Careful What You Wish For Page 6

  “A lunch date?” I asked.

  Her lips pressed together and her cheeks turned a little pink. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ravine. It’s not a date date. Cal and I need to talk…to talk about getting a better turnout for bingo nights.”

  “Ma, you know, if you are dating Cal, I think that’s okay,” I said. I noticed she was wearing lipstick again and had on a pretty sweater that showed off her curves.

  “Whatever gave you such an idea? Me dating Calvin Metz? At my age? Don’t be silly.” The color in her cheeks deepened. “I’ll give you a call tonight,” she added and hurried out.

  I waited until I heard her pickup back down the driveway before I grabbed my cell phone and called Freddi. She answered on the first ring, and I asked her if she had a minute to talk. She said she had just put Mrs. Boland under the dryer, so to fire away.

  “You didn’t tell anybody about Gene?” I asked.

  “You told me not to,” Freddi said, sounding annoyed.

  “You’re evading the question. Did you say anything, like to Bobby?”

  There was a pause—not a good sign. “Ah, not exactly.”

  “Not exactly? Freddi, what did you say?” I was almost wailing.

  “Calm down. I didn’t say anything about you finding a genie in a bottle. Bobby would have called nine-one-one and had me hauled away. He already thinks I’m acting nuts because of the hormones I’m taking. I merely said I met a guy at your house, that’s all. And ah, hmmm, that I thought you might be seeing somebody.”

  Oh terrific, I thought. Bobby will be telling everybody at the Charmin plant. “Well, do me a favor. Don’t say anything else. Chances are Gene will be gone before anybody runs into him.”

  “Don’t count on it. Aunt Clara will find out. You know she will.”

  “She will not. Not if you don’t blab.”

  “I won’t say a word, but remember, I told you so.”

  “Listen, Freddi, I called up for a reason. You hear anything about Scabby Hoyt lately?”

  “Funny you should ask. Zelma Sickler was in for a perm. You know her hair is so thin now, it helps to have some curls. Anyways, she was talking about Scabby.”

  “What did she say?”

  “He’s been flashing around some hundred-dollar bills. In fact, he put a down payment on a four-wheeler over at Caddy LaBarr’s. Why?”

  “I have a hunch about something, that’s all.”

  “Well, watch yourself around him. He’s a snake.”

  “I will. Look, I gotta go. I’m going to let Gene out again.” I hesitated. “Do you think I should—let him out, I mean—or what?”

  “You know it don’t matter what I say you should do. You’ll do what you want to anyways. But yeah, let him out. He’s the best-looking guy I’ve seen around here…well, in just about ever. Since Bobby got out of the service, anyway. Gene seems sort of military too. I don’t know, but whoo-ee, he’s sexy.”

  “He’s a genie, Freddi. He’s some sort of spirit. Anyway, he’s not really a guy.”

  “If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck…. Go for it, Ravine.”

  “Shut up, Freddi.”

  “Back at you,” she said and we both hung up.

  Okay, the moment of truth had arrived. I opened the cupboard doors and pulled out the genie’s bottle. I had begun perspiring from the heat in the kitchen and my rapidly escalating nervousness. The amber bottle was cool beneath my hands, and I could hear a steady, insistent tapping coming from inside it.

  I hesitated a minute; then I strengthened my resolve and pulled out the cork. White smoke slithered out of the mouth of the bottle, invisible bells made a joyful jingling in the air, and with a poof, Gene stood in front of me in the kitchen. Even though this was the third time I had witnessed his materializing from the smoke, the sight still left me amazed. I had no explanation for the phenomenon, but my rational mind couldn’t accept that it was actually magic.

  What wasn’t magical was the scowl on Gene’s face. He didn’t seem happy to see me. Since I needed to ask him for a favor—not a wish—I decided to turn on whatever charm I could muster.

  “And how are you today, Gene?” I said brightly.

