The Wright Gift for the Holidays

Monday, December 16, 2002

London, England - Harrod's, downtown London

Christmas season was in full swing in downtown London.  Shoppers busily hurried about with packages and overflowing shopping carts, searching and carrying home the ever elusive "perfect" gifts that they sought.  Robert Lancaster, dressed in a black wool-mix overcoat, stood hovering over a jewellery/watch case, perusing the various pricey watches and trinkets that Harrod's offered.

The Duke enjoyed shopping very much, but at Christmas time, he could not help but feel the pressure and rush associated with the overly-commercialized and gift-getting obsessed season.  Shopping for his wife was not easy too, as is the case for any man buying his woman a gift.

His eyes darted about the various lavish objects, unsure of what to inquire about.  Finally, one of the sales associates walked over, a lady, in her late forties, with her grey hair tied up in a very proper bun, her gold coloured name tag standing out clearly.  She spoke perfect, proper English - English English.

"Good afternoon, sir.  May I be of any assistance today?"

The Duke looked up and smiled in acknowledgment of the friendly associate.

"Indeed you can.  I was just in search of a watch or other jewelled piece for my wife."

The lady, named Diane, reciprocated Robert's smile, and nodded her head.

"Very good then...does madam have a preference in jewels?"

Robert stood there, unsure for a moment.  He called Simkins over, who was browsing around, waiting for the Duke.

"Your Grace?"

Diane's ears obviously perked at hearing Simkins' manner of addressing Robert.

"Your Grace?" repeated Diane.

Simkins beamed.  "This is the Duke of Wessex madam."

Diane became apparently nervous, and Robert, apparently annoyed at Simkins' broadcasting of his identity.  He preferred to keep a low profile, but Simkins' pride outweighed it in this instance.

"Oh I am quite sorry your Grace, I had no idea.  One moment while I fetch the manager, he will be able to assist you better."

"No no no, please, do not bother, you will be able to assist me just fine, thank you," assured the Duke.  He did not want any hassle or bother.

"Oh...well...very good your Grace."

"Robert, please call me Robert," he insisted.  The Duke glared at Simkins slightly, who only stood silent, trying to ignore Lancaster's stare.  He wanted to get back on topic, buy something, and get home.

"Anyways, Simkins, any clue what Steph's favourite stone is? I think it's either diamonds or rubies..."

"Her Grace prefers actually many stones...those, as well as sapphires as well."

"If I may ask," interrupted Diane slightly, "does your Grace, erm, do you, have any price range in mind?"

"Not particularly," responded the Duke.  Diane went straight for the big sale.

"Then if I may show you this piece."  Diane unlocked the display and pulled out a stunning ladies dress watch, encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires.

Robert took it in his hands, admiring it greatly.

"It's beautiful.  The craftsmanship is exquisite."

"It's a Piaget, sir, from Switzerland," noted Diane.

"What do you think Simkins? Think she'd like it?"

"I'm sure Her Grace would be ecstatic to receive such a time piece."

"Very well then."  Lancaster looked back at Diane, who was equally ecstatic, but did not show it.  "Oh, and the cost?"

Diane knew this was the moment of truth.

"It retails sir for £234 650."

Or, about $373 000 US.

Lancaster, without a twinge or second thought, reached into his pocket and pulled out his credit card, placing it firmly on the display case.

Diane then went about finding the right size, and then packaging it beautifully.  Handing the Duke his receipt, she smiled a smile worth £234 650.

"Thank you so very much sir, have a very happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year.  I do hope you come again!"

"Thank you too, you've been very helpful."

Simkins reached for the bag, but Lancaster brushed his hand away.  He looked back as he saw Diane talking excitedly to a coworker.  Lancaster snickered to himself.

"Yeah I damn well bet she hopes I come again."

Monday, December 16, 2002

Dallas, Texas - hotel room of Chris "the Thrill" Wright

Lying on the queen size bed, Chris Wright draped his left arm over his eyes and his right hand rested on his chest.

"Hey Chris honey, are you busy?"

Lifting the arm from across his eyes, Chris lifts his head and gazes blearily across the room to where his girlfriend is standing in a pair of jeans with no top on, her black bra standing out in sharp contrast to her pale white skin.  Chris gives his girlfriend a leering grin before he speaks.

"It depends on just what exactly you need me for."

