CHAPTER 32
Cats, everywhere. How could one town have so many cats?
Joey sat alone in the rear of a black Lincoln Town Car with maroon plush interior. In the front seat, the driver, an obese, bald, white man who wore gaudy rings on every finger, continually fiddled with the air conditioner but said nothing. They were traveling toward the ocean.
“Joey, I want to meet you in person and discuss your contract,” Max had said the day before. On the phone, Max’s voice was tame and soothing, a far cry from the tyrannical persona he presented to the world. “Can you come to my house in Key West tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” Joey had said.
“Yes, if you’re available. I’d like to move on this quickly. My assistant can give you your flight information and instructions for when you land. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” The conversation with Max had lasted less than five minutes, during which time Joey had agreed to talk about a new contract with Revolution and visit Max in person right away. Max’s assistant, a woman with a syrupy “May-I-help-you?” voice, came on the phone and gave Joey a series of confirmation numbers and flight information. She knew which gate he needed to be at and at what time. She was prepared to arrange transportation for Joey to and from the Dallas/Fort Worth airport if need be. When Joey hung up he realized these tickets had been purchased before Max had made the phone call. People apparently didn’t say no to this man.
“So, what did he say?” Jade asked.
Joey recounted the entire conversation for her. She was excited for him. They talked about what Joey should expect, what he should demand (they agreed he should take whatever he was offered), and what life might be like wrestling for Revolution. Through all of this, they didn’t talk about the fact that Max had not acknowledged Jade. In Joey’s mind, it was only a matter of time. Jade was too important in the wrestling world not to get a contract with Revolution, regardless of her history with Duke, Jumbo, and Goliath. Besides, if Joey had his foot in the door, he could swing it open for her.
Twenty hours removed from the phone call, and Joey was in Key West, having been picked up at the airport by this big bald fellow who drove him in comfort through this island city of cats.
“Are there always so many cats out?” Joey asked the driver.
“People say it was Earnest Hemingway brought them cats. More of them than people in Key West.” The driver had a shrill accent that reminded Joey of his days in the Southeast Wrestling League.
Joey believed it. He had been surprised to see a stray cat meandering about the baggage claim at the airport, and equally surprised to see that everyone ignored it. But the real shock didn’t happen until the driver led him out the front door of the airport. Cats in every garbage can. Cats under your feet. Cats chasing birds in the medians. Cat carcasses on the road. Calicos, Tabbies, Black Cats, Persian Cats, Siamese Cats, even Hairless Cats.
Ten minutes in the car, and Joey felt like he knew Key West. Trees, ocean, condos, and cats. Despite the latter, this was a nice place. The weather was breezy and temperate, with the salty mist of oceanfront property. It was a suitable place for Max Zeffer’s vacation home.
The driver pulled into the driveway of a two-story house that backed into an ocean cliff. The house was one of four along the overlook, each separated by a near-jungle of underbrush and palms, each worth millions.
The driver opened Joey’s door for him. Standing up, Joey could see behind the house, where a steep hill of rock and sand led directly to the beach.
“I’m to wait here, Sir. You go on ahead. I’ll see you when you’re done,” said the driver.
Joey wondered if he was supposed to tip him. He reached into his pocket.
“Mr. Zeffer has it all covered, Sir.” The driver gently nodded his head as he spoke. “You just go on ahead.”
“Thanks,” said Joey. A flagstone path led from the driveway to the front porch, which was held up by two marble pillars. A crystal chandelier hung above the stoop. A wall of glass surrounded the mahogany front door. Joey exhaled before he reached for the doorbell, realizing that, even though he was a media superstar, this sort of big money still intimidated him.
A young woman dressed in black answered the door. She had olive skin, dark hair, deep blue eyes, and breasts that most certainly belonged in the world of pro wrestling.
“Hello, Joey. We’ve been expecting you,” she said. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you,” said Joey as he entered the first room and consciously forced himself not to gape. The giant picture windows on the front wall were matched on the opposite side of the house, allowing a full view of the ocean from just inside the front door. The front room was completely open space, broken only by a winding staircase that lead to a loft and a catwalk, likely leading off to the bedrooms.
