Charlotte Douglas International Airport – Charlotte, North Carolina
Tuesday, June 16, 2026
The plane had just landed. Tony Soprano walked through the terminal with Butterbean beside him, both of them moving slow after the long flight from L.A. Tony checked his phone as they walked and saw several missed calls from Sheri L. Dew.
He stared at the screen for a second, then locked it and slipped the phone back into his pocket without answering.
Tony Soprano: (muttering) “Yeah, that can wait.”
They picked up the rental car without much conversation. Once they got outside, Tony popped the trunk and tossed their bags in while Butterbean stood there waiting like he always did.
Tony got behind the wheel. Wendy climbed into the backseat without a word. Butterbean followed after her, squeezing his massive frame into the back seat next to her. The second he settled in, the car noticeably shifted from his weight. Wendy was pressed up against the door, with very little room to move.
Tony started the car and immediately caught the smell.
It was thick — a heavy mix of Butterbean’s sweaty, unwashed body odor and whatever cheap perfume or lotion Wendy had on. The combination was foul. Tony made a face and immediately rolled the driver’s side window all the way down.
Butterbean: (shifting uncomfortably in the seat) “Fuckin’ flight, man. My back’s all fucked up. My hips too. I’m too big for them little seats. Felt like I was folded up the whole time.”
Tony didn’t answer right away. He just kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the open window as he pulled out of the rental lot and onto the highway. The wind helped with the smell, but only a little.
Butterbean: (still complaining) “I’m sore as hell. My knees been killin’ me since we took off. And now I gotta sit in this little ass car for three hours? This shit’s gonna be miserable.”
Wendy stayed quiet in the back, pressed against the door with her arms folded. She didn’t look comfortable, but she didn’t say anything either.
Tony glanced at them in the rearview mirror for a second, then looked back at the road.
Tony Soprano: (dry) “Yeah, well… we got a long drive ahead of us. Try not to bitch the whole way.”
Butterbean shifted again, letting out a low grunt as he tried to get comfortable. The car creaked under his weight.
Butterbean: “Easy for you to say. You ain’t the one sittin’ back here like a sardine.”
Tony didn’t respond. He just kept driving, one hand on the wheel, the other hanging out the window as they headed toward the hotel.
It was going to be a long three hours.
Butterbean kept shifting in the backseat, letting out low grunts every few minutes.
Butterbean:
“My fuckin’ back, man… my hips… this shit’s killin’ me. I’m too old to be squeezed in the back like this. My whole body’s sore as hell.”
Tony’s jaw tightened. He’d already rolled the window down as far as it would go, but the smell in the car was still thick and unpleasant. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Wendy, who was pressed up against the door with almost no room to move because of how much space Butterbean took up.
After another minute of Butterbean groaning and complaining, Tony spoke without taking his eyes off the road.
Tony Soprano: “Wendy.”
She looked up at him in the mirror.
Tony Soprano: “Reach over there and jerk him off. Maybe that’ll shut him the fuck up.”
Wendy’s eyes widened a little. She looked at Butterbean, then back at Tony in the mirror. For a few seconds, she didn’t move. Her hands stayed in her lap.
Butterbean didn’t say anything either. He just sat there, breathing heavy, waiting to see what she would do.
Wendy hesitated a moment longer… then slowly nodded. She reached over without a word, her hand disappearing into Butterbean’s lap. After a few seconds, the complaining stopped. Butterbean let out a low grunt and leaned back as much as the seat would allow, his eyes half-lidded.
Tony kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the open window as he drove. He didn’t look back again. He just stared at the road ahead, the wind blowing into the car.
Wendy kept her eyes down, focused on what she was doing. Every now and then she’d glance up at Tony in the rearview mirror, like she was checking to see if he was watching.
Butterbean stayed quiet for the rest of the drive.
The rental car was way too small for Butterbean.
He took up most of the backseat on his own, his thick frame spilling over the middle seat and pressing Wendy hard against the door. There was barely any room for her to move. Every time Butterbean shifted, which was often, she got pushed even further into the corner. The air in the car was thick and stale, a heavy mix of Butterbean’s body odor and Wendy’s perfume.
It had been over forty minutes.
Wendy’s arm was clearly getting tired. Her movements had slowed down, and she kept adjusting her position, trying to find some kind of angle that didn’t make her shoulder cramp. Butterbean was still half-hard in her hand, but it was taking forever.
Eventually, she let out a quiet, frustrated breath and spoke up.
Wendy: “…Can we stop for a minute? My arm’s killing me.”
Butterbean immediately started shifting again, letting out a low, annoyed grunt.
Butterbean: “Aw, come on… you were doin’ good. Don’t stop now. My back’s already fucked up from that flight and now you’re gonna leave me like this? That’s fucked up.”
He kept moving around, trying to get comfortable, which only made the already cramped backseat feel even smaller. Wendy was practically pinned against the door at this point.
Butterbean: “I’m sore as hell, man. My hips, my knees… everything’s tight. You can’t just start something and then quit halfway. That shit ain’t right.”
