Three More Wishes: Be Kind To Your Genie

by Doctor MC

  Meaning that all three visitors had briefly turned their faces toward the porch camera. So they probably weren’t skulking around.

  Then House Voice added, “Error! Contradiction. The life-force detector registers only two humans.”

  Juanita thought, Great. I pay a fortune for the thing, and now it’s going bad? Aloud she said, “Unlock the front door. But turn on auditory pickup in the living room and my bedroom, just in case.”

  “Understood. Front door unlocked.”

  As Juanita walked to the front door, she wished that Manuel would pay the stupid child support more often. Hernando had outgrown his pants and shoes, and if the life-force detector needed replacing, where was the money for all this going to come from? In this neighborhood, leaving the life-force detector unrepaired and unreplaced was foolish.

  Juanita opened the front door. There she saw an old Anglo man, an old Angla woman, and a nurse. The nurse was pushing the old man’s wheelchair.

  The nurse was pretty, in an exotic way. She had braided waist-length black hair that Juanita envied—thick, as shiny as fresh paint, and with no split ends. Beyond the quarter-sleeves of her green-on-green disposi-scrubs, the nurse had muscular brown arms. Her facial features said she was Middle Eastern—except that her eyes glowed green like a traffic light.

  The old woman leaned on a walker. She was dressed affluently, as was the old man.

  The old man had been very tall in his youth, and even in old age, his shoulders were as wide as a bull’s. Though his face was pale, his eyes were alert, and they were locked on Juanita’s eyes.

  Under the wheelchair’s seat, and between the wheels, hung a sling for carrying cargo. Juanita caught a glimpse of a green box.

  “Good morning, Juanita Gutierrez,” the old man said in English, in a raspy voice. “I am Marvin Harper. Please invite us into your house.”

  It seemed so natural to say: “Please, all of you, come in.”

  Despite the man being old and sickly, he was the most magnetic man whom Juanita had ever met. A man to be respected, and obeyed, and served. Juanita had laid eyes on him only seconds earlier, but she decided that if he wanted to fuck her, she would make sure to melt his socks. Even with his wife right there.

  ****

  “Please, all of you, come in,” Juanita said to us.

  I gestured for Virgilia to go in first. When Virgilia and her walker had cleared the doorway, Fatima pushed me in.

  I said to Juanita, “Let me introduce my companions. This is my wife, Virgilia.” I didn’t mention that Virgilia was my second wife; I’d married her a month after Anna Kay had died. Continuing the introductions, I said, “Pushing my wheelchair is Fatima.”

  Juanita said, “Um, Mister Harper, sir? You forgot to say her last name.”

  Fatima said, “Oh, I don’t have a last name. The last fake last name I used was ‘Delaverte’, and that was back in 2010. But Juanita, soon you can choose a last name for me, if you want.”

  Juanita had no idea how to react to that.

  Virgilia smiled at the young woman. “Don’t worry, Juanita honey. What Fatima said, I know it sounds delusional. But in a few minutes, you’ll comprehend.”

  By now my magic pheromones had made Juanita lovestruck and submissive. While gazing at my face, she asked, “Where are my manners! Can I get you people anything?”

  I said, “No, thanks. This will be only a short visit, and we have important business to discuss.”

  Her eyes went wide. “So you are the Marvin Harper? The Harper Foundation gave fifty thousand dollars to Hernando’s school ten years ago. And the school hadn’t even asked for it!”

  “Yes, fixing up broken-down school buildings is part of what the Harper Foundation does. It’s not glamorous, but it’s necessary.”

  “Um ... So are you here to give money to the Sacred Heart Inner City Mission? Because I only cook there, and that’s one day a week. So you need to talk to—”

  “Yes, I know that you ‘only’ cook at the homeless mission, and for ‘only’ one day a week. But when you’re the mother of a six-year-old son and you’re struggling with money, to do any kind of charity work at all? It shows me that you’re unselfish.”

  Juanita looked uncomfortable at praise from a stranger. So I changed the subject. “Fatima, pull the footlocker out of the sling and lay it on the floor in front of me, hinge-side facing me.”

  Fatima said, “Yes, Master.”

  Hearing that, Juanita gave Fatima a puzzled look.

  When Fatima had done what I’d ordered, I said, “Fatima, reach into my breast pocket, get the key, use it to unlock the padlock, and hand the padlock and key to Juanita.”

