At Long Last: Gwen Ch. 04

"Whatever, that's hot. Let's see: I'll need new bras and panties and open sleeve jerseys and shirts and shorts and lots of new sandals and flip-flops. I'll definitely need your credit card."

I was starting to enjoy myself and asked, "Anything else?"

"Oh, yes! Hats and sunglasses, too. Numerous hats and sunglasses will be required to match my cute outfits that you're going to buy me."

"Princess..."

"What?"

"If I try to tell you what would happen to you if you showed up in Dubai in a sleeveless top and shorts, you wouldn't believe me. I want you to Google 'Dubai' and read about it and then you can tell me all about the new clothes you'll need."

"Are you serious, Old Man?"

"I'm very serious, Princess."

Gwen looked very dubious and wasn't at all certain that I wasn't kidding her, but she did put on a sweatshirt and panties and went to the computer. I got up and made myself a cup of coffee.

As I was pouring the coffee I could hear Gwen shouting at the computer, "What?!"

I sat down in the kitchen and heard, "When pigs fly, Mustafa!"

The next outburst was, "You can kiss my tush, Abdullah!"

Finally, I heard, "Veil THIS, Habib!"

Then I heard the chair squeak and Gwen yelled, "Where are you, Old Man?"

I responded, "In the kitchen."

Gwen came marching into the kitchen with flashing eyes and said, "That place is crazy! It's got to be the most modern place in the world economically, but socially it's in the ninth century."

"That's a pretty good analysis," Princess.

"Why are they like that?" Princess asked.

"They are like that because Dubai is not thinking the oil will last forever and they are diversifying like crazy. But, they aren't going to alienate their people by destroying any cultural or religious norms. Those guys walk a tightrope trying to provide for the future of their people, while not alienating the people in a tornado of change."

"Why in heaven's name do you consult there?" Gwen asked.

My response was, "I really enjoy the men with whom I interact there and the pay is outstanding. When you go crazy with my credit card weekly, you're probably spending Dubai's money."

"I do not go crazy with your credit card weekly," Gwen yelled.

"Would you like to see my credit card statements, Princess?"

Gwen stuck out her tongue at me and stomped off yelling, "You're a big bully."

I had to start laughing and when I looked up a grinning Gwen was peeking around the corner. She came into the kitchen and got on my lap and said, "I think you should go to Dubai and make us lots of money."

Again, I started laughing and said, "I'm sure you do. Are you not coming with me?"

"Oh, no! I'm coming with you, but I don't know how I'll dress when we're there."

"When they send our airline tickets, they'll include guidelines that address dress and behavioral codes."

Gwen looked shocked and asked, "They have behavioral codes, too?"

"Yes, they do, Princess."

"Gee, will we be allowed to screw?"

"Yes, Princess. We may screw in the privacy of our own room."

"Well, then, what are the behavioral codes?"

"Well, let me give you some examples. You'll be publically flogged if you stick out your tongue at me. Or, if you call me an idiot you'll be fined and spend one night in jail. If you stamp your foot and yell at me, you'll be jailed for two nights."

Gwen glared at me as only Gwen can glare and said very carefully, enunciating each syllable, "You are a big idiot!"

"Uh oh! You said I'm a 'big' idiot. That's two nights in jail and no one will carry you to the potty on time and you'll pee on the floor."

Gwen's face was distorted into something bizarre as she tried not to laugh, but she finally exploded into laughter and almost fell off my lap. I managed to grab her and pull her more securely back onto my lap whereupon she placed both arms around my neck and laughed into my shoulder. When she finally calmed down she jumped off my lap, stuck out her tongue, stamped her foot, and reiterated, "You're an idiot."

With that she stomped off to somewhere in the house and, while she thinks I can't hear anything less than a shout, I heard her laughing.

I sat back and finished my coffee. I got up to rinse my cup and Gwen appeared in the kitchen saying, "You have to decide who your best man is for the wedding and contact him and arrange for him to stay here and get you to the ceremony, and so forth."

I looked at Gwen and thought about what she just said and said, "I'm pretty capable. Why do I need a best man, and what in the world is a best man?"

Gwen erupted into laughter and walked away and I swear I heard her refer to me as an 'idiot' again.

