CBWL Offices – Atlanta, Georgia
Cowboy had his boots kicked up on the desk, cigarette burning low between his fingers. Jim Ross sat across from him with a cup of coffee, both of them just killing time before the talent meeting started.
They’d been sitting in silence for a minute when Cowboy finally spoke.
Cowboy Watts: “You know what drives me crazy? We got all these people in the power structure and half of them don’t even do shit. Like Kubrick. Guy’s supposed to be running production, but I barely ever see him around unless something’s already gone wrong.”
Jim Ross let out a short laugh and nodded.
Jim Ross: “Yeah, he’s a strange one. Always got that look like he’s thinking about something way above everybody else’s head. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing when it comes to running shows.”
Cowboy Watts: “And then you got Colonel Parker floating around. I still don’t even know what the fuck that guy actually does half the time. He’s always cutting some kind of deal or trying to bring in somebody from God knows where. Half the time I feel like he’s one step away from selling us all out for a quick buck.”
Jim Ross took a sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair.
Jim Ross: “He’s old school in the worst way. The kind of guy who’d sell his own mother if it meant making a few extra dollars. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”
Cowboy flicked some ash into an empty cup and kept going.
Cowboy Watts: “Then you got Steve Jobs over there playing marketing genius. I still don’t know what the hell he’s even doing half the time. Guy acts like he’s running Apple instead of helping us put together a wrestling show. Sometimes I wonder if he even knows what business we’re in.”
Jim Ross: “He’s got that tech-bro energy. Everything’s gotta be some big idea or some new way of doing things. Half the time I don’t even know what he’s talking about.”
Cowboy grunted and took another drag.
Cowboy Watts: “And don’t even get me started on Dan Schneider. I still don’t know why we brought that guy in. Every time I see him he’s got that creepy little smile on his face like he’s up to something. Gives me the fucking creeps.”
Jim Ross nodded slowly.
Jim Ross: “Yeah… that one’s a weird fit. I don’t know what the hell he brings to the table, but he’s still here for some reason.”
Cowboy exhaled smoke and shook his head.
Cowboy Watts: “We got all these people walking around with titles and supposed jobs, and I feel like most of them are just collecting a check while the rest of us are actually trying to keep this shit from falling apart.”
Jim Ross: “Welcome to how things run around here. Too many cooks, not enough people actually doing the cooking.”
Cowboy let out a dry laugh.
Cowboy Watts: “Yeah, well… as long as they stay out of my way during the shows, I don’t really give a damn what they do the rest of the time.”
The speaker on Cowboy’s desk buzzed.
Secretary: (over the intercom) “Arnold just arrived with Emma Watson.”
Cowboy pressed the button.
Cowboy Watts: “Send ‘em in.”
A moment later, the door opened and Arnold Palmer walked in first, holding it open like a gentleman. Emma Watson followed behind him, looking calm but clearly aware that she was walking into something. Arnold gave a small nod to everyone in the room as he stepped aside.
Arnold Palmer: “Afternoon. Hope we’re not too late.”
Cowboy Watts: “You’re fine. Come on in.”
Emma gave a quick, polite nod to the room as she stepped inside. Jim Ross stood up and shook Arnold’s hand, while Cowboy stayed seated but gave Emma a once-over.
Jim Ross: “Arnold. Good to see you.”
Arnold Palmer: “You too, JR.”
There was a brief moment of casual chatter as everyone got settled — nothing fake, just the usual small talk about the drive and how things had been since the last show. Once everyone sat down, the energy in the room shifted.
Cowboy leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk, looking straight at Emma.
Cowboy Watts: “Alright, let’s cut the shit. We brought you in because we need to talk about what happened at the end of the last show.”
Emma didn’t look away. She just nodded once, already knowing where this was going.
Cowboy Watts: “You went off script. You put Hilary through that ice, then you cut that promo afterward. That wasn’t part of the plan. So I’m gonna ask you straight — what the fuck were you thinking?”
Jim Ross looked at her as well, his tone a little calmer but still firm.
Jim Ross: “We had a finish. We had a story we were trying to build. Then you decided to take it somewhere else without telling anybody. We need to know why.”
The room went quiet as they waited for her to answer.
The room stayed quiet after Cowboy asked the question. Emma hesitated for a moment, clearly thinking about how to answer. Before she could speak, Jim Ross leaned forward slightly and jumped in.
Jim Ross: “Look, before we get into all that… I just wanna say, up until that point near the end, the match was good. Real good, actually. You two were working well together. The story was coming across, the crowd was into it. You were holding your own out there.”
Emma nodded, appreciating the credit, but her expression stayed serious.
Emma Watson: “Thank you. I was trying. I’ve been trying to learn this as best as I can. I’m not a wrestler, I know that. But I was approaching it like I would any other role — I was studying, I was asking questions, I was trying to do it right.”
She paused for a second, then continued.
Emma Watson: “But Hilary stopped working. At a certain point, she wasn’t selling, she wasn’t cooperating. She was just… hurting me. For real. And when she botched that spot and dropped me, that’s when I realized she wasn’t going to protect me. If I didn’t start fighting back for real, she was going to actually hurt me and ruin everything we were trying to do. So in my head, I thought I was saving the match. I thought I was doing what I had to do to keep it from falling apart.”
Cowboy stared at her for a moment before speaking.
Cowboy Watts: “That still doesn’t explain why you came back out after the match and did that second beatdown. Or why you cut that promo. That wasn’t part of any finish we discussed.”
Emma looked him in the eye.
Emma Watson: “Because at that point, I felt like the crowd wanted it. They were reacting to what was happening. It felt like the right thing to do in the moment. I thought I was giving them what they wanted.”
Before anyone else could respond, Arnold Palmer suddenly spoke up, looking genuinely impressed.
