Davenport and Sampras
by BeegBoy
She beats him all the way; game, set and match!!

"Over here, over here, right this way please!" the eager reporter
politely directed her guests, "Ms. Davenport, Mr. Sampras, over
here please, right this way!"
Although the tournament was over, Wimbeldon was still a madhouse
of closing festivities and celebrity interviews, and Mary Hart
had accomplished a remarkable coup for herself and Entertainment
Tonight; an exclusive interview with Lindsay Davenport and Pete
Sampras, the new world champions of tennis.  Mary smiled brightly
as the duo responded to her hails and walked towards the set that
had been hastily prepared.

Lindsay and Pete smiled as they stepped up on the low platform
and shook hands with Mary, then took their chairs opposite each
other at a small card table.  Mary took her own seat facing the
table from about five feet away and signaled the two cameramen,
one at each side of the platform, to begin taping.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" Mary proclaimed, "tonight
Entertainment Tonight is delighted to bring you an exclusive
first interview with the 1999 Wimbeldon champions, first time
winner Lindsay Davenport and six time veteran Pete Sampras."

"How about a few still, posing shots of them?" one of the
cameramen suggested, "for the show promos."
"Cut", Mary said and the taping stopped, "hmmmm...that's a good
idea", she continued as she looked towards her guests, "maybe we
could show you holding crossed rackets, ready to do battle!"
"Sorry, I don't have my racket with me!" Lindsay giggled.
"Me either", Pete added with a friendly smirk, "guess we'll have
to do something else."
Mary quickly looked around for some type of prop but came up
empty, then her eyes lit up as an idea blossomed in her mind.
"I know, I know!" Hart chirped, "why don't the two of you clasp
hands over the table, you know, as if you were armwrestling!"

"Oh, that's silly!" Lindsay protested mildly.
"Hey, I'm game!" Pete chided as he put his right elbow up on the
table.  Lindsay looked at him in amused bewilderment.
"You can't be serious Pete!  My God, you are such a nut case!"
"Be a sport, Linds!" Sampras teased, "It's just for a few poses,
I won't hurt you!"
"Oh please.....", Mary added her plea to the reluctant Lindsay,
"It'll be great for the promos, really!"
"Stupid....stupid.....stupid.....", Lindsay muttered to herself
lowly, but not at all angrily, as she turned in her chair and put
her right arm up on the table and clasped hands with Pete.  The
cameramen immediately began shooting a series of photographs, but
one of them also started his videocam taping, simply on a whim.

As the two young athletes positioned themselves for the mock
contest, Mary couldn't help but take notice of their bodies as
they "tensed" themselves for battle.  "Geez....", Mary thought to
herself as she gazed silently on the pair with a smile on her
face, "....Lindsay looks like she could really give him a run for
the money if they went at it for real!"  Though they too remained
silent, the cameramen had also made a similar assessment of the
situation.

Pete was definitely larger than the solid, buxom Lindsay, but not
by all that much.  Both were dressed in tennis whites.  He in the
traditional shorts and short sleeved shirt, she in a high skirt
and sleeveless blouse.  Pete's arm was muscular enough, but, like
his overall complexion, it also appeared somewhat pale and pasty. 
It was intriguing that an athlete such as himself looked as if he
needed to get more sun, and of course the white clothing didn't
exactly enhance his appearance.  Lindsay, on the other hand, had
a healthy, bronze glow that emanated from her body and contrasted
boldly with her light outfit.  Her arm, while not muscular, was
thick and well rounded, giving it a hefty, powerful look.  The
contrast of her skin with the white blouse gave the illusion that
her shoulders appeared nearly as large as Pete's (or maybe it
wasn't an illusion?).  The effect was the same on their legs. 
Though his were thicker and more muscular looking, the healthy,
deep tone of her slimmer legs made them appear somehow sturdier
and more powerful; much in the way a stained, polished wooden
beam appears stronger than wider, but raw, unfinished one.  In
addition, Sampras' head, sitting atop his relatively slender
neck, had a gangly, high school kid look about it.  On the other
hand, though Lindsay's face was feminine and soft, it also had a
strong, prominent chin.  Combined with her glowing complexion,
hairstyle and impish grin, that face said it all:  in her younger
days this young lady had been all tomboy!

