Froggy Style (2 page)

A
half hour later, dressed in my princely finest, which included a dark blue suit jacket, freshly pressed trousers, and beyond-shiny loafers, I stood outside the bedroom doorway of the woman I would soon marry and felt true terror.

What if she wasn’t the One?

I fingered the tie around my neck. This was it. I was about to meet my future bride, a woman who’d either ultimately save or destroy me. With the way my luck was running, my money was on the latter.

“Prince Jean-Michel La Grenouille.” Karl announced my arrival in a shout.

“Who?” asked the crusty-faced butler.

“The Frog Prince,” he began, and then quickly rushed on, “not that he’s a frog. Or ever was a frog. He’s just French. Not a frog!”

I closed my eyelids. Sometimes Karl went overboard in his quest to keep my past a secret. I couldn’t blame him, though. My own father refused to accept my early tadpole-hood, and instead claimed to anyone who’d listen that his son spent the first eight formative years of his life at charming school in France.

“I repeat, he’s not a frog.” Karl bowed low and motioned me into the room. “Never was.”

I strode through the ornate doors of Sleeping Beauty’s bedroom and grimaced. Not at the wasted opulence of the gold-plated ceiling or even the pink shag carpeting thick enough to drown a blind mouse, but at the woman sleeping on the silk sheets of a four-poster bed, the woman wearing enough flannel to make a lesbian jealous. Kinky flaxen curls sprang from her head in all directions, giving her the demented look of a troll after a visit to Fairy-Clips.

This was the One?

Shit.

Elly must’ve read my hesitation because she grabbed my arm and tugged me deeper into the room. “Well hello,” Elly called to the princess, who didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, the princess let out a loud snore. “My lady.” Elly tried again, adding a finger wave. “Yoo-hooo.”

When we reached the edge of the bed the princess shot up and screeched like the Wicked Witch of the East after the fall of the housing market. I jumped back, nearly toppling over Elly, who now lay sprawled on the floor, her wings twisted underneath her.

“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong,” Beauty shouted from her bed. “He did it all wrong.”

I glanced around, unsure. Was Beauty sleepy and a wee bit crazy? The look on her face was a pretty good indication, but I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. It was the princely thing to do.

Helping Elly to her feet, I raised my hand for quiet. Of course, Beauty continued to scream, her pale face growing a splotchy red. The screeching sounded familiar, like that of the four-year-old girl from the pond. That made me less than pleased. I didn’t want to marry this crazy woman.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelped after a particularly loud burst of squealing. Elly shushed me, and when that didn’t work, she smacked me in the head with the sharp edge of her wand. I glared at her, but said no more.

“He did it wrong,” Beauty complained again.

“Hush,” chirped a voice from across the room.

Squinting into the harsh glare of sunlight drifting through the windows, I tried to place the voice. There, in the corner by the bookcase, a cockroach wearing a top hat and a monocle stood, arrogantly twirling an umbrella.

“My God. Jimmy?” Elly said in a whisper. “Is that you?”

“You know that . . . thing?” I asked, nodding to the roach. Elly got around, sure, but a cockroach? Then again, who was I to judge? I was about to marry a cranky lesbian with bad hair. Did they make white flannel wedding gowns?

Elly leered at the roach and then turned to frown at me. “That’s not a thing, but a who. Jimmy Cockroach. Marriage broker to the stars. If he doesn’t find you suitable to marry Beauty . . .” Ever the drama fairy, Elly hesitated for a second before continuing, “We’re screwed.”

“A roach decides my fate?” I gave a bitter laugh.

“You’ve gotta be messing with me.”

Jimmy glared at me as if he’d overheard our heated exchange. Elly bowed low. “My apologies, Jimmy. Jean-Michel’s a bit nervous, as you can imagine. Meeting Princess Beauty has . . . well, been a dream of his for a long time.”

Now Elly got my name right?

“He did it wrong,” Beauty repeated. “Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. I won’t marry him.” She emphasized the “I won’t” for good measure.

“What’s she babbling about?” I asked the roach.

“There are rules, your lordship,” he sneered. “Undeniable rules.” His voice grew higher as he warmed to the topic. “In Beauty’s tale, consistency is key. And you failed to follow the script. There will be no marriage. Not to you.”

