A Good Vegetable (Spinach I)
by Mark (Marknew742@aol.com)
An athletic contest for great wealth.

It was a tense moment.  
  
My cousin Olivia and I sat in the lawyer's office, each of our soft, 
worn chairs aligned evenly with a different edge of his desk.  We 
focused our eyes squarely on him, daring to look at each other only out 
of the corners of our eyes.  The lawyer, old Martin Smyth, kept his own 
eyes on the will, not wanting to seem like he was taking sides.  He had 
been friendlier to me earlier, before Olivia arrived, but now I felt 
less confident.  Right now, he was the only one who knew what was in our 
future. 

There was a lot at stake.  Uncle Bob was worth at least $50 million, 
maybe more.  He had no wife, no kids and no causes, other than the 
Dallas Cowboys and the oil wells he'd inherited from Grandad.  His 
sister (my Mom) and brother (Olivia's Dad) were dead.  And our family 
tradition was that the riches would never be divided.  One member of 
each generation would live like a king off the oil and the stocks and 
bonds.  The others would receive a token payment and otherwise fend for 
themselves.  That's why I sell cars in Georgia and Olivia studies French 
at a state college in New York, while Uncle Bob lived in a mansion, 
surrounded by servants, toys and whores. 

I wanted that life.  And if anything, I figured I had the edge.  Uncle 
Bob was a nut for football, and I was a star running back for the Aggies 
and even played pro for a few years for the Falcons before I got cut 
after a knee injury.  Nothing too bad, I still play Saturdays, but it 
took away the edge I needed to play with the big boys.  Uncle Bob 
probably saw me against the Cowboys too.  He'd like that more than a 
silly girl studying French poetry.  And Olivia was weird too, a New 
Ager, into crystals, channeling and other bizarre stuff.  How could a 
Cowboy fan give all his loot to someone like that?  And then there was 
the fact that she was adopted.  I mean, she wasn't even family, really. 

Smyth cleared his throat.  "Your uncle, you know, was quite a fan of 
competition."  

My heart started pounding.  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  Olivia was stone-faced.  I 
figured she was meditating or praying or something. 

"He left a short will, but I'm afraid neither of you will be able to 
walk away with any money just yet."  I looked up, confused.  "He will 
leave the bulk of the estate, as per your family tradition, to one of 
you, but who it is to be determined by a series of seven contests, which 
he has described here quite specifically.  The loser will receive one 
tenth of one percent of the estate, which is still a tidy sum."  He 
cleared his throat again.  "I must say, personally, that it is a very 
strange way to dispose of an estate of this size, but my client was 
quite clear on the matter, and of sound mind, so I do not recommend 
challenging the will, particularly as the challenger will be completely 
disinherited if the challenge fails.  You know, I've seen this happen in 
the past, how wills can drive families apart, and I always implore my 
clients not to 

"Excuse me Mr. Smyth, but, the contests?  What kind of contests," I 
asked impatiently.  Olivia's nose was twitching now, her face flushed.  
I bet she was eagerly waiting to hear that they would be races to finish 
crossword puzzles, or trivia games or French translation exercises. 

He glared at me and took his glasses off, cleaned them with his tie and 
put them back on.  "Yes, yes, that's all that matters to you, I know, 
not the wisdom of an old lawyer.  Well, you needn't worry young man.  
These will all be athletic contests.  Weightlifting, football-throwing, 
basketball, tennis, a short race and," he sighed, "this is so odd, but, 
boxing and arm-wrestling." He grimaced a bit in disgust and looked at 
Olivia apologetically.  "I'm afraid, young lady, that he has specified 
that if either participant fails to compete vigorously and fairly in any 
of the contests, he or she will be deemed to have forfeited all of the 
contests and will be disinherited." 

I turned to face her directly, looking at her body a little more 
carefully now to appraise her abilities.  She was tall for a girl, 
almost 5'8", with short blond hair and nice tits, but not at all strong-
looking.   Her arms were typical feminine arms: no discernible muscle, 
her shoulders small and thin.  I'd heard she was a good tennis player, 
but I wasn't bad myself, and with my speed, strength, height and agility 
I'd slaughter her in all of the other contests. 

I could hardly contain myself.  I shot my right fist into the air and 
watched a solitary tear roll down Olivia's cheek.  It was totally unfair 
but hey, I couldn't lose.  The money was as good as mine. 

Olivia, meanwhile, was so disturbed that she was stuttering.  "Y-y-you 
m-m-mean I have to f-f-f-fight him?" 

"I'm afraid so, my dear, that is, if you wish to contest for the estate.  
Your failure to enter any of the contest will result in a forfeiture, 
and giving your cousin the benefit of the doubt, if he were to be a 
gentleman and refuse to fight, he would be giving up his claim as well." 

Well, hitting women is not something I generally do, at least not 
without good reason, but this was as good a reason as I could ever find.  
I never cared much for Olivia anyway, nor she for me.  I guess we always 
knew that one of us would get the money and the other wouldn't.  It's 
hard to get too close to your relatives when you know that. 

But Olivia wasn't finished.  "But couldn't we agree in advance not to 
fight, and split the money?  I mean, this is so barbaric." 

