Chapter Nine
Randy Orton
Despite the fact I'm considered out on injury, Vince was good enough to come up with something that would a) turn me heel and b) keep me on television while I was healing up. I couldn't be more thankful, though I can't say I'm digging the whole Randy News Network stuff. The email address they sent out for fans to give me was a pretty amusing read; I had a few tell me they hoped I felt better, a few telling me I was boring, and a few others - obviously old enough to remember my dad - asking me how it felt to share a hospital room with my dad and his eternally broken arm. I let Amberlea read a few of them - at her insistence - and she definitely got a few good snickers out of it.
There's rumblings right now that Triple H wants to put a new group together called Evolution. They've already set things in gear at last month's Unforgiven pay-per-view with Ric and Hunter teaming up together. He's looking for a few more, and the word going around back here is he's got his eyes on me. Don't know why; I haven't had much time to prove much of anything before I got injured. Maybe it's the lineage; maybe Ric is going to bat for me because he knows my father; I don't know. It's just a rumbling right now; nobody has asked me to be a part of it or anything. It would be pretty cool, though, getting to learn the ropes, so to speak, with Triple H and Ric Flair. You can't really go wrong there. Learning from the best practically out of the gate is the best thing that anybody could ask for.
I did an interview with Jim Ross tonight, planting the seeds for my heel turn. Montreal is a funny city; they've never really seemed to get over the whole Montreal Incident at Survivor Series 1997, where Bret Hart was swerved out of the then-WWF Championship. It's an iconic moment in pro wrestling for all the wrong reasons, and while the US has moved past it, Canadians seem to grip on it. So when I got handed my notes on the promo, and they told me to get a few digs in on Bret Hart, I knew that this would help me in my heel turn. Sure, it's totally cheap heat, and eventually I won't have to resort to this kind of thing, but right now, it's very, very helpful. Judging by some of the emails I've received since we activated the account a few hours ago, I'd say we're all on the right track.
Amberlea offered to be my hotel roommate, until I can recover, but I couldn't let her do that. I already felt like I took advantage of her last week when she spent the night, seeing to my every whim and driving me all the way from Illinois to Kentucky. She even sent me flowers after my surgery with Dr. Andrews in Alabama. It was an incredibly sweet gesture. She was even one of the first people to call the hospital for an update. Sure, I wasn't awake, but it was nice of the nurse to relay the message.
The doctors said I'd be out three to four months, and once I'm healed up good enough to start getting back into training, I have to make sure that the ring rust doesn't get to me. John and Amberlea are sure I will be back better than ever. Depending on what day you catch me, I might actually agree with the assessment.
Tonight, I'm chilling out with Rico, who is keeping an eye out for me, thanks in large part to my arm being stuck in a sling. I can get dressed by myself now - thank God - though it's still a bit awkward and painful thanks in part to the limited mobility in my shoulder. I'm pretty much one handed right now. Thankfully, most of the people who have befriended me on the roster - Amberlea included - have been quick to help me with my luggage or any heavy lifting or anything that I need. It's been pretty touching to see everyone kind of band together to help out a moody dick like me. Hopefully, while I'm still on television and recuperating, they can find something to help me break into the upper mid-card. Then it's the main-event level.
John Cena
Randy's been moodier than usual lately with his injury. Can't say that I blame him. Amberlea was explaining to me just what hyper mobility is all about. Her father has hyper mobile fingers apparently, as she explained he can almost make his thumb touch the middle of his palm backwards. It sounds kind of creepy. She didn't know that it could happen in the shoulder. Can't say I knew the condition had a name.
Amberlea's been staying busy lately, but we still manage to get together every Thursday night, when I get home and she and Randy are set to pack and leave. It's been a lot harder to get together, but we're still doing as much as we can to make time for each other, like we did in OVW. I think it keeps Amberlea, Randy and I grounded. And I think it keeps Amberlea feeling like she has a family with her father down in Texas. It's important.
I've been busy getting my Vanilla Ice costume ready; the minor feud with Billy Kidman kind of fizzled out due in large part to lack of interest. So, from here on in, it's sparse appearances from me. But judging how my little rap gets over on Halloween, it could open a lot of doors for me. The backstage word is that Kurt Angle liked my intensity, liked my aggression, and wouldn't mind working with me down the line. It means a lot to hear that; Stephanie McMahon seems to have a lot of faith in me, too. The more people I can get behind me in the stands and behind the curtain, the better.
I spent the night tonight hanging out with the Undertaker, who was supposed to be something of a mentor to me when I started. He's a big, burly, biker looking guy who could probably fuck you up just for looking at him the wrong way. He's a Texan, like Amberlea, with the face of a bulldog and a deep growling drawl to match. Everybody back here tells me that if he wants to give me any sort of attention or advice, to take him up on it, because that's the epitome of learning from the best. He's a pretty cool guy; he's in the middle of a nasty feud with Brock Lesnar that they brought his pregnant wife Sara into. She seems nice enough; I met her last month when Brock was supposed to scare her after attacking the Dead Man. Since then, she's had a daughter, which has put him over the moon. Ever see the Dead Man get smitten? That's how it is.