  “How am I? How would you be? I get a taste of fresh air after sixty-some years, then I end up back in that musty bottle in the pitch-dark for nearly twenty-four hours. I’m getting ready to spit the dummy, to tell the truth.” Gene turned away from me then and walked over to stare out the window at the sunlit fields. His back was broad, his waist was narrow, and his posture was straight, but his shoulders sagged a little. I heard him let out a deep sigh. He kept his face toward the window while he said, “I thought a lady like you would have more compassion, that’s all.”

  He definitely had an attitude, and maybe he had a point. I chose my words carefully, using those “I” statements I remembered from psychology class. “Look, Gene, I am really sorry about locking you up. I panicked, that’s all. My mother was coming over. I don’t know how to explain you. Stashing you behind the cereal boxes was all I could think of on the spur of the moment. I don’t blame you for being mad about it. I hear what you’re saying to me. You’re right. I should have been more…more sensitive to your feelings. Let’s try to work things out between us about what to do in the future in emergencies—okay?”

  Gene turned around. He looked very young. For a moment, lines of sorrow etched his face, but they vanished so quickly that I wondered if they had ever been there. Now a smile played around his lips. He folded his arms across his chest and in a voice as cocky as ever said, “Technically I am your slave, Ravine. You can do whatever you want with me.”

  I thought I detected a suggestive undertone to his statement, but I ignored it. “This is America, Gene. Lincoln freed the slaves. How about a partnership between you and me? As long as you’re here,” I suggested.

  “That would be beaut. As long as I’m here anyway. You still have two wishes to make. Any idea how long you’re going to take?”

  “Not really. I was hoping I could ask you some questions first.” I pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. “Why don’t you come over and sit with me. We can have a cup of coffee and talk it over.”

  I never saw Gene move, but suddenly he was seated at the table. A mug holding steaming hot coffee sat in front of me; a small plate holding the chocolate chip cookies was next to it. The table in front of him was empty, however. He sat sideways in his chair, draping his arm over its back and stretching his long legs out into the room.

  “Nothing for you?” I asked. “Aren’t you hungry after living for over sixty years in a bottle?”

  “Can’t right say I am,” he answered and looked at me, his blue eyes twinkling. “I don’t have an appetite yet. For food, anyway.”

  I ignored the hint of lewdness. “I guess I am thinking about your appetite or appetites, Gene. I don’t know what a genie needs to exist or what you can and can’t do—as far as your magic goes. And I’m wondering if there is any fine print that goes along with the wishes. I mean, are there any strings attached to them?”

  “What do you want me to answer first, Ravine? About what I am capable of doing or about the wishes?” he answered me as a shadow of sadness chased across his face again for an instant.

  I may not have liked practicing business law very much, but I had killer instincts when it came to questioning a witness. “Let’s start with you, Gene,” I began in a serious, remember-you-are-under-oath tone of voice. “First off, are you really alive or are you actually dead, like a ghost?”

  Gene shifted in his chair, leaned his elbow on the table, and rested his chin in his hand. “Lady, take a good look. Do I look dead to you?” he said.

  He and I were closer together than we had ever been. His eyes were bright and alive, and to prove it, Gene winked at me in that insolent way he had. His lips were full and pink, smooth and inviting. I could smell his breath as he exhaled; its light odor was clean and minty. A stubble of reddish brown beard, a darker shade than his long, sun-blea
ched hair, covered his chin and his upper lip. His unshaven state was extremely sexy. I was feeling unexpected hungers building deep inside me, but I did my best to ignore them.

  “You’re going to need a shave soon,” I commented.

  He rubbed his cheeks with his hands. “You’re spot on. I could do with a shower too.” Then he reached out his hand toward mine. “May I?” he asked and picked up my fingers with his. A shock of electricity raced up my arm. His hand was big and strong, his grip was warm, and I had no doubt he was very much alive.

  “Do I feel dead?” he asked, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze.

  “Nooo.” My voice had turned into a breathy whisper. I eased my hand out of his. “You feel pretty normal, I guess.” Getting hold of my emotions, I hardened my tone and returned to the business at hand.

  “All right, part two of my question. What’s a genie anyway? A spirit? A demon? I read Aladdin and the Magic Lamp when I was a kid, but I figured genies were a myth. You already said you weren’t a myth. So what are you?”

