The Beginning:

"I can't believe it's finally the Day, Bobby . . . can you?"

As I looked at my fiancée, the woman I loved more than life itself, I couldn't believe how lucky I was.

Thank you, God!

"I'm glad it's here, baby," I said in reply.

"Ever since . . . well," I said, reflecting on how life had treated me, "I've lived for this day for the last thirty years."

Seeing the wistful look in my eyes, Ivanna quietly said, "you've never talked about her, Bobby."

Pausing to phrase her words delicately, she continued, "it's okay if you don't want to talk about it, I understand. I really do . . . I just want you to know . . . I am here for you . . . if you ever do."

As I kissed my bride-to-be, I smiled, "Thank you . . . and thank God!" Then smiling at the woman I loved, I added, "there is nothing to talk about. She . . . that was a lifetime ago. Now, you are my life!"



It had been exactly one year, four months, and four days since I first laid eyes on Ivanna. It has been a whirlwind ever since that wondrous day.

I can't believe I survived 'that day'!

I smiled as I thought back on how we first met.

Wow. She was madder than a wet hen. If looks could kill, I would have been dead, buried, and decomposed.

Now, just barely sixteen months later, we were tying the knot. I had finally gotten up the courage to pop the question the day of our one-year anniversary of the day we first met.

Wow! And what a ride that was. I thought she was . . . no . . . I guess not. Oh . . . never mind.

"Thinking about how we first met, Bobby?"

Wow, is she some kind of mind reader?

"Yeah, I see it all over your face, baby," Ivanna said with a big smile. "You are so easy to read."

"Yeah, I guess, I was, darling," I replied with a sheepish grin. "It's kind of hard not to, you know, with everything that is planned for tonight."

My fiancée laughed at that. I loved her laugh. It was a deep, throaty expression of Ivanna's inner self. I still get goosebumps whenever I hear her laugh.

"Actually, baby . . . I was thinking about our, you know, uh . . . the anniversary," I said with a knowing wink. "It's still hard to believe what we did that night."

"Yeah, I know baby. I remember," Ivanna laughed, "I still can't believe how trashed we were." After a pause, she continued, "I sure hope Mr. Harkins has something nice planned for tonight."

"Oh, I'm sure he does," I said with a devilish grin, "I'm sure he does."



Now, four hours later, as my wife and I sat at the place of honor, with the reception winding down and everyone having their fill of the outstanding culinary fare provided by Mr. Harkins and the excellent staff at The Marquis, it was time to slice the Wedding Cake.

There were, of course, two cakes. The traditional, three-tiered wedding, or Bridal, cake was the usual vanilla flavor with white buttercream frosting adorning the top and sides of the cake. The decoration theme was royal blue and silver-blue as my betrothed was just as big a Dallas Cowboys fan as I was. I grinned when I thought of this compromise.

Yeah, she just wasn't going for my orange and white theme. Ha!

I am from Tennessee, so I grew up as a big UT (University of Tennessee) Volunteers fan. And the Vols, as our legion of followers called the players on their football team, wore orange and white uniforms.

As we cut that cake, Ivanna and I did all the traditional things. We each held the cutting knife, cut two slices, put them on the ceremonial plates, and then facing each other, we fed one another. With us eating a small bite simultaneously.

Quite often, however, one or both of the recently married couple would smash the cake into the other's face. That had sort of become the unofficial tradition of the wedding reception, something supposedly brought forward from ancient Rome. Ivanna and I had already talked about it. We decided not to do the cake smashing thing since we would have plenty of time to get messy later. I was prepared, though, just in case. You know what I mean. Ha! I could see by the twinkling in her eyes, that Ivanna was considering it, too.

"You really don't care if I smush this cake in your face, do you baby."

I remembered back to just before we had our cake.

"No Vonni," my pet name for Ivanna, I had said with a small, almost, wistful smile, "I don't. You know me. I have always said 'I don't mind getting messy as long as I can get you just as messy' and 'I'll start a pie fight at the drop of a hat, and even provide the hat.'" Pausing briefly, I had continued, "I told you, I won't smash the cake in your face unless you do it first."

After all, this is YOUR day.

"It's up to you, baby."

"But Bobby, there are no cakes. Oh, there are plenty of pies, puddings, custards, and stuff . . but No Cakes!"

"Trust me, baby. There will be plenty of Cake when we need it."

