you went to APW and you went from strength to strength, winning the Test For the Best tournament, going up against Level-One, losing, and then dusting yourself off and getting the belt off him the way you did? It was something to be admired, and really inspired me to try and make the best of myself.”
“Well I'm glad I inspired someone to do something.”
“You didn't inspire yourself?”
“Not really, no.”
There's an awkward silence. Sally stares at her drink. This Christopher looks at her, then looks away. He takes up his own drink – it looks like some scotch or bourbon on the rocks – and takes a short sip. He rolls his lips back, lets out a stinging sigh to denote the cheapness of this drink. Sally lets out a sigh herself then takes another sip. Christopher, his reporter instincts kicking in, tries to get some answers out of her.
“So where did you get to for the past few days? There's been a few worried heads, let me tell you.”
“I had to get away from … everything. There's a lot of pressure, being me. Being the APW champion. All the history on my shoulders? All this weight of the pressure? I don't know what it's like outside of, you know, the spotlight any more. I've been in it for too long to remember what it's like to be out of it. I think I forgot what got me here, what got me to where I've ended up. And with it, all that heart and desire and the burning. It's easy to push yourself to get to the top, but it's not so easy to keep yourself there, you know?”
And isn't that the truth? How many times has a wrestler, an APW megastar, a champion found themselves at the heights of the business. At the top of the mountain they've strived to climb for their whole career. How many times have people reached the top and then … nothing. They've faded. They've lost what got them there. Whether it be disillusionment, whether it be defeat through achievement, it is what it is. And when you get caught in that rut, what can you do? Where do you go? How do you get out? Sally's idea was to disappear for a little while. Go back somewhere, go to somewhere, find something that got her back into it. And, from the looks of things, it doesn't seem to have worked.
“I'm here because I have to be, Chris. I have people like you who, you know, believe that I deserve this place I'm in. And, while I might have deserved to get here, who knows if I deserve to keep it. I have to be here for you guys. But, if I had the choice to be here or not … I don't know ...”
Slam! Sally gets cut off, again, by the opening front door. The stiff wind rushes through, blowing some napkins from the counter, ruffling the fur around the collar of Sally's coat. CJ's hair gets all ruffled. The door comes to a close and in have walked a whole group of men. Looking a little rough, mind you. They're all wearing pinstripe suits, and they all have their long, flowing black trench-coats on. And, as they all take off their fedora hats, we can recognise some more familiar faces …
The camera fades away, and then a pause on the black screen. Then it comes back in, back to real life. No sepia, but real colours and the real world. And it's Sally Talfourd dressed for the show. She's got on the short skirt – pink, black and white plaid – and the tight pink top. The boots – black with very, very pink trimmings. And the make-up and hair – pink, threaded through her locks. She really does look like a champion. She's in her locker room, and hers alone it seems. Maybe this is the VIP treatment a champion gets? Anyway, she's staring down into her lap at what we all know is the APW World Heavyweight Title. The straps hang over her legs, and the plate shines back up at her. She casts a knowing look at the camera as she realises it's action time. Without the trademark smile, and the cutesy introduction, she hits the ground running (so to speak)
[Sally] Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Christmas Chaos. And to this latest – and last – episode of Happy Endings TV. Last in the sense that 2010 is just about finished and, well, APW is about to start a new year. And, well, I'd like to say that I know what's in store for this great company but, I think if I'm going to be honest with you, I'd have to say that I actually have no idea. You see guys *Sally looks up from the belt* APW is standing at a bit of a crossroads. And I can't help but remember a poem I heard once ...
Sally reaches behind her, behind the bench and to the floor. She grabs around in her duffle bag (you can't see it, but it's there) and comes up with a scrap of worn paper. She flattens it out the lifts it up to read.
Sally folds the paper up and rests it on the belt. She lingers on it for a moment, then looks back up with a solemn look on her face. One that conveys the gravity and the seriousness of this night of nights.
[Sally] I'm sure a few of you have heard the poem before. It's a classic, here in America. Butfor the wrong reasons. So many people think it's about some dude who comes to a split in the road and he takes the less worn path. A lot of people think it's a poem about taking chances and that. It's not. The poem is about taking the safe choice. It's about going down the worn out path because, well, it was the safe choice. The man, now, is APW. APW is facing this crossroads. And in front of it is the worn path and the less worn path. In front of it is the path that we know where it leads, what it's like, and what the journey is. That's the Level-One path. That's the worn path. We know what happens when we go down there. It takes the company down a path that winds forever on, going and twisting and turning, and ends up at a place no one is ever happy with. The worn path, the Level-One path, that's the first choice. To go back to the way APW was when Level-One was the champion. When he ran roughshod over the whole place. When rules were damned and everyone was a target. When he treated the company like it was his own training centre or high little fight club or his personal collection of jobbers.
Sally shift the belt from her lap, carefully placing it on the shelf of the locker over her shoulder. A champion doesn't put the belt on the bench with disdain! How many asses have been on that seat? She stands up, still hardly showing an emotion across her face. It's a bit of a contrast, all the decoration and the life and the colour that her costume and appearance show, but nothing coming across by way of emotion. This must be a serious episode. She stands and then starts to pace around in the shot of the camera.
[Sally] Then there's the path less taken. The road that is not taken in the poem. The road that the man standing there makes a memory of because he plans to come back one day and actually walk down it to see where it goes. But the reality of the situation is that he knows he won't come back. The man at the split, he knows that once he chooses his path, that he can't come back to his mark to take the other option. It's a once in a lifetime decision, and he knows that. That's my road. That's the Sally Talfourd road. That road, sure, we might not know where it leads, or what's at the end, or what the journey is … *Sally looks up from her feet, at the camera, a spark of excitement taking over her body, her eyes, and her words* but don't we want to be the cutting edge company!? Don't we want to be the person that throws caution to the wind and goes “You know what? A road less traveled? Tell me where and I'll take it!” APW has always cut its own jib. It's always been the company that people flock to not because it's the same-old same-old but because, damnit, we're breaking new ground here! APW has seen history in the past few months. The first woman to win Test For the Best. The first woman to win the elimination chamber. Now the first woman to be APW World Heavyweight Champion. Let's not have APW go down the same path. Please, I wouldn't be able to stand it. APW might stand at the crossroad, but unlike that fool in the poem who chooses the same-old and goes down the worn path, I'm going to drag APW down the less worn road if I have to. Because I know that APW is going to regret it, just like the guy in the poem regrets his choice, if we go down Level-One Road.
Sally has a spark back in her eye, and she knows it. She turns from the camera, and catches the APW title in the locker. But the scene fades out. And, after a pause on a blank screen ...
… three men, a couple of tall, strapping white men and, in between them, a shorter black man. All three survey the bar and then spot Christopher and Sally sitting at the bar. The man in the middle, who just so happens to look a lot like a Young Mannie, elbows the man next to him, who just so happens to look a lot like a JR Kingston, and then nods at them. All three walk to a booth right behind them and click their fingers at the barkeep. They bark out an order and her gets to work. They start to talk, with wry smiles across their faces, loud enough so that all can hear.
“You know, I heard that dame Sally Talfourd is back.”
“What? That bitch? I heard she'd shipped off to New Orleans, back to her old job on Bourbon Street ...”
“I saw her there once. Wasn't worth the price of admission if you ask me.”
Sally just sits there as Christopher whips around to glare at the men. The third of the men, looking a lot like Diamante Valentine, glares back at him, then invites him to come over. Christopher turns around, back to his drink, as the three laugh and go about their conversation. Sally hasn't moved, just letting it go on. At a different time, in a different place, she might have had something to say. But not now. What's the point? What will she achieve? And besides, it's just words. Anyone can say anything they want. When push comes to shove, that's when action matters. But for now? Let them talk. Christopher leans in to Sally.
“Aren't you going to do something?”
“No.”
“Why? What … what happened to you? What happened to the Sally Talfourd that would have stood up and kicked their butts out the door? The woman who stood up against any man and proved that women weren't just a part of the background. That they were just as good as any man?”
“I guess I left her in the elimination chamber ...”
The camera fades away again, and then another pause, then it comes back to the locker room, sans the sepia. So it's going to be one of those episodes, is it? Ok, try and keep up. Sally Talfourd is there, and she's still looking at the belt in the locker. She walks over to it, running her hand over the plate. Shane has to move around, getting a side-on view of Sally just staring a deep, thoughtful stare at the belt that has captured her obsession since the day she came in.
[Sally] If we're going to be honest though, it's not really APW who has the choice at the road. It's not even Level-One, or the fans, or anyone who has to make the choice. It's me. I'm the one who has to make that decision. I'm the one who has to look at the paths and decide which one I want to go. If want the worn road, I just have to do the same as everyone else and put in as much effort as I need to to end up looking good. But that won't be enough, tonight. Looking good is about ten steps behind winning this match. Lester knows that too. What it will take to win, for either of us, is the skill and the talent and the determination that none of us have had to find thus far. APW has never had to see me defend a title. Lester has never had to face me when it's my turn to defend. And I've never had to face Lester like this: ravenous, stalking and hunting for his title. The thought might scare me if I didn't know that I had it in me to not only hold him off, but to keep my title.
So when I say APW stands at the split in the road, I guess I should be saying I do. And if I don't want to go down the same road that APW has been down before, then I have to look at the road less travelled and ask: What? What do I have to do to go down there. What do I need inside of me to last that road. What is down there that has kept so many people from going down. *Sally touches the plate again, then turns to front the camera* I know the answers already. What do I have to do to go down there? I have to make sure I win. I have to make sure that I give everything to win this match, even if it's my whole career. I'd rather win this one match and never wrestle again that have to lose and front up next week! *Sally is getting animated now* I wouldn't be able to handle that shame. Knowing that APW's future rested on my shoulder, and I failed to carry that weight. I would rather win this match and never see the fans again than have to lose and have to look them in the eye every week and apologise for every single day that Lester is the APW champion. I couldn't handle that. I won't handle it. I'm not going down that path. That's not the journey I want to be on.
What do I need inside of me? I need everything I've shown for the past six months and more. I have it in me to beat Level-One. I've done it before. I need to do it again. But this time, the arena is his. Singles matches against him have always had the same result: a win for Level-One. I'm yet to break that ground. And, if I'm being honest with my fans, it's going to have to take everything I've got. The elimination chamber? Sure, that taxed me to no end. But this time, at Christmas Chaos? I can only begin to imagine what it's going to take. Whether that means I'm the centre of attention or I get the spotlight or whatever else Lester wants to accuse me of craving, so be it. What he doesn't understand is that I would give all that up just to keep this belt. Because it's this belt that we're fighting for. *Sally turns, and in one quick motion has the belt on her shoulder and an over-protective hand on it* It's not just for the win. Don't lie to me. Don't lie to the people out there and call this – the most honoured and cherish title this company has – a technicality. Don't lie and say you just want to beat me. Because you want this *Sally pats the belt* just as much as I do. It's pretty sad that an aspiring champion calls this a technicality. But you did, and I guess that's the path more travelled – where a belt is so common to Level-One, where a belt is just another like on Level-One's resume, where a belt is a bit of flare for Level-One.
