Post by Deleted on Oct 30, 2016 15:22:19 GMT -5
A Golden Opportunity to Put on the Ritz
A Warren H. Goodwin RP
Dialogue Key
Warren Goodwin
Other
A Warren H. Goodwin RP
Dialogue Key
Warren Goodwin
Other
“Mr. G, your ten o'clock appointment just called. He said he's gonna be a teensy bit late,” a woman with mousy brown hair and a small build announced through the open doorway.
It was nearing the appointed time for that meeting on a Tuesday morning. Autumn rain had returned to uptown Chi-town as sure as taxes had caught up to Capone. Steady and heavy drops bombarded the exterior of the house, providing an odd percussive backdrop for the activity within. Seated in an armchair, Warren Goodwin was only half paying attention to his secretary. Appointments could be made and altered as necessary on the fly; Goodwin would admit himself that he tended to do things spontaneously at times. Where was the fun if you didn't? Being hidebound to the point you didn't follow through on any wild ideas that crossed your mind was the last thing he wanted. Thus the alteration to the morning's business meeting wasn't at all perturbing to him.
He waved the announcement off, in fact, “All right, just pencil him in for ten-thirty and we'll go from there. I'm not about to get all high-hat about a trifling delay.”
Roxie lingered, “You want a cup of joe, Mr. G?”
Warren didn't immediately respond. The film playing out on the screen before him had gripped the man's attention too firmly for that. Surprisingly it was actually contemporary technology, which had been brought in by an associate of Mary's who'd claimed to be good with such things. Though Goodwin didn't seem to know how to work it, he'd admit that it was pretty snazzy. What he saw was a match he'd had about a year previously amid his barnstorming tour. In the ring with him had been a smaller, faster wrestler who'd done everything he could to turn it into a match of agility. Goodwin slid to the edge of his seat as the climax arrived – the smaller man attempted a springboard knee strike and received an elevated Bum's Rush for his trouble. It was the way the cruiserweight opponent had been turned inside out that really caught his attention. Just what he'd been looking for in reviewing these old matches.
Again Roxie prodded, “Coffee, Mr. G?”
Warren pulled his eyes away from the screen, “Sure. Thanks, doll. Oh, and send Miss Virginia in here, will you?”
“My pleasure,” Roxie winked before sauntering off to fulfill the request.
Warren practically ejected himself from the armchair, filled with renewed energy upon discovering what might be the answer to the challenge before him. With past matches still playing out on the screen – he hadn't yet figured out how to pause or stop the film player – he turned to face the wall which had just been behind him. Pinned to it was a series of four portraits, printed on glossy paper like Hollywood head shots. Much like a Hollywood producer Warren had been debating just what roles would be suitable for this supporting cast. Who would fit in where, what they would do. Unusually for someone so typically jubilant, he wore an expression of grim consideration as he scanned each one yet again. This wasn't something he could just go in blind for.
“You rang, boss?” another woman's voice interrupted his musings. Virginia had just arrived, dressed oddly (to Warren) in slacks and a sleeveless shirt that strangely had a picture of a mangy black cat upon it. He never had figured out what that shirt was for.
“Ah, Miss Virginia! Why if you don't just look like a Moll this fine day. Please, come in! Make yourself perfectly at home and close the door behind you,” Warren instructed her, instantly smiling once again.
She followed those directions, then asked, “What can I do for you?”
“As you know, Virginia, we've got quite possibly the biggest clambake we've ever had coming up soon. Just think about it! Bright lights, film cameras everywhere, people dressed to the nines for the greatest show of the year. Everybody and their brother come to see the most fan-tabulous display of professional grappling which the world has ever set their peepers on,” he explained, waving his hand before him as if painting the picture, “And what Joe is going to be at the center of it?”
“Stan McMann?” Virginia asked, deadpan as usual when confronted with a sudden question.
Warren shook his head, “McMann's hard boiled, no two cents about it. However, the center of attention has certainly got to be the one and only well dressed gentleman of the bunch. The one Joe who's absolutely, positively got It.”
“Oh,” Virginia responded, realizing her mistake, “That'd be you, sir.”
“Now you're on the trolley!” Goodwin nodded, “But for my star to shine bright out there, for me to get the notoriety of a musician on Tin Pan Alley, I've got to do this right. There will be five other men out to stop Warren H. Goodwin from becoming so swell, so nifty to the whole world that they'll roll out the red carpet wherever I go. Five men between us and really putting on the Ritz.”
“You just have to bake some smackdowns. That'll teach them not to waltz with the best in the business,” Virginia suggested, clearly believing every word.
For once Warren was confused by something another person said. Miss Virginia had a certain way with words that tangled them up so badly as to be unrecognizable. However she was a very capable woman who'd gotten him out of more than one jam in his career thus far. Rather than dwell on whatever she meant by her suggestion, Warren returned his attention to the portraits on the wall. His expression changed back to its more solemn state as contemplation replaced his outward confidence. Virginia stood there in silence, waiting for the boss to go on – he clearly already had some ideas. Just let the man put them into words in his own time.
