Gilgamesh leaned in closer. “What you Americans usually call me is a genie.”
The woman’s amusement released in a smile, her entire face becoming airbrushed loveliness. “This is a great dream,” she said.
He smiled back. “Two thousand years ago, Ishtar, the Goddess of Love and War sentenced me to serve two thousand mortal masters.”
“Really?” The woman’s smile was fuller, more incredulous. “And why’s that?”
“I refused to be her lover.”
“Hell hath no fury, huh?” The woman chuckled, the freckles across her nose dancing.
“Ishtar loved only the challenge. Her conquests were more often than not discarded before the next new day. I had no desire to join her legendary list of humiliated lovers. Three times I denied her…”
He bowed low. “So three wishes you’ll receive. I’m at your service, your faithful servant, the Genie of the…” He looked up to the counter where the container he’d come from had sat. “Exactly what was that thing anyway?”
“It was a crock pot.”
“I’m the Genie of the…Crock Pot.” He straightened and sighed. “I can’t wait for this gig to be over.”
“Give me four hours of deep sleep, and your wish’ll be granted.”
Gilgamesh smiled. He was used to disbelief in the beginning.
“As I said, you’ll be granted three wishes. You can’t wish for more wishes. Also, my powers don’t extend to the realm of love.”
“I know. I saw the movie.”
“The movie?”
“Aladdin. I rented it one night when I was baby-sitting my girlfriend’s kids.”
“Please don’t mention Aladdin. I’m never going to live that one down when I get back to the Upper Tier.”
She looked at him curiously.
“My last master was an agent, and we went to a party in Hollywood. I’m afraid I had one too many Fuzzy Navels and got talking. The next thing I know it’s in the script.”
“Your last master was an agent?”
“A literary agent.”
“A literary agent?” Megan echoed, her skepticism asking him to go on.
Gilgamesh shrugged. “Where do you think John Grisham came from?”
Megan burst into laughter. “This has been a lot of fun, but I’m going to lie down now. It was great meeting you. Good luck with your goddesses.” She started out of the kitchen.
“No, wait.” The urgency in his voice stopped her. She turned around.
“You don’t understand. You’re my two thousandth master.”
Megan crossed her arms. “What does that mean? I get a two-wishes-for-one special?”
“No, no. The curse was serving two thousand masters in two thousand years. After I grant your wishes, the curse will be over. I will return to my realm and ascend the steps to the throne promised me by Ishtar. I will be given the birthright thwarted by my mother’s mortal blood. I will be King.”
Megan nodded. She bit her bottom lip, but Gilgamesh still saw the grin she was trying to stop. He smiled back persuasively.
“So, whaddya say? One, two, three, and I’ll be free.”
Megan filled the kitchen once more with the sweet song of her laughter. “I haven’t had such a good time in so long, I actually hate to end this. Don’t take this personally. You’re a nice guy, and I’m sure you’re going to make someone a great genie. But not me. Good night.”
“Wait,” he commanded, all persuasion gone, but Megan had already left. He considered going after her, then decided it was futile. He wouldn’t be able to convince her he was anything more than a dream until she got some sleep. He heard her chuckling as she opened a door down the hall. “A genie,” she said to herself. The door closed.
Scowling, Gilgamesh plopped down into the wicker rocker by the window. He crossed his arms. His fingertips tapped against his biceps. He’d waited two thousand years, he tried to reason. He could wait another few hours. He leaned forward, then back, setting the rocker into a furious swing.
MEGAN TURNED OFF the buzzing clock beside her bed without opening her eyes. She stretched and burrowed deeper into the sheets. It couldn’t be morning yet. She rolled away from the sunlight trying to penetrate her closed eyelids.
Gradually consciousness came, clearing away the confusion of sleep. It was Saturday, she remembered, and she’d worked late last night. She was working tonight. She remembered the morning, the smoke, the firemen.
She remembered the genie.
