The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (29 page)

"To hell with 'The Rules'. I'll meet you
there," Sandy said.

"Afraid or embarrassed to have me meet your
fiancé?"

"Afraid. He's the jealous variety."

Brad grinned at Betty-Jo. "I suspect I'll
find out if my girlfriend's the jealous variety as soon as we hang
up."

"Is this is going to be a problem for
you?"

"Hope not. I'll make the reservations. I'm
looking forward to seeing you."

"Likewise, Grasshopper," said the sexy voiced
Tooth Fairy.

* * *

Betty-Jo was devastated and furious, but she
didn't know which to be first. "I'm looking forward to seeing you,
Tooth Fairy," she mimicked. "How could you do this to me?" Her
emerald eyes blazed, and then clouded over.

Brad was willing to do penance, but she
rebuffed his attempts to hold her. "I'm sorry," he said. "Please
try to understand. When I left Toronto to go to Coastal, I was
dating Sandy. At Coastal, I met you, and at Queens, she met an
English Prof. type. She's marrying him, end of August. She probably
feels as I do—that we didn't have an opportunity to properly say
goodbye, and thank you. I want to see her to end it the way it
should be ended."

"In bed!" she said as she crossed her
arms.

"You know, it's rude to cross your arms at
your lover." She left her arms crossed, and hugged herself for some
small measure of emotional protection. "I may have to sneak up on
you from behind." He moved toward her, and she retreated, arms
still crossed. "How can you doubt that you're the only woman for
me—ever!"

She fought against the seductive power of his
voice. He knows darned well what his voice does to my heart.

"Take at least three Sandy's before I'd trade
you in," he said with his grin, before he backed her against the
wall, and kissed her. It was their secret kiss.

"Refresh my memory. Why did I sleep with you
in the first place?"

Brad laughed and said, "And while we're
making love, don't forget the '
joyfully
give myself to
Brad,' part of your promise."

Later, as they lay intertwined; she was
surprised at how much better she felt.

"Bad Brad, I do trust you. But ever since I
was a little girl, and the tooth fairy forgot to leave a quarter
under my pillow, I haven't trusted tooth fairies. And that goes
double for a tooth fairy who's also a cougar type."

"Trust me, Sandy's now a docile sugarplum
fairy, not a prowling cougar."

* * *

Brad arrived at the Vista Room shortly before
seven-thirty. Sandy showed up fifteen minutes later. She looked
radiant, and for a moment, he couldn't help but think that the
Arabian sheiks—with their harems—might have the best approach to
women.

He gave her a great-to-see-you-again hug, and
held her chair while she was seated. He wanted her to feel
good—partial repayment for the memorable times she had given
him.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asked.

"You like?" She stood back up, and twirled so
her dress rode up her thighs.

The Lord's prayer flashed into his head. The
part about, 'and lead us not into temptation'. "Yummers!" he
said.

Sandy sparkled. "I'm afraid that you're doing
it to me as well."

"So tell me about your new love."

"Ralph is twenty-six. He's my English
teaching assistant—two more years to go for his doctorate."

"I was under the impression, that now-a-days,
those Profs. would rather risk being turned to salt—like Lot's
wife, when she looked back and saw God destroying Sodom and
Gomorrah—than chance being caught looking twice at a nubile co-ed
such as your own sexy self."

"Those are the Profs. The universities pay
their TAs so poorly that I suspect we nubile coeds are considered
to be part of the compensation package."

"If they gave you to me, I'd consider it
payment in full." Sandy's smile came and stayed. "I was heartbroken
when you called, and said you were dumping me. It made me start to
think about the important things in life."

"Things like is there a God, life after
death, and intelligent life elsewhere in the galaxy?"

"No. Things like how could you have allowed
some bible salesman type to bed my Pop-tart?"

"And eat your porridge," Sandy said with a
laugh.

"After you'd experienced the ultimate in
loving with me, I was certain that all other men had been ruined
for you. We did things together, that I thought you'd be thanking
me for—for the rest of your life."

