The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever

by Jennifer Tate

  "Menelaus, suspecting nothing, asked Helen to entertain Paris while he went off to hunt wild boars. With Menelaus away, Helen and Paris were able to steal across the Aegean Sea to the Trojan city of Troy.

  "Helen and Paris' love story is so romantic."

  "It was more romantic back then, than it would be today. Today—if some prince stole a guy's wife—most men would figure that their best revenge would be to let him keep her."

  She rubbed against him. "Very funny, but as I recall, you weren't about to let Jim Bob O'Hara steal me away from you, and carry me off to Sunset Beach in his Jimmy."

  He laughed. "That's because Jimbo wasn't good enough for you. For you, nothing but the best."

  She smiled and nuzzled him. "You are the best. So what happened to Helen and Paris?"

  "Do you really want to hear about Helen's humiliation?"

  "Why is it that when a woman has an affair, she always has to suffer for it?"

  "Women hardly suffer at all now, but in Helen's day, there was serious suffering."

  "Serious suffering?"

  "When a married woman was caught fooling around, she was stripped naked and tossed into a large burlap bag with a bunch of cats. The bag was tied around her neck, and slowly immersed in water. Of course that riled the cats."

  "That's horrible!"

  "It was. But it discouraged want to be adulteresses from straying too far from the hearth fires."

  "I'll never be unfaithful to you! Especially not now that I know about the cats." She ran her nails across his chest, so he'd understand that he would also have a cat to worry about if he strayed from her hearth fire.

  "Are you sure you'll never be unfaithful to me? After a while, new lovers are more exciting than old husbands."

  "Then I won't marry you after all."

  "Now you've ruined my day—much like Helen ruined Menelaus' day when he returned home, and found he'd been cuckolded."

  "Yuck. What a terrible word. Couldn't you say he'd been betrayed?"

  "I could. But Menelaus had definitely been cuckolded, and everybody knew it. The King of Sparta might as well have been walking around with a yellow sticky-note on his forehead that read: I can't satisfy my wife."

  "We don't know that he couldn't satisfy her."

  "True. But when wives are unfaithful, and their infidelity becomes public knowledge, that's what's assumed."

  She ran her fingertips along the back of Brad's neck. "Now I almost feel sorry for Menelaus."

  "Don't feel too sorry for him yet. I suspect he'll find a way to get even with Helen. For starters, he declared that all Greeks had been shamed by Paris, and he called on Helen's suitors to fulfill their oath to punish the rascal."

  "So the Greeks launched their ships."

  Brad picked up a brush, and began to brush his Tawny Cat's hair. "They set sail for the city of Troy in a thousand ships, give or take a few. Ten years later, the Trojan War ended when the Greeks used the old Trojan horse trick, only then it was a new Trojan horse trick, because it hadn't been used before."

  "That's where the Greeks pretended to give up. But when they sailed away, they left a giant horse as a parting gift."

  "Right, a giant hollow horse, full of Greek soldiers. When the overconfident Trojans hauled the horse into their city, it was game over. In the middle of the night, the Greeks left the horse through a secret door and opened the city gates for their waiting comrades."

  "Who was it who said 'I fear the Greeks, even when they bring gifts'?"

  Brad stopped brushing, and began to unbutton her blouse. "Who knows, but the fear of Greeks bearing gifts probably started with the horse."

  "So what happened?"

  "The Trojans had spent the night celebrating their victory. They were in no condition to stand, let alone fight. Paris was one of the few Trojan heroes that night, but he was hopelessly outnumbered. When the battle was clearly lost, he fought his way to Helen—he had to hold her one last time. But just as he reached out and touched her, they were torn apart."

  Brad moved his hand and touched Betty-Jo's cheek. Instantly, her body was ablaze. It was as if, somehow, Paris' caress had traversed the corridors of time, and found her....

  "Will you take me to Troy on our honeymoon. I'd like to be with you where Helen and Paris were lovers. I feel that, somehow, we're connected to them."

  "If it's Troy you want, it's Troy you shall have. And if Troy's no fun, we'll sail the Aegean. The waves will be crashing against the bow of our sailing yacht, and the wind will be in your hair. I'll have one hand on the wheel, and the other around you."

  She stood up. "Why don't you practice holding me with one hand now."

  "Good idea. I'll put on Sounds of the Sea, turn the air-conditioner fan to high, and set our yacht on a starboard tack."

  Before long, Brad had the hang of handling his Tawny Cat with only one hand, as they swayed from side to side in a rolling swell.

  His hand browsed. "You learn quickly," she said.

  "We'll make for Rhodes—see if we can find the Colossus."

  "What if we can't?"

  "Then north to Greece. We'll climb Mount Olympus, and chat with the gods."

  She hugged her favorite lover. "Tell me what happened to Helen."

  "What happened to Helen wasn't pretty."

  "Not the cats!"

  "No cats," Brad said, "but in front of his troops, and before the gods, Menelaus put Helen over his knee, pulled up her shift, and..."

  "He didn't!"

  "It gets interesting, and it gets worse. Helen had a beauty spot on her inner thigh in the same place as yours, and like you, she didn't wear panties."

  "Hold me," Betty-Jo demanded.

  "Following her public humiliation, Helen was taken back to Sparta, where she languished away, pining for Paris."

  "Didn't Paris want her back?"

  "Of course he wanted her back. He loved her more than ever, and he demanded that Venus get her back for him—but Venus refused. She said she'd fulfilled her part of the bargain, and anyway, getting Helen back would be a waste of time, because Paris would just go and lose her again.

  "So what did Paris do?" Betty-Jo wanted to know.

  "Paris was desperate. He went to Zeus, and told him that the beauty contest had been rigged."

  "What? Paris ratted?"

  "Zeus was furious. He brought Venus before him, and publicly chastised her. Then, to add to her disgrace, he gave her Golden Apple to his wife, Hera, the beauty contest runner-up."

  "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."

  -53-

  BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN

  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.

&n
bsp; "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."

  -54-

  BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN

  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 l
ikely 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."