I guess my look satisfied her, for Ivanna did not smash her piece of cake in my face. She gently slid it forward so I could have a quick taste. As did I. And we received a rousing ovation for our efforts.

After the cake and punch had been consumed, and we took our customary ceremonial "first dance" everyone stood and joined us on the dance floor.

But after thirty minutes it became abundantly clear, by the looks of our guests, that they had something else on their minds.

"Wow," I laughed. "I guess there is no surprise as to what will happen with all of those delicious delicacies over there."

I said this as I pointed toward a section of the restaurant that had been cordoned off by a very large set of blue and silver curtains, to keep with the theme. There were even three security guards brought in by Mr. Harkins, specifically for this event.

"Yeah, I know," Vonni said, "can you believe my own mamma must have asked me about a dozen times what all we were going to 'play with'."

"Oh that's rich," I cried out while trying to stifle a laugh.

"Well, everyone does know us, far and wide," I grinned.

"Oh yes. Yes, they do, baby . . . and just you remember, it was," she paused to give me a wide grin, "it was all your fault."

"Well," I said with an equally infectious smile, "you did help some."



While we were eating the cake, Ivanna asked me what all I had concocted with Mr. Harkins. When I said that I had left it up to the dapper general manager of the restaurant, she said, "Yeah, but I know you. You had to have a hand in it." Of course, she did this with a mischievous smile.

"No, baby, I left it up to him."

"Yeah, right," Vonni said with a disbelieving gaze across her face. "And I am supposed to believe that?"

"Well, it's the truth, baby."

When I still got that unbelieving look from from my newly-wed wife, I broke down a little. Just a little.

"Well, I may have had one suggestion, baby."

"Uh huh," she replied with a smirk on her face. "And what is that?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. I'm not . . . gonna . . . tell . . . you."

"OH, you're so . . . so mean, Bobby."

"Yeah, I know," I replied, as I stuck out my tongue, "but that's why you love me so much."


And then it was time. It was the time that everyone had been waiting for. From Vonni's mother and two sisters to my big brother, every single person in that room turned toward the curtained off part of the banquet room as we stood up.

Mr. Harkins, of course, was there to greet us. The ever-present general manager of The Marquis greeted us as we moved toward the treasure trove of messy treats arrayed for our night's festival.

"Mr. Roberto, Miss Ivanna, or should I say Mr. and Mrs. Smith, please let me offer my sincere congratulations on your nuptials. I hope we, in some small way, can make this a truly memorable experience for you."

"You have already been too kind to us, Mr. Harkins," Ivanna gushed in a giddy voice. "We can never repay you properly."

"Nonsense," the debonair man, who had been running the east side's most fashionable restaurant for over two decades, said in a clipped tone. "It is I, or rather The Marquis who owe you a debt of gratitude. Again, I cannot thank you enough for allowing us to help make this night one you will never forget." And with that, he smiled, turned, and walked away.



Now, as Vonni and I walked toward all those tables of messiness, it dawned on me that we were about to become the spectacle of spectacles. And I could tell by how wide Ivanna's eyes were that she was feeling it, too.

"Wow," the woman of my dreams whispered in my right ear, "I've got butterflies in my stomach just thinking about all this."

After pausing to view all the delicious items of mess awaiting us, my bride continued, "and I thought it was bad right before I walked down that aisle."

"Well, we could always call it off," I said smiling broadly at Ivanna.

"Are you fucking kidding me," she exclaimed, "they would lynch us."

Now, however, as we finally had a chance to truly see the magnitude of all the messy substances that we would soon be wearing, a feeling of melancholy set in.

I know we will never be doing anything like this again. It's kind of sad in a way. The anticipation, the buildup, the, the . . . it's almost like . . .

"It's like Christmas, or more like the day after Christmas, as a kid," Ivanna said, mirroring my thoughts.

I looked at her in amazement. "That's just what I was thinking."

"I know, baby, I know," my darling, my sweetheart, my everything said as she pecked me on the right cheek.

Looking at all those delectable treats that normally would find there way into someone's stomach via their mouths, I was floored by the effort Mr. Harkins and his staff had put in to make this day the most memorable of our lives.

I could tell by the bewildered expression on Ivanna's face that she was just as amazed by the copious amount of messy things that had been arranged just for us.

"Bobby," Ivanna whispered, "look how many pies there are."

"I know. I can't believe it . . . he has four tables just for the pies."

