Marking Time, Tempting Fate The Fifth: Parallels

Mercedes: Come on, Jorge. You've been at this for three hours now.

Jorge: I was on a losing streak earlier, but I’ll get our money back.

«Jorge is having a bad night at the craps table. Mercedes looks away as he rolls the dice.»

Mercedes: You've been watching James Bond movies again, haven't you?

Jorge: Why not? If his strategy works for roulette, it can work for craps.



Jorge: Look on the bright side, at least we still have each other.

Mercedes: You're dead to me.

«Jorge stares at the steering wheel as the camera pulls back to reveal him waiting at the intersection in a rental car. Mercedes is sitting next to him. She gives him a harsh angry look and seems ready to explode any minute. Being cramped in this deathtrap didn’t help matters. She felt like a clown.»

Jorge: They only had compacts.

«Mercedes is getting angry, though she answers him in perhaps the sweetest way possible.»

Mercedes: Jorge, you know that money you keep betting on? THAT WAS MY PAYCHECK! What were you thinking?

Jorge: Well -

Mercedes: That's right, you weren't thinking. I told you to quit while you were ahead, but did you listen to me?

Jorge: But I -

Mercedes: (interrupting again) No. You didn't listen to me. In fact, you NEVER listen to me. Now, I have no way to pay my rent for the month.

Jorge: You got by using Monopoly money last month.

Mercedes: OK, it was that one time. Do you know what this means? I'll tell you what it means. I'm going to get kicked out. I'm going to be put on the street. Would like to see your own sister living like Miss Walters from Elmhurst? Or Mr. Jenkins from Sunnyside?

«Jorge visualize Mercedes being homeless. She is looking pensive in grubby surroundings as we see her sitting on the dirty concrete and holding out a soup can to random strangers who either ignore her, stop to ridicule her, or point and laugh before walking away. Horn blasts from the car behind him breaks his trance.»

Jorge: Didn't they go to Ivy League schools?

Mercedes: Yes they did. But do you know where they are now? Why don't I tell you where they are, Jorge? In some hut in the 7.

Jorge: I'll find a way to make it up to you.

«The scene ends with them driving in silence and we fade to black.»





You know, there is this saying that’s been thrown around and I usually find quite amusing.

Sharing is caring.

I’m not sure who came up with this gem, but to be honest, I don’t really care for it.

Let you in on a little story.

When I was a little girl growing up in Buenos Aires, I went to school just like everybody else. I was never really liked. Teachers realized I had what they called an “attitude problem.” They always use to send me home. And you want to know why I was always sent home?

Because I didn’t like sharing with the other kids.

If I earned that cookie for answering a question or if during recess I had a little toy in my hand and someone wanted to play with it, well, tough luck, it was mine, and they’d just have to wait their turn until I was done with it.

I didn’t share then, and I don’t share now.

When I earned my title shot to become the number one contender to the Sirens Championship, I did not expect to share something that I already earned. But I guess by some twisted logic, if you beat the number one contender, it means that your consolation prize is getting a title shot. So, that being said, riddle me this: after my most recent loss to Heather whatshername, does that mean she too gets a title shot? Does that mean that she gets to be thrown into the title match, making it a four-way?

Maybe I should start checking my iPhone for that text any time now.

You want me to shut up, Roxi? Sorry, but that’s not going to happen. Not after the injustice that happened to me by the President and General Manager of CPW.

The injustice being that I shouldn’t have to share something I earned by outright. If anything, you’re the one who should be happy you're in this match at all, let alone on the card instead of sitting at home. I don’t give a damn what anyone else says. You were given a title shot, you were HANDED a title shot. Why? Well, do you see any other credible challengers for Zelda?

Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Had you “taken my spot” as you so eloquently put it, it would have been justified and make you nothing but a glorified opportunist. You wanted a re-match with Zelda Knite? You got a re-match with Zelda Knite.

Maria Salvatore decided to speed up the process.

Maria Salvatore threw you a lifeline. Maria Salvatore took pity on you. Maria Salvatore felt sorry for you. Just like I feel sorry for you Roxi, because come July 28, less than one week from this Sunday, while you’ll walk into Calgary, Alberta, Canada and Canadian Chaos with all the confidence in the world, you’re going to walk out of another title match, in yet another pay-per-view, in yet another venue, in yet another city, and boarding yet another lonely flight back with nothing to show for it.

