‘As a newcomer, in my first really big match, I had to job. It was in my contract. I beat up the champ, he beat me up, I beat him up again, until finally he got me in his figure-four leg lock, and I tapped out.’ He beat me to the question. ‘Submitted man; I quit.’
Everett whistled, a soft sound for him. ‘I’ll never forget that moment, when they rang the bell. I’d never lost in my life before, anywhere, yet here I was tapping out to a forty-one-year-old guy I could have thrown from mid-ring into the third row. That’s when I learned what makes pro wrestling great.’
‘And what’s that?’ I asked him, fascinated.
‘Tradition, Oz. Our game is a form of performance art, a form of dance, if you like. That old champ and I rehearsed our match until we were move-perfect, and together we put on a great show. I lay there on that mat, my leg not so much as aching from the finishing hold, and I realised that although they didn’t know it, the marks were cheering for us both. It might not look it, but pro wrestlers are team players. We rely on each other for our physical safety and for our creative performance, and our overriding tradition is that no one is as big as the organisation of which he’s a part. . or should attempt to be, ever. When it’s your turn to lose, you do it with class, and skill.
‘Six months later, the old champ and I had a rematch, and I won the belt. A year later, he took it back, when he hit me with a chair while his manager argued with the referee. Finally, in the last year of my contract, I beat him twice in succession.’
The one-time Diamond chuckled. ‘I was still a heel, though. Until contract renewal came up, that is. By the time it did, Championship Wrestling Incorporated had made me an offer. They were showing me big dough. No way I’d ever have gone there, for reasons of my own, but it did waken me up to how much I was worth.
‘So, five years ago, I said to Michael Fanucci, the President of Triple W, “Look, you guys gave me my break, so I owe you some loyalty. But that cuts both ways. I’ll stay with you for one and a half million a year, plus I want reasonable creative control.” That meant having a say in the style and outcome of my matches. “And I want to be a face, with copyright ownership of my new persona and a share of marketing income.”
‘I wasn’t being greedy, just realistic. Michael said yes to all three, in as many seconds. I took a six-month sabbatical, to rest up and to learn some new moves. When I came back, I was Daze, and man, I was great. For the next three years, I was the main man. . not always the champ, because we had to keep the story-lines attractive. . but always Numero Uno with the fans.’
All of a sudden a question begged to be asked. I plucked up my courage and spoke it out. ‘In that case, Daze, what exactly are you doing in Glasgow?’
Darth Vader never laughed in Star Wars, but if he had, he would have sounded just like Everett. ‘Advancing the frontiers, man,’ he rumbled.
‘When my second contract was up, two years ago, I could have signed another for double the money, but both Michael and I could smell staleness a year down the road. Instead, I took a chance. I had done a few European tours in my six years in the business, and I reckoned I had spotted an opportunity.
‘I’m not as dumb as I look. Remember, Oz, I went to college. I did a law degree, then an MBA. I decided that I would set up my own Sports Entertainment company. Michael saw to it that Triple W took ten per cent of the equity in redeemable shares, and he loaned me some working capital. With his backing, I did deals with most of the European satellite broadcasters to supply them with shows, shot live in front of European audiences.’
He smiled at me. ‘Why am I in Glasgow? I based the operation here, on the motorway system and not far from the airport, because it was the best location package I was offered anywhere in Europe.
‘I had competition for the deal; there was talk of an orchestra from Italy putting in a rival bid for the package. I won though; I guess your Government took a look at the sort of revenue my business can generate as opposed to a symphony orchestra, which runs break-even at best for most of the time.
‘All that was two years ago. We ain’t looked back since. I’ve repaid the loan capital already.’
‘Great. Now, to come back to the point. What’s your problem?’
He frowned, carving great lines in his brown forehead. ‘Like I said, man, someone’s out to get me. Every cent I’ve ever made is tied up in this company, and someone is trying to bring it down. Before I explain, I’d like you to come visit me; get a feel for our organisation.’ He paused, and leaned forward, looming at me again.
‘Well, are you going to help me?’
As he finished I heard a key turn in the Yale lock. No way did I want him to have to go over the whole thing again. ‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘I’ll come to see you at ten tomorrow.’
To my surprise, he looked almost childishly grateful as he handed me his business card. I glanced at the multi coloured logo ‘GWA’, and at the gold lettering, ‘Everett Davis, President’.
‘That’s good, man,’ he said.
I don’t know why, but I asked him if he’d like to stay for dinner.
‘Thanks Oz,’ he boomed, as my astonished wife appeared in the doorway. ‘No offence, but I don’t reckon you’d have enough food.’
Chapter 2
Jan and I had always liked high places.
When we were kids, one of our treats was to take the pleasure boat from the harbour to the May Island, climb up to the top of a grassy rise and sit there, on the edge of the cliffs, gazing back across the Forth to Fife. The long rugged island was in the background of our wedding photos, when they were taken in the front garden of my dad’s big house overlooking the sea.
I’ll never forget the look on either of their faces when the two of us walked into the kitchen, together, and told them. . my Honorary Auntie Mary and Mac the Dentist, on the point of marriage themselves. . that they were going to be step-mother and step-father respectively. They didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or hide under the table. After my mum’s death, and later, after Jan’s dad’s departure with his new lady, they had stayed put in Anstruther, getting on with their lives, and gradually getting closer together. Janet and I had done the opposite; we had left the East Neuk and had grown gradually away from each other, until finally, each of us with new partners, we had been brought in different ways to recognise that we really were inseparable.
Yes, we had loved. . the other ones. . But we were us; we were something else. When we thought about it, as we explained to our respective parents, we had never really been apart, and we couldn’t bear to be, either.
My dad has always had an eye for a bargain. So, once he had got over the shock, there was nothing for it but we had to have a double wedding. ‘Look what we’ll save on the receptions, son.’ I wasn’t so sure, but Jan surprised me by being all for it; so, decision made, they rearranged their nuptials to coincide with ours. We put the whole thing together very quickly. Three weeks later, the local minister married us in the Craw’s Nest Hotel. It was only a short distance from the house. But Auntie Mary, Jan, and my sister Ellie, their joint Matron of Honour, put their feet down when my dad suggested that we all just walk there in procession, to save on the cars.
We were the talk of the village, of course. There was an outbreak of gossip, the rumour mill deciding that Jan was up the duff, although a splinter group put forward the suggestion in the butcher’s one Saturday morning that she wasn’t but that Mary was. ‘Ken these drugs they have noo, Mrs McGarrity!’ Eventually, my dad put a stop to it by telling a succession of patients, one after the other for a full week — once they were in his chair and he had their full attention, as is his way — that there would be no new Blackstone prams in town for a while. And outside his house, never.