The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (34 page)

"Sounds like nepotism to me."

"Made Hera happy," Brad said.

"I'll bet Venus was mad."

"Mad? She was livid. The gods had all chosen
sides in the Trojan War. Venus and her allies were the big losers.
The love goddess had lost a war, suffered a dressing down from
Zeus, and been forced to forfeit her Golden Apple—all thanks to
Paris. And to make matters worse, Paris gave her a nickname that
stuck."

"Sweetness?"

"Cute, Tawny Cat, but wrong."

"I give up."

"Goritch."

"Goritch?"

"Short for gorgeous bitch.

"I like it."

Brad put their boat on autopilot, and pulled
Betty-Jo onto the deck with him. "But Venus didn't. Hatred infested
her soul. She swore she'd settle the score with Paris. No matter
how long it took."

Mr.
Thirty Million and One

"Do you really think I'm as beautiful as
Helen?" Betty-Jo asked.

"Is the most beautiful woman in America
fishing for a compliment?"

Betty-Jo pushed Brad onto the bed, and sat on
him. "Yes," she said.

"You have a great personality."

"Scumbag!" She pretended to throttle him.

"Spare me, Tawny Cat. There are precious few
real wonders in the world, but you, my scrumptious cat, are one of
them.

She relaxed her hold on Brad's neck. "But am
I as beautiful as Helen?" she still wanted to know.

"Helen had a beauty that men would willingly
fight and die for, and you are more beautiful than Helen ever was.
But I do have a compliment for you that I overheard. A Scottish
sounding guy called you a stunningly-beautiful lass with class.
I'll call you that too, if we're ever in Scotland."

She pulled her lover against her, and kissed
him—long, lustful, loving. "I know that you'll fight for me, but
would you die for me?"

"Put your finger in the crow's nest," he
said, and placed the index and second fingers of his right hand,
over the index and second fingers of his left hand to form a square
hole.

"What are you up to?" she asked, not at all
sure she wanted to put her finger in a crow's nest.

"Just do it," he said. She looked at Brad
suspiciously, but did it.

The crow's nest closed, and his thumbnail
jabbed into her finger. She jerked it away, and found, to her
dismay and disbelief, that it was bleeding. "How could you do that
to me?" she yelled. Then she rummaged through her purse for a
Kleenex.

"Not my fault. You should have checked to see
if the crow was home."

"Idiot!" she shouted.

He walked to the utensil drawer, pulled out a
knife, and moved toward her, knife in hand. She backed away. "Come
here," he said.

"Not until you also get me a knife. I want
this to be a fair fight!"

He stopped and cut his finger. "Here," he
said, "you can have mine." He handed it to her, handle first.

She moved toward him, and placed the tip of
the blade against his stomach. "What are you up to?" she asked.

"Something only men do." He held her wrist,
and pressed the cut on his finger against her finger, where it was
still bleeding. "Now we're blood brothers. We have a bond that's
more sacrosanct than a lover's vow. And, as your blood brother, I
swear to you that you'll always be a hill I'd willingly die
for."

"Twin hills worth dying for," she said with a
grin, as her hands acted like a push-up bra for her breasts.

He held her eyes. "More than anything, I want
to be your hero."

I can't believe he said that. "Dead or alive,
idiot or not, you'll always be my hero."

When the Stunningly Beautiful, Lass With
Class, had finished ravishing Brad, she said, "I'm getting fan
mail. One woman wrote me special delivery from Saskatoon to say
that her husband, who hadn't taken her to bed in over a year,
stopped watching my match on Wednesday, carried her upstairs, and
without stopping to take off his shoes..."

"The guy left his shoes on?"

"Left his shoes on."

Brad grinned. "Guy's an animal."

"The woman thanked me profusely, and asked me
to try not to lose too many matches so I'd be on television more
often. Can you imagine, her sex life is in my hands. Maybe I really
am a boon to mankind."

