“You are mad, aren’t you?” Kitty’s pink-frosted lips began to tremble.
“No,” she insisted. “It’s not that at all.”
Tears welled in the other woman’s eyes.
“Don’t cry, Kitty. I’m not mad.” Megan pulled up another stool and put her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Really, I’m not.”
Kitty sniffed loudly. “Don’t mind me. I always get like this right before my time of the month.”
Megan hugged her friend a little harder. Kitty and her husband, Mark, had been trying to have children for the last eleven years of their twelve-year marriage. Megan rummaged in her jeans’ pockets and found a couple of crumpled but clean napkins. She handed one to Kitty. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve got all the symptoms. Bloating, tiredness. I’ve had a headache for two days, and last night, I bawled over one of those AT&T call-home commercials.” Kitty blew her nose loudly.
“You’d think,” she said, “after all this time, I’d get used to it. But I never do. Each month, I chart my temperature, nag Mark about wearing boxer shorts, stand on my head after sex. Each time, I’m sure will be the moment we’ll create a miracle. Then, each month, I begin to bleed.”
Megan rubbed her friend’s back.
“Mark’s done the doctor visits, the tiny room with the plastic specimen cups and the old issues of Playboy. I’ve had my pipes cleaned out and taken enough fertility pills to populate a small, underdeveloped country.”
Megan handed her friend another wrinkled napkin.
“The adoption agency has such a long waiting list, they’re not even taking any more applications right now. We don’t have the money for a private adoption. We used up all our savings on the medical tests and specialists’ visits.”
Kitty’s tears fell faster. “As a teenager; my biggest fear was I’d get pregnant. Now, as an adult, my biggest fear is I won’t.”
Megan put her arms around the other woman and drew her to her chest. She felt the bony line of her friend’s spine as it rippled with each soundless cry. She rocked Kitty side to side as if the woman were a child herself.
In the outer office, a door opened, and they heard the sounds of voices.
Kitty lifted her head. “Arnold must be back from lunch.”
Megan took the wet tissues from Kitty’s hand and gently wiped her mascara-streaked cheeks.
“I must be a sight. Hormones,” Kitty said disgustedly. “Listen, don’t worry about tonight. I understand.”
Megan took Kitty’s hand. “No, you don’t.”
Kitty looked at her.
And I can’t explain it to you, Megan thought, looking into those black-ringed raccoon eyes.
“We’ll be there,” she said.
The smile she saw on Kitty’s face made her doubt all her fears. Maybe it won’t be so bad, she reasoned as she followed Kitty into the outer room. We’ll eat a little steak, I’ll buy a negligee I’ll never wear, Elliot and Gino will lose at a few hands of poker. Just a normal night out for a girl, her boyfriend…
And her genie.
GINO WAS STILL WIDE-AWAKE when he heard the back door open. He heard Megan say his name.
He stood up and began to pace, following the never-ending curve of the crock pot’s walls, the thoughts that had plagued him all afternoon making his steps quicker.
She was the master, and he was the servant. She was a human; he was a genie, soon to become king of his own kind. Her life was here. His life was about to begin in the Upper Tier.
He heard her say his name again, the sound of her voice sweeter than the angels’ hymns heralding a new day.
For two thousand years, he’d been halfway between heaven and earth, exiled from his own world, never completely belonging to hers. Then, two wishes away from his long-awaited desire, he’d met a deeper desire, a more powerful need. He could almost hear Ishtar’s laughter above.
He sat down, folding his arms across his chest. He’d battled beasts with the strength of wild animals and the cunning of gods. He’d mocked creatures with the blackness of evil in their eyes. He’d spurned the Goddess of Love and War. He’d have no problem resisting a human woman.
She said his name once more as she lifted the cover off the crock pot and peered in. She couldn’t see him, but he could see her, so close, yet always a world away from him.
For the first time in two thousand years, he felt cursed.
