The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever

by Jennifer Tate

  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.

  -50-

  BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN

  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.

  -51-

  BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN

  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 Turp
in, 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.

  Later, alone with Brad in their room at the Prince, she began to relax. "I shouldn't have made that announcement. Did you see how angry that crowd became. I thought they were going to lynch someone."

  "You've become every male's fondest fantasy. We'd be well advised to remember that."

  She smiled, showed him her beauty spot with the heart shaped tattoo, and said, "Please Do Me, Mr. Chance-Raiden."

  He was quick to comply. "'When [her tennis] day is done, [a Tawny Cat] just wants to have fun,'" he said.

  -52-

  BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN

  Helen of Troy and a Tawny Enchantress

  Brad held Betty-Jo, savoring her taste and her aroma. Then he delighted in her soft springiness. "It will please you to know that you were a boon to all mankind tonight."

  "What do you mean?"

  "How can I be delicate? If it were possible to get an accurate count, it would probably be discovered that you made more men arrive in one evening than any woman in history."

  She thought for a moment. "Promise you won't laugh."

  He laughed. "Sorry, I know you too well. I'm laughing already. You're wondering how many men arrived tonight because of you." She hid her face against his shoulder, and punched at his ribs. "Let's see, world-wide, I would guess 100 million men watched you, and thirty percent of them would have been turned on enough to indulge themselves in some fashion. So you're the tawny reason why some thirty million males did their thing tonight. Replays of your match will add to that number. You'll probably go down in history with a more enduring reputation as a femme fatal than Helen of Troy."

  "What do you mean?" She was suddenly very attentive.

  "You could be revered through the ages as a woman with a timeless allure for men—much like Helen—renowned for your incomparable beauty, grace, and sex appeal. What would you prefer to be renowned as: a tawny enchantress, vamp, or siren."

  "...I think I'd like to be a tawny enchantress."

  He grinned. "I suspected you might, but tawny siren also has an appealing ring to it. I don't think there are too many sirens left."

  "Wasn't it the sirens who were always luring sailors to their doom."

  "If a siren is what you want to be, I don't think we'll have too much trouble finding a few sailors for you to doom. Perhaps you could even be the first serial siren. But back to Helen. She was a myth of the ancient Greeks, although who's to say that her myth wasn't based on reality. What do you know about her?"

  "Only that her face launched a thousand ships."

  "Helen of Troy was insignificant compared to the Tawny Enchantress who launched a godzillion sperm."

  "How many is a godzillion?"

  "More than God himself can count."

  "But how many is that?"

  "Okay, you insatiably curious cat, I'll tell you." He grabbed a pen, and a piece of paper. "The average guy liberates some 300 million of those miniature tadpole-shaped critters when he does his thing. We estimate that thirty million males did their thing tonight because of you. So that makes you the Tawny Enchantress who launched 300 million sperm, times thirty million men, or—9,000 trillion sperm."

  "Would that be more or less than nine quadrillion of the little trouble makers?"

  "Whichever, Ms Smarty-pants. When you think about it, that puts Helen to shame with her launch of a mere thousand ships."

  "I don't know. Somehow launching ships seems more substantial than launching tadpole look-a-likes, not to mention more glamorous."

  "Look at it this way—do you think the sailors had any fun launching the thousand ships?"

  "Probably not. And now you're going to tell me that lots of guys had lots of fun launching the godzillion sperm."

  He gave her a hungry kiss. "It's a hell of a lot of fun watching you—even when nothing's being launched."

  She kissed him hungrily back. "Do you know what Helen did to launch the thousand ships?

  "One thing I know for sure is that she didn't play tennis."

  "Seriously."

  "She didn't do much. As far as I know, she had none of your talent. But just as you are the most beautiful woman in America, Helen was the most beautiful woman in ancient Greece."

  She nuzzled Brad, and snuggled closer to him, soaking up the glitter in his praise. Then she floated on a Brad-made cloud, unable to believe that anyone would place her in the company of Helen of Troy.

  "Every prince in Greece wanted Helen. At that time, patriarchies were serious business, so when the time came for Helen to marry, it was her father who decided who would have her.

  Betty-Jo scowled at him. "Why am I not surprised?"

  "Tawny, that was one of history's patriarchies. So why are you scowling at your favorite fiancé when it's not his fault?"

  "I shouldn't be, she said, Before she gave him a slurpy kiss.

  "Helen's father—a clever fellow—made all of the princes, who wanted Helen, swear an oath to punish anyone who tried to steal her from the husband he chose for her. Then
he chose Menelaus, the wealthiest of her suitors and the son of the Spartan king."

  "Sounds like Helen was set for life."

  "She was, except for one small detail. Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love—who, by the way, changed her name to Venus when the Romans came along—had promised the most beautiful woman in Greece to Paris, the son of the Trojan king. Paris had judged Venus to be the fairest of all the goddesses, and presented her with a golden apple bearing the inscription 'For the Fairest'. Helen was Paris's reward for his unbiased opinion."

  "Venus rigged the beauty contest?"

  "Of course. For Venus, losing a beauty contest was unthinkable. She was willing to do whatever it took to win, and what she thought it would take was Helen. Unfortunately, Helen was married to Menelaus."

  "Oh, oh. I just hope that Venus has stopped causing trouble now."

  "Venus has reformed. But back then she was a serious troublemaker, undeterred by a minor detail like Helen's marital status. She arranged for Paris to go to Sparta to meet Helen, and then she employed all of her wiles to make Helen fall madly in love with him. In fact, Helen was in love with Paris from the moment she saw him. It was his dimples, and his captivating grin that did her in. Now wait 'til you hear what Paris did to seduce the beguiling Helen, even though she was already his."

  "Tell me."

  "At first, with his heart hammering in his chest, he just gazed at Helen, such was her beauty. But then, at dinner, he became more daring. He picked up Helen's goblet and sipped wine from the side that her lips had touched."

  "Oh, Brad."

  "Then, on the table in front of Helen, he traced the words 'I LOVE YOU'.

  Betty-Jo sighed. "That is as wonderful a love story as Romeo and Juliet."

  "Every love story is wonderful in its own way—but our love story is my favorite. It's the best love story ever."

  "It is," she said, as she snuggled against her lover, and placed his hand on her breast.