Table
for Four
Friday, March 3, 2006 - Maryland
residence of Daemon Curtis
Daemon pauses the TV, freezing the frame on a close-up of a cardboard
cutout of himself. He doesn't particularly look angry, just sort of
mildly irritated, and most of
that is a direct result of being tired from working out. It's only noon, he's
already done his regular morning run, his regular work-out, and gotten
his regular chewing out from Amy Remington, and now sitting on the
couch in gray sweatpants with one foot on the coffee table and his hand
in a box of Corn Pops, he doesn't even care
about what anyone else would have said.
It
probably would have been different if it were someone else, someone he
wanted respect from, but as for Big D? He really didn't care.
"So?"
Amy looked at Daemon, expecting him to get mad. She
was a bit puzzled when his only reaction to 'silver platter' was
tossing some Corn Pops into his mouth.
You'll also notice that we are back in the Maryland home of Daemon, as
opposed to the colder climates of Buffalo.
"Well, I
was thinkin…" Daemon stops and chews some more dry cereal while Amy
waits impatiently for something she can write down and piece together
for him to
do in front of a camera. "Weather been real shitty up in Buffalo, I
think I ain't goin' back 'till spring, it ain't worth the
drive."
Amy
blinks. "He just beat Heidi."
"I know,
ya made me watch that match at Fats' place. He
won that about as clean as I won the belt. Havin' a big retard at
ringside don't make you a good wrestler."
Daemon doesn't even bother to look at Amy; instead he picks up the
remote and turns the VCR off, switching back over to satellite where
we're greeted with the sight of Joe Pesci stabbing someone in the
throat with a pen.
"It wasn't worth missin' part of 'Casino' though."
"You've
seen 'Casino' like a million times." Amy gestures at the television
with her hand to get the point across.
"I've
seen big idiots twice as many times, 'n none of 'em are as entertaining
as this."
The
phone rings.
Daemon
sighs and glares at it.
It rings
again.
He
answers.
Friday, March 3, 2006 - Trump
International Hotel and Tower, New York City, New York
Early Friday afternoon, nothing to do, no where to go.
For once Marissah was home, and not out cavorting around Fifth Avenue
or out with one of her many trendy friends, some of which are
considerably, how shall I say - fucking hot.
A shame she didn't bring them home more often.
Daeriq Daemian was fully on my mind, but I knew there was one man I
must not lose sight of, so I figured why not today, it's as good as any
day.
It rang. It rang. Finally.
"'Sup?"
"'Sup'?" I shook my head.
"Sir, a distinct pleasure to hear your voice again," I lied. His
voice was distinct, as was his dialogue - fairly ghettoish in my
estimation, but I press onwards.
"Avarice, surprised to hear from ya." Daemon has a sound of
loathing in his voice, barely disguised.
His disgust was obvious; insolent fool, at least I'm trying to disguise
my disgust, I ponder to myself.
"Please, in this ring, it's Robert. How do you do on this nippy
Winter's day."
“Just glad to be south of the real winters. So, what do I owe this esteemed pleasure?” Daemon
emphasizes 'esteemed' in almost a mocker of the polite English language.
"Well," you asshole, "Dinner, as we discussed those days ago. I'm
sure you have nothing on your plate at the moment, so why not fill that
plate with a dinner at one of Washington's finest establishments - and
don't worry about the cost, dinner's on me," I retort.
“If you say so… what day you got in mind?” The disdain in his voice is
traded for mild annoyance.
That's a bit better - down boy!
"Today. Tonight, to be specific. There's a French dump in
Washington that's sure to satisfy any palette, even the
inexperienced. You can bring any lady of your choosing too - make
it a double date. Just promise me you won't bring any cane with
you." I tried to turn down the rhetoric a little.
Laughing a bit, "You took care of the cane part. Maybe on Outrage we
can negotiate getting back my boys chair while I think of it. But yeah
– I got nothin' goin' on tonight.”