“We have to talk about something,” Megan said into the seemingly empty crock pot. She waited a moment, then said, “It involves lingerie.”
“Frederick’s or Victoria’s?”
Megan spun around. Gino was sitting at the kitchen table, nonchalantly peeling an apple. Megan didn’t know which was more disconcerting: his abrupt disappearances or the sudden return of his face and figure, his very beauty belying his human form. He smiled at her. It was truly unfair for a man to be so handsome that every time she looked at him, reason scattered and desire reigned.
“We’re going out tonight,” she said.
“Really?” The peel came off the apple in a clean, complete piece. “Just where does the lingerie come in?”
“Remember my friend, Kitty? You met her at the plant Saturday.”
“I remember.” Gino sliced his apple in half.
“She’s having a lingerie party tonight and—”
“If you volunteered me to model the G-strings—”
“No, I didn’t volunteer you to model the G-strings.” She started to laugh, realizing it was the first time she’d laughed all day. “Why? Did you want to?”
“Not especially.” He cut his apple once more.
“I thought you enjoyed that line of work.”
“Even us crock pot dwellers have a little dignity.”
She realized how much she’d missed him today. She’d missed the way he could make her laugh and even the way he could make her crazy. She’d missed the way he could make her feel like nobody else ever had. Or ever would. The thought came so quickly, she barely had time to suppress it.
“Here’s the story. Kitty’s invited us and that means you and me and Elliot—”
“We’re a ménage à trois now?”
“To her house for dinner around five-thirty. Afterward, some other couples are coming over. The guys are going to play poker during the girls’ home lingerie show.”
“Life in the fast lane, huh?”
“Just don’t drink too many Bud Lights and start telling your life story.”
Gino made a face. “Killjoy.”
“Listen, we’re going to have enough trouble explaining you. If you start that Prince of the Gin Rummy shtick, they’re going to be sending the men in the white jackets for you … and me.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve been doing this for two thousand years. I know the routine.”
“You’ll be good?”
“I’ll be great.”
Megan smiled but worry still pleated her brow as she started toward the hall. “I’m going to go take a shower.” She stopped at the doorway. “You’re not going to do your rumba routine tonight, are you?”
Gino stood up to throw away the apple peels. “Not unless Elliot’s mother requests it.”
“Elliot’s mother at a lingerie party? Hardly.”
“You never know.” He put his knife in the sink and rinsed his hands. “After yesterday, she may be a changed woman.”
“You’d better hope she isn’t there; or you and I are in deep doo-doo. I’m worried enough Elliot’ll recognize you, but he only saw you for a split second, and your face was half covered. Besides, this time, you’ll have your clothes on. Right?” Megan emphasized.
Gino gave her a long, level look ending with a slow-motion blink. “How’s this?” he asked.
He wore baggy plaid boxer shorts, a Hawaiian print shirt unbuttoned to reveal a T-shirt underneath sporting the Tasmanian Devil. On his head was a baseball cap that said Hair Today… Gone Tomorrow.
“Get serious, please. Tonight’s going to be dif
ficult enough. Now blink on something beige.” Megan almost made it to the hall this time before she stopped.
“You’re not going to cheat at cards, are you? I mean, with your special talents, you could wipe these guys out, and Elliot’s been acting really strange when it comes to money lately. You’d think he had an endless supply stashed away. I know he may have a little savings, but that’s it. You heard him talking to his mother about the big house he wants to buy. I don’t know why he goes on like that. The reality is we both may not even have jobs in another few months if the talk around the plant is true.”
“Maybe he has a genie, too?” Gino suggested.
“There’s more of you around here?” Megan asked in alarm.
Gino looked away from her, down into the wild eyes of the cartoon character across his chest. When he looked up, his own eyes revealed nothing. “If you’re so worried about me going tonight, why’d you say I’d come? I’ve my home sweet home.” He indicated the slow cooker. “We’re no longer joined at the hip, give or take five hundred feet.”
