For those fans out there who wanted to read the entire story, "Tit for Tat" without interruption, now you can. I have combined both parts of 'Tit for Tat' into one storyline. And for those who would like to read all of the sequel, "Tit for Tat: Roberto and Ivanna: The Sequel" now you can. Just look for it after this story.

It was a stormy Friday night when I stepped into the Marquis for an afterwork drink, to loosen up, before my drive home. Normally I would have plans made for the end of the week, you know, dinner plans, with female companionship. But alas, that was not going to happen this day. And to make matters worse, it had been a brutal one at the office what with the inventory logs backed up and no end of complaints. So, I really needed this drink.

The Marquis is an upscale joint where the more sophisticated, younger, or Uber generation, like to hang out. Which is why I really despise the place.

My name is Roberto. That's all you need to know. I'm in my late 50s, been divorced for longer than I was single and with no prospects lined up. At this point in my life, you would think I had a clue about where I was going, but no, nope, nada. I was just about out of options, and I needed a change. So that is why I found myself in an over-priced, over-atmospheric, eclectic joint on a Friday night, with no sound plans. And I hated it.

However, even in the most dire of circumstances some sunshine can occasionally filter, in, and that is why I pulled up to the bar and ordered a pina colada. The young, 20-something, blond-in-a-bottle, girl behind the bar looked as if I was speaking in a foreign language but eventually went to fulfill my order. As I waited for my choice of poison, I looked around to see who I might know from the office. Over in a corner I saw Davy Jones, from accounting, trying to pick up a girl half his age. And at the far end of the bar, the Johnsons, Mick and Rhonda, no relationship, were probably playing footsies as they looked soulfully into each other's eyes. Everyone in the department knew how they felt about each other. It's just, they never did anything. Mike McGregor, of the marketing section, looked impatient as he stood by the door, waiting for a table to become available. Mike was always impatient. Young the vast majority of the patrons might be, but I could still pass for being one of them. For one thing, I still had most of my hair and with only a few gray strands, it still retained its natural brown color. My thick mustache probably had more gray in it than my scalp, but you would have to look hard to spot it. And I didn't act my age. For an old geezer I still knew how to have fun.

When my drink was delivered and tab paid, I stepped back and right into trouble. Although I did not know it at the time, this would be the start of something new, something entirely different for me, something special.

"Oh shit," I exclaimed as I bumped into a young, thirtyish, slender, blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty who was crossing behind me. My elbow made contact with the glass of a really nice burgundy, judging by the aroma wafting up, and unfortunately the red spirit wound up all over the front of this woman's dress. And, regrettably, the dress was white. How do you say, "oops?"

"Oh shit, I am so sorry, miss!"

As I looked into her piercing eyes, I could see the smoldering fury behind them. "How clumsy of me. I am so sorry. I will, of course, pay for the cleaning bill." Pausing for a moment, as mere words could not right the injustice that I had perpetrated, I repeated myself, "I am so sorry, please forgive me."

And everything might have ended then and there, with me getting out of a really tricky situation, with her contact information and a promise to pay for the cleaning or if it was not salvageable, then a replacement dress. I would have been more than willing to repay my debt to this young lady.

That is until she said the magic words, or rather the magic word.

"You fucking BASTARD! Look at me! My dress is ruined!" The short blonde beauty was all but frothing at the mouth.

I am, normally, an easygoing guy. It takes a lot to set off my temper. But considering how I had lost my mother, a woman that I loved deeply and held in such high regards, just a few months prior, calling me a bastard is one of them.

"I beg your pardon," I said in a very low tone, almost too low to be heard over the hubbub of the bar. "What did you call me?"

Well, she got her dander up. the woman stood proud, oh so proud, head straight, shoulders back, chest out, and I might say it was a lovely chest.

Wow, she could be a recruiting poster for the marines.

"You heard me. I didn't stutter," said the blonde-haired, bundle of pent-up rage."

Looking at her, I said, "did you just call me a bastard?"

"Yes," she said, this time in an even louder tone. A tone guaranteed to draw attention. "I called you a 'FUCKING BASTARD' you uncouth hick."

Pretty she might be, I said to myself, maybe even beautiful, under normal circumstances. But with that look of sheer unadulterated hatred seemingly stitched to every molecule of her face, there was no beauty to be seen. And it was fixing to get worse for her, a lot worse.