Wendy stayed quiet, her hand still resting in his lap but no longer moving. She looked tired and uncomfortable, glancing toward the front seat like she was hoping Tony would say something.
Tony kept his eyes on the road for a few more seconds before he finally spoke, his voice low and flat.
Tony Soprano: “Your job ain’t just to sit there and ask questions on camera, you know that, right?”
Wendy didn’t answer. Her hand kept moving.
Tony Soprano: “Unless you feel like using your mouth for this instead, then shut the fuck up and use your hands. I don’t wanna hear any complaining.”
Wendy stayed quiet. She adjusted her grip slightly and kept going, her movements more focused now. Butterbean let out a low grunt and shifted in his seat, one of his thick arms resting along the back of the seat behind her.
Tony glanced at them in the rearview mirror for a second, then looked back at the road.
Tony Soprano: “And while we’re at it… keep your mouth shut about this when we get back. Same way you kept it shut after I had to straighten you out in that hotel room before the last show. You remember that?”
Wendy’s hand paused for half a second before she started again, slower this time.
Tony Soprano: “Yeah, I figured you did. So don’t go running to Cowboy crying about how we treated you on the way back. You do what you’re told, you keep your head down, and we won’t have any problems. Got it?”
Wendy nodded once, eyes still down.
Tony didn’t say anything at first. He kept driving with one hand on the wheel. After a few seconds, he reached down with his free hand and unclasped the watch on his left wrist. It was a nice piece — heavy, expensive-looking. He took it off without looking back and held it out toward the backseat.
Tony Soprano: “Here.”
Wendy hesitated, then slowly reached forward and took it.
Tony Soprano: “Little bonus. For being a good girl and not making a scene.”
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror, then looked back at the road.
Tony Soprano: “Go take that to a pawn shop when we get back. They’ll probably give you a decent price for it… you know how you people are with that shit.”
Wendy stayed quiet, holding the watch in her lap.
Tony Soprano: “You’re gonna do great this weekend. I can already tell. Just keep doing what you’re told and we won’t have any problems.”
Butterbean let out another low grunt and shifted again, clearly still waiting.
Tony kept his eyes on the road.
Tony Soprano: “Now finish what you started. We still got a long drive.”
Wendy kept going, her hand moving steadily in Butterbean’s lap. She didn’t say anything else after Tony told her to finish what she started. Butterbean had gone quiet too, just breathing heavy and shifting every so often in the cramped backseat.
After another few minutes, Butterbean let out a low, guttural grunt. His whole body tensed up as he came, thick and messy. Some of it got on Wendy’s hand and wrist, but a good amount also landed on the back of the passenger seat and the floor mat.
Tony’s head snapped toward the backseat the second he heard it.
Tony Soprano: (exploding) “Are you fucking kidding me?! After I gave you that fucking watch?!”
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, swerving slightly before correcting it.
Tony Soprano: (furious) “Do you have any idea what that watch means to me?! Huh?! That’s not some piece of shit I bought at a mall! I took that off a dead man’s wrist! You understand that? I put two in his chest and then I reached down and took it off him while he was still warm!”
Butterbean was still catching his breath, looking half-asleep and unbothered. Wendy stayed quiet, wiping her hand on her pants while trying to make herself as small as possible against the door.
Tony Soprano: (still heated) “That watch is from Rosie O’Donnell’s husband. I went in there with Butterbean a few weeks ago to handle some business, and that fat bitch’s husband got in the way. So I put him down. And while he was sitting there leaking all over his own couch, I took his fucking watch. That’s mine. That’s earned. And you let this fat fuck bust all over the car like it’s nothing?!”
He was gripping the wheel tight now, jaw clenched.
Tony Soprano: “That watch is worth more than both of you combined right now. And you’re treating it like some cheap piece of shit you got at a pawn shop. Un-fucking-believable.”
Butterbean shifted in his seat, still breathing heavy.
Butterbean: (mumbling) “…Sorry, Tone.”
Tony didn’t even look back at him. He just kept driving, one hand white-knuckling the wheel while the other hung out the open window.
Butterbean shifted in the backseat, looking down at the mess on the seat and floor mat. He glanced at Wendy, who was still sitting there with her hand resting on her thigh, clearly unsure what to do.
Butterbean: (annoyed) “You made Tony mad! Clean it up!”
Wendy looked at him, then down at the mess, then back at Butterbean like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Butterbean: (grumbling, shifting his weight again) “Come on, man… you got it all over the place. Tony’s pissed now. Just wipe it up or something. I ain’t sittin’ in this the whole ride.”
Tony didn’t say anything at first. He just kept driving, but the muscle in his jaw kept twitching. After a few more seconds, he finally spoke again, voice low and dangerous.
Tony Soprano: “Wendy. Clean that shit up. Now.”
He didn’t raise his voice this time, but the tone made it clear he wasn’t asking.
