Post by A.C. Smith on Jun 11, 2013 21:45:19 GMT -4
Our scene opens tonight in the New York City penthouse of the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith. However, in stark contrasts to past visits to the abode of the APW Xtreme Champion, we're not in a gym, or in a trophy room, or in a living room. Instead, we're in what's been considered sacred ground by Smith: His bedroom.
A large, king-size bed sits in the middle of the room, opposite a 32-inch plasma TV that sits atop an antique dresser. Just inside the room is a sizable walk-in closet, and the glass doors to it are folded open. We see several shirts and ties hanging off the top, and below them are Smith and his two compadres, Bobby the Bavarian Man-Bitch and Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker.
Smith is wearing a white Brooks Brothers dress shirt, with blue pinstripes down the front and sides. It's tucked into a pair of black slacks, with a black belt held in place by a silver buckle that resides just over the zipper. He's decided on a solid blue tie, but there's one problem, and it's why A.C. isn't alone right now.
Stevie: “How the HELL do you go through 30-plus years of life without knowing how to tie a tie?!”
Smith cracks a slight smile, but a small hint of anxiety comes over his face as Stevie reaches up to tie a standard four-in-hand knot.
A.C.: “So how the hell do I go about this?”
Bobby: “Open doors, pull out her chair for her, carry on conversation. Essentially, DON'T be yourself.”
Bobby laughs at his one-liner, but Smith shoots him a look that would melt steel. Bobby shuts up, and Smith recomposes himself after a cursory eye-roll.
A.C.: “She said this was supposed to be a celebratory dinner. What the hell are we celebrating?”
Stevie: “Your win in the battle royal, maybe?”
A.C.: “That's the thing. I did good work, but I haven't won anything yet. Hell, I've got one more match before I even get back to where I was last year.”
Bobby: “Seriously, man, just relax and try to have a good time. You're out with a stunning woman, for Christ's sake, and you're going to Peter Luger Steakhouse, one of the best restaurants in the city. Plus, if you're getting THIS dolled-up for the date, imagine how SHE'S gonna look.”
Bobby whistles jokingly, and Stevie rolls his eyes as he finishes tying the tie. Smith, smiling, grabs a black, two-buttoned suit jacket with a blue handkerchief inside, and he begins adjusting the sleeves as he gives himself the once-over in the mirror.
Stevie: “There. You look good, boss. What is that, Oscar de la Renta?”
A.C.: “Armani. I've worn it maybe three times in the five years I've had it. Guess I better not dribble steak sauce on it, huh?”
Smith smirks. Satisfied at how he looks, he fastens the top button and fixes his short black hair.
A.C.: “Well, I guess that's it. I'm meeting her in Williamsburg in 45 minutes.”
Bobby: “Seriously, don't sweat it. You had dinner with her every night for two years when you were partners, and those went fine.”
A.C.: “Grabbing Chinese for a stake-out is a lot different than the best table at Luger's!”
Smith smiles, trying his best to keep himself loose but not entirely succeeding. He's been out of the dating game for a while, and he's not entirely sure what to expect.
Suddenly, we hear the pounding guitar chords of Neil Young's “Rocking in the Free World.” Smith goes into the front left pocket of his dress pants and pulls out his iPhone 5.
A.C.: “It's my agent. Wonder what he wants.”
Smith swipes the bottom of the screen with his right thumb before bringing the device to his left ear.
A.C.: “Hello?...Yeah, I know she said something...What?...I've kind of got something planned...Alright, alright, I'll check it out...Yeah, thanks...Bye.”
Smith puts the phone back in his pocket.
A.C.: “Apparently, I'm supposed to check something out online. Come on along, it's supposed to be one heck of a listen.”
The trio leaves the bedroom for the living room, gathering around Smith's Macbook Pro laptop as our scene fades to black.
-----
We didn't see what Smith and his buddies were watching, but as we fade up inside Peter Luger Steakhouse just outside Manhattan, it's clear something is affecting the Big Apple Asskicker. He's tense, and he continually goes back to a glass of fancy red wine that looks very small in his gargantuan right hand.