“I’m Vicky,” said the woman. “I’m a writer for Revolution.”
Joey shook her hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
“Max is in the office,” said Vicky. “Follow me.”
Joey followed with pleasure, for when Vicky turned to lead the way, it became apparent why this writer for the company was with Max at his beach mansion. Vicky’s legs, long, bronze, muscular works of art, were the type of genetic gift that made life downright unfair. As Joey followed those legs, visible in their entirety between a short black skirt and diamond-studded black pumps, stomping on the hardwood floor in a gait that belonged on a Paris runway, he guessed that Vicky was probably as skilled a writer as he was a lion tamer.
The office was a converted bedroom at the end of the hall off the main room. Max was sitting in a leather chair at the back of the room, behind a round table with a black marble top. Two identical chairs to the one he sat in occupied the table’s perimeter. A small pile of papers and two ballpoint pens were on the tabletop. Max’s chair was turned to face away from the room. He was talking on the phone.
“No, no. The Internet leak was my idea,” he said to someone. “We’re going to start giving out useful information to whichever of those kids is doing the most for us...I know it’s odd, but listen, you’ll find we think differently around here. Anyway, we’ll talk more on this later. I have an appointment waiting...Alright...Bye.”
Max hung up the phone and turned in his chair.
“Max, this is Joey Hamilton,” Vicky announced.
Max stood up and shook Joey’s hand. “Joey Mayhem,” he said, correcting Vicky. “It’s good to meet you in person, Joey. Please sit down.”
Joey sat in one of the empty chairs. From his seat, the ocean was visible out the window. The motion of the surf behind Max’s head made for a creepy serenity.
“Vicky, our guest has nothing to drink,” said Max.
“Oh, gracious...I’m so sorry Joey. Can I get you something?”
“No thank you, I’m just fine,” said Joey.
“Nonsense,” said Max. “Vicky, bring us two glasses and a pitcher of iced tea.”
“Where do I get a pitcher of iced tea?” she said nervously. Joey wanted to tell them both he really didn’t want anything to drink, that Vicky was fine and could go, but he thought it best to remain silent.
“There’s a pitcher in the cupboard, a tea-maker on the counter by the stove, and there should be tea bags in the pantry,” said Max, his voice a warning that she was not to ask anymore questions.
“I really don’t need anything to drink thank--”
“No, no, you’re my guest, Joey. Vicky doesn’t mind at all.”
As if in concurrence, Vicky was already clopping down the hallway. Joey could tell just by listening to her gait that she wasn’t the type of person who normally played hostess. ‘None of my business,’ he thought to himself.
“Well, Joey, how was your flight?” said Max.
“It was fine,” said Joey.
“And the drive in? Bobby got you here okay?”
“The drive in was fine.”
“How about the neighborho
od? Not a bad place to come for a meeting, huh?”
“It’s certainly very nice. You have a very beautiful house.”
“Thank you. I own all four of these houses on the strip. This one’s mine. The other three are available to my wrestlers. I believe we all need a nice play to go and get away, especially in our business. Hell, you know what it can be like as a celebrity. Sometimes you just need some privacy.”
“Certainly,” said Joey.
“Well Joey, as we’ve discussed, I’d like you to wrestle for me. The lawyers have the contract all written up. I’d like to go over it with you.” Max pushed the pile of papers from the center of the table toward Joey.
Joey looked at page one. “This contract serves to bind the undersigned...” His mind raced back three months to his contract signing with the GWA. That signing took place in Philadelphia in a small office on the third floor of GWA headquarters. The office had been packed with lawyers and clerks. Duke smoked a cigar the entire time, filling the cramped space with a dirty mist. By the end of that meeting, Joey was ready to accept whatever Duke offered, just to get out of the stuffy room.
“You’ll notice this isn’t standard, Joey. Today you’re only signing up for your first gig,” said Max.
“Mr first gig?” Joey wondered if he needed an agent here with him.
