The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (42 page)

Felicity had known where her friend kept her
rat poison, and had surreptitiously removed some—she had her own
rat to exterminate.

It's a shame that cyanide is such an
efficient killer, she thought. The amount of cyanide in the one
vitamin C capsule she'd left with Draper was two or three times a
lethal dose. Cyanide weighing no more than a postage stamp could be
fatal. Within a few minutes of the poison's release, Draper Greely
would die of internal asphyxiation, as the cyanide prevented oxygen
from reaching his red blood cells. The bastard would die without
the suffering he deserved.

* * *

In the first game of Betty-Jo's match against
Anna, Betty-Jo served from the side of the court where Felicity was
seated, but there was no opportunity for her to move onto the
court. In the second and third games, Betty-Jo was on the far side
of the net, and in the fourth game she was receiving, so the timing
for an attack was difficult. But before the fifth game began, one
of the spectators in the front row—four seats over from
Felicity—left her seat.

As Betty-Jo prepared to serve, Felicity
shifted four seats over, and stepped onto the vacated seat in front
of her. Then she placed her foot on the partition, discarded her
jacket, stepped across the press box, and dropped onto the court.
Concealing her gun in her pocket, she strode toward Betty-Jo.

A Love
Worth Dying For

Across the court, Brad noticed a spectator
working her way down the second row of seats. It was unusual for
spectators to be moving when play was about to resume, although
less so at Flushing Meadow than at other tournaments. New Yorkers
believed that, having paid their admission, they were entitled to
come and go as they pleased. Brad was watching the spectator step
over the back of a first row seat when he heard his name called,
and turned around. Sandy was leaning over the railing behind
him.

"Grasshopper, I must talk to you."

"Not now Sandy. After the match." He turned
back as the spectator, who, having suddenly become an official, was
dropping from the press box onto the court.

"Shit!" He sprang from his seat, leapt over
the press-box partition, and hit the court running. He had further
to go to get to Betty-Jo than the official, and the official had a
head start.

Brad probably would have reacted more slowly,
had he not previously considered the possibility that an assailant
might be wearing a disguise, that of an official being the most
obvious, but even more fortuitously, Felicity had mistimed her
attack. By the time she reached the court, Betty-Jo had completed
her serve, and was moving in Brad's direction.

Running desperately toward Betty-Jo, he
yelled, "Tawny! Get down! Get down!"

She stopped chasing the ball, and looked at
him dumbfounded, unaware that a woman, gun drawn, was closing
quickly from behind her.

He reached Betty-Jo before the gun-toting
official, threw Betty-Jo to the ground, and positioned himself in
front of the official. Felicity tried to step around him for a
clear shot at Betty-Jo, but was unable to.

"Please don't!" he yelled. "You don't want to
do this!" His eyes locked onto the brown eyes of the assailant:
eyes that for a moment seemed to be a reflection of his own, eyes
that in another moment he knew—from the Birth Parent Locators
picture—belonged to his mother. "Felicity?" he said.

The eyes that glared back at him were fierce
and determined.

He reached for his pepper spray, and pointed
it at his mother.

"Drop the gun! Do it now!" someone yelled. He
glanced to his right. Some ten yards away stood Martin Obourn—his
gun drawn, and aimed at Felicity.

Thank God, Brad thought, but only for a
moment, because a moment later a line judge slammed into Obourn,
and knocked him to the court.

* * *

Events were not unfolding according to
Felicity's plan. But one lesson was etched in her memory from her
gun club training. Indecision can kill you. In a crisis situation,
it's better to do something rather than nothing—even if the
something you do is wrong.

What a handsome young man, Felicity thought,
and he knows my name.

She squeezed the trigger.

* * *

Felicity's shot hit Brad in the chest,
driving him back. Although stunned and in pain, Brad managed to
keep the pepper spray's nozzle pointed at his mother. He pressed
the release. Miraculously, the spray hit her. Then he slumped to
the court, and lay there.