Opposite him at the table for two is Roxanne. As Bobby predicted, she looks absolutely stunning in a fuchsia dress that flatters her hourglass figure. She's the kind of woman who rarely has to try to look sexy in order to do so, which is what makes her dress, makeup, and jewelry look all the more eye-catching.
Both she and Smith are fingering at salads with what's probably the wrong fork. A waiter has made his way over every 10 minutes or so to top off the guests' drinks, and he comes back again.
Waiter: “More wine, sir?”
A.C.: “Yes, please.”
Waiter: “Pardon me, but you're not driving, are you?”
Roxanne: “No. We've got cars coming to get us.”
The waiter nods, pouring eight more ounces of wine into Smith's glass. The APW Xtreme Champion nods at the man, who exits.
Roxanne: “Is something the matter?”
A.C.: “Nah. Just nerves. And some other stuff.”
Smith takes a sip of his wine, letting the cherry flavors sit in his mouth for a second or two before forcing the drink down his throat.
Roxanne: “Don't be nervous. This is me. We're celebrating your win last week at the best steakhouse in your hometown. Just let your guard down and have fun.”
Smith smiles. He's trying, and hard, but he's never been the type to hide his emotions, and his jitters don't go away with Roxie's gentle encouragement.
Roxanne: “What's up?”
A.C.: “Roxie, I'll never, ever complain about you coming to New York. You know that. But I haven't won anything yet.”
Roxanne: “It's a start, though, right?”
A.C.: “Yes. Yes, it's a start, but it's nothing if I don't build on it this week when I head down to New Orleans.”
Roxanne: “Who's the lucky guy standing in your way?”
A.C.: “Girl. Lucky girl.”
A pause. Roxanne nods, realizing the magnitude of the situation and how it infringes on the morals Smith has practiced his entire life.
Roxanne: “That'd explain it. What are you going to do?”
A.C.: “About the only thing I can do: Try and advance in the tournament without compromising my morals. And that's a pretty fine line to walk.”
Another drink of the wine follows. This time, though, Roxie reaches over, her hand almost disappearing inside his.
Roxanne: “But if anyone can do it, you can. I know you, and I have faith in you.”
Smith allows himself to crack a smile, and we see him exhale just a bit.
Roxanne: “I mean, if you could win over Roger, you can probably move mountains and leap the Empire State Building!”
Now, both A.C. and Roxie allow themselves a laugh. Roxanne's smile looks even more beautiful in candlelight, and it's not hard to imagine every single man at the nearby bar craning their necks to get a good look at the gorgeous brunette at the best table in the restaurant.
A.C.: “He's not so bad. DID threaten to cut my balls off, however.”
Roxanne: “Oh, that's standard. I love that lug, but he thinks he's the toughest guy on the face of the earth when he tries to protect me.”
A.C.: “The six guys who haven't come back to his gym in the last week must have served as positive references for me, then.”
There's that smile again, one that could disarm any man with a heart. Smith, however, shakes his head.
A.C.: “She's crazy, too. Thinks I'm APW's answer to the antichrist.”
Roxanne: “What'd you ever do to HER?”
A.C.: “Well, I went to Fenway Park. And Hiroshima. And Nagasaki. And a few other places over my 11 years in the wrestling business. Other than that...”
Smith shrugs.
Roxanne: “Last I checked, it was a free country. What'd she want you to do, go to your hotel room and twiddle your thumbs until someone told you you could talk?”
A.C.: “Apparently. It's almost like...”
We suddenly hear another musical ring tone, that of, “Rock and Roll Woman,” by 1960's rock supergroup Buffalo Springfield (which, coincidentally, included a very young Neil Young). Roxanne rolls her eyes, but her expression changes when she looks at the screen of her iPhone.
Roxanne: “It's my sitter. Do you mind if I...”
A.C.: “By all means. Take as long as you need. I'll be right here.”
Roxanne gets up, beginning to talk into the phone as she goes to a nearby doorway. This leaves Smith alone at his table. He eyes the glass of wine a few feet away from him, but this time, he restrains himself from picking it up.