“That’s right.” Max flipped over the first page of the contract. “This is how we’re handling everyone coming over from the GWA. Think of it as a short audition for the starring role, no strings attached. I want you to do some promo work for me on Monday night, some production work during the week, and then wrestle for me next weekend in Montreal. After that show’s done, we’ll sit down again, with the lawyers and agents and whatnot, and sign you to your long-term contract.”
“Okay,” said Joey, with hesitation. It seemed odd that he was flown all the way to Florida–
“I can tell you think this is weird,” said Max. “This doesn’t seem standard to you, and you think it’s strange that I’d bring you here just to talk about one show.”
“Yeah, I guess,” said Joey.
Max opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Vicky’s clomping feet signaled her return. She came in and placed two glasses on the table. She put a pitcher of ice water between them. Max looked at the water, then looked at Vicky.
“Your tea machine doesn’t work,” she said.
“It does so,” said Max.
“Thank you Vicky. This will be fine,” said Joey.
Max curled up his lips and furrowed his brow. He looked like he was pondering the fate of the world. Then he released whatever was held in his mind with a sigh and a waving of his hand, as if brushing off Vicky’s failure to bring tea as the cruel hand that fate had dealt him.
“You’re welcome,” Vicky whispered to Joey as she left.
Max shook his head, then refocused on the contract.
“Anyway, Joey, let me alleviate your concerns,” he said. “First off, like I said, we’ve decided to do this with everyone from the GWA. Everyone gets a short-term contract, six months or less, some day-to-day. The idea is that we’re bringing in lots of new people all at once, and we know that some of them aren’t going to work out. Plus, some of them are going to deserve to be on the pay scale with our top performers. But we won’t know that until we’ve worked with them for a bit.
“In your case, I’m very confident that things are going to work out marvelously. I am certain you’ll fit in perfectly with our company and do great things here. I want you to wrestle my next pay per view, Apocalypse, in Montreal, then we’ll sit down and get you a contract. Of all the GWA wrestlers, you’re the one I’d feel confident signing right away. But, to be fair to everyone, you get an audition like everyone else. It’s in part to protect you. Unlike your former employer, here we’re very sensitive to the politics of the wrestling locker room. I watch out for my guys, Joey. I see you as my World Champ some day, but not until I’ve got the locker room ready to accept you, and the first step in getting the locker room to accept you is to treat you the same as everyone else.”
“Okay,” said Joey, nodding his head, still hesitant, but pleased with what Max was saying.
“And it’s not like this first contract is going to be small potatoes either. You’ll be wrestling at our next pay per view, which I expect to be the most successful in wrestling history to date. Our ratings are up, the wrestling world is buzzing with news of our buyout, and everyone is going to be pumped to see GWA wrestlers and Revolution wrestlers on the same show. I fully expect your payout on the Apocalypse show to be six figures if you sign this contract.”
Joey made sure to contain himself. He didn’t want an errant smile or wide-eyed twitch to give away his excitement. A six-figure payout was the kind of real money he had expected (but never made) when the GWA signed him. And perhaps this would just be the first of many. It took only a second for Joey’s mind to race through pictures of a new house, a new car, a new wardrobe, financial help for his brother, a retirement-fund...
“Alright, let’s go through this,” Joey said.
For the next half-hour Max and Joey read through the contract. Max explained the language, pointed to where Joey needed to initial, and solicited questions. Joey initialed sections covering liability of Revolution if he was hurt while performing, the nature of the agreement between Revolution and him, his willingness to follow the instructions of performance to the best of what can reasonably be expected, and his financial payout. Joey would do some production work for Revolution for a promotional package that would appear on Riot, he would show up on Riot to hype his upcoming pay per view match, and he would wrestle at Apocalypse. He was guaranteed at least ten thousand dollars for performing at Apocalypse. His likely take would be far greater. He would get one percent of the gross TV revenue, and two percent of the gross gate sales.
“I’m not lying Joey when I say that we can expect at least 800,000 buys on this pay per view and a sold out arena. Obviously, that’s not guaranteed in the contract, but I’m being square with you, that’s what we’re looking at. At forty dollars a pay per view buy, and fifty dollars a ticket, your take would be close to half a million dollars.”