"That's a noble sentiment my dear, and if I were your attorney, I might 
argue that this whole arrangement is against public policy and therefore 
invalid, but I'm afraid that the law in Texas gives broad discretion to 
the testator, and you would be taking a tremendous risk of losing your 
chance to inheriting even the smaller share if you conspire to defeat 
the purpose of the will.  I do believe that even the smaller share is a 
considerable sum for either of you.  And if you both are deemed to 
forfeit, the entire sum would be donated to, let me see, yes, to reduce 
the national debt. Your uncle was quite a patriot, you know." 

What a jerk.  I hate lawyers and their damned superiority.  But who 
cares?  Soon I'd have more than he could ever imagine, drafting his 
tired old wills for dying rich jerks. 

"So, when do we do this?"  I said, rubbing my hands. 

He frowned at me.  "Your haste is unseemly.  Your uncle wished to allow 
each of you time to prepare for the contests.  They will begin in four 
months.  Each of you will receive a description of the rules of each 
contest, their location, and the referee.  You will have time to 
practice and condition yourselves." 

"Four months?  What the   Well, ok." 

"I'm glad you approve, because you have no choice in the matter.  Now, 
are there any more questions?" 

I didn't have any.  Olivia just stared at her lap, her knuckles white, 
her face whiter. 

"Very well.  The referee will be in touch with you about some minor 
details.  The meeting is over."  He stood up.  I did too and shook his 
hand, then Olivia did too.  We left and rode down the elevator together.  
I felt a little embarrassed, I mean, what was I going to say to her?  
The money was as good as mine.  But something in me made me want to be 
polite, at least a little. 

"Hey, uh, why don't we have some coffee, I mean, as long as we're here 
together.  No hard feelings, you know." 

"I don't drink coffee.  But ok.  Tea perhaps.   Herbal." 

"Whatever."  We went across the street to a coffee shop and sat at a 
booth. 

"So how's French going?" 

She lays out some crystals on the table in some kind of pattern and 
starts to chant some mumbo jumbo, a prayer or something I guess, but 
then cuts short, crying.  "I-I really thought I had a chance to get some 
of that money, so I could quit my teaching job and work on the things 
that really matter, you know, spiritual things.  Maybe live in Nepal, 
even study full time with Guress Siddha.  But now it's all going to go 
to you.  I know it!" 

"Hey, don't blubber at me!  I didn't make the rules!" 

"What does that matter?  It couldn't be any worse if you did.  He should 
have just given the money to you if that's what he wanted to do.  And 
now, even to get that keep quiet money I have to let you beat me up.  
It's so humiliating.  Such a typical male thing.  He's probably laughing 
in his grave thinking about it." 

I shrugged.  "I'm not gonna say I won't go all out to win, but, no hard 
feelings Olivia, I don't want to hurt you or anything.  And look, we 
both have a few months to get ready, maybe you can train a bit, you 
know, learn a few things to protect yourself." 

She glared at me.  "Right, as if I can get strong enough to compete with 
you in four months."  She looked glumly down at her arm and flexed it.  
I don't know.  Maybe the freckle on top got a little redder, but I 
couldn't see any sign of a muscle there. 

"Hey, you know, eat right, work out a bit, get some protein in your 
body, a few steaks maybe and 

"I'm a vegan.  No meat 

"Ok, ok, drink a lot of milk then 

"No milk, no cheese, no eggs, no animal products." 

"Jeez Olivia, I don't know.  I'm just trying to help, but you're making 
it pretty tough."  I chuckled. "I guess you'll just have to eat your 
spinach, like Popeye.  Maybe that'll work for you." 

She picked up her tea, threw it in my face and stormed out of the 
restaurant.  I laughed.  So much for being nice.  And anyway, the tea 
was just lukewarm. 



I didn't know about her, but I wasn't going to take any chances.  I cut 
my hours back at the dealership and started spending all of my time, and 
money, on getting prepared.  Boxing lessons, tennis lessons, one-on-one 
basketball with a guy who'd played on the Flames, workouts in the gym, 
even some sessions with a physical therapist to make sure my knee 
wouldn't give out on me. After a couple of months, I was in as good 
shape as I'd ever been.  Better maybe, since I didn't have a bunch of 
250 pound guys slamming into me all week like I did when I was playing 
pro. 

Olivia meanwhile disappeared from view.  I called her at her school, 
figuring I'd play the good guy again, and hoping to find out what she 
was up to, but they said she'd dropped out and hadn't even left a 
forwarding address.  I told them I was her cousin and had some important 
family matters to tell her, and I finally got to someone who seemed to 
know a little more, a music teacher, who said Olivia had borrowed a 
couple of thousand from her and went off to study with her guress.  She 
wanted me to tell Olivia that she really needed the money back soon.  I 
promised to pass along the message when I saw her. 

IF I ever saw her, I thought to myself.  Maybe she'd just taken a vow of 
poverty or something like that and wouldn't even bother to compete.  I 
had a beer to celebrate, then went back to work.  I may not be a genius, 
but I know enough about games not to let myself get too cocky.  I eased 
up a little a few weeks before the matches, working out enough to stay 
at the fitness level I'd reached, but being more careful to avoid any 
last minute injuries.  I tried to focus on each sport, visualizing how 
I'd win and trying not to think about what I'd get at the end.  Still, I 
could almost feel the money flowing into my bank accounts, and it felt 
really, really good. 



I flew in to Houston the day before the competition started.  The lawyer 
had rented out one of the college campuses for the games, and I was 
staying Uncle Bob's house, a couple of miles away. It was hotter than 
hell.  I couldn't believe Uncle Bob lived here, when he could have had a 
house anywhere in the world.  It's not like he had to go in to work 
every day. 