I used the backs of my fingers to wipe her spittle from my face. That's how close she was when the little vixen unleashed her tirade of verbal abuse. About this time, a waiter passed by, on his way to the dining room. And he had, in his hand, a large tray with half a dozen cream pies. Reaching up, I grabbed the first pie, a rather gooey chocolate cream one, and pulled it away.

"You know what," I said with a tight-lipped smile on my face, "I said I was sorry for what happened. I'm NOT sorry for THIS! And then I let her have that pie right in the face.

SPLAT! Chocolate and whipped cream went everywhere. The force of the impact seemed to push the majority of the cream up onto the top of her beautifully coiffured hair and left a large blob of white cream over most of the scalp. As for her face, well, you couldn't see any of it. That is, until she opened her eyes. Then you could see the whites of those smoldering orbs. But that was the only part. Everything else, from the top of her forehead all the way down to the tip of her chin, was covered with dark brown goo, still dripping off her face and rolling down the top of her dress before coming to a stop on top of her more than ample breasts.

Well, how do you feel now, bi . . . no . . . I'm not going there. I have never called a woman a bitch in my life . . . and I'm not going to start now.

"Oh my God! How could you? LOOK AT ME, you asshole. LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE! This last came out as a shout, clearly heard around the room, now, as every eye was turned on us and our little sideshow.

"How could I. Did you actually say, 'how could I?' It's really quite simple," I said, as I made my way over to where that waiter had stopped. This time I selected two pies, a raspberry cream, and a banana cream. Holding one in my right hand and the other in my left, I quickly retraced my steps and let that young woman have them both, one on each side of her head, in what would be called a "pie sandwich" in some circles. With a resounding slap, that sounded more like a high-powered rifle shot, pink glop and yellow goo tortured both sides of her head, as those pudding pies completely finished the job the first one started. But I wasn't finished yet. I slowly twisted both pies and really ground that mess in. As the crusts crumbled and sheared away, I smeared that gunge up both sides of her head, then over the top, and down past her chin, finally coming to a stop, resting on the cloth over her breasts.

While I stood back, to admire my handiwork, I couldn't help but wonder how this sparkplug of femininity would respond to, what some might call, my attack.

Hmm. Wonder what she's going to do?"

"Oh my God, Oh my God."

Oh my God. I can't believe this is happening to me. That bast . . . no . . . not going to do that. That fucking word has already cost me enough.

From my vantage point, I watched as my antagonist took her hands and tried to wipe away as much gunk as possible from her face, but all she did was smear the mess even further.

"You think this is funny, don't you," she said with a snarl in her voice.

"No. No I don't think any of this is funny, missy," I said with a sneer in my tone.

Well, two can play this game!

As I watched the lady, to see what was coming next, I saw her walk toward the waiter. Now I probably could have gotten out of there unscathed, and I probably should have. But something inside me wanted to see this through. So, I calmly waited, with arms folded across my chest.

The blonde snatched up a pie, a custard pie going by the looks of it, from that tray leaving only two left for the bewildered server.

I watched as she walked, or rather stalked toward me, like a lioness seeking prey. A wicked little grin played out from her gunge-covered mouth, as she came ever closer.

Let's see how you like this.

"You like pie so much," the little beauty said sweetly, "here, HAVE SOME," she said as the bundle of bridled wrath struck me in the face with that pastry. Yellow custard splattered all over my face and down the front of my pale blue shirt. Some even rolled over onto my Navy-blue sports coat. And that little spitfire took her own sweet time grinding that pie into my face. She even rubbed it over the top and around the sides of my head until she had left every last piece of mess on me.

Well . . . that tie's ruined! I thought, looking down upon my red, white, and blue-striped tie. A favorite tie, one that I have had since before joining the army. Maybe a drycleaner can do the job, but I doubt it. Oh well, might as well trash it.

"Uh hum," I said as I felt the slimy goo trickle down my face and neck. Nodding my head, I looked into the triumphant gaze of that little blonde beauty. Taking the backs of my thumbs, I gently hooked them into the inner corners of my eye sockets and then, with a slow sweeping motion, I cleared the goo from my eyes. It was a technique I had perfected in other similar circumstances. I left the rest of the mess in place, sort of like a badge of honor.