Visibly, it's easy to tell Smith has allowed himself to loosen up a bit, and not all of it is due to the liquid courage our waiter has provided for him. He's relaxed and measured, much more akin to the Big Apple Asskicker that has entertained a huge fan base for over a decade, and his trademark confidence has made its way to the surface.
A.C. sits up straight in his chair and locks his brown eyes on the camera stationed next to the table. The background noise in the restaurant lowers in volume from a buzz to a nearly-muted murmur, and because of it, we're able to hear the APW Xtreme Champion much more clearly as he opens his mouth to speak.
A.C.: “Roxanne is a beautiful woman, inside and out. I think I've got something special with her, and it makes me really happy to say that because there was a time where I didn't think I'd ever find someone who complemented me as well as she does. But she's smart, compassionate, and she knows how to loosen me up while still telling me what I need to hear, regardless of whether I WANT to hear it or not.
“Any number of things make her a phenomenal woman. Contrary to popular belief, and revisionist historians who bend the facts to whatever fits their story at that given moment, the facts are that the only women I've ever had problems with are ones who instigated situations and wouldn't let them go.
“Tracy...that BITCH...faked her own death and tried to cause mine for reasons I don't think I'll ever fully understand. Aubrey Parker thought she knew more than I did, was proven wrong time and time again, yet still conducted herself with the elitist, stuck-up behavior she carries with her to this day over on Asylum. I'll never forgive either of them for what they've done and how they've affected my life and career, and any rational human being in my shoes would feel the exact same way.
“Amy Zing had never been in that group. I'd known her for a while, and in limited dealings with her dating back to our time in American Championship Wrestling, I found her pleasant enough. We were never on opposite sides, never crossed paths, and I'd never considered her an enemy.
“Until now.”
Any smile Smith may have had on his face when talking about his new flame is long gone. On his face instead is his trademark intensity, one nobody else at Luger's this evening has.
A.C.: “Amy Zing stands between me and one of four tournament spots on the Overdrive brand for Test for the Best. Everyone in APW would use this situation differently, and in this case, Amy used it as a way to let everything hang out. I was never aware of any ill will she had for me before this week, but it's safe to say I'm not exactly on her Christmas card list.
“In her eyes, I'm a no-good, immature hack who serves as a menace to society. For whatever reason, how I've conducted myself in the past just rubs her the wrong way. I have that effect on some people, including a number of APW mainstays who fans have also rallied behind. Amy Zing isn't the first fan favorite to take this stance, she won't be the last, and that's not what's got me sitting here with an axe to grind.
“No. What bothers me most is how...WRONG...she is. About everything.”
Smith's head tilts to the side, and a slight chuckle comes out of his mouth as he accentuates every syllable of the last word. Shaking his head, he regains his glare and refocuses on the camera.
A.C.: “She's convinced that I'm going to exploit all the little things she has in her past that, to be quite honest, don't matter a damn bit heading into our match Thursday night. Her Playboy spread. The fact that she's Asian. Whatever stance China has on global affairs. That's not my game. Never has been, never will be.
“No, my game is much simpler than that, an outlook that has passed the test of time. I'm going to focus on the things that matter, the things that are still there when the bell rings. Her Playboy shoot fades into the background. Her misjudgments about my past do not. Her ethnicity fades into the background. Her general lack of quality wins do not. Her country's reputation fades into the background. Her thinking I give a damn about what she thinks of me, after all of her rambling? Her thinking those mind games she tried to play WORKED?
“That doesn't fade away. That becomes more pronounced, more motivation for someone who doesn't need it, more drive for the most driven man in all of professional wrestling to continue handling unfinished business from a year ago. What's lost to Amy Zing is that I don't care about everything she's done that makes her an easy target for everyone else. Why? Because what she did earlier this week made her a REALLY easy target for the only person that matters this Thursday night: Me.”
Our friendly waiter comes back into the shot.
Waiter: “Would you like more wine, sir?”
A.C.: “I'm alright. But could you please top my water off?”
Waiter: “Absolutely.”
The waiter grabs a nearby pitcher of ice water and fills Smith's empty glass, one that sits next to his red wine. Smith nods an acknowledgement, and the waiter leaves before A.C. resumes speaking.
