False Memories.
Feb 28, 2012 18:04:52 GMT -5
Post by Micky O'Reilly on Feb 28, 2012 18:04:52 GMT -5
I woke up gradually, laying in bed just listening to the passing traffic and Aly's gentle snoring. I'd had a restful sleep, no dreams for once. Guess that meant I'd had the right amount to drink for once. I was comfortable and warm next to Alyson but the pain in my abdomen told me it was time for a piss. I sat up, put my legs over the side of the bed and looked around. This wasn't my bedroom. A notepad on a bedside table had the header "The Sunshine Inn - Pennsylvania's Premier Motel." Pennsylvania… Whatever, I had more important things to worry about. I walked, more like stumbled, to an open door at the other side of the small room, stepping over clothes and bumping into furniture. I opened the door and grabbed the pull cord for the light. The toilet was cramped and didn't look very hygienic but I sat on the throne anyway. My balance was far from centred and i didn't entertain the idea that my accuracy would be good enough to hit the pan. Plus it gave me the chance to take my ritual early morning dump. I used the time to reflect on my situation.
I was in a motel in Pennsylvania. Why? I grabbed the shaving mirror from the sink and looked at my reflection. A black eye and a split lip, I'd obviously been fighting. Alyson was here with me and hadn't been worried enough to stop me drinking last night. I must have had a match.
I thought back to what had happened, as best as I could anyway.
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I had a weight on my shoulders, I threw them around and slammed them onto the canvas… Murphy's Law. I made the cover… 1… 2… 3! It seemed a slow one to me but it didn't matter. I'd won. The referee raised my arm triumphantly, the fans were standing up cheering and looking at me with eyes full of adoration. I looked down at my opponent, what was his name? Plain Harrison? Something like that. He got to his feet and shook my hand, patting my shoulder at the same time "Well done Micky, you were amazing. The better man won." The crowd cheered louder, I felt like a king.
Then there was the usual stuff. Leaving the ring, hitting the showers, getting changed. Two guys came over to me, smartly dressed. The taller one spoke first.
Tall guy: Micky O'Reilly, old chap. I'd like to introduce myself, I'm Chandler Scott and this here is my delightfully amusing chum, Preston Blake.
Preston: A pleasure to meet you my dear fellow.
Micky: How can I be of assistance gentlemen?
Chandler: Well we are going to a cocktail party this evening, a rather swanky affair, and we were hoping if you and that lady of yours would grace us with your presence. What do you say?
I thought about it, it would make a change from the usual and it was about time I got some recognition for my efforts. I made my decision instantly.
Micky: We'd be charmed, only we haven't dressed for it you see.
Preston: Oh not to worry, I know a tailor, very talented you know, I'm sure he'd be only too happy to help…
So it ended up with myself and Alyson riding in a chauffeur driven limousine alongside Preston Blake, Chandler Scott and Madison Stewart. We arrived at a club named Flamingo's where the queue of people waiting to be admitted stretched half a mile from the entrance. We stopped right outside the door.
Preston: No need to mingle with the riffraff Michael. You're with aristocracy now.
We walked up a red carpet beneath a canopy and through a set of heavy oak doors, manned by men in dark green suits, and into the main area of the club. Waiters and waitresses were walking around with trays of champagne and canapés, the club itself had a deep scarlet carpet, a light wooden dance floor - possibly beech, and seating booths with wooden tables and dark green leather cushions on wooden chair frames. A jazz band was playing on a stage in front of the dance floor. It was all very elegant. Madison grabbed a champagne for herself and Alyson whilst Chandler went to the bar and came back with three whiskeys for the men.
Chandler: Arbelour 1967, the finest whiskey known to man and the only possible choice for a connoisseur such as yourself.
Micky: An excellent choice, you are evidently well educated on the subtleties of the processes of master distillers.
Preston: What else do you expect? We are Harvard men!