Olivia wasn't there when I arrived, and I started to think the money 
would be mine without even trying, but while I was eating a fine steak 
dinner, courtesy of the estate, she arrived, gym bag in hand. 

I tried to hide my disappointment.  "Traveling light I see?" 

"Hmmm?  Oh, I don't need much.  Are you eating?"  

"Um, yeah.  If you tell the cook what you want, she'll make it for you.  
I assume you don't want the beef." 

"Oh, thanks, but no.  I'm fasting today."  She spoke slowly in a kind of 
far off voice and seemed really unfocused.  I didn't know whether she 
was on drugs, or high from some meditation, but her face was completely 
serene and I had to admit she looked pretty good, very tanned, her hair 
bleached even blonder from the sun and a sort of radiance in her eyes.  
She put her bag down and sat down in one of the chairs at the dining 
room table.  I settled back into my steak. 

"Where did you go?  Someone at your school was looking for you, and your 
money." 

"Charlotte?  She's so impatient.  I told her I'd get it back to her."  
She stared at the wall.  "It's so strange to be back again.  The light 
is so different down here, so different from the mountains." 

"The mountains?  Were you training at some camp in the Rockies?" 

"Oh no.  I was in Nepal.  At an ashram."  She sighed.  "It's such a pure 
life there."  She smiled to herself.  "Well, not completely.  Some of 
the monks are as bad as you, wanting to get a satellite hook-up once the 
ashram gets Uncle's money.  But I won't let them." 

I couldn't believe it.  She actually was thinking she'd win. 

"Not that it's really my concern anyway.  That's the guress's job." 

She finally noticed I was staring at her and she blushed a little.  "Oh 
my!  I haven't felt anyone look at my body like that in months!  You're 
very crude, you know Bradley." 

Now it was my turn to blush.  Not that I had the hots for her or 
anything, but she did have a nice figure, and whatever she'd been doing 
up in Nepal, it hadn't made it any worse.  If anything, she was a little 
trimmer than before, and she still had good tits.  I started to think 
about what she looked like under her blouse and then stopped myself.  I 
didn't want to get on the wrong track. She was the enemy, at least until 
the games were won! 

"Sorry, Olivia.  I'm keyed up, and I didn't exactly expect you to show." 

"Why?  You think I don't care about the money?  Well, I don't plan to 
use it the way you would, but wealth has its advantages, for me and for 
my spiritual leader.  And I intend to use those advantages."  I raised 
my eyebrows.  "I feel a little sorry for you, I mean, it's all or 
nothing and this whole thing is so unfair, but it is what it is.  I've 
learned not to take responsibility for such things." 

"I see." 

"Tennis is the one before lunch, right?"  I nodded.  "Well, that's fine 
then.  Goodnight.  I have to do some meditating before tomorrow's 
games."  She drifted out of the room and went upstairs. 


She seemed a lot more focused the next morning at the court.  She was 
quick, precise, and I have to admit she hit the ball harder than I'd 
expected.  But even though she couldn't handle my serve very well, she 
made very few mistakes, and I ended up losing 6-4, 7-5.  I wasn't too 
worried, being down 1-0.  After all, she played tennis in school and it 
was certainly my worst sport of the seven. 

At lunch, I ate lightly, she ate nothing at all, again, and then it was 
time for basketball.  Again, she played better than I'd expected, but 
she was no match for me and I quickly won two games without her scoring 
a single basket.  Then the race, a 440 meter run.  I got a big lead at 
the beginning but she ran steadily and as I accelerated to keep ahead of 
her I started getting winded in the homestretch.  The last 100 yards 
were an out and out sprint, each of us flailing away, but I ended up in 
front by a couple of feet.  I was surprised at how much of my lead she'd 
made up. She certainly was light on her feet, and now that she was 
stripped down in track clothes I could see that she had added a bit of 
muscle in the past few months, probably from doing her chores at the 
ashram.  She was proving tougher than I'd thought, but now she was down 
2-1.   I only had to win two more matches and be competitive in the 
others and the money was mine! 

"I have to hand it to you Olivia, you're doing a lot better than I would 
have expected." 

"Oh, thanks Bradley.  Nice of you to say so."  She was still breathing 
hard.  "No hard feelings about this, Bradley?" I stared at her.  Was she 
telling me or asking me? 

"What do you mean?" 

"I just don't want to create any more negative energy in the world.  I 
mean, you'll be a good sport, won't you?" 

"Of course.  I won't gloat." 

"That's not what I meant."  I looked at her quizzically.  "Oh, you 
thought   but of course.  Funny how it was your idea," she mused, then 
trailed off. 

"What was my idea?  You think this was my idea?  I assure you that I 
never talked to Uncle Bob about --" 

"No, no, not that, the spinach." 

"The what?" 

"The   oh, never mind.  You'll see." 

We walked back through the field the house.  Some kids were playing 
football and a kick went wide, rolling next to us.  Olivia bent down, 
picked it up and threw it back.  It was a perfect spiral, but it bounced 
short. 

"Nice form." 

"I guess.  I needed a little more muscle on it, I suppose." 

Yup!  I said to myself.  And the rest of the games were just one day 
away.  Not much time for my flaky cousin to build more muscle. 


