Post by sab on Dec 3, 2021 15:22:24 GMT -5
1981
Jehovah's Fitness,
Ogden, Utah
"WORK HARD! PRAY HARD, BROTHER!" Roared Jeff Leather, his gravelly roided-up voice echoing around the gym as he greeted his manager, his ineffective leather gym towel slung over his python shoulders. He took Art Barber in a manly handshake that only aggravated the irrepairable nerve damage caused by prior similar such handshakes from Jeff and began walking to the car.
Jeff began grumbling on about gains and bulking and Art did his best to follow the routine. He nodded enthusiastically, dropping in the "Way to go, sport." and "Nice going, champ" at exactly the right moments, but apparently it hadn't worked - as when they got to the leather car he realised that his client was staring at him curiously.
"You okay, lil guy?" Jeff asked, offering a shoulder slap that set Art staggering back a few steps. "How did that, uh, manager conference go?"
Jeff was perhaps more astute than Art had given him credit for. In truth, he hadn't expected him to remember. The annual Evil Manager Convention had been that weekend, and Art had been looking forward to it. That was, until he got there.
The keynote speech had been from the dreaded Mayor Maynot. His client, the masked Moratorium - had gone big league, on national television every week. But Moratorium's Hungarian accent hadn't impressed, and so Maynot had been brought along with him.
"I'm just fortunate, I guess." The Mayor simpered, to protests from the adoring audience of fellow managers. "I owe everything to 'The Malevolent Maniac' Moratorium!"
Art bit his lip. He'd known Mayor Maynot a long time, they'd both managed their clients in Florida. It felt like a lifetime ago.
"Florida is one of the best territories to turn a career around." He'd told Jeff Leather as they'd packed. "You get a big win here, people take notice."
"I guess it all started for us in Florida." Mayor Maynot went on, addressing a captive convention hall. "If we hadn't won that title match against Jeff Leather, who knows where we'd be today."
Utah, probably. Art reflected sourly.
After the speech, he lurked around, sipping his coffee and looking at his watch. Around him, the finest evil managers in the country made small talk.
Just over there, the smell of sickly perfume alerted Art to Helen Highwater - standing in flame accented lycra and a push up bra doing more work than even Jeff Leather's biceps could have handled. She was twirling her perm, making idle chit-chat with Bolt Buzzword, the silver-tongued cowboy.
Art turned his head away. The culturally conflicted Senor Samurai nodded warmly in his direction: "Domo Arigato, Amigo!" He waved. He was standing with another foreigner, foul-toothed Englishwoman Aloe Gavner. Art shuddered and pretended not to see. It was time to leave, he made for the exit.
Darting past Miss Direction, and seeing Claire Voyant coming down a corridor towards him - he nearly barrelled into Euan Yours' client The Punchline. Making his apologies, Art made a sprint for the door but was stopped dead in his tracks by a voice behind him.
"Arthur! Is that you?" Art turned. Sighed. It was Mayor Maynot, walking towards him alongside 'The Red Menace' Bill Shevik.
"How great to see you, old pal!" Maynot said warmly, but his eyes were frosty. "Though I hear you're not exactly an Evil Manager anymore, isn't Jeff Leather a good guy these days?"
Art ignored the jibe. "Bill." He nodded at Shevik. "Mayor."
"Good to see you, comrade." Bill smiled. "I hear you are working Utah now, yes? Tough gig."
Bill knew about tough gigs. His top client, the luchador Communisto had lost a Mask vs Mask match a few years back to Ice Pique Jr in Mexico City. He'd spent years in the wilderness since.
"I was just telling Bill here how they're bringing in a new guy to wrestle Moratorium on TV." Maynot said. "And I suggested Bill comes in for a few shows as his manager, so everyone can take a look at him."
"I'm just grateful for the opportunity, it's been a hard few years. It's not good for a manager to be out of the big leagues like this." Bill said, before glancing at Art nervously. "No offence to you and Jeff, of course."
In the background, Noah Fence glared at them before going back to his conversation.
"None taken, Utah's a thriving territory. A lot of potential for growth." Art smiled thinly. "And we're very pleased to be there."
"Of course." Maynot smiled back. "And of course, Artie - if you ever needed me to put a good word in like I did for Bill here, I'd do that for anybody. We go way back, buddy."
"Thank you. We're fine."
----
"Fine, huh?" Jeff nodded. "Well you don't look fine. Look like you had some bad shrimp."
Art unlocked the car and opened the door for Jeff, watching the car sag a bit as he crammed his 300lb frame inside.
"I just wanna say." Jeff said, when they were both inside the car. "Don't worry too much about this Utah stuff. I like it here."
"You're ahead of your time, Jeff" Art replied. "Leather? In 1981? Nobody's doing it."
Art shook his head and kept driving. He liked Jeff, but they both knew this run in Utah would likely be his last payday. Then Jeff would be training people in a gym like the one they'd just left and Art would be...
"I just wish we had a portal or something, and we could propel you forward into a time when the fans are ready for someone like you." Art said. "But the chances of -"
"Hey watch where you're driving!" Jeff Leather cried. "That looks just like a wormhole!"