Half a million dollars for one night’s work. Clearly, this was the company to be working for. Joey could have expected to make the big money in the GWA some day, but never half a million dollars in one night. The highest-paid GWA wrestler, Goliath, made between two and three million dollars a year, half of that from merchandise sales. The rest of that money was earned in a grueling, four nights a week, fifty-one weeks a year schedule of wrestling across the country, covering your own expenses.
“Why do you expect so many people to buy this pay per view?” said Joey.
“Well Joey, how long have you been waiting for GWA stars and Revolution stars to land on the same show?” said Max.
He was right. This was an attraction that had been a long time coming. But there was only a week to hype and build for it. How could anyone be prepared? How could they build up a card for the fans? What would be the main event?
“Who would I be wrestling?” Joey asked.
“Ah, the big question,” said Max. “Let’s finish up this contract and then we’ll talk about what’s planned for you. In honesty, it’s not finalized yet. The card depends greatly on you signing a contract with me. If I have you locked up for the night, I’ve got a super-card in mind. If I don’t have you, well, I’d have to go with Plan B.”
Max turned to the last page. “So, here we are. The print on this page just explains what your signature means. It is the final seal on everything you’ve initialed. It’s your final agreement that the contract is solid, as written. Basically, this last page is your last chance to think it over. You’ve initialed your understanding of everything. Now you just need to sign.”
Max drew an X on the first line, where Joey was to put his signature.
Joey put his pen to the page. The ballpoint pressed against the papyrus. Smooth black marble was directly underneath this last, solitary page. Half a million dollars awaited his signature.
He lifted the pen without signing.
“I’d really like to know who I’m wrestling,” said Joey.
Max drew back and inhaled, his impatience palpable.
“Like I said Joey. The decision isn’t made yet. The minute you sign this, I’ll be ready to put together the card.”
“You said you have a super-card in mind. Who’s in mind for me to wrestle? There are so many options between the two companies.”
“Joey. I’d like you to sign before we discuss any of that. Show me you’ll do what we ask of you here. Sign the contract. Remember, I’m offering you hundreds of thousands of dollars for one night.”
Joey put the pen back on the paper to sign. It seemed strange that Max wouldn’t even divulge a clue. But what was there to hide? It was wrestling. For a half million dollars, Joey would do anything he asked.
So why wouldn’t Max just tell him what it was? Max had to know that Joey would sign even if the work was undesirable. The money was just too much.
“I’m sorry Max,” he said, putting the pen down. “I’m not signing until I know what’s planned.”
Max sighed.
“Alright Joey,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I have in mind. Better then that, I’ll show you. Follow me.”
Max stood up, grabbed the last page of the contract, and walked out of the office. Joey followed. They walked through the hall, through the main room, and out the front door. As they hit the open air, Joey felt a rush of panic. What was Max doing? Why couldn’t he just say what was going on? They walked past the Lincoln in the driveway (a black cat bolted from underneath the car as they passed) to the sidewalk, turning left. Max said nothing as they crossed his house, then the large expanse of foliage, and then up the path to the house next door.
As they approached Max’s second mansion, Joey’s hands grew cold and his shoulders tightened. He had just been offered half a million dollars and a chance to revive his career, and he had held it up over a detail. The largesse of Max’s homes were a reminder of what awaited Joey if he signed the contract.
“Your opponent at Apocalypse signed his contract with me this morning,” said Max as they came upon the front porch of the house. This one was smaller than the house they left, but still shamefully extravagant. “As one of my employees, he’s now living the good life. He is my guest in this house for as long as he wishes to stay.” Max rang the doorbell, then looked right at Joey as they waited for an answer.
Silence for two seconds, then the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. Maybe it was the pattern of the footsteps, or maybe it all made too much sense, but Joey knew who was going to answer the door before it opened.
Like Max’s residence, this house had a tall mahogany door at the front porch. It opened slowly and quietly. Standing inside, wearing shorts and a muscle shirt, was Goliath.