Superb. "Very well then. The location is the Citronelle, at the Latham
Hotel, Washington. Be there for 8pm. Formal attire only," I stress. "I'm sure
that won't be a problem since that title of yours has probably racked
in the money. I do look forward to this."
"Yeah, I'm sure I got somethin'. See you there.”
The line goes quiet on both ends as I hang up.
Step one, complete. I turn to look at Marissah.
"Well?" She queries.
"Get out the Chanel baby."
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck..."
Friday, March 3, 2006 - Washington D.C.,
the Citronelle
I check my
Rolex. 8pm, exactly. The flight in on the Lear
was smooth and to perfection as usual - I really should pay those
pilots more.
But I won't.
In walks Mr. Curtis with his
vivacious looking manager, Amy Remington.
I cast an eye up and down her
quickly, sure that she wouldn't notice.
Sad thing she wasn't on the
menu tonight.
I step forward and extend my
hand to him. He dressed the part, I
was pleased.
"Mr. Curtis, glad to see you've
made it in one piece."
I'm a bit weary, but take his
hand in a firm handshake. "Of course.
This is Amy Remington, I'm sure ya haven't been introduced before."
Damn Marissah is fine…
"Dear lady, welcome." I
take her hand and kiss it so,
gently. I glance over back to Marissah who only sneers. I
look up at Amy who smiles politely, and no more. Maybe with a bit
more liquor...anyway. I extend my arm over to the maitre-de, who
is looking oh so sharp in tuxedo.
"Yes sir, may I help you."
"Reservation," Marissah cuts me
off before I had a word to speak, "For
His and Her Grace, the Duke and Duchess of Wessex." A few heads
turn our way. "And company," she smiles back at Amy and
Curtis. "For four."
I can only roll my eyes at her
blatant self-promotion. But I'm
used to it.
The maitre-de nods.
"Mr. Curtis, Ms. Remington,
after you, please." I intend to be
the utmost of civility tonight. For now.
"Thank you." I'll make an
effort at this polite game for awhile. I
still ain't sure about this whole thing. Amy seems to be dealing with
it fine though – and she is looking fine in that black dress too…
dinner with two hot women, and my biggest enemy in over a year. "How
was your flight… I'm guessin' you flew in?"
The maitre-de seats us as I
hold out the chair for Marissah - I would
not hear the end of it if I didn't - and take a seat myself. He
hands us menus that we all start to pour over.
"Quite fine thank you.
The Lear does a marvellous job."
"Have you ever been on one,
Amy?" Marissah chimes in immediately.
"No, I can't say as I've had
the pleasure." She smiles, being as polite
as possible. I wonder what's goin' on in her head.
"Aw, such a shame - maybe
Robert can lend it to us one day so we can go
shopping in Paris for fun. I could always use another shopping
girlfriend."
Curtis and I exchange looks -
minus any hatred, just bewilderment.
What? "Yeah, might be good for
you to get away from business for a day
or two…" Now what? I don't even know how to start a conversation
without bringin' up stabbin' people in the head with a broken cane… and
I ain't too sure ya can have a discussion like that, in a place like
this.
The waiter seems to mercifully
spare us this awkward silence.
"May I offer you all drinks."
Wine. "May we have a
bottle of the Chateauneuf
du Pape, Etienne Guigal 2000," please, I politely inform him.
"Wine, Mr. Curtis?"
"Please." Damn I feel outta
place, don't even feel right talkin' like
normal. "So how's everything?"
The waiter wanders off as I
take a sip of water. I look at Curtis
and hear his voice, and see him squirm. He's so out of place like
a pig out of shit - he doesn't know what to do.
"Things are going my way, so it
seems. Business is good. I
have Daeriq Damien to deal with as you well know. What do you
surmise of him?"
I am outplaying him at dinner -
I shall do so in the ring.
I smile politely. "Daeriq
Damien is… not as good as he was. I haven't
been in the ring against 'em, but my friends did have a match with him
and Gemma, I do believe." This guy got nothin', but it's still more
than I think Daeriq got… I wish he had someone harder this week.
