Mercedes Benz

[Evan De Parker]

”Oh lord won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz.
My friends all drive porsches, I must make amends.
Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends.
So oh lord won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz…”

White smoke, cream-like in its very essence, rolls past the retro analog radio, its needle resting gently and comfortably between 95 and 96, bringing in classic rock at its finest through the clear, crisp sound system. The tiny ember that rests at the end of a one-inch stub that used to be a hand-rolled cigarette is extinguished as its shoved into the relatively clean ash tray. The hand, however, does not belong to one of the men participating in the main event of Monday Night Meltdown… It is a delicate, feminine hand that strokes every delicate drop and curve between the radio and the steering wheel before her hand finds a home on the wheel somewhere along the 4:00 region.

Sienna Harrison is sitting behind the leather wheel of a jet-black ‘69 Mercedes Benz 300SEL… A car that Evan Envi, from eighteen until nineteen-years-old, had restored. It was rare that it was taken for a trip that was more than a few miles, just because of Evan’s matriarch-esque vigilance over the car.

The passenger door opens and Sienna briefly notices that the light collides with the smoke in such a way that a haze seems to form throughout the car. Although she knows there could only be one person entering the car, she is briefly overcome with a sense of curiosity as the haze shrouds the intruder’s figure.

As he slides into the passenger seat, and the door closes, the feeling ceases and Sienna forgets that she was ever in doubt. She can even predict the ”the hell are you doing, woman?” that rolls out of Evan Harrison’s mouth.

Sienna studies Evan for a moment, looking at his every feature.

”You look different.”

”Okay? Back to my question, what---!”

”No, really… Something looks different about you. I can’t figure out what it is though. I almost didn’t…” Realizing that whatever is about to fall out of her mouth next will likely sound stupid, Sienna just stops. ”I just thought maybe we could go get some drinks or something. Talk about your match tomorrow. And some other stuff.”

Evan looks slightly confused at Sienna’s last statement.

”What ‘other stuff’ do we need to talk about?”

”I feel like that’s a conversation we need to have over some beer, little brother. You can hold your shit, can you not?”

A wave of nostalgia washes over Evan and a small glimmer is apparent in his eyes as his sister thumbs the ignition. The engine turns over and starts with a satisfied growl. The AC, which had been left on full blast from the last time Evan was in the car, splashes the outside world’s warmth in his face. He was reminded of a time, maybe ten or eleven years ago, where he would sneak into Tyler’s room where he and Sienna would usually be drinking beer, smoking a joint, or something to that extent. He was reminded of bragging to his friends on those hot summer nights as he stumbled across the streets to their basements, reeking of pot with Natural Light on his breath.

Our camera, once showing the thoughtful face of Evan Envi, now switches to a shot from behind the siblings, in the rear seat of the car. We are now sitting in front of a liquor store. It seems comically out of place; the skinny store with its tinted windows and neon lights, flanked by upscale restaurants and diners.

BA-DING!

The friendly and timid little bell rings as Evan pushes open the door of the liquor store. He steps inside, his sister trailing behind him and the camera drifts toward the grumpy looking, elderly Asian couple that sits behind the counter. They knew Evan very well, though they weren’t quite familiar with the homely-looking camera man decked out in APW gear.

”I kind of like this Horrowitz guy.”

The statement strikes Sienna as peculiar. She hadn’t been prepared to bring the match up. It had been six days and Evan had yet to speak about his loss to Sam Parker-- she assumed the entire thing was a situation she’d have to bring up herself.

”He’s the driver of his own hype train, and I respect it… Because nobody gets you noticed in this business except yourself. He knows it as well as I do, and a lot of these new guys are retarded and can’t grasp that concept… I got to the main event because I got under the skin of some people on Twitter. And it was a very opportune time for me to do it. A wave of new people filed in-- so many, that APW needed to make a third show. I thought it was some sort of punishment at first and I was being ushered off onto the ‘nothing’ program with a bunch of ‘nothing’ wrestlers that they thought couldn’t hack it and were gonna quit by the end of the month. I thought that, and I expressed my discontent.

“And low and behold, Sienna, words must really move mountains, because by the end of the week I was one of the most talked-about wrestlers on the roster. I attracted the attention of the Undisputed Champion. I talked my way into the main event last week, and impressed them so much that not only am I in the main event again this week… But I get a rematch against Sam Parker at Mayhem with the new North American Championship on the line. Nobody did that for me but me. And I like Benny because he knows that this is a kill-or-be-killed kind of game. If you’re not constantly biting the other dude’s throat and stomping on his fingers for your top spot, you might as well be on your way outta here, and he gets that.”

Evan pauses toward the end of the aisle, finding himself a bit weary and temporarily forgetting that he’d walked past all of the beers until he came face-to-face with the freshly painted “LADIES” sign on the restroom. As if meaning to walk to this point, Evan pivots and meets Sienna’s eyes again.

