“Well that’s enough about me. How about you, Maxi?”
Meet Ava St. James, or as she’s better known, Ava Rae. Her skin is as dark as chocolate, her eyes are as blue as the ocean and her long, straight hair is as red as a London bus. She’s dressed impeccably; a long black dress with high heel shoes and it only helps the strong palette of reds amongst her facial make up stand out that little bit more. Sat opposite is the German, Max Becker. Remarkably, Mr. Becker is suited and booted. The bright pink socks are a dead give-away that he isn’t used to the fine dining experience… there’s also a few conspicuous stains, perhaps a tomato sauce of kinds, splattered all over his shirt.
The dining experience is one we all know and love, but Max and Ava are quite clearly amongst the rich, upper classes of folk this evening. Candle lit lighting and simple décor; the restaurant ambience tells it’s own story as the people around them quietly mutter amongst themselves. Empty, finished with plates sit before the unlikely duo. Ava’s got a half full glass of wine and the big German has five empty beer bottles before him. Stay classy, Max.
Max Becker: “I think it’s a lot tougher than I ever imagined it being. After Japan, I expected this to be a walk in the park. It’s hard though, yo, real hard. When was the last time Max Becker lost two matches in a row?”
Ava Rae: “Osaka-Jo Hall, March 2017.”
Max Becker: “What?”
Ava Rae: “Osaka-Jo Hall, March 2017. That’s the last time you lost twice in a row. Three times actually.”
Max doesn’t bite. Literally or metaphorically. He knows he’s not often in the presence of a young, beautiful lady. A beautiful lady with a strong, posh British accent too, mind you.
Ava Rae: “What? It’d be rude of me not to read up on you. Do you think I’m one for blind dates, Maxi? Absolutely not. Christopher told me you were a lovely man, but I’m just not a gambling woman.”
Max Becker: “No, of course not. So, yo, listen, I’m not stupid or nothin’, I know girls like you don’t go out with guys like me for no reason. Is it about the contract? How do you and Sainty even know each other?”
Ava Rae: “Christopher is my brother. Well, half-brother, if there’s such a thing. I’ve been handling his books and company accounts for a few years and I’ll be doing the same for Hostility. What do you know about girls like me anyway, Maxi?”
Max Becker: “Erm, erm…”
Ava laughs, and why not? It’s not often Max is lost for words.
Ava Rae: “Relax, Maxi. I’m not here to persuade you to sign with Christopher. I already know you will. Why wouldn’t you? And please consider that sometimes not all people have hidden motives. Perhaps I like my men wearing Spaghetti all over their shirts and drinking cheap beer in a $800 restaurant. You haven’t said ‘dawg’ to me all day, nor have you thrown any of your roses are red jargon at me yet. Why not? I think the German rapper is very, very marketable.”
Very, very marketable… yes, said in a very, very soothing way.
Max Becker: “What? Yeah, yeah. It is! I am!”
Ava Rae: “Then don’t be afraid to be yourself, Maxi. American wrestling is an industry designed for profiling a character and marketing that character. Sometimes, the best character is… you. Just you.”
Max Becker: “I don’t really understand…”
Ava Rae: “You have this obsession to please everybody, then a camera gets shoved in your face and out comes Max Becker, with no real personality other than whatever he thinks the American audience wants. Even in England, we like Eminem, Maxi. It’s marketable. But so are you. Watch.”
Ava takes her phone from beside her plate and holds it to Max’s face.
Ava Rae: “You don’t know if I’m streaming to Facebook or whether I’m bluffing, but will you take that chance? You have the Three versus. Three match this week. Go.”
Max Becker: “Damn, yo, puttin’ me on the spot like this ain’t no good.
Guten Tag. Everybody meet; Ava Rae.
This is a dinner date, yo, and I’ve not had to pay.
She’s the sister of CSJ, the man of Hostility,
She’s here with Maxi B, to test her fertility.
Modern Warfare, exciting times, you’d have to agree?
The newbie crew are up against Me, Silas, KC3.
CWF, yo, showcasin’ it’s talent from the Paramount competition,
But here’s a spoiler, they’re all going to tap and lose via submission.
Mike Munsun, Big Bear, Munsun the Monsoon,
I’m gon’ fuck you so hard, you’ll think you're on yo’ honeymoon.
Yo’ dumb ass walks in here, the Neighbourhood Wrecking Ball,
Six foot six, yet you’ll never be the one who’s standin’ tall.
Quentin Scarboro, another borin' ‘I nearly made it!’ fairytale,
Penn State shooter should’ve got you too, then gone full-scale.
It gets better yet, you then wrote a book,
Milkin’ the moment bro, what the fuck?
The Alpha of the Omega, what does that even mean?
‘Right hand of Justice herself’? Who are you, the fuckin’ Queen?
Just another rookie who thinks he’s a big ass scary monster,
I’m sure we’ll be fine. Mr. Spock once said ‘Live long and prosper’.
But Silas, KC, for only one week we will be allies
Then I’m comin’ down hard, like a plane from the skies,
It’s only a matter of time, before I win the Veteran’s block,
Then after I win the whole thing, I’ll celebrate in Bangkok.”
Bravo, Max. He’s in element tonight and despite how unsuitable his terminology is for the upper class environment he’s in, it’s quite obvious he doesn’t give a fuck. Amazingly, neither does Ava Rae.
Ava Rae: “I didn’t record anything, by the way. I didn’t need to. Now try again. Without the whole bit about my reproductive system, please.”
Ava puts her phone face down on the table as Max is hit with a sudden gust of panic. He knows there’s nothing recording him any more.
Max Becker: “I… I can’t.”
Ava Rae: “Yes, yes you can. Don’t think about the rap… just tell me how you feel.”
Max Becker: “I feel… awful, Ava. I feel awful that I didn’t kick out of that second Nightfall DDT. I feel awful that I didn’t properly lock in my Kölner Kupplung on Big Rig. I’ve trapped myself in apartment after apartment, losing myself to video games and beer, yo. I know I’m doin' it, but I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself to fix it. I haven’t felt like this since…”
Ava Rae: “Osaka?”
Max Becker: “Right. Osaka. Fuck!”
Ava Rae: “OK, so tell me exactly what you’re going to do about it.”
Max Becker: “I’m going to take KC3 and Silas Artoria, launch their scrawny lil’ asses on my shoulders and carry them to victory this week. It doesn’t matter how much they want to work together or how many mind games they want to play. The only thing that matters is that we win, yo. Then I’ll trade friend for foe and tap them out one by one and believe me Ava, one by one they’ll all fall down.”
Ava Rae: “Good. I believe you. Go clean yourself up a little bit, Maxi.”
He does. He needed to. There’s surely toddlers out there who have better dining etiquette than Max has. The German gets up from the table as the nearest waiter directs him to the bathroom. The phone Ava had been using to provoke a Max rap was already in hand and dialling out. Max cleaning himself up wasn’t an instruction served for any other reason than to get rid of Max temporarily.
Ava Rae: “Christopher, it’s me. He’s the one. Max Becker is definitely the one.”
She’s no doubt on the phone to Christopher St. James, but the other end of the discussion is unclear. Ava smiles and nods at random intervals.
Ava Rae: “Christopher, he thinks this is the real deal. If he so much as touches me, tries to kiss me or tries anything that makes me so much as shiver at the thought of; I will put two more zeros on my monthly cash drawing from Hostility. You hear me?”
Ava finishes her call as Max returns from the bathroom and of course he’s half naked. He’s showing the waiter just how much sauce he’d managed to fling all over himself. Let’s hope there’s no mystery shoppers dining tonight.