The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (44 page)

* * *

The Fox had no difficulty getting a date with
Richard when she slid up to him at the Student Center. Later, she
told Betty-Jo, "For years I've been avoiding Dungie like dog
droppings, so who knows what he thought when I invited him to go
with me on a pub crawl. Guy probably thought his fairy godmother
was giving him the last few coupons he needed for a party
animal."

"You must have made his day."

"I suppose. Although it's probably a good day
for Dungie when he remembers to do up his fly."

"Meet me at my place after you've done your
thing with him, and established your alibi. If you can stay awake,
I'll tell you everything."

* * *

When the Fox arrived at Betty-Jo's place,
after her date with Dungie, she demanded to be told the whole
story.

"Don't be so impatient," Betty-Jo admonished.
"You go first."

"There's nothing to tell. Everything went
according to plan. I met Dungie at The Surfin Dragon about ten.
There was no problem with him. You can see what I'm wearing. The
drooling simpleton couldn't take his eyes off me. He would have
bobbed for cow patties if I'd told him to."

How did she get into that tank top? Betty-Jo
wondered. "You've definitely outdone yourself."

"The cretin ordered a pitcher of beer, and
then another. He proceeded to get smashed after I told him how much
I admire men who can drink. By eleven-thirty he was starting to
wobble, so I spiked his beer with the stuff you gave me, waited a
few minutes, then suggested that we hop in his car and fool
around."

"No problems in the car?"

"He got a little rambunctious after I told
him there were only two things I didn't do."

"And those would be?"

"Cook and swallow."

Betty-Jo threw the Fox a mandatory grin.
"Seems reasonable to me," she said.

"Then he begged me to get it on with
him."

"You didn't!"

The Fox looked pained. "B-J, don't be
revolting! I may be a lot of guy's ultimate pleasure gal, but I
draw the line long before dung beetles. I didn't have to use more
than my little finger on him, because what my finger was promising
him was more than enough. His fantasies were working overtime,
until your potion hastened the sandman's arrival. When he went
night-night, I borrowed his keys, put them in the ignition, and
returned to the pub. I played some billiards, flirted with a couple
of guys 'til one, and then drove here. Now you tell."

"Are you sure that you want to know?"

"Do you value your life?"

"The stuff I gave you to spike Dungie's beer
with was Rohypnol."

"Rohypnol?"

"Ruffies, the date rape drug—ten times more
potent than quaaludes. It's called the forget pill. Dungie won't
remember a thing.

"Would it help me forget my date with
him?"

Betty-Jo laughed. "I sat in your car until I
saw you get out of Dungie's Chevy, then I got in with him. He was
dead weight."

"You killed him?"

"No—much as I would have liked to. I shoved
him into the passenger seat, drove to his place, and parked his
Chevy in the garage. Then I turned on the overhead light, and went
to work."

"That sounds ominous."

"It was supposed to be. I put on my latex
gloves, got out my knife, pulled his weenie out of his pants
and..."

"You didn't!"

"Then I stretched it out as far as it would
go, and put the blade of my knife under the base of its shaft."

The Fox looked incredulous. "My God, B-J!
Don't you know how much men hate that Bobbitt thing?"

Betty-Jo laughed. "I know they do. That's why
Dungie was soon to become Dickless Dick. It was such a good
plan."

"Was?"

"I was a flick of the wrist away from
severing Dungie's already meager protrusion, but to my eternal
shame, I couldn't do it. I couldn't help wondering if PussCat's
death was partly my fault? Would she still be alive if I hadn't
told Dungie that I thought gingivitis was more interesting than he
was?"

"Face it, you chickened out. But maybe it's
just as well. Next time, give me the fun job. I'd of placed his
weenie on a rock, and pounded it to death with a hammer."

Betty-Jo hugged her friend. "Ouch!" she said.
"But I promise I'll use you if the need arises again."

"So then what did you do? Just walk away
after you'd made me spend an evening with the slug?"

"I felt badly about the suffering you'd had
to endured, but more than that, I owed Brad and PussCat. I had to
do something, so I decided to cut his thing and leave the knife
with his blood on it—at least scare the SOB a little."

"Better than nothing, I suppose."

"So there it was, stretched out in front of
me. Such a dinky thing. You know those cocktail wieners?" Betty-Jo
laughed. "Someone must have
whittled
it down before I got to
it."

"I love it. A genitally challenged Richard
Whittle."

"Anyway, I couldn't cut it."

"You are pathetic."

"I know."

"So what did you do?"

"I cut my finger."

"Your finger?"

"My finger."

"Tar me. I don't believe this!"

"I couldn't believe it either. I dripped my
blood all over his weenie, and then I smeared some on the knife. I
was about to leave, when I had a flicker of inspiration."

The Fox grinned. "Let me guess. You decided
to kill yourself, and really botch your revenge."

Betty-Jo grinned back. "I remembered that I
had a paper clip in my purse—not the clip kind, the binder clamp
kind. You know, those big black ones with the silver handles."

The Fox laughed gleefully, and hugged
Betty-Jo. "You didn't?"

"Did."

"There may be hope for you after all."

"I was so nervous my hand was shaking, but I
managed to clamp it onto the end of his weenie. Then I shoved his
thing back into his undies, did up his fly, put the knife on his
lap, and left in my Stang, which I'd parked around the corner
earlier."

"You know, B-J, I almost feel sorry for
Dungie. When he comes to, feels an excruciating pain, and then sees
the knife and the blood, he's going to be certain that every man's
worst nightmare is his reality."

* * *

Three months after their Dung Beatle caper,
the Fox came bouncing up to Betty-Jo and exclaimed, "BFF, you'll
never guess who solved my coming problem for me!"

