A Happy Marriage?

Chapter 2: Meet the President

Running his eyes, Daryl stares at his feet as he tries to fully remember what happened last night. It's not that he doesn't remember- he just wants to remember it a different way. He doesn't want to believe he threw alcohol in some snobby bitches face.

I mean come on, that's a waste of alcohol...

He chuckles at the thought, but stops as he realizes that he lost yet another part time job- one that made him pretty good money. Running his hand through his stubble, he looks around his pathetic excuse for an apartment. The wall is cracked in a few places, the ceiling leaks when it rains and the floor boards have come up, causing splinters if you don't step down right. What's worse is he just got his eviction notice last night when he came home. He has until Friday to move out since he can't pay the rent- which adds another bill of debt to his name. He just can't win.

You don't belong here.

Why did she look at me with sympathetic eyes. Like she knows how my life is going.

You shouldn't work in a place like this. It's degrading and looks bad.

Why does she care anyway? Daryl's just a stranger. If she doesn't care for that kinda thing, why would she go to a Host bar in the first place? Standing up, he continues on with his morning routine and heads to work, but in the back of his mind, he keeps replaying that lovely voice and the image of her beautiful face.

"You okay, Daryl?" Bob asks as they walk into work together. Daryl's actually early today. He figures since he lost one job, she shouldn't lose another one.

"I got fired last night. Now I have to find another part time job." Tugging his baseball cap on backwards, Daryl rolls up his cuffs and hunkers down to work on a fussy engine. It had been acting up since it got off the belt two work days ago. Daryl has been avoiding it like the plague because he knows this one will have to be scrapped anyway. It's a shame- all that perfectly good metal and hard work- put to waste. Suddenly two feet appear in his line of view. Following the shiny Italian shoes all the way the grey suit pants, black dress shirt and grey vest, Daryl meets eyes with a tough looking man he's never seen before. "Uhh...hi."

"Mr. Dixon?" The man's deep voice echoes through out the station and the whole place goes quiet. It's very rare that they see "Suits" down here. Many times if they are needed by higher ups, they get a phone call.

"Uh...yeah." He stands up and realizes just how tall the man actually is- about a whole two feet taller than him- and he's 5'10.

"You're wanted in the President's office." Daryl just stands there and the man becomes agitated. "Now."

Grabbing a hold of Daryl's arm, he starts walking him toward the elevator. When they get in the man, closes the doors and lets go of Daryl. He seems cool, but brutish. The way his hair is slicked back and the grey is coming into his beard, leads Daryl to believe he is much older than he appears. He isn't quite sure he's ever seen this man before. Then again, he's never really seen any one who doesn't work in the station. And how embarrassing was that anyway: to be manhandled in front of hundreds of works. If he had any gall, and didn't need this job, he would have decked the man right in the face.

Ding!

The doors open up to a top floor covered in windows. Walking across the tiled floor, the man in the suit knocks on the oak doors and hears a small "come in" from the other side. When the doors open, the man gently pushes Daryl inside and the room is only occupied by an old man. Daryl is confused by this, but doesn't question anything.