"Fah-kin sheeet," he chuckled under his breath, finding himself rather clever for using such a funny Adam Sandler line at this rather un-hilarious time. Quite frankly he was annoyed as hell at the stupid cameras and microphones being shoved in his face. And anyway, this was such a stupid car. They asked such stupid questions. They acted so....stupid.
Chris took it all in stride, showing usual grace under fire and trying to stay hip, daddio. What was all the pomp for anyway? It's only Chris Jericho, the biggest free agent in pro-wrestling, signing with the biggest "sports-entertainment" company there ever was.
Try getting Paul Wight in a Geo Metro with WWF.com, a camera, a microphone, and millions of people watching. Hell. Try getting Paul Wight in a Geo Metro.
The ride was full of questions. "So where did 'Lionheart' come from anyway?" "What do you think of Degeneration X?" "What do you think of WCW now?" Lucas had better be glad he was in the back seat, otherwise he would have been thwapped by now.
All he wanted to do was take the publicity shots and talk to Vince. That was really all they said he'd do, they never mentioned it to him that all this would be on the website. Of course it looked good for the gimmick, the big shot from WCW grandiosely making his way into less shark-infested waters, Jesus, every SNEEZE should be caught and examined by all the little smart marks on the web. It's Chris f'n Jericho, for God's sake!
He thought this as he tried to beat down the nervous feeling he got right before entering the "Inner Sanctum", or Vince's office. No need to feel nervous. It's all said and done now, this is the easy part. Yet then again, this was Vince McMahon. THE Vince McMahon who he would be spending the next few years with. The Vince McMahon who was going to love him, push him, fuss over him, market him, use him, squeeze every last dollar out of him and when his heat was gone, send him packing back to Atlanta. Chris knew it and knew right then what was making him feel so nervous. The fact that Vince cared, but yet he didn't even care.
The damned cameras catching his every move didn't make it any better. He managed to look cool and calm on camera, but when they left finally, he settled, almost sinking down lower in his seat. Jim Ross and Vince McMahon sat staring at him, smiling at their cash cow. They didn't speak. As usual it was up to Chris to initiate the conversation. What could he say? Something funny? Witty? Pull a non-televised shoot and tell them what they wanted to hear? Quick, they're looking at you. Say something. Speak. SPEAK!
Chris Jericho cleared his throat.
"Can we get you something to drink?" Vince asked this, almost too nicely. The thought of both Vince and good ol'JR getting up and BOTH pouring him a drink, then hand in hand delivering it to his seat almost made him laugh.
"I'm fine, thanks."
"Good," Vince said. "I'm not going to say much, now. I'm just glad to see you here. You're going to do wonders with our big family, but you must know this already. And just this...have fun, Chris."
Wow, that was painless. Of course there would be more later but that didn't matter now, because Vince had actually shut up without someone interrupting him or hitting him with a chair or a stunner. Yes, this was actually possible, and now there was proof. Vince was easy though, as Chris would find out. It'd be the boys in the back that he'd find more of a challenge from.
The Initiated - 2 "Chris Does Conneticut"
"So have you been looking for someplace around here?" Vince continued to play the role of "interested daddy type character" very nicely.
Chris nodded, already used to the fact that sports-entertainment people usually had a little home-away-from-home hidden in Conneticut, just for the sake of business. When he left the 'rasslin business, he left behind his little place in Atlanta. He'd kept the home in Clearwater, as he knew he'd need it later just to hide out and keep his sanity sometime soon. "I've been looking for somewhere close."
"It's a good idea to get yourself something small. Nothing too big or flashy, you problably won't be spending all your time here anyway. How's Florida?"
Chris shrugged and grinned. "It's still there."
JR all of a sudden got a good laugh out of this. Vince followed up with a good hearty chuckle. Damn, wonder what he'd do when a statement was actually *funny*?
"No, it's actually quite nice," Chris said then, trying to talk over the laughter and feeling a little weird doing so. "Really pretty.."
"Ah yeah," said Vince, composing quickly. "It's gorgeous down there. We've got good living here too, I'll get someone to show you around if anyone isn't too busy. I'm taking it you haven't been around Conneticut much?"
"Not on Turner time, really. I've been through a few times as a kid. I like it here."
"You'll love it here. Honest." Vince stood, signaling he was done playing daddy now. Chris stood and shook his hand, feeling a little relieved he was being formally kicked out so more pressing matters could take place. For a fleeting second he wondered if Vince was so hearty-fake to all the Canadians.
They said their goodbyes and JR followed Chris out of the Inner Sanctum. "Well son, it's good to have you home. We'll be keeping close here so let's keep them formalities at a minimum, huh?"
"Yes sir," Chris said before thinking about what he said. Looking around the corner, he noticed the WWF.com people ready to escort him off to the next publicity shot. All of a sudden he couldn't wait for Monday.
The Initiated - 3 "Home Sweet Hell"
The next few days would fly by pretty quickly, almost as quickly as Chris flew back to Clearwater. He was assured countless numbers of times by the "office" that he was already over and he hadn't even been on television yet. Well thank God for the Internet.
He left with a lot more confidence and a plane ticket for Chicago, with the instructions to "have a nice weekend. See you Monday."
The southern Florida heat seemed to revitalize him even more as he made the drive home from the airport, relaxing knowing there were no cameras and no Lucas in the backseat asking him about the Lionheart name. For some odd reason he couldn't wait to get home and....check his e-mail. The damn thing was full every 3 days, and he knew there would be questions from every starry-eyed matrat and every 8 year old "internet reporter" asking him "R U GIONG 2 B XCALIBRE WHEN U GET TO WWF???"
