The small office was filled with the strong scent of whiskey. The office had no carpet; the walls lined with past wrestling events, in a corner had a filing cabinet. Two men were sitting in the glorified janitors’ closet that is the office of the owner of New Line Wrestling. The desk was more of a PC desk, with papers scattered and three empty Wild Turkey bottles, with a fifth of Kentucky Gentlemen whiskey with a few shots of liquor left.
Jim E. James, owner of NLW, took another shot. NLW was very successful, it has a rich history, the fan base increased at every show, yet Jim could never escape the bottle, and it has caught up with him. His hair dwindled down to a horseshoe-like hair style. A beer gut hung over his once impressive abdomen, his skin adopted a more leathery look.
Jim sighed, his voice raspy, “I don’t get it, Binx. I’m the owner, I am a creative genius. Yet when it comes to the payroll, I can barely cover the expenses,”
Across from Jim was a clown. He had on the typical clown makeup, with a red nose, but he was dressed in a fine suit that was pressed. Binx was the color commentator for the TV program and secretly the financial backer for the company aswell. The clown remained silent.
“I lost it all when I took over the company. I lost my hair, my money, my wife, hell even my name! I’m legally called Jim E. James now,” he downed another shot. “I really don’t understand, Binx. New Line Wrestling has risen above all expectations. We appeal to the teenagers who crave bloody, barbaric matches, we appeal to the old timers who love technical, mat-based matches. We even appeal to theatre kids!” Jim laughed. He looked over at the wall, a newspaper clipping about a high school drama club meeting with some of the wrestlers, to get tips on how to breathe during intense scenes and other fun facts.
Binx remained silent.
“I don’t know how you make your extra money and I think I shouldn’t know. I’m just grateful you can help give the boys the extra money. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have honor and take some for me. Lord knows I need it. Did you see—of course you did, you were calling the match. Greg damn neared got injured because of that rookie. But he’ll just pop a few pills and forgive the kid. Jordan is a good kid, just very green. Billy came in and asked for raise. Ha! Like I’m some billionaire. I can see him jumping ship with that Robert Ewing showing up at every show. You know that son of a bitch has been trying to buy me out for the last two months?”
Binx was still silent.
Jim sighed. “Thanks for listening Binx. I suppose I should go over the program for next weeks’ show. I want Shannon in the main event picture. That will appeal to the damn feminists,”
Binx didn’t move. Jim looked up and tilts his head, “Binx?”
Jim moved out of the desk. He poked the clown, and he didn’t react. Jim’s eyes widen and then saw the clowns’ hand. Pills? Jim rolled his eyes. The clown wasn’t dead, he was just so high on pills he wasn’t conscious!