AREA 47

SECTION 89:

COURTNEY, Chapter 52

Krane seized Reed’s arms in a Wu-Su hold, and savagely blasted Reed’s hip with a knee, sending paralyzing pain all up and down Reed’s left side.  Reed automatically twisted away from the knee aimed at his groin, but the force of the impact on his hip shocked him.  Krane was trying to ruin him for life!

As they twisted and scuffled, Krane abandoned his armlock and brought his elbow down hard to crush Reed’s neck.  Reed barely managed to deflect the blow, which instead walloped him up side the head, staggering him with a brand new pain and a wild whistling rush of stinging noise in his ears.

Hurting, done out in a daze, Reed stopped fighting fair.

An unexpected opening presented itself; it was less than a second, but it was enough.

Reed aimed fast and deadly for the right eye, and jammed his thumb into Krane’s eye socket, pulling the punch at the last half-instant.  But Krane THREW his body back in a roar, yelling like a lion, holding his eye.

Off-balance, lying mostly horizontal, Reed aimed a second blow at Krane’s nose, twisting his body to throw every ounce of leverage into the punch, he missed but crashed his fist into Krane’s mouth!

Something hit Byron Reed’s neck from behind, and the world went red, and then burst with flashing lights.

Reed was saved from total eclipse by the two bodybuilders supporting his weight at the shoulders, escorting him out of the mansion by dragging his feet along the carpet.  These were not mother’s comforting, protective arms; these were Terminator’s arms, with jaws that cut into the flesh of his arm muscles.

Feeling brain-dead and body-pulverized, Reed’s eyes opened and his ears stopped hissing with white noise.

“He didn’t do anything!” Courty screamed at them.  “He was just defending himself!  Let him go!”  She pointed a sharp finger, hard, right into the left muscleman’s face, forcing him to stop and then shove her hand aside.

“Sorry lady——”

“Don’t sorry lady ME, or You’ll Be Sorry!  STOP!  Listen To The People Who Were Here and Saw It!”  Courty planted her colorful, angry body right in their path, blocking the double-doorway, hands on wonderful hips, fire-eyes glaring, as the two musclemen tried to drag Reed off.

“Lady, move it, or get it abused,” one of them told her.

Courty was getting psyched to do some punching of her own.  They would need crowd control specialists and tear gas and fire hoses by the time she was through with them!  You think that little donnybrook tussle was a FIGHT?

The guy holding Reed’s left side, tried to push Courty aside.

“Touch me, and lose a testicle!!” she screamed at him.

His arm stalled in midair, hung there in indecision, and then timidly withdrew.

Several people who had been watching the entertainment laughed, and a few of them applauded Courty’s spunk.  No one offered to back up her side of things, although many of the people recognized who she was.

The two ruffians carrying Reed did not recognize her; she was just another Mansion minx as far as they were concerned.

“Laaady . . .”

“Courty!” Peach squealed with happy recognition, from right behind her, outside the stereo room.  “You made it!”

“Hi,” Courty said, not taking her eyes off her opponents.  Voice recognition only.  “Now LET HIM GO!” she ordered.  Her fingernails were clawed, ready to scratch & gouge; her legs about to go for the runs, knees crashing into groins, pointy high-heels stomping insteps; her teeth were set and primed, ready to tear into flesh & amputate fingers, noses, ears.

Peach took a second to look at the scene.  “Courty, what’s . . . Reed!  Bobby, what are you doing?  Let him go.  These are my friends!  Bobby, let him go!  I’m sure there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”  Nothing immediately happened, so she warned, “Bobby . . .”

Bodyguard Bobby didn’t like it a bit.  But he liked even less the thought of tackling the Pit Bull bitch beauty in front of him fighting for her mate.  He released Reed, who sagged and almost fell when Bobby’s partner let him go too.

It was easy to see why the Sportsman’s sentinels thought Byron Reed was the felon.  Krane was a bloody, semi-conscious horizontal groaning doodle; two of his front teeth lay on the dark carpeting——another destroyed bridgework——his mouth and nose flowed deep red, and did damage to both carpeting and clothing.  By comparison, Reed was largely untouched.  He had lost a button from his jacket, and his tux was wrinkled and disheveled; his lip dripped the tiniest flow of blood from the far right edge.

Tina was angry at Krane for losing, and looked wrathfully at Byron Reed.

With a deft air of command, Peach ordered the servants around and had them jumping and scurrying.  “Paul!” Peach called to the bar, “bring some ice and an ice pack!  Bobby, will you please help him up,” pointing at Krane, lowering her voice to a loud whisper, “and escort him OUT!  OUT!”  Her voice resumed its normal timbre.  “Larry, help him!  Pick up his teeth!  Don’t lose any!  Alexis, don’t just stand there!  Bring Courty some of that wonderful champagne!  Courty!  Courty, it’s so good to see you!”  She hugged a stunned and silent Courty, and then released her best friend and swiped the icepack from Paul, who was headed by her toward Krane.  “Here,” Peach said, holding the icepack up to Reed’s mouth, dabbing the little spot of blood.  “Ooooh, that must hurt!  Are you OK, Reed?  Courty, I’m so happy you two are here.  I’m just so happy!”