The pair looked at each other with friendly grins as the cameras
snapped away, taking a fast series of photos.  And of course, the
one videocam continued to record everything.  The cameramen
finished taking the still shots and took a coffee break, but Pete
playfully continued to grip Lindsay's hand tightly as Mary again
began asking them questions to rehearse the interview so they'd
be prepared to move ahead when the cameramen returned.

Pete began to apply a gentle, but determined pressure against his
female opponent's arm as he glanced towards her with a sly grin.
Lindsay suppressed a giggle and silently mouthed the words, "let
me go" to him.  She didn't want to speak aloud and be rude to Ms.
Hart, though at this point neither she or Pete were paying much
attention to what the TV journalist was saying.  She gave Pete a
second, exasperated glance and again silently mouthed, "let me
go!", but Pete just narrowed his eyes, smiled wider, and began to
slowly increase pressure against her arm.  Lindsay's arm yielded
to the force and began moving down towards the table, though not
as fast as Pete had expected it to.

"So, how about you share with our audience your impression of
each other as fellow athletes?" Mary asked pleasantly, though she
was beginning to sense Pete and Lindsay's minds were elsewhere.
Unexpectedly, Pete turned to her and answered the query.
"I admire Lindsay very much, Mary, and I think she's a superb new
athlete for the sport who can only improve with time."
"Oh, do you think I need to improve, Pete?" Lindsay asked, a
little stung by his statement.
"Don't misunderstand me Linds", he quickly replied, "I'm not
singling you out.  Any athlete can improve their performance and
they should always strive to do so." 
"How about you, Pete?" Mary asked, "do you still strive to
improve your game?"
"Of course, Mary, of course!" Pete agreed, "But naturally a six
time Wimbeldon champion like myself has considerable edge over a
novice, first time winner like Lindsay here...."
"Oh, I'm a novice, am I!?" Lindsay exclaimed as her mouth and
eyes opened wide in mock anger.  Pete's words had pushed a few of
her buttons, but her happy, easy going nature was keeping her
disposition cheerful.
"Well....", Pete added wryly as he forced her arm down a little
further, "experience always wins out over youth!"

"WOW!" Mary exclaimed, wishing the cameramen would get back soon,
"Do we have a battle of the sexes going on here?"  Mary believed
the two tennis stars were still just fooling around with each
other, but the Pete seemed determined to put Lindsay's hand to
the table in order to make a point.  "What do you say, Lindsay?"
Mary asked as a follow up question, "will experience always win,
always prevail over youth?"
"Well....", Lindsay began, keeping her eyes locked with Pete's,
"experience may have certain advantages over youth, but.....", as
she spoke Lindsay decided to play Pete's silly little game and
began to resist his efforts to pin her arm, "....but youth will
always have more endurance than old age!"  As she finished her
statement she heard a gasp and a grunt.  The grunt came from Pete
as she managed to force his arm back to the starting position
with what appeared to be remarkable ease, the gasp came from Mary
Hart as she (and the videocam) witnessed it happen. 

Mary placed one of her hands to her lips as her eyes widened in
further reaction to what she'd just seen.  Lindsay and Pete
continued to view each other, with calm, slightly grave
expressions.  It was clear that both were doing their best to
appear composed instead of betraying the true emotions they were
each experiencing.  They would have been even more amazed if they
had been able to read each other's thoughts.

Pete:  My God, she actually forced my arm back up!  I was 
giving it my best and she forced my arm back up!  She
really can exert an incredible level of strength when
she puts everything she has into it!  But, but.....
..how can she looked so relaxed and at ease....how?
She just pushed herself to the limit, yet she didn't
even appear to strain, she looks totally calm and at
ease.  How.......how?
Lindsay:  My God, that was so easy....was he really trying
to stop me?  He couldn't have been!  He must have
backed off......he's just playing silly games with
me!  That has to be it, doesn't it?  Nothing else
makes sense.  I couldn't possibly be that strong,
could I?  And Pete couldn't possibly be that weak,
could he?