* * *

Felicity, almost blind and in pain, aimed her
gun, as best she could, at a hapless Betty-Jo. She squeezed the
trigger a second time, just as Tony Vaccaro rammed into her
shoulder from behind—spinning her left. Her shot ricocheted
harmlessly off the surface of the court, and her steely
determination crumbled. She broke down in tears as Martin Obourn
forced her to the ground.

Tony Vacaro leaned toward Obourn. "Strange,"
he said.

"What?"

"The way one kiss from a woman like Bouncer,
can make a guy do something that's totally insane."

A Love
for Eternity

Betty-Jo crawled over to Brad.

"Tawny Cat, please hold me," he said.

She pulled Brad to her, cradled his head
against More Fun, and stroked his hair.

"Tawny, I'm sor...sorry."

"I love only you!" she cried.

Brad tried to smile. "I know you do," he
whispered. "Your love is my everything. It's my heaven on earth."
Tears flooded her eyes, and they would not stop. Then his voice,
the satin and leather almost gone, caressed her for the last time.
"Wait for me. I'll be back."

"I'll wait. I promise. I'll wait for you
forever!" But he didn't hear her. He had died in her arms. "Brad!
Brad! she screamed, while gripping him as tightly as she could. She
hoped that somehow, if she held him tightly enough, he wouldn't be
able to leave her. "You said I'd never be alone. You said you'd
always be there for me." She wept as she rocked back and forth, his
head pressed against her breast...

Three days later, Brad was laid to rest in
Toronto. His death had been televised around the world. His
sacrifice to save Bouncer had touched the hearts of millions. Her
grief was their grief.

At the service, in St. James Cathedral,
Betty-Jo saw Sandy, and walked over to her. She looked into the
Tooth Fairy's eyes as the organist began to play, and a lone
soprano sang:

Abide with me;

Fast falls the eventide;

The darkness deepens;

Lord with me abide.

They sobbed in each other's arms.

Swift to its close

Ebbs out life's little day;

Earth's joys grow dim;

Its glories pass away—

Betty-Jo's sorrow was limitless. It had been,
ever since Brad had left her. With tears glistening in her eyes,
she stood trembling over his casket. Finally, she took the virgin
wool bottle from her purse, signed it below the virgin wool symbol,
and placed it between Brad and Ben-Gal. She remembered, that he had
told her that if they were ever parted, she was to scatter her wool
on the wind, and remember when they were together and in love. But
she was ignoring his request.

"I want this part of me to be with you
always. It belongs to you," she said. "I don't need a memento." But
even as she said that, she clutched the gold wafer that hung from
her neck, and focused on the flawless diamond and emerald
engagement ring he had given her. "I could never forget those
wonderful, ridiculous evenings when we were first in love. Those
places within me—that only you will ever touch—are a constant
reminder of our love."

It was foolish, she knew, to be burying
Ben-Gal with Brad, but she had to know that the man she would
always love would never be alone.

"It's true," she said, "'Love knows not its
own depth until the hour of separation.'" Her lips brushed his in a
final kiss goodbye.

* * *

Betty-Jo regretted not having told Brad
everything she knew about PussCat's death, but in fairness,
initially she hadn't known for certain who had killed PussCat. Now
she did.

Soon Dungie will pay for what he's done.
He'll pay in the Wayne Bobbitt tradition, with his most valued
possession. She firmed up her plans for revenge.

Just as Betty-Jo hadn't told Brad everything,
she learned that he hadn't told her everything either. Following
the burial, the Sheik took her aside.

"Brad made me promise to keep this to
myself," he said, "but now it may help if you know. It was Brad who
saved you, when you were doing that poor imitation of Cat Woman
with the fat guy on the balcony of the Strand Princess. Remember? A
year and a half ago, at Myrtle Beach."

"Oh my God! That was Brad?"

"Yeah. That was the Grasshopper. But back
then he looked like a long-haired hippie."

"I never got a good look at the boy who saved
me. All I remember were his eyes. I should have known. He had
Brad's eyes. I was down to seconds when he...when Brad grabbed me.
He was strong, but that fat pig was all over him. I don't know how
he was able to hold onto me, until my father arrived with his bat.
Back then, I was on the hefty side," she forced a smile."