Jennifer gave Chris a smile and then walked over and sat down on the end of the bed, looking at him. Chris rolled over onto his side and waited patiently for Jennifer to say what she wants.

"Hey Chris, what do you think about Robert?"

Chris stared at Jennifer for a moment, taken aback by the question.

"What do I think about who?"

Jennifer sighed.  Sometimes Chris could be such a dumbass.

"You know.  Robert Lancaster."

Chris frowned at Jennifer and rolled his eyes.

"Oh you mean Mister High and Fucking Mighty.  The guy who if he took a shit and smelled it would declare that it smelled like roses.  Now I know who your talking about.  You want to know what I think of him.  Meh I don’t think much of him.  Why you asking Jen?  You’re not planning on sleeping with him are you?  Cause if you do, I’m gonna take a shot at his wife."

Jennifer glared at Chris for a few moments before she punched him in his nether regions, causing him to curl up in a ball and emit small, helpless, whining noises.  Jennifer just watched him as he writhed in pain for a few minutes until he finally straightened out and breathed deeply a few times, wincing at the pain that still emitted from his groin.

"What the fuck was that for Jen?  What the hell did I say?"

Jennifer glared at Chris, the urge to punch him in his nuts for being a stupid retard rising again, but she fought it off.

"You are such an asshole sometimes Chris.  You know I love you, and I’d never have an affair with anyone.  But sometimes I don’t know about you."

"Hey baby, you know I love you.  You know I wouldn’t have an affair with anyone.  I don’t wanna screw us up."

Jennifer looks somewhat mollified by what Chris says, then she pats him on his thigh causing Chris to flinch thinking she was going to punch him again.

"The reason I asked Chris, is I know you don’t really like Robert, but I was hoping you’d be able to get along with him.  You know since we moved to Memphis I haven’t really found any girls to hang around with.  Well I really enjoy hanging out with Stephanie, and I have a feeling we’ll be hanging out more.  Which means you and Robert are going to end up seeing each other outside of the arena.  Do you think even if you two can’t be friends, you can at least be civil with him?"

Chris stared at his girlfriend a moment before he flopped back on the bed, his head clutched in his hands.

"Oh hell.  I just knew you two chicks would hit it off.  If it’s important to you Jen, then yeah I can be civil with Lancaster.  I want you to be happy and if that means being somewhat nice to him, I can do it."

Jennifer leaned forward and gave Chris a quick hug around his belly.

"I’m so glad you said that Chris."

Monday, December 16, 2002

Wessex, England - Ancestral Estate of Duke Robert Lancaster II

'Twas a cold night in Wessex, and all through the house, not a martini was stirring - because he preferred it shaken.

Lancaster stood above the small liquor stand which was situated in the Grand Library of his estate, and finished shaking the contents of his metal shakers, before pouring it slowly into his glass, and adding two green olives.  Garbed in a robe and his pajamas, he sat back down in his burgundy leatherback chair, and sipped on his drink.

Looking up on the mantle, he looked at his family crest, and below it, the various championship belts he had held throughout his career.  The Duke was almost glad  that he was not a part of Reindeer Games II, so that he could come back home to Wessex with his wife and son, and celebrate the Holy time of year.  He didn't rule out attending the PPV as a spectator, but he knew he had to consult his wife and the MSWA/CAL officials needed to make it happen, if he wanted to go.

He did not deny to himself that he yearned to be there in front of the massive live audience, in the arena, and that which would be watching on pay-per-view.  He especially was not pleased that he could not help fight on behalf of the CAL, in its attempt to once and for all crush the pandemic that was and is Thomas Turner's NATPW, as he had successfully done on December 11th.

He knew that an NATPW victory would drastically alter his position in the organization, as it would for anyone who fought along the pro-CAL lines.

His wife suddenly made her entrance, along with their son, causing the Duke to break away from his job and hold his arms out for Edward.  Stephanie handed him gently to Robert, who cradled him slowly. She looked at Robert and took the chair opposite him.

"Whatcha thinking about?  All about the lavish wonderful things you've bought me?"

He pursed his lips in a grin, as he looked down at his son, who was sleeping quietly.

"Not exactly...just, things."

"Work, I'll wager."

"Damn you're good," he said with a smirk. "But Christmas shopping as well, yes."

"Oh so you're buying Turner a Lexus or BMW in case the NATPW wins at the PPV?"

