Makarovia! Yes, I Know Where That is! Sophomore Year - 84. No Doubt

When I tell you, I'm exhausted.  I am.  Writing is a labor of love, it is.  It gives me purpose.  I know there will be errors.  I'll check during the night.  I love you, Daniel!  

No Doubt

“It's done,” Peter said, “We'll see you at dinner.” He turned as if to leave the office. He was so convincing I almost believed he would.

“Do you think I would allow this to be just a marriage?” Mom asked. “How long have you known me, Olek?”

Olek nodded grinning, still holding Helga. “Since before I remember much of anything. What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Mom looked at Olek in mocking offense and said, “I didn't do anything.”

Meaning she had someone else do it. Even Mario was smiling a little more, probably because he knew exactly what Queen Alla had planned.

Boris stepped forward and said calmly, “I was the one to do the something.” His hesitant smile hoping it would be taken well. He almost hurried on and said, "Our king was getting married for the first time, and he is more than just a king, but a dear friend who made me andYuri family. I couldn't just let that go.”

Yuri nodded, “I hope there is nothing too pressing to do today. You'll probably miss it.”

Olek shook his head but was smiling, “Fine. You all are determined to make sure there is more than a simple marriage. What are we doing and how many others know about this?”

“No one knows, but a few I'm sure suspect,” Yuri assured. He waved at Helga and Olek. “If you wear those rings, my security agents will know and others who see them, too and what it means."

Olek nodded again, “Well, mine doesn't come off.”

Helga raised her left hand and said, “Neither does mine.”

I've explained the use of humor as a coping skill with Peter and me. The same was true for the rest of the family. The main reason was, we were close and very happy. Stressors and threats were all around, but not here. I'm sure some were here in Makarovia; however, all of Makarovia would protect us. Our allies here would also help to protect us. That was both good and bad. Good that they were willing to help, even if it was motivated by their own best interests. I knew both Commanding Generals were real friends so it would be more personal. It was bad because there were so many new faces in Makarovia.

When I tell you, please remember why I tell you. It was easier if they were another race. Asian or African people were practically unknown here. It wasn't because they weren't welcome here. They just didn't come! Asians from India were unknown except on television. Chinese, Japanese or Korean were unknown, also known on television. Most people in Makarovia were all East European and more closely related to Dracula and his people than anyone else. They were right next door! White Racial Supremacist wouldn't like the number of homosexuals here. We had less breeding stock available. Hell! Most people didn't come for that reason unless they were also homosexual and wanted to blend with the many others. There were conventional families here. Many Makarovians were born and raised here, too.

Humor also tightened the bonds between people in a family. It did with us.

Boris had made lunch...or dinner. I struggled with that before. Linner? If the palace staff talked to each other and you know they did; they're Human. It happened. No one would betray Olek or Makarovia. The aromas that greeted me from the massive kitchen were tempting me without telling me what it was. It was something both Olek and Helga loved.

Without the comedy Henri used, we were served bowls of soup. It was almost a stew with chunks of onions in it. It looked...busy. Yes, I know, I'll explain what I mean. There were little pea-sized things scattered throughout this stew. They were small and whitish in color looking almost like that little round pasta things in a couple of Italian dishes I knew of. Tony told me it was semolina. I wasn't Italian.

Helga smiled and said. “Is this Harira!?”

Boris smiled and nodded and Helga squealed a little and was ready to dig in.

“Cure my ignorance,” I said, “What is Harira?”

Helga laughed lightly and said, “It's a Moroccan dish with lamb.” She looked up with a warning. “Many think it's kind of spicy. It has ginger, cayenne, and pepper in it.”

I nodded, “That's an enticement, not discouragement." I shrugged, "I just haven't had that much lamb."

“Why not?” Peter asked puzzled.

“How many barnyards of sheep do you know of in the United States?” I challenged Peter, “How much traffic was held up because of sheep crossing the road in the United States?” I didn't wait for a reply. “None! Cows we got, chickens we got, pigs we got, but we ain't got sheep.”

Boris gave a grudging nod, "Not that it matters, but it is more expensive meat in the United States." He looked at Olek, "You were there the last time I served it in Boston."

I nodded, “Most everyone int the United States thinks lambs are spotless symbol of the purest innocence.”