"Um . . . that was . . . um . . . good." And with a sigh, I added, "Very good."

"Why thank you, sir."

Was that a curtsy she just did? I thought after watching her maneuvers, almost reminiscent of an NFL player dancing after scoring a touchdown in a key game.

That waiter was still standing there.

Poor guy looks terrified. Probably thinks he's going to get fired for this.

Walking over to the waiter, I looked back at the little lady who now stood, hands on hips, defiantly staring at me, as if daring me to do my worst.

Well, I can do that, little missy. I most certainly can do that.

There were two pies left. One was a chocolate, my favorite, the other was a caramel pie.

Wow, that caramel sure will leave one big sticky mess, I chortle to myself. But I really like chocolate.

At first, I was going to take both and possibly do another pie sandwich. But I decided against it. I wanted to be fair. So, I settled for the chocolate pie.

Chocolate on blond hair is always a winner. After taking a deep breath, I thought, Yuck. That means I'm going to eat the caramel pie. Oh well, at least my hair is short, so cleaning out that mess won't be as difficult for me as it would be for her.

I picked up both pies, but not before handing the waiter a $100 dollar bill. The young, college-age student silently mouthed the words, "thank you" before walking away. I had the chocolate pie in my right hand and the caramel one in the left as I started across that distance of ten feet. I saw a look of trepidation come across the blonde's face. She took a step back, but then stopped, steeling herself for what might come. Say what you want, but that little beauty had guts. Coming to a stop a mere foot from her, I looked down into her startling clear eyes. That face may be covered in multi-colored grime, but the look she gave me was clear as a bell.

"Here," I said as I handed her the caramel pie. Then with my next breath, I slammed that chocolate delicacy into her face. And it was an extra-large pie, with at least two inches of chocolate pudding and no whipped cream to dilute its effectiveness. Adding insult to injury, that chocolate goo just piled on more mess to her face, before flowing down, as a river of muck, onto her ruined dress.

Now, I stepped back to let my tormentor do her best, or in this case, her worst. I smiled, just a little one, but still, it was an invitation to my antagonist.

As she cleared her eyes, and that took some doing with one hand holding onto that caramel pie as if it were a family heirloom, the little termagant seemed shocked, at her good fortune. I saw a look, in her eyes, I had not seen before, a look of almost relief. And then something else, gratitude, perhaps.

The blonde cocked her head, almost like a baseball pitcher before throwing a fastball. A slight smile reached her lips. "Thank you," she said. Those two words, so often misused, but so important, were enough. I nodded, just a brief one, saying it was alright. And then she slapped that pie into my face. She let go, and that pie tin just hung there. Oh, how sticky that caramel goo was. But oh, so good, too. Finally, she removed the tin from my face and reached in to scoop out the rest of the sticky burnt sugar.

"Hmm. This tastes really good," she said after trying a sample. She gave me a nod, then a wink, "yes, very good," she added, before smearing it across her own face.

I couldn't help it, but a laugh tore from my lips.

After what seemed like an eternity, I said, while looking into those deep blue eyes of this very beautiful woman, "I know where there is more of that stuff." And with that I motioned my head toward the dining room.

Her eyes twinkled, a sparkle here, a glint there, and then she was laughing. As we stood there, laughing like two hyenas in a savanna on the edge of an African jungle, the tension, which until then, had soared almost to the very heavens themselves, seemed to dissipate from the room.

And with that, my new friend took my hand and we walked toward the dining room, and destiny.

Tit for Tat: Part 2

"By the way, my name is Roberto," I said while looking down at the messy face of my companion. "My friends call me Bobby."

"Mine's Ivanna," the little sparkplug, her face covered in muck of various colors, said with a smile as we stepped into the dining room.

"I guess we're famous," I said as I viewed the room we had just entered.

"Yeah, I think word of our escapades have already reached the masses," Ivanna replied with a chuckle.

As we stepped through that door, into what has been advertised as the city's largest dining room, we quickly noticed that every pair of eyes were staring at us, most with a smile, or a laugh built in. There was something else we noticed, just as quickly. All of those eyes immediately turned to the far wall where there were four enormous tables loaded down with all kinds of delicious, delectable deserts. There was everything from pies to cakes, with puddings and Ganache thrown in, and in addition, there were large tins of custard, both plain and chocolate. There were pitchers of chocolate sauce and chocolate syrup and even more custard. And there was the piece de resistance, a chocolate fountain; you know, where the chocolate is constantly flowing down and people dip fruits, such as strawberries, or pieces of cake into the running chocolate before eating them.

