Barking orders from ragid running production staff and idle chatter from those hanging out backstage resonate around the faint background noise of an electric crowd letting their voices be heard from inside the arena.

Suddenly everyone standing around quiets as the arena's brick wall foundation rattles and hums and what was faint has now become almost deafening.

Moments after the arena noise subsides and the backstage craziness returns, a different silence strikes the immediate area.

The faces of those around grow from busy and aggressive to worried and downright frightened as Curtis Slamm rips down the hall, pushing through and away anyone in his path.

Slamm throws open the locker room door as a panicked and frustrated Janelle, cradling the Intercontinental Title on top of a pile of papers shoved into a portfolio, all the while trying to hold onto a bottled water, scurries in behind him.

The locker room door flings open and Slamm charges at the first thing he sees and with his good leg kicks over a filled up to the top aluminum trash can.

Trash flies everywhere stopping Janelle from following any further but not Slamm. He drudges right through the mess, picks up the long wooden sitting bench, and flips it over.

As he screams at the top of his lungs he lunges forward and bellies over in agonizing pain, gripping down on the bandaged portion of his other leg.

He claws at the ACE bandage trying to pull it clean off but only fraying the seams and cutting up his fingers.

Janelle finds an alternate route to get around the trash and hurries over to him.

Slamm punches the nearest locker door, spins around, and falls flat onto his ass, gripping at his head in frustration.

"I just want to be alone right now."

Janelle leans back trying to decide if she should reach out or just stand there for a moment until he regroups.

Slamm looks up.

”I mean what I said, just leave me alone.”

”Come on Curtis I know you’re upset right now but we’ll get your leg looked at by Doc Myers. He'll fix it up in no time. Then we’ll go after our rematch.”

”Our?”

Slamm stands up.

”There is no “our” in this equation. Last time I checked I was the one out there when I got stabbed! Where were you when that freak's skanky ho-bag came racing to her man’s side, she weighs all of 50 lbs. soaking wet.”

”You are talking crazy. I am not part of the talent roster. I don’t go out there and throw down. That’s why I got Shane out there.”

”Oh yeah, like he doesn’t have an agenda.”

”You know what? I’m going to let you sit in here and cool off. Then when you are ready to come talk to me rationally, client to business manager, then we can talk about where we to go from here.”

Janelle storms out.

Slamm jumps up and as he does his leg buckles. He manages to stay upright but when he puts enough pressure on the injured leg that it makes him cringe. In frustration he again punches the nearest locker.



The glass patio door slides open and Janelle steps through. She is dressed a bit more casual than her usual business suits. She is in a long flowing floral pattered sundress, her hair is pulled back with a stylish headband, and her face is glowing but more with a natural beauty and not the usual manufactured make-up look she favors.

She scans around the living room as she sets her purse onto a dining chair right by the patio door.

She takes a few steps in and peeks down the long hallway.

"Curtis?"

Janelle walks down the hallway. She notices a mirror hanging on the wall and stops. She wipes around mouth, pulls off her headband, and shakes loose her hair. She messes with it for a moment, checks it, and then continues down to Slamm's bedroom.

With the door open Janelle leans in and a big smile creeps across her face.

"Hey."

Janelle drifts into the bedroom and wanders up to Slamm who is riding a stationary bike in a tank top and gym shorts, gushing in sweat.

Slamm fiddles with the control panel, slows up, grabs his towel, and wipes himself down as he gets off.

"Looks like the leg is feeling pretty good?"

"Yeah, Doc Myers says I was lucky it missed all the important muscles and tendons. He slapped some antibotics and gave me a few stitches."

"So are we going after a rematch?"

Slamm wanders over to his desk, throws his towel over his chair, sorts through various piles of paperwork, produces a manufactured check, and wanders close to Janelle.

"I'm sorry Janelle but right noe I think it's best if we part ways."

"Curtis if this is about Shane..."

"...it's not about Brandon. It's about...it's about...at this stage of my career not really needing a manager. I have an accountant and a lawyer."

"They don't handle the day to day operations Curtis. You need someone to do that."

"I'll be fine, it's not like I haven't done it on my own before."

Tears well up in Janelle's eyes and as hard as she fights them back, they roll down the side of her face.

"Come on Janelle, don't do this."

"Don't do what? Cry? Why? Did Tori never cry? Of course she didn't!"

Slamm tries to reach out but Janelle quickly snatches her arm away.

Slamm is beside himself.

"You knew I'd never be like her, but stupid me, I thought maybe you'd like me for me. She is gone Curtis. TORI IS DEAD! She has been for a real long time now."

Janelle turns her back to Slamm and then quickly spins right back around.

"I know you loved her, more than anything, and I know what you went through but did you ever think what I went through? Who was there to pick you up at the prison? Not your lawyer, not your accountant. Did you ever think about how long I waited? I just kept working, thinking maybe this is the day he can finally look at me and not compare me to her. That will never happen, right?"

Slamm looks away.

Janelle leans toward him, trying to regain eye contact.

Slamm doesn't look at her. He extends his hand out and pushes the check in her direction.

"Take it, you earned it."

Janelle spits on the check and storms out.


Someone is knocking on the front door, almost hammering through it.

Janelle rushes out of her bedroom, frantically tying closed her silk bed robe. She is a mess, having just woken up. She hurries down the hall to her front door.

She opens the door and standing there in a black t-shirt with a picture of a middle finger on it and the words, "Mime This!", jeans, and his signature Oakleys is Curtis Slamm.

"Um, Curtis, what are you doing here?"

"We have a plane to catch."

"There is no 'we' anymore, you made that perfectly clear and I would ask you to respect the decision you made and leave right now."

"I'm a fucking idiot, okay? Look I need you Janelle. If I have to depend on Shane Brandon I'm in trouble. What I mean is, having him in my corner is a nice thing, you made that happen, only you could have. I know him though and sooner or later it will get ugly between us. It always has and it always will. So I need somebody I can trust. No, let me rephrase that. There is (take off his shades) only one person I need, and that's you. It would be you, even if circumstances we're different because you are the difference I need. I'll deal with that glorified clown and his potato sack girlfriend in the ring but outside of the ring you got my back and that has done nothing but got me a title, a shot at the title, and even a psuedo friendship with the one guy in this industry who makes my skin crawl. Tori couldn't do that. Look I'm not going to pretend that I don't miss Tori everyday, because I do. I will never stop missing her but it's YOUR business savy and YOUR friendship I need now. The reason I tried to cut our ties has nothing to do with Tori, or Brandon, what is about to happen is going to get real ugly and I know I can't protect you."

"You don't have to. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, it took me some stupid time alone to realize that but I'm here, and if you will be my Manager again then we need to get to New York ASAP. I want to do that interview you set up and then we'll head out to London and get ready to do what we do best, outshine everyone on the big stage at the big show."

"Okay, I'm in but let me go get myself together."

Janelle opens the door and Slamm walks in. As she turns to walk back to her bedroom, Slamm grabs her by the wrist and turns her around.

Janelle smiles, rushes into his arms and the two share a few moments in a hug.

Janelle hurries off.

Slamm wanders into her living room noticing a framed picture sitting on the mantle over her fireplace. He picks up and chuckles.

Janelle and Slamm are all dressed up. The two are all smiles while each has a hand on on a plaque that reads "Comeback Wrestler of The Year".

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