The anger that had crept into Sally's voice is obvious, and the spark of excitement that we saw last time has given way to a burning, raging fire. It's one thing to disgrace the woman, even if she is a champion. But it's another to disgrace the belt. A belt that many before them have fought for. That have lost years off their career for. That have gone mad trying to get, and that will go mad always trying to get. She casts a look at the belt, the carefully slides it off her shoulder, treating it with the delicate touch and the love that it so dearly deserves. She starts to walk away from her lock as the scene fades out. And, after a pause on a blank screen ...
“I said I'm talking to you!”
The three men have hustled around Christopher and Sally at the bar. Sally doesn't look up, but Christopher turns on his stool to stand toe-to-toe with them. One of them reaches to grab Sally's shoulder. At the same time, Christopher gets pushed back onto his stool. Then it's all out action. Christopher bursts off the stool, taking two of the men with him. Sally grabs the hand that's got her and pulls them down to the bar. There's a good ol' fashion bar fight going on. Blows get traded. Christopher is thrown into the bar, but cracks one of the men with the stool he was just sitting on. But he isn't able to celebrate for long as one of the men is right back on him with a punch to the face. Sally presses her guy into the bar, a forearm across his throat, before she gets pulled off him and thrown back into the booth. As the guy who looks a lot like Young Mannie is after her, she gets a swift kick to the jaw as she lies on the table.
Suddenly there's some extra hands I the fray. The bartenders are in amongst it, and are sorting out the suspicious-looking men, bundling them up and shoving them to the door. The main bartender gets the Young Mannie-looking guy in a headlock and works him over to the door. He kicks the door open and then shoves him out the room. The other bartender and Christopher has the other men on the floor, a knee in the middle of their backs. They both follow their friend outside. The bartenders turn back around to their patrons, dusting off their hands. It's only now that we realise they have a bit of a familiarity about them. The first bartender, he has a ringing resemblance to Pence Weatherlight. And that assistant, doesn't he look a lot like Mark Mania? They give a nod to Sally in the booth. A protective nod that you would expect from the few people in the company that one could trust. Sally stands herself up and looks around at the carnage. There's glass, and the broken stool, and all the signs of a fight. She keeps looking around and spots her purse. She quickly grabs it, rifles through it, and then throws some notes on the counter. Then she quickly rushes off, other the back door that's found in the gloomy and dank corner of the bar. CJ starts to run after her, but stops himself.
“Sally! Where are you going!?”
The scene fades out, and we're back in the locker room. Sally is back to sitting down on the bench, the belt back in her lap. She can't help but feel a sense of history at the moment, all coming from the belt. Is it that the end of her reign is coming? Or is it that a page is turning for APW? A page is turning, Sally will vanquish this foe of foes that has been after her for months, and she (along with APW) can move forward? She stares down at the belt, a warm, inviting, gold glow reflecting up at her face.
[Sally] This title represents so much more than I ever thought it could. I knew it stood for being the best in this business. I knew it represented honour. And I knew it was a symbol for hope. And it's obvious that it still stands for all of these things. I won it in the most hellish match of my career. I put in an effort that only the best in the business could put in. To go from number one to number last? To beat five men hell-bent on winning the title? To beat two men who are regarded as legends in this business? The person that could do that had to be the best in the business. APW is the standard of wrestling. It's the pinacle of success. Sure, other companies might be out there. And sure, they might claim to be the “best”. But where's the proof? Where is their Level-One? Their Mark Mania? Their Sally Talfourd? Their Pence Weatherlight? Their Hurricane Jeff captaining the ship? The Biggs who took over the show purely because he wanted to? The CJ Gates and the Blades? The Branden Harveys? They are all here in APW. And when a legend or hall of famer decides to make a comeback, where do they do it? Where did Link come back to? Where did BDC come back to? They came back to APW, and that's proof enough that the best of the best live here, at APW. *Sally looks down at the belt in her lap* And I'm the APW champion. I'm the champion of all these men who are renowned in this business. I'm the champion, ahead of these legends. Ahead of these megastars. Ahead of these hall of famers. I am the champion. This belt stands for being the best in this business, and I hold it. I hold it Lester! Do you see this!? *Sally rips the title out of her lap and holds it up beside her face, the shot taking up the whole camera* I have this! The sign of the best.
Sally is really fired up now. No smiles. No twists of the hair and tilts of the head. She stares down the camera with all the emotion and the anger and the hatred she feel. The emotion for the belt. The anger towards Lester. And the hatred she has of everything he stands for. Everything he represents and so proudly symbolises. Corruption. Deceit. Dishonour. The only thing Lester cares for is the belt. And so long as Sally can keep it from him, the better off APW is. APW deserves a better kind of champion. For too long, APW had to suffer under Lester. It had to deal with the torment of being Lester's kickball. Now, at the split of the road in the woods, Sally has the chance to make sure that the company and the belt go back to an era of respect and honour and prestige.
[Sally] And while I hold it, this belt does stand for honour. I have done everything I can to build up the reputation of this belt. Of this company. Of this business. I have put my own heart and soul into this belt, trying to repair the damage you did to it. I didn't lie to keep it. I didn't trick my way to the top. I didn't cheat to be in this match. I did everything honourably. And this belt, it stands for honour again. The fans, the wrestlers, the company? They know that when I go into our match, I will wrestler with honour. I will carry myself with honour. And I will treat you, yes, with honour. Do you deserve it? Probably not. But I will do it, because that's just who I am. Because the champion does that sort of thing. They don't beat up a weaker person past the point of no return. They don't live an immoral and disgraceful life. They don't run away from a fair fight, shift blame, and relish in their deceit. A champion does things with honour, and for as long as I hold this belt I will make damn sure that I do everything with honour. Otherwise, I'm no better than you. And that would be the lowest of lows, for me. To live like you? To have a career like you? To have a reputation like you? I would rather leave the business. I couldn't live with myself if I did what you do each and every day.
And for every day that I hold this, belt, I give hope to everyone who has ever aspired to be something. To do something. To be that person that people look up to. Because if you are the APW champion, people do look up to you. People from all walks of life want to be like you. Why? Because you're honourable. Because you're the best in the business. I walk out to the ring with the APW title and I give every fan the hope that they could one day be the person in the ring if they try hard enough. I walk out with the APW title and give the likes of Branden Harvey or CJ Gates the hope that they will one day be the name in APW. I walk out to the ring and I give all of APW the hope that the best and brightest days are yet to come. If you become champion again? What hope do you give? That someone might be able to be a close second to you? Because you'll never give up your place, you title, or your spotlight, will you? You did that for a year before Pence finally got through your defences. Well, where Pence allowed you to get back in, I won't. I love an APW that has hope. I love an APW that lets me do what I do. I love an APW where a fan can look at the champion as being the best, having got there with honour, and then having that hope that they too could one day be in the ring.
But there's something extra that this belt stands for. I've realised now that it stands for the truth. You might not know what that exactly is, Lester, but let me spell it out for you. The truth is, Lester, I'm not your mother. I'm not the one who causes your pain. Your history is your own, and I'm not about to take it apart for you. But I do know about now, about the pain you feel now. And here's the facts: You are to blame. You haven brought this pain on yourself. You do deserve this pain. This pain? It's not coming form me. It's not coming from anyone else. It's coming form you. It's all you, Lester. That's the truth. You can blame me, you can blame Kayla, you can blame Patricia or your mother of the next person you bump into on the street for all your misfortune and your misery and your pain. But the truth is that you are the one to blame for it all. You shouldn't look further than your own reflection for all the answers. The truth is that any hurt or pain of anguish that you feel now is all your own fault. You're a weak person, Lester. You've shown that time and time again. Every time you attacked me, every time you snapped, and this latest round of not even being able to control yourself. It shows you're weak. You can't handle pain? You can't handle people coming after you? You can't handle yourself? The truth is that you're weak, Lester.
And more truth is that you need to be strong to hold this belt. *Sally pats the APW title* You have to be exceptionally strong. Look at me. I have you chipping away at me every week. I had the Red Shield Mafia after me for a month. My best friend was sent to the hospital and I've had to face off against some of the toughest competition this company has. And did that break me? Did that split my brain in two and crush me psychologically? Did that show that I was weak? Of course not. I'm not like you, Lester. I'm nothing like you. Every defeat, I came back. Every beating, I recovered. Ever insult, I weather. I am strong, Lester. Not just strong physically, but strong mentally. Stronger than you could ever be, Lester. I don't have to blame other people for my shortfalls. My loss at Shockwave? That was my fault. I wasn't ready. I wasn't prepared enough. My recent form? That's my fault. I lost some focus, and was distracted. But now that we have out match … now that we get to face each other one-on-one … now that we get to make history? I'm not looking for excuses as to why I might lose like you already are. No no no, I'm looking for all those reasons that I'm going to win.
Sally runs both her hands around the edges of the main plate, then takes it up. She folds the straps underneath the belt, then props it back up on the shelf, as if it were on display. She turns from it, back to the camera, and lets out a long sigh. The emotions, the firey emotions, they give way to the same sense of calm and focus that she needs going into the match. Emotions have to be laid aside to get through this match. That's going to be Lester's downfall: That he is too emotionally invested. He wants to tear Sally apart. He is angry, he is mad, he is livid that she would take part in ruining his perfect little lie. He is ruled by greed and lust, whether it be for another woman or for a belt. And he can't stand that someone out there is better than him. He has to take APW down the path more travelled because he's too scared to go down the other road. His fear is what dictates the rest of his actions, and it's as obvious as the morning sun. The scene fades out as Sally, all calm and composed, walks back over to her duffle bag. There's a pause on a blank screen, and then ...
A storm of snow. The only colour in the whole picture is Sally Talfourd – still the one thing that stands out from the sepia tones. She pulls her coat around tighter, trying to keep the chill out. The snow is up to her knees off the side of the pavement. Every now and then she gets lit up by a streetlight that she passes. The wind picks up, the soft snow blocking out Sally's walk forward. She stumbles, then falls into the snow, a puff of white going up as she goes down. She starts to get herself up, but suddenly there's a mysterious stranger walking out of the gloom. He takes her under the elbow to help her up. What saving knight might this be. As Sally stands, she brushes herself off, getting the snow and the nature that have attached themselves to her. She looks up to the gentleman, tucked underneath his hat, his collar turned up. She steps nearer to the light nearby. The gentleman looks her up and down.