"Oh boy," Ivanna said, "I think we're expected," she said with a snort as her eyes sparkled.

"Wow," was all I could say, as I bent over to her chocolate coated ear. "I think our laundry bill just skyrocketed."

"Ya think," Ivanna replied behind a goo-drenched grin.

As we made our way to the far wall, where all those delicious goodies were waiting, it was as if sensing something extraordinary was about to happen, people started moving away from the area. Servers and waitstaff quickly moved tables from that side of the room.

"What the hell," Ivanna exclaimed, "what are they doing."

"I have a feeling," I said with a sigh, "that WE are going to be the entertainment tonight."

"WHAT!" Ivanna said with just a little hesitation, as she now realized what was going on. "What does this mean."

"I think . . . it means . . . that tomorrow morning we're going to be the talk of the town," I said with a low chuckle.

What the hell. This day started out crappy, and got worse, but now I am with a beautiful woman and . . ., "What the hell. Ivanna, I say, we make the most of it. What do you think?"

As I watched everything that was going on around us, I kept an eye on Ivanna. She had a bewildered look at first, but then as realization dawned, a beautiful smile crossed over her lips. Chocolate pudding was still dripping from Ivanna's face; one large glob, in particular, slowly dropped from the beauty's chin to her chest, before cascading down her dress onto the very tip of her right breast. It teetered, just for an instant, before finally rolling off to splatter on the floor a mere inch in front of her right shoe. As Ivanna turned to me, she started laughing. "What the hell. Why not? Let's do it."

As we stepped up to that first table, everyone had moved away from us. I was looking, or rather was expecting the manager to show up and run us off. Hell, I was half expecting the police to come in and take us away in irons.

But nobody approached us. I saw a couple of guys that might have been supervisors, maybe even a manager. They were standing on the near side of the room, with some of the servers, but they didn't look pissed off.

"Well," I said turning to Ivanna. "What do we do now? What's first?"

"Don't ask me," the chocolate-coated female said, as she looked at me with a smirk, "You're the one who started this by pieing me. It's all on you, chief."

"I started it. I started it. You're saying it was my fault," I Asked incredulously. You're the one who . . ."

"Whoa there, big boy," Ivanna interrupted, "you're the one who spilled MY drink on me."

"I . . .," I started to say something to refute her, but realized I couldn't. She was right.

"Damn, I hate it when you're right."

She started laughing at me, and then said, "And don't you forget it."

"Well okay, then," I said as a huge grin split my lips. I picked up a really big cherry cream pie and turned toward Ivanna.

"Uh wait a minute. That is a whole lot bigger than those pies we used before."

"What's the matter, Ivanna?" I was really warming up to the idea now. "You said it was up to me, remember."

"Uh yeah, but . . ."

That's a really big pie!

"Yes, but just think, with all that chocolate you already have on you, this pink pie will balance out the colors."

Oh shit, what have I gotten myself into.

"Yes, but I don't need any balancing out of colors right now." Ivanna tried to duck, but I had already closed the gap too much. With a loud slapping-sound, that pie went true to its mark, and Ivanna's face, once again, took the full measure of a gooey cream pie. This time, however, it was a pinkish flow of muck that scattered all over the blonde, and a new fresh mess was seen by all. Flashes all over the room were seen as dozens of would-be photographers snapped away to their heart's delight.

"Thanks . . . thanks a lot," Ivanna said, while spitting out a big glob of red-stained pie crust. "That's just what I needed," she grinned through another coating of glop, though this time it was pink. "You just wait until I . . . ahhhhrrrr," a startled Ivanna exclaimed as she slipped in the mess on the floor.

I tried to grab her, but missed, and the next thing I knew, she had landed, hard, right on her rear end.

"Oh shit," we both cried almost simultaneously. "Ivanna are you alright? Are you hurt?" I asked with concern in my voice.

"Only my pride," she said through a clinched grin, "only my pride."

Relieved that my new friend was uninjured, I said, "thank God." And then as I maneuvered around her, I stated, "I think I have something for that."

"Yeah, what's that . . . NO!" Ivanna exclaimed as she saw what I was now holding directly over her head.