With that decree the little bastard jumped from the bookcase and disappeared into a hole in the wall. Beauty stopped whining and settled back against her pillow, a small satisfied smile hovering on her lips. “Have a nice life, loser,” she sneered as she drifted off to sleep. A few seconds later a soft snore escaped her mouth.

“What the hell was that?” I spun to confront Elly.

“Shame on you, Johnny.” Elly fanned her flushed face. The strong scent of gin wafted in the air between us. “Why, you broke the poor girl’s heart. Now she’ll never marry you and you’ll turn back into a toad. Is that what you want? To give the ladies warts? She’s the One, and you’ve ruined everything.”

“A frog, not a toad,” I reminded her. “What the hell happened anyway? What could I have possibly done so wrong? I didn’t say a word to the chit, and yet, she called me a loser? Me? The frogging Frog Prince!”

Elly shook her head, sending her glittery silver hair bouncing in all directions. “It’s not about what you said.”

My brain began to ache. “Then what’s her problem?”

Rolling her bloodshot eyes, Elly smashed her wand against the palm of her hand and glared. “Women want to be wooed. To be appreciated. To be wanted.”

“Is that so?” I took a step toward Elly. “Sage relationship advice from a woman who’s been married eight times. Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

Elly raised her eyebrow as well as her wand.

“Fine.” I released a harsh breath. “I’ll woo the chit.”

“Too late.” The roach reappeared, this time wearing a greatcoat with a ring around a rosy collar. “In Beauty’s fable, her prince arrives and is stunned by her beauty, so much so that he drops to his knees.” He tapped his cane against the floor. “You didn’t. Hence you are not her prince. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have another applicant coming at three.”

“This is ridiculous.” I glared at the roach. “No one said anything about a cockroach, let alone some master script I’m supposed to follow.” I lowered my voice to a dangerous level. “The king gave me his blessing to marry Princess Beauty last night. We will wed in ten days.”

“Good luck with that.” The roach snorted.

“Hey—”

“Good day, sir.” The little bastard spun on his Kenneth Cole heel and headed back toward the hole in the wall.

“Wait!” Elly yelled loud enough to wake the dead. Beauty let out another volley of snores. “Johnny will get it right. Give him another chance.”

Jimmy checked the small watch on his antenna. “Fine. He has two minutes.
Go!
”

Who did this roach think he was dealing with? “I’m not dropping to my knees. Not for you or any man.” I winced. That had sounded much better in my head. “You and your lazy princess can bite me.” I nodded to Elly. “We’re outta here.”

I started to walk away, but inside I was seething. Beauty was the girl child from the pond. I was almost positive of it. She had the same golden hair and the same grape-colored eyes, and she smelled a little like wet dog. How many princesses could there be like that?

I couldn’t just walk away. Not after I finally located my wayward princess. But I’d never bend, literally, to her will. I was the Frog Prince, damn it.

Thwack!

Elly’s wand smashed into the back of my knee, and I dropped to the floor, grabbing at my throbbing limb. Manly tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them away. “What the hell did you do that for?” I yelled at the fairy godmother innocently picking lint from her dress.

“Do what, dear?” She batted her eyelashes.

I glared at her, a litany of curse words charged up my throat. But before I could utter a single one of them, a loud, choked gasp filled the room.

My eyes flew to Beauty, who’d awoken in time to see me fall to my knees. Her lollipop eyes grew as big as stars and just as bright. “You . . . ,” she whispered, her voice tart as if she’d swallowed a lemon.

“I . . . ah . . .”

“But . . . he’s . . . he’s,” she sputtered, her lips curling with disgust, “French.” After making that borderline racist statement, my bride’s eyes rolled back in her head and she fell instantly asleep, a string of drool slipping from her curled lips.

Jimmy Cockroach nodded his head, his thin lips twisting into something that resembled a smile. “To the happy couple!”

“C
ongratulations, sir,” Karl said to me in the rearview mirror, his hands tight on the wheel of the bright orange stretch-limo pumpkin. We’d just left Beauty’s palace, all i’s dotted with little hearts and t’s crossed. It was now official. I would marry Beauty in ten days.

God help me.