Olek shrugged but kept eating.

“It's served every morning of Ramadan," Helga explained. "I think it's delicious."

She was right about that the spicy part, but I'd had better. It was a slow bite of spice.

Then hot plates of something I couldn't begin to guess about. On some long, flat egg-noodle pasta were these round balls like meatballs. They were to carry the sauce or gravy. They were covered with gravy but nothing about it made it look, smell, or taste like a pasta dish I had ever had.

“It's Kaese Spaetzle," Boris explained before we asked. "It's a German macaroni and cheese with Hungarian spices, ground lamb and feta cheese balls."

I had no expectations, but it wasn't anything I could have gotten in Italy or Greece. It was damned good, but nothing I thought it might be. For instance, they had. more than just paprika. That red sprinkles on food? They had sweet paprika and sharp paprika.

There was even a cake. It wasn't a wedding cake, but chocolate on chocolate. The cake was moist chocolate and the icing was chocolate but it was very rich tasting chocolate like Swiss or Belgian Chocolate. So rich, I knew if I had more than one slice, I'd be sick. It might be worth the risk.

"This has really got to stop," Peter groaned in a quiet voice to me. "The scale will be going in the wrong direction."

I smiled, “But we can increase our activity at the Grotto in a few hours.”

"And you," Peter pointed at Olek, Helga, Mom, and Mario, "agreed to come. No taking that backing out."

“Grandma,” I said, “I know you'd never turn down an opportunity to dance.”

"You're right and I'm not going to now,” Grandma said.

They had never been. Using a phrase Olek used often, they were busy! Our agents and friends were meeting us at the Grotto. Transport to the Grotto was the reason. Mercea and Alec were catching a ride with Rolph and Andreea. They had access to a vehicle.

The need for security would always be considered important. Even in Makarovia. We had Yuri, Rolph, Mercea, and Alec, but they weren't on duty. Yuri was always on duty even when he wasn't supposed to be. We added four more very wary men. They were wary not just because they were guarding the entire family of Makarovia. They were under the watchful eyes of Yuri. Yuri's reputation of absolute and almost ruthless expectations of more than near perfection was known even if he was based in Boston!

As I was about to get into one of the two large black Mercedes-Benz SUVs, I saw the polished, shiny red of my Mustang and sighed a bit sadly. I missed him! He was well maintained, b, ut not by me. It was a toy. It wasn't needed by me now. That made it a toy and don't go on about the status of owning a Mercedes. It did in the United States and Canada. England? I don't know. It was function before form. These were armored. Sort of like the limousine in London. You didn't see what was armored. They were nice and comfortable, but Mercedes was more widely available in Europe and East Europe. They were often used as utility vehicles such as trucks and taxis. There was no real “status change” for owning one.

Peter heard me, looked knowing something was wrong and glanced at what I was looking at.

He smiled patiently with understanding. “I'm sure one more vehicle wouldn't hurt.”

It was so tempting to do it, but I shook my head, “No, tonight we stay together.” I said reluctantly.

"I know you miss driving her," he backed a little at my instant frowning scowl and added quickly, "I meant him." Peter touched me, "We can take it when we see Stryia tomorrow."

The idea of playing tourist was exciting, but with the added bonus of driving my car made it so much more of a thrill, “I just miss it.”

Peter nodded, “I know.”

I realized I had been with Grandma to a club, but never Mom or Olek. Mario! Could he dance? He had at the wedding, but this wasn't going to be ballroom dancing. I'd seen him waltz with Mom, but I didn't believe there would be music to dance the waltz at the Grotto. Could Mom? Would she?

Again, we parked, but I saw the vehicles were more arranged than last time where people parked where they could under the trees. The Grotto might be more popular, now that the military from several-countries was here. We were greeted first by the rhythmic fast pulsing throb of bass. That would always because just was so prominent.

Lights were coming from the Grotto's entrance we couldn't see yet. Beams from searchlights moved, crossed and crisscrossed to bring everyone's attention to the party. The sky was full of stars on the nearly cloudless night so the beams kept going.

Our vehicles stopped in an area we could be let out near the entrance. People walked in groups of two or more into the Grotto. No one wanted to dance alone! They could if they wanted to, but why? That wasn' fun.