It was a another sticky day, but after the morning's football throw, the 
rest of the contests would be in the air-conditioned field house.  I sat 
down to my usual bowl of cereal and noticed a soup bowl at Olivia's 
place filled with leaves.  It would be the first she'd eaten since we 
arrived.  She came into the kitchen dressed in a loose fitting top and a 
short skirt, disappointing to me in that it obscured her figure, but 
perfectly sensible for the morning's contest in the heat.  As usual, she 
seemed like she was on another planet 

"Don't tell me that salad is going to give you enough energy to play?" 

She looked a little startled at hearing my voice, then replied, a little 
defensively, "You'd be surprised at the sources of energy that can be 
unlocked by purity of spirit.  But I'm not eating this spinach for 
energy.  It's for strength." 

"Really?  Who are you, Popeye or something?" 

"No," she said airily, "I'm Olive." 

I shook my head and settled into my Wheaties.  I remembered with a 
chuckle an old cartoon in which Popeye is trapped in a cage with a 
gorilla who is pounding him unmercifully into the floor of the cage, 
just by expanding his hyper-developed chest muscles and bouncing them 
down on top of Popeye's head.  Poor Popeye is being battered so badly in 
fact that his spare can of spinach pops out of his sailor suit, rolls 
out of the cage and lands in front of Olive, who had been helplessly 
watching Popeye's beating.  She shrugs her shoulders and gulps down the 
spinach, develops the usual super muscles and rescues her boyfriend by 
bending the steel bars of the cage and punching the gorilla so hard he 
divides into the usual three "hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil" 
little monkeys.  Afterwards, Popeye rides off into the sunset on top of 
Olive's massive shoulders. 

Meanwhile, Olivia ate her bowl portion of spinach and then quickly 
excused herself for some more meditation.  But she was only gone a few 
minutes when she poked her head back in the doorway, looking a bit 
agitated. 

"Uh, maybe I will join you.  Did you finish the cereal?" 

I shook my head.  "Nope.  Plenty left."  I held the box up.  "Breakfast 
of champions." 

She hurried over to the table, hands almost shaking as she took it from 
me and filled a new bowl up to the rim.  She took a few bites of dry 
cereal, then looked over at the milk longingly, grabbed it and poured 
it, spilling more than a few flakes in the process, which she picked off 
the table and ate. 

"Hey, I thought you don't drink milk." 

She shoveled the food into her mouth, then looked up guiltily.  "I-I-I 
just felt I had to.  You know, this stuff''s good." 

I shrugged.  She looked a little different to me, certainly not as 
anemic as before.  I finished my biscuit and got up.   "I'll see you 
over at the field I guess."  She nodded, still eating quickly.  I 
figured the fasting finally caught up to her once she ate a little bit, 
even if it was spinach.  We're all human, even Olivia. 



I had been throwing a few balls lightly to loosen up, and now we stood 
behind the goal line, the open end of the stadium at our backs.  Olivia 
looked almost ruddy, her face flushed.  Was it nervousness, the heat?  I 
wouldn't have given it much thought, except that my eyes kept straying 
back to her breasts, which seemed to be pulling at her shirt more than I 
had noticed at breakfast. Perhaps it was just her heavy breathing.  

I picked up the football for my first throw and sent it 45 yards.  Not 
bad.  Not as far as I could toss it when I really get cranked up, but at 
least twice as far as she threw it yesterday.  I stepped back to watch 
Olivia, figuring the motion of her throwing would give me a few good 
looks at her chest. 

Olivia gripped the laces of the ball, then fired.  The ball soared into 
the air and carried, and carried ...53 yards!  My mouth dropped open.  
How did she do that?  I ran out to check the ball.  It was a regular 
football, just like mine.  I ran back, looking at her.  She stood 
smiling at me, hands on her hips, not giving anything away. 

My turn.  I held the ball firmly, stepped up to the line and threw as 
hard as I could.  It was a good throw and landed inside the 40 yard 
line, beating hers by a good margin.  Her eyebrows went up and she took 
the next football, wound up and threw a perfect spiral.  The ball flew 
lightly in the air and came down to rest slightly ahead of mine.  But it 
didn't count.  Her foot went over the goal line and the referee 
disallowed it.  She stomped her foot on the ground in displeasure, but 
there was no appeal, so I was still in the lead after two throws. 

My heart was pounding.  How could she throw it so far?  Her last one was 
farther than all but a few of mine, and those were on days when the air 
wasn't quite as heavy.  I didn't want to lose and drop back to a tie.  
And after all, this was football, my sport, not tennis.  It wasn't just 
the money, it was a matter of pride too.  But, it was mostly the money. 

My hand was clammy and I dried it on a towel, then stepped back to the 
goal line.  I focused my eyes downfield and tried to clear my head, then 
pulled my arm back and let fly.  The ball flew into the air with a bit 
of a wobble but with all my power behind it and landed 68 yards away, my 
best throw ever. 

Olivia frowned.  She took the ball, tightened her fingers around the 
laces, then let go again.  She looked down at her feet and walked up to 
the goal line, measuring the distance, then took a couple of steps back.  
Planting herself a yard behind the line she reached back and put her 
whole body in it, grunting in a very un-Olivia-like way.  The ball flew 
off her hand and high into the air, too high, I thought.  It grew small 
in the sky, then thudded back to the ground, half a yard behind my 
throw, and bounced backwards.  I'd won! 