We all laughed heartily and Madison stepped close to Chandler, raising her glass.
Madison: To friendship, the bonds of love, and the future of the FGA!
Alyson: Hear, hear!
We clinked glasses and sipped our drinks, Alyson taking my hand and giving me a quick peck on the cheek, the appropriate display of affection in front of our esteemed hosts.
Madison: I say Aly, why don't we have a little dance and allow the men to talk of important matters, the likes of which we wouldn't understand being just mere women.
Alyson: What a frightfully agreeable idea Madison, we shall show those lesser individuals over there how to do it with the poise and grace befitting ladies of our stature!
She gave me another kiss on the cheek which I returned and left. I turned back to Preston and Chandler who suggested we take our drinks to the Gentlemen's Lounge. We walked through another set of oak doors where out suit jackets were replaced with smoking jackets and we were offered silver tipped Treasurer cigarettes from their trademark aluminium packet by more waiters. We took a seat in the corner of the room. The room had wood panelled walls and small wooden tables, all made of mahogany, and the seats were so luxurious that to attempt to describe them would be impossible.
Chandler: I have to say Michael, I was most impressed with your victory over Plain Harrison earlier. And I'm very envious of you Preston, getting to watch it unfold from the ringside…
Preston: I know. It was a rare treat to see such a feat of athleticism. We only usually have that experience when watching ourselves!
We all laughed again, it was a highly intellectual joke.
Micky: Did you see his face when I slammed him down! Oh it was a sight to behold.
Preston: Well if he was silly enough to allow my presence to distract him then I say he deserved the lesson that you passed on. Imagine that, being more preoccupied by someone coming to get a better view of the action, than by the exceptionally gifted fighter stood behind you. It's almost as though he suspected me of having dubious intentions!
Chandler: Never! A man of your calibre would never resort to underhanded tactics! It's an insult to your honor to even suggest it. Either way, I dare say that's the last time he takes his mind off of fisticuffs with Michael O'Reilly.
We chortle, each man reflecting on the nights events, taking a sip of our drinks and a gentlemanly puff of our tobacco.
Preston: Anyway, let's move on to more important matters than the naive stupidities of an under-experienced whipping boy. There was a reason we invited you tonight Michael.
Chandler: Yes, we see you as a man with the potential to turn this little federation around. A man who could propel it into greatness with a little bit of guidance from not one, but two Harvard graduates.
Preston: They'd have to be dashingly good looking and desirably charming Chandler. Do we know of any such individuals? Oh wait… Us!
We roared with laughter yet again.
Chandler: Oh dear me, I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.
Micky: Me neither, but it seems to occur so easily when in the company of intellectuals such as yourselves.
Preston: Quite. Now let us progress with business gentlemen. What we are proposing is that in our forthcoming display of athleticism I allow you to manipulate me in such a way that my shoulders come into contact with the rings canvas covering for, oh I don't know, say three seconds, thus allowing you to reclaim the Heavyweight Champion title from that vagabond Hopkins. What say you?
Micky: Hmmm I'm not entirely sure I understand. Are you suggesting that we use devious methods to ensure my victory? I'm afraid I don't know if my conscience could possible allow such a thing.
Chandler: How about this old chap. I'll get us all another drink, we have a little dance with the ladies, then you go home and have a think about it and get back to us once you've made your decision? What have you got to lose?
Micky: Well, I suppose that is the least I could do considering what wonderful hosts you've been…
Preston: Excellent Michael.
Chandler: Waiter!
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I finished up and wiped my arse. I was confused. It seemed everything I'd heard about the Harvard Connection was wrong. They were pretty decent blokes from what I remembered, and my memory had never failed me yet…
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The scene opens up in the back of a car. Micky and Alyson are sitting in the back seats, he is staring into the camera whilst she is just watching listening for any mistakes he might make.
Micky: I have to say Aly, I'm pretty damned excited right now.
Alyson: Why's that baby?