In the center of each of those four tables was a large, very large, glass bowl filled with pudding. This one had chocolate pudding. And there must have been at least two or three gallons of the brown muck, which I had just perched over my friend's head.

"You wouldn't . . . no . . . DON'T YOU DARE!"

But her words were cut off as a torrent of chocolate mess rained down onto Ivanna's head and directly into her face.

That stream of chocolate slime finished off what little of her hair that had remained unscathed until that moment. And then, as I altered the point of trajectory, more brown goo trailed over her face, completely blinding Ivanna, before falling upon her chest. When I was finished, it seemed as if the entire upper front half of my new-found friend was covered with a layer of that silky, creamy pudding. To paraphrase the old saying, "chocolate-covered bunny rabbit, well she looked like a chocolate-covered girl. Correction, Woman!

A loud round of applause thundered throughout the room. More and more camera flashes were going off. It seemed as if everyone had their cellphones out and were putting them to good use.

As I looked down upon my friend, my custard-covered face broke into a very large grin.

While desperately trying to clear her eyes, my mucky friend looked up at me. "I am going to kill you," Ivanna said with a withering look, only she enunciated each word clearly and distinctly . . . "I . . . am . . . going . . .to . . . kill . . . YOU," the spunky firebrand said, cocking her head after each word. "You just wait until I get on my feet."

But that proved more difficult than she thought.

I don't know why she doesn't take off those heels.

Finally, out of hopelessness, Ivanna got on her hands and knees and started crawling, thru the muck, toward a dry spot on the floor. This left an even more tempting target. As I stood behind her, I snatched up another pie, this one, a simple custard pie, but with a lot of whipped cream on top. With a lecherous look, I gazed down upon Ivanna's lightly splattered behind and then out to my crowd of admirers. "Should I?"

Seeing more than one nod, I smiled, and then . . .

"Should you whaaaaaaa . . ." Ivanna stated as she looked back.

"Noooooooooo"

"Too late!"

SPLAT!!!

And I ground the pie into that fine posterior which Ivanna had unwittingly stuck up in the air.

Laughter peeled throughout the room.

Ivanna froze, looking back at her pie-stained butt.

"Keep it up, buddy boy. Keep it up. You just wait until I get on my feet."

By now, I was laughing so hard, I could barely stand. And then I made my mistake.

I had gotten ahead of my new friend and was bracing my hand against the next table. But so was she. And as Ivanna stood, she was ready for a little payback.

This table had several pitchers of custard. Some were regular and some of them were the chocolate kind. It was one of the latter that Ivanna now had in her hand.

And just like that, the little hellcat snatched open my trousers with her left hand and then started pouring with her right.

"Aaarrgghhh," I exclaimed as that cold elixir of mess descended down the front of my pants. "Oh shit," I shouted, "that is soooooo cold."

But she kept pouring. None of my rants, or pleas for mercy stopped the reign of terror from humiliating me. Everyone was laughing, now for my nemesis, and not me.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the pour stopped. My khaki pants were full of chocolate mess. The front of my trousers had a slimy wet look, all the way from my crotch down to my knees. The khakis obtained a dark brown look where the chocolate slime had leached through the fabric. It had even gotten into my underwear, and I could feel the custard swishing around my most private parts. As I looked down, I saw the first drops start to filter out of the bottom of my right pants leg.

Well, that's just lovely! These pants are ruined.

But my reign of, what some people might say, justice served, had not ended. As I looked up, there was Ivanna, holding another pitcher of mess. This time over my head.

"Nooooo," I cried, only to be drowned out by Ivanna's laughter.

"What was it you said, my darling . . . TOO LATE!"

And with that, she started pouring again. This was the regular kind of custard. And as it descended, my face quickly turned yellow as the liquid gold slowly inundated my entire head and face, before flowing southward down my neck and onto my jacket.

I wailed and lamented, but to no avail. When Ivanna was done, I was a mess from head to toe.

"Oh darling," Ivanna exclaimed through her laughter, "you look so delicious."

Now, I found the footing difficult, but at last managed to regain enough traction to stand up.

"Yeah," I said, nodding as I looked down at my ruined clothes. "But not as delicious as you look, dear!

Nor as delicious as you are GOING to look!

By now, the entire room was filled with cell phones flashing by the dozens. And it seemed as if everyone was laughing.

