The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (32 page)

To make matters worse, it seemed to Felicity
that every broker in the office had taken a run at her over the
previous six months—and in fact they had. Fifteen of the young
bucks had pooled $100 each; the first guy to do tight-assed Ready
would pocket the $1,500. For those who were participating in the
'Wench and Tell Invitational', it was just one more sporting
event.

The front runner in the 'Invitational' was
Draper Greeley. He had already begun work on bedding Felicity. The
'Wench and Tell Invitational'—which he had proposed—only made the
challenge more interesting.

After Felicity landed her job on Wall Street,
she had tried to hide her radical gender-feminist beliefs—without
success. When men hit on her, sued her, and oppressed her, she
found it impossible to disguise her disdain for them.

Thank heavens for Draper, she thought. He's
the one man in the office who sympathizes with my plight, and with
the plight of women in general.

Adding to Felicity's difficulties, was a nut
case she had attracted. He sent her obscene letters, and phoned her
with graphic descriptions of what he would like to do with her. She
never suspected that the nut case was Draper using a voice
synthesizer. When she told the cops about the nut, they ignored
her. Although one cop, a chubby Lieutenant Harper, offered to
protect her for payment in kind. Safety for sex was the way he put
it.

"If you spent less time molesting donuts,
you'd have more time to find the guy who's harassing me," Felicity
angrily informed him.

It was following the cops' refusal to help
her, that Draper came to her rescue. He started to drive her to and
from work. One Friday, when he dropped her off at her Jackson
Heights apartment, she invited him in for a drink. Over beer and
pâté she discovered that they were birds of a feather. She felt
uplifted.

He reads the books I read, and he feels the
same way I feel about women's issues.

In fact, Draper Greeley had only skimmed the
books that were written by gender-feminists like Susan Faludi,
Andrea Dworkin, and Catharine MacKinnon. He then parroted their
beliefs back to Felicity.

One evening, Draper told her he loved
her—that she drove him wild. "All I think about is you," he said.
Then he left.

She thought about Draper while she brought
herself to two climaxes in quick succession, but they did not
provide their usual satisfactory release. Why did I let him leave?
she asked herself.

The next morning, she had a diaphragm fitted,
and that afternoon, shortly after two, she called Draper. "Listen,
I know it's short notice, but you've been on my mind all day. Would
you perhaps be free for dinner."

"Dinner sounds great, he said."

She spent the rest of the day fantasizing
about her new man. By seven, she was in no mood to be coy. Whatever
Draper wanted, Draper would get. She was in love, and happier than
she had ever been.

When Draper arrived at seven-thirty, Felicity
was still dressing. She put his flowers in a vase, and gave him a
Bud. "I can never get these seams straight," she said. "Would you
mind giving me a hand?" She hoisted up her skirt, and rolled up a
black stocking, while Draper straightened the seam. As she had
hoped, when he got to the top, he let his fingers do the
talking.

A
Proposal—Raiden Style

"Stop! Please don't turn that thing on,"
Betty-Jo pleaded. "I repent! I repent! Tell me what to do to make
it up to you. I'll do anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Yes. Anything!"

"Marry me."

She could not believe what she was
hearing.

Does he mean it, or is he just fooling
around? "I thought you were supposed to ask me on bended knee?"

"The traditional bended knee is my backup.
But it occurred to me that I'd be less persuasive on my knees.
Asking you when you're tied up and vulnerable significantly
increases my chances of a positive response. Say yes, and we live
happily ever after. Say no, and I turn on the juice." He was
grinning at her....

From their first kiss, she knew that she was
born to share her life with Brad—born to be with him always. But
that did nothing to allay the waves of happiness that swept over
her. Nor could she help but laugh at her predicament. Say yes, and
I'm Ms Bradley Creighton Chance-Raiden. Say no, and it's pussy
fricassee for me.

"I thought I had to have a backward alphabet
proficiency before you'd marry me."

"You were supposed to, and if I were
immortal, I'd have waited patiently until you acquired one. But we
mortals have to take our princesses as we find them, or risk
osteoporosis before the desired improvements are implemented."

