PCP: Drunk to Impress!

Vertical screen. You’re playing your favorite mobile game, and it’s offering you a chance to watch an ad for some currency. You click on it and see bright visual colors thematic of South Beach. Bright pinks and purples flood your screen with a large “Pop Culture Phenoms” logo. Images of Elise Ares, dressed up in different outfits, flash across your mobile screen. Traditional wrestling garb. A long flowing red dress. Lastly, a business professional.

Narrator: The Pop Culture Phenoms have had many different looks over the years. Now? You get to choose their style. Will you Dress for Success ? Or will your Dress lack an impression?

Next is The D dressed in his PRIME attire. Then a top hat and monocle. Lastly, a nice dapper three piece suit.

Narrator: Have your friends vote on your best attire, and be the belle of the ball!

Cut to Klein. He’s basically just a big brute with red trunks and a box on his head. Each outfit is a different colored or decorated box. There’s normal (“This Side Up” being upside down), rainbow boxhead, and a box with a fake suit and tie drawn on it.

Narrator: (quickly) One ninety nine subscription fee. Microtransactions available. For those under the age of 18, please get your parents permission before spending millions of dollars.

The final image is all three of the PCP, dressed in their PRIME attire.

Narrator: PCP, Dress for Success! (quickly) Not affiliated with Roblox.

The last image of the Ad is a zoom in on Elise’s face. She winks. The vertical ad fades out.

**

The soft crescendo alarm of an iPhone rings out of a pitch dark bedroom. A hand flies out from under the sheets, smacking the phone completely off his side table. He rolls over and sits up, blinks, and rubs the evening malaise away. The D is not a morning person.

In the bathroom, the D, topless, brushes his teeth as his shower steams up in the background.

In his kitchen, he cracks a couple of eggs and throws some protein powder into a blender. It deafeningly whirls as he sips from his morning cup of joe.

Abruptly the blender sound cuts out.The D is now sitting on his living room couch drinking his protein shake, watching Chuck Taylor eat cereal and watch Boy Meets World.

A large ornate grandfather clock shows 8 am. The hands fast forward about thirty minutes.

Cut to a local gym. The D does cardio on a treadmill. Dressed in sweats and a loose fitting tank top, he listens to music through his Air Pods.

Cue the workout montage. Squats, butterfly curls, more cardio, lunges, focusing primarily on legs today. Every now and then bones crack and he nurses his elderly legs, slowing just a bit. He wipes the sweat from his brow and tosses it into the camera to transition to a local mom and pop diner. He orders more egg whites, a side of bacon, and a pint of 2% milk. He makes playful conversation with the waitress and tips well.

Noon. Another montage of the D making calls, wheeling and dealing. He calls wrestling royalty, Hollywood elites, and the business investor class with a smug look and a sense of superiority. What exactly is accomplished? Who knows.

Four o’clock. The D fries up a nice juicy steak with asparagus and broccoli before scarfing it down. Satisfied after his meal, he kicks his feet up on his kitchen table and pats his own protruding stomach.

**

After a busy day, the D cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders. At six o’clock his phone rings to the sound of his own tag team entrance music.Elise appears on the screen throwing up a peace sign in a semi seductive image. He picks up the phone.

The D: Sup bitch! Where we partyin’ tonight in this po’dunk Shy-town?

His expression drops.

The D: What do you mean you don’t want to party tonight? Do… Do you have to shit?

Confusion morphs to concern.

The D: Oh C’mon. It’s not like Ned Reform is gonna be in the club tonight. The moment you see him you might hurl and it’s an unfair advantage for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dump. But you’ve got your Ativan and your Lorazepam, right? Plus I’ve already started pregaming!

He takes a draw from his jacket flask.

The D: Are you really gonna make me force Klein to rave? He can’t even fit the glowsticks in his box mouth hole… Plus I think he ate one when he was 28 and that might explain a lot of his personality…

He continues to listen, fiddling with his flask lid.

The D: You change your mind, you got my itinerary. Could really use a wing-girl.

He nods.

The D: Just, try to avoid any images of Ned Reform and get some rest. We’ll paint this town red with the blood of his pupils this week! Both Ned’s kids as well as Ned’s eyes.

Tossing his phone down on his dining room table, it bounces with a clang.

The D: … this sucks.

He kicks nothing, scuffing his shoes on the carpet.