Payback's a bitch!

I walked over to another table to see what instruments of mess I could find. This one was loaded with pies, but, also, some nice big, fat, chocolate cakes. And in one corner I found my next round of ammunition. There were several pitchers of chocolate sauce. Perhaps Ivanna sensed what I was going to do next as I saw a look of apprehension cross her face. But I needed a distraction. And it was sitting right in front of me.

I planted that chocolate cake right into the middle of Ivanna's face. Sploooosh, it sounded like a cross between a water balloon bursting and that sound you get when an over-ripe watermelon has fallen and shattered on the ground. Someone must have really filled the cake with extra, extra Ganache before topping it off with about an inch of chocolate buttercream frosting. All I can say is WOW.

WOW! What a number that did!

Ivanna's face appeared to have disappeared under about two inches of dark brown muck. And it just stayed there. The cake mixed in with the other forms of chocolate made an almost impenetrable layer of dark gunk.

Shit, that almost looks like brown cement. Ha!

For once, my new friend was frozen in place, immobilized, unable to move. She had been rendered incapable, even, of speech. A look of absolute horror covered that beautiful chocolate-smeared face.

But I wasn't finished. Though laughter peeled long and loud throughout the room, my time for merriment would have to wait a little longer. I still had work to do.

As Ivanna stood there, transfixed into some kind of chocolate-covered statue, I picked up one of those pitchers of liquid chocolate, and started pouring. The first one went over her head. Rivulets of chocolate slime streamed down all sides of Ivanna's head, but most made its way down her face. Down, down, down, the river of thick chocolate flowed, dripping off her chin, then cascaded down her dress, over her breasts before finally splattering onto the mess that her shoes had become.

But I wasn't done. Picking up another pitcher of chocolate sauce with my right hand, I grasped the top of what had started out as a beautiful white satin dress, in my left hand. Too late, Ivanna realized what I was going to do to her.

"No . . . please don't . . . stopppp . . ."

Yeah, like I said, Payback's a bitch!

As I poured all of that chocolate delight down her dress, I saw Ivanna start to squirm.

Yeah, it's cold, isn't it!

I grinned as I kept up the deluge going down that ruined dress, ignoring her cries of distress. Looking down Ivanna's dress, I directed the pour to where it slowly but surely, completed covered the little blonde's bra until, finally, there wasn't a speck of white showing. After that, I just let the pour continue until every last drop had been expended.

Shit, I can't believe this is happening to me. Why did I have to . . .?

As Ivanna, with a look of horror, peered down into her dress to see if what had just happened really did happen, I quickly frog-marched her to that last table. Her eyes widened, then went blank with a stare of utter shock when she saw what awaited her.

"NNNOOOOOO!!" she wailed just before going under.

For on that last table, amid all of the sundry lists of ingredients for making a really great food fight, there stood a five-foot tall chocolate fountain just waiting for bits of fruit, such as banana slices and strawberries, or marshmallows and pieces of cake to be dipped into a flowing stream of liquefied chocolate, or in this case, one chocolate-covered woman named Ivanna.

Now, I never knew how those machines worked, all I knew was that chocolate sure tasted good. But now, I was going to use it for an entirely different purpose. Although Ivanna was twisting and struggling to secure her release, I had been a police officer, an MP, in the army, so I knew a thing or two about securing a prisoner. Putting one leg in front of hers, so she couldn't kick free, I maintained my hold on Ivanna's arms, pinning them back, and then slowly but surely torqued her body so that Ivanna's face was bent toward that fountain. And though she begged for mercy, I took my free hand and pushed the fountain over just enough so that stream of chocolate left its bounds and poured all over that beautiful face. I kept up the pressure for almost a full minute, slowly rotating her body so that she received the deluge of chocolate, first on her face, then on top of her head, then down the front of her dress, before turning Ivanna, just so, that the chocolate mess went down the little opening at the top of her dress. Small, that opening was, but it was just enough. Soon her dress was filled with chocolate so that the brown goo was streaming, like a miniature waterfall, out the bottom. To say that Ivanna was a mess would be the most understatement of all time.

As with all good things, however, this, too, had to come to an end. And finally, out of mercy for my new friend, and probably because there was no more chocolate, I let go of the fountain and stepped back. I didn't come away totally unscathed though. A good portion of that chocolate had splattered on my pants, and of course, my boots were ruined. But what the hell. It was worth it.