I’m not saying that it might happen, just that it could happen. The beautiful thing about three-way matches is that the champion doesn’t even need to be in the equation. I could simply pin your shoulders to the mat and be done with it. Believe me, you don’t know how much I would love to do that. You don’t know how much I would love to drop you on your head again, or make you tap out or just ruin your pretty little face right into the canvas.

You had your chance to become the first-ever inaugural champion at Undisputed, so there really isn’t any more claim to another chance for you at the title after only your first crack at it five weeks ago. No one interfered. No one got disqualified. You. Got. Beat. Your credibility is shot. You had your alone time with Zelda and you failed, Roxi. You failed. And logic dictates that when you get a title shot and you fail to get the job done, you get to the BACK of the line. No question asked. The fact that you’re in this match is not only a travesty of justice, not just an insult, but a downright slap in the face, a downright slap to MY FACE, to getting this opportunity. Maria might as well have given me two middle fingers when we all had our little powwow in her office.

There’s no question as to who the best Sirens on this roster are – they all happen to be in this match. But as for what you may believe, as far as this match is concerned, I’m the real “threat” in this triple threat match. You’re the third wheel. But hey, the way I see it, since this is under elimination rules, I can still have my cake and eat it too. The real title match, the one that truly matters, is between Sydney and me.

During the Sirens Championship Tournament, Roxi, you had a nice little run, getting past opponents that really didn’t have much of a chance against you and after each week, people were saying that maybe, just maybe this girl from Tampa could do the impossible, and then when it came down to the finals, when you had momentum clearly in your favor, what happens? What happens is…

YOU FELL FLAT ON YOU FACE!

GAME OVER!

At Undisputed, you gave those fans what they wanted, they were holding out for a hero. Boy, were those fans in Boston disappointed, Roxi, because you went from being hero to zero. I’m going to give credit where credit is due, it’s a pretty tough act to follow.

But then, you’re all too willing to give us an encore performance, aren’t you?








«Our scene opens with Jorge underneath his SUV as he is being passed tools from Mercedes.»

Jorge: Socket wrench?

Mercedes: Socket wrench.

Jorge: Screwdriver?

Mercedes: Phillips, stubby Phillips, flat-blade, magnetic or offset screwdrivers?

Jorge: All of the above.

Mercedes: Here you go.

Jorge: Drill?

Mercedes: Drill with screwdriver and bits.

Jorge: Sandwich?

Mercedes: Il Bambino. They make the best sandwiches, second to none.

«Jorge slides from under the car and stares at her for a moment.»

Jorge: Ain’t nobody got time for that!

«Jorge gets up, dusting himself off and reaching for the keys, which he throws to Mercedes.»

Jorge: Let's test these new speakers. Start her up.

Mercedes: Okay. (starts the car, but the radio blares loud rock. She turns the car off) And I think we’re good here.

Jorge: So, what did you say you were going again?

Mercedes: I swear, sometimes I feel like pulling my hair out (Mercedes grabs a handful of her hair) Do you listen to anything I say? (Jorge starts picking up his tools lying around and putting it in a duffle bag)

Jorge: No. Usually I just tune you out.

«Mercedes walks out of the garage, but looks back at Jorge.»

Mercedes: Remember when you said you'll make up for losing all my money in Vegas?

Jorge: Yeah?

Mercedes: I think it's time you cash in your debt.



HELLO SYDNEY!

Did you miss me? I missed you.

Oh, I’m sorry. Were you expecting somebody else?

Seriously though, we’ve got to stop meeting like this, it’s starting to make me feel uncomfortable. And I’m almost sure the feeling is mutual. I don’t know, Sydney. Maybe it’s fate?

Remember when I said that this would start to become a “vicious cycle”?

I kept my word.

Looks like it’s going to be me and you squaring off yet again.

Now, I’m no doctor, but it’s clear to me that you are a mess. You have a lot of issues sweetheart. Number one is something I’m pretty sure you’ve heard from me before. Hell, any opponent who happens to stand across from you – you suffer from delusions of grandeur. Number two, you’re colorblind, you see every opponent the same way, and that’s really a shame. Number three, the whole I are great argument doesn’t seem to stack up when it comes to facing actual competition, i.e. people such as myself who can send you back spiraling back down to reality.

I’m not going to tell you that this match means the world to me, because it doesn’t. I’m not going to tell you that I’ve been waiting my entire life to take something away from you, because I’ve done that – twice, in fact. I’m not going to tell you that I will be the next Zelda Knite, because you obviously don’t get it. I’m nothing like you and I’m everything you’re not. I’m not Zelda Knite, I’m Mercedes Vargas.