“Let’s skip the heigh-hos for now.” I glowered, watching Cin City flash by in a swirl of lights and sounds. Normally I loved the excitement of the fairy strip. You could win or lose everything in a blink of a frog’s eye. But not tonight. Tonight my heart just wasn’t in it. Of course, I still leered at the tanned women standing at every corner.

It was the princely thing to do after all.

The pretty girls waved back, squealing with delight. “Oh my God! It’s him. The Frog Prince,” they screamed with high-pitched giggles. I rolled up my window and shifted deeper into the leather seat. My sigh reverberated around the limo.

“Are you not pleased with your upcoming nuptials?” Karl asked.

I grunted. “Overjoyed.”

“But she’s the One. The One who can save you from your curse.” Karl hesitated. “Is she not?”

“I guess.” I sighed again, loud enough that Karl nearly swerved into a flock of Cinderellas. Ever since she was killed, you couldn’t walk ten feet in Cin City without running into a Cinderella impersonator. And not the young, sexy, pre-run-over-by-a-bus version either.

“Sir,” Karl said after he straightened the wheel. “Sleeping Beauty is the One. I can feel it. Things will work out. You’ll see.”

I had my doubts. But it was too late to worry about them now. After all, in less than ten days, I’d be married to a xenophobic, pajama-wearing whiner who smelled like sugar, spice, and wet dog. What more could a prince want?

Damn, I needed a drink.

 

Two hours and six shots of whiskey later, disguised in a
New Never City Knicks, Knacks, Paddy Whacks
cap and opaque glasses to ward off the most eager of Frog Prince groupies, I plopped down on a bar stool in the center of the casino bar, plunking a dollar into the video porker machine. Three little pigs squealed in delight, spinning on their reels. Pig. Pig. Wolf. Another dollar wasted. Luck had deserted me.

Almost one year ago to the day. I remembered it well. My twenty-ninth birthday. Elly had stood, swaying slightly in front of me, her pudgy lips mouthing words that my brain could not understand, no matter how many times she said them, words like “marriage” and “happily ever after,” and the final, most damning words of them all.

Sleeping Frogging Beauty.

I downed another shot and shook off the memory. Around me, slot machines clanged and shouts of joy and/or despair filled the room. Fairies, witches, and the occasional troll strolled by, eyes glazed with greed, fanny packs stuffed with pilfered food from the buffet and hooker trading cards.

“Waitress,” I said to a chestnut-haired, down-on-her-luck princess in a short shirt. She quickly bounded over to take my order, her eyes sizing me up like Georgie Porgie at recess.

“Hi, handsome,” she said in a husky voice. “I’m Jaz.”

“Jean-Michel.”

“You look really familiar.” She tilted her head, showing off the slender column of her neck. “Are you a prince?”

Hidden behind the black lenses of my sunglasses, I gazed into her hard, greedy eyes and smirked. “Nope.”

“A pity.” She spun on her heel and pranced away, my drink order forgotten. I called after her. “Whiskey. Make it a triple.”

She extended her middle finger in acknowledgment and vanished into a crowd of high rollers.

I wanted to get so drunk that I forgot how to one, two buckle my shoe, let alone remember the next ten days. Thanks to the half a bottle of whiskey I’d consumed already, I was well on my way. My eyes grew fuzzy, my body warm and liquid. The thought of Beauty still made me a bit queasy, but drunk, the prospect of wedding her held more appeal. Not by much, mind you, but a little more than returning to eating flies three meals a day.

“Bastard!” A fist smashed into the side of my face, knocking me from my musing, the sunglasses from my face, and my butt to the floor. Pain radiated into my brain, slowly, absorbed by the tide of alcohol surging through my bloodstream. I blinked away the hurt. Then I turned to glare at my attacker.

“RJ?” I whispered to my former best friend.

He stood over me, his fists clenched, his face red. A lock of black hair fell rakishly over one of his hate-filled eyes. Not a new look for my one-time villainous friend. “Get up,” he ordered through clenched teeth.

I wiped a trail of blood from my split cheek and grinned. “Are you going to punch me again?”

“Of course.”