I went into the living room and started reading and Gwen called me to the computer where she had found a web site describing the duties of the best man. I dutifully read everything the web site had to say about the duties of the best man and informed Gwen, "I can do all that. I don't want a bachelor party and I don't need someone to keep me calm and drive me to the church and all that rubbish."

Gwen led me by the hand to the big lounge chair where I sat and she climbed into my lap. She began by saying, "Old Man: this is important. This is like the bra and panties thing at the national conference. This is like the ta-tas. Some things just are."

"Do you mean convention dictates that I have to have a best man?"

"That's it exactly, Old Man."

"Well, do you have to have a best woman?"

Gwen erupted into laughter which I found a bit disconcerting.

When she stopped laughing she said, "Yes, I have a best woman although the nomenclature is a bit different. The woman in question is called a 'maid of honor' if she is unmarried and she is called a 'matron of honor' if she is married."

"Hmmmmm...OK."

"But, Old Man, the important thing is that you have a best man."

"OK, I get it. So, who are you going to ask to be my best man?"

Gwen grabbed me by the shoulders and pounded her forehead into my chest. I deduced that I had asked the wrong question.

When she stopped pounding against my chest Gwen said, "You have to decide who you wish to be your best man."

I thought about that for a second and said, "I thought you were in charge of all arrangements and I only had to show up on time with my fly zipped."

Gwen yelled, "Auuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhh!"

She looked me directly in the eyes and explained, "I'm sorry, Old Man. I messed up and overlooked, at the time, the issue of the best man. This is the one thing you'll have to do."

"Oh! OK. Why did you scream a second ago?"

"I'm sorry I screamed, Old Man. It's just that sometimes you get so damned methodical and logical that you somehow miss the whole point."

"I don't understand."

"It doesn't matter. All that matters now is that you decide who your best man is and you call him and ask him to serve in that capacity."

"Wait a minute, Princess. What if I ask someone to be my best man and he doesn't know what a best man is? Will you explain it to him?"

"Yes, I will. Now, whom do you wish to be your best man?"

"I have no idea."

Gwen sighed. Then she asked, "Who is your oldest and best friend?"

I replied, "Walt is."

"Don't you think, then, that Walt is the person whom you should ask to serve as your best man?"

"OK."

Gwen climbed off my lap and said, "Let's go call him, now."

I said, "OK, but do you think he'll know what I'm asking him to do?"

"Yes," Gwen answered, "Walt is married so he undoubtedly had a best man for his wedding."

"That's right. That's a good point, Princess."

We got to the kitchen and I looked up Walt's home number and I called him. Gwen put the phone in speaker mode so she could monitor our conversation and help me if I needed help.

Walt answered the phone on the third ring and I identified myself and Walt gave me an enthusiastic greeting and asked what was new. I explained that I was calling to ask him to be my best man at my wedding.

Walt found this inordinately amusing and wanted to know who in the world would marry me?

I replied, "Gwen."

Walt also found this inordinately amusing and said, "Will, Gwen's too bright to marry you."

"No, really Walt, we're getting married."

"Will, you are the original lonesome wolf. Getting married means living very intimately with someone."

"Walt! We're getting married."

Walt asked, "Is Gwen there?"

"Yes,"

"Let me speak to her, Will."

I gave the phone to Gwen who took it from me and spoke, "Hi Walt. It's Gwen."

"Hi Gwen," was Walt's response. "Are you and Will really getting married?"

"Yes, we are, Walt."

"Gwen, there are good reasons Will has never married. I mean, he lives in his own world. Can you give this a little more time, before you jump into this?"

Gwen laughed and said, "Walt: I appreciate your concern, but relax. It's fine. We've lived together since January and we are meant for each other."

Walt said, "Really?"

Gwen responded, "I know what a lousy marriage is, Walt. Being with Will is the most natural thing I've ever done."

"OK, Gwen. I'll be Will's best man, but I'm not hosting any stupid bachelor party."

Gwen laughed and said, "I can't imagine anything Will would dislike more so there's no need to think about having a bachelor party."

Walt concluded with, "Send me the details via e-mail and I'll get back to you."

"Thank you, Walt."

"Put Will back on, please."

Gwen handed the phone back to me and Walt and I talked for another ten minutes and we then concluded our conversation.

