((High above the Western landscape, inside a midnight cloud cover, the airplane carrying “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane to Denver, Colorado for his appearance on XWF’s flagship program, Monday Madness, cruises at a steady pace with no turbulence or any sort of surprising incidents whatsoever. It a cylinder of calmness, racing through the sky like a metal lightning bolt and carving a wake through air currents miles over the heads of millions as the sleep. The plane, a smaller one that flights of this distance in commercial airlines usually, is full. The cabin is mostly populated by businessmen making last minute trips from one side of the country to the other, LA to New York, LA to Chicago, LA to Boston, treating the stopover in Denver like little more than a momentary pause in their busy lives. A bathroom break. For Loverboy, though, in his aisle seat near the front of the coach section, Denver is the destination. For Loverboy, every week brings a new destiny greater than the last. Title matches in Phoenix, contenders matches in Los Angeles, now thinning the herd in the Mile High City. One thing Loverboy rarely gets to do is sit, and wait. These few hours high up in the air are a respite of the life on the ground, ironically enough as he is moving much, much faster than possible in any other way. Now though, Loverboy is seemingly wasting his opportunity for surcease of frantic movement, panicked hurry and unending stress. And, unfortunately for the woman trying desperately to look out of the window beside her, Loverboy is sharing the wealth.))

Loverboy: Can you believe the son of a bitch? Can you?

((The older woman shakes her head, attempting to politely agree with the agitated rock n’ roller sitting next to her and badgering her to look at the cell phone in his hand. He doesn’t relent so easily, however.))

Loverboy: Look at the garbage this dude is spewing about me, man! Look! He’s taking some bogus joke interview I did with Steve Sayors last week, where I was obviously being sarcastic and pointing out the uselessness of running “trash talk” gimmicks against one another, and he takes that and portrays it like what I actually think and say? Come on, man!

((Loverboy continues to press the phone into the face of the older woman, who capitulates and begins watching the replay of Luca Arzegotti’s promo on the XWF website. She watches bewildered during the scenes, then listens half-heartedly once the tape recording of Luca begins to roll.))

Loverboy: Listen to the guy! I swear, the dude is on more drugs than even he thinks he is, man. Luca thinks the XWF is protecting me? Seriously? LUCA thinks the XWF is protecting ME? Yeah man, he’s right, I’m a champion – but I’m not a champion because I take the easy road, you know? I’m not a champion because I can beat scrubs like Davey Shadows or LH Harrison, man. Actually, I won the title I have by beating the best the company has to offer – including his bestest little friend in the whole wide world, Azrael Erebus. You know why Luca Arzegotti found Azrael standing on top of a fucking skyscraper ready to jump? Because I reminded him of his humanity, that’s why. But I’m protected, right? I’m protected by being two thirds of a three person team, because one of my partners is too busy running around playing mobsters with the IRA and the Russians? I’m protected because there’s a third man in my match with Luca? Dude, dude, seriously… it’s like he doesn’t even know. Let me tell you the truth, er… what’s your name, sugar?

Older Woman: Joan.

Loverboy: Joan! Let me tell you the truth, Joan. Do you know what the match was supposed to be this week?

Joan: No… I don’t watch wrestling.

Loverboy: Well, you should. Especially this week. But the match I’m in tomorrow night? Was originally scheduled to be a one on one match between Luca and Shadows. Isn’t that funny? Allegedly the fall guy, the guy there to provide an easy pin for someone, and I wasn’t even supposed to be there. No, the XWF wanted to give Luca that homecoming win he thought he was going to have last week, that I spoiled for him. But, I insisted on being booked in the match. I could have sat out and relaxed, man, but I made sure they added me in. Why do you think I did that, Joan? Why do you think, if I’m so god damned protected by this company, that I would try to stick my neck out and get exposed for it, huh?

Joan: I… I… I don’t…

Loverboy: BECAUSE, Joan. Because I’m not the guy being protected. I’m not the guy the rookies walk around the locker room talking about in hushed tones like some kind of urban legend. I’m not the guy who gets promoted twice a year or whatever the hell it is, and gets pushed like the second coming. I’m not the guy who walked in to a brand new losing streak, Joan, in fact I’ve never lost a match in the XWF. I’m not the guy who needs protecting from the brass up top, man. And Luca knows that, dude, don’t you think the guy is stupid and thinks I’m really hoping to just have Shadows as a buffer so I can claim to not be a loser – Luca Arzegotti is a smart guy. He’s trying to instigate me, to get in my head and get me off my game. Luca is smart enough to know that HE is the guy that the XWF wants protected. HE is the guy they want to sell out arenas and bring in the PPV buys, man. And they don’t want the mystique spoiled for anyone, you know what I mean? They don’t want anyone pulling back the curtain and showing that the all mighty and powerful Oz is just a spoiled fucking rich kid who got lucky. That’s right. Luca Arzegotti, the big bad, the legend, the guy who never loses – except last week when I was there. He did a good job trying to write that off too, didn’t he? The guy tries to disguise his little throwaway comment by calling himself a hypocrite and trying to distract everyone from the truth. He says I did what he would have done. And you know what? I believe him, dude! But you know why I did it and not him? Because he couldn’t. Because I was faster than him. Because I was smarter than him. Because I was BETTER than him, that’s why. Luca Arzegotti’s time in the sun is finished, dude. And he’s already met his replacement. All it takes now is one more reminder this Monday. Shit, tonight. You know what I really hope, Joan? I hope that Davey Shadows gets so stoned that he forgets all about the match and I get Luca one on one. Then maybe he’ll be forced to admit what he and I both already know – that it’s my turn.

((A flight attendant approaches Loverboy, placing a hand on his gesticulating forearm. She’s young, pretty. His wide smile at her presence instantly causes her cheeks to flush red and she stammers when she speaks.))

Stewardess: E-Excuse me, s-sir?

Loverboy: Yeah, girlie, how can the megastar help you?

Stewardess: The other passengers… they’re complaining a little at the volume. We’re nearing Denver, could you maybe be a little more quiet for the next little while? I’m sorry to bother you…

Loverboy: No, no, baby girl, it’s okay. I got that venom out of my system. I just needed to get that shit off my chest. This dude Luca Arzegotti had my blood boiling, but I’m good now. Hey, sweetheart, where in Denver can I get a good room with a view?

((The flight attendant looks away bashfully, but steels herself against the piercing blue gaze of Loverboy’s handsome eyes.))

Stewardess: Well… I’ve always really wanted to stay at the Hotel Monaco.

Loverboy: Ain’t that something? That’s exactly what you’re gonna get to do tonight, babydoll.

((Welcome to Denver, “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane.))