Cameron Cruise impatiently reached for the parting electronic double doors, pressed for time, vowing to keep moving. If he stops he’ll have a moment to consider the phone call that summoned him to the Hilton Hotel: Huntsville’s biggest tourist attraction.
There was talk of getting a Wal-Mart five years ago, but groundbreaking on the recommended site unearthed an old Native American burial ground. Quickly the Huntsville town council voted to block further construction. The remains of dead Indians would fuel conversation for generations. It was also a source of both pride and out rage, Huntsvillians unsure of how they were supposed to feel.
On one hand, many made a yearly trek to Ted Turner Stadium in Atlanta to cheer on the Braves. On the other, strange occurrences at night, reports of pickups driving themselves into the forest to never return had long gone unexplained. Now, they had meaning.
Wal-Mart’s taken the soul of an entire nation, but Huntsville would be the lone voice of reason. The community of poor boys and girls who said, “No thank you, allowing a 24/7 Drug Store was enough.”
The burial ground was the heart of Huntsville until the Hilton was erected, like manna from heaven, offering the uneducated a classy means to earn minimum wage and a leg up on their forefathers who have accused following generations of raping the value behind a good living.
The people over time had trouble relating to rotting remains. While it was cool, the sacred ground said jack about the men and women who skipped house payments to throw up a second Directv dish. What does it mean to live in Huntsville? Who are its sons and daughters?
The joke was their town was only worth driving through, stopping for gas and a quick piss. A true humanitarian is someone who can laugh at himself.
Only worth driving through...
If true, the council approved the Hilton’s construction to have the last laugh. Nobody wants to stop in Huntsville, but a hotel this beautiful can’t be found in the surrounding areas.
Travelers find themselves trapped in Huntsville, albeit in style, like Cruise finds himself now.
Locked in a padded room with Joey Melton, the one man who’s taken almost a sick pleasure in raking Cameron over the coals verbally. He didn’t ask to team with the man, that’s for damn sure. But Melton did? The CSWA’s Mr. Everything requested to take Cammy on as a partner?
The fledging insanity in Cameron’s career has to be a result of global warming. Scientists have predicted gradual change over hundreds of years. Metropolitan cities weren’t being flooded, but Cruise’s personal space certainly was. And, though thousands aren’t senseless dying, isn’t this worse?
He stops in the center of the lobby, as ignorant looking Huntsville teens eye him behind the counter. Cruise nods his head, it’s a nice place no question.
“She's got a way about her”
”I don't know what it is”
”But I know that I can't live without her”
The quiet butchering of a song from the bar reaches Cameron’s ears like a whistle only he and dogs can hear. It’s unbearable. That awful playing of a piano, someone please, before pacemakers start malfunctioning.
“She's got a way of pleasin'”
”I don't know what it is”
”But there doesn't have to be a reason”
”Anyway”
The voice is picking up steam. Cruise power walks to the bar, a migraine building. Whoever is singing, guaranteed has their eyes closed, feeling the lyrics, as if only they shared that moment in time.
“She's got a smile that heals me”
”I don't know why it is”
”But I have to laugh when she reveals me”
Cameron staggers into the bar, and fights the urge to cry. There are lighters in the air, why? Sweet Momma Cass why are people respecting this? If Billy Joel is able to hear the rendition, Cruise hopes he’s not driving.
Is that?
Tell me it’s not...
“She's got a way of talkin'”
”I don't know what it is”
”But it lifts me up when we are walkin'”
”Anywhere”
Joey Melton sits on top of a piano as an elderly woman in a “Tony Stewart” T-shirt and white slacks romances the keys. Melton spots Cruise, nods, and kicks his head back in the air, still singing breathlessly.
“She comes to me when I'm feelin' down”
”Inspires me without a sound”
”She touches me...”
Cameron decisively grabs a fire extinguisher off the wall, steps to the old woman and fires off a round, saving humanity as we know it.
“...and I get turned arou--” Oblivious to much, even Joey Melton has to recognize he’s being rudely interrupted.
“Hey! Cruise, what ar-...”
The patrons file out of the bar. Damn Huntsville curfew. Last call comes so early now.
Cameron apologetically holds his right hand in the air. “Sorry Joey...”
“I should hope so, I was ten seconds away from the big finish.” Melton tosses the mic to the bartender and takes a seat at a small table for two. Cruise, trying to regain his senses, sits opposite Melton.
“Big finish? No man, they weren’t ready for it, believe me.”
“You’re probably right. Leave’em wanting more.”
Cruise grimaces. Melton was buying this. Yikes. Too bad he doesn’t own any swampland in Florida, he could clean Joey out within the hour.
“Melton the show starts in twenty minutes. We were supposed to check in two hours ago, and believe it or not I actually like being early. Spending the afternoon with the boys, and Mercedes. We love the business. It’s why we live in it.”
Melton stares Cameron in the eye. Cruise meant every word, and he knows it. Sincerity’s a new trait to Joey, but he’s learned how to sense it.