Arnold Palmer: “I actually think that was brilliant. The way you took control like that? That was genius. You read the room and you adjusted on the fly. That’s not easy to do.”
Jim Ross turned his head toward Arnold with a flat look.
Jim Ross: “Arnold, with all due respect… you don’t understand wrestling. That wasn’t genius. That was going into business for yourself.”
Cowboy leaned forward, his tone getting sharper.
Cowboy Watts: “And that’s the problem. Whether you thought you were saving the match or giving the crowd what they wanted, you still went off script. You still did shit we didn’t call. You put Hilary through that ice after the bell, then you came back out and did it again. That’s not protecting the match. That’s making it about you.”
He stared at Emma.
Cowboy Watts: “We don’t do that here. You don’t get to decide what the finish is. You don’t get to decide when the match is over. And you sure as hell don’t get to turn a planned match into your own personal fucking therapy session in the middle of the ring. That’s how you get people hurt. That’s how you break trust. And that’s how you get blackballed.”
The room went quiet again as Cowboy’s words hung in the air.
The room stayed tense after Cowboy’s last comment. Emma was still sitting upright, clearly expecting more heat. But instead of continuing to come down on her, Cowboy leaned back in his chair and let out a short, dry laugh.
Cowboy Watts: “Truth be told… when I saw you come back out there and do what you did, part of me thought, ‘Well goddamn. At least somebody had the balls to do something.’”
Emma blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone.
Cowboy Watts: “Honestly? I always thought Hilary was kind of a fat bitch who wouldn’t last long in this business anyway. Especially not in my promotion.”
The comment was so blunt and unexpected that Emma actually let out a small breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly for the first time since she sat down.
Jim Ross and Arnold Palmer exchanged a quick look before JR spoke up.
Jim Ross: “Speaking of Hilary… there’s been some talk online lately. Rumors about her showing up to shows late, not wanting to work with certain people, that kind of thing. Some of the boys have been saying she’s been difficult to deal with behind the scenes.”
Arnold Palmer: “Yeah, I’ve seen some of that too. There were stories going around a while back about her being difficult on set with other projects as well. Sounds like she’s got a bit of a reputation.”
Emma’s relaxed expression immediately tightened again.
Emma Watson: “Wait… you’re not seriously expecting me to work with her again, are you? After what happened?”
Cowboy gave her a flat look.
Cowboy Watts: “Of course there was gonna be a blowoff match. That was always the plan. But you fucked her up too much for that to happen right now.”
He reached over and picked up a folder that had been sitting on his desk, flipping it open.
Cowboy Watts: “You wanna know how much her medical bills are right now? We’re already looking at a pretty serious number. And that’s just from what we know so far. If she needs more work done, that number’s only gonna go up.”
He closed the folder and looked Emma dead in the eye.
Cowboy Watts: “So let me make this real clear. If you ever pull some shit like that again — going into business for yourself, putting somebody through the ice after the bell, or doing anything that ends up costing us money — those bills are coming out of your check. Not the company’s. Yours. You understand me?”
Emma didn’t answer right away. She just sat there, the weight of what he said settling in.
Cowboy Watts: “I don’t care how good you think you are at reading a room or saving a match. You don’t get to make those calls. Not yet. And until you learn that, you’re gonna be on a very short leash around here.”
Arnold Palmer shifted in his seat, looking genuinely confused by the direction the conversation had taken. He leaned forward, trying to make sense of everything.
Arnold Palmer: “I don’t understand. The crowd was eating it up. They loved what she did out there. I mean, she’s this tight little British thing — they’re gonna eat that up. It’s like when a young player comes out on tour and just has that spark, you know? The fans connect with it. Why would we want to turn her into the bad guy after that?”
Cowboy and Jim Ross both slowly turned their heads to look at Arnold at the same time. JR let out a tired sigh and shook his head.
Jim Ross: “Arnold… this ain’t golf. You can’t just go off what the crowd reacts to in the moment and decide that’s the direction we’re going. That’s not how this works.”
Cowboy Watts: “He’s right. That shit you saw out there? That’s all out the window now. Emma went into business for herself and cost us money. Whether the crowd popped for it or not doesn’t change the fact that she broke the rules. In this business, that means she’s gotta pay for it.”
Arnold still looked lost.
Arnold Palmer: “But… the people liked her. Why would we want them to boo her?”
Jim Ross: “Because that’s the business. Sometimes the best thing you can do for somebody is turn them heel. Especially when they go off script and make decisions that affect the whole company. Emma needs to be a heel now. That’s the direction we’re going.”
Emma sat up a little straighter, clearly not thrilled with what she was hearing.
Emma Watson: “…A heel? You want me to be the bad guy? After everything that just happened?”
Cowboy Watts: “Yeah. That’s exactly what we want. You made your own bed out there. Now you get to lie in it. And if you’re smart, you’ll learn how to work as a heel instead of fighting it.”
Emma didn’t look convinced. She shifted in her seat, clearly apprehensive about the idea.
Emma Watson: “I don’t know if that’s the right move for me. I was trying to protect myself out there. I don’t know if turning me into some kind of villain is the answer.”
Cowboy stared at her for a second before speaking again.
Cowboy Watts: “Well, you should’ve thought about that before you went into business for yourself. Because right now, this is the only direction that makes sense.”
Cowboy leaned forward in his chair, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray as he started laying out his thoughts.
Cowboy Watts: “Alright. Here’s what I’m thinking. We don’t turn her into some generic ‘I hate everybody’ heel. That’s boring. We make her a know-it-all bitch. A holier-than-thou, preachy little cunt who acts like she’s better than everybody else in the locker room and smarter than the entire audience.”
Jim Ross raised an eyebrow but let him continue.