Tonight, I'm hanging out with him and Bradshaw, taking in everything that they tell me about the business, about their stories on the road. Mercifully, there hasn't been too much hazing on me; the unspoken rule here is to just keep your head down and respect the old timers and you'll do just fine. Don't disrespect the elders. It really is common sense. I don't know what everyone thinks of me here, but hopefully I'm not the most hated.
"So, what about that Lea?" Bradshaw inquired. My head snapped up. "Does she not have the sickest finisher ever?"
"Yeah. It's right up there with that Widow's Peak," Taker replied with a nod.
"She was just using a DDT in OV," I replied, "I can't believe she was holding that little doozy back from us. She said Trish and Nora tested it out for her to help her decide on it."
"I didn't think she was that strong," Bradshaw replied. "Girl's what, five-nine? Hundred and twenty pounds."
"Around there, I think."
"Never learned it firsthand?" Bradshaw asked. I was a little bit shocked to hear what he was insinuating. I shook my head. "Well, that sucks," he replied. I shrugged; I didn't know what more to say about it. Taker was just amused to see me uncomfortable. Price of being the new guy, I suppose. "Give me her, and give me Trish Stratus," he hooted. A part of me wondered if he was just trying to piss me off, trying to make me lose my temper. He's a notorious hazer; it's his reputation. If I lose my temper, there's probably a good shot I'd get canned. Best to just roll with the punches. But it drove me crazy to hear him say such things about her. She was like Miss Elizabeth; just pure class.
The guys were talking about the best bars in the area, something I didn't really care about since I don't drink all that much. I guess I didn't give Bradshaw the dirt that he wanted to hear. It felt like everything was awkward now. I half-wished Billy Kidman was around to bail me out.
Amberlea Brennan
I came through the curtain after a hard fought match with Jazz. It always seems to amaze everybody when I got her up for the Fleurs du Mal. Chris Jericho stopped me earlier in the night, telling me it was one of the more creative finishers he'd seen as of late. It meant a lot to hear that; I've been following him since WCW. He told me to keep up the good work, and I fought the urge to mark out like a total schoolgirl in front of him.
So far, so good on the in-ring department. A lot of the backstage agents have been just as helpful to me as the OVW guys were to me. Everybody's been great at letting me get some practice and give me advice on how to handle life on the road, and how to handle life backstage. The veteran's advice has just been incredibly valuable.
Next week, Jim Ross informed me that I'm supposed to give my first interview to a magazine that isn't under the WWE umbrella, though I do have a photo-shoot coming up for WWE Magazine in time for the holiday issue. To say I'm nervous is a bit of an understatement. Do I go in work mode? Shoot mode? Is it different for Divas? Jim had seen the expression on my face when he had told me and chuckled at me.
"Don't worry about it, Amberlea. You'll be just fine. Just be yourself." I nodded. "You've got a week to try and calm down. Talk to Trish; she's worked the circuit."
So now, here I am, sitting with Trish and Lita, trying to keep my nerves under control. I just want to be a wrestler; looking good in bikinis and magazine interviews is a completely foreign concept to me. Trish and Lita were laughing at my nervousness.
"Thanks a lot, guys. Seriously - what am I supposed to do here?"
"Well, don't bury anyone and don't bury the company. Pretty much just be nice, be positive. Be what a WWE Diva should be," Amy said to me. I nodded.
"You'll do fine," Trish replied. "I have a press junket thing to do next week as well. Try not to get too nervous about it. You'll get smoother with it in time."
"I know. Then there's the photo spread…"
"The life of a Diva," Trish replied with a laugh. "How about a couple weeks from now, we go out and we go shopping and get you some stuff that will define your style. Magazine interviews and photo spreads are pretty good for setting people apart from the other to the readers."
"How is Randy doing?" Amy inquired.
"Good. Rico's rooming with him in case he needs a hand with anything. It's been pretty awkward for him being one handed. But he's doing good."
"That's good to hear." I nodded.
"So what are you doing tonight, guys?" Amy asked. I shrugged.
"Not a whole hell of a lot. Looking forward to going home tomorrow." That wasn't a lie by any stretch of the imagination; we've all been on the road since Friday. Considering I'm moving this week into townhouse in Lexington. It's gorgeous, and at the moment it keeps me between Randy and John. A part of me has been worried that John is going to move away, back to Massachusetts or to Florida, even. I would sure hate it if he left. With Randy as cold and distant as he tends to be with me, I have the feeling that everything would just disintegrate. The thought of that kills me.