”He has the mouth of a World Champion, but there’s one HUGE difference between Benny Horrowitz and myself.”

Satisfied, Evan makes his way to the beers. Amused, his hand wraps around the cardboard handle of a six-pack of Natural Lights. Nostalgia washes over him again, and he hands the bottle to Sienna, as if expecting it to have a similar effect.

Again, our camera obediently pans to Sienna. She smiles fondly, looking at the six-er and lowers it to her side, giving Evan a raised eyebrow.

”Natties. How urban of you. What if someone sees us drinking this shit?”

We pan to Evan, and this time, we aren’t even in the liquor store anymore-- we are in the obnoxiously white-furnished, white-painted, white-themed living room. Evan isn’t even standing anymore. He is already halfway through his first beer, tilting the rim of his glass to Sienna and then toward the box, indicating for her to follow suit.

”The difference between me and Benny is that while he’s in it for the money, I’m in it for the sport. I get knocked down, and I’ll keep getting up because I don’t have a damn choice. That’s what I’ve always done, no matter how long it’s taken, and… Benny… Well, if he gets knocked down one too many times, he’s going to hightail it out of here and jump onto whatever he can get his hands on next. He’s a talented guy. And he’s a smart guy. That’s why he’s dangerous, Sienna. Not because he‘s the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the back, but because he has the mentality of a man that knows how to make money. A man that knows how to spend money, and hold onto the money. He‘s not the animal waiting to eat the next one because he wants to call himself the best…”

Evan, a grave look on his face now, takes a long swig of the beer, easily clearing a quarter of its contents. He lowers his arm, resting an elbow upon his knee.

”He’s the animal eating everybody, dead or alive, because that’s what you have to do. You get money in this company by being the best. And humans go animalistic when they get a taste of some money. Maybe that’s what happened to Benny, ya know. He got a taste… Just a morsel of wealth and turned himself into a goddamn cold-blooded killer. Because once you have something everyone else wants, you‘re a target.

“Everyone wants money.“

Evan laughs a bit as he says this, which brings an all-too-familiar uncomfortable air upon the room. Sienna has started drinking in preparation for the inevitable. There were conversations that needed to be had here.

“Maybe he secretly really does love this shit-- I don’t know. But he knows why he’s here, and he knows damn well that he’s good.”

The empty beer is placed on the ground before the couch and Evan reaches into the cardboard holster once more, retrieving his second bottle of the evening.

”But he’s already lost.”

Pouring the contents of the second bottle into his mouth, Evan’s eyes never leave Sienna’s. Sienna, now seated across from him, returns a serious look, truly unsure of what to say. Every single time she thought she knew what she wants to say to her little brother, her mind would get scrambled, shocked that the young man that she was looking at hardly resembled her baby brother Evan Harrison at all. This man looked hardened, and tired, and older at times. There were even more obvious changes… The way he walked seemed different. His voice, while similar to the voice she always associated with Evan, even seemed different. Moreso every day. On the phone, she couldn’t even recognize him.

His refusal to refer to himself as Evan Harrison-- always Evan Envi. His obsession with the sport that he’d worked his entire life to be a part of. His look of discomfort whenever he was around the fans. All of it was peculiar, and Sienna found herself unable to hold a conversation with him about The Sidewinder. She wanted to talk about Evan Harrison, not Benny Horrowitz.

But she couldn’t. He was focused… And she was not going to be the person to ruin that. She found that her role in the conversation was easily covered by Evan Envi anyway.

”He’s more focused on Dita Morgan than on me. And I take a little bit of offense to it because Dita Morgan isn’t fighting for the North American Title at APW Mayhem. I am. She’ll be lucky if she makes it on-screen, while I more than earned my spot on the program. However, instead of earning a spot in contention for the title, Horrowitz bitches to management about how this should be a triple threat… Because of the way he beat down five-foot-five, hundred-fifteen pound little Dita Morgan.”

Evan scoffs.

”And I’m not mocking her for her size. I’m mocking Benny for getting punked out by the girl after he tried to start shit after the match. It wasn’t like he was ambushed, or distracted by the general manager like I was. He simply got outmaneuvered and laid flat on his ass… By little Dita Morgan. That could have happened during the match.”

Evan’s eyes roll away from Sienna and toward the ceiling as he leans back, consuming a vast amount of the Natural Light. Sienna, halfway through her own beer from Evan’s tirade, studies him again. His approach to the situation was a lot more logical and positive than it may have been three years ago… She would silently give him credit for that, but his slow change in persona still drew interest.

”I made a rookie mistake. I had stars in my eyes, like we talked about last week, and I got caught up in a moment I never should have been in… I’m not gonna blame Sam Parker for capitalizing, and I’m not gonna give anyone the benefit of reacting to what happened.