Cowboy Watts: “She’s out there every week talking down to people. Giving these long-winded speeches about how the business should be run, how the girls should carry themselves, how the fans should think. Real smug, condescending shit. The kind of stuff that makes people wanna see her get her ass beat.”
He leaned back again, getting more into it.
Cowboy Watts: “And here’s the twist — we make her a prude. She’s out here acting like she’s above all the nasty, sweaty, sexualized shit that happens in wrestling. She’s constantly talking about how she’s better than that, how she’s not like the other girls who’ll do whatever it takes to get ahead. But then, during her matches, we put her in situations where she does get exposed. She gets all sweaty, her gear starts riding up, shit starts coming undone. We make her look like a hypocrite. The crowd eats that shit up.”
Jim Ross nodded slowly, starting to see where he was going.
Cowboy Watts: “And the big one — we make her a fake feminist. She’s out there every week preaching about women’s rights, about how the business needs to respect women, about how she’s fighting for equality. The crowd starts to turn on her because she comes off as preachy and annoying. But then, when it actually benefits her, she sells it all out. She’ll throw another woman under the bus. She’ll use her body if it gets her ahead. She’ll do whatever shady shit she has to do, then go right back to preaching the next week like nothing happened.”
He looked across the table at Emma.
Cowboy Watts: “That’s how we make the people hate you. You act like you’re this morally superior, educated, better-than-everyone activist… but deep down, you’re just as selfish and cutthroat as everybody else. Maybe even worse, because you pretend you’re not.”
Jim Ross tapped his fingers on the table, thinking it over.
Jim Ross: “It’s a solid idea. The hypocrisy angle works in wrestling. We’ve seen it before. The trick is making sure she doesn’t become so hateable that people stop caring. We still need her to have some kind of presence.”
Cowboy looked back at Emma.
Cowboy Watts: “So that’s the direction. You wanna be a star in this business? Then you gotta learn how to be a real heel. Not just some girl who went off script one time. You become the smug, preachy, fake-ass feminist who’ll throw it all away the second it benefits her. That’s how you get heat. That’s how you make money.”
He stared at her, waiting to see how she’d react.
Cowboy Watts: “Well? You in, or what?”
Emma sat quietly for a moment after Cowboy finished laying out the character direction. She looked down at her hands briefly, then back up at him. When she spoke, her voice was calm and measured, with that same careful, articulate cadence she’s known for in real life.
Emma Watson: “I… appreciate you being direct with me. I do. But I have to be honest — this is a lot to take in.”
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
Emma Watson: “I understand that this is wrestling, and I understand that heels are supposed to be hated. I’m not opposed to playing a villain. But turning me into this… smug, preachy, hypocritical feminist who sells out everything she supposedly believes in the second it benefits her… that feels very specific. And very personal.”
She glanced at Jim Ross, then back at Cowboy.
Emma Watson: “I’ve spent a lot of my life being very open about my beliefs. About feminism, about equality. I know this is a character, but I’m not sure how comfortable I am completely tearing that down and turning it into something so… cynical. Especially if the whole point is to make people hate me for being a fraud.”
She shifted slightly in her seat, still keeping her tone respectful but firm.
Emma Watson: “I’m willing to work with you. I want to learn. But I’d like to understand how far you want to take this. Are we talking about her being a little self-serving sometimes? Or are we making her a full-on fraud who doesn’t believe in anything she says? Because those are two very different characters.”
Emma looked around the room, then settled her gaze back on Cowboy.
Emma Watson: “I just want to make sure I understand exactly what you’re asking me to become before I agree to it.”
Jim Ross leaned forward in his chair, his voice calm but firm — that classic, measured JR cadence.
Jim Ross: “Emma… I think there might be a little misunderstanding here. This isn’t really a negotiation. We own your contract. And more importantly, we own your likeness. So whether you agree with the direction or not… it’s not really up to you.”
Emma’s expression shifted slightly, but before she could respond, Cowboy spoke up.
Cowboy Watts: “And just so we’re clear — Colonel Parker made sure there was a no-compete clause in your deal. So even if you wanted to walk away and go back to Hollywood or wherever, you can’t. You’re locked in here for the duration of your contract. So you might as well get comfortable with the idea.”
Jim Ross reached into his folder and pulled out a few printed photos. He slid them across the table toward Emma.
Jim Ross: “Look at these.”
Emma picked them up. They were photos of Hilary Duff’s burns from the dry ice — angry red marks across her skin, some of them blistering. Emma’s face tightened as she looked at them.
Jim Ross: “You did that. Whether you meant to or not. And now Hilary’s dealing with the consequences. This business… it’s not like the movies. When you go off script and do something like that, real people get hurt. You owe it to this industry — and to the people in it — to make things right. You don’t get to just walk away from that.”
Emma looked up from the photos, clearly starting to feel the pressure. JR continued, his voice softening just a little.
Jim Ross: “Now, I’m not saying this has to be forever. We’re not monsters. You do your time as a heel, you take your lumps, and eventually… when the time’s right… we can turn you back babyface. You can redeem yourself. The crowd will love you for it. That’s how these stories work. But you gotta earn that redemption first.”
Before Emma could respond, Arnold Palmer suddenly chimed in, trying to be helpful.
Arnold Palmer: “You know, this reminds me of when Tiger Woods had all that stuff happen back in 2009. The whole world turned on him. But he came back. He put his head down, did the work, and eventually people started rooting for him again. Not right away, but over time. Same thing could happen here.”
Jim Ross and Cowboy both slowly turned to look at Arnold with the same flat expression.
Arnold Palmer: “You know, this whole thing reminds me of the early days of the LPGA. Back when Babe Didrikson Zaharias was fighting to get women’s golf taken seriously. A lot of people didn’t want women playing professionally at all. They said it wasn’t ladylike. But Babe? She didn’t care. She was tough. She was aggressive. She played like the men and didn’t apologize for it. And because of that, she helped open the door for a lot of other women. Sometimes you gotta be the one who’s willing to ruffle feathers to make real progress.”