The crowd of onlooker's laughter had turned back in my favor when I finished pouring my mess over Ivanna.

I took a bow, and with a grin, I gave a nod to the four corners.

Oh, my Goodness! I cannot believe he just did THAT! To ME!

"Oh well," Ivanna uttered her first words in what seemed like an eternity. After, finally, getting the worst of that brown sludge out of her eyes, the messy little lady looked at me and said, with a sheepish grin, "Guess I deserved that."

Yeah, like I said, Payback's a bitch!

"Ya think!" I grinned at the chocolate-saturated, disheveled figure standing in front of me.

"Oh well, c'est la vie" she commented in an oh so nonchalant way.

But she said it with a grin, so I figured everything was alright between us.

"Can we call a truce now," Ivanna said through chocolate-smeared lips." This time her eyes were twinkling, as she held out a gunge-covered hand, and I got a good feeling about our situation.

Taking her offered hand, and laughing, I quickly came back with a resounding "yes."

"Will you," and I paused for just a second to consider my words, "let me buy you a new dress to replace the one that I just ruined?"

She stared at me, for a few seconds, through squinted eyes, heavy with chocolate sauce.

"Well, I kind of went a little hard on your jacket, too, you know," the little blonde sparkplug came back. "I think we're probably even." This was said with a chagrined look on her muck-covered face.

"Well, at least let me buy you dinner." I said, and then quickly added, after seeing a big grin light up Ivanna's face," I mean after we have had a chance to . . . well you know what I mean. I wasn't talking about now . . . in our current state."

And with that, we both burst out laughing like complete idiots. And the entire crowd roared their approval.

Finally, after everything settled down, the manager came over to us.

"Uh oh," I said in a soft voice to my new best friend. I think this is where we find out that we will be in debt for the rest of our lives."

"Ya think," Ivanna laughed. "Remember it's all your fault." This last was pointed as she stuck out her tongue.

"Uh, I am so sorry, sir," I stuttered those words, as a very dapper middle-aged man in a Saville Row suit stepped up to us. But he quickly shut me down.

"Think nothing of it, sir. The entertainment that you two brought us was unmeasurable, not to mention the free advertisement. That more than covers everything."

"But," I stuttered, "we trashed your place, a Five-Star restaurant, and ruined God knows how many hundreds, or even thousands of dollars' worth of food."

"It was so worth it, sir. I dare say, nobody that was here tonight will ever forget the show you two put on for us."

"Yeah, and neither will we, I'm sure," Ivanna added with a soft chuckle. "With all the photos that were taken, I doubt if we will ever be able to walk down the street again, without being
recognized."

She was grinning, though, so I knew everything was going to be alright.

"And let me add," the manager said, "that from now on, anytime you come to eat at the Marquis, the meal will be on the house."

"Better on the house than on us," Ivanna replied with a chuckle while looking down at her goo-drenched dress, "I do not think I have ever been so messy, before."

"Well, that went better than I thought it would," I said as Ivanna and I walked out the front door of the most luxurious restaurant in town, to stares, gasps and even giggles. With every step took, we left a trail of mire and muck behind us. My pants were squishing each time I put one foot in front of the other. And I could hear a squelching, almost sucking sound, come from Ivanna's trashed dress each time she took a step. As we stood beside the vehicles our valets had retrieved, while an adoring crowd oohed and awed over us, Ivanna wrote down her phone number on a small piece of paper, trying without success to keep from smearing it with chocolate slime.

"Why don't you call me tomorrow," the beautiful chocolate-covered filly said, with a slight laugh. "But wait till after 4 pm. I'm sure it will take me that long to get clean." Another laugh, and then as I reached in to give Ivanna a hug, she slipped under my arms and planted a big kiss on my lips. Surprised, at first, but then as I could feel my body coming to life, after so long, I responded in kind.

"Thank you," Ivanna said simply, "for an uncouth bas . . . hick, for an uncouth hick, you sure know how to show a girl a good time." And this time we both roared with laughter, and as I watched her drive away, I knew this was the start of something special. Away, but not out of my life, I thought, as I Iooked down at that tiny lifeline of chocolate-stained paper containing her phone number. I could hardly wait until 4 pm, the following day.