**

Grandfather clock transition. Time lapse. Nine o’clock. The D has not left his abode. Instead, he sits hunched over a laptop screen in a dimly lit room illuminated by the wrestling tape of both Daniel Green and Hugo Vale. He sees little remnants of Ned Reform in each man's work. Green’s disregard of the rules and Vale’s surprising technical acuity. Bailing when the momentum is against them… they’re thoughtful, methodical, but there’s room for error. They’re still fresh faced and as much as they’re willing to bend the rules, PCP have been breaking them for years with little consequence.

Next he watches the Green Vale Gang’s battle with the eGG Bandits. The veteran Bandits played the GVG like a fiddle, luring them into a false sense of security before tactically striking. But there’s more. The D’s acquired footage of the GVG training, and even some of their early Pre-PRIME matches to view. He watches their evolution and knows there’s talent there… but they aren’t quite ready.

He reaches out and closes his laptop. Eleven o’clock. He’s been drinking all night but only seems slightly sloshed. He sighs and looks around his empty apartment. A few empty beer bottles and a half drank bottle of whiskey are his partners. Suddenly, he gets a ping on his phone. It’s Elise.

“Hey BITCH, where you at?! I missed you at both clubs? Are you making the after-after party?”

The D rubs his eyes again. He smiles, grabbing a breakaway suit jacket, his flash, phone and some nice dress shoes.

Another Grandfather clock transition. One o’clock. The D and Elise Ares dancing on the dance floor of a brightly colored Chicago Rave, found through the various underground connections the tandem have developed over years of traveling and partying. Elise seems three sheets deep, hands in the air having a ball. The D looks a bit solemn. He knows later this week, they will try to prove Lindsey Troy should pay them more money by destroying Ned Reform’s pupils. And while Elise’s spinach is alcohol, you can’t help but wonder what sort of talent she could be without it.

The D’s snapped out of his thoughts by Elise slapping her hand onto the D’s shoulders.

Elise Ares: D, what’s up! You’re all, thinking and stuff. Stop that.

The D: Oh, I was wondering…

Lights flash and alarms ring out, as out of the sprinkler system shoots a bunch of foam all over the cheering masses. The throngs throw their hands up and bounce in ecstasy.

The D: There it is!

The D breaks his internal concentration and gives into the moment. The two of them bounce and dance among the crowded sea of Chicago partiers… If they knew they were surrounded by wrestling fans… they probably wouldn’t be enjoying all the unintentional touching.

Another Grandfather clock transition. Three o’clock. The D is holding up a clearly inebriated Elise. He’s looking at her phone and seems shocked.

The D: How is your uber rating only a 2?

Elise Ares: (slurring) Listen, I don’t need social credit. I’m hot. Also I’ve thrown up in a lot of Ubers, so what? Sue me.

The D: Here, let’s use mine. It’s been like, fifteen minutes. You’d think some wrestling poor would want to drive you home.

The D fumbles with his phone, while trying to keep Elise upright. She’s kind of fidgety.

Elise Ares: Oh I don’t use my name or real pic D. That’s amateur hour. All Uber has to know is that my name is Lindsay Troy, and I’m a super rich bitch. Bang.

The D: I don’t call myself “The D” on Uber either. Mostly because of the Terms and Conditions. And Bureaucracy.

Elise Ares: That’s BULLSHIT. You deserve better.

The D: You said it. Oh, here’s Javier. I wonder if he’s related to Bardem.

The small Honda Civic stops near the sidewalk. The D opens the door and guides Elise in, who sloshes into the backseat. The D climbs in behind, and closes the door.

The D looks up at the driver through the rear view mirror, and looks shocked.

The driver… is wearing a box on his head.

The D: Klein!?

The box spins and meets the D’s gaze. He waves to the duo, and slams on the gas, peeling away.

The D: Why the hell are you driving Uber?! And why is your Uber name Javier?!

Klein shrugs. The D shakes his head, as Elise holds back throwing up in the backseat. Well, she does twice, but third times the charm before a spew of vomit sprays all over the upholstery.  After a moment, Elise raises one finger and looks dreary.

Elise Ares: I think I threw up in your rental car.

The D: You did. That was definitely you.

Elise Ares: Oh. Right. I mean Lindsay Troy threw up in your rental car.