She smiled, still refusing to open her eyes and surrender her dream. Beneath shuttered eyes, she summoned the man. He looked back at her with eyes so black she couldn’t tell where the pupils ended and the irises began. His lips yielded with only a slight bow at the corners and crest. His cheekbones aligned in a long slant, lifting his features into a pose of regality.
She nuzzled into the down of the pillow. He’d been so real. She knew dreams didn’t come true, but this one had come close….
She heard a loud squeaking.
Megan opened her eyes.
It couldn’t be.
She got out of bed, wrapped a frayed terry-cloth robe around her and walked into the hall. The noise seemed to be coming from the kitchen. She tiptoed down the hall with measured steps, her heartbeat seeming as loud as the frantic squeak. She stopped just outside the kitchen doorway. Fear filled her limbs, preparing them to take flight. Apprehension heightened her senses until the squeak seemed to resound within her head. Careful not to show herself, she peeked around the corner. A dizzying wave of fright clutched her. She grabbed the doorjamb. Her throat swelled. Her lips parted in a gasp. The squeaking stopped. There, in the white wicker rocker, sat the man of her dreams.
The man turned and saw her clinging to the door molding. He jumped up. Megan let go and jumped back.
“Did you have a nice rest?” the man asked.
“You’re supposed to be gone,” she whispered.
“Make your three wishes, and I will be,” he suggested.
Megan moved back until she felt her spine hit the wall. “You’re real.” Her voice stayed a terrified whisper.
“I’m in human form.”
He must have been there the whole time she slept. Megan’s mind began to spin out of control with fear and uncertainty. She could have been raped, tormented, killed. She had a lunatic in the house, and what had she done? She’d taken a nap.
She took a deep breath. Now was not the time to fall apart. She eyed the intruder. He didn’t seem dangerous, but then again, neither had Ted Bundy.
“This isn’t funny anymore.” She marched to the telephone. “I’m calling the police.”
“If you do, I’ll disappear again like I did when the firemen came.”
Megan stared to dial. “That’s what I’m hoping for—your disappearance.”
“Call in another false alarm, and the local boys aren’t going to be so amused this time. They’ll definitely begin to wonder what’s wrong with ol’ Megs.”
“I’m beginning to wonder the same thing.”
Gilgamesh sat down, crossed his legs and rocked slowly. “Go ahead, call. When they come, they won’t find a trace of me.”
Over her shoulder, Megan looked back. He was gone. He’d just been there, but now, the chair rocked once, twice, then stopped, empty. Megan stopped dialing. She walked to the chair. She waved her hand between its scrolled arms, meeting no resistance. She patted the flowered cushion on its seat. Had a man been sitting there? The pillow was warm, but that could be explained by the midafternoon summer sun filling the room. The cushion was also squashed, but it had always needed a bit more batting.
She started to put the phone back. “I’m losing my mind,” she muttered.
“No, you’re not,” came a resigned reply behind her.
This time she couldn’t help it. She screamed as loud as she could.
“Shh.”
She turned around. The man was again in the rocker, his hands outstretched in a quieting gesture.
&
nbsp; “Don’t scare me like that.” She released her terror in an angry outburst. She slumped against the side of the refrigerator. “How’d you do that? You’re a magician, right?”
The man shook his head. “I’m a genie.”
Watching the man, Megan picked up the phone receiver she’d dropped. She punched in Elliot’s number. All she got was his answering machine.
“Elliot,” she spoke into the receiver as she kept her eye on the man rocking rhythmically before her. “Get over here quick. And bring your .38.”
She kept the phone in her hand, her only available weapon. “Elliot was in the marines. A demolitions specialist.”
The man stood up. She backed against the refrigerator.
“What do you want from me? What’re you doing here?” she pleaded.
The man’s hands extended in a pacifying position. “Like I said before, it’s really quite simple. I got cursed, you got the crock pot. You make your wishes, I grant them. The curse is over. I get to be King, you get your dreams to come true. Everyone lives happily ever after.”
Megan stared at him. “One of us has lost our minds.”