Megan leaned against the doorjamb. “I tried to get out of it. Believe me, I tried, but then Kitty got upset and started crying.”
“Because you declined her dinner invitation?” Gino said skeptically.
“Sort of, no, not exactly. She was really more upset because … well, Kitty and her husband have been trying to have a baby forever, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen anytime soon.”
“I want to be clear on this—I’m going to a lingerie-poker party tonight because the hostess can’t have a baby?”
“I know, it sounds ridiculous, but you should’ve seen her. I didn’t have the heart to hurt her more. I feel so bad for her. She wants a child more than anything in the world. It seems like such a simple thing, but when something goes wrong, you realize it’s really a miracle. And believe me, that’s what Kitty needs…”
Openmouthed, Megan stared at Gino. A smile started across her parted lips.
“A miracle. Kitty needs a miracle.” Megan’s face filled with joy as she looked at Gino.
“And we could give it to her.”
Chapter Eight
“You could do it, couldn’t you?” Megan’s words tumbled out in one breath.
Gino lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve just taken the term ‘social intercourse’ to a whole new level.”
“But it could be done?” she persisted.
“When would you prefer? Over guacamole and chips or when we’re sipping internationally flavored coffees after dinner?”
“You could do it,” she decided. She laughed. “I mean, you don’t actually have to do it.” She stopped laughing. “Do you?”
“Procreation without the pleasure? I thought that went out with the fifties?”
“Can you do it?” Megan’s voice was half plea, half prayer. Her hands rose in appeal.
He took her hands in his. “Make a wish.”
She looked up into his eyes, and a calmness and certainty came. “I wish…” Her tone was hushed and reverent. “For Kitty Sue Wasniewski to be with child.”
Gino’s eyes closed. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the valley between her knuckles. His eyes slowly opened.
“It is done.”
They stood very still as the wonder of life wrapped around them.
“You’ve a wonderful gift.” Megan’s voice was still hushed.
“At the risk of bringing up bad memories, I must remind you it takes two to fandango.”
Megan’s smile was softer than Gino’s voice, softer than her palm pressed against his. She looked down at their hands still clasped together.
She could have let go then. He could have released her.
Their fingers tangled together neither tightened nor relaxed. She was so close, he could see the fine down on her cheeks, a stray hair beneath the plucked line of her eyebrow. She lifted her head, and in her eyes, he saw desire.
His head bowed in homage, drawn to the naked need in her eyes, knowing too sharply the same want within him. His lips parted, he breathed, but still he was choking. His mouth began to move blindly, seeking salvation from the flesh of her shoulder, her throat, her own lips gasping for air. He covered her mouth with his, giving her the last strangled breath burning his chest. She took the gift he offered and gave it back to him multiplied. Feeling, deep and dizzying, flooded his body as if life had just begun.
He drank, a starving man now gorging himself. Her lips equally hungry, opened wider, allowing him to taste and touch and marvel at the very miracle of woman. His hands left hers to wrap around her waist. He held her tight as if she would slip away as suddenly as a dream. She folded against him, as warm and soft and sweet as a summer’s shower. All went still except their hearts.
It wasn’t until she pulled away from him, her head twisting in a wrenching movement, that his reason returned. She stepped back, her chest rising and falling, her breaths coming too fast. He reached out for her, to stay her. She turned her head to him, her eyes bright, her lips thick from his kisses. She gave him her hand.
What was he doing? He was a prince one wish away from his throne. She was a mortal woman engaged to marry another. He had no right to touch her, to need her, to want her so, to want her still.
Should he say he was sorry? Certainly what he’d done was wrong. Yet it felt nothing but right—more right, more perfect than he’d ever expected to know. How could he betray something so beautiful, so rare with an apology? How could he temper the feelings raging inside him with a false expression of regret?
She smiled then, absolving him completely.