Wendy stared at the mess for a second, then looked at Butterbean like he had two heads. Her voice came out with that signature mix of disbelief and attitude:
Wendy Williams: “Clean it up? With what?! I got his nut all over my hand and the damn seat! What am I supposed to use, huh? My sleeve? My purse? Tell me what the hell I’m supposed to wipe this up with, ‘cause I don’t see no paper towels back here!”
She was half-whispering, half-hissing, clearly trying not to set Tony off again, but still sounding completely fed up.
Wendy Williams: “This is crazy. I’m sittin’ back here squeezed up against the door like a sardine, this man’s all over me, and now y’all want me to start cleaning like I’m the damn maid? With what? My good jacket?!”
Wendy was still awkwardly trying to wipe the mess off the backseat with her sleeve, muttering under her breath when Butterbean spoke up again from beside her.
Butterbean: (gruff, casual) “Just use your tongue. Faster that way.”
Wendy’s head snapped toward him with a look of pure disbelief.
Before she could even respond, Tony let out a short, rough laugh from the front seat.
Tony Soprano: “Yeah, use your tongue. We ain’t stopping for fast food anytime soon anyway.”
He shook his head, still chuckling as he kept one hand on the wheel.
Tony Soprano: “Jesus Christ… you two are something else back there.”
Wendy sat there for a second, looking between the two of them like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t say anything else, but the look on her face said plenty. She went back to wiping with her sleeve, slower this time, clearly disgusted.
Butterbean just leaned back again with a heavy sigh, like the suggestion was completely normal.
Tony kept driving, still smirking to himself as the wind blew in through the open window.
A few minutes passed in relative silence. Wendy had stopped trying to clean and was now just sitting quietly with her arms folded, staring out the window. Butterbean had finally settled down, though he was still shifting every so often.
Tony’s phone started ringing again.
He glanced at the screen and saw Sheri L. Dew calling. He stared at it for a second, like he was debating whether to answer, then finally hit the button and put the phone to his ear.
Tony Soprano: (flat) “Yeah.”
There was a brief pause on the other end before Sheri’s voice came through, calm and pleasant as always.
Sheri L. Dew: “Tony. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
Tony Soprano: “I’ve been busy.”
Sheri L. Dew: “I’m sure. I wanted to speak with you directly about Wendy. I understand she’s with you right now.”
Tony glanced at Wendy in the rearview mirror for a split second before looking back at the road.
Tony Soprano: “Yeah, she’s here. What about her?”
Sheri L. Dew: “I’d like to discuss how we’re going to handle her moving forward. Her appearance, her presentation, and what our expectations are going to be now that she’s fully committed to CBWL. I think it’s important we get on the same page as soon as possible.”
Tony let out a short breath through his nose.
Tony Soprano: “Yeah, well… we’re still a few hours out. You sure this can’t wait until we get back?”
Sheri L. Dew: (still calm, but firm) “I’d rather not. I have some thoughts I’d like to share with you directly.”
Tony didn’t answer right away. He just kept driving, one hand on the wheel, the other holding the phone to his ear.
Tony Soprano: “…Alright. Go ahead then.”
Tony kept the phone to his ear as he drove, one hand resting on the wheel.
Sheri L. Dew: (calm, measured) “I wanted to speak with you directly because I believe Wendy’s presentation needs immediate attention. Now that she’s fully committed to us for the next year, we have a responsibility to make sure she represents the company properly. Her current appearance… well, it’s not where it needs to be.”
Tony glanced at Wendy in the rearview mirror. She was sitting quietly in the back, still trying to subtly wipe her hand and wrist on her pants. She kept looking toward the front seat, clearly trying to listen in, but she couldn’t hear what Sheri was saying on the other end.
Tony Soprano: “Yeah, I noticed.”
Sheri L. Dew: “I think it would be wise to increase her plastic surgery budget significantly. We need to get her back to a place where she looks strong and presentable on camera. It’s not fair to her or the audience to keep her looking the way she does now. I truly believe she can still be a powerful voice for us… but we have to help her get there.”
Wendy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She could tell they were talking about her, but she only caught bits and pieces. Her brow furrowed slightly as she tried to piece it together.
Tony Soprano: (dry) “You want to spend more money making her look better.”
Sheri L. Dew: Yes. I think it’s necessary. Especially now. She’s ours for the full year. We should treat that as an opportunity to shape her into exactly what we need her to be.
Tony stayed quiet for a second, eyes on the road.
Wendy leaned forward a little, trying to hear better, but she still couldn’t make out Sheri’s words clearly. She looked confused and slightly uneasy, like she knew whatever was being discussed wasn’t good for her.
Tony Soprano: “I’ll think about it.”
Sheri L. Dew: I’d like to discuss it further when you’re back. I have some ideas on how we should move forward with her.
Tony didn’t respond right away. He just kept driving, the wind still blowing in through the open window.
Wendy sat back again, wiping her hand one more time on her pants as she stared out the window, clearly trying to figure out what was being said about her.
Tony Soprano: Yeah. We’ll talk when I get back.
He hung up without another word and dropped the phone into the cupholder.
