WWE SmackDown! Taping, 9-24-2002

San Diego, CA – San Diego Sports Arena

AJ Jefferson was nervous as hell, not quite shaking, but he was definitely feeling the nerves. The two beers he had in celebration at lunchtime had worn off by now, letting him feel the full force of his anxiety. Tonight was the culmination of a dream he had had for many years. He was finally a WWE contracted wrestler, making his SmackDown! television debut tonight in a match with Chavo Guererro, the first match on the show. The first match on the show was always important, because it set the tone for the rest of the night. If this match went badly, then it would be his fault for screwing it up, and he knew that could mean the end of his career before it began. He swallowed a couple antacid pills and aspirin, and washed them down with a long swig of Gatorade.

Chavo came around the corner and slapped Jefferson on the back, jolting him upright and sending him to his feet.

"You ready kid?" Chavo asked, looking at him with a grin. "We're due in gorilla. Let's go. Don't worry about a thing kid, just follow me and listen to what I say and we'll do just fine."

Jefferson grinned back, nodding.

"I'm ready Chavo. Let's tear the house down."

Chavo smiled, clapping him on the back again. Chavo walked up the stairs to just behind the curtain, nodded to the producers, and waited for his music to hit. It blasted from the sound system a heartbeat later eliciting a small roar from the crowd, and Chavo burst through and strutted down the ramp to the ring, jumping in and demanding a microphone. He proceeded to cut a promo inviting an open challenge from the "new blood" in the back to defeat him in five minutes or less.

Jefferson cracked his neck and flexed his hands, breathing deeply and trying his best not to let his nervousness show. He clapped his hands several times and coughed, and ran up the short stairway to the place behind the curtain, slightly bouncing on his heels in anticipation, waiting for his cue from the producers.

Suddenly, he felt a big hand clap him on the shoulder, and a powerful voice right behind him say into his ear, "Go get 'em, kid."

He knew that voice. It was the boss. The boss of all the bosses.

Jefferson swallowed and looked back over his shoulder at the tall, powerfully built, stoic figure of one Vincent Kennedy McMahon. Jefferson tried not to let the surprise show on his face or look too much like someone who didn't know what he was doing as he nodded. Vince wished him luck, slapped him on the arm, and went back to take his place at the monitors with the rest of the producers. Nothing like a little bit of pressure on your first night! AJ had done a few matches on the live event circuit before tonight, but that was his first time meeting Vince in person. He found himself rightfully intimidated, just a little bit. Without warning he heard his generic music track hit, and he knew it was time.

AJ Jefferson tried his best not to stumble coming out through the curtain, but failed, and marched as confidently as he could to the ring to accept Chavo's challenge. The first thing they see is me stumbling, great… he thought to himself. The crowd, not really knowing who he was, gave him a pretty lukewarm reception, but that was to be expected of the random new guy answering a challenge.

A tall, curvaceous figure in black standing in the shadows behind Vince at the monitors sighed and rolled her eyes, and watched her new rookie answer Chavo's challenge. The bell rang, and the match began.

Backstage, Post-Match

The locker room door shut with a low, echoing thud behind him, and the only sounds he could hear through it was the muffled roar of the crowd still reacting to the end of the match. AJ slowly sat down on the bench, staring past his taped and aching hands to his still shiny, brand new boots, the sting of sweat and failure clinging to his skin like smoke after a bonfire. His debut had been nothing short of a disaster.

He had screwed up, not just one time but three, if he was being honest. First, being distracted coming out the curtain and stumbling, making an idiot of himself, and then, twice inside the ring too. The referee had to tell him to tighten his work up because he looked sloppy, something no wrestler ever wants to hear. That was bad enough. But then, Chavo's 'Gory Bomb' finisher at the end of the match was rushed and looked terrible because AJ had stumbled into it just a half-second too late. He knew he had screwed it up too, as he lay there for the pinfall. He had listened, he had done his best, but because he was still so new, he made mistakes. He couldn't afford to make mistakes. Not here. Not now. This wasn't the small no-name promotion where he had wrestled the last few years. This was the big leages, this was the WWE, and in the WWE, you didn't make mistakes.

But making mistakes and having Chavo berate him in the ring while the referee looked on wasn't what made his stomach churn. It wasn't the jeering of the fans at his screwups, or the boys not meeting his gaze when he came through the curtain.

It was her. He had screwed up on her show. On her time.

"Jefferson. McMahon wants you in her office. Now."

The stagehand didn't wait for a response before turning abruptly on his heel and walking away. The locker room door slammed shut behind him with the dull thud noise. AJ's heart skipped like a scratched CD and his stomach sank to his ankles. He knew this was coming. Everyone knew what Stephanie McMahon was like when someone messed up on her show. She didn't just curse you out, she destroyed you and broke you down at a molecular level. A trait she inherited from her father, who was very famous in the business for his temper backstage. AJ would almost rather be bawled out by Mr. McMahon himself than by his daughter. But SmackDown was her show, and she was the boss here.

AJ stood up, cracked his neck, exhaled slowly and walked out of the locker room and down the corridor to her office, like a man on Death Row, on his way to the electric chair. He had started off feeling so excited and eager for his debut match, so hopeful he would do well. But what if he had doomed his career already? Did he just waste the best opportunity he had ever been given?

The knock on her door was solemn, but it still got the expected response.

"Enter."

The voice was sharp and cold and bit right through him. Like long, frozen sheets of ice on steel beams on a December morning. He knew immediately by her tone that he was in for it.