I nod pensively. "I'll
have to keep that in mind - thank
you. However I shall treat him as any general does - that this
match against him will be the biggest, most important war of all - as
doubtlessly you do against Big..."
"Dumbass. Motherfucker,
can't stand the bastard." Marissah
spoke a bit too loudly. A few older people cast disapproving
glares our way. Perhaps she had a few too many in-flight cognacs.
I clear my throat, trying not
to pay too much attention to the
outburst, and hoping she really was directing that at Big Dumbass.
"Yes, he's been doing good lately, and it doesn't hurt that he's in The
Unforgiven Two."
I look over at Amy who seems to
still be quite comfortable, smiling all
the while.
I have nothing but disdain for
gangs or groups now. "I learned to
foresake groups a long time ago." I stare at him. "You never know
who will ultimately betray you."
The wine is brought and after
allowing me to sniff and sample the wine,
the waiter pours four generous glasses full of the red liquid which I
do so adore. I raise my glass.
"Ms. Remington - do you have a
toast?"
I look at Amy, who pauses a
moment before raising her glass. I do the
same.
"To a bright future?" She looks
nervous for the first time of the
night. Probably his plan, anyway. The restaurant, the generally nice
conversation, it's all part of the head games. Cant let 'em get to me.
I smile courteously as does my
wife - good girl - as our glasses
meet. I see Curtis take a large gulp. Evidently he hasn't
quite mastered the wine appreciation bit. No matter. I am
here not to enjoy wine or a good meal - but to know what lurks in his
mind.
I lean forward.
"What is in your future." I quickly
look at Amy who puts her glass down and looks over to Curtis.
"Comin' out of Outrage ahead of
The Unforgiven, 'n anyone else aiming
for me." I watch him close. Too sly. "And if not ahead, at least with
less injuries." I smile, knowing already what I want to do at Outrage.
"Past that… I'll deal with it when it comes."
"It may come sooner than you
expect."
I hope Marissah doesn't take
that as a hint to stab him with her fork.
"In the meantime...I hope you
grow to find a greater appreciation of
things in life. That title is a great honour - let me
congratulate you on your win formally in person," I nod with true
sincerity. "You might as well enjoy what it brings. While you
have it. Not that I'm insinuating anything, mind you."
I nod in thanks. "Of course
not. But I agree, it is an honor. An honor
I know you want very badly… which maybe we should talk about… there's
two other guys want it probably just as bad as you." I smile. Get his
attention off me, 'n on one of the fools who ruined everything last
week.
"Sir...I have more honour
flowing through my veins than that title
would ever do to me or for me - it is a symbol that proves however that
one is the best - and I only believe that I am - and I've proven
it. But I do agree. Those two pricks won't stand in my way,
I've dealt with them both, I know how to handle them both - I dare say
I know all three of you quite well. It is a game I've played
often. And I look forward to what's coming to all."
Marissah smirks as she
contentedly sits quietly, to my amazement,
drinking her wine. Amy's been quiet. Too quiet.
I can't help but laugh. "I'm
afraid you don't know enough about me, but
that's beside the point. Ya may have earned the spot you're in… but
Christenson is gonna be lookin' to get that spot back, 'n I can't see
Freddy stickin' up for you again either."
I clear my throat, don't show
your cards yet, there's no need. He
already knows more than he should.
"Anyway, maybe we should make
it a point to knock them out of the
equation, 'n then we can go on attacking each other… after all, you and
I earned it. Not them."
Now it is my turn to
laugh. "Mr. Curtis, with all due
respect. I've already made my deal with the Devil - and it's
gotten me to where I am. I have no need to make any deals with
you."
Sorry, no sale, Curtis.
The waiter returns to ask our
order.
"But whatever comes. I
hope you'll remember this meal fondly as I
shall." I raise my glass to him and sip.
I force a smile. He was smart
not to agree, it would have been bad for
him in the long run. "I will." I take a drink from my own glass. What I
wouldn't give for a beer...
To be continued.