(OO_MTH) "New York, Topeka, Santa Fe, Home..."
The shit that went down in New York wasn't the worst he's ever witnessed. People get screwed all the time in wrestling, and it's probably the six hundreth time he's done a show without being paid at the end.
Their promoter has the decency to look chagrinned when he calls him into his office on the night of his pay-off. "Sorry. But you're a nice kid, you'll get work somewhere."
He's forty-five, actually. Too damn old to be a kid. "How the hell am I going to get home?"
His eyes narrow. "Isn't your daddy good for it?"
Anger races through him. It always came back to his father, didn't it? "We don't talk."
"Maybe you should make up. I heard he's been running shows out of the Knights of Columbus in Quebec City...." His fists have tightened into gnarled, knotted lumps. "Look at it as a lesson. next time, you'll buy round-trip." He says.
As always,sympathy sits between shit and syphillis in the emotional lexicon of the business.
****
Somehow, he manages to find a working phone both at the Red Roof he's staying in. A collect call to Toronto still costs too much money, but he has just enough left.
His brother Dean picks up on the third ring. "You got screwed, didn't you?"
"I can hang up right now..."
A long sigh. "I can wire you tickets. Where's your next booking?"
He looked down at the lump of bags mounded beside him. "Y'know something, kid? I don't have one."
"You can come back to Tor..."
"...I'm not going back to Toronto," he says firmly.
"You can rent a car and drive to Boston..."
"No, I'm tapped man," he finally says. "Can you send me a one-way to Tuscon?"
A sigh. "Dad's gonna find out."
"I know."
"You're too old to..."
"Stuff it with the lecture. I've gotta get home."
"I'll wire you one tomorrow, okay?"
"Yeah. Okay."
"Try to stay safe, Shawn."
"Yeah," he mumbled. He held the handset for a good minute, realizing for the millionth time that he was still on his father's dole.
There wasn't anything for him to do but breathe and wait. Good thing he knew how to kill time with the best of them....
Their promoter has the decency to look chagrinned when he calls him into his office on the night of his pay-off. "Sorry. But you're a nice kid, you'll get work somewhere."
He's forty-five, actually. Too damn old to be a kid. "How the hell am I going to get home?"
His eyes narrow. "Isn't your daddy good for it?"
Anger races through him. It always came back to his father, didn't it? "We don't talk."
"Maybe you should make up. I heard he's been running shows out of the Knights of Columbus in Quebec City...." His fists have tightened into gnarled, knotted lumps. "Look at it as a lesson. next time, you'll buy round-trip." He says.
As always,sympathy sits between shit and syphillis in the emotional lexicon of the business.
****
Somehow, he manages to find a working phone both at the Red Roof he's staying in. A collect call to Toronto still costs too much money, but he has just enough left.
His brother Dean picks up on the third ring. "You got screwed, didn't you?"
"I can hang up right now..."
A long sigh. "I can wire you tickets. Where's your next booking?"
He looked down at the lump of bags mounded beside him. "Y'know something, kid? I don't have one."
"You can come back to Tor..."
"...I'm not going back to Toronto," he says firmly.
"You can rent a car and drive to Boston..."
"No, I'm tapped man," he finally says. "Can you send me a one-way to Tuscon?"
A sigh. "Dad's gonna find out."
"I know."
"You're too old to..."
"Stuff it with the lecture. I've gotta get home."
"I'll wire you one tomorrow, okay?"
"Yeah. Okay."
"Try to stay safe, Shawn."
"Yeah," he mumbled. He held the handset for a good minute, realizing for the millionth time that he was still on his father's dole.
There wasn't anything for him to do but breathe and wait. Good thing he knew how to kill time with the best of them....