Micky: Well, I've just come off the back of two of my best fights I've ever had and now I'm looking forward to my next two.
Alyson: That is pretty exciting.
Micky: On the seventh of March I will be fighting Preston Blake, one the most honest, hard-working people in the FGA.
Alyson looks confused.
Alyson: Huh?
Micky: Just like we discussed last night, we will give the Huntington crowds the greatest show they've ever seen.
Alyson: This isn't what we scripted…
Micky hushes her, pressing a finger to her lips and kissing her forehead.
Micky: Except there is one condition. Despite the offer you made at the party, I'm not going to let you 'Job' for me fella. We are going to duke it out fair and square like the men we are, understand?
Alyson: What party? Are you still drunk? We didn't even see Preston last night after he came to the ring.
Micky ignores her and keeps talking.
Micky: I'd like to thank you for your generosity and politely decline your proposition. However, it's not going to change the outcome. I will still win. I've gone through too much shit in my life to fall at a small hurdle. My name isn't Jared James you know…
We see Micky open his over night bag and pull out a hip flask, he has a quick swig.
Alyson: I thought you said you weren't going to drink today?
Micky: Medical grounds… Anyway, when I defeat you in our fight it leaves the way clear for the big fish. Me and Hopkins, one on one. My title up for grabs.
Alyson: What title...
Micky: You finally had the balls to face me eh lad? Well good on ya, nice to see you've swapped the skirt for a pair of trousers. And you want to make it a Street Fight? Well that's just suicide. At least it'll be a treat for the fans. Speaking of which, I have another treat for them.
Micky reaches into his bag again and pulls out an envelope with the words "Top Secret" written on it.
Micky: Can you guess what this is? This is what has been holding the FGA's fans attention since the start of January, the little piece of information I have that shows you for who you really are. On the night of our match, at the start of the evening, I will be making an announcement with John and the world will see you for who you really are. By the time we fight the only person in the ring getting cheered will be me, the champion of those without a voice.
Alyson: We never talked this through…
Micky: Don't worry angel, I know what I'm doing. Don't get me wrong though, I am a good guy after all. I'm willing to make you an offer boy. To allow you to save some dignity, I am giving you this one time offer to postpone our match until you meet my high level of physical prowess and abilities. All in the interest of fairness. I look forward to your reply. Until then, a toast. To family, friends, and my perfect body. Good night all.
Micky raises his hip flask and has a sip, replacing the lid afterwards. He then turns and kisses Alyson passionately.
The screen fades to black.
I was in a motel in Pennsylvania. Why? I grabbed the shaving mirror from the sink and looked at my reflection. A black eye and a split lip, I'd obviously been fighting. Alyson was here with me and hadn't been worried enough to stop me drinking last night. I must have had a match.
I thought back to what had happened, as best as I could anyway.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I had a weight on my shoulders, I threw them around and slammed them onto the canvas… Murphy's Law. I made the cover… 1… 2… 3! It seemed a slow one to me but it didn't matter. I'd won. The referee raised my arm triumphantly, the fans were standing up cheering and looking at me with eyes full of adoration. I looked down at my opponent, what was his name? Plain Harrison? Something like that. He got to his feet and shook my hand, patting my shoulder at the same time "Well done Micky, you were amazing. The better man won." The crowd cheered louder, I felt like a king.
Then there was the usual stuff. Leaving the ring, hitting the showers, getting changed. Two guys came over to me, smartly dressed. The taller one spoke first.
Tall guy: Micky O'Reilly, old chap. I'd like to introduce myself, I'm Chandler Scott and this here is my delightfully amusing chum, Preston Blake.
Preston: A pleasure to meet you my dear fellow.
Micky: How can I be of assistance gentlemen?
Chandler: Well we are going to a cocktail party this evening, a rather swanky affair, and we were hoping if you and that lady of yours would grace us with your presence. What do you say?