She smiled to herself. She'd learned the
alphabet backward the day Brad told her that it was a prerequisite
for matrimony, but she wasn't about to admit to that now that he'd
proposed. "You know that all I want is to marry you. I just wish
that we could get married today. You've made me happier than a
hound dog with a new bone."

"Damn," Brad said after he kissed her. "That
will bring an abrupt halt to what was shaping up to be a fine
barbecue." With seeming reluctance he untied her, and removed the
pennies. "The barbecue's off, but perhaps it's just as well. Sex
and electricity can be a deadly combination! Would you like to see
my backup proposal, in case you said no to my initial attempt."

"You knew that I'd happily marry you, no
mater how you proposed."

Brad went down on bended knee, and smiled up
at his Tawny Cat. "Please marry me, love of my life," he said..

"You had me at marry. You are the only man I
would ever marry."

"And you are the only woman I would ever ask
to marry me." Brad went to the closet, and came back with twelve of
the longest long-stemmed red roses she had ever seen. Each rose
even had its own little vile of refreshment attached to its stem.
"I felt badly about the length of the first rose I bought you, and
just because you're no longer a virgin, it hardly seems fair that
you should never again be given roses."

"I want you inside me. Now!" she said.

Brad pressed the play button on the portable
Sony CD player. Here Comes The Bride welled up from it. As the
tears of joy rolled down Betty-Jo's face, he entered her.

Later, as thy snuggled together, he said,
"You've made me the happiest man on the planet—ever. Even happier
than Paris when he sailed off to Troy with Helen." Betty- Jo closed
her eyes for a moment, and allowed his words to caress her. Then he
said, "I knew from our first kiss, that you were my swan."

"Your swan?"

"Swans mate for life."

Tears of joy filled Betty-Jo's eyes once
more. It was all too much. She would be Brad's swan—forever.

"Happy engagement, Ms Chance-Raiden," he
said.

"Ms Chance-Raiden, she repeated, trying her
new name out loud for the first time. And then she said, as she
tried in vain to wipe away her tears, "I'll love you for always,
but what happens if the male swan is shot by a hunter?"

"I don't know. Maybe the lady swan flies
around in a circle until she dies of a broken heart."

"I know I'd die of a broken heart if anybody
shot you."

"That's something you don't have to worry
about. Remember, I'm faster than a speeding bullet."

She pulled her new fiancé against her. "How
could I ever live without you?"

"Don't smoke, and go easy on the salt."

That made her smile. "You know what I
meant."

"I have a keepsake for my swan." He pulled
out a small, expensive-looking box.

"Oh Brad, I bet it's a ring." She gave him
her happiest smile, and bounced up and down on her toes. "But how
could you be sure I'd say yes?"

"I wasn't certain until I tested the
transformer on a squirrel that I caught in my dad's squirrel trap
yesterday. He'd been running around my parent's attic for months,
but the Squirrel Peanut Butter I used as bait, was too much for
him. Those critters can't resist the stuff. It gets them every
time. Believe me, when you agreed to marry me you made the right
decision. That squirrel hated the transformer."

"I know you wouldn't zap a poor, defenseless
squirrel."

They grinned at each other. "Hockey players
are mean and tough—torturing squirrels is what we do for amusement
in our spare time."

"It's good that you're tough, because a tough
guy like you won't be afraid to ask my father for my hand."

"Only your hand?"

She was smiling when she said, "You've
already taken the rest."

Then she opened the box he had given her.
Inside was the most exquisite ring she had ever seen. The center
diamond was set off with emeralds, the color of her eyes. The card
read, Like this diamond, my love for you is forever.

Everyone, at least once in her life, is
entitled to thirty seconds of total elation. She pulled Brad to
her, and treasured her moments. She was dizzy with desire, swimming
with the swans, laughing with her lover, racing rabbits 'cross the
lawns. She was even winning her races with the rabbits—that's how
wonderful it all was.