A.C.: “Amy Zing came to APW a little while after I did. She's done the same thing she's always done. She's kicked around, winning some, losing some, and doing just enough to stay afloat. Credit to her, she did well and beat Michael Jennings in a qualifier for Test for the Best, something I wasn't able to do in my chance against C.J. Gates. That's the biggest win of her APW career, and it's not close.
“That's precisely the problem she has, though. What qualifies as the biggest win of her career doesn't even register as a blip on my radar screen. In almost six months as the Xtreme Champion, and for that matter in an 11-year career that's included six different reigns as a World Champion, I've done things that put Amy Zing's career resumé to shame.
“Send Michael Lively, an APW Hall of Famer, running to Asylum with his tail between his legs after three decisive victories, including one at RassleMania IX? Check. Topple Nathaniel Havok, one of the most hardcore wrestlers in history, at his own game? Check. Give fans a Match of the Year-caliber encounter with C.J. Gates one week, then outlast five other guys just as hungry as I am for a second chance at the Test for the Best championship? Check.
“That's just in the last few months, and everything I've done has pointed to this exact moment: Test for the Best, the tournament I came so close to winning last year. Maybe I got a horrible first-round draw and needed one more match to get back into the field, but as of now, I'm one of eight Overdrive megastars with a chance at winning this tournament, and I'd defy anyone to say I have less momentum now than I did when I almost shocked Terry Marvin and the wrestling world last year.”
Smith pauses, taking a sip from his newly-filled glass of water before carefully putting it back down on its coaster so as not to wreck the pristine, white tablecloth.
A.C.: “None of those facts are little anecdotes. None of those facts are little things people have brought up to try and bring Amy Zing down that mean absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. No. These are concrete, defined truths, ones that have meaning heading into this Thursday night's match in New Orleans. They're things that will play huge roles in determining who comes out on top this week and who advances to the Test for the Best bracket.
“If Amy Zing wants to concentrate on trips I made years ago, or on how I've dealt with people who have no bearing on our match this week, she can go right ahead. But in doing so, those little mind games she's playing go over like lead balloons. I learned a long, LONG time ago that you don't get ahead in this business by looking back at things that are irrelevant. You get ahead by doing what it takes to be better than your opponent on a given night, no more, no less.
“Does calling me an asshole give Amy Zing an advantage? How about pointing out my little sojourns to Fenway Park, Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, which were done on my own time and my own dime? Or trying to play up all the little things she's done, things that mean jack squat once that bell rings on Overdrive down in the bayou?
“No, of course it doesn't. And what gives ME the advantage is that I don't deal in those things. I keep my eyes on the prize, and I refuse to let any outside distractions interfere with my goals. Just based on what I've seen out of her so far this week, heh...it doesn't look like that sentiment is shared by Miss Zing.”
Smith smirks.
A.C.: “I can't comment on anyone who thinks Amy Zing is a longshot to advance in this tournament. Nobody knows better than yours truly that those opinions mean nothing, given everything I accomplished as an afterthought one year ago. She had a nice win over Michael Jennings, and I truly hope she uses that as a springboard down the line.
“This week, though? She's not in the right place to advance any further in this tournament. Everything she tried to do to get into my head failed and failed miserably. I haven't gotten worked up in shooting her points down here tonight, and for good reason. This week, I'm going to do what anyone who wins these tournaments does in the preliminary rounds: Act like I've been there before, go about my business, and get the job done.
“I don't know why, exactly, everything I do seems to stick in Miss Zing's craw. But it sure seems like I'm under her skin and in her head. That's a very dangerous spot for her to be in, and while it'll be a tough task to go about dispatching her and maintaining my morals as a former cop and all-around good guy, Roxie is right. If ANYONE can do it, I can.
“And speaking of my beautiful companion...”
We see Roxanne walk back into the frame and sit down. She exhales and composes herself.
Roxanne: “Sorry, A.C., Stevie came down with a cold, and he's been hell on the sitter.”
A.C.: “I can imagine. Those hot weather colds can be murder.”
Roxanne: “Yeah. So hey...are you okay?”
Smith smiles. He takes Roxanne's hand in his once again, and meets her gaze with one of his own.