“No thank you, then.” I crawled to a sitting position, adjusting my cap lower on my face. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

His boot lashed out, catching me under the chin. My head snapped back, sending my baseball hat flying. Tiny princesses circled my vision. I scrunched my eyes shut and quickly opened them. The princesses vanished.

“Get up, you wuss,” RJ repeated with less violence. “People are staring.”

My eyes narrowed. Since when did the infamous villain Rumple Stiltskin (only taller) care what other people thought? After all, he’d made a name for himself beating up hapless princes like myself. “Your new bride has made you soft,” I said, slowly rising to my feet.

“Don’t even think about my wife.” His glower grew darker, and for the first time, real rage entered his expression.

I swallowed hard. “Guess you still hold a grudge?”

“You think?”

“I did you a favor, you know.”

“You slept with my wife,” he yelled.

I poked him in the chest. “I did not!”

“Yeah, you did.” He grabbed my finger and twisted. “In my bed.”

“Oh.” I grinned, pulling away from his death grip. “You mean your former wife, Natasha. Not your current one.”

In truth, I had slept with Natasha, in RJ’s very own bed. To be fair, Natasha was smoking hot. She was also evil, which added a certain appeal. For a few days I even thought she might be the One until she absconded with half my coffer and my cobbler.

Good pie was so hard to find.

“You were my best friend and you betrayed me,” RJ said. “That’s not something I can simply forget.”

“I did you a favor by taking Natasha,” I paused to grin, “off your hands.” RJ hoisted his fist, and I quickly added, “If it wasn’t for me, you’d never have met Asia,” referring to his new bride, RJ’s perfect match in every villainous way.

RJ glared. “Don’t even think about Asia. If you so much as smile at her, I will break your stringy frog legs.”

Hurt whipped through me. RJ knew better than anyone how his threat affected me. Not the fear for my physical well-being. No. I’d had my ass kicked plenty of times by better, bigger villains. But to mention my slightly bowed and green former legs, how dare he? We used to be like brothers, damn it.

Half brothers at least.

Close cousins at best.

Before considering the consequences of my drunken actions, I lunged at him, knocking him back against the video porker machine. He stumbled under my weight, but righted himself quick enough, too quick actually since I was in mid-lunge, flying through the air toward the floor with amazing velocity.

RJ grabbed me just before my nose smashed into the ground. He hefted me up and threw me onto my bar stool, but not before, he tossed two jabs into my kidney. Much-deserved jabs.

After all, I had done his wife. Froggy style.

“I’m sorry about Natasha,” I said once the pain from his kidney punch subsided. “I really was doing you a favor.”

“I know.”

“She was evil.”

“Yeah.” His lips curved into a wicked smile. “It really was her best quality.”

“To Natasha.” I hoisted my half-empty whiskey glass.

RJ snatched my drink from my hand. “May she roast in hell.”

The grin quickly left his face when a woman in red leather grabbed my drink from him and downed it in one gulp. “I’ll drink to that,” she said with a princess-like belch.

RJ shot me a glare that said “Don’t even think about her.” “Hello, pumpkin,” he whispered to his new bride. “I missed you.”

Pumpkin? Oh, how the mighty villain had fallen. I vowed two things. One, I would never, under any circumstance, call any woman “pumpkin” or any other cutesy pet name. It just wasn’t dignified. I was a prince, after all. And second and more importantly, I would never let RJ live this down.

“You have a piece of gum stuck to your forehead.” RJ’s bride, Asia, motioned to my noggin. “And is that a boot print on your chin?”

“Size twelve, baby.” RJ pointed to his combat boot. Asia’s eyes grew hot, and she looked as if she’d rip his clothes off right in the middle of the casino.

I cleared my throat to gain the happy couple’s attention. When that failed to work I tugged on Asia’s dress. “Why yes, yes, it is a boot print.” I glowered at RJ and then turned to Asia to plead my case. “Your husband kicked me when I was down.”

“An accident,” RJ declared with a wink.

“Then he sucker punched me in the kidney.”

“A love tap, really.”

I lifted an eyebrow.

His face flushed red. “You know what I meant.”

“I ask you.” I waited a beat, my grin widening. “Is that any way to treat a member of the family?”

“Family?!” RJ asked, his voice rising two octaves.

“About that,” Asia began.