Emma listened to him quietly. For the first time since the meeting started, something seemed to click in her head. She looked down at the table for a moment, thinking it over.
Emma Watson: “…Maybe there’s something to that.”
She looked back up at the room, her tone shifting slightly as she started working through it out loud.
Emma Watson: “I’ve spent years talking about how women are expected to be polite and likable and non-threatening. And in a lot of ways, that’s still true. But what if… what if playing someone who’s aggressive, who’s unlikeable, who breaks those rules… what if that actually ends up being empowering? What if showing a woman who’s willing to be ruthless and selfish and dominant on her own terms ends up challenging more stereotypes than playing another ‘strong but still likable’ character would?”
She paused, clearly thinking it through as she spoke.
Emma Watson: “I mean… people already see me as Hermione. The good girl. The one who follows the rules. Maybe there’s value in completely rejecting that. Even if it means playing someone hateful for a while. At least it would be… honest in its own way. Showing that women can be complicated and flawed and ambitious without needing to be likable.”
Jim Ross and Cowboy exchanged a quick glance. JR leaned back in his chair, letting her talk it out.
Emma Watson: “I’m not saying I’m completely comfortable with it yet. But… maybe there’s a version of this character that doesn’t completely betray what I believe in. Maybe it can still say something.”
She looked at Cowboy.
Emma Watson: “I’d still want some creative input. I don’t want to just be a cartoon. But… I’m willing to hear more about how you see this playing out.”
Cowboy studied her for a second, then gave a small nod.
Cowboy Watts: “Alright. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Jim Ross leaned back in his chair and spoke in his usual calm, measured way.
Jim Ross: “Emma, I want you to understand something. You’re in good hands here. We’ve got a strong management structure in place. People like Stanley Kubrick handling production, Steve Jobs on the marketing side, Colonel Parker working deals, Sheri L. Dew keeping an eye on the women’s roster… and that’s just a few of them. The brightest minds we’ve got are going to be looking after you. You don’t have to worry about the little things. That’s our job.”
Cowboy nodded in agreement.
Cowboy Watts: “That’s right. All you gotta do is show up to the buildings on time and do what you’re told. We’ll handle the rest. Keep it simple.”
The meeting started to wind down after that. Once everyone began standing up, Cowboy looked over at Arnold Palmer.
Cowboy Watts: “Arnold. Take Emma out for tea this afternoon. Get her out of the building for a bit.”
Emma politely shook her head.
Emma Watson: “Thank you, but that’s really not necessary. I’m fine on my own.”
Jim Ross spoke up before Arnold could respond.
Jim Ross: “Emma… for the sake of the promotion, it would be good for you to be seen out in public. Especially with someone older. It builds mystique. Gives the tabloids something to write about. We need that kind of buzz heading into the show. It’s not an optional request. Go have afternoon tea with Arnold and create a little scandal and sizzle for the papers.”
Emma looked between them, clearly uncomfortable.
Emma Watson: “I’m not sure if that’s really appropriate…”
Before she could say anything else, Arnold shifted in his seat.
Arnold Palmer: “Actually… I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. I am married, after all.”
Cowboy waved it off.
Cowboy Watts: “You’re Arnold Palmer. You’re a legend. Seven majors. Four Masters. A U.S. Open. Two British Opens. You’re one of the most respected names in sports history. Having a nice young British thing on your arm for tea ain’t gonna hurt your legacy any.”
Jim Ross nodded in agreement.
Jim Ross: “He’s right. You’re Arnold Palmer. People expect a certain presence from a man like you. It’s good for business.”
Arnold still looked hesitant, but didn’t push back any further.
Cowboy leaned back in his chair with a smirk.
Cowboy Watts: “Hell, I’m eighty-seven years old and I’ve got Mariska on my arm. If I can pull that off, you can take a young actress out for tea.”
Emma stood there quietly, clearly realizing this wasn’t really up for debate.
Arnold stood up and adjusted his jacket before turning to Emma with a polite smile. Ever the gentleman, he offered her his arm.
Arnold Palmer: “Shall we?”
Emma hesitated for just a second, then lightly took his arm. Arnold led her toward the door in a very old-fashioned, professional manner, like he was escorting her to a gala instead of afternoon tea.
As they stepped out, Cowboy leaned back in his chair and looked over at Jim Ross.
Cowboy Watts: “Alright. Who’s next?”
Jim Ross glanced down at the list on the desk and flipped to the next page.
Jim Ross: “Next up is Wendy. Tony’s supposed to be bringing her in.”
Cowboy grunted and took a drag off his cigarette.
Cowboy Watts: “Great. Let’s see what kind of shape she’s in today.”
The speaker on Cowboy’s desk buzzed again.
Secretary: (over the intercom) “Tony’s here with Conrad and Wendy.”
Cowboy Watts: “Send ‘em in.”
A moment later, the door opened. Tony walked in first, looking tired and annoyed, like he’d rather be anywhere else. Behind him came Conrad Murray, calm and carrying his usual black medical bag, and Wendy, who trailed in looking somewhat out of it, dressed in something that didn’t quite match and clearly not fully present.
Tony gave a short nod to Cowboy and JR as he stepped inside.
Tony Soprano: “We’re here.”
Conrad gave a polite nod as well.
Conrad Murray: “Afternoon.”
Wendy looked around the room slowly, like she was still trying to remember why she was there.
Wendy Williams: (mumbling) “…This the meeting? I thought we were going somewhere else…”
Tony shot her a quick look but didn’t say anything yet. He moved to the side and let Conrad and Wendy step further into the room.
