Page 204 of Jocks

Diana cocked her head. “Of course, I’m not like Duncan.”

My wife looked up at me through her lashes as a smirk broadened across her face. “Is it true, you didn’t want Papa to marry Mama?”

Queenie sat back and threw up her hands. The magnifying glass bounced off her bosoms. With a sigh, she looked at me long and hard and then pursed her lips. “When did you get married?”

Diana dropped her fork. “They don’t follow Duncan. Have they been spying on me again?”

They both must have registered my expression. They turned to me, and Queenie spoke. “That was an unfortunate incident in the past. No, dear. I know you. They don’t. There’s a light in your eyes. In both your eyes.” She turned to me. “If you’re not married, have you proposed?”

I sat, poker face in play. Diana confessed as she revealed the ring on the chain. “If I tell you about it, will you promise not to mention it until this weird stuff blows over?” She looked back at the forbidding mansion.

Queenie pulled a linen hankie from her sleeve and smiled. Touching the hankie to her eyes she nodded. “Yes, honeybunch. I promise. Tell me all about it.”

The three of us whispered confidences back and forth like women on a front stoop. A few times, I thought we’d get busted by the server, bringing out tea and fruit. Our enthusiasm dampened when Diana reached out to touch Queenie’s arm. “I’ve got to get a job and find a car…”

Queenie took both Diana’s hands in hers. “Honeybunch, you will always be my granddaughter and I will not have you cast out by that harpy. I know several people who need a bright young woman on their staff…”

Queenie was interrupted by a cacophony from the home. I knew the sound of that hellhound. The dog was back. I ran a finger inside my shirt collar and sniffed. “Queenie, your support means everything to Diana and though you and I have just met, I love you already.”

The leashed dog ran from the house down to Diana. “Henri?” Stroking the dog’s head, she looked up at me, “What’s he doing here?”

I grimaced. “I think we’re about to find out.”

Betina stood at the wide patio doors and waved us in. Diana picked up the dog and handed him to her grandmother. “What a cute dog.” Queenie looked at both of us. “Is this the dog that caused the kerfuffle?”

I shrugged. “They think I caused that.” We made our way back into the mansion and returned to the ‘courtroom’. It was a full house. A man in tweed. A woman in tweed. I was underdressed. We were gestured into hardback chairs. I was expecting a cigarette and a hood.

The hulking woman in tweed giggled girlishly as Queenie rode in with Henri. The woman plucked him up and cooed as she fed him a tiny treat from her pocket. “Mon petit chien.” She turned to me. “How can I ever thank you for taking such good care of him?”

I pointed to myself. “Me?” I pointed to her. “You’re Bluto’s mom?”

The rather large woman could have been his mom by the look of her. She ambled to me and gave me a one-armed hug. Then she took the broad brocade chair next to me. “No, dear boy. This is Champion Henria II de France, Westminster Best in Show, 2006. He never belonged to Bluto’s mother. He is my precious boy and the mascot of the Dueling Papillons.”

Somehow, I could believe he was a dueling Papillon. “Excuse me, then, ma’am, but who are you?”

She giggled again. “In my enthusiasm to thank you, I’ve forgotten my manners. I am Rosette Charpentier. I am the Chancellor of Miller College in Mill Valley and owner of this beautiful little boy.” She bounced him like an infant.”

All I could do was nod. Nod and pray to be released. Duckworth stepped forward, his hand at the elbow of the man in tweed. “Diana, I believe you remember Aldrich Cobb, President of Stanford University.” Ducky turned to me. “Mr. Sullivan, I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting our president yet.”

“Sir.” I stood and stuck out my hand. I actually got the feeling of genuine warmth from Cobb.

“I hear good things about you, Mr. Sullivan.”

Again, I wanted to point to myself in confusion but blew off that thought. “Thank you, sir.” I was still bewildered.

President Cobb looked to the Bauders, Ms. Charpentier, and finally Diana and me. “We owe you a great debt for rescuing little Henri from that heinous prank played on the Miller fencing team.”

Diana gaped and looked at me hard. “I don’t understand, what happened?” I nodded.

Everyone took a seat and Cobb explained, “Algernon Zachary Lynch, the young man you know as ‘Bluto’, thought it would be humorous to kidnap the Miller team’s mascot. He dragged you unwittingly into the plot by telling you the dog belonged to his mother. In your zeal to keep the animal safe and happy, you rescued him from unknown peril and returned him in good health.”

The dog jumped from his owner’s lap and ran to Diana, who picked him up. She looked at the Chancellor. “He’s really a Westminster Champion?”

Ms. Charpentier nodded. “Indeed, he is.”

Diana shook her head. “Well, he had a walk on the wild side.” She looked at me and drew her necklace out from her shirt. “He was a special guest on our weekend.”

I gave her and everyone else a wry smile. “Actually, he was our ringbearer and unofficial witness at the Little Chapel of the Bells when we married yesterday.”

The non-Bauder guests smiled and offered best wishes to the bride and congratulations to me. Meanwhile Ducky and Bitty sucked the air. Ducky caught Bitty as she swooned. I couldn’t hear the words, but it had something to do with the dog having a better pedigree than me.

Queenie shook her head. “Oh, behave, Bitty. Before you married Ducky, your family’s claim to fame was testifying before the EPA.”

Ducky did his best to usher the collegiate guests out before Bitty came out swinging. Queenie got between Bitty and us as she shook a bird-like gnarled finger in Bitty’s face. “You let these young people make their lives. You have nothing to teach them.” She looked over her shoulder and nodded us out of the room.

I didn’t have to be asked twice. They didn’t give a tinker’s damn about gambling. All this was about the damned dog. My VW bus puttered away as fast as its four cylinders could carry us. As I pulled into the parking space in front of my studio apartment I smiled. “Welcome home, Mrs. Sullivan.” I walked around to her side of the van and opened her door. With a gallant lift, I carried her to the doorstep. Awkwardly I keyed the red front door open and asked before I dropped her inside. “If you don’t want to be a chemist, what do you want to be?”

We stood in the small dark studio and wrapped her arms around my neck, laying her cheek on my chest. She sighed happily. “I want to be your wife.”

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