There were a few people at the entrance. Two were Makarovian and two were military police. One from the United States and the other was the other two had to be British I knew they were because of the uniforms and the "MP" on their uniform and helmets.

Makarovian. Their expressions of shock on their faces were clear. There was a status with these two vehicles, but not what you might think. They were the only ones I knew of in Makarovia. They weren't owned by any military group but were known to be used by the royal family. And one of the MPs looked at the two Makarovians and said something to them and came to open our door.

I did not have delusions about the family. We were royalty. We were famous in the world now, but many Makarovians had seen and met us some time. Is that what made acceptance simply hard to believe? It didn't affect the two military members here that much. I didn't know the people they had met.

Peter and I got out and helped Grandma out.

We could hear a little more of the music as we gathered.

One of the Makarovians recovered enough to come and bow. “Your Majesty,” he turned to Peter and me, “Your Highness. We weren't informed you were coming!”

Olek smiled at him, “That shouldn't be a problem. Is it?”

The man was quick, "Not at all," he looked at his Makarovian work partner who also bowed. “Dan would have mentioned it if he knew.” He said to confirm what he had said. His partner gave the universally recognized raised shoulders and shake of his head. He didn't know.

Peter chuckled, “We know Dan and Dimitri. They won't mind.”

“Hi, guys!” A voice boomed near us. Rolph held the hand of a lovely long, thick-haired blonde lady I'd seen in pictures. I wasn't just saying that she was pretty. Thin and appeared to me that she exercised so was in good shape. I guess she had to with two active little girls. Rolph wore a nice purple shirt. Not lavender, grape or that sort of color, but purple. Black slacks. She wore a short, almost fitted dress of the same purple. They looked like a dance team. If they danced tonight, they were! He also had on the glasses. I wish I'd remembered mine. It was dark out and there wasn't too much light pollution. We would be fine. They both bowed as they approached us. “Your Majesty." His eyes, if I could see the eyes, would have sparkled as he bowed to Peter and me, “Your Highness.” He motioned toward her, “This is my wife Andreea.” He said in Makarovian. They were directed to speak English to include Mario.

I stuck my hand out to her. I should remember the willingness to shake hands with some people didn't always travel over here; especially with royalty. You don't touch unless you were touched by them and always back away. She was a little surprised, but I had initiated it and she couldn't refuse. “I've seen pictures of you shown me by Rolph. It's good to see you in person.”

"You don't need an introduction to them, do you?" Rolph asked Andreea as he pointed at Peter and me. "You know their names."

Andreea shook her head, but smiled, "I do."

Peter shook her hand and waved at Olek, “You may recognize my brother Olek and Lady Helga.”

Andreea did a little curtsy and took both offered hands. “Of course, Your Majesty,” She turned to Helga, “My Lady.”

"Wait on us!" A voice asked behind them. Mercea came trotting up followed at a slower pace by Alec. Jeans and nice t-shirts on both said they weren't on duty.

I smiled at Mercea's exuberance. It would be impossible for anyone to convince me he had ever been unhappy in his entire life. “We'd never leave you behind," I said hugging him. I backed a little and turned to Alec, "but you...” I squinted an eye at him.

Alec paused as he approached a little worried for a second.

“Did you have to tell everything?” I asked as I hugged him, too.

Alec knew what I was talking about and let out a short laugh, “Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.”

“I only told Mikell.” He defended.

“But I heard it from the man that sits on the throne," I muttered.

Alec chuckled and shrugged helplessly, “You didn't say not to!”

“That's why you're one of my favorite agents.”

Protocols and introductions were done and we went into the Grotto. That huge monitor and screen that had the countdown to our wedding was still there. A music video of performers I didn't know was on it. I knew movies and music groups, but this one was Russian. It was interesting that when groups hope to go global they almost always choose English to sing in, even if it's but no more than a phrase repeated over and over. I couldn't follow all of them that closely. It was a lively tune by a group called Little Big. The song's title was also in the corner. Skibidi. That was a name, not a word I knew. In the video, there was a sort of bizarre dance step they all four did. It was sort of an exaggerated strut with these arm movements in and out over their chests as they stepped. It could be a name for the dance. Makarovia's official languages were Makarovian and English. With the large number of the military from the United States and Great Britain, English was primarily used at the Grotto.