Cowboy leaned back in his chair, eyeing the three of them.
Cowboy Watts: “Alright. Let’s get into it.”
Tony didn’t waste any time. He stayed standing, hands resting on the back of one of the chairs as he looked at Cowboy and JR.
Tony Soprano: “Alright, here’s the situation with her.”
He nodded toward Wendy, who was standing off to the side looking confused and slightly lost, like she wasn’t entirely sure why she was in the room.
Tony Soprano: “Her dementia is worse than we thought. A lot worse. She’s in and out. One minute she’s talking normal, the next she doesn’t know where she is or what year it is. She forgets shit constantly. Half the time she doesn’t even remember conversations we had five minutes earlier.”
He glanced at her again, then looked back at Cowboy.
Tony Soprano: “When I went out to L.A. to get her, her agent tried to tag along like he was still in charge. Butterbean had to straighten him out. We took her contract. She’s locked in with us for the next year. Salary’s already paid, so we basically got her for free. But she’s a fucking mess. I’ve had to keep her in hotel rooms because if we let her wander around, she’ll either get lost or start running her mouth to the wrong people.”
Tony shifted his weight and continued.
Tony Soprano: “She’s been difficult. Not on purpose, but because of the dementia. She gets confused, she gets scared, she starts asking the same questions over and over. I’ve had to be firm with her. Sometimes that means getting physical. She doesn’t always listen otherwise.”
He looked over at Conrad for a second before turning back to Cowboy and JR.
Cowboy looked over at Conrad.
Cowboy Watts: “Alright Conrad, cut the bullshit. What’s the actual medical situation with her?”
Jim Ross nodded in agreement.
Jim Ross: “Yeah. Give it to us straight. How bad is she?”
Conrad adjusted his glasses and spoke in his usual calm, clinical tone.
Conrad Murray: “Her dementia is advanced. Late-stage. She has significant short-term memory loss, confusion, and cognitive decline. She’s not capable of handling complex tasks or retaining new information for long. She’ll need constant supervision. Left alone, she’s a liability.”
He paused for a moment, then continued — but his tone shifted as he started talking about something else entirely.
Conrad Murray: “That said, I’ve already begun preparations for her upgrades. I was able to harvest a significant amount of usable tissue from the nurse we brought back. Fat, dermal grafts, the works. I’ve got it stored and ready to be sent to Dr. Ted Eisenberg. We can do full breast augmentation and a BBL using real tissue instead of implants. I’m thinking we go as aggressive as possible — maximum volume, maximum projection. We can have her in surgery Saturday and back on camera Sunday with the upgrades fully visible. Sheri was very clear that Wendy needs to look strong and presentable as soon as possible.”
Cowboy and Jim Ross both stared at him.
Cowboy Watts: “…What the fuck are you talking about?”
Jim Ross: “Hold on. What nurse? What tissue? What the hell are you saying right now?”
Tony let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face before stepping in.
Tony Soprano: “Alright, I’ll explain. Elena sent us to the hospital to pull Sterling out. She said they were killing him or some shit. So we went in, grabbed him, and on the way out I took one of the nurses with us. Figured if we were gonna try and keep him alive in a hotel room, we might as well have somebody who actually knows what they’re doing. That’s who he’s talking about.”
He looked at Conrad, annoyed.
Tony Soprano: “And now this psycho wants to cut her up and use her body parts to give Wendy new tits and a fat ass.”
Cowboy stared at Conrad like he’d grown a second head.
Cowboy Watts: “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
Jim Ross: “Jesus Christ, Conrad…”
Conrad remained completely calm.
Conrad Murray: “It’s efficient. We already have the material. Why waste it?”
Cowboy and Jim Ross both stared at Conrad like he had just grown horns.
Cowboy Watts: “…What the fuck did you just say?”
Jim Ross: “Hold on. Hold on. You’re talking about cutting this woman up and using her body parts for plastic surgery? Like she’s spare parts?”
Conrad didn’t flinch. He just stood there calmly, like he was discussing the weather.
Conrad Murray: “It’s efficient use of resources. We already have the tissue. Why let it go to waste?”
Cowboy looked over at Tony, his face tight.
Cowboy Watts: “Tony. Tell it again. From the beginning. And this time, don’t leave shit out. I wanna hear exactly what the fuck happened.”
Jim Ross nodded, still looking disturbed.
Jim Ross: “Yeah. Slow it down. Start from when Elena sent you to the hospital.”
Tony let out a long breath and rubbed the back of his neck. He could tell they weren’t gonna let this go.
Tony Soprano: “Alright… fine. Here’s what happened.”
He looked between Cowboy and JR as he spoke.
Tony Soprano: “Elena calls me and tells me to go to the hospital and get Sterling out. She said they were killing him, that the machines and the sedation were making him worse. So me and Butterbean fly out there. When we get to the hospital, we find him hooked up to all kinds of shit — ventilator, monitors, the whole deal. He looked half-dead already.”
Tony paused for a second, then kept going.
Tony Soprano: “We go in to talk to the doctor, but shit got out of hand fast. Butterbean lost his fuckin’ mind. Started swinging on nurses, doctors, security — anybody who got in his way. Whole floor turned into a goddamn war zone. While that was happening, I grabbed one of the nurses. Figured if we were gonna try and keep Sterling alive in some hotel room, we might as well have somebody who actually knows what they’re doing. So I took her with us.”
He glanced at Conrad.
Tony Soprano: “We got Sterling out, got the nurse out, and brought ‘em both back. I figured she could help keep him stable until we figured out what the fuck to do next. That’s it. That’s how we ended up with her.”
Cowboy stared at him for a long moment.
Cowboy Watts: “…And now this sick fuck wants to cut her up and use her to give Wendy new tits.”
Tony let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face before speaking again.