Krane was disposed of, and Tina took her leave.  Reed was still bogged down and dazed, mostly by the karate kick to his neck that Bobby had used to subdue him.

Courty found her voice.  “Another bodyguard?” she asked Peach, dryly.  “You certainly can order them about.”

Peach shook her head, the tiniest no, and pursed her lips, those luscious, crimson red lips that had sold millions of dollars worth of lipstick . . . crimson, Griff’s favorite color . . . her black whirlblast hair was cut short, nothing over the ears (Griff liked women’s ears) and looked as though she had just used a Lear jet for a blow-dryer . . . Griff’s preference for young ladies slightly in disarray was legendary . . . Peach’s strapless dress exposed every last inch of her creamy shoulders and upper bosom, the bosom with nipples and aesthetic dimensions of such alluring perfection that they had sold acres of swimwear and had doubled on film for no less than four world-class actresses with——sadly——only Hollywood-class boobs . . . and, well, everyone knew that Griff was a tit-man.

Peach whispered a short sex scenario into Courty’s ear.

“Gawwwd,” Courty said.  “You’re Zip + 4, girl!”

Peach squealed with a luscious fit of the giggles.

“Later, I want you to tell me everything, Peach.  Everything!”

The girls sparkled in the presence of each other.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Reed said, with an expression on his face of pure yuck.

“Oh dear,” Courty quickly asked Peach, “where’s the nearest bathroom?”

“No,” Reed complained.  “It’s not that.  It’s that NOISE.”

Peach got lost in another fit of the giggles.  “He is pretty bad, isn’t he?” she whispered, hoping nobody else would hear.

Courty realized they were talking about the distant music; sounded like a rock group informally jamming, with the dissonant lead guitar piercing the background with its screeching distortion.

“I can play better guitar than that,” Reed said, “and I haven’t picked one up in five years.”

Courtney understood then that they had to be talking about Giles Griffin, that he must be the one playing the, er, guitar?  “Reed, why don’t you go play with him?” she suggested.  She had a million, million, five million things to share with Peach.

“That’s a splendid idea,” Peach said.  “You boys can do your thing, and we girls can go do our thing.”

Byron was the bicycle, and the females were fish.

The new mistress of the Sportsman Mansion escorted Reed and Courty through the magical maze of rooms that led to the Rock-And-Roll Room.  She was a continuous gush of excitement and happiness.  “I may never go back to New York!  Griff can get me all the work I want right here.  I made one joke about maybe wanting to do a movie, and he’s got three scriptwriters writing a screenplay for me!  Boy, oh boy!  Look at Shirley Barry.  Being Griff’s girlfriend for awhile sure didn’t hurt her, now did it!”  Peach paused.  “Except for Herpes V, VI, and VII,” she joked.

“She looks and sounds like a regular girl,” Courtney explained to Reed, “but she’s ethics free and contains no harmful scruples.”

Peach chuckled with rich mirth.  “I caught a dose of ethics once, but . . .” and she and Courty both finished the line: “. . . a big shot of Penicillin cured that!”  And both girls laughed.

“Is there anybody you want to meet?” Peach asked.

“Is Lauren here?” Courty asked right back, remembering.

Peach directed the three of them through a U-Turn.  “This way!  I’m really being naughty, not doing the hostess-bit.”  She waved her arms helplessly.  “But really, I’d need twenty of me.  Griff gives these things and half the time he doesn’t even show up for his own parties!  Just stays in his apartment.  Or he just ignores everyone and plays Risk.  He loves Risk; he beats everyone.”

“He can’t beat me,” Reed said.

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Reed waited just outside the entrance to the Sidekick dorm.  He felt like shit.  Courty had pleaded with him to tuck in his shirt.  He did.  It was just a couple of minutes later when the sleepy-time girl came out with an objecting Courty and a Peach.  Lauren was wearing a terry-cloth bathrobe.  She looked weary & worn-out, and in need of a good night’s sleep.

“Lauren, go to bed,” Courty said.  “You can meet him anytime!  I just thought——”

“I’m here, and he’s here; and relax.”  Lauren didn’t just lie there and play dead; she barefooted her way straight to Reed, and squinched her eyes up at him: his toughest critic.

She looked a little frumpy, but Reed knew that he probably looked like hell, himself.

“You must be Lauren,” Reed said.  No smile.

“You must be Byron,” Lauren said.  No smile.