  Gene was studying me closely. If I could read his mind, I’d say he was thinking, Where is she going with this? After a long pause during which I didn’t blink, he answered me: “I guess the best word for what I am is enchanted. The caliph, you know, the big boss of the oasis I was in, figured death was too easy for me. He had his magus—that’s the magician fellow who worked for him—put a spell on me instead. The magus made me a genie and stuck me in the bottle. I’m not meaning to rush you, but once you finish up your two wishes, the spell will be broken and I’ll be free.”

  “Free? To do what, Gene? Will you be an ordinary man again? And if so, will you be like Dorian Gray and start getting all decrepit and old within minutes? You’ve been in the bottle for decades, obviously without aging. What’s going to happen when the spell is lifted?”

  He looked off behind me somewhere after I said that, and his eyes took on that faraway look again. “I don’t know. I only know it has to be better than being three inches high and stuck in a bottle for eternity. But after your third wish, I hope I can go back home.”

  “Back to 1942?” I asked.

  He turned his face back to me, pinning me with eyes that for a fleeting moment held both hope and fear. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “Oh bloody hell, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be dust. I cheated death once out there in the sand. I’ll take my bloody chances.” Then he stopped and looked at me. “Why do you care? Do you think you’ll miss me?”

  “No, I won’t miss you. Why would I? I simply need to know what I’m dealing with here so I have a sound basis to make some decisions.”

  “Spoken like a barrister. But you know, little lady, the law is the law and life is life. Yours seems a bit empty, don’t you know. I can be good company. I’m handy too—in all sorts of ways. Your house and your life can use some fixing. Maybe what you need is a man.”

  “Need a man. You arrogant, chauvinist p—” I began.

  He held up his hands. “Whoa. Lighten up. I was trying to be funny. I like to see that fire come into your eyes.”

  I wanted to take Brady’s bottle and bop him with it. I restrained my urge for violence. “You are not funny. I’m trying to be serious here.”

  “Okay, Miss Member of the Bar. What’s your next question? Would you like to know if I can eat? Drink? Function like a man—in every way?”

  Like most red-blooded young guys, Gene seemed to think with his little head as much as with the one on his shoulders. I let out an exasperated sigh. “You are something else. Since you are thinking about sex, evidently a lot, I can safely assume you have retained all your, shall we say, faculties. Believe me, I couldn’t care less. What I do care about is the issue of the wishes. First off, can I wish for anything at all, or are there restrictions?”

  “Restrictions? Not from my end. I’ll grant whatever you request. My magic is apparently limitless, or almost. I can’t use it to help myself. And of course, I can’t resurrect the dead. That’s in the hands of a higher power.”

  I looked at him hard. I had a nagging sensation there was something he wasn’t telling me. He kept a poker face and stared right back at me. Being this close to Gene made me tingle. The very air had an electric charge.

  I steeled myself not to react and kept my voice steady while I hammered out the words. “But there is a trick to the wishes, isn’t there? I remember from old fairy tales that wishes have to be worded exactly or the person wishing can end up with something unintended or suffer from some unexpected consequences, such as…Now I’d like to give an example, I’m not wishing for this—all right?”

  “Right.” He nodded. “This is hypothetical.” He blew me a kiss when he thought I wasn’t looking.

  “I saw that. Stop it.”

  “Yes, mistress.” He didn’t sound contrite.

  “All right, hypothetically. If I wished never to die, you could grant me immortality, but I’d keep getting older and older until I’d be better off dead. Right?”

  “I’m not supposed to give you any hints. But you have the idea.”

  “And if I wished for a hundred million dollars, for example, I’d get the money, but I couldn’t spend much of it without having the cops or the Internal Revenue Service swoop down demanding to know where it came from. I could even end up in jail or something, now couldn’t I?”