The man’s mouth spread into a disarming smile. “Freud once told me sanity is an overrated state anyway.”
Megan’s expression stayed somber, even though she felt the seductive pull of his smile. Inside her, something awoke, and her stomach went light. This response frightened her the most.
“Just because you’re charming doesn’t mean you aren’t crazy,” she told him.
The receiver in her hand was beeping. The mantel clock in the living room Elliot had given her last Christmas chimed twice, reminding her she was supposed to be at work in less than an hour. She didn’t dare be late, not the way everyone was walking around on eggshells at the plant since the last layoff. Anyway, what would her excuse to her boss be: she had a genie in her kitchen? She might be losing her mind, but she wasn’t going to lose her job.
The man unbuttoned his suit jacket and shoved his hands into his pants pockets, waiting for her to speak. She forced her gaze away from the shoulders filling his shirt, pulling it taut across a strong chest
Elliot was the man of her dreams. This guy was just a lunatic.
She hung up the phone. “I’ve got to get to work,” she explained.
“Wish for riches, and you’ll never have to work again.” The man winked at her.
No matter who he really was, Megan realized, the man obviously believed he was a genie. Maybe if she played along, she could get away and call the police from the pay phone at the plant. She’d get to work on time, and Shazam would have no idea the police were coming so he couldn’t pull another disappearing act.
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Three wishes, huh?” She opened the refrigerator and peered inside.
Gilgamesh came up behind her. “What is your desire? Strawberries picked before the morning dew has dried on their delicate flesh? Wine so sweet, it stuns the senses and casts all things real with a rosy hue? Pastry as light and crisp as meringue wrapped around beef roasted as tender as a mother’s touch?”
Megan put a diet cherry cola and a foil-wrapped circle onto the counter. She closed the refrigerator door and moved away from the intriguing spice smell of her captor. She concentrated on unwrapping the foil package, revealing a pita bread filled with vegetables.
She took a large bite of the sandwich as she turned to the man. “I don’t drink, and I follow a low-fat diet,” she said in between chews. She popped open the can of soda. A light spray arced upward into the man’s face.
“But I’m going to give your other offer some serious thought.” Megan began to back away. She took another bite of the pita, spilling shreds of lettuce onto the floor.
She bent down, picked up the lettuce and put it into the garbage under the sink. “Three wishes. Gosh. So many choices.” She plumped the pillow on the rocker as she passed. She’d almost reached the hallway. “I wouldn’t want to make the wrong decision. How often does a chance like this come along?” She brandished her sandwich to underline her point. She was in the hallway finally.
“I’m going to get dressed for work now.” She continued her backward retreat from the room. “But I’m going to be thinking of my three wishes every minute. Believe me.”
By now she was halfway down the hall and out of the man’s sight. She waited to see if he would come to the doorway. He didn’t. She turned and ran the rest of the way to her bedroom.
In the kitchen, Gilgamesh reached for a napkin from the hand-painted holder on the counter. His lips screwed tightly together, fluting to one-third their normal size. His gaze stayed on the slice of hallway visible through the doorjamb. Slowly he wiped off the soda still wet on his chin. From between his pursed lips came a one-word oath:
“Humans.”
Chapter Two
With a squeal, Megan’s ’84 Gremlin rounded the corner into the employees’ parking lot, then screeched to a stop, backfiring twice. She generally didn’t speed, but today she had made the fifteen-minute trip in six minutes. She glanced in the rearview mirror for the hundredth time. She wasn’t looking for a squad car; she was looking for a magic carpet. What she saw was a square of blank summer sky. Except for the curious looks from her neighbor, Mrs. Schneider, who had been outside pruning her prize-winning roses when Megan had climbed out her bedroom window, the escape, so far, had been successful.