Sadly, it was all too wonderful to last,
because Venus had just finished composing a swan song of her own
for Betty-Jo.

Every
Male's Fondest Fantasy

Betty-Jo's fans erupted when she walked onto
the court for her semi-final, Canadian Open match. They applauded,
stomped their feet, and cheered. She waved, bounced, and then
twirled to show off her panties. The men were beside themselves,
unable to get enough of her. Reginald Harrison should have foreseen
what would happen when he tried to cover her.

Betty-Jo was wearing a black silk bra under
her sheer, form-hugging, Lycra top. Somehow, the bra addition made
her look even more beguiling. She was playing crowd-pleasing,
fifth-ranked Mary-Jo Hernandez, in a match that had been heralded
as the Battle of the Jos, and Betty-Jo was playing well. A few
close calls cost her the first set tiebreaker. Then, as the second
game of the second set was about to begin, the match was halted. An
official walked onto the court, and told her she would have to
change into appropriate tennis attire.

"On whose authority?" she asked.

"The executive director of the WTA Tour."

"Harrison—that old tea-bag. Why wasn't I
informed of this before the match?"

"There was a fu...a foul-up."

"May I finish the match?"

"I'm sorry. It's gone way over my head."

Betty-Jo bit at her lower lip, and smoothed
her hair while she considered her options. Then she walked over to
Rick Turpin, the chair umpire, and picked up his microphone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I regret to inform you
that—on the authority of Reginald Harrison, executive director of
the WTA Tour—I must change into tennis attire that he deems to be
more appropriate, or default this match. If Harrison had his way,
he'd have American and Canadian women out of their garter belts,
and back into girdles. But you're here to see a tennis match, and I
intend to give you one, so I'll comply with Mr. Harrison's
ultimatum. Thank you for your patience while I change."

Who could have imagined that a tennis crowd
would turn so hostile so quickly? Fortunately, the networks had cut
to a commercial with the stoppage in play, because in all
likelihood, that was all that prevented a mob scene across Canada
and America. But at the Canadian National Tennis Centre, a
low-pitched threatening boo rose from the spectators. Soon they
were standing, and yelling in protest.

Turpin may have prevented a riot. "Ladies and
gentlemen, please remain seated," he pleaded. "This match is about
to resume. As long as I'm the chair umpire, no breaks for clothing
changes will be allowed. Chance to serve, Hernandez leads one love,
second set." Turpin covered his mike, leaned over to Betty-Jo and
whispered, "B-J, for the love of God, get this game started!"

Betty-Jo promptly double faulted, and by the
time she regained her composure, she'd been broken, and was down
two games to love. Soon she was down five love, and dragging her
butt around the court like an abused puppy—then it started to
rain.

During the short rain delay, Brad tried to
humor her. "Tawny Cat, I know dead people who move better than you
are."

"Name one!"

"I know you've been dissed, you know you've
been dissed, but you can't let it get to you. Victor is watching
you on abc—show him how tough his Tiger is."

That upset her. "I've called daddy every day
since I've been in Toronto, but with all the excitement today, I
forgot."

"Make it up to him by playing tough, and
remember what Sue-Ann taught you. It's not the bad calls that do
you in, it's the way you handle them."

"She's right. I'm not handling them well—am
I?"

He kissed her cheek. "Give me a hug, put some
bounce in your step, wave to this crowd that adores you, and then
give this match your best shot. We'll have plenty of time to feel
sorry for you later. I'm here, I love you, and I won't let anything
nasty happen to you. Now use those great instincts of yours to hit
your way back into this set."

How does he know when to support me, and when
to push me? How does he know me so well? She pulled Brad against
her and kissed him, hard. "I love only you, Bad Brad," she
said.

When she returned to the court, she waved to
her crowd and gave a few bounces. They yelled and cheered. Somebody
started a wave, which quickly became rampant, and then refused to
quit. She fought her way back into the set, but still lost the
second set, six-four. When she left the stadium, her crowd stood
and applauded. She smiled, twirled, and blew them a kiss. An
unknowing observer would never have guessed that she had lost the
match.