A.C.: “Never better, Roxie. Never better.”
The two begin talking again as the camera zooms out. Our waiter comes back with a tray full of food, and he begins serving A.C. and Roxanne as our scene fades to black.
A large, king-size bed sits in the middle of the room, opposite a 32-inch plasma TV that sits atop an antique dresser. Just inside the room is a sizable walk-in closet, and the glass doors to it are folded open. We see several shirts and ties hanging off the top, and below them are Smith and his two compadres, Bobby the Bavarian Man-Bitch and Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker.
Smith is wearing a white Brooks Brothers dress shirt, with blue pinstripes down the front and sides. It's tucked into a pair of black slacks, with a black belt held in place by a silver buckle that resides just over the zipper. He's decided on a solid blue tie, but there's one problem, and it's why A.C. isn't alone right now.
Stevie: “How the HELL do you go through 30-plus years of life without knowing how to tie a tie?!”
Smith cracks a slight smile, but a small hint of anxiety comes over his face as Stevie reaches up to tie a standard four-in-hand knot.
A.C.: “So how the hell do I go about this?”
Bobby: “Open doors, pull out her chair for her, carry on conversation. Essentially, DON'T be yourself.”
Bobby laughs at his one-liner, but Smith shoots him a look that would melt steel. Bobby shuts up, and Smith recomposes himself after a cursory eye-roll.
A.C.: “She said this was supposed to be a celebratory dinner. What the hell are we celebrating?”
Stevie: “Your win in the battle royal, maybe?”
A.C.: “That's the thing. I did good work, but I haven't won anything yet. Hell, I've got one more match before I even get back to where I was last year.”
Bobby: “Seriously, man, just relax and try to have a good time. You're out with a stunning woman, for Christ's sake, and you're going to Peter Luger Steakhouse, one of the best restaurants in the city. Plus, if you're getting THIS dolled-up for the date, imagine how SHE'S gonna look.”
Bobby whistles jokingly, and Stevie rolls his eyes as he finishes tying the tie. Smith, smiling, grabs a black, two-buttoned suit jacket with a blue handkerchief inside, and he begins adjusting the sleeves as he gives himself the once-over in the mirror.
Stevie: “There. You look good, boss. What is that, Oscar de la Renta?”
A.C.: “Armani. I've worn it maybe three times in the five years I've had it. Guess I better not dribble steak sauce on it, huh?”
Smith smirks. Satisfied at how he looks, he fastens the top button and fixes his short black hair.
A.C.: “Well, I guess that's it. I'm meeting her in Williamsburg in 45 minutes.”
Bobby: “Seriously, don't sweat it. You had dinner with her every night for two years when you were partners, and those went fine.”
A.C.: “Grabbing Chinese for a stake-out is a lot different than the best table at Luger's!”
Smith smiles, trying his best to keep himself loose but not entirely succeeding. He's been out of the dating game for a while, and he's not entirely sure what to expect.
Suddenly, we hear the pounding guitar chords of Neil Young's “Rocking in the Free World.” Smith goes into the front left pocket of his dress pants and pulls out his iPhone 5.
A.C.: “It's my agent. Wonder what he wants.”
Smith swipes the bottom of the screen with his right thumb before bringing the device to his left ear.
A.C.: “Hello?...Yeah, I know she said something...What?...I've kind of got something planned...Alright, alright, I'll check it out...Yeah, thanks...Bye.”
Smith puts the phone back in his pocket.
A.C.: “Apparently, I'm supposed to check something out online. Come on along, it's supposed to be one heck of a listen.”
The trio leaves the bedroom for the living room, gathering around Smith's Macbook Pro laptop as our scene fades to black.
-----
We didn't see what Smith and his buddies were watching, but as we fade up inside Peter Luger Steakhouse just outside Manhattan, it's clear something is affecting the Big Apple Asskicker. He's tense, and he continually goes back to a glass of fancy red wine that looks very small in his gargantuan right hand.
Opposite him at the table for two is Roxanne. As Bobby predicted, she looks absolutely stunning in a fuchsia dress that flatters her hourglass figure. She's the kind of woman who rarely has to try to look sexy in order to do so, which is what makes her dress, makeup, and jewelry look all the more eye-catching.
