Epilogue They say that life mimics history, which you'd think should be the other way around. But the fact is -- and they say this, too -- that there is very little new under the sun. That was exemplified in the reaction of Bob's employees when he told them he was going to get married. They played the historical role of the bold young man's wastrel friends, who tried their best to talk him out of such folly. The Drunken Dwarf was among the most ardent of those trying to sabotage the wedding. He went so far as to find willing young lasses to bring to the shop under the impression that they had a blind date with the owner of said shop, whom Dwarf had told all kinds of wild tales about. Bob just called him an idiot. The upside was that Dwarf ended up with the girls, most of the time, especially when Bob promptly told tall tales about the things that the big man had...and hadn't...done. Like a stubborn donkey, Dwarf resisted vociferously, to the point where he refused to be one of Bob's groomsmen, vowing never to assist his brother in surrendering to the enemy. He did, however, show up at the wedding, primarily because Bob said he was fired if he didn't. He came in his motorcycle leathers. It was the first time he'd actually seen Jennifer. In the receiving line, at the reception, Dwarf came through the line just like everybody else. He'd already decided, after seeing the look on Snake's face during the ceremony, he was going to give up gracefully. When he got to the bride, he saw Bob lean over and whisper in her ear. He assumed Bob was identifying him, by name. Her face lit up. "So you're the Drunken Dwarf!" she squealed, confirming that Bob had told her who he was. "Do I get to kiss the bride?" he asked, grinning. It was what he thought he was expected to say. "Oh yes," she said, reaching for his shoulders. "You most DEFINITELY get to kiss the bride." The big, tough ex-SEAL was left almost breathless as the young bride crushed her lips to his, sliding her arms around his neck to pull him hard against her body. There were gasps from those in the receiving line. This was no polite, chaste kiss! Her lipstick left a bright red impression on his lips as she finally stopped kissing him and slid her lips to his ear. "Thank you SO much for the clitty whizzer," she whispered. Then, dazed, he was pushed along the line to Bob, who was grinning from ear to ear. Dwarf was to become one of Jennifer's most ardent protectors and advisors, in the years that followed. He was also the person who, at Susan's request, delivered the Babe Bike to Don. She then asked Don to take her for a ride on it that lasted fully twenty-two minutes until she gasped into his ear to take her home...and to bed. ================================= Jennifer started off in the paint booth of the shop. She worked there while she went to school, taking between nine and twelve credit hours per semester. It was tough. She wasn't used to the math but, to her intense surprise, the ex-SEALs she spent so much time with now were always able to help her. It turns out there's a lot of math involved in planning an assault. It didn't help that she had their first baby in her third semester. By the time she waddled, more than walked, across the stage to receive her diploma, her gown was bulging with their third child. She went into labor that very night. Her new duties could be performed at home, using various computer programs to firm up technical details and resolve mechanical issues before a frame was built. That saved the company money on both wasted labor and materials. Not only that, but the blueprints she provided, if followed to the letter, always meant the components that went into the bike would fit perfectly. That shortened production time, which made the bikes cheaper. Working at home lasted until the children were all in school. Then their afterschool program became being at the shop with Mommy and Daddy, as well as all those uncles, who could be depended on for either a good time or a swat on the butt, whichever was deserved at the moment. By the time each youngster was eight, he or she could name any tool in the shop, what it was used for, what it should NOT be used for, and find it...even in the dark. Six years later word had gotten around. If you were a woman who wanted a custom bike--and the number of hardcore female bikers there are in the world might surprise you--there was only one place to get it built for you. It was a place where a woman seemed to call the shots, because all those hunky men in the shop jumped when she spoke. But that was only one reason to patronize this particular shop. The primary reason was because it was the only place you could get a genuine copy of what they called a Babe Bike. The Babe Bike website informed the customer that some hundred and fifty of them had been built so far. They were designed specifically for women, and the site even said that they wouldn't sell one to a man. This caused no little curiosity on the part of those who scanned that site, and got the shop some interesting queries. The Babe Bike, in its various iterations, could be ordered with any number of paint schemes and several different accessory packages. A prime selling point was that each saddle was custom fit to the owner. There was a photograph on the site of a strapping man, wearing a T shirt emblazoned with the words "DRUNKEN DWARF." He was smiling widely, standing beside the machine that the copy said was used to get "an incredibly personal fit" for the saddles that were his specialty. No matter what design you chose, though, there was something about the lines that just looked feminine. Babe Bikes were usually lighter than what the men all wrestled with and underpowered by comparison, though they had all the guts anyone really needed. Each one was custom built, and the only thing they had in common was that, on a stainless steel plate attached to the frame next to the VIN plate, was inscribed in flowing feminine letters: "Designed by JJ." A Babe Bike wasn't cheap, though it could usually be had for less than the cost of a full dress luxury bike. What sold them was the test drive. Rarely if ever did a woman come back from a test ride without pink cheeks and a glow on her smiling face. The casual observer might notice that that test ride seemed to leave her a little breathless too. Once a woman decided to order a Babe Bike, the transaction could only be processed by Jennifer Jefferson, in private, so that certain...aspects...of the design could be explained. Occasionally that lost them a sale. More often, it sealed the deal. The Endbabe_bike_epilogue