I couldn't help but hurl my fist into the air and cheer.  Olivia glared 
at me, then hit her thigh with her fist.  "Damn!  So close!  Just a 
little more strength and I would have won." 

"Hey, Olivia, you did pretty well, amazingly well I'd say.  In fact, 
it's hard for me to believe you can throw a football so far.  But it 
takes more than strength you know.  You have to get the angle right, and 
know where you're standing.  That takes experience, practice too." 

"Shut up!  You're just lucky you beat me, you know.  I had two throws 
that were better than yours.  I should have won." 

I shouldn't have, but I had to laugh.  She was really losing her cool.  
So much for the meditation and the fasting.  She was as hyped up about 
this as I was.  Well, she should have fought harder yesterday, in the 
race, instead of starving herself all day.  She probably could have won 
that if she'd had a little more energy.  But now I had a 3-1 lead, with 
the three competitions left that would favor my strength the most.  

"You're an asshole," she went on.  "You think you've got something to 
gloat about?  Well I'll show you, you muscle brain!"  

Talk about "negative energy?"  Well, her face was red with anger, her 
hands clenched white at her sides.  If she were a man I'd be getting 
ready for a fight, but I just stared back at her, not saying anything.  
The fact was, I couldn't believe how good she looked with a little 
passion in her. Negative or not, whatever energy she had sure was having 
an effect on me. 

I walked slowly toward her.  "Hey, come on, Olivia.  In every game 
there's a winner and a loser. I thought we were going to be good 
sports."  I reached out to put my arm around her, but she stepped away.  
"Ok, ok.  Have it your way.  I'm going back to the house.  It's too hot 
out here to stand around and argue.  How about you?" 

She shook her head and smiled at me, kind of in a mean way, and not a 
little bit sneaky.  "Uh-uh. I'm going shopping.  But I'll see you for 
lunch, big guy!"  She spun on her heel and walked off into the heat. 

That was fine with me.  I didn't really want any more verbal jousting 
with her to spoil my concentration.  But I also didn't want to get too 
distracted thinking about how I would spend my first million dollars, so 
I took a slow walk around the campus, then hopped in a cab to go back to 
the house.  Because of the one way streets or maybe to jack up the fare, 
we ended up going a long way around, and I spotted Olivia leaving a 
Sam's Club with some large containers.  She was trying to hail a cab, 
and I asked my driver to pick her up, but he just ignored me, leaving 
her banging on the door as we went by. 

"Hey, I told you to stop." 

The driver shrugged and told me, in broken English, that his trunk was 
full and he didn't want her stuff on the seat, which was ripped enough 
already.  I waived my hand apologetically, but Olivia was just shaking 
her fist at me, yelling something about spying on her. 


I got back to the house with time to spare, so I took a short nap and a 
shower and did some stretching exercises to stay loose, then went down 
to the kitchen for lunch, ordered a hamburger from the cook and picked 
up a coke to bring in to the dining room.  Olivia was sitting there, her 
hands on her lap, waiting for me. 

"Sorry about the cab.  He wouldn't stop." 

"I'm sure." 

"I mean it."  I looked at the table, where three open commercial-sized 
five pound cans of Del Monte spinach stood to Olivia's left, blocking 
most of my view of her.  "More spinach?  What's that for?" 

"You'll see.  Notice anything different about me?"  

I walked around and sat down opposite her.  She had changed into workout 
clothes for the arm wrestling and weightlifting competitions and I could 
plainly see a level of muscularity that hadn't been there the day 
before.  Small round biceps peeked out just below the short sleeves of 
her shirt, and I could see that not all of the chest development I'd 
noticed this morning was tit flesh. 

"Hey, what's going on?  You're not Olivia!  I should have guessed it 
this morning from the way you threw the football.  Who are you?  What 
kind of stand-in did she bring in to play for her?!! I'm getting the 
referee!"  I was getting mad.  She sure looked like Olivia, but get 
real.  Nobody changes that much in a day.  And that would explain her 
more aggressive attitude as well. 

"Oh it's me all right.  I'm your cousin Olivia, or maybe you should call 
me Olive, for short.  Just sit down and take it easy.  If you're right, 
you'd win by forfeit anyway, so let's just have lunch first.  If I 
haven't convinced you I'm me by the time we start, then by all means, 
challenge me." 

I was suspicious, but I figured I could wait a little, see what she had 
to say.  "All right.  I'm in no rush, just so long as the real Olivia is 
the one who competes." 

"The real one is what you'll get.  What's the matter, do my muscles 
scare you Bradley?" 

"Of course not.  No woman's muscles could threaten me." 

"Of course not," she parroted.  She reached over to one of the cans of 
spinach and lifted it into the air, pumping up her biceps a little more.  
"Still, they're pretty good for a girl, don't you think?" 

"Sure they are.  Very nice." 

"Aren't you the cocky one?" 

She was baiting me.  "Look, whoever you are, just cut it out.  If you 
were a man I would have shut you up with my fist already, so consider 
yourself lucky.  Maybe some men have to worry about some women being 
stronger than they are.  Let's just say that's never been a problem for 
me, okay?   But I don't even know why I'm arguing with you about this.  
Just bring Olivia out and let's get this over with already."  