“I’ve got to get ready to go to Kitty’s” was all she said. She let go of his hand and left the room, all the emotions and questions left unsaid.
MEGAN CLOSED HER BEDROOM door and sat down on the edge of the bed. She folded her hands in her lap and was motionless, her spine straight. She sat suspended, very still, barely breathing, like one not wanting to awaken from a dream.
She should feel guilt, remorse, shock.
She knew only joy.
Soon enough the other emotions would come to pummel her conscience. They would plague her, reminding her she was engaged to one man, but kissing another—another who was not a man at all, who, at times, seemed no more than a figment of her imagination.
Yet it wasn’t her imagination that had kissed her only moments ago. It had been a man—living, breathing, flesh and blood. It had been a man who had taken her into his arms and spoke to her in the secret language of desire. And it had been a woman who had answered him. In the kitchen, when they had come together in passion and need, there had been only a man, only a woman.
She chased out the accusations already gathering strength. Regret would come all too quickly later.
Now was her moment—hers and Gino’s. In those brief seconds, convention had fallen away; propriety had been passed over. Two hearts had met and whispered joy. One touch of his lips, and the impossible seemed possible. People could disappear into nothingness. They could be swept backward in time. They could fall in love. She knew all these things now, and the knowledge had come in one kiss. Right or wrong, she could not be less than grateful.
She sat a minute longer, then exhaled and stood, rising to get ready to meet the man she was to marry. THEY DROVE TO KITTY’S house, their thoughts each of the other, the taste of Gino still fresh and full on Megan’s mouth. The air in the car was too close. She opened the window. The scent of the freshly cut grass swept inside, its smell cloyingly sweet.
She braked left into a development of short streets and abrupt corners. The houses were all the same, varying only in color and the number of ceramic gnomes on the front lawns. She pulled into a stone driveway leading to a low-peaked ranch, its vinyl siding the color of the faded denim shorts worn by their approaching hostess. A ceramic frog beside the front door held a small sign that said Welcome To Our Pad.
She turned off the engine. Gino reached for the door handle.
“Is ther
e anything else we should’ve done?” she had to ask.
He considered her question. “A shrimp ring would’ve been a nice gesture.”
She laid an anxious hand on his forearm. “Is Kitty really pregnant?”
He placed a reassuring hand on top of hers. “probably with twins. I do have supernatural powers, you know.”
She laughed. He looked down at their hands, his broad square covering her narrower width so he couldn’t tell where one hand ended and the other began.
He looked up: Her laughter had settled into a smile. The small space in the car seemed to contract further. He remembered the moist heat of her mouth, the unspoken need of her body pressed to his. She sat still. He made no motion. Yet, they seemed to be moving toward each other, drawn like two polar ends. He made himself look away from her gaze. The first time could be forgiven; the second time would be deliberate.
She slid her hand out from beneath his and opened the car door. He stepped out also, meeting Kitty’s scarlet-lipped smile.
“Gino, I’m so glad you could make it. Come on out back. Mark’s on the patio watching, oh, I’m not sure. One of those baseball teams with a bird name—Orioles, Blue Jays, Woodpeckers.
“You like baseball, Gino?” Kitty continued, heading toward the back.
Megan stopped midstep, praying Gino wouldn’t answer his preferred sport was streaking across the desert, robes streaming, scimitar risen, the smell of slain monsters’ blood filling the dry night air.
“Doesn’t every self-respecting American male love baseball?” he replied.
Kitty laughed. “But not every self-respecting American male’s wife.”
Megan allowed herself a smile. Maybe this evening wouldn’t be so bad after all.
They rounded a corner to the backyard. On the deck, a large, solidly built man was reclining in a lawn chair, a remote control resting on his chest.
“This is my husband, Mark,” Kitty introduced.
Mark got up from the lounge chair. Its webbed seat retained his shape. He set down a beer can and wiped his wide hand across his batik print shorts before extending it to Gino.
A Man for Megan Page 11
