The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (43 page)

She hiked up her skirt and pulled down her
panties—the way he used to. Then she reached for the tote bag on
the seat beside her, removed her designer chastity belt, and locked
it in place with the key that he had worn around his neck. Her
tears welled up, and then spilled down her cheeks as she strode
into the surf.

She stopped when she felt the waves lap
against her thighs. She longed to keep going, but couldn't. I must
deny Venus her ultimate victory. Brad can't have died for
nothing.

"I belong only to you, Bad Brad," she
whispered. "Very few loves last a lifetime—only ours is for always.
It started with Helen and Paris, and then transcended time to bond
us together forever." It is true, she thought, 'love
is
stronger than death'. Then she flung the key to her chastity belt,
and watched as it arced above the waves, before it splashed into
the sea.

When she could see well enough to drive, she
hooked her choker around her neck, and headed north on 17. Her
dance with Brad was over. But despite the unendurable grief of the
previous five days, she realized that she would be forever grateful
for the memories of her time with him. For her, their love had not
ended—nor would it ever end. The love that she shared with Brad,
was a love for eternity. And eternity has no end.

EPILOGUE

Betty-Jo and Brad had quietly married in New
York, the day before Betty-Jo's last U. S. Open match and Brad's
death. The small, but lovely, ceremony was attended by friends and
family: the Sheik, Belinda, the Fox, Eddie, and Brad's parents.

Brad had changed her vow to 'obey him', to
'dance with him'.

"They'll soon be calling me Dances With
Fools," said a relieved Betty-Jo.

"I knew all along that 'obey' was a
non-starter," Brad had told her, "but it was fun having a
semi-obedient, vow-practicing cat, even if only for a couple of
weeks."

Initially, sorrow was mixed with joy, because
before the ceremony, Eddie took her aside and gave her the gold,
heart-shaped locket that Victor had worn after Dixie Lee's death.
She opened it, and looked at the picture of her father, herself,
and Ben-Gal. He was the finest daddy a girl could ever have wished
for, she thought.

"When dad was dying, he asked me to give you
his locket," Eddie said. "He told me to tell you to wear it when
you walked down the isle on your wedding day, and that he would be
there with you. His exact words were: 'Tell Tiger, that I will be
there for my girl, just like always.'"

She closed the locket, hung it around her
neck, and felt the tranquility of her daddy's love within her.

As she walked slowly down the isle with her
father's love, the lyrics to Here Comes The Bride played in her
head and its melody wafted around her:

Here comes the bride,

Heart filled with pride.

Radiant and glorious,

She shines in his sight.

Faithful and true,

We lead you forth.

Where love triumphant,

Shall crown you with joy!

As her daddy led her forth, her tears
flowed.

At the front of the chapel, before the altar,
Brad wiped away her tears and said, "Never has a crying bride
looked so beautiful." And indeed, she was radiant and glorious. She
lit up the chapel.

"And never has a crying bride been so happy,"
she said, before she kissed him.

"I thought we weren't allowed to do kissing
until we were given permission."

"We're not. But I couldn't wait. Don't tell
anyone."

"Too late, Tawny Cat, everyone already
knows."

That evening, the newly wed couple slept
together as husband and wife—for the first time, and for the last
time.

* * *

A number of first rate lawyers wanted to
represent Felicity—gratis. But that was before she listened to the
voice-mail message from her son, changed her plea to guilty, and
insisted on the death penalty.

"Hello, Felicity. This is Brad Raiden," the
voice-mail said. "I apologize for calling you out of the blue, but
I just found out that I'm your son. You're my birth mother. I'm
here in New York with my wife...wife... That sounds strange because
it's the first time I've called Betty-Jo that. Her name is Betty-Jo
Chance-Raiden. She's playing this afternoon in the U.S. Open tennis
round of sixteen. Monologues with an answering machine are weird.
Uh, I just can't believe that I've found my birth mother. Having
one mother is great, so having two will be fabulous. I can't
believe my life now—how all the pieces have come together. I can't
believe how happy I am. I'm staying at The Sheraton, room 612, but
I'll call you again tomorrow—sixish. I'm ecstatic that I've found
you at last, Felicity.... I mean mom."