Gwen announced, "I'm exhausted between you destroying my brain cells, reading about Dubai, and trying to get you to understand that a wedding ceremony requires a best man."

"A tough day, huh?" was my response.

"Yes, but getting Walt lined up was a major step."

I asked, "If Walt is my best man, who's your matron thingy?"

"Maid of honor, Old Man. Barb is my maid of honor."

"Barb? Your daughter?"

"Of course!"

"Well, that's pretty neat, actually. What does a maid of honor do?"

"Never mind, Old Man. The less you know, the safer it will be for all of us."

"You know, Princess, sometimes you confuse me."

"Old Man, you are in a perpetual state of confusion if you aren't in an academic setting. Everything is under control, trust me."

"OK, may I go read now?"

"I think you should go read, Old Man."

//

Sunday dawned beautifully both outside and inside. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky and the air was warm. Inside, the Princess was even warmer. I have no idea what got into her, but she screwed me on her side facing me, on her side facing away from me, on top of me, and she would have screwed me with her underneath me, but she lost control and had an explosive orgasm while riding on top of me.

As she lay panting on my chest I noted, "Princess, I really wish you would wait until I had a cup of coffee before you wear me out."

Gwen stuck out her tongue at me and said, "You have an unhealthy addiction to coffee."

"And you, Princess, have an unhealthy addiction to sex before I have coffee. Now, may I go make myself a cup?"

"Not yet, Old Man. Hold me some more."

So, I squeezed the little Princess and kissed her until she said, "OK, go make your dumb coffee and then take me to breakfast."

We did breakfast and then church and then had a light lunch and the sermon topic that morning proved to be prescient. It was the famous verse from Ecclesiastes that reads: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven."

After lunch I went to the golf course to work on my golf game and was gone perhaps an hour and one-half and upon my return I was greeted by a gleeful Gwen who announced, "I sold the house!"

"You sold the house?" was about all I could mutter.

"Yes! A new hire in biology came by with her husband to look at the house and they looked around and she said, 'I want this house.'"

She continued, "Then they went outside for a few minutes and came back inside and offered me five thousand less than I was asking."

Gwen grinned and said, "Then, I got smart. Her husband is a really tall, geeky, guy so I asked, "Did you see the bed in the master bedroom?"

"They both said they noticed it so I told them it was new and I'd throw in the bed if they'd offer me four thousand less and they said they'd do it!"

When she paused and looked at me, I smiled and said, "You are one smart cookie. What to do with that bed has been bothering me because I have the same thing at home in Alabama."

"But," Gwen asked, "what do we do with all this stuff?"

"You mean the household things?" I asked.

Gwen nodded affirmatively.

I suggested, "Call a mover. Tell them to pack it all up and deliver it to a storage place in Alabama. Once we move into my house, you can bring what you want into the house and we'll sell the rest."

"OH! That's brilliant," Gwen gushed.

"What about Barb's stuff?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know," was Gwen's response.

"Well, tell her we'll drive down in an empty car and we'll use her car and ours to bring her stuff here to be put on the truck."

"Wow, what a relief to have a buyer for the house," Gwen noted. She added, "They want possession next month so we'll move into your place and once the closing is done, they can move here."

Monday brought more of the same. It was the season and a time to every purpose. Around 10:30 a.m. Marcie came into my office and was lugging a chair with her. When I inquired about the chair she said she'd be bringing in another one as well because the Dean and the Provost were on their way to meet with me.

Puzzled, I noted that the two of them could sit in the two chairs already in the office. Marcie noted, though, that major administrators often walked around with administrative assistants in tow and she wanted to have at least four chairs in the office.

She had also started a fresh pot of coffee so we waited for the Dean and Provost who arrived around 10:45 a.m. The dean was by himself, but the Provost had a young lady with her whom I presumed was an administrative assistant.

The Dean and I simply nodded, but the Provost and I shook hands. She introduced me to her administrative assistant and Marcie kindly took orders for coffee.

When everyone was seated and had their coffee, I indicated to the Provost that I hoped the circumstances of this visit were considerably more pleasant than our last meeting. She nodded that it was. I followed her nod with the question, "To what do I owe the honor of entertaining such distinguished guests?"

The Dean looked to the Provost who nodded and the Dean said, smilingly, "Will, you're fired."

"Excellent!" was my response.