“I know that I lost the match. And I think that’s all that needs to be said about it right now.”

A contemptuous look is written all across Evan Envi’s face as he briefly turns to the camera. His eyes travel through the lens and meet the stares of millions viewing across the nation and around the world. After a few seconds he turns away and back to Sienna, shaking his head.

”Ain’t gonna happen twice though.”

Sienna reaches for her second beer, opening it and throwing it down the hatch as quickly as her nerves and lungs would allow. It probably looked juvenile, but it was all she could do at the moment to stop herself from interrupting Evan. She didn’t know how long he planned on speaking of the Sidewinder, or how long he expected these cameras to be around, but she needed to speak to her little brother. Unfortunately, he wasn’t around…

Only Evan Envi was.

”It’s not a race, Sienna. You’re dribbling… My God, what’s the matter with you?”

Evan leisurely sips his nearly-empty second beer and continues.

”Ah, ya know-- people are banking on history repeating itself tomorrow night. The guy that beat me last week is gonna be just a few yards away on commentary, and I’m up against the guy that thinks he should be Meltdown’s highlighted Megastar; not Sam, not me-- Benny Horrowitz. What the world wants to see, is Sam get up out of his seat and run his mouth… For me to turn my back to Benny, and take my eye off the ball… For Benny to catch me off guard and hit me with the Shotgun Knee.”

Evan shakes his head, pausing only to take a breath.

”Sam Parker gets involved in this match, and it ends in a disqualification. I don’t think his estrogen-based fans would find that satisfactory, so we can rule that one out right now. As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t exist between those bells. The only thing I’m concerned about is that bleached blonde kid from Manhattan.

“Sadly, he didn’t give me as much attention as a lot of the other people around APW are willing to. Last week, he verbally abused some chick because he wanted… A peppermint frap, was it? Disgusting.

“Fast forward to this week. He spent a majority of his camera time trying to punk out-- and then unsuccessfully pick up-- a nobody chick from a clothing store. He spent several minutes to talk to his boys about Dita Morgan, someone irrelevant to his own cause, that North American Championship.

“I’m not some hundred-pound chick fresh out of high school sitting behind a cash register. I’m not gonna be intimidated by Horrowitz, and he knows it, and that’s why he has so little to say about me and even less to say to my face. I’m gonna treat him the same way I treated Parker at the end of the show last week and hit him with the Blues. I’m going to break that kid’s nose and go on to main event again next week. And again. And again. And again. And hell, I might even hit him with the Blues twice, just so he understands why I’m the next North American Champ. Think he’ll give me some damn attention then?”

Second beer, finished. Sienna and Evan both retrieve beer number three for themselves. While Sienna cracks hers opens and flicks the cap, Evan sits patiently, not so eager to jump into his. He ignores Sienna’s haste and finishes.

”No sour grapes though. Just like I’m not gonna get distracted and lose my shit again on Monday Night Meltdown, Benny Horrowitz isn’t gonna overlook me again. We have ways of handling this as Harrisons.”

That was it.

Sienna lowers her bottle and her bottom lip quivers for a bit. Everything seems to go in slow-motion as Evan smiles, that unfamiliar smile that just didn’t belong to her little brother. He raises his bottle and says

”Cheers”

before climbing to his feet and reaching across the table to tap his glass against Sienna’s to complete the toast.

SMASH!

Sienna’s bottle lies in a deathly oval of glass and foam on the floor. Evan doesn’t panic, though his eyes widen and he recoils a bit, lowering his own glass onto the table. Instinctively, he turns toward the kitchen prepared to get something to clean it up with.

”Dude, you don’t even like beer! I haven’t seen you drink a beer since you were like, fifteen years old. And it’s warm, even, I don’t know why you’re--”

”Whoaaaa, little late in the game to criticize our choice in drinks, isn’t it? I mean, you’re the one who said you wanted to get beer--”

”It’s not about the beer, little brother! It’s about you. You have been so different since you joined APW, and it’s freaking me out. Your voice-- do you hear yourself? And have you looked in the mirror lately? It’s like you’re…”

Sienna sighs and lowers her head. The horrid realization slapped her: she was far too sober to have this conversation with Evan, who was simply standing in frozen confusion and dismay.

”I’m sorry. I’m just drunk.”

Sienna skirts past Evan and into the kitchen to gather cleaning supplies. It was abrupt, and Evan didn’t entirely buy the excuse, but he dropped it.

Evan never initiated a conversation about the subject again. It wasn’t something he was quite sure he understood. It wasn’t something he was quite sure he wanted to.

Our camera fades to black on the arrangement of jagged, misplaced glass shards. They sparkle and shimmer, even in their potentially lethal arrangement.