"Yes," the love of my life said, "and two of them have nothing but chocolate pies on them." Vonni turned and grinned at me before continuing, "and at ten pies per table, that's twenty pies of chocolate pudding for us to get messy with."

And as a final aside, Ivanna said, "we are going to get so fucked up." This said behind the biggest grin I had ever seen on her beautiful face.

Wow, I can't believe it. Mr. Harkins really went all out. There's forty pies there . . . forty. I can't believe it. And he knows us so well. Half of them are chocolate pudding pies.

"Bobby," Vonni said with a bewitching smile, "what ever are we going to do with all those pies?"

I love it when my bride uses that fake southern accent. It sends shivers up my spine. Born and raised in Moscow, you know, as in the former Soviet Union, she had spent the last twenty years living in Baltimore, Maryland.

But when she wanted to, Ivanna could and did sound just like a fair maiden from the deep south, like from the most southern part of Mississippi or Alabama.

When Ivanna said, "what ever are we going to do with all those pies," it came out as "watt evaaaahh ah we gonna do with awl them pies?"

Now, however, as I look at all that mess that had been assembled before us, I started counting. There were forty pies, twenty of which were chocolate. In addition, there were ten other flavors, each in a pair of two. There were custard pies and Butterscotch pudding ones. There were also, strawberry and lemon-flavored pastries as well. Then there were the cream pies, each one carrying a hefty amount of whipped cream on top. Two of them were my favorite, chocolate cream. Plus, there were the banana cream and coconut cream ones. Then there were the strawberry cream and blueberry cream pies. And finally, as a placate to Mr. Harkins, who was from Jackson, Mississippi, the last two were the Mississippi Mud pie. These two were with the pudding pies that weren't chocolate.

Wow, that blueberry is really going to leave a stain . . . wait a minute. Who am I kidding? Our clothes are going to be so thoroughly trashed that a little blueberry won't matter. Ha!


Next up were the puddings. Mr. Harkins had two tables set up, each with five bowls of pudding. They looked like the one we had before, with each containing around four or five gallons of the mucky stuff. The first table had bowls of vanilla, banana cream, coconut cream, strawberry cream, and butterscotch puddings. The other table had five bowls of you guessed it, chocolate pudding.

Wow, look at all that chocolate pudding. And I know just where to put it, ha!

After those first six tables of messy mayhem, Mr. Harking had placed one more table before getting on to the really juicy stuff. This table, a little longer than the others, contained custard.

I guess he remembered what a delight Vonni took in using the custards on me. Oh well, there are worse fates. Ha!

The custards came in three flavors, once again, with chocolate leading off, followed by strawberry and not to be left out the creamy yellow of the original version. And, once, again, Mr. Harkins did not skimp on the ingredients. There were six of each custard, each in its own row, and each in a two-liter pitcher.

Up next, and I was flabbergasted, was something I had never seen before. It was a giant stainless steel bowl. Not quite round, but more oval, like a giant metal egg. This giant egg was easily large enough for both Ivanna and myself to fit in it. And it was full almost to the brim with chocolate sauce. Underneath this metal concoction of mess, was a very long and quite deep, pan, again made of stainless steel.

Ha! I guess Mr. Harkins has thought of everything. When we get in that bowl, a lot of that chocolate will slosh out. At least it won't go all over the floor.

Looking over at Ivanna, I could tell she was thinking the same thing. Yeah, that chocolate sauce is not for the floor. It's for us.

Next up was a . . . is that a shower?

The last thing in that line of ultimate messiness was, what appeared to be a shower large enough for both of us.

But why a shower, here . . . now.

Vonni and I both walked around the shower, looking at it, trying to get a feel for why Mr. Harkins would put a shower out in the open. There was no stall, no shower curtains, no way of keeping one's privacy. Nothing. As I looked back at our good friend, though, Mr. Harkins gave me a good, long, wink.

Well, okay, then. I'll just trust in Mr. Harkins. He knows what he is doing . . . even if I don't. Ha!

And finally, at the end of the long line of extreme messiness, there was a . . ., hell, I don't know what. There was a raised wooden platform, in the center of what had been the dance floor. It was easily five feet high and about fifteen feet long. What was on it, though, was shielded from all bystanders, as there were huge drapes of silver and blue, in keeping with the Dallas Cowboys wedding theme. And standing guard were three men who all looked big enough and mean enough to have played for the Cowboys. Nobody knew what was behind those curtains, though I had a pretty good idea.