AJ entered her office. The room smelled like a flowery, expensive perfume and power. Stephanie McMahon stood tall and regal behind her desk, clad in a tight black business suit and skirt, hands on her hips, one sharp black stiletto tapping slowly against the concrete floor like the ticking of a time bomb. The solid wooden door shut behind him with a note of finality. He swallowed hard. Oh man, she looks pissed…

Until now, he had only really seen small flashes of her from afar during meetings and rehearsals. But she always looked poised, always alert, always absolutely commanding of every room she was in. But now, up close, this was completely different. The look on her face made his face ashen. He had never seen any woman, much less her, this angry. He tried to maintain her gaze but couldn't do it, and looked down at her desk when he saw the fire boiling out of them. The smell of her perfume and her anger was an odd combination.

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was out there?" she screamed loudly, getting right to the point, stepping around the desk to stand in front of him, pointing one finger at him like a sword. "What the hell were you doing out there?"

"I—I didn't mean to mess up," AJ said, his voice cracking despite his best effort to sound steady. He knew it was a weak and pitiful response, and he waited for the reply with an awakening sense of fear, deep in the pit of his stomach. Just a flicker, just the lightest sense, but he felt it. This woman was not someone to make angry and was he getting to know that.

"But you did mess up," Stephanie barked out, her words like bullets. "You made Chavo look like an idiot. You stumbled out of the gate, you missed a time cue, and then you screwed up the finish too! Jesus Christ what are we paying you for?"

AJ winced and looked up; his eyes widening with his increasing sense of fear. He wanted to look anywhere but directly at her, but her eyes locked onto him with brutal laser-like precision. He couldn't look away. To break her gaze now would make it worse.

"Do you know how many guys would kill for the spot you just flushed down the toilet Jefferson? Do you know how much time and money we wanted to invest in you?"

He nodded weakly as his gaze wavered but didn't break.

"Yes, ma'am."

Her eyes flashed, and her voice dropped into something even more venomous, quieter but even sharper. "Don't you dare 'yes ma'am' me like we're in the military. You think that makes up for screwing up live in front of millions? That was a disaster. I know it was your first TV match. We both know you're as green as grass, and you proved it out there, but you also made everyone involved look stupid. Everyone. We spent a lot of money bringing you up here. Now it looks like your contract isn't worth a wad of my goddamned spit."

AJ couldn't respond. The words were like slashes from a knife of the coldest, most cutting steel. His mouth opened, then closed. He couldn't speak. What was going to happen to him? Was this it? Was it all over? Heat crept up his neck, and now he felt something else. Shame for having disappointed people who had believed in him certainly, shame for disappointing her. He knew he had made a big mistake. But there was something else, a darker ember sparking in the back of his mind. Stephanie yelling and jabbing her finger at him was doing something else to him.

Why does this feel… kind of good? What? Did he like being yelled at by Stephanie? He had never enjoyed being yelled at by anyone. Not by his mother, not his teachers, not other kids in school or even coworkers or his previous bosses. He actually hated being yelled at. He hated being made to feel small and worthless and pathetic, but right now, with Stephanie making him feel all those things…

The way she seemed to tower over him, her voice slicing through him, the power she wielded like a whip. It didn't just make him nervous.

It thrilled him. It excited him. It made his heart beat even faster. Am I actually enjoying this?

And then she got even closer. His eyes got even wider. She was nearly face to face with him, her hands still on her hips. He could smell her body heat, her emotions, mixed with her perfume. It was all too much; it was going to overpower him. He licked his lips nervously. She saw the look in his eyes as she slowly leaned down, close to his face.

"We won't fire you just yet, but screw up out there again," she hissed, her voice right at his ear, "and this little talk will seem like an afternoon on the playground. Nobody makes Stephanie McMahon look stupid. Do you understand me, rookie?"

"Yes…" he breathed, swallowing hard. "Yes, Stephanie. I understand. I won't let you down ever again."

"Good. You'd better not let me down ever again." She leaned back, smirking slightly now. She'd seen the flicker in his eyes when he had said that. The tiny shift in his expression with the words he had used. Learned from her father, she was a master at deciphering body language and emotions. There was nothing that escaped her eyes. It wasn't just her name and her family that had gotten her where she was, it was because Stephanie McMahon noticed everything.

She tilted her head very slightly to the side, looking down at him imperiously and staring directly into his eyes. They both stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than five seconds.

"You're blushing," she said smoothly. "Is that fear? Or is that… something else?"

AJ went to wipe his forehead but froze; his eyes even wider now. He didn't say anything. What did she just say?

Stephanie let the silence hang in the air like fog. It seemed to stretch even longer than an eternity this time. Then she laughed, but just once, a short, amused laugh.

"Don't screw up again," she said, walking back to her desk and sitting down behind it. "Now get the hell out of my office, Jefferson. Try not to trip on the way out."

He nodded as waves of relief washed over him, thankful for not being fired. He didn't understand all of the emotions he had just experienced, but it had left him feeling rather odd. As he turned to go, his gaze fell down to below her desk and hung, transfixed, on the shiny black patent leather of her tall stiletto heels. He knew he was staring, he knew she would notice, but he couldn't help himself. Her legs were very tanned, powerfully sculpted after many hours in the gym.

Stephanie noticed he was staring too. She loudly tapped her heel against the concrete with a sharp snap.

AJ Jefferson tore his gaze away, nodded again, and quickly made his exit, his heart racing and hands sweating. As the door closed behind him, Stephanie smiled ever so slightly to herself, and began reading over a memo.