Victor Dark. Blaine Sims
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“Look at it this way. Pretend it’s me, your mom, your best friend, or your daughter who’s being raped. Would you be able to take out the person’s eyes then?”
“Yes,” replies the girl.
“Then God forbid, if it ever happens to you, think it’s one of us it’s being done to.”
While not adamant against a person carrying pepper spray, Ms. Goodhands was never keen about it and will not recommend it to anyone except maybe an elderly or disabled person. A big no-no in her book is the use of wasp spray to fend off an attacker. Widespread touting on the internet to do this aside, she advises people to read the label of any can — “WARNING. Federal Law prohibits the use of this product for anything other than its intended use.” Sure, feel free to do so, but understand the consequences and be prepared for repercussions. And, as with pepper or any other spray, it can hit your face or eyes if the air is blowing in your direction.
Items designed and marketed as self-defense or protection tools have their rightful place. The downside is if an item is taken from you or knocked out of your hands, it can be used against you. Ms. Goodhands prefers the most powerful weapon ever devised, the human brain. It is the best instrument, along with the rest of a person’s body, one can ever hope for. Use it wisely and keep things uncomplicated. It’s prudent to get instruction and training. Unless for self-discipline, sport, or general historical interest, steer clear of traditional martial arts. Few teach adequate and realistic self-defense anymore. Learn how easy it is to crush a person’s throat and, in all likelihood, it’s all you’ll need to do.
Over the next year and a half, the two grow closer. Concerts, dinners, movies, and Renaissance Fairs, along with long walks and drives consisting of talks, fill their times together. Fontaine pays for most, but she does not mind. She introduces him to her parents over dinner at their home. They do not approve of this man. Both feel their daughter can do better. Defenders of an adult’s right to make their own decisions, minus hurting anyone else, neither confesses their aversion. Fontaine, however, is uncomfortable. Her intuition picks up on her parents’ dislike. She shares this with Ms. Goodhands.
“Do you love each other?
“Yes.”
“Then don’t be too concerned with your parent's lack of enthusiasm. They’ll come around soon enough.”
“What is it you see in him?” asks Fontaine’s mother. “He’s everything we stand against and he despises all we stand for.”
With halting speech, Fontaine answers, “I can’t explain it, mother. He possesses qualities I cherish. I realize we’re worlds apart on many issues. In actuality, almost everything. It does not matter. I’ve never had such emotions about anyone in my life. I love him. Can’t you accept it? Why are you so harsh on him?”
“So be it. Your father and I love you with all our heart and soul. We will support you in any decision.”
“I hope to marry Victor, the man of my dreams.”
Ms. Goodhands prattles with joy when she receives the news. Never wed herself, she is Fontaine’s choice as Maid of Honor. Not one to blabber on with acquaintances or strangers, she gives an earful to many a poor soul about her enthusiasm and pride. Her little “Fonty” is getting married.
Fontaine’s proclivity to speak her mind establishes issues with others, but she’s fun-loving and adores Victor with all her heart for who he is and isn’t. Her features are dazzling. Long brown hair with streaks of blonde flow to her waist and highlight her blue eyes. At 5 feet 11 inches, she wears a size 6 dress and size 10 shoes. With measurements of 38-26-37, she maintains an hour-glass figure. A former child model, she now devotes her life to her marriage and raising her children. English, German, French, Italian, Serbian, and Slovenian are the languages she speaks with fluency. Her I.Q. is a confirmed 160. Comfortable in a Dolce & Gabbana dress with matching shoes, or a pair of fishing overalls, she exudes confident pizazz.
Victor forgoes a bachelor party as he’s come to realize the ones attending have no use for him. They would be there for food, drink, and fun. That’s all. Downcast the night before the momentous event, Victor mourns the absence of Andrei and Chet. Once again, he curses the reality they left him. He recognizes both will be at the ceremony in spirit and it comforts him. The best man will be his cousin Butch. Victor is not chummy with him. Who else is there, though?
The couple marries on October 1, 2021. Her wedding dress is a work of design by Zuhair Murad with a price of $11,030.00. Beautiful in any outfit, she’s a knockout in this ensemble. Victor’s tuxedo is made by the company of Ottavio Nuccio and the outlay is a paltry $1,066.00. If it were up to him, he’d wear cargo shorts, tank-top, and sandals. He believes he looks good in anything. Fontaine won’t tell him she’s not marrying him for his looks.
Their wedding is lavish and Victor experiences a culinary smorgasbord at the reception few ever do. He’s unable to pronounce, let alone determine, what most of the dishes and offerings are. This causes a slight dilemma. A majority of the selections are tongue twisters to gastronomic novices. Foie Gras’, Boeuf bourguignons, Boudin, Clafoutis, and Pistou. The last one is a French version of Pesto with garlic, basil, and olive oil. It is pronounced, “Pees-too”. Fontaine nonchalantly asks Victor if he’s tried it.
“As a matter of fact, I do have to go.”
Then there are assortments like Coddled Eggs, The Imam Fainted, Clootie Dumplings, and Sweetbreads. Not tongue twisters, the names belie their true make-up to the young groom. The Rocky Mountain Oysters are a hit with him as he proclaims, “I don’t like to eat anything I can’t pronounce.” No one dares divulge to him what they are.
A tradition at wedding receptions, they forgo the feeding of the cake between bride and groom. Victor thinks it ridiculous and demeaning. The event is the first in his life where he wears a tuxedo. Out of his comfort zone, his bride jokes it will be the shortest marriage in history if he removes the tie.
“Kiss my ass,” he grumbles.
As they check into the Aman Sveti Stefan Resort in Montenegro, Victor puffs his chest out to the young female clerk. “My bride and I are on our honeymoon and we’re wealthy.” As the young gal glances at the reservation, she sees VIP next to their names. With a genuine tone of inquisitiveness, she says, “Congratulations. So, how did you get your VIP’ness?”
Later that night, they make reservations for dinner at a local high-class restaurant. They leave after the query to the server of, “What do you recommend?”
“Everything on our menu makes a good turd.”
An impromptu stop at a dinner across the street results in an order by Victor for a fried egg sandwich. “Two eggs, hard-fried…”
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