Jehovah's Fitness,
Ogden, Utah
"WORK HARD! PRAY HARD, BROTHER!" Roared Jeff Leather, his gravelly roided-up voice echoing around the gym as he greeted his manager, his ineffective leather gym towel slung over his python shoulders. He took Art Barber in a manly handshake that only aggravated the irrepairable nerve damage caused by prior similar such handshakes from Jeff and began walking to the car.
Jeff began grumbling on about gains and bulking and Art did his best to follow the routine. He nodded enthusiastically, dropping in the "Way to go, sport." and "Nice going, champ" at exactly the right moments, but apparently it hadn't worked - as when they got to the leather car he realised that his client was staring at him curiously.
"You okay, lil guy?" Jeff asked, offering a shoulder slap that set Art staggering back a few steps. "How did that, uh, manager conference go?"
Jeff was perhaps more astute than Art had given him credit for. In truth, he hadn't expected him to remember. The annual Evil Manager Convention had been that weekend, and Art had been looking forward to it. That was, until he got there.
The keynote speech had been from the dreaded Mayor Maynot. His client, the masked Moratorium - had gone big league, on national television every week. But Moratorium's Hungarian accent hadn't impressed, and so Maynot had been brought along with him.
"I'm just fortunate, I guess." The Mayor simpered, to protests from the adoring audience of fellow managers. "I owe everything to 'The Malevolent Maniac' Moratorium!"
Art bit his lip. He'd known Mayor Maynot a long time, they'd both managed their clients in Florida. It felt like a lifetime ago.
"Florida is one of the best territories to turn a career around." He'd told Jeff Leather as they'd packed. "You get a big win here, people take notice."
"I guess it all started for us in Florida." Mayor Maynot went on, addressing a captive convention hall. "If we hadn't won that title match against Jeff Leather, who knows where we'd be today."
Utah, probably. Art reflected sourly.
After the speech, he lurked around, sipping his coffee and looking at his watch. Around him, the finest evil managers in the country made small talk.
Just over there, the smell of sickly perfume alerted Art to Helen Highwater - standing in flame accented lycra and a push up bra doing more work than even Jeff Leather's biceps could have handled. She was twirling her perm, making idle chit-chat with Bolt Buzzword, the silver-tongued cowboy.
Art turned his head away. The culturally conflicted Senor Samurai nodded warmly in his direction: "Domo Arigato, Amigo!" He waved. He was standing with another foreigner, foul-toothed Englishwoman Aloe Gavner. Art shuddered and pretended not to see. It was time to leave, he made for the exit.
Darting past Miss Direction, and seeing Claire Voyant coming down a corridor towards him - he nearly barrelled into Euan Yours' client The Punchline. Making his apologies, Art made a sprint for the door but was stopped dead in his tracks by a voice behind him.
"Arthur! Is that you?" Art turned. Sighed. It was Mayor Maynot, walking towards him alongside 'The Red Menace' Bill Shevik.
"How great to see you, old pal!" Maynot said warmly, but his eyes were frosty. "Though I hear you're not exactly an Evil Manager anymore, isn't Jeff Leather a good guy these days?"
Art ignored the jibe. "Bill." He nodded at Shevik. "Mayor."
"Good to see you, comrade." Bill smiled. "I hear you are working Utah now, yes? Tough gig."
Bill knew about tough gigs. His top client, the luchador Communisto had lost a Mask vs Mask match a few years back to Ice Pique Jr in Mexico City. He'd spent years in the wilderness since.
"I was just telling Bill here how they're bringing in a new guy to wrestle Moratorium on TV." Maynot said. "And I suggested Bill comes in for a few shows as his manager, so everyone can take a look at him."
"I'm just grateful for the opportunity, it's been a hard few years. It's not good for a manager to be out of the big leagues like this." Bill said, before glancing at Art nervously. "No offence to you and Jeff, of course."
In the background, Noah Fence glared at them before going back to his conversation.
"None taken, Utah's a thriving territory. A lot of potential for growth." Art smiled thinly. "And we're very pleased to be there."
"Of course." Maynot smiled back. "And of course, Artie - if you ever needed me to put a good word in like I did for Bill here, I'd do that for anybody. We go way back, buddy."
"Thank you. We're fine."
----
"Fine, huh?" Jeff nodded. "Well you don't look fine. Look like you had some bad shrimp."
Art unlocked the car and opened the door for Jeff, watching the car sag a bit as he crammed his 300lb frame inside.
"I just wanna say." Jeff said, when they were both inside the car. "Don't worry too much about this Utah stuff. I like it here."
"You're ahead of your time, Jeff" Art replied. "Leather? In 1981? Nobody's doing it."
Art shook his head and kept driving. He liked Jeff, but they both knew this run in Utah would likely be his last payday. Then Jeff would be training people in a gym like the one they'd just left and Art would be...
"I just wish we had a portal or something, and we could propel you forward into a time when the fans are ready for someone like you." Art said. "But the chances of -"
"Hey watch where you're driving!" Jeff Leather cried. "That looks just like a wormhole!"