And with that, Elise is out like a light, snoring in the backseat. The D looks up to Klein, who raises one hand to give the D a thumbs up.

The D: Both hands on the wheel Klein. Safety first.

Klein grabs the wheel as the trio speed off into the night.

At the motel, and Klein and the D carry an unconscious Elise to her room. They set her into her bed, tucking her in, leaving her in her party dress but removing her uncomfortable shoes. The two nod to one another, turn out the lights, and leave quietly.

The D: So. Later this week. We’ve got that tag match against the Green Vale Gang. If Elise can’t go… are you good?

Klein nods. Klein makes some motions that Elise will be fine.

The D: You’re right. This is like a 4 on the Elise drunk scale.  She’s going to wake up fresher than us. Let’s uh… let’s get some sleep. We gotta get to the arena early to do PR. I’ll see you then?

Klein nods enthusiastically and leaves. The D, alone, takes a deep inhale of the crisp Chicago air.

By the time the D gets to his room and undresses, it’s nearly 4 am. The D looks at his alarm. It’s set for 8. He rolls his eyes, and adjusts it until 10 am for a little extra sleep. The D slips into blissful slumber.

Another Grandfather clock transition. The sun rises at about 8:30 am. There’s a loud pounding on the D’s door. Groggy and stunned, the D walks over and opens it. Standing there, bright and enthusiastic, is none other than an already dressed and made up Elise Ares. Klein smiles, waving behind her.

Elise Ares: C’mon D! We gotta go, BBY! Didn’t you want to get some shit talk in on baldo’s boys? I can’t remember which boys these are. Are these the fat ones or the annoying ones? There’s so many I can’t keep up.

The D once again rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He blinks and smiles.

One final Grandfather clock transition. The exterior of the United Center in Chicago, Illinois. Fading backstage, our trio of the Pop Culture Phenoms stand, game day ready, doing prep work in anticipation of their match later that week. They’re standing in front of a flowing PRIME flag, Elise on the left, the D on the right, and Klein towering dead center behind them. The D’s face twists into a smile.

The D: We’re the Pop Culture Phenoms, and you’re watching the ACE Network. Now that we’ve joined PRIME, check out the DEFIANCE archives to see our origins. Then, tune in every episode of Revival for your recommended dosage of Vitamin D, Elise, and the PCP.

The Phenoms pose, Klein arms crossed as Elise and the D are back to back. The D stops and stands. Elise winces. No one sees except the director, who makes a motion to start over again.

The D: Again? Okay we can go again. Back to one people…

The D’s face twists into a smile.

The D:  We’re the Pop Culture Phenoms, and you’re watching the ACE Network. Now that we’ve joined PRIME--

“CUT!”

The D: The heck!

Klein: What was that?

Red.

Everywhere.

The once grease crusted concrete has become a canvas of crimson. On one knee, Elise Ares looks down at a blood-stained spectacle that would make Dexter Morgan giddy. The world goes silent as she runs the back of her hand across her mouth and looks down at the scarlet streak that appears. A staffer throws up somewhere off scene as the Leading Lady can’t even blink.

Klein: Can someone call a squad? We need to get her to a hospital.

Elise Ares: No no nonono. No. I’m… fine.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Elise resets.

The D: What do you mean you’re fine, you threw up blood… EVERYWHERE.

Gears turn rapidly in her brain to justify the ridiculous premise that came out of her mouth.

Elise Ares: Yeah, about that… this happens. Sometimes. Not ALL of the time. I mean not on camera obvs we need to burn that footage and it can NEVER see the light of day.

She tries to turn the focus over to the director, staring him down with The Look™ but her fellow Phenoms refuse to let her change the focus.

Klein: This happened before?

Elise Ares: Sure.

The D: When?

Elise Ares: Fuck if I know, you think I keep a journal of all the times I’ve thrown up? I’d have a library named in my honor by now.

Klein: I’d think blood would stand out.

Elise Ares: Maybe once? Twice? I said sometimes but I meant RARELY. Why are you guys making this out to be such a big deal? If they delete the footage like I’ve already told them, who cares?

The D: Are you really going to make me tell you I care? After everything?

Elise Ares: Oh everyone CARES, but they shouldn’t about this. I’m fine. They should care about my upcoming reign as FIST of DEFIANCE, or our future induction into the PRIME Hall of Fame, or about our new mobile game.