Lindsay's calm expression morphed into one of mild curiosity as
she tilted her head to one side and moved her gaze from Pete's
eyes to their clasped right hands.  She tightened her lips and
very slightly increased the pressure she was applying against his
arm.  Her eyes widened in genuine amazement as Pete's arm almost
at once began moving downwards.  Pete's eyes likewise widened in
disbelief at Lindsay's unbelievable power.  What she didn't know
was that he had increased his efforts against her the same moment
she had increased hers against him.  The result hadn't even been
a draw!  Lindsay's increased efforts had totally negated and
overcome Pete's own strength, and she wasn't even aware of it!

Mary watched in shock as the girlish female tennis player gained
a slight advantage over her male opponent in their "playful" test
of strength and fended off all his efforts to regain the starting
position.  Actually, Mary wasn't quite so sure if this was still
a playful contest or not.  In any event, she felt her only option
at this point was to continue with the interview.
"So", Mary began, "is endurance more important than experience,
Pete?"
"No!" he replied tersely, "experience and....know....how will
always.....dominate...brute force!"  Pete's voice came out in a
series of semi grunts, clearly demonstrating the effort he was
now putting into the armwrestling match, and the strain it was
causing him.
"You're feelings Lindsay?" Mary inquired, giving the girl an
opportunity for rebuttal.
"Watch this and decide for yourself, Ms. Hart!" Lindsay replied
in a bright, pleasant tone with absolutely no sign of strain or
effort in her voice.  As soon as she finished speaking Pete's arm
again began moving towards the table despite his fevered efforts
to prevent it.   

Realizing what was about to happen, Pete decided to break off the
contest and retain what small amount of dignity he could.
"If you'll excuse me, I hear nature calling!" he croaked, trying
to sound clever.  He moved to rise but Lindsay refused to release
her grip on his hand.  To his embarrassment and horror, Pete
found he couldn't get free of his female opponent.  Her grasp of
his hand was solid and firm.  In addition, she had started to
exert a downwards force against his wrist as well as his forearm. 
The result was that his arm was trapped as if in a vice.  His
elbow was being pressed down against the table top so hard that
he couldn't move it, and his hand was a prisoner in Lindsay's
iron grip.  He attempted to get up a second time but wasn't even
able to straighten his legs and stand erect.  He finally relented
and sank back into his chair to continue the match he had so
foolishly started.  Later, that would haunt his thoughts greatly;
HE had been the one who decided to play around, he had started
the damned match!

Mary fell silent as she observed the conclusion of Pete and
Lindsay's friendly, playful little contest.  His arm continued to
slowly bend towards the table as Lindsay continued to apply her
relentless strength against it.  Mary looked on, dumbfounded. 
Pete's arm was hard and rigid, his biceps swelling prominently as
he opposed Lindsay with every remaining ounce of strength he
possessed.  In sharp contrast, Lindsay's arm displayed no great
degree of muscle, her hefty upper arm merely appeared to thicken
slightly as she continued to overpower her male opponent with an
ease even she could barely believe.  Beads of sweat appeared on
Pete's face and began to roll down his face; Lindsay's facial
expression remained calm and still a bit quizzical.  She was
truly amazed at how easy this was. 

Pete's eyes locked with hers a final time before he dropped his
head and put everything he had into a final, but futile, surge of
resistance.  "How can she be doing this?!" he thought to himself
as he felt his remaining strength ebbing, "how can any woman be
able to do this?!"
"Is that really it?" Lindsay thought to herself as she watched
Pete drop his head, "Is that really all he has?  I'm honestly not
trying all that hard and I'm beating him, beating him soundly! 
Is that really all he has!?"

Her own actions answered her internal questioning as, with a
final, moderate effort, she put his hand to the table and held it
pinned firmly in place.  Pete raised his head but the humiliated
man refused to look at either Lindsay or Mary.  He attempted to
pull his hand free but was unable to, due to Lindsay's
resistance.  Finally, she relented and released his hand.  Pete
stood up abruptly and stormed off but stopped after he'd walked
about ten feet.  He glared at Lindsay over his shoulder and said,
"The court, tomorrow morning, 8:00!"
"You're on!" Lindsay replied icily, and he stormed off.
"Good heavens!" Mary spoke up as she regained her composure,
"that was incredible!"
"I'm sorry, Ms. Hart", Lindsay said gently, "but I really don't
feel like being interviewed right now after all.  Maybe we can do
this tomorrow afternoon....."  the girl's voice trailed off as
she walked away, not waiting for Mary to say yes or no.   

