"I own the biggest spread in these parts."
"That's very impressive, I'm sure," Despina says, impressed not one whit. "Rich and influential, yet still a nobody at home. What a shame."
"There you go with that mis-impression of yours. You don't even know my wife."
"No, I don't, but I can tell that you need to rekindle the romance in your relationship. Just look how you act! 'Unhappy at home' is stamped all over your actions."
Sputtering, Tex tries to pull her into a tighter embrace, but she manages to stiffen her elbows and keep his advances at bay.
"A real man would honor his vows."
He again tries to dominate her physically.
"A real man would be creative, inventive, keep trying to find something to motivate his wife to love him the way she did in the beginning."
As they dance, Tex, angered, but trying hard not to let her see how she is getting to him, slowly draws her closer, stepping slightly off center to her body.
Try as she might to keep him at arm's length, she is no match for his strength. Also working in his favor is her natural decorum, her dislike of making a scene.
Fighting with the weapon she welds best, words, she says, "There must have been SOMETHING that attracted you once upon a time. A real man would CARE. He'd find a way to show it to her."
Savagely, he forces her closer.
"Call your wife and tell her to get in the mood to assume the position, unless you think the shock would kill her," she urges, battling valiantly to hold him off physically.
She responds to his next inopportune assault with, "Are you man enough to bed your wife, leave her all languishing, or are you so out of practice the hole has probably shriveled up?"
He crushes her mercilessly to his chest.
"Unless it was just a marriage of convenience. Was she, perhaps, rich?"
The final straw reached with the truth of her wild guess, he reaches down and pinches her on the hiney.
Drawing back and slapping his face a resounding crack, she twirls and leaps from the dance floor, storming back to the table, fuming.
In hot pursuit, Tex grabs her by the arm. Reverting to tactics her father taught her "in case of emergency", she fells him adroitly with one well-placed knee.
After rolling around in agony, yet he comes on undaunted as soon as he can manage.
Deciding she means business and is intent on doing bodily harm, Paul Peter contrives to trip him, again sending him crashing to the floor.
When he again begins to rise, heading her way with a gleam in his eye that bodes her no quarter, she grasps the pitcher of ice water, throwing it in his face, then banging him over the head with it for good measure.
"I paid $5.00 for that water! I intended to drink it. Oh, well, it went for a good cause."
Once more, Tex starts to rise, then slowly sinks back, passing out.
"When the chips are down, the buffalo is empty!" Bradly quips, eying Tex's prostrate form.
"He's likely to catch his death, lying right in the path of the air conditioner like that," observes Paul Peter philosophically.
"Oh, for crying out loud! After what he just tried..." she sputters to a dejected stop.
The sheriff, who has reentered in time to catch the tail end of her explosion, eyes her with bemusement. "You could have asked for help."
Stiffening, Despina retorts proudly, "And always have to have a man around to be safe walking alone? I think not. This way, there is NO mistake about it. I can and will defend myself if the need arises."
"I take it then that he's not likely to press assault charges when he awakes?" Sheriff Mickey inquires sagely.
"Harrumph! I should like to see him TRY, with all these witnesses!"
"Actually, all I saw was you slap his face, him try to go after you, you knee him, him try to get up, me trip him, him try to get up, and you try to drown him. I just have your reaction to judge by. He might have a case. Did anyone else SEE or HEAR what upset you so?"
"Paul Peter, that's outrageous, and you well know it!"
Mumbling in the face of her wrath, he never-the-less continues, "Well, it IS still the truth."
"And I thought all the action would happen outside," chimes in Mickey mischievously.
Óscar emerges and examines the fallen form. "Hee is veery wet. Perhaps he is best outside? How much has eet dropped?"
"It's still pretty warm, yet. Take his feet, Paul Peter, if you're steady enough."
At the hint that his motor function might be impaired, Paul Peter's normal disinclination to be helpful retreats, and he lustily grabs the nether end of the huge man, staggering a bit under the weight. With Óscar on one arm, and the sheriff on the other, he is manhandled out the door into the parking lot.
Despina, who has helpfully held open the door, comments, "We can't just lay him down out here. Where does he live?" Spying Paul Peter's open jeep, she points, "Lay him across the back. PP, give me your keys, please."
Last updated 1/5/02..