Post by Matt Rydell on Oct 2, 2015 15:13:37 GMT -6
Friday 2nd October, 2015
13:43PM
New York City, USA
There's an unmistakable noise in New York City. Day and night, there's this unbelievable hustle and bustle around the "city that never sleeps". You would never know that however, if you were sitting in Matt Rydell's apartment. Upper East Side, 34th floor, with a picturesque view over Central Park, things are looking good for the Northern Irishman. Sitting at a glass table, a MacBook open in front of him, Rydell looks like a man who's been around wealth his whole life. He lounges backwards in his chair, raising an iPhone to his ear.
"David, my man! What's the craic? Just got your message, what's up?"
"What's the craic? Listen man, you've been in America for years, you gotta drop that Irish bullshit. Nobody knows what you're talking about except me, I feel like I speak a second language sometimes!"
David Saracen, Rydell's star agent guffaws down the phone, as Rydell smirks. You can take the boy out of the country, but you can't improve his vocabulary.
"I'm sure you didn't call me just to make fun of my beautiful accent, are you Dave?"
"Usually, I am, but today is different. I've got a couple of different offers for you to mull over, keep the numbers in your bank account ticking over. Put some more cash into the 'Matt Rydell Ferrari Fund', you know?"
"Those are the kinds of words I love to hear Dave. Listen, you've been amazing for the past few months. Acting gigs, modelling deals, it's been great. I was this dumbass kid from Belfast who had no clue what he wanted in life, and here I am, in an apartment made of seventy percent glass in NYC. I can't thank you enough bro, I haven't felt this good in years. I'm healthy, I'm rich, I'm fucking handsome as shit. Life is good."
"Listen man, I just do what I can. So here's the deal. I gotta sweet acting gig down in LA if you want it, think Emma Stone is the leading lady, you know, the ginger chick from Spiderman and shit. I think the guys over at the Channel 4 in London what you to make an appearance on some show called Eight Out Of Ten Cats. I also spoke to Aimee over at Armani Exchange, they would love to bring you in for a deal, and Nike want you to be the face of their new YouTube campaign. How do those sound?"
Rydell puffs out his cheeks, before a sly grin crosses his face.
"Okay, well I'm done flying back and forth to LA for acting gigs. Every time I go through LAX they lose my bags, or my bags get delayed, it's not worth the headache. Unless they double my pay, then I'll consider it. I could swing Cats if they make sure Jenna Coleman is on my team, you know, the chick from Doctor Who. I love that girl. As far as Nike and Armani, say yes to both, your boy needs new clothes and I enjoy looking fresh as hell."
"No problem Matt. I'll just need to talk to legal about the Nike one, I can't remember what the end date on your Reebok deal is, don't want any shitty lawyers ruining our fun. Other than that, I'll ring Aimee as soon as we're done and we'll get this ready.
"Awesome, that everything?"
"Well, uh..."
Rydell frowns a little, as silence comes across the line.
"What's up?"
"I, uh, I had a Frank Barnes on the phone this morning."
"WHAT?" Rydell snaps up in his chair, the smirk firmly wiped off his face. "What did he want?"
"Well, he, uh..., well he was really rude, and he's terrifying, and he threatened me if I didn't talk to him, then talk to you, he said he'll find me and beat the ever-loving bejes-"
"What. Did. He. Want."
"Well, and these are his words, he wanted to know "what happened to turn Rydell into a pussy boy posing in magazines?" He wants you to quit fucking around and get back in the ring. He wants to train you, get you back into ring shape, he thinks you miss it, and I... I think you do too. I know the money is great and you're feeling healthy, but there used to be this fire in your eyes when you were out there, scratching and clawing for your life, that you've don't have anymore. I just feel like you left before you should have, you know?"
Rydell's frown has turned into full blown rage. He hangs up the call, and throws the phone across the room, the device thumping into the sofa. He pauses, seething, before standing up, knocking over the chair, and walking onto his balcony. He leans over his railing, staring down at the tiny figures moving around Central Park, pondering over David's phonecall. Wrestling? Rydell was over it. No, he was better than it.