“Are you alright dear?”
“As fine as I could be. Thank-you, I guess, mister ...”
Sally trails off, hoping he would fill the silence with his name. He steps into the light and removes his hat with a nervous hand. He looks at Sally, and … it's Biggs! Well, it looks like Biggs.
“Biggerstaff. Gary Biggerstaff. Would you like to get warm? I know a bar not far from here … not that I drink personally. This whole prohibition thing is doing wonders for this country!”
“Ha! Yeah. I just came from there. I'm sort of headed home. You're headed to the bar?”
“I couldn't sit around home. Too many memories ...”
Gary trails off, breaking off from his gazing at Sally to stare past her, almost as if picturing the lover who has scorned him. How easily the heart breaks and emotions tear. Sally looks behind her, wondering if something's there. She sees nothing, then goes to step around Gary.
“I best be off. I have my own memories to … remember? Thank-you for your help.”
“You know, it's not at all safe to walk in this weather. Get a cab, I'll wait for you.”
The two walk to the side of the road. They look the street up and down, without a car in sight. They look at each other with a smile. Sally breaks the silence.
“What are these memories?”
“Don't we all have them?”
“You're not wrong there. That's sort of why I left the bar ...”
“What happened?”
“A bit of an altercation. With some old acquaintances. Some fans, you might say.”
“Fans … that's it! I knew I'd seen you before. Sally Talfourd, right?”
“Right. It seems everyone knows me tonight. Yes, Sally Talfourd.”
“You've been on the land, haven't you?”
“You could say that ...”
The scene fades away, and after a slight pause we're back in that locker room. No difference of colours. No snow or pop-ins by the resident APW talent, the wrestlers who have helped Sally get to where she is. No, just Sally and Sally alone. This time Sally is off the to side of the room, and Shane has to walk over to find out what she's doing. The APW management decided to decorate the lockers, knowing that it would be free advertising should a promo be cut inside. Sally stands a few steps back from a wall adorned with the past three pay per view's posters. Test For the Best, with all the competitors in that tournament circling the title … and a little-known woman in the corner who hardly anyone knew. Then over to Shockwave, and Lester and Sally are there, back to back, with the bolt of electricity running down the page. And then the third poster, One Night in Hell, with the elimination chamber in a harsh black-and-white looming ominously over the competitors in that fateful match below. Sally stares at this last one, and continues to speak as though there'd been no time at all.
[Sally] Level-One, my journey here hasn't exactly been by-the-book. You might say it's luck, I might say it's dedication, and someone watching this in ten or twenty years might see it as reward. Whatever the word is, I've got here. I've got to Christmas Chaos with the APW World Heavyweight Championship. The belt that is all but moulded to the shape of your waist. Let's face it, you are APW. You've held my belt longer than any other wrestler. You've done more – good and bad – for APW than any other wrestler. And you've given more of your body and your soul and your life for APW than any other wrestler. I can't fault you for not wanting, or trying, or believing in yourself. I can't even fault you for being wrong most of the time. Because when you say things, you're mostly right. You know when there's a talent in front of you and when there isn't. You know when the card is stacked against you and when it isn't. And you know when there's a fight to be had and when there isn't. You're a smart wrestler. You're a smart wrestler. And, let's face it, you're a damn good wrestler. Better than most of the people I'll ever have to face.
But that doesn't mean you're faultless. It doesn't mean you're the best. And it sure as hell doesn't mean you deserve my title. Far from being faultless, you've more faults than anyone else in this company. Last week we all found out what a horrible person you are. You have no ethics or morals. If contracting the Red Shield Mafia to beat me up before Shockwave didn't show that … if beating up Leila more than she ever deserved didn't show it … if never, ever, taking responsibility for your misbehaviours didn't show it … it deriding my good name all for the benefit of your own, pathetic little ego didn't show it … then the headline news that Kayla revealed last week did. Your girlfriend, your pregnant girlfriend, just wasn't enough for you, was it? You had to go out and get some action on the side. Kayla Rose might be the mistress, but how on Earth can you shift that blame? She came on to you? She tricked you? She is at fault? That's bull, and you know it. Never has the saying 'it takes two to tango' been more apt than right now. You got yourself into this situation. You could have said no. You could have walked away. You could have even come clean. But you didn't. You had your affair. You stayed with Kayla. And you shifted the blame away from yourself when it came out.
You might be wondering what your dirty little secret has to do with me? Honestly? Nothing. Am I a sin-free person? Of course not. But it's just more of a record that shows how pathetic and corrupt and immoral you really are. You got yourself injured against Pence Weatherlight before you had to face me for the title you won against him. Another bad situation. Instead of, you know, coming clean and wrestling your best and making the best of a bad situation, what did you do? You brought me down to your level. When Leila Farrahi took up your challenge to save me from your hands, you could have said no. What did you do? You beat her into a pulp. And instead of taking responsibility for that, you blamed me. Time and time again, you have shown yourself to be nothing but dirt. And that's exactly how you deserve to be treated: like dirt. You deserve to reap the rewards of your own actions. And, let's face it, it would hardly be 'rewards'. More like punishment. So in that sense, I guess I can help out. Because that's what this match will be, Lester. It won't be a reward for your awful life. It will, however, be what you deserve: punishment. Whether it's what I do to you, what you do to yourself, or when I walk out with the APW title again, you will find your punishment. Whether it's punishment of Lester or Level-One, it will be a punishment nonetheless.
The scene fades away on Sally lingering on the elimination chamber. Ironic that she is talking about punishment and looking at that. A world of punishment came about with that match. Punishment for Sally, being so fortunate to get to the match. Punishment for Lester in underestimating her once again. The scene fades away to black, and then ...
We see Gary, but through a window of some description. The snow wheels around on the outside, and he gives a cold wave to the inside. The camera looks around and we're in a car. An old fashion taxi, where there's no divide, there's wooden interior, and the driver is wearing a bagging cap. Sally sits in the corner, all bundled up trying to keep warm (these are the days before heating in cars, remember?), parts of her dazzling white dress peeking through to cut a contrast with the rest of the dull world around her. The driver goes on their merry way, but it's not long before they have to come to a stop behind a line of traffic. There's a rail crossing, and the draws are down, lights are flashing and you can assume they are red, but how can you tell with the lack of colours. The driver turns around in … her seat? Her? She tips her hat back, and there's enough light to recognise that face. Leila! She smiles at her passenger.
“Sorry about the weather miss. If I could make it warmer, I would.”
“I hardly see it fit to blame you for this.”
“It is a terrible night.”
“Not just the weather.”
“Bad night, is it?”
“Bad night. Bad day. Bad week. Bad month. Just … bad.”
“Care to share? We're going to be here a while ...”
Sally peers over the shoulder of the driver and sees a train ever so slowly running down the tracks. The weather makes it go slower. She lets out a sigh, then loosens up a bit on the seat, uncrossing her arms, which was as much a way to deter conversation as it was to keep warm./
“I don't know if you know who I am, but ...”
“I know who you are.”
“Oh, ok. Well, then you'll know that in my line of business, there's a lot of expectations. There's a lot of pressure and, me being me, I was happy to take them on. For months, I was so eager to get to where I am now. I managed to defy the odds, I managed to make something out of nothing, and I managed to get there. I had this great moment of opportunity to do make history, and when I did I … I … I didn't have it in me to keep going. I had a chance to really make an impact, to show that women in my business can get to the top. To show that the underdog always stands a chance. To prove that even when doubted and written off and given the longest odds, a person can defy the critics and do whatever they set their mind and their heart to. I managed to get to the very top of my profession and I've lulled. I began to wonder if it wasn't actually all lucky. I began to wonder if it wasn't actually a mistake. And I began to wonder if it wasn't actually all going to be a very short experiment.”
“So what happened?”
“I had to get away. I had to try and look inside me and figure out what it was that got me here and if I had what it takes to actually stay here.”
“And did you find it?”
“I think so. I don't know. Maybe.”
Sally trails off in the backseat of the car. The the scene fades away and we quickly come back to the locker room. Sally is putting the last touches of her make-up on, looking into the mirror as she runs the mascara around her eyes. It's very familiar to a certain episode for a certain unsuccessful pay per view.
[Sally] You know, you do have a good memory Lester. I did say I wanted to face you at your best. And it's funny that you go and make fun of it. It's funny that every time I show the world that I am more than ready to square off against you, you turn it into a joke. Almost as if you're afraid. You know, when I used to be scared of people and of matches and of situations I turned them into jokes. It was to try and hide the tremble in my voice. It was to try and hide my shaking hands. It was to try and hide the fact that I was so scared that I couldn't even stand still long enough to cut a serious promo. We all hide our fears differently, and I guess this is your way. When I say I want you at your best, you say I can't handle your best. That it's a death wish. You know what? Let's see if that's true. Why don't you actually turn up to the match in tip-top shape so that you can't whine and complain and whinge when I win. Why don't you actually do something about it Lester? Why don't you put your money where your mouth is?
Sally finishes up with the mascara, turning now to the blush. She takes up the brush and the container, and loads it up.
[Sally] I mean, I say come at your very best and you say you're not at your best. Why not, Lester? Because you had to wrestle more since I ended your championship run? Because you've been in some tough matches, didums? *Sally puts on a voice as if she were talking to a baby* Well suck it up sister! How easy do you think it was to get here? How easy do you think it was to even get into the main event picture? How hard do you think it was to actually get to this very situation, where I'm the champion and you're the contender? I'll tell you how hard: Harder than anything you've ever had to do in your career! You like to talk about being the best, well guess what? If you are the best, then you should be behind my belt. You should be in the main event. And you should be the person expected to win this match. But let's look at this situation right now? I'm the champion, I'm in the main event, and I bet more people expect me to win this match than they expect you to. You had to fight to be here. You had to justify your place. And you had to convince the world that you haven't lost it. So excuse me if I say this, but you're not the best out there.