The Dean continued, "We," and nodded to include the Provost, "met with Olsen and Edwards and were surprised to learn the depth of their grasp of what the department was facing and what it¸ collectively, had to do to become a productive unit. After considering what they said, and how they presented themselves, we agreed with your recommendation that the department, under their leadership, should go forward."

"OK," was my response.

"The reason I'm here," the Provost injected, is to learn how you accomplished what you accomplished in such a short time."

I sat and thought a minute and then said, "It took the Dean's efforts and mine to channel the department's energies into productive work. The Dean delivered a rebuke to the entire department the likes of which I've never heard. It was devastating. That made them very resentful."

"Then, I was able to seize on their resentment and elaborate a bit on what the Dean had said, and why he had said it. My effort there was to emphasize to them that their family jewels were in a vise and if things didn't start happening, someone was going to tighten the vise."

"Now, we had resentment and fear operating and I gave them two very well-defined tasks to do and they had the opportunity to channel their resentment and fear into productive energy."

"My assessment is that, as a group, they're not the losers they appeared to be. Rather, Gearhart was so bad, the entire department drifted off into anything that resembled worthwhile work and we had eleven moons, instead of one, in orbit around the earth."

The Provost said, "Very nice. Thank you for the synopsis."

Then she said, "Now, we do have a problem with the administrative assistant."

"We do?" I asked.

"Yes, my office does not control the appointments of non-academic personnel, and it seems you two high rollers," as she nodded to me and the Dean, "approved an unauthorized raise of three thousand dollars for the woman and Human Resources is in a complete uproar over the procedure and the amount. What do you propose I tell them?"

I burst out laughing and said, "If you're who I think you are, you've already told them what they can do with their uproar."

The Provost, to my complete surprise, burst into laughter and said, "You're quite right. I've already told HR, quite explicitly, what to do with their uproar."

We all laughed at this and the Provost said, "There is one final matter. We hired your for three months and you've worked one, but as a gesture of our appreciation, here is your payment for the second month."

She handed me a check for four thousand dollars and I said, "Not only do I thank you, but Gwen and my credit card thank you."

The Dean didn't get it, but the Provost did and burst into laughter again and said, "So that's how an assistant professor dresses the way she does. I've run into Gwen two or three times at the rather exclusive shop where I buy my clothes and I've been wondering how in the world she could afford to shop there on an assistant professor's salary. The mystery is solved."

I rolled my eyes in response. Still laughing the Provost and Dean both stood and shook my hand. I asked, "Am I released as of now?"

"You are," the Dean responded.

Marcie and I said our good byes and expressed our mutual appreciation for each other and I was on my way home.

//

Once home, I checked my e-mail and was surprised, but delighted, to learn that Derek Coles, my grad student who had originally reviewed Gwen's paper prior to the conference at which we met, had sent me his dissertation.

My thought was, "Boy, from the frying pan to the fire," and by that I meant reading and correcting a dissertation is tough going. I had printed and read the first two chapters of Derek's dissertation when Gwen came home.

"Hi, Old Man. Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, why?"

"Well, I popped into your office around 12:30 this afternoon and you were gone and Marcie was gone so I couldn't ask her where you were."

"Oh, well, around 11:00 a.m. the Dean and the Provost came by and fired me."

"Oh poop!" Gwen cried. "Now, I'll never get to screw the chairman in his office."

"Yes, we must all endure some crushing defeats in our lifetime."

Gwen thought about it for a while and said, "Well, I'm sure you're pleased so I'm pleased, too. Tell me about it."

"The two of them met with Olsen and Edwards and agreed with me that they had a firm grasp on things so they took my recommendation and fired me."

Gwen's thoughts were: "Wow! That's amazing! But, I'm glad because now we are free and clear to go to Alabama."

Then Gwen asked, "What in the world have you printed?"

"This is Derek Coles' dissertation. I've read his first two chapters and they are amazingly good."

"You've mentioned this fellow before, haven't you?" Gwen asked.

"This is the fellow who initially read your paper that you submitted for the conference. He gave it a glowing review which grad students rarely do. He's also house sitting for me while I'm here."

"Well, if he gave me a glowing review, he must be very bright," was Gwen's response.

"Oh, absolutely. That is the acid test of intelligence," was my sarcastic response.