Vince knocked softly at the door to Maya Hart's apartment. When it opened, she was in a baggy hoodie and sweat pants, with her hair loosely tied back. She still looked a bit shaken up, her earlier phone call playing back in Vince's mind.
"Hey," Vince said quietly. "Can I come in?"
She nodded and stepped aside. "Yeah."
Inside the apartment was small, but relatively clean. There was a faint smell of coffee coming from the kitchen. Maya slumped down on her couch and Vince took the armchair across from her.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I'm going to be straight with you, Maya—what you went through today? It isn't going to be the last time."
She wasn't looking at him, instead, her eyes were glued to the carpet.
"This is the direction I want to take wrestling," Vince continued. "Big characters, emotions—realism. And that means, to the audience, the lines between performance and reality are going to be blurred. If you're along for the ride, you're going to have to learn to deal with the heat. Sometimes, it's going to be outside of the arena."
For a moment her gaze flickered upward, lost in thought. "So you're saying... I should just swallow it?"
"I'm saying you should own it," said Vince, a bit more firmly than he intended, "you're doing your job right when the audience can suspend disbelief. Outside of the reaction, the more the audience reacts the faster you become a star."
She stayed quiet, but Vince noted her shoulders relaxed a little as he spoke. He reflected on how young she looked in that moment. Bright, beautiful features reminded him of a starlet, but a little more before. She was just as old as he was, but here she was, standing on the edge of something she may never come back from. Something that she might look back on as a defining moment of her career.
A voice from the kitchen, a male voice, broke the silence. "You Vince Maston?"
Vince turned. A man wearing a faded T-shirt leaned against the counter with a coffee mug in his left hand.
"That's me," Vince said.
The man - Luke - looked him over with a skeptical expression. "Huh. I didn't think you'd look like that."
Vince laughed. "Too young to have made million dollars?"
Luke smirked a little. "Something like that." Then in a serious tone, "I just don't want Maya to go through what she went through today."
Vince shook his head. "I get it. But I can't stop it. If she's going to be the kind of star she wants to be, this comes with the territory."
Luke's jaw tightened, but he didn't push it. "Yeah. Guess so."
Maya got up, stretching a little. "I was about to order pizza. You want some?"
Vince gave a small smile at her easing mood but shook his head. "I'd love to, but I've got things to handle at IRW."
"Oh." There was a flicker of disappointment before she covered it with a small smile. "Alright. Thanks for coming by, Vince."
"Anytime," he said as he stood to leave.
______
At the IRW offices, Lance sat in his chair, shuffling through a binder of match scripts for next week's shows. "So? How'd it go?"
Vince dropped his coat on the desk. "She's going to be fine. Still shaken up but she's starting to process what this business really is."
Lance sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Hate to admit it but you're right—the reality of this industry is part of the game now."
Vince nodded. "We've got a PPV to finish with—let's get back to work."
The subsequent few hours were a slog—setting segments, talent availability and production crew members for the All In stage set up. By the time the last email was sent and last call was made, it was well dark outside.
Vince reclined back in his chair and rolled up his sleeves. He looked down at his arms—slender but really not all that eye catching. Sitting around athletes and wrestlers on a daily basis, he found himself more and more aware of the differences now.
"Jesus," he mumbled to himself. "Time to do something about that."
He swapped into workout clothes—plain black joggers and a fitted shirt—and grabbed his gym bag. Instead of using IRW's facility, he decided on something different. The wrestlers could keep their own space. Vince wanted to sweat it out somewhere he wasn't "the boss," just another guy in the weight room.
Locking his office behind him, he headed into the cool Harborview night toward a local 24-hour gym he'd spotted a few blocks away.