Chapter 189: Getting Fitted

Monday, June 28, 1971

“I’m taking her to her bed,” Kathy Lynn whispered as she picked up her sleeping daughter. “I think you should get downstairs.”

“What time is it?” I groaned. I had heard her words, but it took me a minute to process them. I must have dozed off.

“Shhh. It’s ten after two,” she whispered as she left the room with a still sleeping Sunny in her arms.

Groggily, I stumbled to the bathroom. I didn’t know why it was so hard to wake up from such a short nap. After a quick shower to wash off the chlorine from my earlier swim, I slipped on some of those ridiculously short gym shorts that were the trend in 1971 and a ‘Peter, Paul, and Mary’ t-shirt, since it was the only one that the girls hadn’t snitched, and headed for the kitchen. I needed a snack.

As I descended the main staircase, my empathic senses became overwhelmed with the sheer volume of heightened emotions that seemed to be running rampant through everyone in the house. I hadn’t even begun to process it all when Nicky saw me.

“There you are! I was just coming to find you,” she screamed. Or at least it seemed like a scream. I almost felt like I was hung-over or something, my senses were so slow.

“You didn’t go for your fitting,” Nicky said.

“Do I really need a new tux?” I asked.

“Michael! It’s a state dinner! At the White House, for god’s sake. It’s mandatory white tie,” Nicky said exasperatedly. “The tailor is downstairs now, fitting David. C’mon!” she added as she began tugging on my arm, pulling me towards the parlor.

When I reached the door, I just stopped and stared. The parlor had been turned into a combination fitting room/seamstress shop with a dozen strangers all running around with scissors and bolts of cloth, or sitting at one of the three sewing machines that had been brought in just for the occasion, sewing away like mad-women.

David stood there on a small stool, wearing only his boxers as an attendant measured him. I could immediately sympathize with the pained expression on his face. I didn’t have to scan him to know how much he detested what they were putting him through.

“Take off your shorts and t-shirt and get up on the other stool,” Grace said as she walked past me carrying a long blue gown draped across both arms...

I just shrugged my shoulders and stripped as she walked away. I didn’t bother to tell them I wasn’t wearing any underwear. I figured they’d notice soon enough.

After reaching my perch and standing there for a while, I was almost beginning to think they wouldn’t notice, when suddenly, there was a scream.

“He’s ... he’s ... he’s not wearing anything!” the unknown female cried.

“Michael Gregory Wagner! What are you doing?” Sarah cried as she hurried by dressed in a robe.

“Grace told me to do it,” I whined.

“I didn’t know you weren’t wearing underwear!” she cried.

“Who screamed and who’s not wearing any underwear?” asked my attorney as she strolled into the room.

“Yeah. It better not have been Michael,” Abby added. “I wouldn’t want to miss that!”

“Well, since you’re here now, it is your job to keep him straight,” Sarah said as she dropped her robe and began trying on a long, pink gown.

“I’ll go get him some boxers while you keep an eye on him,” Izzy told Abby.

“Can we keep an eye on him too?” Rose asked as she entered the parlor with her sister.

“Yeah. And maybe a hand or two as well!” Eve added.

“Damn! This isn’t a fitting, it’s a circus!” I thought to myself.

“And you, my dear hubby-to-be are the main attraction,” Abby added with a giggle.

Sure enough, here came Hanna and Allie towing an awed Aida with them. The sisters both added their own semi-lewd comments as they stared at my nude form on the stool, but poor Aida couldn’t say anything. I was beginning to worry that she had forgotten how to blink. Finally, Izzy returned with my boxers and I slipped them on. Soon, the girls all forgot about it and went about their own fittings, but for some reason, Aida remained rooted to the same spot, seemingly unable to move or speak. Finally, Allie came over and tugged her by the hand to where Hanna was trying on her gown.

I finally got out of there, some twenty minutes later, but was told to stay close by. Still hungry, I headed for the kitchen. As I walked through the dining room, I became aware that there were even more strangers in the house. And three of them were sitting at the dining room table, busily going over something with Vickie, Adriana, Kalani, Mikeya, and Ileana.

“Oh! There’s Michael!” Adriana informed the others.

“Michael, can you spare a moment?” Kalani asked. And as I approached, the lone male and two females rose to their feet. Kalani stood to make the introductions.

“This is Crown Prince Michael, Protector of the Throne of the Island Nation of Tapato, Consort to the Queen, Defender of the Royal Family ... and soon-to-be father of the future heir to the throne,” she said by way of introduction. I couldn’t help but notice that she had added a little to my title since the last time I had heard it.

