A Line In The Sand

[Jay O'Brien]

[Start.]



BROWN: Jay, how are you?

[Before Jay can answer, Jack puts his arm round Jay’s shoulders, steering him to the counter.]

BROWN: Could I get a toffee nut blended crème Frappuccino, and...

[Jack looks at Jay expectantly. Jay looks around, spotting the fridge. He takes a bottle of mineral water.]

JOB: I’ll take this.

[Jack looks at Jay. Jay looks at Jack.]

JOB: What?

BROWN: No, nothing, that’s fine, we’ll take these.

ASSISTANT: Anything else for you, sir?

BROWN: No, that’s good, thank you.

[The girl behind the counter places the order into the till, and then turns to make Jack’s coffee. Jay reaches for his wallet – Jack stops him.]

BROWN: Easy. I’ve got these.

[Jack shrugs, and waits.]

BROWN: I’m a caffeine-a-holic, I really am. (laughs)

JOB: Can’t say I’m a big fan.

BROWN: Well, each to their own, I guess!

[Continually chirpy even when the girl asks for the overblown fee, Jack Brown leads Jay to a free table, where his coat and briefcase have been left to ‘guard’ it. Jack sits down, takes a sip of his frappuccino, and looks squarely at Jay.]

BROWN: No Andy today?

JOB: He’s still in bed.

BROWN: Ahh. Rough night?

JOB: I don’t know.

BROWN: (smiling) You and your brother... you don’t seem to have an awful lot in common.

[Jay smiles back, but it’s colder, less well rehearsed. Less interested, less fake.]

JOB: You said you’d double my appearance money?

BROWN: Right, right. That won’t be a problem.

JOB: You mind if I ask how?

BROWN: (laughing) Jay, you’ve got a lot to learn, young man! I’m an agent, it’s my job to convince the men upstairs to pay you more. Convince them that you’re worth it.

JOB: I know what an agent does, I want to know how. It’s already been agreed.

BROWN: Jay, you’re what we call a ‘hot commodity’. A good-looking, athletic young man who’s good at his trade. And you’re undefeated, right?

JOB: So far.

BROWN: And you’ve been put on a Pay-Per-View card just weeks into your tenure here in Alberta, correct?

JOB: Sure, but as far as I know, every active roster member is on it too, what’s your point?

BROWN: Ah, but that’s the difference between you and the rest of the newcomers – you haven’t been lumped into a 6 way just for appearances sake.

JOB: True. And neither has Johnny.

BROWN: Jay, let me put it this way – NAPW, Mr. Winchell, they’re keen on you. They like your style, they like your... ‘product’. They’re high on you, but at the same time, this is a business run by businessmen. You negotiated your own contract, your own appearance money? That’s great, really, but give me five minutes with the suits and I’ll get you a whole lot more. Like I said, I’ll double it. In fact, I’ll do it today.

JOB: Sounds good to me.

BROWN: Yes, but Jay... I need commitment from you too.

[And there’s that big old toothy smile again.]

JOB: Go on?

BROWN: Contracts, Jay, contracts. You work for me, and I’ll sort out your contracts, your money, everything. I’ll make sure you get paid what you deserve, and more. All I need from you is your signature...

[Jack Brown produces a contract from his briefcase. He marks an ‘X’ where Jay should sign, then hands that, and the pen, over to Jay.]

BROWN: Right here.

JOB: I should really read this.

BROWN: Read it now.

JOB: I...

BROWN: Trust me, Jay, it’ll be worth it.

JOB: Okay, answer me this: what’s your cut?

BROWN: Just the standard agent’s fee.

JOB: Which is?

BROWN: Twelve and a half percent. But that won’t eat into your money, I’ll make sure I get that on top.

[Jay shrugs, and skims over the contract. He seems convinced, if not all that bothered. He holds the pen.]

JOB: I’m only doing this because Andy recommended you, okay?

BROWN: (smiling) I thought he would.

[And with that, Jay signs the contract.]

BROWN: Beautiful! I’ll get right on it! I’ll head to HQ and I’ll give you the news later on! Double it, I swear, you’ll be laughing by the end of the day!

[All at once, like a whirlwind,Mr. Brown kisses Jay on the head, grabs his coat, briefcase and frappuccino and exits, leaving Jay with his bottle of mineral water all alone at the table.]

JOB: Call me...

[Cut.]

[Back.]

[Promo time.]

“You don’t need a week to hate me... Hate me now... Hate me cause I’m better than you”

[Jay grins.]

JOB: At last, someone who gets it. I’ve been waiting weeks, months, years for somebody to finally call me out. You want me to hate you right now? You don’t want me to wait a week? Well, Johnny boy, it’s your lucky today, because this is the first, last, and only time I will ever grant one of your requests. But don’t thank me too much – it was mostly your doing. I didn’t have much of a choice. My emotions can’t take it when somebody comes out and pisses all over my sport, makes it look stupid, makes it look pointless. My sport. And what makes it worse is, you don’t seem to even understand what it is you’re doing. Jeff Fox, that balding, fat, snivelling son of a bitch – maybe it was his idea. Maybe he talked you into it. Hell, he seems to have a lot of input on what you do and say, and hell, even think, eh, Johnny?