"But she's right here, that is, Olive's here."  Now she started smiling 
at me like she was ready to spring something on me.  Fine.  I was game.  
Or maybe she was coming on to me a little.  That would be even better.   
The cook brought out the food.  A burger and fries for me, three burgers 
and fries for her. 

"What's this Olive busi   oh I get it.  That's the spinach deal right?  
Like Popeye.  So you're trying to tell me you got these biceps from the 
spinach you ate this morning, huh?  That's good.  Really good.  I'll say 
one thing, you've got more of a sense of humor than Olivia, you got a 
better body too, even without those muscles. " 

"Spinach you know has some very unique spiritual properties.  Chemically 
it is closely related to seaweed, and as you may know, all life came 
from the sea." 

I cut her off.  "Now you sound like Olivia again, but that sure isn't 
her lunch." 

She looked a little guilty.  "Yeah, I know.  Somehow I can't resist them 
all of a sudden."  I looked at her closely.  This was sure a good act, 
down to the mannerisms, like one minute it was Olivia and the next it 
wasn't.  "Where was I?" 

"Skip the lecture, all right?  If you have something to prove, then go 
ahead.  Otherwise, just get Olivia back in here."  I leaned over a 
little closer.  "Olivia's such a dried up prune, even at eighteen years 
old, she ought to be ninety-eight for all the life she's got.  Fasting, 
meditating.  You've got a healthy appetite at least.  Maybe you and I 
could get together after this thing is over.  You know, I'll have a lot 
of dough, and I bet you like diamonds." 

She sneered.  "You really think trinkets from you would impress me?  
What a jerk!  You lay a finger on me and -- hey, I don't have to 
threaten you, now, do I?  I know how to shut you up myself in no time at 
all!"  She reached into the can of spinach and pulled out a handful, the 
water dripping from her fingers, and whistled the theme from Popeye.  
Then she stuffed the spinach into her mouth, got a second handful and a 
third, until she'd gulped down all the stuff in the can.  It looked 
disgusting, with limp, green spinach strings sticking to her chin and 
the greenish liquid from the can staining the table in front of her.  
She sat there, waiting for lightning to strike, and then for good 
measure, drank down the juice left in the can. 

I shook my head and picked up my burger.  It was good, juicy high 
quality meat, and cooked just right.  I'd have to make sure the cook 
stayed with me, even after I sold the house.  Then I heard her say 
something. 

"Ha!  It's starting." 

I looked over.  She was standing, and suddenly her chest started 
swelling up, with two mounds the size of cannon balls appearing on the 
front of her chest.  They expanded to frightening proportions and then 
rolled over onto her arms, becoming the largest biceps I'd ever 
imagined. But that wasn't it.  Her chest immediately started to swell 
again, and the new globes then rolled into her forearms, then again, 
more muscles growing on her chest, larger and larger until those 
ferocious-looking globes slipped down to her thighs.  The process 
repeated itself with her calves, her shoulders, her ass and her 
abdominals, and then one last time, pushing out her chest with pectoral 
muscles the size of a couple of good slabs of ham.  She walked around to 
my side of the table and stood in front of me.  I stood up, looking down 
at her inhumanly muscular form.  Then she tensed her chest muscles, 
expanding them a good twelve inches out from her chin and pushing me 
several feet back from the impact. 

"A dried up prune did you say?  I think I'm pretty ripe, ripe for a 
little action.  And I'm not even finished."  My eyes practically came 
out of my head.  "Yes, that's right big man.  The first one was just for 
muscle size." 

She reached over for the second can and lifted the dripping mass of 
spinach leaves, compressing it with her hands down to the size of a 
small patty and popped it into her mouth.  "Now watch this." She 
whistled that tune again, more loudly this time, and I stared at her, 
waiting for her to grow into a ten foot behemoth, but nothing seemed to 
be happening.  Then her face registered some kind of inner sensation and 
she said, "I bet you used to watch those Popeye cartoons.  Remember the 
pictures on his muscles?"  

She flexed her arm now and the cannon ball developed a hump, bursting 
through her t-shirt, and then another hump on top of it, and another, 
until it looked like a wedding cake skyscraper.  As I stared upward in 
disbelief, I could see right on her biceps a picture of a sling shot 
turning into a spear, then a rifle, then a machine gun, then a cannon, a 
mounted tank gun, a missile launcher, which launched a bomb that 
exploded into fire, then a rocket exploding into a hydrogen bomb, then 
two hydrogen bombs, then four, and then more and more until I thought I 
was staring at the sun, which then exploded into a supernova.  I 
staggered backwards, closing my eyes against the blinding light. 

"Hey!  Don't go yet.  It's not finished!"  I looked back at her and she 
had taken the spinach from the last can, crushed into a dot the size of 
an aspirin, popped it into her mouth and swallowed. She whistled the 
tune now at an earsplitting volume, and after a short interval, tore the 
bottom of her t-shirt too, displaying her frighteningly thick abs.  She 
tensed them, and an image appeared of a brick wall stopping a rock, then 
of a stone wall stopping a battering ram, then of metallic wall stopping 
a series of larger and larger missiles, until the last one, looking like 
a "smart" cruise missile, approached the wall, turned around and flew 
away like a dog with its tail between its legs. 