"And apparently to womankind as well. What
you did was awesome. Helen's launch of a thousand ships killed
thousands of Greeks and Trojans, but your launch of a godzillion
sperm will result in the birth of thousands of Americans and
Canadians nine months from now—many thousands will owe you their
lives. Whenever there's a power failure the birth rate surges nine
months later, and believe me, you're far more arousing than a power
failure. Helen of Troy could never have done what you did."

"So you're saying I'm the biggest boon to
mankind ever?" She pushed Brad onto the bed again, and sprawled on
top of him. She wanted more than his voice to caress her.

"We're pleased with ourself, aren't we, Tawny
Enchantress?"

"It's your fault. You've convinced me that
I'm wonderful."

"And soon you will be. All you have to do is
make love with me again."

"A Tawny Enchantress' work is never done,"
she said with a faked weariness. "Come to your Tawny Cat, Mr.
Thirty Million And One."

* * *

The newspapers vilified Reginald Harrison the
next morning. Headlines such as 'Harrison About As Much Fun As An
Itchy Bum', and 'Tea-Bag Attempts To Girdle Bouncer', were
everywhere. Harrison wasn't stupid. When he saw the papers, he knew
he was in trouble. He knew how close he'd come to causing a riot.
There was only one thing to do. He phoned Betty-Jo, apologized for
the timing of his announcement, and told her he would change his
vote, and have the new dress code repealed. Then he called a press
conference, and announced that Betty-Jo was free to continue to
bring glamour and sex appeal to women's tennis.

"No, I'm not privy to what she'll be wearing
in the first round of the U.S. Open, but I'm looking forward to
finding out," Harrison said, in response to a reporter's
question.

"Would you like a sneak preview, Mr.
Harrison?" the reporter asked.

"Of course. Problem is, at my age it might
kill me."

Wedding
Vows and Jockey Shorts

Following the Canadian Open, Betty-Jo and
Brad returned to their cottage at Myrtle Beach. Betty-Jo's mind was
on her wedding. "Let's talk about our wedding vows. What do I
promise you, and..."

"Marriage works best when the wife promises
to get naked, and to stay that way."

She grinned at Brad, before she swatted him.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Any vow that keeps you au natural is fine by
me. I'd be happy as bird dog with a new bird if you'd promise to
get naked, stay naked, and shamelessly make love with me, all day
and all night."

"We'll see. I'd hate to think that, because
of me, you might never be dog-with-a-new-bird happy. But what about
our public vows?"

"I'm comfortable with love, honor, and
obey—obey has a nice ring to it."

"What a surprise. And I suppose that in
return you'd be willing to cherish, to have, and to hold me?"

"That doesn't sound too onerous."

"Especially the part about having me whenever
you want."

"Now that you mention it, those vows do seem
to be slanted in my favor."

"No shit, Sherlock Brad. Why do you think the
church scraped them? Problem is, that now the vows are so watered
down we might as well be promising to quarrel, fight, and separate
whenever we want. Most couples feel hard done by because they've
promised to tolerate their mate until something better comes along.
I want our vows to be about a love that will last forever."

He kissed around her lips. "Then that's what
you'll have."

"You choose the three vows you want from me,"
she said, "and I'll choose the three vows I want from you. Those
will be the vows we'll make before God, family, and friends, and
that we'll always hold sacrosanct between us."

"Let me think. I want you to promise to love
me. That's number one. Honor I can do without—unless, of course,
I'm doing my mandarin thing—but a vow to obey me till death do us
part? That has a certain perverse appeal."

She laughed. "What a surprise. And if I were
smart, I'd never promise to obey you."

"Too bad you're a foolish princess. For my
third vow—Is it too much to hope that one of the vows you want from
me is the one about my being able to have you whenever I want?"

"Wishful thinking, I'm afraid. Although I
can't blame you for trying."

"Then I'm going to have to cover that one
myself. Your third vow will be to give yourself to me."

"My feminist acquaintances might object, but
I give myself to you now, and it makes me feel good."

Brad hugged her. "Makes me feel great."

"So you want me to promise to love you, obey
you, and give myself to you from that day forward, 'for better for
worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness, and in health',
forever."