The Grotto was large and...cavernous? (Sorry, but it was a cavern.) Things had been added to improve things such as sound. They added these large flat things hung up high to keep the sound from bouncing around. The reverberation could be bad here.

Dan and Dimitri didn't mind that we came. They were flabbergasted that King Olek and Queen Alla were here. It never occurred to either of them would come.

Looking around, sure, many were Peter's and my age. As we looked, there were a few older patrons Olek’s age. Not that he was old. A few were even near Grandma's age. Maybe. I knew Grandma had lived a long time, but I never thought she was "old." She has dodged that bullet and I hoped she would a little longer. There were tables around the flashing dance floor and more lights flashed down, rotated sending colored and flashing lights down on the dancing crowd like the sound you could see.

“This is a great dance club!” Helga said looking at the crowd.

“I've never been here before,” Olek admitted as he also looked around. “I've been told some stories...”

Peter smiled at him, “I hope you didn't expect to just sit and watch.”

Olek frowned, “With...” he thought how to say it, “our guest that's coming...I didn't...”

Grandma smiled as he made it clear he didn't want to endanger Helga or the arriving guest. They were the priority. "I think it would be alright if you two danced. Helga should keep her schedule. It will also be a great exercise." She chuckled, "I danced just fine up until twenty weeks carrying Eric's mother." She shrugged, "I never gave up dance when I was pregnant. I gave some dance steps and moves only because I didn't have the reach I needed.” She looked Helga, “Are you in any discomfort?”

Helga smiled and her hand covered the area she the arriving guest and shook her head gently, "Once the morning sickness has been dealt with, there's no discomfort at all." She brightened and said, "In fact, I can't remember feeling better than I do now. There is always a feeling of pressure I felt every day to get things done. Deadlines to meet and stressors I had grown accustomed to. I don't feel anything like that now. I'm just so at peace.”

Mom chuckled and looked at Peter, “I felt that when I carried him. Nothing was wrong in this world.”

"I had that, too," Grandma said to them quickly. "I was told by the doctor is was the reaction to the changing hormones.”

Mom was now nodded heartily agreement, “Who cares? I know what I felt.”

Helga laughed, “Exactly. I know we were and I am fortunate. I had a couple of people as friends that had just the opposite. The conditions were problematic for them from day one until the condition ended forty weeks later."

“My point is,” Grandma said to Olek, “trust Helga. She will be the first to know of a problem." Then she looked at Helga, “Don't push yourself. Your body will tell you if dancing is a good idea or a bad one. Listen to it.”

"Ideally," I said, "the female body has to make changes for the guest. Those hormones make it happen positively. There is no perfect pregnancy. Are there any drastic mood swings?"

Helga shook her head, "No."

There is a fine line between being cautious and being overprotective. Olek's concern was not being overprotective. He had a question and got an answer to that concern.

Peter looked at the many dancers. Many were not dancers, but they didn't care. They were having a good time. “The most threatening thing here is toes that are stepped on.”

The song changed. It never really stopped so no one stopped. There was a familiar tap of drum sticks on the edge of a drum, “tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap” as the song's pace was set.

Peter looked up and smiled, “I can think of no better song.” He looked at me. “Let's show them how it's done.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me to the dancefloor. He didn't have to pull hard. I was willing. Now, the deep rhythmic accompaniment added to the song. “Our No Touchy, No Feely dance?” He asked quickly,

“We have to come up with a name for,” I said amused. “Is that what you want to call it?”

“I said it,” Peter said, “You know which dance. That's makes it a good name."