“Your Highness, may I present the Assistant Chief of Protocol at the State Department, Mr. Nicholas Ruwe (roo-ee), the Foreign Service Reserve Officer for the Chief of Protocol, Miss Nancy Lammerding, and the White House Social Secretary, Mrs. Lucy Winchester. They’re here to walk us through our official state visit tomorrow.”

Ruwe didn’t even hesitate as he snapped off a short bow. The ladies were equally astute as they curtsied with practiced ease.

“Your Highness. It is an honor to meet you. It seems that you have singularly impressed the big boss. He personally instructed us to make sure that you would want for nothing during your stay,” Ruwe said.

“You are an American, aren’t you?” Miss Lammerding asked me. But before I could answer, Kalani answered for me.

“Yes, Michael is an American citizen. He became a prince when he wed my daughters recently, and he will be journeying to Tapato after the State Dinner where he will be issued permanent citizenship. It is my understanding that Prince Michael plans to retain a dual-citizenship as he is also the new President of Wagner Industries, here in New York. I was led to believe that this was all proper when I spoke of it with your Secretary of State Rodgers,” Kalani stated without rancor. However, I could tell she was a little agitated.

“Daughters?” Mrs. Winchester asked. Ruwe and Lammerding were both from the State Department and hadn’t batted an eye. But Mrs. Winchester worked at the White House. I guess their intel wasn’t as good as the State Department’s.

“That is correct, Mrs. Winchester. Michael was recently mated to both Princess Mikeya and Princess Ileana in a ceremony, out in Colorado. And I assure you that everything was done in accordance with Tapatoan laws and customs,” Kalani told her as both Mikeya and Ileana moved to my side, each placing one of their arms through mine.

“But ... he’s an American. Isn’t that considered bigamy?” she persisted.

“I think you mean polygyny, Mrs. Winchester. And polygyny is a perfectly normal and acceptable way of life on Tapato. In fact, if you’ll take the time to check, I think you will find that in over ninety-five percent of all the matrilineal cultures in the world, polygyny is the norm,” Kalani said patiently.

You could see both of the State Department people shaking their heads in agreement, as Mrs. Winchester looked for a way to get out of this. It was Ruwe who came to her rescue.

“We have reviewed this issue with Secretary Rogers, and have been told that everything is perfectly legal and above-board. Mr. Wagner has sixty days in which to file for his dual-citizenship and I have already been assured that it will be approved with no problems,” Mr. Ruwe told her. “Now, why don’t we get down to the business of an official state visit tomorrow? We’re running out of time and there is much to discuss.”

At this point, I took my leave and headed on to the kitchen. I was starving now. Mikeya stayed with her mom, but Ileana came with me.

“Your laws can be so confusing sometimes,” she said as I rummaged through the refrigerator, while Prissy was stirring something on the stove. It smelled like spaghetti sauce.

“I know. But don’t let it get to you. Your mom’s right. Everything we’ve done has been legal and above-board. We shouldn’t have any problems,” I told her.

“It’s not the legal problems that worry me. It just seems that a lot of Americans seem to be so intolerant of other countries’ ways and traditions,” Ileana explained.

“Yeah. Change scares a lot of people.”

“It sure do, Michael,” Prissy said. “Why, I’s lived here almost twenty years, and there’s still folks who say that colored folks shouldn’t be allowed to ride on the front of the bus.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just drank my milk and ate my brownie. Ileana was strangely quiet as well. The last part of the sixties had been a turbulent time in America, and folks were still getting used to the changes.

“Just wait until they see the changes that are coming!” I thought to myself.

It wasn’t long until I was called back to the parlor for my fitting. Nothing had changed there. It was still mass chaos. I passed Kip in the foyer and had to ask.

“How come you’re not being subject to some of this torture?” I asked him.

“Easy,” he replied without even stopping. “They’re called ‘dress whites!”

I could only smile as I entered the parlor.

“When you finish being fitted, go up and pack your things. The bus will be here to take us to Newark at nine,” Vickie told me. “And don’t forget your passport. We’ll be going on to Tennessee and then Tapato from Washington, and won’t be back here.”

“Okay,” I replied as I dropped my shirt and pants on a chair and started pulling on my new formal attire. It was a testament to just how chaotic it had become, what with our looming departure, that none of the girls even glanced my way as I undressed.