She laughed again, and looked enchanted.
"When you ravished me the first time, and then stood up on the bed,
and did your Alpha-Dog imitation, that's when you came close to
ruining all other men for me."

It was his turn to laugh. "Let me guess," he
said, "this soon-to-be husband of yours is short, intellectual, and
bearded."

"How did you know?"

"All intellectual Prof. types are short guys
with beards. If they were tall, they'd be basketball players, and
if they didn't grow beards nobody would know they were
intellectuals. I know, because if I hadn't made it to the NHL, I
was going to become an intellectual type myself."

She studied him. "I suppose you could grow a
beard, but how were you planning to make yourself short?—'cut off
your head, and rid yourself of twenty pounds of ugly fat in the
process.'"

"What is this, get Brad night?"

"Grasshopper, I may be marrying short,
intellectual Ralph, but there will always be a special place in my
heart for you, especially if you stop referring to me as your
Pop-tart."

"I would hope that I still lurk in some dark,
decrepit corner of your heart. After all, I'm not completely
ignorant. I've read Shakespeare, Hemingway, Browning and Keats. How
many times did I tell you that you're 'a thing of beauty [and] a
joy forever'?"

Sandy sighed, "I know you did, and it made me
love you, but have you read George Eliot, Tolstoy, Ibson, Proust or
Beckett?"

"I could."

"I know you could, but I also know that you
wouldn't want to—at least not yet."

"Sandy, there's a side to you that I failed
to fully appreciate. But in fairness to me, I did get up close and
personal with your dangerous, sexy side."

"In tight with my sweater-puppies."

"I'll always remember them fondly, except for
the part where the malicious Tooth Fairy decided they needed
protecting. My preference is still for the Pop-tart over the Tooth
Fairy."

That brought a smile to her lips, and made
her eyes sparkle. "Let's order now, and then dance while we're
waiting for dinner."

After they had ordered, he moved her onto the
dance floor, and took her in his arms. As she swayed against him,
he slid his hand down her back until it was resting on familiar
territory.

Jealousy and Heartache

Betty-Jo believed what Brad had told her
about his relationship with Sandy. But she was disturbed by the way
he dressed for his meeting with her, and she loathed the very
thought of her lover alone with the Tooth Fairy. The more she had
to drink, the more upset, jealous and frightened she became. By
eight, she could no longer endure the heartache. She did up her
hair, put on her floppy brown hat—the one that looked good with her
chocolate-brown skirt, beige silk blouse and tweed jacket—and then
she studied herself in the mirror. Heck of a disguise, she thought.
If I wore a mustache, I wouldn't recognize myself.

She went down to the hotel lobby, grabbed a
cab, and by eight-thirty she was sneaking into the dimly lit Vista
Room bar at the Ambassador. Feeling like a fool, she sat on a stool
in a secluded corner of the bar, and spied on Brad and Sandy.

At least—she consoled herself—I'm
inconspicuous. 'Cause surely as fish swim, dogs bark, and guppies
do whatever they do, harakiri is my only option if I'm
discovered.

Before long, she had stopped worrying about
being discovered—she was too distraught, unable to believe what she
was seeing. Brad and the Tooth Fairy were in a tight embrace on the
dance floor, and he had his hand on her bottom.

How can he do this to me? Doesn't he realize
there's no sacrifice I wouldn't make for him, that he's all that
matters to me?

Without Brad's love, she discovered that
there was no limit to her misery. Devastated and afraid, she wished
she was anywhere else; but she found, when she tried, that she
couldn't leave.

When Brad and Sandy finished their dessert,
they had another dance. As they undulated together on the dance
floor, a feeling of utter despair swept over her. Bereft of hope,
she continued to watch as Brad paid the bill, and then escorted the
vile Tooth Fairy—laughing girlishly, being silly, and draped all
over him—out of the Vista Room.

The bartender came over, and she ordered
another scotch. "Make it a double," she said. What does it matter,
that rug rat will be wenching all night. He'll go to the mat with
anything.