He didn't respond to that, only chuckling to himself quietly.  His eyes gazed about again, coming across the portrait of his father, the late Edward James Lancaster VII.  The Duke looked very much like his father, who stood pictured proudly in his WWII uniform, standing in the Grand Library, his favourite wine and pipe painted in the background on a table.

After a moment or two staring, Lancaster's eyes looked around, not at anything in particular.  Clearly his mind was occupied with something. All of a sudden he let out a laugh.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, pushing one of the instant dial buttons, all the time making sure not to disturb his son.

"Robert?"

Lancaster patted the air as if to say, "Shh, give me a minute."  Finally he spoke:

"Ah my dear Helius...first, turn that damn music down...alright...well, I have a favour to ask...I don't care what music you're dancing to, just listen...I want you to do a painting for me, as soon as you can...as soon as you can, days, or sooner...I'll pay you in Euros, yes...I'll fax you the subject...but I want you to do one thing with it for me ..."

Saturday, December 28, 2002

Wessex, England - Ancestral Estate of Duke Robert Lancaster II

The Duke of Wessex sat talking on the phone in the early hours of the 28th of December with his new financial advisor, the manager of the assets of Lancaster International - the assets of the Duke, that is - about the fiscal outlook for 2003.  The word of the moment was oil.  After spending a wonderful Christmas with his family at home, and after the exorbitant amount of money he spent on that watch, he knew money management was needed.

"Mr. Lancaster, I seriously advise that you consider moving a chunk of your portfolio into oil commodities...once the bombs start falling on Saddam's ass, oil is gonna skyrocket...especially if that strike in Venezuela keeps going."

The Duke sat in his leatherback chair, again in the Grand Library, in front of the fire, as he listened intently to his financial advisor.  There was no doubt that he was right about the price of oil getting higher than Whitney Houston down the road if there was a US attack on Iraq.  Robert's mind shifted about, wondering how much money he should put into Texas Tea, knowing how volatile the commodity market generally was.

"Well Mr..." suddenly, there was a call waiting beep.  "Oh, do pardon me," asked Lancaster, "I have the other line."

"Lancaster."  It was Helius Andrös.  "Ah my dear Helius...you're done..."

Lancaster grinned widely.

"Superb...did you add what I asked?  Wonderful.  Now, here's where I want you send it, and it HAS to be there by the 31st, understand?  And yes you'll get your damn Euros forwarded to your account."

Tuesday, December 31, 2002

Dallas, Texas - New Year's Revolution: Reindeer Games II, before the PPV

Chris Wright was limbering himself up for his match, at the moment jumping rope, the beat of “CrazyTrain” by Ozzy Osbourne helping to get him ready for his match.  Jennifer was lying on her stomach in the middle of the floor, her legs up at an angle and lazily kicking as she read her latest issue of Cosmo.

As Chris finished with the jump rope, he rolled it up and set it in his black duffel bag.  Standing up again,  he laid down on his stomach and began to do push-ups.  After about ten, there was a knock at the door, sending Chris hopping to his feet, walking over to the door and opening it up.

Standing outside the dressing room, there was a short standing guy, wearing a Federal Express hat and shirt.  In his hand was the little remote unit for getting signatures, and leaning against his leg was a fairly large package.

"Are you Chris Wright?"

"Yeah I’m Chris Wright.  What can I do for you?"

"I’ve got a package here for you.  Just sign here."

The man hit a few buttons on his remote unit and then spun it around, offering the electronic pen to Chris.  Chris took it and signed on the line.  The man flipped the unit around, hit another button, and then slipped it into the holster on his side.  Reaching down, he grabbed the large rectangular package and handed it over.

"Here you go.  And you have yourself a nice day sir."

Chris took the package and nodded at the man.  As the FedEx guy turned to go, Chris walked back into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Who was that babe?" asked Jennifer.

Chris stared at the brown wrapped package trying to figure it out, and then found an envelope taped to it.  Pulling the envelope off, he sat the package down to lean against the wall.

"Just a delivery guy.  I’ve received a package.  Not really sure who it’s from.  Doesn’t have any names on it, but it does have this envelope.  Maybe that’ll say who it’s from."

Opening the envelope, Chris pulls out a piece of paper that has a message typed on it.
 

Dear Chris,

First I have to say that I've been your biggest fan, ever since you started your career in the Innovative Wrestling Alliance.