Klein: How many times?

Elise Ares: I. Don’t. Know.

Klein: How long ago did this start?

Elise Ares: I’m not going to air my business out in front of all of these people, are you KIDDING me, Klein? What is this? Amateur Hour? The last thing I need is to be on TMZ. AGAIN!

The D: Then we leave. We go somewhere private. Finish this conversation.

Elise Ares: Why are we acting like I’ve never thrown up before? It’s like you guys have N E V E R hung out with me.

The D: The last time you threw up blood you were in a street fight with Tyler Fuse.

Elise Ares: And I WON. Like I said, totes no big deal. Let’s leave and let them clean everything up before the paparazzi show up… okay?

Ares goes to take a step away and she winces again. The D rushes to her side and helps her stay upright, whether she wants it or not. She hisses as he tries to move her against her will. It feels as if someone stuck a dagger into her stomach. Klein and D look at each other, both at a loss for their next step. Like witnesses to a murder, they both mentally reach out to try and change the present, but their efforts cannot change fate. Once a moment is gone. It’s passed. Forever.

**

Another clock transition, not of the Grandfather variety, but of a digital alarm clock on the nightstand of a Hyatt hotel room. An older graying man with a well-kept short beard and a blue dress shirt walks through the door to an adjoining room and makes sure to close the door quietly behind him. Each on an individual queen sized bed, The D and Klein go from slouched to perfect posture learning towards the man.

Dr. Quincey: Well, the news is mixed. Your friend in there has acute pancreatitis. Have you ever heard her complain about any gallbladder issues? Is she a heavy drinker?

The second question is a steel chair to the head of The D.

Klein: She’s been known to have a couple, yeah.

Dr. Quincey: She needs to stop. Immediately. Check herself into the hospital, let them run fluids for a few days, get it out of her system. Then, she goes to rehab after getting the withdrawal out of the way.

The D does some mental gymnastics before chiming in.

The D: I don’t think that’s going to work, Doc. In our line of work we’re contractors and we have contracts and dates we can’t get out of. We can make sure she stays hydrated, doesn’t drink anything, and gets plenty of rest before our next show.

Dr. Quincey: Tell me Mr. Edwards… Do you have any experience helping patients go through withdrawal symptoms?

It was in his best interest to plead the fifth. Memories flooded his mind about his own struggles with withdrawal. Klein seems to nod knowingly in the background but it’s unacknowledged.

Dr. Quincey: It’s best she goes to a hospital and a rehab facility. I can’t make you gentleman do anything, all I can do is give you the best advice I can for that young lady in there.

The D: I don’t see how giving her water and resting in a hospital is any better than getting water and resting in a hotel room. Why spend all the money to hydrate for a few days and go home?

Dr. Quincey: She wouldn’t be going home, she’d be going to a rehab facility.

The D: Don’t you think that’s a little judgmental? You’ve known Elise for 30 minutes and you think you know about her drinking habits and her struggles better than her best friends? We know how to take care of her, we’ve been doing it for years.

Dr. Quincey: No offense Mr. Edwards but I can see you’ve done a great job. So who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?

There is no answer. Only the deafening silence of truth fired directly at The D.

Dr. Quincey: Make the right decision. I’ll be leaving now. Don’t fail that girl.

He didn’t say the word “again” but in the mind of The D, it was implied. Suddenly the Grandfather clock of the mind wound backwards, revealing all of the signs of struggle he’d seen along the way. Not just in Elise… but in himself. His youth. His lifestyle. All of his mistakes and insecurities stripped bare from one line spoken said by a man he’d never met before. How long had gone by? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? He wasn’t for certain as he looked around the hotel room just a shade darker than it was before all alone. Only the rustling of covers from the other room to keep him company.

Pulling out the flask in his pocket he took a long pause before ultimately deciding to unscrew the top, take a long pull, setting it next to the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. With a groan he stood up off the bed and made his way to the shared door, peeking inside to see Klein sitting next to Elise. Both of them fast asleep, but it was Elise with the box on her head. The Boxman startled awake from his chair when he subconsciously felt the gaze of The D upon him. The D puts a finger up to his lips to let Klein know to keep it quiet because Elise was sleeping.

Klein looked down at Elise and then back at The D, as if silently asking what they were going to do. The D didn’t have an answer, but one thing was for sure.

He needed a drink.