Careful What You Wish For

by Lucy Finn

  “Thanks. Is that why you stopped by? To give me piggies?” I asked.

  “Yes. But also I wanted to tell you to call Peggy Sue Osterhaupt. The number is taped on the Tupperware top.”

  “Why?”

  “She needs your help. Legal help.”

  “Ma, I’m not practicing law right now. I told you that. She should call somebody local.” Brady started squirming in my arms. He looked at Gene and started chanting, “Ba ba ba,” and clapped his hands. “Ba ba! Ba ba!” Then he leaned out over my arm.

  “May I?” Gene said and took Brady, tucking him under one arm as if he were a football. “Let me get this little bloke a bottle,” Gene said. “Is that okay?” he asked me.

  “Ah, sure,” I said as Gene and Brady headed for the kitchen.

  “Such a nice young man,” my mother said. “He could use a shave, but that’s the style these days, isn’t it? Brady seems to have taken right to him.” Then she held me with her eyes like a butterfly stuck with a pin. “About Peggy Sue. She is poor. You know that. She works hard but she can’t afford a good lawyer. And she’s your cousin.”

  “She’s a distant cousin. I hardly know her.” My voice faltered. I could feel the guilt machine springing to life inside me.

  “She’s my cousin Eunice’s child. She is your blood kin. Talk with her. She’s desperate. She doesn’t know where else to go.”

  “And you told her to come to me?”

  “Not exactly. She said you had stopped in at the Pump ’n’ Pantry, and she wanted to know if you were still a lawyer. I said you were, of course. That you had moved back home and that you had quit your job in Philly.”

  “And?”

  “And that you might be taking on some cases here.”

  “Ma! How could you say that! I’m not!”

  “Yes, you are. You’re representing Ken and Mihoko. And Peggy Sue needs somebody in her corner. She really does.”

  “To do what?”

  “Let her tell you. Her husband ran off and she has all those kids—”

  “Not a domestic case! Ma, you know my field is real estate law.” I could feel sweat popping out on my forehead. I hated divorce cases because of the anger and pain that accompanied them. And there were kids involved in this one. If this was a custody dispute—oh, I didn’t want to do this. “Ma, I can’t—”

  “Of course you can. Hear her out, that’s all. And it’s not really a domestic case. I think it has to do with an accident she had. Or her husband had. Or something like that. Anyway, there’s big money involved. I’m asking you to call her. As a favor to me,” she said.

  What could I say? “Okay. All right, I’ll call her,” I conceded.

  “That’s my girl. So I’ll see you and Gene tomorrow night. Now don’t you all forget.”

  “Not likely,” I muttered.

  I marched into the kitchen. I pulled the number off the top of the Tupperware lid and stuck it on the counter. Then I put the Tupperware bowl inside the microwave, slammed the door, and stabbed at the number pad. I knew Gene was watching me as he stood behind my son’s high chair. Brady looked up and watched me too.

  “Why did you do that?” I said.

  “Do what?”

  “What you did with my mother. Don’t play innocent.” I turned and stared at him. My heart fluttered. His blue eyes were vivid against his tanned face. He was big. He was gorgeous. He was…a frigging genie, for Chrissake. “Why did you make her think we were going out? That we had a relationship? Why did you say we would go there for dinner?”

  “Which question do you want me to answer, Counselor? You asked three of them.”

  “Gene! Stop playing with me. What are you up to? Answer that one.”

  “You said to play along. I played along. That’s all.”

  I looked at him hard. He returned my stare with a level gaze. I felt my whole body react to him. What was going on? Was he using magic on me? I thought about his putting his arm around my waist. I thought about how I secretly liked it. But I didn’t like this, the way I was feeling. It didn’t make sense. His being here didn’t make sense.

  The microwave starting dinging. I turned away and opened the door. I gingerly took the bowl by the top rim so I didn’t burn my fingers. At microwaving I’m an expert.

  Without looking at Gene, I said, “Don’t.”

  “Don’t? Don’t what?”

