"Pinned by Love"
Chapter 1, Part 3
Bryant Everett sat in his living room, looking around at the cushioned chairs and rich draperies his interior decorator had ordered and set just so. He shrugged, looked just fine to him the way it was before. But, Miss Connie, as she'd ordered to be called, said a professional wrestler needed more than an 'okay' living room. His assistant, Terry Kline rushed into the room, a combination of vivicious blonde, and energetic child. She smiled big, though it looked rushed, and thrust a stack of mail at him. "Thanks." he muttered, looking at the top envelope which looked to be addressed by a child.
"Not a problem, B-man." she winked, and rushed out the way she'd come, her hair flying behind her like blonde silk.
Without wasting a moment, he ripped open the envelope and stared stunned at the letter inside.
"Deer Myss-ter Briunt,
My nam is Gabe. I am six yeers old. I am a big fan. Sew wuz my Daddy, he iz up in heven now. Did you kno that? Mom saz they don't have Restling in heven. But, whut is he doing then? I want to meet yoo sometym, just like my Daddy did. He wuz a cool guy. Rite bac soone, yor frien,
Gabe Sheridan"
His eyes widened in awe of the child's ability to convey such things in writing, and he automatically sympathized with this six year old boy. His mind strolled back memory lane twenty years to the time he'd lost his father. He'd been ten years old, but the memory was still as strong as ever. It had been raining, and he'd waited for hours for Dad to come home. As a ten year old, he still didn't grasp the meaning of heaven. Nor did he realize that his father was never coming home. His mom had tried her best, but it was hard on her. Bryant realized that now. His only role model growing up had been a professional wrestler. But, he'd never gotten to meet the guy. No, he didn't have the guts to write to his hero. He wasn't that kind of kid, but this kid was. Gabe Sheridan was now on his list of most wanted to meet people. He'd see that the kid got his wish, and more.
"Terry!" he shouted, jotting the return address the child's guardian must have written in the top left hand corner of the envelope.
"Yes'sir." all southern charm, Terry rounded the corner.
"I want two tickets mailed to this address, open ended tickets. I don't know how you'll do it, but do it. Pull whatever strings you need. Include backstage passes." he ordered, feeling more military man than professional wrestler.
"Sure thing, Bryant." she nodded, as if noting the importance of his request.
He smiled, "Thanks."
"Anytime." she agreed, jogging off the way she'd come with the piece of paper in hand.
Bryant Everett sat in his living room, looking around at the cushioned chairs and rich draperies his interior decorator had ordered and set just so. He shrugged, looked just fine to him the way it was before. But, Miss Connie, as she'd ordered to be called, said a professional wrestler needed more than an 'okay' living room. His assistant, Terry Kline rushed into the room, a combination of vivicious blonde, and energetic child. She smiled big, though it looked rushed, and thrust a stack of mail at him. "Thanks." he muttered, looking at the top envelope which looked to be addressed by a child.
"Not a problem, B-man." she winked, and rushed out the way she'd come, her hair flying behind her like blonde silk.
Without wasting a moment, he ripped open the envelope and stared stunned at the letter inside.
"Deer Myss-ter Briunt,
My nam is Gabe. I am six yeers old. I am a big fan. Sew wuz my Daddy, he iz up in heven now. Did you kno that? Mom saz they don't have Restling in heven. But, whut is he doing then? I want to meet yoo sometym, just like my Daddy did. He wuz a cool guy. Rite bac soone, yor frien,
Gabe Sheridan"
His eyes widened in awe of the child's ability to convey such things in writing, and he automatically sympathized with this six year old boy. His mind strolled back memory lane twenty years to the time he'd lost his father. He'd been ten years old, but the memory was still as strong as ever. It had been raining, and he'd waited for hours for Dad to come home. As a ten year old, he still didn't grasp the meaning of heaven. Nor did he realize that his father was never coming home. His mom had tried her best, but it was hard on her. Bryant realized that now. His only role model growing up had been a professional wrestler. But, he'd never gotten to meet the guy. No, he didn't have the guts to write to his hero. He wasn't that kind of kid, but this kid was. Gabe Sheridan was now on his list of most wanted to meet people. He'd see that the kid got his wish, and more.
"Terry!" he shouted, jotting the return address the child's guardian must have written in the top left hand corner of the envelope.
"Yes'sir." all southern charm, Terry rounded the corner.
"I want two tickets mailed to this address, open ended tickets. I don't know how you'll do it, but do it. Pull whatever strings you need. Include backstage passes." he ordered, feeling more military man than professional wrestler.
"Sure thing, Bryant." she nodded, as if noting the importance of his request.
He smiled, "Thanks."
"Anytime." she agreed, jogging off the way she'd come with the piece of paper in hand.
posted by Jo*Marie at 6:09 PM
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