"I was right behind your dad," Greg said. "It
took a while before I noticed that Brad had left the pool, and a
while longer to figure out that he might need some help. I'm
ashamed to admit that I got caught up in watching you."

"Don't feel too badly. You're not the only
guy who's neglected other endeavors to watch me. But what I don't
understand is why Brad didn't come to see me back then?"

"He didn't want to make a big deal out of
it—hell, he didn't even tell his folks. We were at Myrtle Beach on
our spring break, and we were returning to Toronto right after the
Grasshopper's fishing excursion—which never did happen."

"He should have told me!"

"He wanted to be sure that you loved him for
who he was, not because he'd saved your tush. His words."

"He still should have told me."

"I know. I told him he was being stupid—that
you could have any guy you wanted. 'Seriously, Grasshopper', I
said, 'how can you expect a woman like B-J to love a dufus like
you? You've got leverage. Use it!'"

"Hold me, Sheik." She hid her face on Greg's
shoulder, and sobbed.

"He also said something about Cupid and
Psyche. Something about Cupid not telling Psyche he was a god,
because he wanted her to love him for who he was—not for what he
was."

Betty-Jo cried even harder. "He should have
told me. It wouldn't have changed what I felt for him."

"I'm sure he knew that, but he told me he had
to be certain that you would always be free to fly, if you wanted
to."

"Free to fly? Then why did he buy me a
chastity belt?"

"He bought you a chastity belt?" Greg started
to laugh.

"It was a designer belt."

"Well that makes a difference."

"I shouldn't have told you."

"Did he ever make you wear it...B-J?"

"...No, not really. You know, I don't think
he ever intended that I wear it. I think it was just his way of
showing me how much he loved and needed me. He didn't have to belt
me—he already had our secret kiss."

"Your secret kiss?"

She lowered her voice, even though nobody was
near. "If I tell you about it, you have to promise not to tell
anyone."

"Trust me."

"This is embarrassing. Only those who know
the secret kiss are allowed to...are allowed to...

"Are allowed to what?"

"...Have me. Brad made me take an oath."

"What a guy. And I suppose only he knew the
secret kiss?"

She could feel her face heating up. "Yes,"
she said.

"So teach me the secret kiss. Then I can have
you too. This secret kiss thing is great!"

"I can't. Brad made me swear that I wouldn't
reveal it to anyone."

"Not even his best friend?"

"I'm sure that if he was going to give it to
anyone, he would have given it to you." She put her hand on Greg's
shoulder, and grinned at him.

He grinned back. "It doesn't matter. The
secret kiss would be wasted on me anyway. Belinda would never let
me use it." It was Betty-Jo's turn to laugh. "And you're right.
Putting you in a chastity belt does sound like overkill. But did
you wear it anyway?"

"Damn you, Sheik! I wanted to wear it. When I
couldn't be with him, I'd put it on, and make him wear the key
around his neck. I even bought him a silver chain for it. Why am I
telling you this?"

"Maybe because we both loved Brad, and need
to share our memories of him with someone else who loved him. Gotta
admit though, your memories are spicier than mine."

* * *

Two days after Brad's funeral, Betty-Jo was
back at Myrtle Beach. The first evening back, she took the
twenty-minute drive, south on Route 17, to Pawleys Island. She
stopped on the dunes where she and Brad had parked, a year, and
more than a thousand memories earlier. Then she stared at the
ocean. Had reality forsaken her? So much had happened in that
fantasy interlude, yet it seemed as if time had stood still, and
that it was only yesterday that she had been there with him.

She had fallen hopelessly in love with her
first, her last, and her only lover—a lover who had won her a bear,
twice saved her life, made her his fairytale princess, started to
build her a golden palace, cried when his pussycat died, convinced
her that she was the most beautiful and desirable woman in America,
abandoned his dream of playing in the NHL to be with her, given her
a secret kiss, made her his blood brother, told her that their love
was the best love story ever, and promised to love her—just the way
she was—forever.