She was halfway across the parking lot before she remembered the crock pot in the trunk. Muttering all the way, she hurried back to get it. Balancing the bulky pot on her hip, she started back toward the plant, vowing solemnly to never go to another yard sale again. She switched the crock pot to her other hip as she pulled open the plant’s putty-colored door. She took the steps two at a time to the break room, but Travis Smith was already on the pay phone. The way he was smiling into the mouthpiece, Megan knew he was on the line to his mistress. She waited a few minutes, but then, she saw him hook his thumb through his belt loop and spread his legs apart into a wider stance, and she knew wild horses wouldn’t have helped her drag him away from the sweet nothings heating up the wire.
She hurried back down the stairs and into the side door of Quality Control. She set the crock pot on the floor of the employees’ coat closet. She reached inside for a white lab coat, found a pair of earplugs and plastic safety glasses. She put the glasses on, but they slipped down as beads of sweat broke out along the bridge of her nose.
“Is everything okay?” Kitty Wasniewski asked in a voice matching the rushed pace of Megan’s breathing. Kitty was the other Quality Control inspector. She was also Megan’s best friend.
Megan turned around. From the corner of her eye, she saw Arnold Shelton, director of Quality Control, look up from his wide, metal desk.
“Everything’s fine,” Megan answered, upset to hear her voice too frantic.
“Tom and I heard the call for the fire department go out over the scanner.”
Megan saw Arnold lean back in his chair. “You had a fire at your house?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Megan waved away their concern, forcing her own voice to sound calm. “I had a little trouble with a crackpot, I mean, a crock pot.”
“That crock pot you just brought in?” Kitty pointed to the floor of the coat closet.
“What’re you hoping for, Megan? To blow up the joint?” Arnold chuckled. “There goes this quarter’s safety record.”
“Don’t worry. It only smokes if you plug it in. I brought it in to see if I could stick it in the garbage bin. Can you believe they want ten dollars to take this at the county dump?”
“Garbage.” Arnold shook his head as he went back to the computer on his desk. “It’s a gold mine.”
Kitty, however, was still staring at the crock pot.
Megan picked it up. “Why don’t I take this with me?” With her free hand, she grabbed a white bucket. “I’ll go get the three o’clock shots.” She was almost out the door when Arnold stopped her.
; “Before you go, measure the Helman filter cores quick. The inside diameter ran below the min all last shift. I had to put their whole skid on hold. If it’s not up by now, I’m going to shut the press down.”
Megan glanced at the clock as she set down the bucket. The man would definitely know she’d escaped by now. She shouldn’t have left him in the house alone. What if he got angry and busted up the place? What if it was all a ruse for a robbery? What if he knew where she worked and was on his way here now?
She measured the cores. “They’re within spec, Arnold, but I’ll measure the next hour’s as soon as I get back to make sure.”
Carrying the crock pot and the bucket, she ran up the steps to the break room, this time breathing heavily with relief when she saw the room was empty. She set the crock pot on the counter, hooked the bucket on her arm and went to the pay phone. She was on the last number of 9-1-1 when she felt a touch, light, warm, moist, on the back of her neck. Fear crawled down her spine.
Two hands came from behind and covered her eyes. There was darkness, then a male voice whispered in her ear, “Guess who?”
Megan knew she had one shot only. She flexed her foot and prayed her aim wasn’t off. Her heel came up swiftly, hitting its target. The hands covering her eyes flew off. She swung the bucket wildly behind her until it met solid mass. She heard a long, low moan, then the thud of weight hitting the floor.
She turned triumphant, but the victory in her eyes quickly turned to concern. The white bucket, poised to strike again, slid back down to the crook of her arm.
There, on the linoleum floor, clutching his groin and rolling back and forth across potato chip crumbs and straw wrappers was her future husband.
“Elliot!” She knelt down beside him. She tried to touch him. He pulled back.
“Are you crazy?” The words came between gasping breaths. “I give you a little kiss on the neck, and you try to kill me?”
“I thought you were…I didn’t know who it was.”
Elliot rolled onto his knees. “Who’d you think it was?” With a grimace, he straightened.
Avoiding his question, Megan asked, “What’re you doing here?”
A Man for Megan Page 2