JOB: Jeff Fox, your advisor, Jeff Fox, your eyes, your ears, hell, your brains while you were there, resting it up in hospital... Jeff Fox, the voice inside your head, Jeff Fox, the guy that makes you stupid. You know how pathetic it is to sit there and let that slob tell you why I might have kicked you in the head last week? Hell, Johnny, there’s no MIGHT about it – I told you. Business answer not good enough for you? Well hell, that’s why I explained how I don’t like to share anything, not with you, not with anyone. That’s why I explained why I had to kick your ass, because you were being spoken about in the very same breath that I was. That’s why I explained all about how I hate that we are considered the two hottest newcomers.

[Cue a soundbyte of Jeff Fox.]

“Maybe he's trying to get in your head. Maybe he's scared. Maybe he's pissed off that he has to take a backwards step.”

[Jay claps slowly, once, twice, thrice.]

JOB: Get inside Johnny’s head? Scared? Annoyed about taking a step backwards? Bravo, Mr. Fox, that’s some grade ‘A’ assuming going on there, buddy, when I’ve already stated my real reasons. But Johnny, let me tell you this: I’m not ‘scared’ of you. You haven’t done anything worthy of mine, or anybody else’s, fear. Maybe if you’d laid up opponent after opponent, then perhaps. But you haven’t. Am I scared of losing altogether? Not scared, no, Johnny, but let’s face it, defeat is the most contemptible thing. There’s nothing worse than losing – let alone to somebody you know you’re better than. Like I know I’m better than you.

JOB: As for this “backwards step” shit? Jeff, you may like to convince Johnny that he’s below me because the rankings say so, I mean, maybe that’ll take the pressure off, but for a couple of guys who ‘do their research’, you should know that when I beat Krusty Kid Paul, he wasn’t even in the rankings. If this is a “step backwards”, then hell, facing that son of a bitch must’ve been like plummeting from the heavens, straight past earth and down to hell. But in my eyes? There’s no backwards for me, Jeff. No backwards. Every opponent I defeat, no matter how worthless or how much they suck, that’s one more digit in the win column – one more day I go undefeated – one small step nearer to my goal, the top of the mountain – and one less opponent I have to defeat to get there.

JOB: Which brings me to my list. Johnny,

[Another soundbyte, this time from Johnny Rotten himself.]

“Jay, I don't care about your list... Write my name down, scratch it out, hell make a voodoo doll of me and light me on fire, it doesn't matter... It won't change the outcome of this match.”

[Jay cracks his neck one way, then the other.]

JOB: Do you know how infuriating it is to have someone repeat what you’ve already said, and then try to use it against you? Let me refresh your memory...

[Now a soundbyte from Jay O’Brien talking about ‘the list’.]

“You know what this means? It means, you’re next. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not my desire to sit here and remind you about those “great” victories and pretend that means I’m going to win.”

[Jay is getting pissed. Again. It’s not that hard to wind him up, is it?]

JOB: What did I say there, Johnny? Huh? What was it? That I wasn’t going to pretend that list meant I was going to win? Want me to replay it again? Huh? No? Fine. I don’t need you to tell me anything about this list, Johnny. I don’t need you to tell me that it’s not worth shit, that it doesn’t hold some magical power that’s gonna make me win, because I know that – worse, I stated that myself! Trying to show me up on shit I already acknowledged? Good luck with that one, Johnny.

[Grin.]

JOB: Johnny... I’m a man of my word. When I say I’m better than you, I mean it. When I say I’m going to beat you, I mean it. And when I say I’m going to hate you, you better (BLEEP)ing believe that I mean it.

JOB: But it’s not for any of the reasons I just stated. It’s not because you tried to pull a fast one on me and twist my words against me. It’s not because of that fat, disgusting pig in your ear hole all day long. That parasite. It’s because of you, Johnny. And like I said before at the beginning of this promo, it may have been Fox’s idea, I simply don’t know. But you, Johnny, you and your persona is what I really hate.

JOB: Dressing up, Johnny? Dressing up? Becoming Johnny Rotten, becoming the character? You’ve probably already realized that with me, what you see is what you get. With me, you’re talking to and listening to the real deal – Jay O’Brien. I don’t have a pseudonym, or a stage name, or some stupid bull-shit get up I wear for the (BLEEP)ing camera. You probably already realize from your research that when I got pissed with Marcus Chamberlain, I did so because of his two jobs, his divided loyalties, and his ‘meh’ attitude to this business – and with Krusty Kid Paul, I couldn’t stand the way he presented himself, this slob, this pathetic piece of shit, this disgrace to the business, drinking, smoking, eating fast food, doing shit all to better himself – and now with you, this. Once again, an opponent who makes this business look like a piece of shit.

JOB: I said before, I only deal with facts, Johnny. You, you seem to have a problem here. Fact and fiction – one minute you’re Jaysen Taylor, then you’re Johnny Rotten, then you’re the dressed up Johnny Rotten? Hell, you’re doing a promo, hell, better get in character. Well Johnny? Jaysen? Listen to me. I’m going to help you distinguish fact and fiction.

JOB: You see, come Cold Snap, when “Johnny Rotten” is out there getting his ass kicked for being a fictitious son of a bitch, I want you to know that it’ll be Jaysen Taylor that I’m really beating the crap out of. That’s right, Jaysen, you want me to hate you now? You want this (BLEEP)ing thing to be personal now, because I superkicked you at Action? Then (BLEEP) Johnny Rotten... Let’s not go half-ass on this thing – I want Jaysen.

[Out.]