Tony Soprano: “Look, I need to clarify something. That nurse? She’s already dead. Conrad already cut her the fuck up.”
Cowboy and Jim Ross both stared at him.
Tony Soprano: “After we got back, Conrad decided he was gonna use her body. He harvested what he could — fat, tissue, whatever the fuck he needed for Wendy’s surgery. And on top of that, he gave Sterling whatever organs he could use. Blood, a kidney, part of a liver… whatever matched. That’s why Sterling’s still breathing right now.”
The room went quiet for a moment.
Jim Ross: (visibly disturbed) “…You’re telling me this doctor killed that woman and started cutting her apart in a hotel room?”
Tony Soprano: “Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Butterbean did the actual killing after Conrad talked him into it. Then Conrad went to work on her like she was a fucking science project. He’s got her parts packed up in a cooler right now, ready to send to some other doctor for Wendy’s surgery on Saturday.”
Cowboy leaned forward, his expression dark.
Cowboy Watts: “You’re telling me that while we were sitting here, that sick bastard was in a hotel room cutting up a woman’s body and putting her organs into Sterling?”
Tony Soprano: “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
Jim Ross looked over at Conrad, who was still standing there completely calm.
Jim Ross: “…Jesus Christ.”
Cowboy and Jim Ross both leaned in toward each other, speaking in low voices so Tony and Conrad couldn’t hear them clearly.
Cowboy Watts: (quietly) “You hearing this shit? That fucking doctor cut that woman up in a hotel room and gave her organs to Sterling. And Tony just let it happen.”
Jim Ross: (also keeping his voice low) “This is bad, Cowboy. Real bad. We’re not just talking about going off script anymore. This is straight-up murder and organ harvesting. If this ever gets out, we’re finished. The company, all of us — done.”
Cowboy glanced over at Conrad, who was still standing there completely calm, then looked back at JR.
Cowboy Watts: “I knew Elena was crazy, but this? This is a whole different level. She sent them to that hospital, and now we got a dead nurse and a doctor playing Frankenstein in a fucking hotel room. What the hell are we supposed to do with this?”
Jim Ross: “We need to be very careful. If we cut Conrad loose, he could talk. If we keep him around, we’re protecting a murderer. And Tony and Butterbean are in this too — they helped cover it up. This isn’t something we can just sweep under the rug.”
Cowboy rubbed his face, clearly stressed.
Cowboy Watts: “Elena’s the one who started all this. She’s the one who told them to go get Sterling. She knew exactly what she was doing when she sent Tony and Butterbean in there. Now we’re left holding the bag.”
Jim Ross: “We need to figure out how deep this goes… and fast. Because if Sheri or any of the others find out about this, it’s gonna get ugly. Real ugly.”
They both stayed leaned in, speaking quietly while occasionally glancing over at Tony and Conrad.
Tony noticed Cowboy and Jim Ross leaning in and whispering to each other. He let out a short breath and spoke up.
Tony Soprano: “Relax. We’re fine.”
Cowboy and JR both looked over at him.
Tony Soprano: “I left Butterbean behind to clean the room. He’s gonna bleach the whole place down. Wipe everything. There won’t be any trace left. I told him to make sure it’s spotless before he leaves.”
He shrugged like it was no big deal.
Tony Soprano: “Problem’s already handled. You don’t gotta worry about it.”
Jim Ross raised an eyebrow, clearly not fully convinced.
Jim Ross: “You sure about that?”
Tony Soprano: “Yeah. Butterbean knows what happens if he fucks it up. He’ll get it done.”
Cowboy stared at Tony for a moment, still looking skeptical, but didn’t push it any further for now.
Cowboy Watts: “…We’ll see.”
Cowboy Watts: “Look, at the end of the day, we didn’t do shit. This all falls on Elena. That’s how she operates. That’s how she’s always operated. She grew up in that Securitate shit in Romania back in the ‘80s. That’s just how her brain works. She sees a problem and she handles it the only way she knows how — dirty. We didn’t tell her to go that far. We’ll be fine.”
Tony let out a short laugh and shook his head.
Tony Soprano: “Please. This ain’t nothin’. Me and my guys have done way worse shit than this and walked away clean. Bodies, cover-ups, the whole nine. This is light work compared to some of the shit we’ve had to clean up. We’ll be fine.”
Jim Ross didn’t look as confident. He glanced over at Wendy, who was standing off to the side, looking lost again.
Jim Ross: “What about her? If she starts talking… if she says the wrong thing to the wrong person…”
Cowboy Watts: “Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about. She’s the wildcard right now.”
Before anyone could say anything else, Wendy suddenly spoke up, her voice soft and confused.
Wendy Williams: “…Where are we? This ain’t the hotel…”
She looked around the room, then her eyes landed on Jim Ross. She tilted her head slightly.
Wendy Williams: “I like your hat.”
Jim Ross blinked.
Jim Ross: “…What?”
Wendy turned her attention to Tony, completely unaware of the tension in the room.
Wendy Williams: (casually) “Hey… when you gonna feed me again?”
Tony didn’t even flinch. He just shrugged like it was nothing.
Tony Soprano: “Later.”
Cowboy and Jim Ross both slowly turned to look at Tony, clearly disturbed by how casually he responded.
Jim Ross: “Tony… what the hell is she talking about?”
Tony Soprano: (shrugging again) “Don’t worry about it. She’s just out of it.”
Conrad Murray stood quietly for a moment after Tony finished speaking, then reached into his bag and pulled out a thick folder. He opened it and began flipping through the pages with that same cold, clinical detachment.
Conrad Murray: “Before we go any further, I should probably give you the full picture on her. Not just the dementia.”
He looked down at the folder and started reading in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.
