Today's work on DW...
Leading up to January 1, 2001:A week later was to be Marion's third wedding. At Tidwika in their Great Room, well-cleaned up after the previous night’s New Year's party. The very idea made Dair grumpy, for a silly reason.Marion asked him to be her Best Man.Meaning, he must wear a suit.
“I don’t have one,” he’d growled. “I never wear them.”
“Once won’t kill you,” she’d snapped back. “And I want you presentable for Jack.”Her soon-to-be husband. Who had, apparently, modeled for many romance novel covers, if one went by his looks. A face carved from granite. Dark hair touched with white. A physique to make mine look pale and weak, but on legs that made him appear top-heavy.
Dair was huffing into irritation so I joked, “So then will I call you Mrs. Mellander?”
“You do and I’ll make you into a Miss Lécuyer.”
We both laughed, lightening the mood.
But Dair still snarled, “I’m not buying something just to wear it one time. Or are you already planning on husband number four?”
Marion turned to him and snapped, “Adair Carwyn Llewellyn...”
So I cut in with, “You rent. Something in classic black? A tux, perhaps. En ensemble?”
That made Marion smile, hopeful. “Oh, baby, that would be so lovely.”
“But...but where can we get one here?” he asked.
I held up a finger. “First, with Nordstroms we will check.”
“In Seattle?”
“They have the annex on the West End. We ask there.”
Dair snorted and huffed off, leaving me with his mother. Who turned to me and murmured, “If you can make him presentable, even just for the pictures...”
I chuckled. “Have faith, Marion.” Then I wandered down to my room at the Shamirs’.
The very next day, I had to all but drag Dair to the Nordstrom's annex and found them most obliging. Despite him being in his overalls. I convinced him to remove them and stand there in his boxer briefs and undershirt so they could take his precise measurements.
He looked so adorable, and I know he would hate to hear me say that. But his fine legs swirling with just the right amount of hair up to a lovely rear that curled around to a strong back. The young man with the tape measure was enjoying himself, greatly. So very amusing.
The tux arrived on New Year’s Eve, so we stood before a mirror in the shop to make the final adjustments. Through all of which Dair rolled his eyes and growled, like an unruly beast. I could not believe how much I enjoyed this.I managed to convince him that the purchase of dress shoes and a fine silk handkerchief were worth the one-hundred dollars; the shirt and tie came with the tux.
To no surprise, he did not know how to prepare a bow-tie.
“Never had to before,” he muttered. “Got any I can just clip on?”
The clerk blinked, in horror, and I waved him away before turning Dair to me."You never had to wear a tie?" I asked as I slipped a loose one around his neck.
"The regular kind, a couple times, but they were already made and clipped onto my collar."
"Oh, mon dieu,” I chuckled as I pulled and wrapped and tucked the soft silk. He was such a little boy. “The one time mon pere suggested a clip-on to maman, she all but died from apoplexy. Much too low-class and unbefitting of a Lécuyer! She had gran’pere come to show us how. Which he did. Several times until Reynard and I could manage it, ourselves. Which made maman very happy. Shall I help you to learn, as well?"
"I don’t wear suits and sure as hell not bow ties."
“This is not a suit,” I sighed, finishing the tie. “It is a uniform to please your mother. C’est tout.”I turned him to look at himself in the mirror.
He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, it’s not gonna hurt me, I guess. It’s just...Gareth’s the I’m-a-suit guy and he’s not even comin’. I’m the one backin’ her up.” I said nothing, in reaction; did nothing. “That wife of his...well...at least she let my nieces be in the wedding party. Probably because she wants details about how it went down.”
I gave him a gentle nod. “It will be his loss, and he will see this in years to come.” Then I grinned and saluted him in the mirror. “Et pour ta mère, nous qui sommes sur le point de mourir, t'honneur."
He laughed. "What?"
"C'est un proverbe. A proverb. It means..."
"Wait, wait, wait...lemme work it out. Uh...mourir is to die, nous is we...oh, oh, We who are about to die salute you!"
I nodded. "You learn French?"
He smiled at me, murmuring, "Just a little. Um, un petite peu. Helped me in France."
"With the doctor you met?"
He blushed and stepped back, slumped his shoulders a little, slipped his hands in the trouser pockets and muttered, "So does this really work for you?”
Oh-la, he made such a lovely image, I could not help but whisper, "Oh, Dair, you are so much better looking than I."
He laughed, said, "Liar. Now let’s see your tux."
"I am not in the wedding party, so I wear my own suit."