Both she and Smith are fingering at salads with what's probably the wrong fork. A waiter has made his way over every 10 minutes or so to top off the guests' drinks, and he comes back again.
Waiter: “More wine, sir?”
A.C.: “Yes, please.”
Waiter: “Pardon me, but you're not driving, are you?”
Roxanne: “No. We've got cars coming to get us.”
The waiter nods, pouring eight more ounces of wine into Smith's glass. The APW Xtreme Champion nods at the man, who exits.
Roxanne: “Is something the matter?”
A.C.: “Nah. Just nerves. And some other stuff.”
Smith takes a sip of his wine, letting the cherry flavors sit in his mouth for a second or two before forcing the drink down his throat.
Roxanne: “Don't be nervous. This is me. We're celebrating your win last week at the best steakhouse in your hometown. Just let your guard down and have fun.”
Smith smiles. He's trying, and hard, but he's never been the type to hide his emotions, and his jitters don't go away with Roxie's gentle encouragement.
Roxanne: “What's up?”
A.C.: “Roxie, I'll never, ever complain about you coming to New York. You know that. But I haven't won anything yet.”
Roxanne: “It's a start, though, right?”
A.C.: “Yes. Yes, it's a start, but it's nothing if I don't build on it this week when I head down to New Orleans.”
Roxanne: “Who's the lucky guy standing in your way?”
A.C.: “Girl. Lucky girl.”
A pause. Roxanne nods, realizing the magnitude of the situation and how it infringes on the morals Smith has practiced his entire life.
Roxanne: “That'd explain it. What are you going to do?”
A.C.: “About the only thing I can do: Try and advance in the tournament without compromising my morals. And that's a pretty fine line to walk.”
Another drink of the wine follows. This time, though, Roxie reaches over, her hand almost disappearing inside his.
Roxanne: “But if anyone can do it, you can. I know you, and I have faith in you.”
Smith allows himself to crack a smile, and we see him exhale just a bit.
Roxanne: “I mean, if you could win over Roger, you can probably move mountains and leap the Empire State Building!”
Now, both A.C. and Roxie allow themselves a laugh. Roxanne's smile looks even more beautiful in candlelight, and it's not hard to imagine every single man at the nearby bar craning their necks to get a good look at the gorgeous brunette at the best table in the restaurant.
A.C.: “He's not so bad. DID threaten to cut my balls off, however.”
Roxanne: “Oh, that's standard. I love that lug, but he thinks he's the toughest guy on the face of the earth when he tries to protect me.”
A.C.: “The six guys who haven't come back to his gym in the last week must have served as positive references for me, then.”
There's that smile again, one that could disarm any man with a heart. Smith, however, shakes his head.
A.C.: “She's crazy, too. Thinks I'm APW's answer to the antichrist.”
Roxanne: “What'd you ever do to HER?”
A.C.: “Well, I went to Fenway Park. And Hiroshima. And Nagasaki. And a few other places over my 11 years in the wrestling business. Other than that...”
Smith shrugs.
Roxanne: “Last I checked, it was a free country. What'd she want you to do, go to your hotel room and twiddle your thumbs until someone told you you could talk?”
A.C.: “Apparently. It's almost like...”
We suddenly hear another musical ring tone, that of, “Rock and Roll Woman,” by 1960's rock supergroup Buffalo Springfield (which, coincidentally, included a very young Neil Young). Roxanne rolls her eyes, but her expression changes when she looks at the screen of her iPhone.
Roxanne: “It's my sitter. Do you mind if I...”
A.C.: “By all means. Take as long as you need. I'll be right here.”
Roxanne gets up, beginning to talk into the phone as she goes to a nearby doorway. This leaves Smith alone at his table. He eyes the glass of wine a few feet away from him, but this time, he restrains himself from picking it up.
Visibly, it's easy to tell Smith has allowed himself to loosen up a bit, and not all of it is due to the liquid courage our waiter has provided for him. He's relaxed and measured, much more akin to the Big Apple Asskicker that has entertained a huge fan base for over a decade, and his trademark confidence has made its way to the surface.
