Taming Theresa

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This book is dedicated to the memory of:

John Paulding, David Williams, and Isaac Van
Wart.

They undoubtedly did as much as any other private
soldiers to help win our

American Revolution.

"The harder the conflict, the greater the triumph."
George Washington

"No,” said John as he leaned back in his
chair, swallowing the last of his beer. “You can bet Doc won't be
hiring a stripper.” He and his two friends occupied their usual
table in the back corner of Paulding's Rest Tavern, the history of
which, dated back to the 1700’s. It was late afternoon, a bit too
early for the Friday night dinner crowd, so the tables were mostly
empty, but the usual regulars were at the bar, their numbers
steadily increasing.

"I don't know about that," said Joe leaning
eagerly towards his two friends. "I'll bet I could talk him into
it."

"I'm telling you, that just isn't Doc. He's
an old married guy," said John, as he looked around for the
waitress. “Elvira wouldn't like it and Doc Sweeney is the kind of
guy would respect that."

"It's a bachelor party,” said Joe. “You gotta
have a stripper. He's the best man; he’s gotta know that. Right? I
mean, come on. Let me talk to him.” He smiled. “Then we just show
up at the party and act pleasantly surprised when the girl dances
in.”

"Nope, there's not gonna be a stripper and
you can take that one to the bank," said John Van Wart. He leaned
back in his chair again, as if daring his companions to challenge
his opinion.

John had a handsome face with warm brown eyes
and dark wavy hair he kept cropped short. At six feet tall with a
strong athletic build, women found him very appealing. Catching the
eye of their waitress, he gave her a sly wink, and pointed to their
empty glasses.

Vince Cangelosi frowned in mild disapproval
as he listened to the discussion of the evening’s entertainment. A
police officer in the small town of Pippen's Grove, Vince was a
straight arrow. He cut in, "No, Doc wouldn’t hire a stripper. His
wife wouldn't like it. I know my wife wouldn't appreciate it
either. I’m not sure I'd feel comfortable myself. Worst of all, I'm
sure it would piss Vicky off."

"Why does Jack want to go and get married
anyway," said John shaking his head. "Another one bites the dust.
Don't get me wrong, Vicky is one hot lady, but I never thought
Jack..."

"Come on, John. Marriage isn't such a
terrible thing,” said Vince. “I oughta know."

"Yeah, I know Vince; you're a happily married
guy and all. No offense, but I'm never getting married, not for a
long time. If I somehow did manage to get snared by some fox, I’m
never having kids. Can you believe it?” He shook his head in
disgust. “Jack says he and Vicky want to have kids right off."

Joe grinned at his friend. "Do I detect some
sour grapes, Bud? Can't remember the last time you even came close
to getting snared by a fox, or any woman for that matter."

"John gave him a dirty look. "No, I'm just
saying, marriage isn't for me, but getting back to the
stripper..."

“Forget the stripper already,” moaned
Vince.

"Tell you one thing," John said, giving the
waitress an appraising look as she ambled toward their table. "If
we do get a stripper, I want her to have really big knockers. A
stripper with little boobs just doesn’t do it for me, know what I
mean?"

"You just like boobs period, no matter what
size," Joe Vandersmoot muttered softly, so the waitress wouldn't
hear.

Vince held his hand over his glass signaling
he’d had enough as the others nodded their assent to another round
and the woman bustled off to the bar with the empties.

As she went, John’s gaze followed her,
completing his appraisal with a look at her firm round
backside.

Vince said. "I still say it's not a good
idea. If Vicky found out, she wouldn’t like it. She's a little
straight-laced."

"But Vince, the bachelor party is for the
groom, not the bride. The bride has no say in it and besides,
she'll never know unless somebody tells her,” Joe reasoned.

“Question is; would the groom appreciate a
stripper?” John asked. “Jack being Jack, I think the answer is
yeah, he would. Bachelor party is the last hurrah for the guy."

“Come on. If Jack needs to see some girl take
her clothes off, then maybe he's not ready to get married. He's
thirty years old, for God’s sake, not some teenager," said Vince,
shaking his head in disgust.

"Will there be an open bar? What about the
food and all that?" asked Joe, who was always first in line at a
buffet.

The waitress gave them a big toothy smile as
she set down two foam-topped glasses.

"Doc is taking care of that. He’s already
talked with Ralph. The party's going to be in there." He aimed a
thumb over his shoulder at the door to the tavern's back room.

As though on cue, the door opened wide and
the tavern's owner, Ralph Spangenberg, stepped out, his beer keg
torso preceding him into the dining room. Grinning broadly, he
turned to hold the door open for a very beautiful girl who emerged
trailing a small-wheeled case, her high heels rat tatting on the
hard wood floor.

Astonished, all three men turned, mouths
open, to stare. Ralph was smiling down at the lovely girl; so petit
her three-inch heels only brought her up to the height of the big
man's chin.

She immediately had their full attention. A
perfect hourglass figure filled the silky material of her tiny red
dress in all the right places revealing smooth round thighs and
shapely legs. Her red heels were strapped around delicate ankles.
Thick wavy chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders spilling into
the low neckline that revealed considerable cleavage. Her large
dark eyes and long lashes accentuated her exotic Mediterranean
complexion. She was drop-dead gorgeous.

Ralph and the girl stood talking outside the
back room door at the end of the bar. "So, do you think it’s large
enough?" asked Ralph.

"I think it's plenty big, Mr. Spangenberg. I
feel between us, we can make it work. Thanks for showing it to
me."