Absorbed in her misery, she was finishing her
drink, when, without warning, a hand was clamped over her mouth.
Another hand snaked over her shoulder and grabbed her breast—hard!
Then teeth found the nape of her neck and bit. Vampires! she
thought. She tried to fight, but was quickly forced into such a
precarious position on her stool, that she could barely maintain
her balance. She tried to scream, but the hand that covered her
mouth muted her cry. Then, the hand that had been squeezing her
breast, relocated. It thrust its way under her skirt, up her inner
thigh, and grasped her cubbyhole.

Damn you, Brad! Because of you, I'm not
wearing panties!

A Fond
Farewell?

Brad watched Sandy as he moved his hand down
her back to her bottom. She smiled into his shoulder. "Feels like
old times," he said.

"Terrible Grasshopper, I apologize for
interrupting your dalliance, but under the circumstances, don't you
think that my bum should be out of bounds to you?"

"I suppose so, but I'm willing to accept the
two stroke penalty."

She gave him a flirtatious glance. "A two
stroke penalty seems fair. You're not looking at a good score
anyway, because I've mastered your 'toy-boy' tongue twister. I can
say 'toy-boy' forever without fouling up."

He grinned at her. "Scoring with you is easy.
Try today's skill tester, 'unique New York.'"

"That's sounds easy enough. Unique New York,
noonique..."

"So once again you're my plaything for the
evening."

Sandy smiled, and moved her hips invitingly
against him. "Remember when you forbid me to slow dance with anyone
but you, because you said I was a sexually lethal weapon?"

"You still are. Problem is, this time it's me
you're killing."

"And remember when my mother caught you doing
me on her bed."

He grimaced. "It wouldn't have happened if
she hadn't had the mansion's only water bed."

"Fortunately for you, she liked you."

"She had a funny way of showing it."

"What did you expect," Sandy said with a
laugh, "after you came up with, 'and who, may I say, is
calling.'"

"She'd made me nervous in your service."

"Who'd have guessed, because after she
screamed who she was, guess what you said?"

He shook his head. "'Would you care to join
us, Mrs. Manderville?' I can't believe I said that."

"You worry too much. I think mother was
flattered."

"Maybe she was, because she refused to leave,
even when I was running around trying to find my undies."

"'For nakid as a worm was [he].'" Sandy held
his eyes, and gave him a mischievous grin.

"I admit it! I panicked. I felt like a little
boy—a teeny, tiny, little idiot-boy, who'd been caught with his
hand in her cookie jar."

"That wouldn't have been so bad.
Unfortunately, you were a big, bad idiot-boy, who'd been caught
with your Homer in her daughter's honey-pot."

"The worst part, was when she attacked me
with her belt, as I was trying to get into my Jockeys."

Sandy laughed. "I couldn't believe it. You
started hopping around the room like a one legged frog with my
mother in hot pursuit."

"What could I do? I was tangled in my undies,
and she was whacking me."

"So you decided to hop for the door. Your
thing—still eager—leading the way." Sandy was laughing so hard
there were tears in her eyes.

"I'd have made it if I hadn't tripped."

"I thought you'd broken your thing, Sandy
said.

"I thought your mother was going to beat it
to death."

She hugged him. "You were lucky to have
escaped intact."

"I wouldn't have, if you hadn't thrown me my
pants," Brad said.

"It was the least I could do, given the good
time you'd almost given me."

"Could we talk about something else. Never
before or since, have I gone from one of my finest moments, to one
of my worst, in such a short period of time."

Sandy kissed Brad on the cheek. "Tell me
about your girlfriend."

"Betty-Jo's a lot like you. I happened upon
her after you dumped me for Ralph. She plays a better game of
tennis than you, but she knows less about Milton."

"A jock like you. That's nice."

The evening drifted along with the easy
banter that comes effortlessly to long time friends and some former
lovers. Following dessert, he had a final dance with Sandy, before
he escorted her to her Jag. There, he took her in his arms and
kissed her. It was a goodbye kiss, and a thank you kiss. It was a
kiss where either he or Sandy could have erred by not thanking
enough, or by failing to say goodbye. And Sandy erred—her attempt
at goodbye was pathetic. Her kiss said I want it to be over, but I
can't let go.