“Let's consider them one by one. Leeroy Jenkins,” Warren announced, pointing to the first portait, “Now this is a Bruno if I've ever seen one. The man's big, strong and would rather punch a guy in the face than get too technical with him. Even though I haven't had the opportunity to step into the ring with him before, I know he's no pushover. No sir. When the man's got a problem with you he'll keep on attacking you to make sure you know it. Just ask Frank Lynn. Someone like that I'll be ready to smack in the kisser, but it'd be better to just outmaneuver him. Make the man have to keep up.”
“Speaking of Frank Lynn, he's a whole other problem,” Goodwin continued, motioning to the next portrait, “Man's been the Real McCoy since day one. He's aggressive, the people love him and fighting him's going to be harder than keeping a kid safe on a Struggle Buggy. You make a wrong move and you'll bounce right out of that jalopy. The man's also part owner of Legacy Pro Wrestling, so I've got a healthy respect for him. After all, you've got to respect your boss no matter what sort of work you're in. Hopefully I can work with him for a while, maybe keep the other guys off my back. We'll have to fight, though, so a well-timed shot will make him take a seat. Have to make sure of that.”
“Take a seat.. shot.. got it, boss,” Virginia commented knowingly, making a note of it even though Goodwin hadn't meant anything specific.
“Ante Whitner,” Goodwin continued unabated, “The man loves to fly around the ring like a cooper taking some cast-off for a ride. Can't force the man to keep up with me, that'd be like trying to race a Studebaker on roller skates. With the kind of experience he's got, he's bound to have enough tricks up his sleeves to make a man look positively spifflicated. Well, I don't intend to be made to look like I just stepped out of a speakeasy after a few whiskeys. No sir. He tries to take to the air, I'll have to intercept him like a real Knight of the Air. I hear tell he's struggled a bit mightily at times so I'd expect him to be even more reckless than usual here. That works to Warren H. Goodwin's advantage.”
“Finally we've got Maxwell Dachs. What a work this Palooka is,” Warren went on, nodding to the final portrait, “Someone really ought to tell him to just pipe down sometime. The man talks more inflammatory words than a preacher in the Bible Belt! Somehow he managed to qualify for the Golden Opportunity match, but he couldn't do it on his own; needed a strongman like Jenkins to help him wear down an opponent. Doesn't matter, though. Against him I'm sure that my own strength can knock that ridiculous shrub he calls a mustache right off his face.”
“Very good, sir. What do you need me to do?” Virginia asked, still patiently waiting for the instructions she assumed must be coming.
“I'll level with you. We don't have any idea who that fifth man's going to be. A real unknown quantity, more unpredictable than trying to figure out what few the words Coolidge says at a party will be. During the qualifier I'll need you to pull up a chair backstage and scribble some notes about the winner. What do you see in him? What kind of fighting does he use? What do you suggest to counter that style? How do we make sure everything's Jake. You get me?” Warren informed her, turning back to face the woman, “I mean, you've been in the ring yourself, of course.”
“That's true. Don't worry boss, I'll take millions.. and millions of notes!” Virginia responded, showing excitement for the first time in a while, “What about during your match?
Goodwin shrugged, “Feel free to keep the chair you pull up for the qualifier. After all, you might need it.”
A somewhat savage grin crossed Virginia's face, “You've got it boss!”
“I'm glad. Now scram, I've got some other business to attend to,” Warren instructed, but not in a tone that was meant to cause offense.
As instructed Virginia left, just as Roxie returned with the promised cup of joe from earlier. Warren nodded his appreciation but spoke no words to accompany the gesture. He sat in his armchair again, feeling a new sense of unease creep over him. Better to be alone when he confronted it than drag any of the dolls into it. This was his own battle to fight. Facing Frank Lynn in the Golden Opportunity match was going to be difficult. Even though they hadn't really met when Warren worked for LPW, he felt indebted to the man all the same. Legacy Pro Wrestling had been the final stop before arriving in WFWF for Warren; Lynn's ownership stake in LPW had been made public just as Warren had arrived there. In a way Lynn's smaller promotion had paved the way for Warren to make it to the big time. Now he had to fight the man he partially credited with his own opportunity with WFWF. That wasn't going to be an easy road to travel.
What was more, this was going to be the most chaotic match he'd wrestled in for quite a while. There would be half a dozen men trying to grab a single belt, using everything at their disposal to ensure the other five didn't get there first. A ladder would be necessary to ascend to the top both in a literal and figurative sense. Warren had experienced chaos with multiple men, a ladder and imminent danger all around him before. While it hadn't been wrestling, it had still been honestly terrifying for him. Now he had to get through whatever fears still lingered about such situations if he hoped to succeed. Suddenly a clap of thunder resounded nearby, causing the normally calm and collected Warren Goodwin to flinch. Bad memories again. Unable to relax he stood up, considered his coffee and then reached instead for the humidor on his desk.
One flick of a lighter later and he managed to calm down with the help of a cigar. After taking a drag he thought aloud, “No two ways about it, I've got to go over the top this time.”
Just then Roxie re-entered again to announce, “Mr. G, your ten-thirty has arrived.”
“Excellent! Tell Gary to get a wiggle on,” Goodwin responded, grinning once again. Time to make Gary's golden opportunity a reality before moving on to his own.
I dont know good luck 