  “Don’t play with me. Don’t pretend there is something between us that there isn’t. What are you trying to do, get me to hurry up and make my wishes, so you can get out of here?”

  I turned around then. My son was in Gene’s arms, falling asleep on his shoulder. My heart lurched.

  “Is that what you think I’m doing? Pushing you to make a wish?” he said.

  “Well, isn’t it?” I said.

  Gene walked over, or rather he moved over somehow, having instantly crossed the room so that he was standing in front of me. He was so close I could smell him, a scent like salt and sunshine, desert sand and a sexy musk odor that was affecting me in a visceral way.

  “Let me put Brady to bed, then we’ll deal with this, okay?” he said, his voice low.

  Suddenly I felt confused. Was Gene trying to seduce me? I didn’t understand him, and I certainly didn’t understand why my hands were trembling and goose bumps were running up and down my arms. In a flash, Gene and my son were gone, but I could hear him talking to Brady through the baby monitor as he put him down in his crib. I stood there listening. There was so much gentleness in his voice and it sounded as if he sincerely cared. My heart squeezed and tears started in the back of my eyes. Then I heard Gene’s voice talking to me.

  “Sit down at the table, Ravine. I’ll be right there.”

  I turned around and gasped. My mother’s special piggies—a hamburger and rice mixture wrapped in cabbage leaves and cooked in tomato sauce—were artfully laid out on a plate. A fresh salad made of baby romaine lettuce and grape tomatoes sat next to a small carafe of some kind of vinaigrette. A glass of red wine had been poured for me. A glass of water with a slice of lemon stood next to it. Two candles burned in silver candleholders.

  A chill washed over me. One thing I shouldn’t and couldn’t forget. Gene wasn’t a man. I didn’t know what he was, but he couldn’t possibly be real.

  Chapter 7

  I sat down. A few seconds later the air directly across from me started to sparkle like dust caught in sunlight. With the sound of bells, Gene materialized in the chair on the other side of the table, a grin on his face, the blue work shirt I bought him electrifying the color of his eyes. He looked confident, self-satisfied, and very sexy.

  Me, I looked pissed off, an angry cat with her back up about to hiss and spit.

  “What did I do?” Gene said.

  “I don’t know. What did you do? Or more specifically, what are you doing?”

  “I think I’m being an excellent genie and by the way, a nice guy,” Gene said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.

  “Look, this won’t do. You can’t pretend to be my boyfriend,” I said.

  “Why not? It provides an explanation for my being here. It’s logical. If you were expecting me, your beau from Australia, to visit, it even explains why ‘you’ suddenly cleaned the house—”

  “I don’t need any cracks about my housekeeping. It was a little cluttered, that’s all. I clean. I don’t need you as an excuse.”

  “Sure, you clean all the time,” Gene said. “That’s why there was an unopened electric bill from two months ago behind the refrigerator.”

  “Who cleans behind the refrigerator?” I said.

  “I rest my case,” Gene said.

  “Let’s not get off the subject here. You and I can’t be dating, and that’s that.” I felt funny, sort of weak all over. My mouth was dry. I reached for the wine. Before I could chug it down, its wonderful scents made me stop. I realized this wine definitely wasn’t from a box. I held the glass up to the light to appreciate its deep ruby co
lor. I swirled it around. Then I put my nose into the glass and sniffed, detecting bittersweet chocolate and smoke notes. I closed my eyes. I took a sip and noticed a tart acidity that balanced layers of black cherry, boysenberry, and black plum flavors. “A Shiraz,” I murmured, and there was no doubt about that. It was a very good Shiraz indeed. For a moment I was back in Philadelphia, reliving the best parts of my old life.

  “Australian.” Gene nodded, seeing my pleasure. “It’s from Greenock, a prime growing area in the Barossa. They’ve developed some excellent wines Down Under in the last sixty years. I was really surprised by that. Maybe when I get back, I should buy some vineyards and get in on the ground floor.”

  I set the glass down hard, causing some of that divine elixir to splash up the inside of the glass and drip down the outside, staining the tablecloth a deep purple. “That’s the point I was trying to make,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t follow you,” Gene said.

