=Happy Endings Inc.=

They call it Happy Endings, Inc. It works like Tripe-A. You sign up for a membership, call the number on the laminated card, and a guy in shining armor comes on horseback and rescues you from peril anytime you need him, night or day. I signed up for a three-month trial. In that time, I've been lost in the desert twice, tied to the train tracks once, kidnapped and sold into white slavery four times, and nearly scalped by wild Indians. It's been a godsend. I don't know what I would have done without it. Died, I guess. Or worse.

One day, near the end of the trial period, I call the number which now I know by heart. I say, "I'm about to cook and eat a roast beef." "And that's an emergency?" the dispatcher asks. "I'm a vegetarian," I say."I see." There's the pregnant silence of someone checking a list, a series of blips and bleeps. Then she's back on the line, "I can have a happy ending there in five minutes. Sound okay?" "Yes. The oven timer still has twenty minutes on it. Even bloody-rare the meat won't be ready before then. Thank you." "No prob. Enjoy your happy ending."

Sure enough, within the hour, it's happily ever after again. The knight is sitting at my kitchen table, shining armor clinking, sopping up the last of the melted fat and blood with a chunk of bread. He holds up the empty plate, shows me the shine; it's like a full moon. From beneath his visor, I see his wolfish grin.

Then he starts to howl.

It's always midnight sooner than you think. That's the way it is in fairy tales but somehow the heroine never learns. My trial subscription is over, my card expired. I figure they must have a grace period, no? My what big teeth he has, what long tongue, what hairy hands. I stand there, arms crossed, tapping my foot impatiently. So, is this going to be another happy ending after all or what?