"Well, I think that's enough.  I was trying to finesse it this morning, 
getting just big enough to win, to preserve the harmony of my body, but 
why take chances?  I want to crush you, destroy you, make you lose not 
only this money but any semblance of your pathetic masculine 
superiority. You'll stand as much of a chance against me as you would 
against the gods of old.  I'm looking forward to feeling your soft flesh 
and blood fist crash uselessly against this impenetrable little tummy of 
mine, to feel my fusion-charged fists crush your bones like they were 
twigs." 

"This-this isn't fair.  I'm going to get the referee." 

"Oh really?  Are there rules against eating spinach, Bradley?  I didn't 
think there were ANY rules, except trying our best.  You can be sure 
that I intend to use all my strength, at least, until I win.  I hope you 
don't forget that one; otherwise, you'll lose everything." 

I looked at the cans of spinach on the table.  I'd have to fight fire 
with fire. There wasn't time before the next match to run out to buy my 
own, but maybe there was some in the kitchen.  I ran to the back, 
scrounging around the pantry and the refrigerator, but all I could find 
was a half bag of fresh spinach.  It would have to do.  I tore it open 
and stuffed it into my mouth.  Olivia had followed me and was leaning on 
the door, laughing and eating one of her hamburgers. 

"It must taste awful, eating it raw without even washing the grit out, 
but go ahead, eat all you want.  Unless you've prepared your chakras to 
accept the energy it won't do you a bit of good." 

She was right.  My mouth was filled with sand and I felt nothing but 
pieces of the spinach stuck in my throat.  She chuckled and stood there 
in her torn clothing.  A wave of fear filled me, and then something 
else, totally surprising, but all of a sudden I felt myself getting a 
hard on for sexless Olivia.  She stood there, her hard-muscled waist 
tiny between her expanded chest and massive glutes and thighs.  She 
laughed and disappeared through the door.  I followed her, staring at 
the movement of the muscles in her legs and her butt, plainly visible 
through the overtaxed fabric of her shorts.  Knowing I was watching, she 
picked up the three large empty cans and in an instant, without even 
taxing herself, crushed them between her hands into a solid sheet of 
metal, which she then flicked like a frisbee at the fireplace where it 
embedded itself deeply into the stone mantel piece.  She turned and 
looked at me in the eye.  "Double or nothing on the football throw, 
Bradley?"  She winked, and then walked out. 

The football throw!  With the strength she'd just demonstrated I didn't 
doubt that she could throw the ball into orbit. 

I walked over to the University field house, unsure whether the shock of 
losing the fortune was worse than the impending certainty of the 
punishment I would take at her hands.  I arrived first, and went to the 
small room where the referee waited.  She entered, now attired in a one 
piece bathing suit that looked like a second skin.  The referee blanched 
at the sight of the massive goddess claiming to be Olivia and was about 
to challenge her, but in the interests of time I assured him that the 
woman sitting opposite me with the massive physique was indeed my 
cousin.  We each sat in metal classroom chairs and I readied myself to 
take her hand. 

"Wait.  This chair is too small," she protested.  The referee started to 
get up to find her another when she added, "oh, don't bother.  I'll fix 
it."  She leaned back in the chair and stretched her arms, twisting the 
metal to shape it to her satisfaction.  "That's better."  The referee 
would have fainted dead away if he hadn't already been seated.  I just 
grimaced and felt the fingers of my right hand, expecting it would be 
the last time I could do so for awhile. 

She planted her elbow on the bare metal table, pushing it down slightly 
and indenting it.  "If you want to do it that too to give yourself a 
little more leverage Bradley, it's fine with me," she teased. I shook my 
head and put my hand up against hers, resigned to my fate.  The contrast 
in our arms was obscene.  Even relaxed her forearms were at least the 
size of my calf, and her biceps seemed to belong to someone of an 
entirely new species.  She took my hand tightly, not crushing it as she 
could, but with enough authority that she knew its future was completely 
within her control. 

The referee signaled us to begin and I started pushing as hard as I 
could, hoping that somehow the demonstrations she gave were nothing but 
elaborate magic tricks.  But all my strength barely registered against 
the power of her arm, and after letting me exhaust myself she dropped my 
hand to the table with as much effort as it would take to brush her 
lustrous blond hair out of her eyes. With my energy spent, the second 
match went even more quickly.  

We took a short break for refreshments, some Gatorade for me and another 
hamburger and some V-8 juice for Olivia. 

"What's with the hamburgers you keep eating, Olivia?  I thought you were 
a vegan." 

She shrugged.  "Must be the spirit of Popeye.  I needs me protein.  'Ka-
Ha-ha-ha-ha' as he would say.  And mmmmmm, this V-8 juice has a little 
bit of spinach in it."  She whistled that awful tune again and I watched 
with dismay as her chest and arms expanded another inch.  

We proceeded to the weight room.  I won the coin toss and had her lift 
first to spare myself the drawn out embarrassment of a contest I was 
sure to lose. 

"I'll go easy on you Bradley."  She started stacking two-hundred pound 
weights on a barbell like she was lifting cookies to her mouth.  Quickly 
she made up three six hundred pound barbells.  She grasped the bars with 
her hands and molded the metal together, then lifted it over her head 
one-handed, holding the weights there for twenty seconds, arm's rock-
solid, before putting them down. "I know the contest is for a two-handed 
lift, Bradley, so you can go ahead and use both hands if you need to.  
I'll just wait here for my next turn." 

I glared at her and for form's sake tried to lift them.  Of course I 
couldn't even budge the bars off the floor.  I had now dropped to a 3-3 
tie. 