I thought about it, it would make a change from the usual and it was about time I got some recognition for my efforts. I made my decision instantly.
Micky: We'd be charmed, only we haven't dressed for it you see.
Preston: Oh not to worry, I know a tailor, very talented you know, I'm sure he'd be only too happy to help…
So it ended up with myself and Alyson riding in a chauffeur driven limousine alongside Preston Blake, Chandler Scott and Madison Stewart. We arrived at a club named Flamingo's where the queue of people waiting to be admitted stretched half a mile from the entrance. We stopped right outside the door.
Preston: No need to mingle with the riffraff Michael. You're with aristocracy now.
We walked up a red carpet beneath a canopy and through a set of heavy oak doors, manned by men in dark green suits, and into the main area of the club. Waiters and waitresses were walking around with trays of champagne and canapés, the club itself had a deep scarlet carpet, a light wooden dance floor - possibly beech, and seating booths with wooden tables and dark green leather cushions on wooden chair frames. A jazz band was playing on a stage in front of the dance floor. It was all very elegant. Madison grabbed a champagne for herself and Alyson whilst Chandler went to the bar and came back with three whiskeys for the men.
Chandler: Arbelour 1967, the finest whiskey known to man and the only possible choice for a connoisseur such as yourself.
Micky: An excellent choice, you are evidently well educated on the subtleties of the processes of master distillers.
Preston: What else do you expect? We are Harvard men!
We all laughed heartily and Madison stepped close to Chandler, raising her glass.
Madison: To friendship, the bonds of love, and the future of the FGA!
Alyson: Hear, hear!
We clinked glasses and sipped our drinks, Alyson taking my hand and giving me a quick peck on the cheek, the appropriate display of affection in front of our esteemed hosts.
Madison: I say Aly, why don't we have a little dance and allow the men to talk of important matters, the likes of which we wouldn't understand being just mere women.
Alyson: What a frightfully agreeable idea Madison, we shall show those lesser individuals over there how to do it with the poise and grace befitting ladies of our stature!
She gave me another kiss on the cheek which I returned and left. I turned back to Preston and Chandler who suggested we take our drinks to the Gentlemen's Lounge. We walked through another set of oak doors where out suit jackets were replaced with smoking jackets and we were offered silver tipped Treasurer cigarettes from their trademark aluminium packet by more waiters. We took a seat in the corner of the room. The room had wood panelled walls and small wooden tables, all made of mahogany, and the seats were so luxurious that to attempt to describe them would be impossible.
Chandler: I have to say Michael, I was most impressed with your victory over Plain Harrison earlier. And I'm very envious of you Preston, getting to watch it unfold from the ringside…
Preston: I know. It was a rare treat to see such a feat of athleticism. We only usually have that experience when watching ourselves!
We all laughed again, it was a highly intellectual joke.
Micky: Did you see his face when I slammed him down! Oh it was a sight to behold.
Preston: Well if he was silly enough to allow my presence to distract him then I say he deserved the lesson that you passed on. Imagine that, being more preoccupied by someone coming to get a better view of the action, than by the exceptionally gifted fighter stood behind you. It's almost as though he suspected me of having dubious intentions!
Chandler: Never! A man of your calibre would never resort to underhanded tactics! It's an insult to your honor to even suggest it. Either way, I dare say that's the last time he takes his mind off of fisticuffs with Michael O'Reilly.
We chortle, each man reflecting on the nights events, taking a sip of our drinks and a gentlemanly puff of our tobacco.
Preston: Anyway, let's move on to more important matters than the naive stupidities of an under-experienced whipping boy. There was a reason we invited you tonight Michael.
Chandler: Yes, we see you as a man with the potential to turn this little federation around. A man who could propel it into greatness with a little bit of guidance from not one, but two Harvard graduates.
Preston: They'd have to be dashingly good looking and desirably charming Chandler. Do we know of any such individuals? Oh wait… Us!
We roared with laughter yet again.