Mary stood there silently as she watched the powerful, young
athlete walk away across the pavilion.
"Amazing, just amazing....", Mary muttered to herself as she
absentmindedly placed her left hand on her own right upper arm as
she curled it and felt her own biceps, wondering if they
possessed anywhere near that degree of physical power, if any or
all women's did.  She was still standing there, lost in her
thoughts, when the two cameramen returned.
That night Lindsay lay in bed waiting for sleep to come.  Part of
her still doubted the truth of her astonishing victory over Pete. 
Part of her still believed he must have been holding back and
taking it easy on her.  But if he'd let her win, then why was he
so embarrassed and angry when she did?  And why had he tried to
break off the contest?  Had he really tried to break it off?  Had
she really been stronger than he?  Strong enough to prevent him
from getting up and leaving the table?  These thoughts swirled
and merged with a long forgotten memory of her childhood, a lost
memory she couldn't quite bring to her conscious mind.  Her mind
was a beehive of activity but it finally yielded to the sandman
and she drifted off into slumber.

The next morning she and Pete met on a deserted tennis court at
8:00 sharp.  With the tournament over the grounds were largely
deserted except for a handful of officials, grounds keepers and
stragglers (such as Ms. Hart and company), so the pair managed to
locate a court that was deserted except for themselves.

"OK Linds!" Pete growled, "Play time's over.  You wanna run with
us big boys?  That's fine with me, let's get to it!"
"Anytime you're ready, boy..." she whispered mockingly.  Pete
winched at her use of the term boy, though he had initially used
the word himself.  She'd made it sound diminutive and puny by the
way she'd spoken it, just the way a female could.
"I guess you'll want to use the "girls" court lines so I don't
run your little ass ragged", Sampras shot back.
"Oh heavens no", Lindsay sighed as she rolled her eyes and put
her hand to her forehead, mimicking a dainty, fragile, woman, "I
want to play with the big, strong men like you, Pete, so little
ole me will just have to play on the big, strong mens' court and
try to do the best little ole me can!"
"Fine with me!" he snarled, "it's your funeral!"

They took their positions on opposite side of the net and Lindsay
took the first serve.  Pete had previously placed a bucket of
balls nearby since there would be no one to retrieve their wild
shots.  They stared at each other across the net, across the
length of the court.  Finally, Sampras nodded he was ready to
begin and Lindsay went into action.

The doubts that flowed through Lindsay's mind were greatly
diminished, though not altogether eliminated, by the results of
their tennis match.  Actually, it had been more of a slaughter
than a match.  Sampras had zipped back and forth across the court
like a madman, pummelling Davenport with everything he could, but
time after time she found the ball and effortlessly returned it
to him.  The wisdom and knowledge of the six time champion, all
the experience of his long career, were proving no match for the
younger girl's sheer energy, strength and determination.  Over
and over he sent the ball screaming to the extreme edge of fair
ground, well outside the ordinary bounds of the womens' field of
play, and time after time she was there to greet the ball and
return it to him, harder and faster than he had sent it!  Once
again, both their brains erupted with thoughts and revelations as
they continued the one sided contest.

Pete:   I can't believe this!  She's running me ragged!
How can she maintain such a level of energy, such
speed?  And, my God, how can a girl hit the ball so
damned hard on the returns?  She isn't even using
both hands!!  Where the hell is her strength coming
from?

Lindsay: This is incredible!  The very first girls I played
against in the tournament were more of a challenge
than this, any one of them could probably have 
beat him!  Is he still fooling around with me?  
No!  No he isn't.  The sweat is flowing off him
like a waterfall.  My God, he's the mens' six time
Wimbeldon champion and that's all he's got? 
hat's it?  What a wimp!