"I feel like I'm just stealing this money from you Bradley.  I mean, I 
haven't even tested my strength yet.  I suppose there's nothing like a 
good fight, though, to get the blood flowing.  Don't you think?" 

The referee spoke up.  "There will be no fight.  Not with me as referee.  
I won't preside over an assassination." 

Olivia turned to him, her hand on her hip.  "Is that so?  And what will 
the university say when it learns I've cut off Uncle Bob's annual $1 
million gift for the football program?  How much longer will you be 
working?"  

"I don't care.  I have my principles." 

"Fine then.  Resign and take the consequences."  She turned to me.  
"Don't think you'll get out of it, Bradley.  We don't need a referee.  
We'll call that lawyer and let him watch me beat you to a pulp." 

"Is that what you'll do?" 

"Who's going to stop me?  Not old Smyth.  So you see, Mr. High-Minded 
Principles.  You resign, and he get's beaten worse than ever." 

He looked at me.  "Is this true?  You'll go ahead with the fight against 
her?  With her strength she can kill or maim you at will." 

"He better.  Otherwise he loses everything.  Right Bradley?" 

I nodded.  "It's better for me if you stay on.  At least you're a 
professional." 

"Then you're as big a fool as, well, I better talk with my own lawyer 
about this.  I'm sure there's some kind of protection I can get for 
agreeing to do this." 

"Bradley sue you?  Ha!  He's not the type.  Anyway, he's doing this for 
the money.  He knows what he's getting into.  And just to make sure he 
does, let me give you another demonstration." She walked over to the 
cinder block wall and held her index finger and her middle finger out, 
then jabbed sharply at the wall, driving a hole five inches around into 
the next room.  I felt sick.  She walked back.  "So, Bradley.  That's 
two fingers against the wall, imagine my whole hand against your tender 
body.  Are you going to give up?" 

"No," I replied, my voice cracking.  "I can't." 

"What a shame!  I was looking forward to getting it all.  Well, 99.9% 
will just have to do," she crowed. 

"You people disgust me.  I thought your uncle was bad, with his whoring 
and his rough ways, but you two are many times worse.  Maybe the best 
thing is for you to kill him Olivia and then spend the rest of your life 
in jail.  I'll be the first witness against you, you can be sure of it."  
He looked at his watch.  "I'll see you both in an hour.  And may God 
forgive me."  He stalked off. 

I looked at Olivia.  "You've sure changed.  You're a different person." 

"I feel .... liberated.  You were right, you know, when you called me a 
dried up prune.  I was old at eighteen, with that mystical stuff.  Now I 
feel more alive than I've ever been.  Powerful, physically and 
spiritually.  Even sensually.  My blood is boiling, teeming with 
desires, and I will have whatever I want." 

"So, then, I guess you're not going back to Nepal with the money?  
You're not going to give it to your guress?" 

"Not on your life!  I'm going to enjoy it." 

"Funny.  She's the one who gave you the secret.  And as a result of 
using it you're going to abandon her."  An idea crossed my mind.  "Maybe 
it's like it was a test, like a temptation.  How you'd react to power.  
And you've failed it." 

She looked at me, eyes narrowing.  "What?  I've gone through months of 
spiritual trials to get to this point.  What do you know about tests?" 

"Nothing I guess.  Certainly not as much as you."  I replied softly and 
left to enjoy my last hour with an intact body. 

I thought hard for that hour.  I didn't have to submit to the 
punishment.  I could leave town, sell cars again, resign myself to my 
limited fortune.  But the idea of letting her get it all, letting her 
think she'd frightened me into withdrawing was too painful to me.  
Besides, I'd clearly gotten to her a little with my comments about her 
abandoning her principles.  Maybe I couldn't beat her physically, but 
perhaps I could bother her.  That would be a small victory at least. 

I was so deep in thought and so intent on experiencing my last hour as 
an able-bodied man that I almost was late in returning.  The referee's 
humor hadn't improved. 

"Come on, come on, let's get this over with.  I know I won't be able to 
eat for a week after seeing her destroy you." 

I sighed.  "I'm ready, as ready as I'll ever be." 

"Well good for you, but where's Olivia?" 

"What?  She's not here?" 

"Do you see her?" he asked sarcastically.  I shook my head.  "Well she's 
too big to hide under that piece of paper on the floor, so shall we 
agree she's absent?"  I nodded.  He checked his watch. "I'll wait five 
minutes more.  If she doesn't return, I'll declare a forfeit and be done 
with this ridiculous assignment."  

I sat there, heart pounding, jumping at every noise.  The time passed.  
I had won. 

The referee looked at me.  "It looks like she's decided she doesn't want 
the money.  I'll call Mr. Smyth.  Congratulations young man, you're 
rich, and what's more, you're going to live." 

So I was.  And HOW I would live!  

I skipped out of the field house and walked briskly toward Uncle Bob's, 
that is, my house, and stopped suddenly.  There was Olivia, sitting 
still as a statue against a tree, her arms thick as the tree's trunk, 
legs locked in the lotus position, back firmly straight, chest muscles 
tensed and jutting a mile out from her body, her expression sharply 
inward in an intense mix of anger, concentration and inner struggle, and 
a continual line of tears running down her cheeks, the line faintly 
tinged with green, spinach green.  She turned toward me, her eyes either 
unseeing, or not seeing me, and then turned her gaze back to something 
else.