I know your record of late has been less than stellar,  and I'm sure that it's been getting you down.  But I want you to know that I think you're truly the only thrill of the MSWA.

I'm quite the artist so I took the liberty of painting you something I hope you'll love. I hope every time you look at it, you'll think of me!!!

Love,
    Your Number One Fan!
 

A smile bloomed on Chris’s face as he read the letter a second time, and then handed it over to his girlfriend who read it quickly. Chris stared hungrily at the brown paper wrapped package, which he knew to be a painting now.

"This is so cool Chris.  You’ve got a fan letter.  You haven’t received any of those since way back when you first came into the IWA.  But let’s not open the package here.  Let’s wait till we get back to the hotel room, cause it’s almost time to go out there."

Chris stared at the package for a few more moments before he turned to Jennifer and gave her a quick kiss.

"Yeah your right Jen.  Let’s get going."

Taking his girlfriend by the hand, Chris lead her out of the room, closing the door behind himself and leaving the package to rest against the wall.

Wednesday, January 1, 2003

Dallas, Texas - hotel room of Chris "the Thrill" Wright

"That fucking English bastard.  I can’t believe what that bastard did."

Chris stood in the middle of his hotel room, the package that he had received lying on the bed, the brown paper scattered about the room.  Clothes were strewn about the room where they were thrown in anger, and Jennifer was at that moment sitting against the headboard of the queen sized bed, calmly regarding Chris.

"I can’t believe that son of a whore is mocking me like this.  What the hell is up with that.  You’ve seen what he did Jen, and you want me to be civil to him.  Not fucking likely."

Jennifer looked down at the painting, and her lips quirked, but she managed to fight the smile that wanted to appear on her face.

"Come on Chris, settle down.  It’s not that bad.  In fact, he did a really good job of it, whoever did it."

Chris turned and looked down at the painting and then lifted his eyes to meet his girlfriends'.

"Oh that’s right Jen, you just laugh it up.  You just laugh away as your boyfriend just keeps getting his ass kicked in the ring and now he’s got his opponent’s sending him this shit.  Yep just laugh it up.  Fuck I get my ass kicked in the ring, and now you do nothing but laugh at me.  ARGGGHHHHH."

Jennifer stared at Chris and then began to giggle.

"Calm down Chris.  It’s just a painting.  Robert’s just poking a little bit of fun at what happened."

Chris stared at Jen for a second and then bent down to hold up the painting.  It portrayed Chris sitting in a dress shirt, the front of it with a big red patch on it, and red wine dripping from his face onto the shirt.  He has a look of utter shock on his face.  It was obviously a taunt and a mockery of Lancaster's unceremonious dousing of the red wine onto Wright, at the restaurant they attended not too long ago.

Jen looked at the shocked Chris in the picture and the mad Chris holding the painting and she lost it, dissolving into a fit of giggles with tears leaking out of her eyes.  Chris continued to stare angrily at her, but slowly his anger started to leak away in the face of his girlfriend crying from laughing so hard at the picture and himself.  After about another minute, Chris set the picture down and starts to chuckle.

"Yeah I guess it is kind of funny Jen.  But that son of a bitch still shouldn’t have done it.  I guess I’ll just have to talk to him about it the next time I see him."

Jen slowly stopped laughing, but when she opened her eyes and looked at Chris, she dissolved again into giggles.  All of a sudden, Chris jumped on the bed, and straddled Jennifer, leaning down as he started to tickle her, causing her to giggle harder and start to gasp for air.

"Now I have you.  The savage tickle monster will get you.  Say Mercy Jen.  Say it.  I’ll stop if you say it."

Jennifer squirmed under Chris’ tickle assault.

"Mer...Mer...Mer....Mer...."

"Sorry you are the weakest link.  Good-bye."

With that, Chris stopped tickling Jennifer and grabbed her wrists, raising them above her head and holding them there.  Then he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the lips, before he pulled back and looked into her green eyes.

"I swear I’ll try to be civil to Lancaster Jen, but I can’t promise anything.  But remind me to thank him for such a special reminder of what a jackass he is.  And also remind me to give him the bill for the suit, and the bottle of wine."
:
"Thank you for trying for me Chris.  Now give me a kiss."

Although Lancaster's gift was meant as a snub and an insult, perhaps it was the right gift for the holidays after all.