Would the best have lost to the woman that you consider nothing but a fluke? Would the best have lost his title? Would the best have had to fight against Havok or Mark Mania to actually win a number one contendership? Of course not. That's because you're not the best. You're not all that you think you are. You're not what you think you are. You're not even nearly what you think you are. I can't believe how big your ego truly is. You can't even see the truth for what it is: You're just like every other person out there. You have to try, you have to fight, and you have to struggle. And, occasionally, you lose. You lost at One Night in Hell. You're going to lose at Christmas Chaos. I mean … you just don't get it, do you? You can't see past your own nose. You wear you rose-coloured glasses and you see the world how you want to see it. Everyone's out to get you. You are the best. No one else is any good. Get a freaking grip Lester! You need a beat up just to knock some sense into you. The world isn't out to get you. There are people who are good. And you are not the best Lester!
Sally looks directly at the camera as she finishes up. The scene fades away to black, and then ...
“How can you not know if you've found it or not?”
“I guess I haven't then.”
“Well, if you don't mind me asking ma'am, do you even deserve to be at the top?”
“Do I … do I deserve!? Of course I deserve! I fought for years to get here. I might not have known it when I started, but every single minute I fought to get ahead, it was to get where I am now. Do I deserve? Please! No one has done what I needed to do to get here. No one. Not the people who have tried to hold me down, not the people who have tried to help me, and not the people who have stood silent on the side. No one has had to go through what I have. Every time I have tried to get ahead, there has always been someone to say no. Someone to try and stop me. And every time I've pushed through them. Every time. It might have take a few goes. It might not have happened straight away. But damnit, it happened. When a man has said a woman can't even be as good as them, what happened? I proved them right. Not right that a woman is worse but that a woman is better! I proved that a woman can beat the greatest name my business has ever seen. On the centre stage, with all the lights of a company and the eyes of the world focused on me, I proved that a woman can be a woman and still be better than a man. I'm changing the idea that to be a success in this business, I have to be more like a man. If someone wants to call me materialistic or promiscuous or selfish, you know what? I couldn't care less. Because I do like to live my life like a woman. And I refuse to be held to a different set of standards than those pigs out there!”
Sally looks fired up here now too. Leila turns around from her with a smile. She looks ahead to the road. The line of traffic is still there.”
“Well, it seems to me that you have what you've been looking for.”
“What? Anger?”
Leila turns around, a serious look on her face.
“No, a reason. You were looking for a reason to even be in this match and you found it. It's to silence the critics, yet again. It's to say yes to the nay-sayers. It's to prove everyone who has ever doubted you wrong. It's easy to fight your way to the top because you have a goal. You have something in mind when you want to fight then. But when you're there, it's like all the fighting's been done, right? So you forget the reason you were fighting in the first place ...”
“You're right … you're absolutely right. I didn't know why I was here. I didn't know why I was fighting. I forgot my reason. I forgot …”
Sally sits up in the back seat, but the scene fades away before we can hear any more. A slight pause, and we're back in the locker room. Sally is doing her stretches, with the poster wall as the suited backdrop for the next ramble she is about to go on. She touches her toes, left hand to right root … right hand to left foot … and I'm sure that's what everyone is looking at. Then she comes up and starts to stretch out her arms.
[Sally] This match, I swear Lester, it would want to be out last. It would be ironic if it was. We started on some throw-away tag match on OverDrive, do you remember? It was my and Bryan versus you and Leila. And Bryan and I won. I bet you remember that. When a girl on her debut match beat you with the guy who was the biggest thorn in your side at the time. It's funny, I look back at that match now and laugh. If you had told me this is where we would end up, I would never have believed you. In literally thirty week's time, Bryan Payne wouldn't be here and your assault on leila would be the reason I'm so hell bent on getting my hands on you. It all started then, as a half put together match, where it was a chance for me and Leila to bring in some extra views. And now, months and months later, you and I are drawing the world into this feud. Unfortunately it has to end now. Everyone who has been on the edge of their seat will get a chance to sit back and relax for the first time in months.
And it has been a nail-biting feud, hasn't it Lester. Me the young up-and-comer who came in hot, beat the biggest threat to my career. I go on to win a title shot. I get to face you, the chance for a new age David to slay his Goliath. And … you won. Everyone thought it was over. But it wasn't. I took my chance, I learned my lesson, and I came back for you. And then when happened? I evened the score, didn't I? I evened it at One Night in Hell. We went one a piece after that. This time, it's the decider. Who is the better of us? Well, that's actually not the whole story. Any one of my most devoted fans will tell you that I'm actually twice as good as you, if you look at the history books. I have four wins over you, Lester. Count them, four. You have all of two wins over me. But my count, that makes me twice as good as you. And you know something else, I might have four wins over you now, but five is my lucky number.
But this match is the big decision maker out of our title matches. So you can expect one thing for sure: That I'm giving this match absolutely everything I have. I'm making sure that you get a reminder about exactly why I'm in this match with you. You'll remember how a match goes with me. Having to keep up. Having to match minute-for-minute. Having to figure out how you're going to beat me. You might think it's easy, but how on Earth are you actually going to do it? You say it's easy to beat me. Ok, how? How are you going to do it? It's once again classic Level-One. All talk and no detail. Say a whole bunch of trash and then what? Then what do you do? Then what do you have planned, Lester? What will you do in our match that I haven't seen before. The problem with being the biggest name in the business is that there is so much out there on you. That I can go onto the Internet and find out every single working part of you. And, truth be told, that's what I've been doing for the past few days. Figuring out what surprises you think you have. Me? I have surprises that you haven't even thought of you. You? You have nothing I haven't seen before. Whether it be against Pence or Bryan or Little Timmy when you were first starting out, your whole career has been laid bare for the world to see. Which means all your ticking and tocking pieces are laid out for everyone, especially your opponent, to take a look at.
Sally takes a seat on the floor to start stretching out the legs. And that's where the scene fades out to ...
A skreetching car! The brakes get slammed on. The camera turns around to find the dull, boring world laid out through the front of the car. The traffic has moved on from the rail crossing. But now it's come to a slow stop. Leila must be a pretty good driver to stop the car that quick. The cars start to roll forward. Up ahead … a fork in the road. The cars roll up to it and, one-by-one, they all peel off to the left. The dust comes up from their wheel and the rear lights cut through the clouds, urging the last car – Sally's car – to follow them. Leila comes to a stop at the fork.
“Which one?”
Sally sits up and looks out the front. She sees all the other cars make the same decision. They all go left. She looks to the right. Why didn't anyone go there? She sits back, a content smile. The camera turns around to look at her, and only her, in her coloured magnificance.
“The road less travelled.”
The camera turns around as Leila starts to drive. And all of a sudden, the snow ahead is white, the yellow light from the car cuts through the dark night. The road is an icy black, and every now and then the trees along the side of the road are lit with a radiant green.
The scene fades away to Sally Talfourd again. She's walking out the locker room that has bkept her in up to now. Shane follows her out, into the walkway. She stares straight ahead, passing a bunch of familiar faces by – CJ, Pence, Biggs, Mannie – who all stare after her. Shane gets to alongside her, but Sally doesn't break her focus. The crowd can be heard all through the backstage. The cheers and applause. Tony Ferrari can be heard announcing the night's attendance (a sell out) to the crowd, then goes into the introduction for the main event. The crowds go wild. The staff backstage, who catch Sally, offer her a pat on the back. A few start to applaud her as she passes them by. But nothing from Sally. There's a time for words and there's a time when the silence says it all. The focus and the determination. The intensity and the drive. The moment is right now. Suddenly a chorus of boos can be heard as 'Put You On Game' comes across the PA. Tony announces Lester to the ring, and thankfully Sally arrives to the gorilla position before she has to see him. The last few staff say various pleasantries to her, but they aren't important. Sally's only thinking about one thing.
This moment.
What does this moment hold? Has she chosen the right road? Will she regret it? Those questions will be answered in one match's time. Jeff – always the on-hands boss – sits beside the curtains that head out into this moment. He looks his champion over, looks at her belt and then into her eyes.
[Jeff] Ready?
[Sally] Ready.
The screen fades to black. There's a pause, and then
"Sally Talfourd"
is handwritten across the screen, in purple. Before it fades out and the episode comes to a close.
Welcome to Action Packed Wrestling!
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Welcome to Happy Ending T.V.!
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Recorded the 16th of December, 2010. Sally taps into her creative side, bumping into some familiar faces in a trip back in time. In between all that, her thoughts on Level-One, her match, the ending year, and what 2011 might hold in store for everyone ...
Starring:[/i] Sally Talfourd, CJ Gates, Pence Weatherlight, Mark Mania, Young Mannie, JR Kingston, Diamante Valentine, Biggs, Leila Farrahi, Hurricane Jeff[/color]
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"Sally Talfourd presents ..."
is written across the screen, fades out, then
"In association with Action Packed Wrestling"
is next to appear, holds, then fades out for
"Happy Endings T.V."
which fades out again to a shot following a crowd of people. The shot is different, mind you. It's sepia tone, looking all old-school. And, funnily enough, everything else looks old school. The camera follows a bunch of people in the classic trench-coats that you see in Alfred Hitchcock and Humphrey Bogart films. The collars are upturned to keep out the rain as it streams down. The wind blows the trash and the nearby leaves that have gathered on the street further down the road. The people rushing come to a stop around a news stand, a throng of a crowd ten people deep. The camera moves in between the people to get to the front. Fedora hats covering many a man's head part ways, and old-time voices can be heard.
“I can't believe it! I thought that dame was gone for good!”
“We're better off if that gal stays gone! My misses didn't have my dinner ready last night, all 'cause of her!”
“You don't say? Mine's been going out at nights with the other dames down the street!”
Then we all see it! Newspapers galore. Piles and piles of them, and a bunch hanging up from the cover that shelters them from the rain. People stare at them in amazement, then buzz about them with their friends. The headlines all read the same:
SALLY TALFOURD SPOTTED IN WISCONSIN!
Focus in on the newspaper, zooming in to take up the whole screen. There's a picture of a glamorous looking woman dolled up to the hilt, the big glasses taking up the face, a fur scarf wrapped around the neck, a dazzling white dresses peeking out behind a thick black coat with more fur trim. The hair is pulled up into a bun with an ornate pin through it which dazzles with the lights above her. A few inches of her legs are visible below the hem, and the high heels (black) reflect the flash of the camera that took the photo. In one arm is a purse, another the and under the other a handbag. Around the woman is a bunch of photographers, all clamouring to get 'the' photo of the woman. The camera zooms in further on the face of the woman until it becomes an unfocused blur of sepia and black and white.