Conrad Murray: “Wendy Joan Williams. Born July 18th, 1964, in Asbury Park, New Jersey. Middle-class upbringing. Both parents were educators. She graduated from Northeastern University with a degree in communications. Started in radio in the late ‘80s. Built her entire career on being loud, confrontational, and unfiltered. She made a name for herself by tearing people down on air — celebrities, coworkers, whoever. She’s always had a reputation for being difficult to work with. Multiple stations fired her over the years because of her behavior and drug use.”
He turned a page.
Conrad Murray: “She’s been open about her cocaine addiction in the ‘80s and ‘90s. She’s also spoken publicly about her health issues — Graves’ disease, lymphedema, and other complications. Her personal life has been a disaster for decades. Married Kevin Hunter in 1997. He cheated on her for years, including a long-term affair that resulted in a child while they were still married. She stayed with him anyway. Publicly humiliated herself multiple times trying to keep the marriage together. Divorced in 2021 after years of public drama.”
Conrad glanced up briefly, then continued.
Conrad Murray: “Her television show ran from 2008 to 2022. It was chaotic, unpredictable, and often unprofessional. She had constant feuds with guests and staff. She’s been accused by multiple people of being hypocritical — preaching about women supporting women while publicly tearing other women down for ratings. She’s also been known to fabricate stories or exaggerate for entertainment value. Her judgment has always been questionable at best.”
He closed the folder and looked at Cowboy and Jim Ross.
Conrad Murray: “And that was before the dementia. Now she’s even worse. She can’t retain information. She forgets conversations within minutes. She’s emotionally unstable and easily manipulated. She’s a liability. If you’re planning on using her in any kind of official capacity, you need to understand that she’s not reliable. At all.”
He set the folder down on the desk.
Conrad Murray: “She’s not a star anymore. She’s a liability with a recognizable name. That’s the reality.”
Jim Ross leaned forward a bit in his chair, speaking in his usual calm, steady tone.
Jim Ross: “Wendy? Can you hear me alright?”
Wendy slowly turned her head toward him, blinking like she was still trying to catch up with what was happening.
Wendy Williams: “…Yeah. I hear you. You’re… you’re the one with the hat, right?”
Jim Ross: “That’s right. My name’s Jim. Jim Ross. We’ve met before, but that’s alright if you don’t remember. How you feelin’ today?”
Wendy tilted her head, clearly struggling to keep up.
Wendy Williams: “I’m okay… I think. Where are we again? This ain’t the hotel. Did we go somewhere?”
Before JR could answer, Cowboy spoke up from behind the desk, his voice much more direct and rough.
Cowboy Watts: “We’re in the office. We’re tryin’ to figure out what the hell we’re gonna do with you. You understand that?”
Wendy looked over at him, her expression blank for a second before she answered.
Wendy Williams: “…You’re loud. You always talk like that?”
Cowboy Watts: “Yeah, I do. And I’m gonna keep talkin’ like that ‘til you start makin’ some sense. You know why you’re here?”
Wendy stared at him for a moment, then looked back at Jim Ross like she was hoping he’d help her.
Wendy Williams: “I… I don’t know. I was in the hotel. Then we were in the car. Now I’m here. Did I do something wrong?”
Jim Ross: (gently) “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, Wendy. We’re just tryin’ to figure some things out. You remember Tony? He brought you here.”
Wendy nodded slowly, but it was obvious she was still lost.
Wendy Williams: “Tony… yeah. He’s nice sometimes. He gets mad though. Real mad. I don’t like when he gets mad.”
Cowboy leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk.
Cowboy Watts: “Yeah, well, he gets mad ‘cause you keep forgettin’ shit. You remember what happened at the hospital? Or on the plane?”
Wendy looked down at her hands, clearly struggling.
Wendy Williams: “…There was a plane? I don’t… I don’t remember a plane.”
She looked back up at them, her voice small.
Wendy Williams: “Did I mess up? I’m sorry if I did. I don’t wanna be in trouble.”
Jim Ross and Cowboy exchanged a quick look. JR’s face was sympathetic. Cowboy just looked frustrated.
Jim Ross: “You’re not in trouble, Wendy. We’re just tryin’ to help you.”
Cowboy Watts:
“Yeah. Problem is, we don’t know how the hell we’re supposed to do that yet.”
Jim Ross kept his tone relatively calm as he spoke to Wendy.
Jim Ross: “Wendy, I need you to try and focus for a minute, alright? Can you still announce? Like you used to on the radio or on your show? Can you still do interviews?”
Wendy blinked a few times, clearly trying to process the question.
Wendy Williams: “…I don’t know. I used to. I think I was good at it. But now… sometimes I forget what I’m saying while I’m saying it. I don’t know if I can do that anymore.”
Cowboy leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. His tone was much more direct and harsh.
Cowboy Watts: “What about backstage? You think you could still interview people? Be a backstage interviewer? Or are you too fucked up for that now too?”
Wendy looked down at her hands, fidgeting with her fingers.
Wendy Williams: “…I don’t know. Maybe. If somebody told me what to say. I get confused real easy now.”
Cowboy stared at her for a second, then spoke again, his voice getting colder.
Cowboy Watts: “Look at you. You used to be on TV every day. Now look at the state you’re in. Why the fuck are you so ugly now? You used to at least look like you gave a shit.”
Wendy’s face dropped a little. She didn’t say anything right away.
Cowboy Watts: “You need a new boob job. Bad. Those things are sittin’ all kinds of fucked up. You want one? We can get that fixed. You want new tits? New face? We can make you look like a star again if you actually listen for once.”
Wendy looked up at him, still clearly struggling to keep up with the conversation.
Wendy Williams: (softly) “…You can make me pretty again?”
Cowboy Watts: “Yeah. We can. But only if you stop being a fuckin’ mess and do what you’re told. You wanna be a star again or not?”