A.C. sits up straight in his chair and locks his brown eyes on the camera stationed next to the table. The background noise in the restaurant lowers in volume from a buzz to a nearly-muted murmur, and because of it, we're able to hear the APW Xtreme Champion much more clearly as he opens his mouth to speak.
A.C.: “Roxanne is a beautiful woman, inside and out. I think I've got something special with her, and it makes me really happy to say that because there was a time where I didn't think I'd ever find someone who complemented me as well as she does. But she's smart, compassionate, and she knows how to loosen me up while still telling me what I need to hear, regardless of whether I WANT to hear it or not.
“Any number of things make her a phenomenal woman. Contrary to popular belief, and revisionist historians who bend the facts to whatever fits their story at that given moment, the facts are that the only women I've ever had problems with are ones who instigated situations and wouldn't let them go.
“Tracy...that BITCH...faked her own death and tried to cause mine for reasons I don't think I'll ever fully understand. Aubrey Parker thought she knew more than I did, was proven wrong time and time again, yet still conducted herself with the elitist, stuck-up behavior she carries with her to this day over on Asylum. I'll never forgive either of them for what they've done and how they've affected my life and career, and any rational human being in my shoes would feel the exact same way.
“Amy Zing had never been in that group. I'd known her for a while, and in limited dealings with her dating back to our time in American Championship Wrestling, I found her pleasant enough. We were never on opposite sides, never crossed paths, and I'd never considered her an enemy.
“Until now.”
Any smile Smith may have had on his face when talking about his new flame is long gone. On his face instead is his trademark intensity, one nobody else at Luger's this evening has.
A.C.: “Amy Zing stands between me and one of four tournament spots on the Overdrive brand for Test for the Best. Everyone in APW would use this situation differently, and in this case, Amy used it as a way to let everything hang out. I was never aware of any ill will she had for me before this week, but it's safe to say I'm not exactly on her Christmas card list.
“In her eyes, I'm a no-good, immature hack who serves as a menace to society. For whatever reason, how I've conducted myself in the past just rubs her the wrong way. I have that effect on some people, including a number of APW mainstays who fans have also rallied behind. Amy Zing isn't the first fan favorite to take this stance, she won't be the last, and that's not what's got me sitting here with an axe to grind.
“No. What bothers me most is how...WRONG...she is. About everything.”
Smith's head tilts to the side, and a slight chuckle comes out of his mouth as he accentuates every syllable of the last word. Shaking his head, he regains his glare and refocuses on the camera.
A.C.: “She's convinced that I'm going to exploit all the little things she has in her past that, to be quite honest, don't matter a damn bit heading into our match Thursday night. Her Playboy spread. The fact that she's Asian. Whatever stance China has on global affairs. That's not my game. Never has been, never will be.
“No, my game is much simpler than that, an outlook that has passed the test of time. I'm going to focus on the things that matter, the things that are still there when the bell rings. Her Playboy shoot fades into the background. Her misjudgments about my past do not. Her ethnicity fades into the background. Her general lack of quality wins do not. Her country's reputation fades into the background. Her thinking I give a damn about what she thinks of me, after all of her rambling? Her thinking those mind games she tried to play WORKED?
“That doesn't fade away. That becomes more pronounced, more motivation for someone who doesn't need it, more drive for the most driven man in all of professional wrestling to continue handling unfinished business from a year ago. What's lost to Amy Zing is that I don't care about everything she's done that makes her an easy target for everyone else. Why? Because what she did earlier this week made her a REALLY easy target for the only person that matters this Thursday night: Me.”
Our friendly waiter comes back into the shot.
Waiter: “Would you like more wine, sir?”
A.C.: “I'm alright. But could you please top my water off?”
Waiter: “Absolutely.”
The waiter grabs a nearby pitcher of ice water and fills Smith's empty glass, one that sits next to his red wine. Smith nods an acknowledgement, and the waiter leaves before A.C. resumes speaking.
A.C.: “Amy Zing came to APW a little while after I did. She's done the same thing she's always done. She's kicked around, winning some, losing some, and doing just enough to stay afloat. Credit to her, she did well and beat Michael Jennings in a qualifier for Test for the Best, something I wasn't able to do in my chance against C.J. Gates. That's the biggest win of her APW career, and it's not close.