  “Yes, Master,” Fatima said.

  Hearing Master again, Juanita blinked.

  When Fatima handed the padlock and key to Juanita, Virgilia started to sniffle, and I felt pretty emotional myself. Juanita looked at the padlock, then at almost-crying Virgilia, with a look that said I’m missing something.

  Why was I emotional? Fatima looked young enough that she got carded at any place serving booze, and yet she’d been with me for fifty-eight years. Almost every single day. (The only days she hadn’t been with me? When I was away from home for stockholder meetings, and during my two honeymoons. Oh yeah, there was that time in January 2020, when Fatima asked for a personal day so she could foom over to Cocoa Beach, Florida.)

  But now in Juanita’s living room, I was about to end those years with my genie. “Fatima, open the lid on the footlocker. Juanita, come over here, please. I’ve brought you a gift.”

  Judging by her expression, Juanita’s first thought upon seeing the lamp was the same as mine had been: THIS piece of junk is what you’re giving me? Then clearly, realization hit.

  She gasped. “This is real? Aladdin’s lamp is real?”

  Fatima said, “This isn’t Ala ad-Din’s lamp. But his lamp and this one were both made by the same brass-smith.”

  I said, “Juanita, we came here so that you’ll reach into that box, grab the lamp, and rub it. Please do so now.”

  She bent down, and when she stood again, she was holding the lamp. But instead of rubbing it, she asked, “Why are you doing this?”

  I said, “Because as my time grows short, I am magically compelled to either give the lamp to someone I trust, or to hide the lamp where theoretically nobody will find it. Why today? I’ll let Fatima explain that later.”

  Then I looked at the lamp and said, “Juanita? Please.”

  Juanita rubbed the lamp.

  FOOM. Now Fatima was standing next to Juanita, wearing her “greet the new master” Middle Eastern ensemble.

  Virgilia looked at me and asked, “I’m choked up right now. How about you, Popsicle?”

  I said, “I’ll be losing it soon. But there’s still work to do.”

  Meanwhile, Fatima was saying, “Good morning, Master, I am able to grant you three wishes. Do you choose to make wishes now, or do you wish to hear the rules first?”

  Before Juanita could answer, I said, “Ask to hear the rules. Trust me, you might spare yourself lots of grief later on, when you make your wishes.”

  My magic pheromones were still affecting Juanita, so she did as I’d told her.

  Fatima gave her canned spiel about forfeited wishes, killing, gaining a throne, and so on. As best I could remember, it was word-for-word what Fatima had said to me in 2010. (This time, however, Fatima didn’t talk in an “I’m bored out of my skull” tone of voice.) After reciting the rules, Fatima asked Juanita, “Are you ready to tell me your wishes now?”

  Before Juanita could answer, I said, “Say ‘Not now, later.’ ”

  Juanita said, “Yes, sir. But when is ‘later’?”

  “Sometime between 9 p.m. tonight and 9 p.m. tomorrow night, California time.”

  “And how will I know when the right time is?”

  “You’ll know. Before Fatima tells you, in fact.”

  Virgilia said, “You’ll feel like you woke up from a dream. Suddenl
y your mind is different.”

  As Juanita was looking puzzled at that, she turned back to Fatima and said, “Not now, later. Gracias, Fatima.”

  Virgilia turned to me and said, “Popsicle, you’re forgetting the envelopes.”

  “Duh!” I said. “Juanita, inside the footlocker are two envelopes. They’re both for you.”

  She bent down, to stand up holding the little envelope. She opened it and pulled out three single-spaced sheets. “ ‘Genie Owner’s Manual’?”

  “Yeah, it’s an owner’s manual for Fatima. But here’s the short version: Fatima will be the best friend you’ll ever have, if you play straight with other people and with her. But if Fatima decides you’re a scumbag, then she becomes one tricky bitch!”

  As Fatima was laughing, Virgilia said, “You-Know-Who certainly found that out.”

  Juanita laid the Genie Owner’s Manual on a table, then she reached into the footlocker for the big envelope. When she opened that envelope, she choked.

  “There’s thousands here!”

  “A little over a million, in fact. It’s worth the same as $66,340 in 2010 dollars—which I realize, doesn’t mean anything to you. Don’t worry, I can spare it, so don’t be afraid to spend it.”

  “Oh, I’ll definitely spend this. The life-force detector on the front porch counted only two of you out there, so obviously I need a new Chinese one.”