Wendy was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly.
Wendy Williams: “…I think so. I used to be a star. I miss that. I don’t wanna be like this.”
Jim Ross watched her carefully, then looked over at Cowboy.
Jim Ross: “She’s not all there, but she’s not completely gone either. We might be able to work with her… if she can stay focused long enough.”
Cowboy didn’t look convinced.
Cowboy Watts: “We’ll see. She’s gotta prove she can still be useful first.”
Conrad reached back into his folder and pulled out several old photos. He laid them out on the desk in front of Wendy without saying much at first. They were pictures of her from the ‘90s and early 2000s — younger, thinner, sharper, before the years, the drugs, the surgeries, and the dementia had taken their toll.
Conrad Murray: “This is what you used to look like. Before everything went to shit.”
Wendy stared at the photos, her expression softening as she looked at her younger self. She reached out and touched one of them lightly with her finger.
Wendy Williams: (quietly) “…I used to be pretty.”
Jim Ross leaned forward, speaking in that calm, steady tone of his.
Jim Ross: “You can look like that again, Wendy. Or close to it. We can fix you up. New face, new body, the whole thing. But you gotta follow instructions. You gotta do what we tell you. If you can do that, we can make you a star again. Just like you used to be.”
Cowboy spoke up next, his voice rough but carrying that same old-school energy.
Cowboy Watts: “He’s right. You do what you’re told, show up when we need you, and we’ll put you back on TV. You’ll be traveling every week, going from city to city, interviewing these girls after they’ve had the shit beat out of ‘em. You’ll have a microphone in your hand again. People will know who you are. You’ll matter again.”
Wendy kept staring at the pictures, clearly struggling to process everything but latching onto the idea of being a star.
Wendy Williams: (soft, almost hopeful) “…I can be on TV again? Like before?”
Jim Ross: “That’s right. But only if you listen. Only if you do what we say. You can have all of it back… but you gotta earn it.”
Cowboy leaned back in his chair, watching her closely.
Cowboy Watts: “You used to be somebody. You can be somebody again. But not if you keep acting like a confused old bitch who can’t remember what day it is. You want the lights? The camera? The attention? Then you do what the fuck we tell you.”
Wendy was quiet for a few seconds, still looking at the photos. Her voice came out small.
Wendy Williams: “…Okay. I’ll try. I wanna be pretty again. I wanna be a star.”
After a moment, Cowboy leaned back in his chair and looked at Wendy.
Cowboy Watts: “Alright, that’s enough for now. You can go.”
Wendy stood up slowly, still looking a little lost. She didn’t argue. She just nodded faintly and waited near the door.
Cowboy then turned his attention to Tony.
Cowboy Watts: “Make sure she gets some makeup on before Friday. She looks fuckin’ terrible. We can’t have her on camera looking like that for the go-home show.”
Tony Soprano: “Yeah, I got it.”
He walked over to Wendy and put a hand on her back, guiding her toward the door without much gentleness.
Tony Soprano: “Come on. Let’s go.”
Wendy followed him out without saying anything else. The door closed behind them, leaving Cowboy, Jim Ross, and Conrad in the room.
Conrad stayed standing where he was. Once Tony and Wendy were gone, he spoke up.
Conrad Murray: “Before I go, you should know where we stand with Sterling.”
Cowboy looked up at him.
Cowboy Watts: “Go ahead.”
Conrad Murray: “He’s stable for now, but only because of what I did. The organs and blood I took from the nurse bought him some time, but it’s not a permanent fix. He’s still in rough shape. He’s not going to be driving anything on Friday. Not even close. If you try to force it, he’ll likely collapse or worse.”
Jim Ross rubbed his chin.
Jim Ross: “So what are we looking at, realistically?”
Conrad Murray: “Realistically? He needs weeks, maybe months of proper care before he’s anywhere near functional. And even then, there’s no guarantee he’ll ever be the same. Right now, he’s a liability. If you want him alive and somewhat useful long-term, he needs real medical attention. Not whatever makeshift setup we have going right now.”
Cowboy exhaled through his nose and leaned back in his chair.
Cowboy Watts: “Elena’s not gonna like hearing that.”
Conrad Murray: “Elena can want whatever she wants. Biology doesn’t care.”
Conrad Murray: “If we’re being realistic about Friday, there’s only one way to even attempt it. We’d have to aggressively medicate him — high-dose steroids to reduce inflammation and push his system, cortisol shots to manage shock and stress on his body, and a combination of experimental stimulants to keep him alert and functioning. Even then, it would only be temporary. His body is still extremely compromised. There’s a very real chance he could collapse, go into organ failure, or worse while behind the wheel. But if the priority is simply getting him to drive the truck from point A to point B on Friday… it’s possible. Risky, but possible.”
Cowboy listened with a hard expression, then shook his head.
Cowboy Watts: “We’re not makin’ that call without Elena here. She’s the one who started all this shit with Sterling. She wants him driving on Friday so bad, she can come in here and decide how far we’re willing to push it. Until then, we’re not doin’ anything.”
Jim Ross nodded in agreement.
Jim Ross: “I think that’s the smart move. We’ve already got enough going on without adding more bodies to the pile.”
Cowboy stood up from his chair and stretched his back.
Cowboy Watts: “Alright. We’ll pick this back up when Elena gets here. For now, let’s break for lunch. I need a fuckin’ minute to think.”
Conrad gave a small nod.
Conrad Murray: “I’ll be around if you need me.”
Cowboy and Jim Ross watched as Conrad gathered his things and left the room. Once the door closed, Cowboy let out a heavy breath and looked over at JR.
Cowboy Watts: “…This shit just keeps getting darker.”
Jim Ross: “Yeah. It does.”
They decided to break for lunch, leaving the Sterling situation on hold until Elena arrived.
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