In the end she defeated Pete in three straight sets, and she beat
him without even breaking a real sweat.  If their final scores
had been shown to anyone who hadn't observed the competition, the
person would surely reverse the numbers and assume Sampras had
mopped the court with the haughty young girl.  But that wasn't
the truth at all.  As he had the evening before, Pete stormed off
without so much as a word or a glance towards her.  

"Just as well...." Lindsay mused to herself, "if he'd tried
jumping the net to shake hands I doubt he could have cleared it!"
She walked slowly across the pavilion grounds with a happy,
satisfied expression on her face.  She now knew for certain she
was a better athlete than Sampras, she was superior by far.  And,
even better, now he knew it too!

Halfway back to her room she encountered Mary Hart.
"Lindsay, Lindsay!" Mary called out in cheerful excitement,
"You'll never believe what I have to tell you!"
Lindsay's already glowing face broke into a wide grin and she
began to giggle almost hysterically as Mary explained what it was
all about.  The two women returned to Mary's room at the hotel
and the sound of the two laughing heartily behind the closed door
could be heard all the way down the hallway, almost to the
elevators.  A short time later, the two shared thank yous and
goodbyes as Lindsay left the room to return to her own.  She had
in her possession a "farewell gift" from Mary, and had left
behind her autographed tennis racket in grateful appreciation.

She returned to her room, showered, and rested briefly while she
waited for the sound of Pete, whose room just happened to be
across the hall from hers, returning.  Following the tennis match
(slaughter?) he had showered and licked his wounded ego in the
empty mens' locker room before going back to the hotel.
Well, there you are, Mr. Six Time Champion, I was wondering when
you'd get back!"
"Don't start with me Linds!" he spat out angrily, "just leave me
the hell alone!"
"I just wanted to say hello", she mock pouted, "I can't help it
if I'm a better tennis player than you!"
"That's bullshit!  I'm just having post tournament exhaustion or
you'd never had.........."
"I just finished a full tournament, too!" she interrupted before
he could finish speaking, "so I must have post exhaustion just
like you.......but I still beat you!"
"You just got lucky, that's all, there's no way........."
"And I beat you so easily, so very easily..." she added in a lazy
tone as she leaned against the doorframe.
"I said don't start with me!"
"So very, very easily", she continued, "I'm superior to you...."
"Shut up, dammit!"
"....in every way.  I'm much quicker than you, I have more...."
"I said shut the hell up!"
"....endurance and drive than you, and above all else........"
"I'm warning you!" Pete whined aloud, "Stop goading me!"
"....above all else I'm stronger than you, much stronger!"

Sampras roared as he stormed across the hallway towards Lindsay,
but she didn't even flinch as he put his face and body within
inches of hers and challenged her assertions.
"I'm just exhausted, damn you, and that's all there is to it!"
Lindsay, still leaning casually against the doorframe, tilted her
head, grinned slightly, and rolled her eyes in silent response to
his words.
"And were you exhausted last night when.....", she began.
"That was different!", he cut her off, "Sure, I was fooling
around at first, I admit it, but by the time the contest turned
serious I'd given you too much of an advantage!  If I was really
trying from the start you'd never have had a chance!!  There's no
way any girl, much less you, could ever be stronger than I am!"
His hands shook with rage as he shouted.  His tennis racket, held
in his right hand, vibrated spastically just inches from her
face.  Lindsay made no reply to his protests, acting almost as if
she hadn't heard them.  Instead, she moved her gaze over to the
wildly vibrating racket and looked back at him with a questioning
expression.

"Why, Pete, whatever are you doing with this?" she asked in phony
sweetness as she gently took hold of the racket handle with her
own right hand, "This is a championship level tennis racket, not
a toy.  This is a tool for professional athletes, not egotistical
little wimps like you!" she concluded speaking as she took a step
backwards into her room, pulling the racket and his arm along
with her.
"Hey!  Let go of that!  It's mine!" Pete growled as he tried to
wrest it from her grip without success, "Let go of it!"
"Why don't you just take it, muscle man!!" she hissed back.
The exasperated Sampras continued pulling and tugging at the
racket handle, but he couldn't break her hold on it.  Even worse,
he wasn't even able to pull her arm away from her body.  She was
holding her own against him in yet another test of strength, and
again it didn't seem that he was any great degree of competition
for her.  He finally acknowledged the obvious to himself and
gripped the racket's handle with his other hand, but even that
failed to break her hold on it or pull it away from her body and
towards his.  Finally, he placed his right foot on the doorframe 
for leverage in a desperate attempt to regain his property. 
Lindsay couldn't help but smirk at his feeble efforts.  There
they stood; she with her legs slightly apart and her left arm
hanging at her side while her right hand gripped the racket, he
gripping it with both hands with his foot planted against the
doorframe and only his left foot on the ground.  The picture
resembled a still life due to an almost total lack of movement.
The combined strength of Sampras' two arms and leg could only
hold Davenport's single arm to a standoff, and she didn't appear
to be trying all that hard.