Get on your level?

You mean the bottom floor, right?

I’m not going to tell you what you want to hear, Sydney. Just as you are sick of hearing it, I’m sure you’re sick of having someone repeating it.

You’re not getting the satisfaction. Not this time.

You claim that people hate you just because they can, but in all honesty, I don’t see it. I don’t see where all the hatred and jealousy comes from because in my eyes, you are no world-beater, although I find it ironic that I did beat you for a world title one time. But that doesn’t matter, right, Sydney? For every comment of hatred directed toward you, it means someone is talking about you, which means you got a few more members in your fan club. Yay!

Oh, and FYI, the I Hate Zelda Knite Club meets every other Tuesday at 4 pm. Refreshments are always on hand, so you’re welcome to sit in on a meeting if you like.

Does it crush you that I’m the only one not singing your praises, not throwing rose petals at your feet, and not sugarcoating you with sweet nothings in your ear? Does it bother you that I’m the only one not being awestruck at your presence? Contrary to what all your adoring fans think of you, the championships and accolades you’ve won, the opponents you’ve beaten, that macaroni drawing on the fridge, despite the cosplay awards you nabbed at ComicCon, no matter what mantra you say over and over to make you feel better about yourself… you are not special. You are not exceptional. You are not one of a kind. You are not the end all, be all, Sydney. You’re just like everybody else.

If you are supposed to be regarded as the best female wrestler in the world, then wrestling has definitely lowered its standards, I’m talking ground level. That you think that you’re beyond reproach is laughable. Never before in professional wrestling has someone with so little done so much. Amazing, simply amazing.

Looks like you found yourself in another fine mess, Sydney. And I’m sure everyone is getting goose bumps, they are going to be hanging on your every word about how you plan on overcoming the odds when being “Called to Action.” The world will be watching and waiting and wondering how you’re going to get out of this one. How are you going to slither your way past this new obstacle?

By all means, bring your EMF stamp, bring your shovel, bring the Sirens Championship, and most of all bring your best, Zelda. No, I mean it this time. When you arrive to Scotiabank Saddledome, don’t leave your ego at the door, sweetheart, because after I beat you, you’re going to be spending the next few weeks in arts and crafts trying to piece what‘s left of it. Bring your best, because if the past matches we’ve had against one another were you at your best, I would love to see you at your worst. Bring your best because in the end all it will amount to is you being second best.

And I know how much that drives you crazy.

So Zelda, Sydney, Gamer Girl, The Best Ever, whatever name you feel comfortable using, I’m going to tell you this straight up: You’re done. You’re finished. Sunday won’t see you jumping into the crowd for a stage dive.

Because as you will no doubt reminds us, this is your legend.

Not to worry sweetheart, your legend won’t die, unless you want that inscribed on your tombstone, which could be arranged, it will all simply fade away.

Just like you will be Sunday.






Jorge: OK, when you put it like that.

«Mercedes is in the passenger side as Jorge is taking the wheel driving through the Canadian wilderness.»

Jorge: Hey! I thought you said we were going to Minnesota!

Mercedes: What the difference? Take all the people from there, make them obsessed with hockey, let them speak French, and give them a country all their own. Problem solved.

Jorge: Why couldn’t we take your car?

Mercedes: Oh no, my Porsche doesn't do Canadian.

Jorge: Hey, do you see that?

Mercedes: What?

Jorge: Over there?

«Jorge points in the direction where three red-uniformed men are patrolling the area ahead.»

Jorge: Mounties.

Mercedes: Oh, great. Stop the car.

«Jorge puts his foot slightly on the break, rolls down his window all the way and kills the ignition. He look through the rearview mirror and sees two Mounties approaching. Mountie #1 reaches there first. Jorge smile fades when he looks into his face. A no-nonsense demeanor and a stare that could pierce his soul.»

Mountie # 1: Hello there.

Jorge: I watch the Smokey the Bear commercials, I swear.

«Jorge receives a sharp elbow in the ribs.»

Jorge: Shutting up now.

Mercedes: Can I help you, officers?

Mountie # 2: State your business in Canada.

Mercedes: Well, there’s a wrestling show we’re going to and I want to be early.

(Mountie #1 whispers something into Mountie # 2's ear, and he nods in reply.)