  “It’s a possibility. Been known to happen. You’re smart, Ravine. I think you’ve caught on. Wishing for money or gold or jewelry never works out. Too many tax problems,” Gene said lazily. While I was talking, he had put his hand close to the coffee mug I was holding. Now his fingers were lightly brushing across my knuckles, sending tingles of pleasure up my arm. I gave him a dirty look and pulled my hand away.

  “What do you think you’re doing? Keep your hands to yourself.” My words were as frosty as the November air.

  “Aye, aye, mistress. Sorry ’bout that. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to a beautiful woman. And as we’ve discussed, I’m not dead, Ravine.”

  “That’s just great. You’re not merely a genie, you’re a horny genie. So, do you think you are going to be living in my house and making passes at me? I don’t think so! I think if you want to stay out of that brown bottle, we’d better set some ground rules.”

  “I have to obey you. That’s what genies do…obey. Whatever you say goes.” Gene smiled and leaned his chin in his hand. “So. What are the Ravine house rules?”

  “For starters, don’t touch me.”

  Gene rolled his eyes. “Not only a hysterical mistress, but she’s a prude too,” he said under his breath.

  “I heard that.” By now my voice had turned to ice even though I was quickly melting inside. “I’m not looking for a sexual adventure with a genie, so get that straight. I don’t even know you, and if I did know you, I don’t know if I’d like you, so back off!”

  “I read you loud and clear,” he responded with a sigh. “What are the other rules and regs?”

  “Stay out of my bedroom.”

  His eyebrows rose. His forehead wrinkled. He looked insulted. “I haven’t even been in your bedroom.”

  “I want to make it clear, it’s off-limits.”

  “Okay, your bedroom is off-limits. Anything else?”

  “About the cleaning and cooking—”

  “You want me to stop that too?”

  “No! Not at all. I want you to carry on with that, Gene,” I said and smiled. “Don’t forget to do the laundry. And right now I have something else I need your help with. I’m not making a wish, but it’s a job—a legal case actually—where I might need some assistance. As my partner, not my slave, okay?”

  “An unequal partner, obviously,” he answered, “but yes, we agreed on it. What do I have to do?”

  “I bought you some clothes. You might want to wear them. It’s your decision, not a wish. Do you have any problem with that?”

  “No, no problem. These duds from the desert are definitely tatty and getting a bit ripe,
if you know what I mean.” He lifted his arm and sniffed under his armpit. “I don’t know if I’m going to like your taste in clothes though,” he added.

  I handed him the Wal-Mart bag. “This isn’t for a fashion show, Gene. Your desert fatigues aren’t suited for a Pennsylvania winter. I got you some clean underwear too. Are you wearing underwear? Wait a minute, don’t bother to answer that. You’ll also find a pair of blue jeans, a few shirts, a six-pack of socks, and a winter jacket. I guessed at the size; they’re all large. I think they’ll fit. You could use some new boots too, but I decided it would be better if you tried them on, so I didn’t get them this trip.”

  “I take it we’re going out?”

  “You’re quick, Gene. We are.” I explained to him where we were going and what I needed him to do.

  Chapter 6

  If an ancient RV, sun-faded with rust creeping up the seams, could be called a house, then Scabby had one. The decaying trailer was a step up from a tar-paper shack, but not by much. My Beemer jolted down a dirt driveway filled with ruts. I pulled over onto a patch of weeds and parked out of reach of a frantic Labrador retriever tied to a coop. The dog was barking madly and throwing himself in the air until his chain pulled him cruelly back to earth.

  Scabby’s pickup wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but an old John Deere tractor stood next to an aluminum-sided barn, about fifty yards behind the RV. Some skinny cows had gathered around a pile of hay thrown at the end of an enclosure surrounded by an electric fence.

  Gene and I climbed out of my car. The weak November sun slipped behind a distant cloud and gloom descended on Scabby’s place. I shivered and hesitated, thinking I should drop this whole crazy idea. Gene looked at me, his eyebrows raised in an unasked question. Suddenly, as if the time were deliberately chosen, the sun broke through, and I watched the light chase toward us across the drab fields, turning them gold. When the world was bright again, I stole another glance at Gene, my stomach churning both with anticipation and excitement.