* * *

After Draper Greely turfed out Felicity he
placed an add in the personal section of The Village Voice.

Me Tarzan, You Jane!

Sir Stephen type, looking for 'O' type.

Please reply with photo and particulars.

2043

Greely thought he'd died and gone to personal
add heaven. He'd hit the mother load. Who would have guessed that
so many 'O' types were looking for a Sir Stephen. He must have had
thirty of them jerking his chain over a period of six months, and
his pile of responses was hardly diminished.

Then, on a miserable February '96 morning,
Greely woke up feeling rotten, but he couldn't stay away from work.
He showered, grabbed some breakfast, brushed his teeth, and popped
a multi, and his last two C tablets. I'm gonna need my stamina to
keep the bitches happy, he thought as he carried out his
garbage.

Half a block from the subway he collapsed,
and a few minutes later he died, gasping for breath, and pink faced
from the oxygen build-up in his blood.

The autopsy revealed that Greely had been
murdered. Although if he had taken his cyanide filled C tablet on
an empty stomach the cyanide would probably have gone undetected.
But who had murdered him was an entirely different matter, because
there was no shortage of suspects. Following a short investigation,
Greely's file was shifted to the open but inactive section.

* * *

Betty-Jo stopped playing professional tennis
and went back to college at Coastal Carolina. She still loved the
game, but she'd realized that she could no longer give her fans
what they had come to expect from her. Without Brad, she no longer
felt sexy and beautiful.

Strange, I assumed that the thrill of
preening on a worldwide stage had nothing to do with Brad. Then,
when he died, it was obvious that strutting my stuff for other men
had everything to do with him. Freud was right, 'how bold one gets
when one is sure of being loved'.

* * *

Betty-Jo looked at the line of male students
that stretched from the front of the Student Center, around Spadoni
Park Circle, and up Chanticleer Drive East.

"Why did I ever agree to do this?" she
groaned. "What's wrong with me?"

"Do you have an hour?" the Fox asked.

"Funny," she replied.

"Stop your complaining, B-J. If they'd pay me
five bucks for a hug and an autograph, I'd happily hug those guys
for the rest of the week. Might even lead to something more.
Anyway, it's for a good cause, the athletic department can use the
money."

"Where have they all come from? I was told
that a few of them camped out all night."

"The organizers of this frosh-week
fund-raiser are stupid. They could have charged twice as much, and
the line would have been twice as long."

"At least this time, there's no Frenching,"
Betty-Jo said. Then she wondered if she knew anyone in the line,
and took a closer look. There, five guys back, was the Dung
Beetle—his cold black eyes were leering at her. Her heart skipped a
beat as fear and loathing engulfed her. When Dungie had slammed
into Martin Obourn at the U.S. Open, he'd killed Brad as surly as
if he'd pulled the trigger himself. Unfortunately, the cops
couldn't charge him, because on the video replays it appeared that
Richard was simply fleeing the gunplay. I have to hug Brad's
killer. Please God, no!

Betty-Jo stalled as best she could. The first
four guys in the line got a lengthy hug, and then some. But all too
soon, Dungie's ugly puss was in her face. I'm gonna be sick, she
thought. I'm outta here! But she made her move too late. As she
turned to flee he grabbed her hair, twisted her around, and forced
his tongue into her mouth. His rancid breath nauseated her, and he
wouldn't let her go.

"Hey, buddy. Leave some for the rest of us,"
the next-in-line guy said.

"Your ass is mine, Stud Plaything. You've
been given the secret kiss, so now I get to do you."

She breathed a sigh of relief, and then timed
her swing perfectly. Behind it was all the force she could
generate.

The crack of her hand hitting Dungie's kisser
could be heard half way down the line. He reeled away, a look of
pain and disbelief etched on his face.

"That can't be good for business," the Fox
said.

"Maybe next year, Bouncer," the next-in-line
guy said.

Richard kept retreating. "Your word is
worthless!" he shouted.