The silence made Peach chuckle; it took very little to set her off tonight, since she was the happiest girl alive.  But the Byron/Lauren silence made Courty feel uncomfortable.

Reed just looked down at the groggy girl who was grilling him with her gaze.

“I’ve heard a lot of things about you,” she said ominously.  “Things that maybe Courty ought to know.”

Reed didn’t have anything to say, so he didn’t.  His neck felt like a piece of shrapnel was lodged in the side of it.

“Fast friends, hey!” Peach said.

“He was just in a fight,” Courty said, desperately wanting to apologize for Reed’s appearance.  She combed his long hair a bit for him, with her fingers.  “You can’t imagine it, Lauren.  A blasted fight!  We almost both got thrown out.  It wasn’t Reed’s fault.”

But Lauren was still wrinkling her nose at him as if he were a worst-case scenario.  “Courty, he’s a diddle-head.  What on Earth are you doing with this walking dog dirt?  Lose him fast!”

Reed could remember warmer welcomes.  His face turned sour, but he still had nothing to say.

Courty was stupefied by Lauren’s reaction to Reed.  She was hurt by it.  But Courtney said, “I can’t lose him.  He’s the best lick in America, and I’m addicted.  I need my seven orgasms a day.  If you don’t like him . . . tough.”

Peach split her sides, nearly exposing her pit, as she giggled uncontrollably, one ex-dancer’s leg kicking out high, her skirt flying.  Lauren and Courty were both so droll and blasé, like they were pairing off to sling verbal mud at each other.  And the expression on Reed’s face!  ‘What the hell?  Where’s my bicycle lock?’

But then a sparkling but sleepy smile twinkled on Lauren’s face.  She put her suddenly friendly hand on Reed’s arm and said, “Just kidding, Byron.  I’m just giving her the gantlet.  All I know about you is what I read on the liner-notes of your CDs.  Even bruised, you’re hunk and a half.”

Courty pointed a warning finger at her.

“Gotcha!” Lauren said, the syllables pouncing out of her.

“You got me,” Courtney ruefully admitted.

Peach was still giggling.

Lauren yawned, and then quizzed Reed a bit, approved of him, and then warned him to treat Courty right OR ELSE.  The Regulars looked after their own.

The February Sidekick came screeching down the corridor, almost colliding with the girls before she breathlessly stopped beside Peach.  She grabbed Peach with both hands and yelled, “Princess Bi is here!”

A “What?” chorus.

“Princess Bi is here!  She just showed up!”

“Oh, my God,” Peach said.  “I’d better go put on my Hostess’ Bra.”

“Is Prince Alexander here?” Lauren asked Miss February.

“I dunno, I dunno; who cares?!  He must be!  Who cares!  C’mon, Peach, let’s go!”  She turned her head to look at the other girls; and the excited smile on her face fell right off.  The Sidekick silently stalled as she noticed that she was standing next to supercelebrity Courty!  It was such an abrupt surprise, she felt as if someone had changed the channel.  She tried to keep her cool, but completely lost the power of speech.  Princess Bi fell a few notches of noble rank in the nude model’s mind; damn near down into the hoi polloi.  This was the Courty Marvel!  She was far more exalted than Royalty; she was a miracle all by herself; she didn’t have to marry a Prince to achieve her rarefied fame.

“Isn’t this a little past her bedtime?” Courty asked.  “What’s she doing in The Colonies, anyway?”

Reed put his arm around Courty, and said, “Princess Bi probably came here to meet you.”

“Nobody knows I’m here.  I don’t even know——”

“Courty, he’s right, I bet!” Peach shrieked.  “Come with me, please!”

“Gawd, I don’t dare meet her,” Courty said.  “I turned down an invitation to the Palace.  She requested me for an audience, and I didn’t go.”

Lauren chuckled: that’s my Courty.

But Peach was flabbergasted.  “Didn’t go!?”

“Well . . . I was busy!  I was right in the middle of an important canto.  She wanted to see me Tuesday evening.  I told Michael to inform her that she’d have to wait until the weekend.  She withdrew the invitation.”

“Courty!” Peach said.  “You don’t tell Princess Bi she has to wait!”

“Courty does,” Lauren said.

“Lauren?” Peach asked, hooking her thumb, and about to pull the rip-cord; she was carbonated with excitement.

“I’m not into Royalty,” Lauren said.

“Let’s jet!”  Peach and pin-up streaked off to greet the Royal Personage.

Lauren yawned.  “Maybe I’ll stay up for awhile.”

“Listen,” Reed said, “why don’t I go off and do my thing for awhile and you guys can tell each other all the things that would frost my ears.  How does that sound?”

Courty gave Reed a warm good-bye kiss.  “Chill out.”

COURTNEY, Chapter 53
 

Copyright 2005 Area 47