  “You are temporary. You aren’t staying here. You can’t insinuate yourself into my life, into my son’s life, when you are going to disappear in the near future. It’s wrong.”

  Gene looked at me for a minute before he responded. “You like me, don’t you? You’re feeling something for me—and it’s scaring you, isn’t it? I bet you’ve kept men at arm’s length for a long time. I don’t know what happened between you and Brady’s father—”

  “Nothing happened,” I spat out.

  Gene’s eyes widened. “Well, obviously something did.”

  “I mean we didn’t have a relationship. Look, I don’t want to talk about it. My past with men has nothing to do with your being here. And Brady’s father is not the topic. You are. Look, I’m not stupid—”

  “I never implied you were.”

  “Oh yes you did. You are a total male chauvinist. It’s ingrained in you that women can’t possibly be as smart as you are. It’s what you were taught. Sixty years ago most men thought that. But you can’t fool me. I can see that what you have been doing for the last few hours is trying to push me to make my last two wishes, so you can get out of here. That’s why you’re flirting with me, embarrassing me in front of my mother, trying to push my buttons so I want to hurry up and get you out of my life. So get one thing straight, Mr. Gene the genie. I have two wishes left. They can change my life. They can change Brady’s life. And until I make up my mind exactly what they should be, I’m not making them. No matter what you do. Got it?”

  “That’s what you think I’m doing?” Gene’s voice was almost a growl.

  “That’s what I know you’re doing,” I shot back. Before I knew what was happening Gene was standing next to my chair and pulling me up into his arms. His mouth came down on mine, kissing me with hungry lips that were soft and warm, sending flames shooting through my body.

  Involuntarily my lips parted and his arms tightened around me, pressing his body into mine. His tongue darted into my mouth, kissing me deeply. I began to moan, and my eyes flew open. My hand came up and slapped Gene hard. I had never hit a man before. Gene looked at me with a shocked expression.

  “Oh!” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I mean I did mean it, but I shouldn’t have hit you.” I stopped babbling and pulled myself up straight. “You had no right to kiss me.”

  “You kissed me back,” Gene said. He didn’t seem mad.

  “I did not.”

  “You have a talent for self-deception, or maybe twisting the facts to suit your case, Miss Barrister Lady. You kissed me. You liked it. It’s time you stopped fooling yourself.”

  I looked at Gene hard. “Maybe I did kiss you. But it’s not going to happen again. And in case you think you can convince me otherwise, get back in your bottle.” I saw disappointment cross Gene’s face before he vanished in a puff of smoke, and I jammed the cork back on his amber glass prison. Then, feeling angry with myself as well as with Gene, I went to bed and realized how empty and lonely it felt being there alone.

  I didn’t sleep well; I was chased through the night by worries and regret. I woke up with the morning’s first light when yellow sunbeams poured like butter-scotch through the window next to the bed. Despite the sunshine, I shivered when I climbed out from under the warm covers and my bare feet hit the cold floor. The old-fashioned radiator in this room never got hotter than lukewarm, and the cold leaked through the loose windows on three walls of the generous-sized, L-shaped room. I put on an old bathrobe whose wool was scratchy and smelled faintly of cat. I slipped my feet into well-worn fleece clogs. My hair fell in tangled waves around my shoulders. My eyes were puffy as if I had been crying during the night, and maybe I had.

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was no beauty. I looked like a frump most mornings. I never cared about my appearance because nobody ever saw me before noon except Brady. In fact, most days the only visitor I had was my kindly mailman, Tom, whose car with the noisy muffler pulled up to the mailbox around two p.m. Prone to gout and bad knees, he was reaching retirement age, but he was a treasure. He always called out, “How’s my girl Ravine today?” and brought a smile to my face.

  Now that I thought about it, loneliness had been my constant companion over the past months. I had gone from seeing dozens of people at the office and fighting battles in court to waving at the mailman as the high point of my day. Maybe I had to rethink a lot of things about my life.