Lindsay shook her head and grinned silently as she watched Pete's
futile efforts to match her power, much less overcome it.  Then,
her eyes flew open wide and her mouth dropped open as the long
forgotten childhood memory shot to the surface, recalled by the
image of him struggling against her to reclaim his precious
racket.............

I was a hot summer day, more summers ago than the number of
summers she had lived up to that time.  She wanted to give her
dog a bath and, with permission, had borrowed the neighbor's hose
to run water to the small, plastic swimming pool she planned to
use.  As she was filling the pool the neighbor's arrogant bully
of a son had appeared and demanded the hose back so he could wash
his car.  She protested that she had permission to use it but he
just grabbed the hose and started to walk away, completely
ignoring her pleas.  Tears started flowing down the 9 year old
girls cheeks as she watch the hose slither across the grass
behind the older, larger boy as he returned to his own yard . 
She was suddenly filled with anger at how unfairly he was
treating her, so she knelt over and grabbed the hose, determined
not to let him have it.  She yanked back on the hose and the
unexpected force almost caused the boy to fall over backwards. 
When he turned and saw the small child holding it he growled and
started pulling back on it, and she responded by doing the same.

The two yards were separated by a low, stone wall, and the two
began a tug of war using the hose in place of a rope.  The boy's
arrogant sneer evaporated when he realized, to his total and
complete disbelief, that the little girl was actually pulling him
towards her and gaining the advantage.  He tightly gripped the
hose with both hands and planted his feet firmly, giving a mighty
tug on it at the same moment Lindsay did, and gasped when he saw
the result was that the stone wall was even closer than it was
before.  He was still being pulled in her direction!  He tried
every position and stance he could think of, but within two
minutes the petite girl had pulled him to within two feet of the
wall, he'd lost nearly twenty feet of ground to her.  For a last
chance at victory the boy placed one of his feet on the stone
wall for leverage as he pulled with both hands, but he was still
no match for the powerful little tomboy, Lindsay, who, with a
final, strong yank, pulled the boy over the wall and flat out,
face down onto her lawn.  Her dog yipped in congratulations as
the boy's girlfriend, who had come out of the house in time to
witness the end of the contest glared at him in disgust when she
saw he was weaker than a little girl.  

Later, Lindsay's mother had taken her aside and gently explained
to her that proper young ladies didn't embarrass boys that way,
although her mother did concede that the neighbor's boy (who
Lindsay later found out was actually 19 years old and in college)
probably had it coming.  After that, Lindsay tried to follow her
mother's guidance and behave more feminine, in time forgetting
the confidence and pleasure she experienced as the boy struggled
against her clearly superior power, and her amazement as she
beheld the horrified expression on the face of the neighbor's son
as he realized he was losing a test of strength to a girl less
than half his age.................  

It was the image of Pete, pulling against her in much the same
manner, that brought all the memories of that day rushing back
along with the euphoria of empowerment it endowed her with.  Her
train of thought momentarily derailed, Lindsay released the
racket and Pete immediately stumbled (actually flew) backwards
across the hall until he crashed into his own door.  Seeing this
brought Lindsay back to the present and she laughed gleefully as
Pete collapsed to the floor.       