We had done it several times. I don't know of others who did it, but Peter and I were perfecting it when we danced. We set ourselves ready to begin. We were standing a foot apart and during the accompaniment, our right shoulders jutted forward, his right and my right, slightly and became more pronounced as the female lead sang, "The waves keep crashing on me for some reason, but you love keeps on coming like a thunderbolt. Come here a little closer, ‘cause I wanna see you close.” And we both did that. The dance was developed because there was no one leading. Those juts became more pronounced. I jutted into his space as he jutted into mine. Remember me telling you about dirty dancing for gays? We were perhaps an inch or less apart now. Doing the exact same dance move, whether or not we looked like we were in each other's space, we weren't touching anything with anything. You know that would be impossible chest to chest and legs to legs. There was very little footwork as our feet didn't really move during the dance. We did dance but tried not to touch. The song was created and recorded to make you want to dance. That was the game of this dance. Everybody could see us and wondered how we did it, that close and not touch. “You got me feeling hella good, so let's keep on dancin'. You hold me like you should, so I'll keep on dancin'.” That’s what we did. We kept on dancing. To have the dance come out right, we had to know each other and what we'd do. I looked at Peter. He was gorgeous! I am biased. The insecure man I met September before last was gone. I did see that man when things became complicated and he was unsure about what to do, but that man was pretty well gone for good. He'd turned his life around one hundred and eighty degrees. He would never have willingly done this dance in front of strangers or family. Hell, he wouldn’t have done it at all!

As the accompaniment became bolder and prominent, our moves became bold and pronounced. Now he bent forward over me, forcing me to lower back as he loomed above me and backed as I did the same to him. It like a version of the movie the Matrix where Neo, played by Keanu Reeves contorted to dodge bullets we saw coming at him in slow motion. Yes, just like that…except, no one was shooting at us now, and Neo and the man who wasn't a real human man, but a sentient computer program that called himself Mr. Smith; they weren't exactly dancing. Other than that, it was the exact same.

I don't want to chase that rabbit. Peter and I learned to improvise. Halfway through the song, I could see that huge screen showed everyone at the Grotto what Peter and I were doing. We were the featured couple on the dancefloor. Then I saw no one was dancing, but Peter and me. The shoulder juts came again as the elbow on the other arm jutted back. No touchy and no feely. When we leaned backward, that was the only time we touched; to keep from losing our balance and falling over.

The pace of the song was very fast and energetic. I was beginning to sweat. So it was for Peter. As that song ended, that was when we did touch. Arms wrapped around each other as we kissed. Applause thundered all around us and cheers.

“I love,” Peter panted, “you.”

I nodded, “I know.” I panted myself. “I love you.”

"I know," Peter smiled.

The unseen club DJ's voice boomed from the speakers, “I don't need to tell you who they are. They just came back from their honeymoon; I'd say they definitely have learned to dance very well together! That was ab...so...lutely amazing!! If I play it again in an hour or two when it gets more crowded, will you do it again? Or choose another song. Everyone needs to see that!”

We would and did. “A few more dances like that and our rich meals will be taken care of,” I joked.

Peter nodded, “I'm willing.”

We got to our table to see happy and stunned faces. It was a provocative dance without any sexual acts.

Grandma was smiling very big, “Who taught you that dance? I know I didn't.”

I shook my head, “No.” I agreed. “But we are your grandsons; dancing just runs in the family.”

“Wow,” Olek said raising his hand toward the dancefloor. “I mean...where...”

"You learned to dance like that where?" Mom began with a cautious smile.

“We made it up!” Peter explained pointing at me.

I held up a hand, "Most dances have someone that leads, usually by a male part of the dance. This one doesn't have that."

Peter laughed, “But I don't recommend doing it with just anyone.”

I nudged Peter lightly, “No, there are moves we do, but you have to know your partner. We do!”

“Wow,” Olek said again. “I've never seen that before.”

“That song?” Mercea asked a bit excited.

“Hella Good,” I answered, and yes I did it on purpose, “No Doubt.”

Mercea nodded, “It was no doubt a damned good song! What was it?”

I laughed, “I was hoping someone would do this. I set you up. It's not a hell of a good song, the song is titled Hella Good. She felt Hella Good, so she would keep on dancing. The group is called No Doubt.”

If it was English personally translated to Makarovian, the understanding wasn't going in. “Gwen Stefani? American group and singer?" I hinted.

That was the one thing removed from the clog that made the water flow in a gush. The understanding was seen on everyone's face. There was again the “oh's” from almost everyone at the table. They may not have heard her sing, but they knew the name.

Olek nodded with conviction, “This is fun!”

Peter chuckled, “Which you need more often. Now that you know the Grotto's here, why not once a week? Or at least once a month.”

Yuri grinned, “No doubt.” Was he agreeing or just playing with the phrase?