Mountie # 2: (to Jorge) I see, you're going to be wrestling on the show, eh?

Jorge: (pointing at Mercedes) Uh, actually, she's going to be the one wrestling. I'm just going as a fan.

Mountie # 2: Is that so? Well, good luck to you, then.

Mercedes: Thank you.

Jorge: Go Stampeders!

(Mercedes smiles as Jorge turns the ignition key, adding a half-wave, before pulling off as the officers’ wave back. The Mounties exchange bemused looks.)

Mountie # 1: Americans?

Mountie # 2: If you have to ask, then you'll never know.



Best in the world. It's a bold claim. But at the same time it takes a lot of fortitude to say it and have the world believe it. It takes a lot of gumption for you to continue to repeat it over and over and over again. Don’t get me wrong, it’s good that you believe in yourself and you’re so confident that you can continue beating that same drum over and over. If you believe in your heart and your mind and your soul that you are, indeed, without question, “the best in the world”, who am I to disagree?

At any other time, in any other place, maybe it wouldn’t be even be up for discussion.

Thing is, this isn’t one of those places.

This isn’t one of those times.

And this isn’t where you won’t get off without debate.

Just because you THINK you’re best in the world, doesn’t necessarily mean that you are. Now, I’ll say you’re one of the best and arguably the best, I could understand, but best in the world? That a bit of a stretch.

Had someone else had said it, I'd find them credible. Maybe. Out of your mouth? The phrase doesn’t suit you. Had someone else lay claim to the mantle, I wouldn't find a reason to confront them. But coming from you? It’s just that, a phrase. A cute line to end your promos with. Nothing short of hype, hyperbole and downright hilarious. You know what? That’s it. Your catchphrase privileges are revoked. Now go stand in the corner and think about what you’ve done.

A lie, told often enough, becomes the truth. An inconvenient truth, but truth nonetheless. Riddle me this: How can someone be the best in the world, win almost all their matches – the majority of them being one sided – and yet in the case of our past two matches, been nothing more but disappointing?

That’s right disappointing is what you’ve been, Sydney. When it’s a fight that you know you can win, you can act all blasé, like the wind is at your back, but when there’s a stern challenge, then you know you’ve got your work cut out for you. I had you on the ropes during the semifinals of the Sirens Tournament, and I had you down for the count seven weeks ago – both matches you won, but just barely, and only by the skin of your teeth.

Isn’t it only a matter of time before I finally pin you and once again shut you up for good? Isn’t it about time before you realize the one little hurdle you couldn’t clear away causes you to stumble? I’m sure in my abilities that I am that stumbling block. The glass is certainly looking half-full.

I don’t think you completely understand what being the “best ever” really means, but here, I’m going to try my best to explain.

Being the best ever means you have to be universally known to have that gold star next to your name. You want to talk about name recognition? You haven’t reached that plateau…yet. Maybe you will someday or maybe not at all. But you know who has? Crystal Hilton. Oh, but it’s not what you would think. She’s not the best in the world. Ha! Are you kidding me?

She’s the most hated wrestler alive. Don’t ask me how I know that. Ask her why no matter what she does – singing, acting, wrestling, or otherwise – why she, and by extension her entire family, will never be able to separate herself from that distinction.

I know you wish you had such universal acclaim, but just to stroke your ego, Sydney, I will admit right here and now that you are, in fact, the best ever.

Because when I beat you, this isn’t going to be some transitional period. I won’t be calling myself the best ever – I’ll be proving it through my actions. You’ve been undefeated for the last eight weeks, which, I’ll admit, is impressive. Any kind of undefeated streak usually is. The thing about streaks is they’re a bit misleading. Six and zero says a lot on paper, but when your only true challenge was me, it says a lot more than you think. This Sunday, records won’t matter, streaks won’t matter, but what will matter is who will be leaving with the Sirens Championship, and that person will be me, the true number one contender. Not the knock-off version named Roxi Johnson.

And I’ll be looking to knock you off your pedestal and then knock you on your ass. Come Sunday, that loss column will have a nice little “1” on it. You can’t stay perfect forever. Sydney. Even the great ones have to fall at some point. Sure, one loss won’t kill you, but I bet after Sunday, you’re going to wish you were dead.

When you're that good, I know it's hard for you to be humble. I thought it was because you're from Texas, but whatever. I'll be looking forward to deflating that ego.

Sure, it’s a thankless job, but somebody has to do it.

Might as well be me.