"What's that all about?" the Fox asked.

"Somehow, Dungie learned the secret kiss I
had with Brad, and somehow, he also found out that I swore to sleep
with anyone who knows it."

"I always suspected you were deranged. So why
aren't you sleeping with him?"

"Luck. Brad changed our secret kiss the day
before he died, and obviously, Dungie doesn't know the new
one."

"You're not lucky, you're cuckoo." The Fox
grinned at her, turned, and walked away.

* * *

Somehow, Richard appeared to have enrolled at
Coastal Carolina for another year. Nobody knew how, because, as the
Fox put it, "Dungie's not the smartest pig in the pen."

A few days after the kissing incident,
Betty-Jo enlisted the Fox's help in her plan to shorten Dungie's
thing. She wasn't prepared to detail her master plan to the Fox,
but the Fox agreed to help anyway when she was told that it was
Dungie who had tackled Martin Obourn at the U.S. Open, and that it
was Dungie who had killed PussCat. "I hate him more than a fire
hydrant hates dogs," Betty-Jo told her.

The Fox laughed. "This sounds like the good
old days, when we planted that tack on old man Ducksworthy's
chair."

"Right. We're majoring in advanced
retaliation."

"But I'm not doing this for Brad. He wouldn't
sleep with me."

"You tried to sleep with Brad?" She could not
believe what the Fox was telling her.

"Of course. He was by far the best of the
guys you attracted."

"I don't believe you! I thought you were my
friend!"

"I'm not just your friend. I'm your best
friend! I didn't try to sleep with him on your days, and you didn't
appear to be feeling at all guilty about using him for your sinful
purposes on mine."

"I thought you were kidding about sharing
him."

"So did I. Or at least I did until I
discovered how fine he was—and such a handsome devil. I just knew
that with Brad I'd be able to make it."

"Make it?"

"I've never come with a man. Maybe that's why
I've gone through so many."

"So you wanted to practice your coming on my
Brad?"

"Only on my days. With Brad I knew that it
would have been different."

"I'm sure it would have been," Betty-Jo said,
"because—just between us girls—Brad was even better in bed than he
looked."

"B-J! That's more than I wanted to know, but
I'm not going to lose sleep over it. With your fame, you'll
continue to pull in plenty of men for me to try to come with."

Darn, I'm starting to feel sorry for her.
Betty-Jo gave her foxy friend a hug. "Why don't you take a run at
my friend Jimbo?"

"Jimbo!"

"Well, Brad said he's not a half bad guy, and
don't forget, Jimbo owes you for saving his life when you jumped on
Brad's back."

"That's right, he does!"

"And you can also have any other guys who
come my way, because Brad will always be the only man in my heart
and on my mind. He walked into my life, and left his footprints on
my sole. He's my escape from loneliness."

"You should be thinking less about escaping
loneliness, and more about escaping abstinence—which won't happen
unless you go diving for the key to your chastity belt."

"You don't understand. I was Brad's kite, and
he made me soar. Have you ever seen a kite dancing across the sky,
and then watched it fall lifelessly to earth when its string was
cut?"

"That bad?"

"Worse. Brad touched me where I'd never been
touched before."

The Fox threw her an amused smirk. "That
would be the Pawleys Island bird sanctuary?"

"Funny, but you could at least try to
understand. He imprisoned my heart, and then lost the key. In the
certainty of his love, I had the courage to live more, to love
more..."

"And to show more."

"You mangy fox! But you're right. More than I
ever thought possible. He made me so happy. It's true, 'the supreme
happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved.'

"I'm rather fond of myself. Does that count?"
The Fox asked.

Betty-Jo laughed at her. "Brad made me his
fairytale princess. He was my sunshine. He was my hero. I miss his
touch terribly,
but I still feel his
love—every day
."

"I don't understand something. Now that
you're wealthy, and can have all the men you could possibly want,
why would you bother going after a cretin like Dungie?"

"That's what I keep asking myself. But I know
the answer. When I didn't tell Brad that it was Dungie who killed
PussCat, I promised myself that I would even the score for
him."