"Tell me just once more how strong you are, Pete!" she tittered
as she again leaned on the frame and crossed her arms over her
bosom.
"I've said all to you I need to, or intend to!" Pete muttered as
he got back up on his feet, "Believe your stupid fantasies if you
want to, Linds, but I know I'm stronger than you, or any girl,
and that's all I need to know!"  but the doubt was evident in his
quaking voice as he finished speaking.   
But Lindsay wasn't content to let it end there, like it had with
the other boy so many years ago.  She didn't want him doubting
his superiority to her, she wanted him convinced of his total
inferiority to her; she wanted this bronco broken, and she wanted
it now!

"OK, Pete, OK, listen...", she pleaded in a soothing voice,
"Let's try it one more time, no bragging or gloating, just a
straight forward contest...just once more!"
"What?  What do you mean?" Pete asked suspiciously, his curiosity
getting the better of him.
"Come on!" was all Lindsay said in reply as she vanished into her
room, leaving the door open. 
Pete slowly walked over to her open door and peeked inside. 
Lindsay was sitting at the writing desk with her right elbow up
on the surface, her hand open and ready.  Another chair sat empty
on the other side of the desk.
"Here's your chance, Pete", she invited, "no pretending or
holding back or fooling around; let's armwrestle one more time. 
Give my your best shot!"
He moved forward hesitantly, partly because he still didn't trust
Lindsay but primarily because he truly doubted he could beat her,
though he'd never admit it to her.
"I'm still waiting, Pete", she called to him gently, then added
in a voice that perfectly faked genuine confusion, "I mean,
you're not afraid of me, are you?"
That final statement broke whatever bonds that held Pete back. 
He rapidly strode over to the table, sat down, clasped her hand
and said, "Let's do it!"  A new sense of confidence was swelling
up inside him, surely he could beat her, or, even at the very
least, hold her to a draw and restore some of his ego.  He nodded
grimly and Lindsay counted to three.

At once Pete concentrated every bit of his strength into a surge
of power against Lindsay's arm.....and failed to budge her arm so
much as an inch.  
"It's true, it's really true!" Lindsay shouted to herself inside
her head as the few, final vestiges of doubt were swept away,
"That really is all he has, and it's nothing, nothing!!"
"NO!" Pete cried inside his own mind as his new confidence died
in its infancy, it's just not possible, how can a girl be so
strong!?"      
Lindsay smiled wickedly at Pete's bewildered expression as she
opened the desk drawer with her left hand to deliver the final
blow to his male pride.  She removed a small bottle of nail
polish and, holding the brush in her left hand, began applying
the polish to the nails of her right hand, the hand locked in
battle with Pete.  He tried again and again to gain even the
smallest degree of headway against Lindsay's deceptively strong
arm, but she effortlessly held their hands rock steady at the
high noon position as she calmly continued applying polish to her
nails.  She wasn't forcing his arm down, but that was only
because she wasn't trying to.  In a way, this was even more
damning to Pete's ego.  Losing to her would be bad enough, but to
not even be able to budge her arm or make it tremble was totally
humiliating; but it was also the undeniable truth.  Her right
hand remained so absolutely still, despite his struggles, that
she was able to apply the polish to her nails perfectly, without
missing a single stroke.  
"I hope you don't mind me doing this now, Pete?" she asked
sweetly as she fluttered her eyes at him, "but I figured why not
kill two birds with one stone!"
She finished applying the polish and blew gently on her nails
until they were dry.  When they were she brightly chirped, "OK,
all done!" and as she spoke a small, subtle ripple in the skin of
her upper arm indicated a slight increase in the level of her
strength output as she slammed Pete's arm down to the desktop.
She released his hand and the devastated, defeated man rose to
leave, but before he could move away she gripped his left hand in
hers and forced him back down into the chair.
"No, no, Pete, you can't leave yet, you silly boy!" she quipped,
"I haven't done my left hand yet!"
Unable to break free of her grip, the trapped man was forced into
a second armwrestling match he already knew he had no chance of
winning, but his pride (what was left of it) demanded he give it
all he had.  Lindsay calmly applied the polish to her left hand
as she held it, and his, solidly at the starting position.  After
awhile she began humming a tune to herself and ignored his
presence altogether.  She deliberately applied the polish much
more slowly this time, relishing in her total domination of her
helpless, hapless opponent.  When she was finally done, she again
blew her nails dry before she slammed Pete's left hand down in
final, undeniable defeat.  She released his hand quietly.