“Geez Cruise, what do you...watch the Lifetime Network and read women’s magazines too?”
The answer was yes, but Cruise would never admit it. Not even under the glare of a hot lamp with a taunting glass of water an arm’s length away.
“Come on Melton, let’s roll. Be serious for once.”
“I asked you here, because I am serious. The truth is people aren’t lining up out the door to team with a forty year-old superstar who’s selling dvds of barbed wire matches with midgets on his website.”
Cruise cocked an eyebrow. “I thought those were out of stock..”
“I wish.”
Cameron would either learn much from Melton, or move to the Alaskan Wilderness to find space.
“I’m easily written off now, Cammy. A side-show they say, and the good man upstairs only knows I nearly have a penny to my name. I asked to team with you because I knew you wouldn’t resist.”
“But I have. Not to be a stickler Joey, but I’ve been all but on my hands and knees to get out of this match.”
Joey cupped his face with two hands in anguish. “You and Troy both make heartfelt speeches come off like pulling teeth.”
“Me and Troy?” Cameron backed from the table slightly. “How long has it been Melton?”
“Too long. But don’t worry your safe, I’m not that depraved.” Joey takes a drink from a half-empty beer. “Though, I can’t yet vouch for how good you look when I’m drunk.”
Cruise shoots up from the table. “Allrighty. Hey thanks for the date? Dare I say? But I’m about fifteen minutes from getting fined, so I’ll see you at the arena.”
Melton hops to his feet, a smile on his face.
“That was a joke, Cruise. Listen...” Cameron turned back to Joey, though unsure why. “Thanks man. I’m going to give you all I got.”
Cameron relaxed. Who would turn down an opportunity to team with the legend? “I know.”
The sober one of the two fishes into his pants pocket and pulls out a set of keys, tossing them Melton’s direction.
“You drive. There’s still time for a crash course scouting report of tonight’s match.”
As they walked out of the bar, Cameron’s own words rung in his ear. Turning back to Joey, he stole the keys from his partner.
“Better yet...”
“Good call. I’m going to need a good hour to be able to stand upright with no problems.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Cutto: The parking garage of the Von Braun Civic Center. The cameraman watches as a huge monster truck - an old Ford in a former life - rolls into the arena. It parks across two parking spots. The doors swing open, admitting two massive figures - The Monsta Boyz, Buff Bellows and Fat Farrell. Both wear their typical Hawaiian shirts.]
BUFF: Aight, Fat Man. Ready to roll?
FAT: Aw, hell yeah.
BUFF: Then let's do this.
[Exchanging a high-five, Buff and Fat stroll through the double doors into the arena.]
There was talk of getting a Wal-Mart five years ago, but groundbreaking on the recommended site unearthed an old Native American burial ground. Quickly the Huntsville town council voted to block further construction. The remains of dead Indians would fuel conversation for generations. It was also a source of both pride and out rage, Huntsvillians unsure of how they were supposed to feel.
On one hand, many made a yearly trek to Ted Turner Stadium in Atlanta to cheer on the Braves. On the other, strange occurrences at night, reports of pickups driving themselves into the forest to never return had long gone unexplained. Now, they had meaning.
Wal-Mart’s taken the soul of an entire nation, but Huntsville would be the lone voice of reason. The community of poor boys and girls who said, “No thank you, allowing a 24/7 Drug Store was enough.”
The burial ground was the heart of Huntsville until the Hilton was erected, like manna from heaven, offering the uneducated a classy means to earn minimum wage and a leg up on their forefathers who have accused following generations of raping the value behind a good living.
The people over time had trouble relating to rotting remains. While it was cool, the sacred ground said jack about the men and women who skipped house payments to throw up a second Directv dish. What does it mean to live in Huntsville? Who are its sons and daughters?
The joke was their town was only worth driving through, stopping for gas and a quick piss. A true humanitarian is someone who can laugh at himself.
Only worth driving through...
If true, the council approved the Hilton’s construction to have the last laugh. Nobody wants to stop in Huntsville, but a hotel this beautiful can’t be found in the surrounding areas.
Travelers find themselves trapped in Huntsville, albeit in style, like Cruise finds himself now.
Locked in a padded room with Joey Melton, the one man who’s taken almost a sick pleasure in raking Cameron over the coals verbally. He didn’t ask to team with the man, that’s for damn sure. But Melton did? The CSWA’s Mr. Everything requested to take Cammy on as a partner?
The fledging insanity in Cameron’s career has to be a result of global warming. Scientists have predicted gradual change over hundreds of years. Metropolitan cities weren’t being flooded, but Cruise’s personal space certainly was. And, though thousands aren’t senseless dying, isn’t this worse?
He stops in the center of the lobby, as ignorant looking Huntsville teens eye him behind the counter. Cruise nods his head, it’s a nice place no question.
“She's got a way about her”
”I don't know what it is”
”But I know that I can't live without her”
The quiet butchering of a song from the bar reaches Cameron’s ears like a whistle only he and dogs can hear. It’s unbearable. That awful playing of a piano, someone please, before pacemakers start malfunctioning.