"My first guess would have to be Dungie."

"B-J, you are one sick puppy! And your answer
is wrong, wrong, wrong! The correct answer is your friend Jim Bob,
the guy that you suggested I give a tryout to."

"Jimbo!"

"Yep, Jim Bob made me come. And come often!
God bless him! And better yet, we're going to get married—and live
happily ever after—when his season with the Carolina Panthers
ends."

Tears welled up in Betty-Jo's eyes, and she
hugged her best-friend-forever, as hard as she could. Then she
grinned. "Aren't you just a wee bit concerned, that with only one
guy playing in your amusement park, you'll become bored?"

"Not if the one guy is Jim Bob, and I know
for certain that he'll never become bored as long as I'm in my park
with him."

"Maybe I should have him on some of your
days. After all, I saw him first!"

The Fox laughed. "You're a funny gal, B-J
Chance," she said.

* * *

Sandra Manderville became Betty-Jo's second
close friend. "I can't believe," Sandy told her, "that there was a
time when I fantasized about having you kidnapped, and sold to some
Sultan who wanted to augment his harem."

"It's fortunate for the Sultan that you
didn't act on your whim," Betty-Jo replied. "I'm terrible when it
comes to sharing my man."

* * *

When Betty-Jo survived Venus'
well-choreographed attack, the love goddess went on a bender. My
plan to have Felicity Ready slay The American Princess was pure
genius, she thought. Sure, it would have been easier to give that
job to the Dung Beetle, but how much more fitting to have Raiden's
birth mother kill his wife.

Venus staggered over to a cat napping Old
Hairball, and tried to kick him into the piranha pool.
Unfortunately, she missed, slipped, and tumbled into the pool
herself. Her ravenous pets showed no mercy. Led by Big Vicious they
started a feeding frenzy.

"Shit!" cried the love goddess, as sobering
up fast she scrambled out of the pool. Those of her razor-toothed
pets who still clung to her, died violently, impaled by her
stiletto heels or lacerated by her fingernails.

* * *

Zeus was beyond compassion when he discovered
that Brad had arrived on Olympus some sixty years before he was
due. "The gods all know that they have to let the earth mortals
foul up for themselves," he hollered. "Only that damned witch,
Goritch, continues to scorn my decree."

His problem was that Venus held a trump card.
His love life was turbulent enough as it was without adding a
vengeful goddess of love to the mix. And he needed Venus because he
still had designs on Psyche. Granted, Psyche had spurned all of his
advances, but he remained captivated by her. Begrudgingly, he even
admired her fidelity to Cupid.

If 'women, one and all, are a set of
vultures', then Goritch is the vulture queen, Zeus thought.
"Goddamn you, Goritch!" he yelled. Then, "Now what am I saying? I
am god!"

As was to be expected, he chickened out when
the time came to ship Venus off to Hades. But he made a few
changes. First, he hauled in Mercury, and stripped him of his
wings. Then he summoned Venus. She took her sweet time coming.
She's probably having mechanical problems with her broom, he
thought.

He was seething when she finally appeared
before him. "You get Raiden back to earth!" he shouted. "And I
don't care how you do it!"

"I'm not sure I can," she replied. "He'll
need a new body. His old one has a hole in it."

"Don't you shit me! To give you an incentive
to get the job done, Hera is now the acting goddess of love and
beauty. The title's hers until your mission's accomplished."

"You know Hera can't do my job!"

"And if anything happens to Princess
Betty-Jo, I'll hold you personally responsible."

"That's not fair, Zeus."

"Fuck fair! Damn it, Venus! Will you never
stop interfering?"

"I've tried, but I can't. Playing god with
the mortals is too much fun."

Zeus' jaw jutted forward. "Well understand
this; foul up again, and you'll be cast from Olympus quicker than a
Hadesian starship is sucked through a wormhole. Most of the time I
think you, and that idiot son of yours, do more harm than good
anyway. If we have to go for a millennium without love on Olympus,
so be it."

"Try to be realistic for a moment, Zeus. You
know you'd be miserable without your strumpets."

"Maybe so. But god only knows what you'll be
like if you have to forfeit the All-Universe title to Princess
Betty-Jo because you're on a sabbatical in Hades."

"I know I'm going to regret telling you this,
but The American Princess won't be attending the All-Universe."

"You witch! Don't you understand? You can
never get away with the stunts you pull on earth. Which reminds me,
I also want you to make damn sure that Betty-Jo gets her mother and
father back! You'd be well advised to remember, that if the eyes of
Zeus didn't see all, and the mind of Zeus didn't comprehend all, I
wouldn't be almighty Zeus. I'd be a plain garden-variety deity like
the rest of you."

* * *

Venus laughed to herself, and gave her nails
a crimson touch-up. I don't believe a word of Zeus' bullshit, she
thought, but for the time being, it might be healthier for me if I
humor him by shipping Raiden back to earth.

* * *

On August 1, 1999—right on schedule—the King
of Terror arrived in Mongolia, just outside of Ulaanbaatar. The
first thing he did was dig up Genghis, and help himself to a DNA
sample.

* * *

"Mark, you're a punctual little guy, just
like your father," Betty-Jo said. It was nine months after her
wedding, and Mark had just been born. "But it would have been a
laugh, if Brad and I had hurried you along to save the free world,
and you'd turned out to be a girl." I shouldn't say that, she
reprimanded herself. If you'd been a girl, I'd have named you
Pleasure, and there's no reason why a woman couldn't save the
world, for a change."

###

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed
it, please tell your friends and leave a review.

Many thanks,

Jen