Chandler: Oh dear me, I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.
Micky: Me neither, but it seems to occur so easily when in the company of intellectuals such as yourselves.
Preston: Quite. Now let us progress with business gentlemen. What we are proposing is that in our forthcoming display of athleticism I allow you to manipulate me in such a way that my shoulders come into contact with the rings canvas covering for, oh I don't know, say three seconds, thus allowing you to reclaim the Heavyweight Champion title from that vagabond Hopkins. What say you?
Micky: Hmmm I'm not entirely sure I understand. Are you suggesting that we use devious methods to ensure my victory? I'm afraid I don't know if my conscience could possible allow such a thing.
Chandler: How about this old chap. I'll get us all another drink, we have a little dance with the ladies, then you go home and have a think about it and get back to us once you've made your decision? What have you got to lose?
Micky: Well, I suppose that is the least I could do considering what wonderful hosts you've been…
Preston: Excellent Michael.
Chandler: Waiter!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I finished up and wiped my arse. I was confused. It seemed everything I'd heard about the Harvard Connection was wrong. They were pretty decent blokes from what I remembered, and my memory had never failed me yet…
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The scene opens up in the back of a car. Micky and Alyson are sitting in the back seats, he is staring into the camera whilst she is just watching listening for any mistakes he might make.
Micky: I have to say Aly, I'm pretty damned excited right now.
Alyson: Why's that baby?
Micky: Well, I've just come off the back of two of my best fights I've ever had and now I'm looking forward to my next two.
Alyson: That is pretty exciting.
Micky: On the seventh of March I will be fighting Preston Blake, one the most honest, hard-working people in the FGA.
Alyson looks confused.
Alyson: Huh?
Micky: Just like we discussed last night, we will give the Huntington crowds the greatest show they've ever seen.
Alyson: This isn't what we scripted…
Micky hushes her, pressing a finger to her lips and kissing her forehead.
Micky: Except there is one condition. Despite the offer you made at the party, I'm not going to let you 'Job' for me fella. We are going to duke it out fair and square like the men we are, understand?
Alyson: What party? Are you still drunk? We didn't even see Preston last night after he came to the ring.
Micky ignores her and keeps talking.
Micky: I'd like to thank you for your generosity and politely decline your proposition. However, it's not going to change the outcome. I will still win. I've gone through too much shit in my life to fall at a small hurdle. My name isn't Jared James you know…
We see Micky open his over night bag and pull out a hip flask, he has a quick swig.
Alyson: I thought you said you weren't going to drink today?
Micky: Medical grounds… Anyway, when I defeat you in our fight it leaves the way clear for the big fish. Me and Hopkins, one on one. My title up for grabs.
Alyson: What title...
Micky: You finally had the balls to face me eh lad? Well good on ya, nice to see you've swapped the skirt for a pair of trousers. And you want to make it a Street Fight? Well that's just suicide. At least it'll be a treat for the fans. Speaking of which, I have another treat for them.
Micky reaches into his bag again and pulls out an envelope with the words "Top Secret" written on it.
Micky: Can you guess what this is? This is what has been holding the FGA's fans attention since the start of January, the little piece of information I have that shows you for who you really are. On the night of our match, at the start of the evening, I will be making an announcement with John and the world will see you for who you really are. By the time we fight the only person in the ring getting cheered will be me, the champion of those without a voice.
Alyson: We never talked this through…
Micky: Don't worry angel, I know what I'm doing. Don't get me wrong though, I am a good guy after all. I'm willing to make you an offer boy. To allow you to save some dignity, I am giving you this one time offer to postpone our match until you meet my high level of physical prowess and abilities. All in the interest of fairness. I look forward to your reply. Until then, a toast. To family, friends, and my perfect body. Good night all.
Micky raises his hip flask and has a sip, replacing the lid afterwards. He then turns and kisses Alyson passionately.
The screen fades to black.