“She's got a way of pleasin'”
”I don't know what it is”
”But there doesn't have to be a reason”
”Anyway”
The voice is picking up steam. Cruise power walks to the bar, a migraine building. Whoever is singing, guaranteed has their eyes closed, feeling the lyrics, as if only they shared that moment in time.
“She's got a smile that heals me”
”I don't know why it is”
”But I have to laugh when she reveals me”
Cameron staggers into the bar, and fights the urge to cry. There are lighters in the air, why? Sweet Momma Cass why are people respecting this? If Billy Joel is able to hear the rendition, Cruise hopes he’s not driving.
Is that?
Tell me it’s not...
“She's got a way of talkin'”
”I don't know what it is”
”But it lifts me up when we are walkin'”
”Anywhere”
Joey Melton sits on top of a piano as an elderly woman in a “Tony Stewart” T-shirt and white slacks romances the keys. Melton spots Cruise, nods, and kicks his head back in the air, still singing breathlessly.
“She comes to me when I'm feelin' down”
”Inspires me without a sound”
”She touches me...”
Cameron decisively grabs a fire extinguisher off the wall, steps to the old woman and fires off a round, saving humanity as we know it.
“...and I get turned arou--” Oblivious to much, even Joey Melton has to recognize he’s being rudely interrupted.
“Hey! Cruise, what ar-...”
The patrons file out of the bar. Damn Huntsville curfew. Last call comes so early now.
Cameron apologetically holds his right hand in the air. “Sorry Joey...”
“I should hope so, I was ten seconds away from the big finish.” Melton tosses the mic to the bartender and takes a seat at a small table for two. Cruise, trying to regain his senses, sits opposite Melton.
“Big finish? No man, they weren’t ready for it, believe me.”
“You’re probably right. Leave’em wanting more.”
Cruise grimaces. Melton was buying this. Yikes. Too bad he doesn’t own any swampland in Florida, he could clean Joey out within the hour.
“Melton the show starts in twenty minutes. We were supposed to check in two hours ago, and believe it or not I actually like being early. Spending the afternoon with the boys, and Mercedes. We love the business. It’s why we live in it.”
Melton stares Cameron in the eye. Cruise meant every word, and he knows it. Sincerity’s a new trait to Joey, but he’s learned how to sense it.
“Geez Cruise, what do you...watch the Lifetime Network and read women’s magazines too?”
The answer was yes, but Cruise would never admit it. Not even under the glare of a hot lamp with a taunting glass of water an arm’s length away.
“Come on Melton, let’s roll. Be serious for once.”
“I asked you here, because I am serious. The truth is people aren’t lining up out the door to team with a forty year-old superstar who’s selling dvds of barbed wire matches with midgets on his website.”
Cruise cocked an eyebrow. “I thought those were out of stock..”
“I wish.”
Cameron would either learn much from Melton, or move to the Alaskan Wilderness to find space.
“I’m easily written off now, Cammy. A side-show they say, and the good man upstairs only knows I nearly have a penny to my name. I asked to team with you because I knew you wouldn’t resist.”
“But I have. Not to be a stickler Joey, but I’ve been all but on my hands and knees to get out of this match.”
Joey cupped his face with two hands in anguish. “You and Troy both make heartfelt speeches come off like pulling teeth.”
“Me and Troy?” Cameron backed from the table slightly. “How long has it been Melton?”
“Too long. But don’t worry your safe, I’m not that depraved.” Joey takes a drink from a half-empty beer. “Though, I can’t yet vouch for how good you look when I’m drunk.”
Cruise shoots up from the table. “Allrighty. Hey thanks for the date? Dare I say? But I’m about fifteen minutes from getting fined, so I’ll see you at the arena.”
Melton hops to his feet, a smile on his face.
“That was a joke, Cruise. Listen...” Cameron turned back to Joey, though unsure why. “Thanks man. I’m going to give you all I got.”
Cameron relaxed. Who would turn down an opportunity to team with the legend? “I know.”
The sober one of the two fishes into his pants pocket and pulls out a set of keys, tossing them Melton’s direction.
“You drive. There’s still time for a crash course scouting report of tonight’s match.”
As they walked out of the bar, Cameron’s own words rung in his ear. Turning back to Joey, he stole the keys from his partner.
“Better yet...”
“Good call. I’m going to need a good hour to be able to stand upright with no problems.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Cutto: The parking garage of the Von Braun Civic Center. The cameraman watches as a huge monster truck - an old Ford in a former life - rolls into the arena. It parks across two parking spots. The doors swing open, admitting two massive figures - The Monsta Boyz, Buff Bellows and Fat Farrell. Both wear their typical Hawaiian shirts.]
BUFF: Aight, Fat Man. Ready to roll?
FAT: Aw, hell yeah.
BUFF: Then let's do this.
[Exchanging a high-five, Buff and Fat stroll through the double doors into the arena.]