The couple stood and again Pete moved to leave, but Lindsay
gently took hold of his right upper arm with her left hand and
prevented his retreat.
"What!?" he whispered miserably, "What else do you want!?!"
"Just one final thing", she replied as she pulled him towards the
bed and forced him to sit down with her, "I've had my cake, but
now I want my ice cream, too!"
Pete didn't understand what she meant, but Lindsay offered no
further explanation.  Instead, she reached over to the night
table for a remote control and turned on the TV set.  Then, as
she turned on the VCR and pressed the play button, she looked
over at Pete, smiled, and said, "Well, looky, looky here!"

Pete's pallid complexion grew even paler as the video started
running and he realized he was watching the armwrestling match
between himself and Lindsay from the previous night.  The video
tape was a complete record of his defeat by the buxom female
tennis champion.  Pete couldn't believe what he was seeing.  At
least he could have denied the promo stills as "posed" shots, but
the video clearly showed the strain and effort he had applied in
his losing bid against her.  Lindsay was clearly stronger than he
was, far stronger, and now she had the video to prove it!
"How?  How?" he whimpered as he looked meekly at his female
captor.
"What can I say, Pete.  One of Mary's cameramen left his videocam
running and it recorded the whole, humiliating thing!  What a
tough break, sorry about that!"

Lindsay stood up with Pete and escorted him over to her door.
"Are....are you gonna show that to anyone?" Pete asked hoarsely.
"Well.....not if you behave yourself", Lindsay chided, "but of
course I can't speak for Ms. Hart."
"But you have the tape!" Pete said in a protesting, pleading
tone, "she gave the tape to you!"
"No, you silly boy, she gave me a copy of the tape!  She still
has the original and what she does with it is up to her.  Bye bye
now!"  Lindsay gently shoved Pete into the hall and closed her
door, leaving him there alone to reflect on her final victory
over him and to worry about just what Mary Hart had in mind for
the video tape.

Mary Hart was in her suite exercising when she heard a quiet
knock on her door.  She smiled her sweetest, public relations
smile as she opened her door and invited Pete into her room.
"Well hello, Pete!!" she huffed, "Please excuse me, but I'm a bit
winded from my aerobics.  To what do I owe the pleasure of your
visit?  Would you like a drink?"
"Uh no, nothing thank you", Pete whispered.  He noticed how toned
Mary looked in her tight fitting, sleeveless leotard.  She wasn't
fat, but she also wasn't as trim as her clothes made her appear. 
Her figure was stouter than he would have expected, and every
part of it was firm and solid.  Mary's voice broke through and
brought him back to the real world.
"So please, Pete, what is it I can do for you?"
"Oh, uh, well......", he hesitated, "it's about that video tape
you have of me and Lindsay from last night......"
"Oh, would you like a copy, too?  No problem, I'll just have the
engineer dupe another one for you!"
"Actually, Mary, I was wondering about the original", Pete asked
without looking at her, "I hope you don't intend to use it on
your show".
"Oh, oh, I understand what you mean", she replied, "but that tape
certainly is newsworthy, I don't know how I can promise you I
won't ever use it!"
"Ms. Hart, please!" Pete pleaded.
"Well", Mary began as she trailed off in thought, "let me see,
let me see...."  She walked into the suite's adjoining room.  A
few moments later she called out to Pete, "In here!"

Pete walked to the doorway of the adjoining room and slumped
against the frame when he saw what awaited him inside.  The video
was sitting at the center of a small dining table.  Mary was
sitting at the table with her right elbow up on it and her hand
open and extended.  An empty chair was across from her.
"We both want this tape, Pete, and I can't say for sure who has
more of a claim on it, but I know how we can decide right here
and now who gets it!"

Later that evening, Lindsay tiptoed over to her door and looked
through the peephole when she heard Pete fumbling with his keys
at the door to his room.  She almost felt sorry for the sad,
broken man she viewed through the hole.  A man who had been so
proud and cocky and sure of himself a mere twenty four hours ago. 
The man she saw now had a slow gait, shallow, sunken eyes and
drooping shoulders.  He had no pride, no confidence, no dignity.

He also had no video tape in his hand.