Then it focuses back in, but the colour has come back to life. The colour is all there in the face of that same woman. It's missing the glasses, but the rest of the outfit is the same as that photo. There's a smile across the red lips of the woman who we all know as Sally Talfourd. She brings up a delicate finger and gently brushes her cheek, careful to not mess the perfect make-up. The blush, the blue eye-shadow, and the thick mascara that is a trademark of the years gone by. She shift in her seat – a barstool at a counter – and then shrugs up her shoulders to push the fur collar up around her neck. The camera comes out and it's only now that we notice something: While Sally is a dazzle and painting of colours, everything else is not. It's the same sepia tone, the same bleeding shadows and mono-tones. There's a man the other side of the counter, all dressed up with a bowtie and an apron on. The bartender, obviously. He is standing back, ringing a glass around in a towel as he watches out over his alcoholic kingdom. Sally turns back to him and then nods at the empty glass she has in front of her.
“Yes ma'am.”
Sally sits back on the stool, and it's then that a loud slam breaks the delicate silence and a stream of dulled light floods the bar. The front door opens, and in blows bits and pieces of the snow with the wind that follows the silhouetted man through the door. The man walks in, taking off his coat and shaking it off. He hangs it on the stand near the door, then walks up to the bar. He takes a seat on the counter adjacent to Sally. Sally tries to avoid eye contact with the guy as he places his order with the second bartender who has walked up out of the cellar. He mumbles something, measures out his drink in the air, then stares at Sally until she finally looks up from the empty space on the bar in front of her.
“Sally Talfourd, right?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Who are you?”
“Christopher James Gates, I work for the Wisconsin Tribune. Yes, yes, I'm a reporter. But you should know, I'm more of Sally Talfourd fan than I am a good reporter. I heard you were … do you mind?”
This guy, who looks a whole lot like CJ Gates, looks at the empty stool beside Sally, as if to ask her permission to sit there. Sally shrugs her shoulders with a motion of apathy as if to say she didn't care either way if he sat there on not. With the opportunity available, Christopher jumps at the opportunity and is next to her as the adoring puppy-like fan he said he was. There's a start contrast, Sally's brilliant colours and CJ blending into the old-time scenery around him.
“Yeah, like I said, I heard you were in town. And I remembered that you had once said you were someone who wasn't exactly a fan of Martini bars … you said they were pretentious I believe?”
“You really are a swell fan if you remember that darling ...”
“Well, I can't lie to a pretty young lady like you. Anyway, when you made the front cover of the Times, and it said you were in our little town, I knew you'd be where you'd lest be expected to be.”
“So what? Are you looking for an interview?”
Sally asks with morose and disappointment in her voice. Not so much that she might have to do one, but in something else. In someone else. In herself. Her drink finally arrives – a Martini. She nods and smiles at the barkeep as she carefully raises the glass to her lips, takes a sip, and then places it back down with only the faintest touch of red lipstick around the rim. A good lipstick doesn't run.
“Well, if you had the time. Otherwise, I'd be more than happy to just sit and chat. I really am a fan of what you've done with the latest phase in your career. When you went to APW and you went from strength to strength, winning the Test For the Best tournament, going up against Level-One, losing, and then dusting yourself off and getting the belt off him the way you did? It was something to be admired, and really inspired me to try and make the best of myself.”
“Well I'm glad I inspired someone to do something.”
“You didn't inspire yourself?”
“Not really, no.”
There's an awkward silence. Sally stares at her drink. This Christopher looks at her, then looks away. He takes up his own drink – it looks like some scotch or bourbon on the rocks – and takes a short sip. He rolls his lips back, lets out a stinging sigh to denote the cheapness of this drink. Sally lets out a sigh herself then takes another sip. Christopher, his reporter instincts kicking in, tries to get some answers out of her.
“So where did you get to for the past few days? There's been a few worried heads, let me tell you.”
“I had to get away from … everything. There's a lot of pressure, being me. Being the APW champion. All the history on my shoulders? All this weight of the pressure? I don't know what it's like outside of, you know, the spotlight any more. I've been in it for too long to remember what it's like to be out of it. I think I forgot what got me here, what got me to where I've ended up. And with it, all that heart and desire and the burning. It's easy to push yourself to get to the top, but it's not so easy to keep yourself there, you know?”
And isn't that the truth? How many times has a wrestler, an APW megastar, a champion found themselves at the heights of the business. At the top of the mountain they've strived to climb for their whole career. How many times have people reached the top and then … nothing. They've faded. They've lost what got them there. Whether it be disillusionment, whether it be defeat through achievement, it is what it is. And when you get caught in that rut, what can you do? Where do you go? How do you get out? Sally's idea was to disappear for a little while. Go back somewhere, go to somewhere, find something that got her back into it. And, from the looks of things, it doesn't seem to have worked.
“I'm here because I have to be, Chris. I have people like you who, you know, believe that I deserve this place I'm in. And, while I might have deserved to get here, who knows if I deserve to keep it. I have to be here for you guys. But, if I had the choice to be here or not … I don't know ...”
Slam! Sally gets cut off, again, by the opening front door. The stiff wind rushes through, blowing some napkins from the counter, ruffling the fur around the collar of Sally's coat. CJ's hair gets all ruffled. The door comes to a close and in have walked a whole group of men. Looking a little rough, mind you. They're all wearing pinstripe suits, and they all have their long, flowing black trench-coats on. And, as they all take off their fedora hats, we can recognise some more familiar faces …
The camera fades away, and then a pause on the black screen. Then it comes back in, back to real life. No sepia, but real colours and the real world. And it's Sally Talfourd dressed for the show. She's got on the short skirt – pink, black and white plaid – and the tight pink top. The boots – black with very, very pink trimmings. And the make-up and hair – pink, threaded through her locks. She really does look like a champion. She's in her locker room, and hers alone it seems. Maybe this is the VIP treatment a champion gets? Anyway, she's staring down into her lap at what we all know is the APW World Heavyweight Title. The straps hang over her legs, and the plate shines back up at her. She casts a knowing look at the camera as she realises it's action time. Without the trademark smile, and the cutesy introduction, she hits the ground running (so to speak)
[Sally] Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Christmas Chaos. And to this latest – and last – episode of Happy Endings TV. Last in the sense that 2010 is just about finished and, well, APW is about to start a new year. And, well, I'd like to say that I know what's in store for this great company but, I think if I'm going to be honest with you, I'd have to say that I actually have no idea. You see guys *Sally looks up from the belt* APW is standing at a bit of a crossroads. And I can't help but remember a poem I heard once ...
Sally reaches behind her, behind the bench and to the floor. She grabs around in her duffle bag (you can't see it, but it's there) and comes up with a scrap of worn paper. She flattens it out the lifts it up to read.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Sally folds the paper up and rests it on the belt. She lingers on it for a moment, then looks back up with a solemn look on her face. One that conveys the gravity and the seriousness of this night of nights.
[Sally] I'm sure a few of you have heard the poem before. It's a classic, here in America. Butfor the wrong reasons. So many people think it's about some dude who comes to a split in the road and he takes the less worn path. A lot of people think it's a poem about taking chances and that. It's not. The poem is about taking the safe choice. It's about going down the worn out path because, well, it was the safe choice. The man, now, is APW. APW is facing this crossroads. And in front of it is the worn path and the less worn path. In front of it is the path that we know where it leads, what it's like, and what the journey is. That's the Level-One path. That's the worn path. We know what happens when we go down there. It takes the company down a path that winds forever on, going and twisting and turning, and ends up at a place no one is ever happy with. The worn path, the Level-One path, that's the first choice. To go back to the way APW was when Level-One was the champion. When he ran roughshod over the whole place. When rules were damned and everyone was a target. When he treated the company like it was his own training centre or high little fight club or his personal collection of jobbers.
Sally shift the belt from her lap, carefully placing it on the shelf of the locker over her shoulder. A champion doesn't put the belt on the bench with disdain! How many asses have been on that seat? She stands up, still hardly showing an emotion across her face. It's a bit of a contrast, all the decoration and the life and the colour that her costume and appearance show, but nothing coming across by way of emotion. This must be a serious episode. She stands and then starts to pace around in the shot of the camera.
[Sally] Then there's the path less taken. The road that is not taken in the poem. The road that the man standing there makes a memory of because he plans to come back one day and actually walk down it to see where it goes. But the reality of the situation is that he knows he won't come back. The man at the split, he knows that once he chooses his path, that he can't come back to his mark to take the other option. It's a once in a lifetime decision, and he knows that. That's my road. That's the Sally Talfourd road. That road, sure, we might not know where it leads, or what's at the end, or what the journey is … *Sally looks up from her feet, at the camera, a spark of excitement taking over her body, her eyes, and her words* but don't we want to be the cutting edge company!? Don't we want to be the person that throws caution to the wind and goes “You know what? A road less traveled? Tell me where and I'll take it!” APW has always cut its own jib. It's always been the company that people flock to not because it's the same-old same-old but because, damnit, we're breaking new ground here! APW has seen history in the past few months. The first woman to win Test For the Best. The first woman to win the elimination chamber. Now the first woman to be APW World Heavyweight Champion. Let's not have APW go down the same path. Please, I wouldn't be able to stand it. APW might stand at the crossroad, but unlike that fool in the poem who chooses the same-old and goes down the worn path, I'm going to drag APW down the less worn road if I have to. Because I know that APW is going to regret it, just like the guy in the poem regrets his choice, if we go down Level-One Road.
Sally has a spark back in her eye, and she knows it. She turns from the camera, and catches the APW title in the locker. But the scene fades out. And, after a pause on a blank screen ...
… three men, a couple of tall, strapping white men and, in between them, a shorter black man. All three survey the bar and then spot Christopher and Sally sitting at the bar. The man in the middle, who just so happens to look a lot like a Young Mannie, elbows the man next to him, who just so happens to look a lot like a JR Kingston, and then nods at them. All three walk to a booth right behind them and click their fingers at the barkeep. They bark out an order and her gets to work. They start to talk, with wry smiles across their faces, loud enough so that all can hear.
“You know, I heard that dame Sally Talfourd is back.”
“What? That bitch? I heard she'd shipped off to New Orleans, back to her old job on Bourbon Street ...”
“I saw her there once. Wasn't worth the price of admission if you ask me.”
Sally just sits there as Christopher whips around to glare at the men. The third of the men, looking a lot like Diamante Valentine, glares back at him, then invites him to come over. Christopher turns around, back to his drink, as the three laugh and go about their conversation. Sally hasn't moved, just letting it go on. At a different time, in a different place, she might have had something to say. But not now. What's the point? What will she achieve? And besides, it's just words. Anyone can say anything they want. When push comes to shove, that's when action matters. But for now? Let them talk. Christopher leans in to Sally.
“Aren't you going to do something?”
“No.”