13:43PM
New York City, USA
There's an unmistakable noise in New York City. Day and night, there's this unbelievable hustle and bustle around the "city that never sleeps". You would never know that however, if you were sitting in Matt Rydell's apartment. Upper East Side, 34th floor, with a picturesque view over Central Park, things are looking good for the Northern Irishman. Sitting at a glass table, a MacBook open in front of him, Rydell looks like a man who's been around wealth his whole life. He lounges backwards in his chair, raising an iPhone to his ear.
"David, my man! What's the craic? Just got your message, what's up?"
"What's the craic? Listen man, you've been in America for years, you gotta drop that Irish bullshit. Nobody knows what you're talking about except me, I feel like I speak a second language sometimes!"
David Saracen, Rydell's star agent guffaws down the phone, as Rydell smirks. You can take the boy out of the country, but you can't improve his vocabulary.
"I'm sure you didn't call me just to make fun of my beautiful accent, are you Dave?"
"Usually, I am, but today is different. I've got a couple of different offers for you to mull over, keep the numbers in your bank account ticking over. Put some more cash into the 'Matt Rydell Ferrari Fund', you know?"
"Those are the kinds of words I love to hear Dave. Listen, you've been amazing for the past few months. Acting gigs, modelling deals, it's been great. I was this dumbass kid from Belfast who had no clue what he wanted in life, and here I am, in an apartment made of seventy percent glass in NYC. I can't thank you enough bro, I haven't felt this good in years. I'm healthy, I'm rich, I'm fucking handsome as shit. Life is good."
"Listen man, I just do what I can. So here's the deal. I gotta sweet acting gig down in LA if you want it, think Emma Stone is the leading lady, you know, the ginger chick from Spiderman and shit. I think the guys over at the Channel 4 in London what you to make an appearance on some show called Eight Out Of Ten Cats. I also spoke to Aimee over at Armani Exchange, they would love to bring you in for a deal, and Nike want you to be the face of their new YouTube campaign. How do those sound?"
Rydell puffs out his cheeks, before a sly grin crosses his face.
"Okay, well I'm done flying back and forth to LA for acting gigs. Every time I go through LAX they lose my bags, or my bags get delayed, it's not worth the headache. Unless they double my pay, then I'll consider it. I could swing Cats if they make sure Jenna Coleman is on my team, you know, the chick from Doctor Who. I love that girl. As far as Nike and Armani, say yes to both, your boy needs new clothes and I enjoy looking fresh as hell."
"No problem Matt. I'll just need to talk to legal about the Nike one, I can't remember what the end date on your Reebok deal is, don't want any shitty lawyers ruining our fun. Other than that, I'll ring Aimee as soon as we're done and we'll get this ready.
"Awesome, that everything?"
"Well, uh..."
Rydell frowns a little, as silence comes across the line.
"What's up?"
"I, uh, I had a Frank Barnes on the phone this morning."
"WHAT?" Rydell snaps up in his chair, the smirk firmly wiped off his face. "What did he want?"
"Well, he, uh..., well he was really rude, and he's terrifying, and he threatened me if I didn't talk to him, then talk to you, he said he'll find me and beat the ever-loving bejes-"
"What. Did. He. Want."
"Well, and these are his words, he wanted to know "what happened to turn Rydell into a pussy boy posing in magazines?" He wants you to quit fucking around and get back in the ring. He wants to train you, get you back into ring shape, he thinks you miss it, and I... I think you do too. I know the money is great and you're feeling healthy, but there used to be this fire in your eyes when you were out there, scratching and clawing for your life, that you've don't have anymore. I just feel like you left before you should have, you know?"
Rydell's frown has turned into full blown rage. He hangs up the call, and throws the phone across the room, the device thumping into the sofa. He pauses, seething, before standing up, knocking over the chair, and walking onto his balcony. He leans over his railing, staring down at the tiny figures moving around Central Park, pondering over David's phonecall. Wrestling? Rydell was over it. No, he was better than it.
