Post by King on Nov 3, 2020 16:31:25 GMT
02:25pm; Monday, November 1st
"It almost looks like someone's house," Portia remarks, pointing toward a grayish brown sided building with a black sign on front reading 'The Exchange' in white lettering.
"Yeah, it does," agrees Stephen, standing next to her as they survey the establishment's exterior features.
"The ratings were good," she says to him. "Do you want to try it?"
"Yeah, sure, why not? I'm starving," he answers.
They had elected to stay in town for the weekend following Stephen's meeting with the Doctor for the Imperial Wrestling Federation on Friday. The entire process had been a bit more comprehensive than he had imagined it was going to be; but aside from the litany of tests and exams they performed on his knee, he felt confident the rest of the results would fall in their favor. There was merely the one hurdle- the surgically repaired right knee- that seemed to stand as tall as a mountain; and he had reasonable doubts if he had cleared it. However he had been told by way of Human Resources that if all went well both he and Portia would both be on their way to Newark, New Jersey for the next show as part of the active roster. In his mind that meant they were on to whole new lives. Whether he'd be used or not and how really wasn't important at this juncture because they'd be being paid.
Stephen holds the door for Portia, making her first into the bar. He follows closely behind her. Beige paint and dark wood line the walls upon which numerous televisions are mounted. The decor is partnered with dark wooden tables and chairs to match placed alongside the perimeter, with a row turned longways down the center run of the room. The bar itself might not be what one would consider high-end, but it was backed by nice brick background, and boasts an impressive selection of twenty-four different beers on tap. At two in the afternoon the crowd was predictably light, which was how Stephen preferred it.
They find their way to a table in the corner of the room situated against two windows. Stephen pulls a chair out for Portia. A gentlemanly act, which is a side of himself reserved exclusively for her. She sits, shuffling her belongings onto the chair beside her as Stephen takes his seat across the table from her. The room smells of greasy comfort food in all of the best ways. The voices in the room audibly blend. The crowd however is just spare enough that if one focused you would perhaps almost be able to hear any conversation rather clearly that was within earshot.
The waitress approaches and begins the order in typical fashion with drink requests. Portia will have a red wine and Stephen a beer. The waitress kindly asks them if they need a moment to consider their meal, which isn't needed. They had perused the menu beforehand online, thus they had already knew what they wanted going in. Portia orders something called the Green Goddess Cobb Salad. Stephen decides on two Farmhouse Burgers, an order of Mango Habanero Wings and a Caesar Salad. The waitress informs them she will, "have those right up," after which she takes her leave; leaving them time to sit and converse.
"Did you still want to check out that Xquisite place while we're up here," Stephen asks.
"I'd like to, if it's alright, baby," Portia responds.
"Yeah, we can. How late are they open?"
"Seven. They have this beautiful gold purse there that I am in love with."
"Babe, I hate even having to ask this fucking question, but what's the damage on it?"
"Fifty or sixty dollars, I think? If that's too much we can skip it though, baby. It's fine. I don't want to spend money we need on something I don't."
"No, that's fine. We can swing it. I want you to have it."
"Are you sure," she asks, placing her hand over the top of his on the surface of the table. "My white one is okay, and it goes with most of what I have. I just wanted something for the trip. Please tell me if we can't afford it. I know you already borrowed that money from Wes."
"Yeah, we can make it work. I was just worried it was going to be a couple hundred dollars or some shit like that."
The waitress returns with their drinks and places them on their table. Portia reaches for her glass, bringing it to her nose and swirling it beneath in a slight counter-clockwise motion to gather a sense of the aroma. They're provided an update on their food, then the waitress is once again on her way.
"Why do you do that whenever you drink wine," he asks rather quizzically.
"That's what you're supposed to do when you drink wine. It prepares your brain for what you're about to taste. It heightens the experience," she explains to him. "Jenna taught me that. Her Dad owns a big vineyard out in California. I can't remember the name of it."
"No shit," he says in the form of a question, with the faintest of chuckles. "Why doesn't sh--"
He's interrupted mid-sentence by a ring of his phone, which had been set to full volume. Stephen reaches into his pocket and pulls the device, glancing at the number as he brings the phone out into view. He knew it- the Imperial Wrestling Federation. There was a high probability this was the call he was either eagerly anticipating, or dreading, depending upon the outcome. He shows the phone to Portia, a quick, unspoken explanation for the moments to follow where his attention was about to be pulled away. With a quick flick of his thumb he's connected, beginning the conversation as most do with a simple, "Hello."
He listens intently, watching Portia anxiously dance her fingers around the edge of her wine glass while he keeps the phone pressed tightly to his ear.
"Are you serious!? Yeah! Fuck yeah!!" He pumps a fist on his free hand in excitement. There wasn't a need for an explanation for the rare outpouring of sizeable enthusiasm from the big man. Portia could sense the direction of the call, eyes wide, her hands placed upon her mouth in almost a temple of sorts. Stephen continues listening on for much longer this time. Presumably there is much to be gone over. He repeatedly taps his fist lightly on the table with a bit of nervous energy before Portia finally places her hand over his, pushing it to the table to calm him.
No, that sounds fucking great!", he exclaims. "Name the time. We're free tomorrow."
The conversation carries on, his turn to again lend an ear for a period.
"Yeah, no, sure, that'd be great. Eleven it is. We'll be there," he answers.
They exchange a few more words of brief goodbyes before ending the call.
Portia, her hand still atop his asks, "Well!?"
"I passed the physical," he says. "We got fucking contracts!! We just have to go in tomorrow at eleven, ink the fucking deals. Then we're off to Jersey for next week's show!"
Portia screams, leaping from her seat as Stephen tries to rise to meet her. He only makes it about three quarters of the way up before she throws her arms around him, her eyes welling with tears of joy. He holds her for a moment in embrace, the reality of the realization of having achieved a dream settling in. Their life would soon be changing in so many unimaginably beneficial ways. They share a long kiss, the entire scene perhaps a bit curious to some of the other patrons and staff in the bar without the benefit of the backstory. On this day, November 1st of 2020, they had made it to the pinnacle. A new story will now be written.
Well howdy there pardner.