“Why? What … what happened to you? What happened to the Sally Talfourd that would have stood up and kicked their butts out the door? The woman who stood up against any man and proved that women weren't just a part of the background. That they were just as good as any man?”
“I guess I left her in the elimination chamber ...”
The camera fades away again, and then another pause, then it comes back to the locker room, sans the sepia. So it's going to be one of those episodes, is it? Ok, try and keep up. Sally Talfourd is there, and she's still looking at the belt in the locker. She walks over to it, running her hand over the plate. Shane has to move around, getting a side-on view of Sally just staring a deep, thoughtful stare at the belt that has captured her obsession since the day she came in.
[Sally] If we're going to be honest though, it's not really APW who has the choice at the road. It's not even Level-One, or the fans, or anyone who has to make the choice. It's me. I'm the one who has to make that decision. I'm the one who has to look at the paths and decide which one I want to go. If want the worn road, I just have to do the same as everyone else and put in as much effort as I need to to end up looking good. But that won't be enough, tonight. Looking good is about ten steps behind winning this match. Lester knows that too. What it will take to win, for either of us, is the skill and the talent and the determination that none of us have had to find thus far. APW has never had to see me defend a title. Lester has never had to face me when it's my turn to defend. And I've never had to face Lester like this: ravenous, stalking and hunting for his title. The thought might scare me if I didn't know that I had it in me to not only hold him off, but to keep my title.
So when I say APW stands at the split in the road, I guess I should be saying I do. And if I don't want to go down the same road that APW has been down before, then I have to look at the road less travelled and ask: What? What do I have to do to go down there. What do I need inside of me to last that road. What is down there that has kept so many people from going down. *Sally touches the plate again, then turns to front the camera* I know the answers already. What do I have to do to go down there? I have to make sure I win. I have to make sure that I give everything to win this match, even if it's my whole career. I'd rather win this one match and never wrestle again that have to lose and front up next week! *Sally is getting animated now* I wouldn't be able to handle that shame. Knowing that APW's future rested on my shoulder, and I failed to carry that weight. I would rather win this match and never see the fans again than have to lose and have to look them in the eye every week and apologise for every single day that Lester is the APW champion. I couldn't handle that. I won't handle it. I'm not going down that path. That's not the journey I want to be on.
What do I need inside of me? I need everything I've shown for the past six months and more. I have it in me to beat Level-One. I've done it before. I need to do it again. But this time, the arena is his. Singles matches against him have always had the same result: a win for Level-One. I'm yet to break that ground. And, if I'm being honest with my fans, it's going to have to take everything I've got. The elimination chamber? Sure, that taxed me to no end. But this time, at Christmas Chaos? I can only begin to imagine what it's going to take. Whether that means I'm the centre of attention or I get the spotlight or whatever else Lester wants to accuse me of craving, so be it. What he doesn't understand is that I would give all that up just to keep this belt. Because it's this belt that we're fighting for. *Sally turns, and in one quick motion has the belt on her shoulder and an over-protective hand on it* It's not just for the win. Don't lie to me. Don't lie to the people out there and call this – the most honoured and cherish title this company has – a technicality. Don't lie and say you just want to beat me. Because you want this *Sally pats the belt* just as much as I do. It's pretty sad that an aspiring champion calls this a technicality. But you did, and I guess that's the path more travelled – where a belt is so common to Level-One, where a belt is just another like on Level-One's resume, where a belt is a bit of flare for Level-One.
The anger that had crept into Sally's voice is obvious, and the spark of excitement that we saw last time has given way to a burning, raging fire. It's one thing to disgrace the woman, even if she is a champion. But it's another to disgrace the belt. A belt that many before them have fought for. That have lost years off their career for. That have gone mad trying to get, and that will go mad always trying to get. She casts a look at the belt, the carefully slides it off her shoulder, treating it with the delicate touch and the love that it so dearly deserves. She starts to walk away from her lock as the scene fades out. And, after a pause on a blank screen ...
“I said I'm talking to you!”
The three men have hustled around Christopher and Sally at the bar. Sally doesn't look up, but Christopher turns on his stool to stand toe-to-toe with them. One of them reaches to grab Sally's shoulder. At the same time, Christopher gets pushed back onto his stool. Then it's all out action. Christopher bursts off the stool, taking two of the men with him. Sally grabs the hand that's got her and pulls them down to the bar. There's a good ol' fashion bar fight going on. Blows get traded. Christopher is thrown into the bar, but cracks one of the men with the stool he was just sitting on. But he isn't able to celebrate for long as one of the men is right back on him with a punch to the face. Sally presses her guy into the bar, a forearm across his throat, before she gets pulled off him and thrown back into the booth. As the guy who looks a lot like Young Mannie is after her, she gets a swift kick to the jaw as she lies on the table.
Suddenly there's some extra hands I the fray. The bartenders are in amongst it, and are sorting out the suspicious-looking men, bundling them up and shoving them to the door. The main bartender gets the Young Mannie-looking guy in a headlock and works him over to the door. He kicks the door open and then shoves him out the room. The other bartender and Christopher has the other men on the floor, a knee in the middle of their backs. They both follow their friend outside. The bartenders turn back around to their patrons, dusting off their hands. It's only now that we realise they have a bit of a familiarity about them. The first bartender, he has a ringing resemblance to Pence Weatherlight. And that assistant, doesn't he look a lot like Mark Mania? They give a nod to Sally in the booth. A protective nod that you would expect from the few people in the company that one could trust. Sally stands herself up and looks around at the carnage. There's glass, and the broken stool, and all the signs of a fight. She keeps looking around and spots her purse. She quickly grabs it, rifles through it, and then throws some notes on the counter. Then she quickly rushes off, other the back door that's found in the gloomy and dank corner of the bar. CJ starts to run after her, but stops himself.
“Sally! Where are you going!?”
The scene fades out, and we're back in the locker room. Sally is back to sitting down on the bench, the belt back in her lap. She can't help but feel a sense of history at the moment, all coming from the belt. Is it that the end of her reign is coming? Or is it that a page is turning for APW? A page is turning, Sally will vanquish this foe of foes that has been after her for months, and she (along with APW) can move forward? She stares down at the belt, a warm, inviting, gold glow reflecting up at her face.
[Sally] This title represents so much more than I ever thought it could. I knew it stood for being the best in this business. I knew it represented honour. And I knew it was a symbol for hope. And it's obvious that it still stands for all of these things. I won it in the most hellish match of my career. I put in an effort that only the best in the business could put in. To go from number one to number last? To beat five men hell-bent on winning the title? To beat two men who are regarded as legends in this business? The person that could do that had to be the best in the business. APW is the standard of wrestling. It's the pinacle of success. Sure, other companies might be out there. And sure, they might claim to be the “best”. But where's the proof? Where is their Level-One? Their Mark Mania? Their Sally Talfourd? Their Pence Weatherlight? Their Hurricane Jeff captaining the ship? The Biggs who took over the show purely because he wanted to? The CJ Gates and the Blades? The Branden Harveys? They are all here in APW. And when a legend or hall of famer decides to make a comeback, where do they do it? Where did Link come back to? Where did BDC come back to? They came back to APW, and that's proof enough that the best of the best live here, at APW. *Sally looks down at the belt in her lap* And I'm the APW champion. I'm the champion of all these men who are renowned in this business. I'm the champion, ahead of these legends. Ahead of these megastars. Ahead of these hall of famers. I am the champion. This belt stands for being the best in this business, and I hold it. I hold it Lester! Do you see this!? *Sally rips the title out of her lap and holds it up beside her face, the shot taking up the whole camera* I have this! The sign of the best.
Sally is really fired up now. No smiles. No twists of the hair and tilts of the head. She stares down the camera with all the emotion and the anger and the hatred she feel. The emotion for the belt. The anger towards Lester. And the hatred she has of everything he stands for. Everything he represents and so proudly symbolises. Corruption. Deceit. Dishonour. The only thing Lester cares for is the belt. And so long as Sally can keep it from him, the better off APW is. APW deserves a better kind of champion. For too long, APW had to suffer under Lester. It had to deal with the torment of being Lester's kickball. Now, at the split of the road in the woods, Sally has the chance to make sure that the company and the belt go back to an era of respect and honour and prestige.
[Sally] And while I hold it, this belt does stand for honour. I have done everything I can to build up the reputation of this belt. Of this company. Of this business. I have put my own heart and soul into this belt, trying to repair the damage you did to it. I didn't lie to keep it. I didn't trick my way to the top. I didn't cheat to be in this match. I did everything honourably. And this belt, it stands for honour again. The fans, the wrestlers, the company? They know that when I go into our match, I will wrestler with honour. I will carry myself with honour. And I will treat you, yes, with honour. Do you deserve it? Probably not. But I will do it, because that's just who I am. Because the champion does that sort of thing. They don't beat up a weaker person past the point of no return. They don't live an immoral and disgraceful life. They don't run away from a fair fight, shift blame, and relish in their deceit. A champion does things with honour, and for as long as I hold this belt I will make damn sure that I do everything with honour. Otherwise, I'm no better than you. And that would be the lowest of lows, for me. To live like you? To have a career like you? To have a reputation like you? I would rather leave the business. I couldn't live with myself if I did what you do each and every day.
And for every day that I hold this, belt, I give hope to everyone who has ever aspired to be something. To do something. To be that person that people look up to. Because if you are the APW champion, people do look up to you. People from all walks of life want to be like you. Why? Because you're honourable. Because you're the best in the business. I walk out to the ring with the APW title and I give every fan the hope that they could one day be the person in the ring if they try hard enough. I walk out with the APW title and give the likes of Branden Harvey or CJ Gates the hope that they will one day be the name in APW. I walk out to the ring and I give all of APW the hope that the best and brightest days are yet to come. If you become champion again? What hope do you give? That someone might be able to be a close second to you? Because you'll never give up your place, you title, or your spotlight, will you? You did that for a year before Pence finally got through your defences. Well, where Pence allowed you to get back in, I won't. I love an APW that has hope. I love an APW that lets me do what I do. I love an APW where a fan can look at the champion as being the best, having got there with honour, and then having that hope that they too could one day be in the ring.
But there's something extra that this belt stands for. I've realised now that it stands for the truth. You might not know what that exactly is, Lester, but let me spell it out for you. The truth is, Lester, I'm not your mother. I'm not the one who causes your pain. Your history is your own, and I'm not about to take it apart for you. But I do know about now, about the pain you feel now. And here's the facts: You are to blame. You haven brought this pain on yourself. You do deserve this pain. This pain? It's not coming form me. It's not coming from anyone else. It's coming form you. It's all you, Lester. That's the truth. You can blame me, you can blame Kayla, you can blame Patricia or your mother of the next person you bump into on the street for all your misfortune and your misery and your pain. But the truth is that you are the one to blame for it all. You shouldn't look further than your own reflection for all the answers. The truth is that any hurt or pain of anguish that you feel now is all your own fault. You're a weak person, Lester. You've shown that time and time again. Every time you attacked me, every time you snapped, and this latest round of not even being able to control yourself. It shows you're weak. You can't handle pain? You can't handle people coming after you? You can't handle yourself? The truth is that you're weak, Lester.