The men closed their mouths and swallowed.
Joe very audibly cleared his throat as he nudged Vince's elbow,
then sipped his beer. "Who’s that, John?" he whispered.

He didn't answer, but John’s eyes locked on
this stunning new arrival, listening to her low sultry voice.
“Damn!” he breathed. “Who’s the lovely little piece in the short
red dress? What a package!” She’s so hot, but very professional
looking. Maybe she’s here for the party. Only one way to find
out.

John took a long pull at his beer, rose, and
slowly sauntered over to the bar. The regulars behind him on their
stools, now numbering nine or ten, turned their heads to watch as
he approached the good-looking girl. Switching on his most charming
smile, John lounged against the bar on one elbow, blocking her path
to the front door.

He nodded to his old friend. "Hey Ralph, how
you doing?” His eyes rested on the pretty girl. “And who’s
this?”

She smiled politely, but didn't speak,
waiting for him to let her pass.

Revelation dawned, helped along by two pints
of ale. It wasn’t hard to figure out that Ralph had just shown this
lovely, hot as a firecracker, lady where the bachelor party was
going to be held tomorrow night.

"So, are you here for the wedding, or for the
party, or...?"

Her smile broadened, flashing very even white
teeth. "Yes! Will you be there too? I'm so excited about it. I'm
really looking forward to it," she answered enthusiastically.

“I’ll just bet you are.” John grinned and
looking over his shoulder at his friends, he gestured toward the
girl and proclaimed, "Hey Joe, you were right after all! Doc is
hiring us a stripper.” As he said this, conversation at the bar
ceased and the Friday afternoon regulars turned as one in his
direction.

The bride's cousin and maid of honor, Theresa
Buonadies, manager of her family's successful Italian restaurants,
had just made the long drive up from New Jersey to assist with the
wedding. A feisty Italian girl with a short fuse, she was in no
mood for insults from this stranger. Only a few weeks before, she'd
dumped her lying, no good, cheating, fiancé and she wasn't feeling
charitable towards men in general.

The silly self-satisfied leer on this guy's
face was enough to light the fuse. There was only the briefest
sizzle before the blast.

Van Wart grinned toward his two friends, and
then turned back to Theresa, as she launched a powerful,
well-aimed, open palm at his unsuspecting cheek. Like the crack of
a fastball connecting with a bat, the slap reverberated around the
room, followed by stunned silence.

The bitch just tore my face off! His hand
clutched his cheek and through the ringing in his ears, John heard
that charming sexy voice rise in pitch, screaming like a dentist’s
drill.

“Stripper? You bastard! How dare you! Who the
hell do you think you're talking to, you son of a..." Theresa
wasn't finished. Punctuating this short speech, a small sharp fist
rocketed into his solar plexus and he grunted, bending double as
all the air left his lungs.

When the little spitfire in the tight red
dress aimed one of her pointy high-heeled shoes straight at his
groin, Vince came to his rescue. Darting across the room, he
snatched her up by the waist, and took two steps back as she
strained toward her target. He held the pretty girl up as her arms
and legs flailed the air and Italian obscenities streamed from her
very beautiful mouth.

"Okay, okay, Miss, that's enough. I think
you've made your point. We don't want to cripple him. Let's all
just settle down, all right?" said Vince, trying hard to keep a
straight face.

The room erupted with laughter as the
bartender and his customers burst into spontaneous applause in
appreciation of Theresa's performance. One of the regulars, gasping
for air, slipped sideways from his stool and spilled his drink,
sending ice cubes skittering across the bar.

Vicky watched the brilliant autumn leaves
rain down; their flaming colors eddied and swirled in the light
breeze to gather with fallen brown ones in drifts over the front
lawn. From her front porch, the autumn palette of the distant hills
was still magnificent. The morning sunlight dazzled the reds,
yellows, and browns of oak and maple intermingled with the bright
greens of spruce, and pine.

"You missed the peak of the season, but
aren’t the mountains beautiful?” Vicky asked, wrapping a sweater
around her, grateful for its warmth in the chill morning air.

Theresa smiled at her cousin. “Oh my god,
it’s so gorgeous up here! I can’t believe Grandma Baxter never told
you about this place.” She was curled up in a large wicker chair,
cradling her steaming mug of coffee in both hands.

They were relaxing together on the wide
wrap-around porch after a late breakfast.

“Well, Nanna did tell me she grew up on a
farm in upstate New York,” said Vicky thoughtfully.

“I guess you and Jack will live here on the
farm? I'll miss you being close. No chance you'll come back to
Jersey?”

"No,” said her cousin, “I really love it here
and I know Jack would never want to leave. We’ll live here in
Nanna's big house and Jack will continue farming and taking care of
the orchards. Hey, we’ve got plans for remodeling the kitchen."

“That would be awesome. The kitchen totally
screams out 1950’s! How old is that fridge anyway? Amazing it still
works.”

Vicky laughed, “That’ll be the first thing to
go.”

“I can’t believe she never told you she still
owned this place. Your mother must have known."

Vicky shrugged. "If Mom knew anything, she
never mentioned it to me. Nanna was apparently so unhappy when she
left here, she never came back and never mentioned it. Her first
husband, Charley, was allowed to stay here if he took care of the
place and sent her a support payment every month. I guess Nanna
wanted to keep her bad marriage a secret. She never told me about
that either. Charley was Jack's uncle, but that's another long,
weird, story. Tell you all about that some time."