First off there were telephone messages. In the dim light coming from the sunset outside, Chris spotted the little red light blinking and hit the button, listening to his goofy voice shouting "ARE YOU READY BAY-BAY??? LEAVE A MESSAGE!" Two from Daddio, one from Lance, one from some overexcited fan that just happened to find his phone number and was leaving a message asking if it was THE Chris Jericho, and two more that caught his interest. A low voice. A soft voice. A girl's voice. A familiar voice.
"Chris, it's me. If you're there, please pick up. I need to talk to you."
A beep, a pause, and then the second.
"Chris, I don't want to have to talk to you like this. I just need to talk to you. There isn't much time for me to talk now and I need to.....oh, fuck. Fuck it." There was another pause, and he thought he heard a faint choke and a sob. "It's over, Chris. Please don't call me back. That's all I wanted to say. I wish I could have told you somehow else, but shit, there's someone else. There's been someone else for a while now and I didn't know how to tell you. Please don't call me back. Just let it end like this. Maybe it was supposed to end like this..ok?"
There was another beep, but Our Hero CJ didn't hear it. All he heard was the faint humming of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the sound of the A/C, and the ringing in his ears. The first thing that went through his mind was how the hell he could have ever dated someone that was stupid enough to break up with him OVER THE DAMN TELEPHONE. Hell, not even the telephone! The ANSWERING MACHINE! Oh shit. At least it wasn't a Fed-Ex.
He didn't even stop to think about who the lucky guy could have been, or even to remember the fact that she'd asked him twice not to call, or how just as tacky it was to call her now and argue over the phone, which was inevitable. Chris picked up the telephone and sped-dialed.
A bleary voice of a tired girl answered. "Hello?"
"What was that all about?" Chris realized how ignorant this sounded as soon as the words left his mouth. Stupid response #2. Why was he having such trouble thinking before speaking lately, anyway?
"Oh fuck. I told you not to call, didn't I?"
"It's a little late for that, here I am. Should I come over there?"
"No, just let it end, Chris."
Maybe he should have. It wasn't that long of a relationship anyway, but damn it she was a good kisser. "I think I should come over. I really do. I'm going to come over there and we'll talk."
A pause. A sigh. A deep voice murmuring in the background. Anyone else may have put the puzzle together, but....
"Should I come over there?" Stupid response #3, you're out.
There was a click on the other end and Chris let the dial tone compete with the ringing in his ear for a moment, then he hung up.
Now more than ever he couldn't wait to get that place in Conneticut. Now more than ever he couldn't wait to get away for a little while. Now more than ever he couldn't wait for Monday.
"The Initiated" - 4: "Departure and Arrival"
Our Hero CJ would get his wish soon, as the weekend passed by uneventfully, no calls from his newly established ex, no word from Conneticut saying that Titan Tower had exploded and killed everyone in a 200 mile radius and he wouldn't have to go to Chicago after all. However, something inside him sort of wished that was the case. A teeny part of him just wanted to stay home and mope, sit around in his underwear and eat Cherry Garcia Ice Cream all weekend and put "Monster Ballads" on loop just so he could cry twice on every song.
But he couldn't. He had to go to Chicago and bring down the house. All of a sudden there was a hell of a lot to do and not much time to do it. He had to throw a few things in the luggage, get happy, get ready bay-bay, and get the hell out of Clearwater to get a clear head. At least for a little while; Chris knew he wouldn't be leaving Florida forever. There were a few good memories after all, and plenty of good bars and friends. However, nickel beers and guitar buddies couldn't help him drown his sorrows at this particular time. There was work to do.
So he left his comfy little house in Florida that Sunday afternoon, that hot August day, for all points north.
He wouldn't return for a very long time, only for a few hours to pack up more things, anyway. But that's foreshadowing.
That lovely Monday morning rolled around and Our Hero rolled out of yet another hotel bed and on his feet. He'd been to Chicago plenty of times, and even stayed in this Hilton plenty of times, but he had never felt as recharged as he did now. It almost *was* like a new life, however pathetic it may be. It was when Chris was in the shower and heard a knock at the door that he realized he hardly spoke to anyone when he checked in the night before. Chee, hope they didn't take it the wrong way. It'd be a bitch to come in looking like someone from WCW, wouldn't it?
Forgetting modesty, CJ quickly stepped out of the shower and threw a towel around himself, dripping every step to the door. Behind it could have been any number of crazed morons with a gun or knife or bomb strapped to their waist. He peered through the keyhole and saw something that momentarily scared the shit out of him...
A big set of smiling Canadian teeth. Hello there, Mr. Copeland.
The Initiated - 5 "Oh Cana-duh"
Chris opened the door and there was all of his old buddy Adam, standing there grinning as if they'd spoken to each other in the past three days. CJ actually hadn't spoken to him in a few weeks, only to say as he had said to everyone else how happy he was to be coming to the WWF. Chris stood there for a moment wondering whether he should speak or keep his mouth closed for fear of saying something incredibly dumb, as had been his habit for the past few days. Adam took care of that quickly by taking his place.
"Were you in the shower?"
"I was, yeah. It's okay, so long as you aren't some screaming female fan." Chris turned and walked back into the room, making a sweeping gesture as to invite his friend in.
"I'm not staying long. I'm just inviting you to work out with me and some of the guys."
Chris turned to face him, perked. Working out! Woooohoo! "What time?"
"In about ten minutes. Meet me in the lobby, huh?" Thank you, Mr. Short Notice. CJ gave him the benefit of the doubt, he was trying to be nice, however spontaneous the niceties were.
"Sure," he said, walking back to the door with the grinning Canadian. "So I'll see you in fifteen?"
"No, we'll be down there in ten," said Adam, standing outside the door.
"Yes, but I'll see you in fifteen," shot back Our Hero, with a Canadian grin of his own.