  I said, “Your life-force detector is probably fine. I have a deluxe life-force detection system, and I can tell you how many birds and squirrels are on my grass. I know when a cat jumps off the wall into my yard. But my fancy system never notices Fatima.”

  Then I realized what the situation was. “Juanita, you’ve opened all your Christmas presents, so it’s time for Virgilia and me to leave. I ask two favors of you now.”

  “Are you kidding? Anything!”

  “My first request: Fatima sends Virgilia and me back to our bedroom. Yes, I have cash enough to take a taxi to San Diego Airport, and then buy two first-class tickets back home, but somebody might notice me leaving your house.”

  Juanita shook her head. “Why is that bad?”

  Virgilia answered, “Because you don’t want anyone noticing lots of weird little things about you. If people tell enough weird stories about you, somebody will figure out what the truth is.” Virgilia pointed to the brass lamp.

  I added, “People you love will be in danger if someone thinks that Fatima is a genie.”

  Juanita said, “Okay, I’ll have Fatima send you home. In fact, Fatima?”

  “Yes, Master?”

  “When they’re ready to leave, go home with them. Take thirty minutes to say goodbye to Marvin.”

  That generosity on Juanita’s part showed why I was right to pick her.

  Juanita said, “And your second request?”

  I said, “That you let Fatima come to my funeral.”

  Juanita’s face showed realization. In a serious tone of voice, she said, “Both of us will come. I want to hear what your friends say about you.”

  I said, “Take a photo of Fatima wearing black. You’ll never see the like again.” Virgilia laughed, Fatima wagged a finger at me, and Juanita looked puzzled.

  Virgilia and I shared a look. I said, “It’s time to go. Good luck, Genie-Master.” I shook hands with Juanita—not claiming her as a touch-slave—then I nodded to Fatima.

  “Hold on, Popsicle,” Virgilia said to me. She looked at Juanita and said, “Call me anytime, I’d love to hear from you. Plus, I was Fatima’s genie-master once—for three minutes.”

  Virgilia looked at Fatima and said, “Energize.”

  Fatima foomed Virgilia and me back to our bedroom. Fatima magically changed back into her disposi-scrubs. Then with Fatima pushing my wheelchair one last time, we left our bedroom for the upstairs lounge, intending to ride the elevator down.

  Fatima leaned toward Virgilia, and spoke quietly so that nobody in the harem could hear. “Do you plan to invite Natasha and Helen to the funeral? Will you tell them about the wishes?”

  Virgilia looked at me. I said, “Up to you. I trust you.”

  Virgilia said to Fatima, “I’ll definitely invite them. I admire Natasha, she’s like me—feisty.”

  Virgilia added, “But spill the beans about the two wishes? No way. Natasha would be crushed that her wife had been obeying her all these years due to magical compulsion, not devotion. Meanwhile, I’d never convince Helen that turning him into a shemale sissy had been your idea, Fatima, instead of Marvin’s.”

  By now, we were on the first floor of the mansion. Fatima said her goodbyes to the 2068 harem. Eyebrows went up when Fatima referred to me, and addressed me, as Marvin, not Master.

  When Fatima had said goodbye to everyone else, she had three minutes left. We three took the elevator up to the second floor—but Fatima foomed Virgilia and me back to our bedroom while the elevator was between floors.

  In the master bedroom, I worked to move myself from the wheelchair to the edge of the bed. Virgilia walkered herself to the edge of the bed and sat down next to me. While we old people sat on the edge of the bed, the ancient ingénue stood in front of us. We three held hands.

  I said, “Thank you for your thousand-times-a-thousand kindnesses to me, Fatima. Every good thing in my life came from your generosity.” I turned and smiled at my wife. When I looked forward again, Fatima was giving me a soft smile.

  I added, “In my life, I have found three women whom I truly love: Anna Kay, and both of you. Three women, with minds free of magical control, have known me and loved me back: Anna Kay, and both of you. Where Uncle Warren was truly poor, I am truly rich.” Virgilia squeezed my hand.

  Then we all fell silent.

  Minutes passed. Then Fatima pulled her hands free. To my wife, Fatima said, “Virgilia Harper of the Declined Wish, you were brave that day.”

  Fatima looked at both of us. “Goodbye, former masters.” Then she leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth. “Marvin Harper of the Six Wishes, indeed I love you.”

  FOOM.

  THE END

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