"That's perfect, but if you want to get in
some practice you can start fulfilling your vows as of now."

"I'll take those vows, and I'll even practice
them starting now, as a show of good faith."

"You're a fine Tawny Cat. Now what do you
want from me?"

"Your vows will be easy. All you have to do
is promise to love me, to cherish me, and to hold me."

"You're right. I'm delighted with those vows.
I don't even have to promise to be faithful to you." He embraced
and kissed her.

"True, but if you love me, as promised, how
likely is it that you'll hop into bed with some bimbo?"

"Why do I have a sneaking suspicion that
you've given considerable thought to the vows you've chosen for me
to take?"

"Probably because I have. I'm pleased with my
choice of vows for you."

"You may not be as pleased with the vows I've
chosen for you. What if I told you that you're my Christmas present
to the guys on my hockey team? Would you sleep with them?"

She kissed him and moved provocatively
against him. "Of course. But before you let your imagination take
too kinky a promenade on the wild side, you might consider your
vows to me. Perhaps you could give me to your teammates for their
amusement, and still say you loved me, but cherish means to hold
dear. Do you think you could use me like that and still say you
were keeping your vow to cherish me?"

"I see what you mean. Which means I'm going
to have to give you to those bad boys before we get married—you can
be an early Thanksgiving treat for them."

"Sneaky. Give me to them while I'm practicing
my vows to you, but before your vows to me kick in. But I'd rather
be an early Thanksgiving treat for you. I'll even give you a sneak
preview of what an early Thanksgiving treat looks like." She raised
her skirt two-thirds of the way up her thigh.

He grinned at her. "You're right. That's much
too fine to waste on a bunch of hockey jocks. I'll give them a puck
instead. But I still have no illusions about how long your vow to
obey me will last. You, obeying me forever, is about as likely as a
Papal renunciation of the Messiah."

She moved her skirt further up her thigh. "I
feel like obeying you right now," she said, as she pulled him onto
the bed to get in some obeying practice....

Later, Brad asked, "Why would you make me
promise to hold you? I do that anyway."

"Haven't you noticed how often I ask you to
hold me? For me, that's important. When you hold me, I feel needed
and loved. Once we're married, you'll have to hold me whenever I
want. Foul up, and the Lord will hex your Lucky Ducky. He'll take
the quack right out of her."

"He might. The Lord may have a humorous side
to him. I suspect He became tired and annoyed during creation. So
He gave different sexual desires to men and women to see what would
happen."

"So you're saying that creation has annoyed
and upset a lot of people, because of God's sense of humor?"

Brad smiled at her. "I think that 'God
created the heavens and the earth, the seas and the sky, the light
and the dark, and the beasts and the fishes'; but by the sixth
day—when He was creating men and women—He decided to have a bit of
fun. With men, He keyed on the physical aspects of sex, and with
women, He made emotional considerations of paramount importance.
Then, on the seventh day, when He was supposed to be resting, He
sat back and laughed, because He knew he'd created some major
problems in the boudoir."

"In our case it's the other way around. I
love you for your bod. I'm surprised that by now you haven't
realized that I'm only using you for sex. The first time I saw you,
I said, 'That boy has a bod that I'm going to get to know better
for strictly selfish reasons'. And I've long suspected that you're
only interested in my soul."

"You do have an intriguing and mischievous
soul. And I'm going to get even closer to it in Troy."

"In Troy?"

"We'll get married right after the U.S. Open.
Then we'll fly to Troy for our honeymoon."

Ecstatic, Betty-Jo pounced on Brad, and then
she bounced on him. "For how long?"

"For as long as you want. We'll make love all
day. We'll make love all night, and we'll explore the ruins in
between."

"Small problem. We won't have time for ruins
if we're making love all day and all night."

"Then the hell with the ruins. Although we
could solve our problem by making love among the ruins."

"Love among the ruins sounds like fun."

"It will be, as long as you're not spending
our honeymoon in a Turkish prison."