“That's precisely the problem she has, though. What qualifies as the biggest win of her career doesn't even register as a blip on my radar screen. In almost six months as the Xtreme Champion, and for that matter in an 11-year career that's included six different reigns as a World Champion, I've done things that put Amy Zing's career resumé to shame.
“Send Michael Lively, an APW Hall of Famer, running to Asylum with his tail between his legs after three decisive victories, including one at RassleMania IX? Check. Topple Nathaniel Havok, one of the most hardcore wrestlers in history, at his own game? Check. Give fans a Match of the Year-caliber encounter with C.J. Gates one week, then outlast five other guys just as hungry as I am for a second chance at the Test for the Best championship? Check.
“That's just in the last few months, and everything I've done has pointed to this exact moment: Test for the Best, the tournament I came so close to winning last year. Maybe I got a horrible first-round draw and needed one more match to get back into the field, but as of now, I'm one of eight Overdrive megastars with a chance at winning this tournament, and I'd defy anyone to say I have less momentum now than I did when I almost shocked Terry Marvin and the wrestling world last year.”
Smith pauses, taking a sip from his newly-filled glass of water before carefully putting it back down on its coaster so as not to wreck the pristine, white tablecloth.
A.C.: “None of those facts are little anecdotes. None of those facts are little things people have brought up to try and bring Amy Zing down that mean absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. No. These are concrete, defined truths, ones that have meaning heading into this Thursday night's match in New Orleans. They're things that will play huge roles in determining who comes out on top this week and who advances to the Test for the Best bracket.
“If Amy Zing wants to concentrate on trips I made years ago, or on how I've dealt with people who have no bearing on our match this week, she can go right ahead. But in doing so, those little mind games she's playing go over like lead balloons. I learned a long, LONG time ago that you don't get ahead in this business by looking back at things that are irrelevant. You get ahead by doing what it takes to be better than your opponent on a given night, no more, no less.
“Does calling me an asshole give Amy Zing an advantage? How about pointing out my little sojourns to Fenway Park, Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, which were done on my own time and my own dime? Or trying to play up all the little things she's done, things that mean jack squat once that bell rings on Overdrive down in the bayou?
“No, of course it doesn't. And what gives ME the advantage is that I don't deal in those things. I keep my eyes on the prize, and I refuse to let any outside distractions interfere with my goals. Just based on what I've seen out of her so far this week, heh...it doesn't look like that sentiment is shared by Miss Zing.”
Smith smirks.
A.C.: “I can't comment on anyone who thinks Amy Zing is a longshot to advance in this tournament. Nobody knows better than yours truly that those opinions mean nothing, given everything I accomplished as an afterthought one year ago. She had a nice win over Michael Jennings, and I truly hope she uses that as a springboard down the line.
“This week, though? She's not in the right place to advance any further in this tournament. Everything she tried to do to get into my head failed and failed miserably. I haven't gotten worked up in shooting her points down here tonight, and for good reason. This week, I'm going to do what anyone who wins these tournaments does in the preliminary rounds: Act like I've been there before, go about my business, and get the job done.
“I don't know why, exactly, everything I do seems to stick in Miss Zing's craw. But it sure seems like I'm under her skin and in her head. That's a very dangerous spot for her to be in, and while it'll be a tough task to go about dispatching her and maintaining my morals as a former cop and all-around good guy, Roxie is right. If ANYONE can do it, I can.
“And speaking of my beautiful companion...”
We see Roxanne walk back into the frame and sit down. She exhales and composes herself.
Roxanne: “Sorry, A.C., Stevie came down with a cold, and he's been hell on the sitter.”
A.C.: “I can imagine. Those hot weather colds can be murder.”
Roxanne: “Yeah. So hey...are you okay?”
Smith smiles. He takes Roxanne's hand in his once again, and meets her gaze with one of his own.
A.C.: “Never better, Roxie. Never better.”
The two begin talking again as the camera zooms out. Our waiter comes back with a tray full of food, and he begins serving A.C. and Roxanne as our scene fades to black.