And more truth is that you need to be strong to hold this belt. *Sally pats the APW title* You have to be exceptionally strong. Look at me. I have you chipping away at me every week. I had the Red Shield Mafia after me for a month. My best friend was sent to the hospital and I've had to face off against some of the toughest competition this company has. And did that break me? Did that split my brain in two and crush me psychologically? Did that show that I was weak? Of course not. I'm not like you, Lester. I'm nothing like you. Every defeat, I came back. Every beating, I recovered. Ever insult, I weather. I am strong, Lester. Not just strong physically, but strong mentally. Stronger than you could ever be, Lester. I don't have to blame other people for my shortfalls. My loss at Shockwave? That was my fault. I wasn't ready. I wasn't prepared enough. My recent form? That's my fault. I lost some focus, and was distracted. But now that we have out match … now that we get to face each other one-on-one … now that we get to make history? I'm not looking for excuses as to why I might lose like you already are. No no no, I'm looking for all those reasons that I'm going to win.
Sally runs both her hands around the edges of the main plate, then takes it up. She folds the straps underneath the belt, then props it back up on the shelf, as if it were on display. She turns from it, back to the camera, and lets out a long sigh. The emotions, the firey emotions, they give way to the same sense of calm and focus that she needs going into the match. Emotions have to be laid aside to get through this match. That's going to be Lester's downfall: That he is too emotionally invested. He wants to tear Sally apart. He is angry, he is mad, he is livid that she would take part in ruining his perfect little lie. He is ruled by greed and lust, whether it be for another woman or for a belt. And he can't stand that someone out there is better than him. He has to take APW down the path more travelled because he's too scared to go down the other road. His fear is what dictates the rest of his actions, and it's as obvious as the morning sun. The scene fades out as Sally, all calm and composed, walks back over to her duffle bag. There's a pause on a blank screen, and then ...
A storm of snow. The only colour in the whole picture is Sally Talfourd – still the one thing that stands out from the sepia tones. She pulls her coat around tighter, trying to keep the chill out. The snow is up to her knees off the side of the pavement. Every now and then she gets lit up by a streetlight that she passes. The wind picks up, the soft snow blocking out Sally's walk forward. She stumbles, then falls into the snow, a puff of white going up as she goes down. She starts to get herself up, but suddenly there's a mysterious stranger walking out of the gloom. He takes her under the elbow to help her up. What saving knight might this be. As Sally stands, she brushes herself off, getting the snow and the nature that have attached themselves to her. She looks up to the gentleman, tucked underneath his hat, his collar turned up. She steps nearer to the light nearby. The gentleman looks her up and down.
“Are you alright dear?”
“As fine as I could be. Thank-you, I guess, mister ...”
Sally trails off, hoping he would fill the silence with his name. He steps into the light and removes his hat with a nervous hand. He looks at Sally, and … it's Biggs! Well, it looks like Biggs.
“Biggerstaff. Gary Biggerstaff. Would you like to get warm? I know a bar not far from here … not that I drink personally. This whole prohibition thing is doing wonders for this country!”
“Ha! Yeah. I just came from there. I'm sort of headed home. You're headed to the bar?”
“I couldn't sit around home. Too many memories ...”
Gary trails off, breaking off from his gazing at Sally to stare past her, almost as if picturing the lover who has scorned him. How easily the heart breaks and emotions tear. Sally looks behind her, wondering if something's there. She sees nothing, then goes to step around Gary.
“I best be off. I have my own memories to … remember? Thank-you for your help.”
“You know, it's not at all safe to walk in this weather. Get a cab, I'll wait for you.”
The two walk to the side of the road. They look the street up and down, without a car in sight. They look at each other with a smile. Sally breaks the silence.
“What are these memories?”
“Don't we all have them?”
“You're not wrong there. That's sort of why I left the bar ...”
“What happened?”
“A bit of an altercation. With some old acquaintances. Some fans, you might say.”
“Fans … that's it! I knew I'd seen you before. Sally Talfourd, right?”
“Right. It seems everyone knows me tonight. Yes, Sally Talfourd.”
“You've been on the land, haven't you?”
“You could say that ...”
The scene fades away, and after a slight pause we're back in that locker room. No difference of colours. No snow or pop-ins by the resident APW talent, the wrestlers who have helped Sally get to where she is. No, just Sally and Sally alone. This time Sally is off the to side of the room, and Shane has to walk over to find out what she's doing. The APW management decided to decorate the lockers, knowing that it would be free advertising should a promo be cut inside. Sally stands a few steps back from a wall adorned with the past three pay per view's posters. Test For the Best, with all the competitors in that tournament circling the title … and a little-known woman in the corner who hardly anyone knew. Then over to Shockwave, and Lester and Sally are there, back to back, with the bolt of electricity running down the page. And then the third poster, One Night in Hell, with the elimination chamber in a harsh black-and-white looming ominously over the competitors in that fateful match below. Sally stares at this last one, and continues to speak as though there'd been no time at all.
[Sally] Level-One, my journey here hasn't exactly been by-the-book. You might say it's luck, I might say it's dedication, and someone watching this in ten or twenty years might see it as reward. Whatever the word is, I've got here. I've got to Christmas Chaos with the APW World Heavyweight Championship. The belt that is all but moulded to the shape of your waist. Let's face it, you are APW. You've held my belt longer than any other wrestler. You've done more – good and bad – for APW than any other wrestler. And you've given more of your body and your soul and your life for APW than any other wrestler. I can't fault you for not wanting, or trying, or believing in yourself. I can't even fault you for being wrong most of the time. Because when you say things, you're mostly right. You know when there's a talent in front of you and when there isn't. You know when the card is stacked against you and when it isn't. And you know when there's a fight to be had and when there isn't. You're a smart wrestler. You're a smart wrestler. And, let's face it, you're a damn good wrestler. Better than most of the people I'll ever have to face.
But that doesn't mean you're faultless. It doesn't mean you're the best. And it sure as hell doesn't mean you deserve my title. Far from being faultless, you've more faults than anyone else in this company. Last week we all found out what a horrible person you are. You have no ethics or morals. If contracting the Red Shield Mafia to beat me up before Shockwave didn't show that … if beating up Leila more than she ever deserved didn't show it … if never, ever, taking responsibility for your misbehaviours didn't show it … it deriding my good name all for the benefit of your own, pathetic little ego didn't show it … then the headline news that Kayla revealed last week did. Your girlfriend, your pregnant girlfriend, just wasn't enough for you, was it? You had to go out and get some action on the side. Kayla Rose might be the mistress, but how on Earth can you shift that blame? She came on to you? She tricked you? She is at fault? That's bull, and you know it. Never has the saying 'it takes two to tango' been more apt than right now. You got yourself into this situation. You could have said no. You could have walked away. You could have even come clean. But you didn't. You had your affair. You stayed with Kayla. And you shifted the blame away from yourself when it came out.
You might be wondering what your dirty little secret has to do with me? Honestly? Nothing. Am I a sin-free person? Of course not. But it's just more of a record that shows how pathetic and corrupt and immoral you really are. You got yourself injured against Pence Weatherlight before you had to face me for the title you won against him. Another bad situation. Instead of, you know, coming clean and wrestling your best and making the best of a bad situation, what did you do? You brought me down to your level. When Leila Farrahi took up your challenge to save me from your hands, you could have said no. What did you do? You beat her into a pulp. And instead of taking responsibility for that, you blamed me. Time and time again, you have shown yourself to be nothing but dirt. And that's exactly how you deserve to be treated: like dirt. You deserve to reap the rewards of your own actions. And, let's face it, it would hardly be 'rewards'. More like punishment. So in that sense, I guess I can help out. Because that's what this match will be, Lester. It won't be a reward for your awful life. It will, however, be what you deserve: punishment. Whether it's what I do to you, what you do to yourself, or when I walk out with the APW title again, you will find your punishment. Whether it's punishment of Lester or Level-One, it will be a punishment nonetheless.
The scene fades away on Sally lingering on the elimination chamber. Ironic that she is talking about punishment and looking at that. A world of punishment came about with that match. Punishment for Sally, being so fortunate to get to the match. Punishment for Lester in underestimating her once again. The scene fades away to black, and then ...
We see Gary, but through a window of some description. The snow wheels around on the outside, and he gives a cold wave to the inside. The camera looks around and we're in a car. An old fashion taxi, where there's no divide, there's wooden interior, and the driver is wearing a bagging cap. Sally sits in the corner, all bundled up trying to keep warm (these are the days before heating in cars, remember?), parts of her dazzling white dress peeking through to cut a contrast with the rest of the dull world around her. The driver goes on their merry way, but it's not long before they have to come to a stop behind a line of traffic. There's a rail crossing, and the draws are down, lights are flashing and you can assume they are red, but how can you tell with the lack of colours. The driver turns around in … her seat? Her? She tips her hat back, and there's enough light to recognise that face. Leila! She smiles at her passenger.
“Sorry about the weather miss. If I could make it warmer, I would.”
“I hardly see it fit to blame you for this.”
“It is a terrible night.”
“Not just the weather.”
“Bad night, is it?”
“Bad night. Bad day. Bad week. Bad month. Just … bad.”
“Care to share? We're going to be here a while ...”
Sally peers over the shoulder of the driver and sees a train ever so slowly running down the tracks. The weather makes it go slower. She lets out a sigh, then loosens up a bit on the seat, uncrossing her arms, which was as much a way to deter conversation as it was to keep warm./
“I don't know if you know who I am, but ...”
“I know who you are.”
“Oh, ok. Well, then you'll know that in my line of business, there's a lot of expectations. There's a lot of pressure and, me being me, I was happy to take them on. For months, I was so eager to get to where I am now. I managed to defy the odds, I managed to make something out of nothing, and I managed to get there. I had this great moment of opportunity to do make history, and when I did I … I … I didn't have it in me to keep going. I had a chance to really make an impact, to show that women in my business can get to the top. To show that the underdog always stands a chance. To prove that even when doubted and written off and given the longest odds, a person can defy the critics and do whatever they set their mind and their heart to. I managed to get to the very top of my profession and I've lulled. I began to wonder if it wasn't actually all lucky. I began to wonder if it wasn't actually a mistake. And I began to wonder if it wasn't actually all going to be a very short experiment.”
“So what happened?”
“I had to get away. I had to try and look inside me and figure out what it was that got me here and if I had what it takes to actually stay here.”
“And did you find it?”
“I think so. I don't know. Maybe.”
Sally trails off in the backseat of the car. The the scene fades away and we quickly come back to the locker room. Sally is putting the last touches of her make-up on, looking into the mirror as she runs the mascara around her eyes. It's very familiar to a certain episode for a certain unsuccessful pay per view.
[Sally] You know, you do have a good memory Lester. I did say I wanted to face you at your best. And it's funny that you go and make fun of it. It's funny that every time I show the world that I am more than ready to square off against you, you turn it into a joke. Almost as if you're afraid. You know, when I used to be scared of people and of matches and of situations I turned them into jokes. It was to try and hide the tremble in my voice. It was to try and hide my shaking hands. It was to try and hide the fact that I was so scared that I couldn't even stand still long enough to cut a serious promo. We all hide our fears differently, and I guess this is your way. When I say I want you at your best, you say I can't handle your best. That it's a death wish. You know what? Let's see if that's true. Why don't you actually turn up to the match in tip-top shape so that you can't whine and complain and whinge when I win. Why don't you actually do something about it Lester? Why don't you put your money where your mouth is?
Sally finishes up with the mascara, turning now to the blush. She takes up the brush and the container, and loads it up.
[Sally] I mean, I say come at your very best and you say you're not at your best. Why not, Lester? Because you had to wrestle more since I ended your championship run? Because you've been in some tough matches, didums? *Sally puts on a voice as if she were talking to a baby* Well suck it up sister! How easy do you think it was to get here? How easy do you think it was to even get into the main event picture? How hard do you think it was to actually get to this very situation, where I'm the champion and you're the contender? I'll tell you how hard: Harder than anything you've ever had to do in your career! You like to talk about being the best, well guess what? If you are the best, then you should be behind my belt. You should be in the main event. And you should be the person expected to win this match. But let's look at this situation right now? I'm the champion, I'm in the main event, and I bet more people expect me to win this match than they expect you to. You had to fight to be here. You had to justify your place. And you had to convince the world that you haven't lost it. So excuse me if I say this, but you're not the best out there.
Would the best have lost to the woman that you consider nothing but a fluke? Would the best have lost his title? Would the best have had to fight against Havok or Mark Mania to actually win a number one contendership? Of course not. That's because you're not the best. You're not all that you think you are. You're not what you think you are. You're not even nearly what you think you are. I can't believe how big your ego truly is. You can't even see the truth for what it is: You're just like every other person out there. You have to try, you have to fight, and you have to struggle. And, occasionally, you lose. You lost at One Night in Hell. You're going to lose at Christmas Chaos. I mean … you just don't get it, do you? You can't see past your own nose. You wear you rose-coloured glasses and you see the world how you want to see it. Everyone's out to get you. You are the best. No one else is any good. Get a freaking grip Lester! You need a beat up just to knock some sense into you. The world isn't out to get you. There are people who are good. And you are not the best Lester!
Sally looks directly at the camera as she finishes up. The scene fades away to black, and then ...
“How can you not know if you've found it or not?”
“I guess I haven't then.”
“Well, if you don't mind me asking ma'am, do you even deserve to be at the top?”
“Do I … do I deserve!? Of course I deserve! I fought for years to get here. I might not have known it when I started, but every single minute I fought to get ahead, it was to get where I am now. Do I deserve? Please! No one has done what I needed to do to get here. No one. Not the people who have tried to hold me down, not the people who have tried to help me, and not the people who have stood silent on the side. No one has had to go through what I have. Every time I have tried to get ahead, there has always been someone to say no. Someone to try and stop me. And every time I've pushed through them. Every time. It might have take a few goes. It might not have happened straight away. But damnit, it happened. When a man has said a woman can't even be as good as them, what happened? I proved them right. Not right that a woman is worse but that a woman is better! I proved that a woman can beat the greatest name my business has ever seen. On the centre stage, with all the lights of a company and the eyes of the world focused on me, I proved that a woman can be a woman and still be better than a man. I'm changing the idea that to be a success in this business, I have to be more like a man. If someone wants to call me materialistic or promiscuous or selfish, you know what? I couldn't care less. Because I do like to live my life like a woman. And I refuse to be held to a different set of standards than those pigs out there!”
Sally looks fired up here now too. Leila turns around from her with a smile. She looks ahead to the road. The line of traffic is still there.”
“Well, it seems to me that you have what you've been looking for.”
“What? Anger?”
Leila turns around, a serious look on her face.
“No, a reason. You were looking for a reason to even be in this match and you found it. It's to silence the critics, yet again. It's to say yes to the nay-sayers. It's to prove everyone who has ever doubted you wrong. It's easy to fight your way to the top because you have a goal. You have something in mind when you want to fight then. But when you're there, it's like all the fighting's been done, right? So you forget the reason you were fighting in the first place ...”
“You're right … you're absolutely right. I didn't know why I was here. I didn't know why I was fighting. I forgot my reason. I forgot …”
Sally sits up in the back seat, but the scene fades away before we can hear any more. A slight pause, and we're back in the locker room. Sally is doing her stretches, with the poster wall as the suited backdrop for the next ramble she is about to go on. She touches her toes, left hand to right root … right hand to left foot … and I'm sure that's what everyone is looking at. Then she comes up and starts to stretch out her arms.
[Sally] This match, I swear Lester, it would want to be out last. It would be ironic if it was. We started on some throw-away tag match on OverDrive, do you remember? It was my and Bryan versus you and Leila. And Bryan and I won. I bet you remember that. When a girl on her debut match beat you with the guy who was the biggest thorn in your side at the time. It's funny, I look back at that match now and laugh. If you had told me this is where we would end up, I would never have believed you. In literally thirty week's time, Bryan Payne wouldn't be here and your assault on leila would be the reason I'm so hell bent on getting my hands on you. It all started then, as a half put together match, where it was a chance for me and Leila to bring in some extra views. And now, months and months later, you and I are drawing the world into this feud. Unfortunately it has to end now. Everyone who has been on the edge of their seat will get a chance to sit back and relax for the first time in months.
And it has been a nail-biting feud, hasn't it Lester. Me the young up-and-comer who came in hot, beat the biggest threat to my career. I go on to win a title shot. I get to face you, the chance for a new age David to slay his Goliath. And … you won. Everyone thought it was over. But it wasn't. I took my chance, I learned my lesson, and I came back for you. And then when happened? I evened the score, didn't I? I evened it at One Night in Hell. We went one a piece after that. This time, it's the decider. Who is the better of us? Well, that's actually not the whole story. Any one of my most devoted fans will tell you that I'm actually twice as good as you, if you look at the history books. I have four wins over you, Lester. Count them, four. You have all of two wins over me. But my count, that makes me twice as good as you. And you know something else, I might have four wins over you now, but five is my lucky number.
But this match is the big decision maker out of our title matches. So you can expect one thing for sure: That I'm giving this match absolutely everything I have. I'm making sure that you get a reminder about exactly why I'm in this match with you. You'll remember how a match goes with me. Having to keep up. Having to match minute-for-minute. Having to figure out how you're going to beat me. You might think it's easy, but how on Earth are you actually going to do it? You say it's easy to beat me. Ok, how? How are you going to do it? It's once again classic Level-One. All talk and no detail. Say a whole bunch of trash and then what? Then what do you do? Then what do you have planned, Lester? What will you do in our match that I haven't seen before. The problem with being the biggest name in the business is that there is so much out there on you. That I can go onto the Internet and find out every single working part of you. And, truth be told, that's what I've been doing for the past few days. Figuring out what surprises you think you have. Me? I have surprises that you haven't even thought of you. You? You have nothing I haven't seen before. Whether it be against Pence or Bryan or Little Timmy when you were first starting out, your whole career has been laid bare for the world to see. Which means all your ticking and tocking pieces are laid out for everyone, especially your opponent, to take a look at.
Sally takes a seat on the floor to start stretching out the legs. And that's where the scene fades out to ...
A skreetching car! The brakes get slammed on. The camera turns around to find the dull, boring world laid out through the front of the car. The traffic has moved on from the rail crossing. But now it's come to a slow stop. Leila must be a pretty good driver to stop the car that quick. The cars start to roll forward. Up ahead … a fork in the road. The cars roll up to it and, one-by-one, they all peel off to the left. The dust comes up from their wheel and the rear lights cut through the clouds, urging the last car – Sally's car – to follow them. Leila comes to a stop at the fork.
“Which one?”
Sally sits up and looks out the front. She sees all the other cars make the same decision. They all go left. She looks to the right. Why didn't anyone go there? She sits back, a content smile. The camera turns around to look at her, and only her, in her coloured magnificance.
“The road less travelled.”
The camera turns around as Leila starts to drive. And all of a sudden, the snow ahead is white, the yellow light from the car cuts through the dark night. The road is an icy black, and every now and then the trees along the side of the road are lit with a radiant green.
The scene fades away to Sally Talfourd again. She's walking out the locker room that has bkept her in up to now. Shane follows her out, into the walkway. She stares straight ahead, passing a bunch of familiar faces by – CJ, Pence, Biggs, Mannie – who all stare after her. Shane gets to alongside her, but Sally doesn't break her focus. The crowd can be heard all through the backstage. The cheers and applause. Tony Ferrari can be heard announcing the night's attendance (a sell out) to the crowd, then goes into the introduction for the main event. The crowds go wild. The staff backstage, who catch Sally, offer her a pat on the back. A few start to applaud her as she passes them by. But nothing from Sally. There's a time for words and there's a time when the silence says it all. The focus and the determination. The intensity and the drive. The moment is right now. Suddenly a chorus of boos can be heard as 'Put You On Game' comes across the PA. Tony announces Lester to the ring, and thankfully Sally arrives to the gorilla position before she has to see him. The last few staff say various pleasantries to her, but they aren't important. Sally's only thinking about one thing.
This moment.
What does this moment hold? Has she chosen the right road? Will she regret it? Those questions will be answered in one match's time. Jeff – always the on-hands boss – sits beside the curtains that head out into this moment. He looks his champion over, looks at her belt and then into her eyes.
[Jeff] Ready?
[Sally] Ready.
The screen fades to black. There's a pause, and then
"Sally Talfourd"
is handwritten across the screen, in purple. Before it fades out and the episode comes to a close.