  I took a quick glance at the genie’s conjured-up robe of robin’s-egg blue silk that hung in the back of my closet. It was pretty but impractical. During a Pennsylvania November, its silk would feel like cold water on my skin. I made a mental note to remember that some things looked attractive but didn’t fit my needs—some things like Gene, I added with a mental grimace.

  I started for the stairs, and halted. The problem was me, not Gene. I had to stop blaming the genie for my conflicted feelings. I had misused my power by sending him into the bottle last night. It was a Draconian punishment considering the “crime.” Now I felt terrible about the whole episode. I had behaved like a teenager and reacted without thinking.

  Determined to make amends, I headed downstairs, all the while having a stern talk with myself. I needed to acknowledge that I had a powerful physical attraction to Gene, and I needed to accept that it had nothing to do with him. No doubt my self-imposed celibacy had left me vulnerable to any attractive man—even one who was a genie. I was starved for affection and—okay, I admit it—I was horny. I hadn’t been with a man since Jake, and before Jake I had been too busy with my career for a relationship. That meant, to be honest, that I had had one intimate encounter in over two years.

  No wonder Gene only had to smile at me to make my heart beat faster. But I bet he wouldn’t be smiling this morning. I hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the squat amber bottle off the counter. I could see him inside, sitting with his back to me. I tapped. He refused to turn around. I pulled out the cork. No smoke issued from the bottle’s mouth. I tapped the bottle again. Gene still refused to budge.

  “Genie, I order you to come out of your bottle. I need to speak with you,” I said.

  White smoke slowly dribbled out of the bottle’s mouth. The once merry tinkle of brass bells now rang in a lower tone, sounding melancholy. The smoke coalesced into Gene’s form, and he stood there, his face tight and sullen.

  “Your wish is my command,” he said flatly, his eyes looking somewhere above my head.

  “Look, Gene, I apologize. I was out of line. I was dead wrong to slap you, and it was unconscionable of me to order you into the bottle. I’m asking you to please forgive me.” I hoped I sounded contrite, because I was. Gene didn’t respond. His rejection of me shot through my heart with a sharp, searing pain.

  “Please. I can’t take back what I did, but I deeply regret it. I promise never to do it again,” I said.

  His face softened ever so slightly, but he still didn’t look at me as he answered. “It was a paltry, puny, cowardly thing you did. You were a right drongo. I didn’t hur
t you. I kissed you.”

  “There are many ways to hurt someone,” I whispered. “Playing with my feelings, and my son’s feelings, can hurt very much.”

  Gene looked at me with wounded eyes. “I wasn’t playing.”

  “So why did you kiss me?”

  “Are you blind and deaf, woman? You are a beauty. Any man would want to kiss you. I haven’t been with a girl in sixty years. I’m a young, healthy bloke. And I’m not dead—not dead in any way, as you well know.”

  “So that’s why?” I said, feeling aggrieved. “You needed a woman and I happened to be handy?”

  “By all that’s holy and all the saints, Ravine! You are the most impossible woman I have ever met. You twist everything one hundred and eighty degrees opposite to what I mean. Give a bloke a fair go, won’t you? I sat in my bottle all night thinking of one thing—you. I mooned about like a lovesick teenager, thinking how headstrong, willful, and brave you are. Thinking how good it felt to have you in my arms…how much I wanted to kiss you…how much I’ll miss you when I go—”

  “Do you mean that, really?” I asked.

  Suddenly, without my seeing him move, Gene was standing so close in front of me we nearly touched. He lifted my chin so that my eyes and his met. I could see deep within him, into a well of desire that needed to be filled and wanted to be filled by me. His lips came down slowly and took mine softly, as light as a butterfly. Then Gene broke the kiss, leaving me hungry for more.

  Something broke open within me. I couldn’t keep denying my sexuality. I needed a man, and this man surpassed all my expectations. This man was virile, strong, and kind. This man was gorgeous. My arms went around his neck and I stood on tiptoe. I kissed his cheeks, I kissed his nose. When he closed his eyes and sighed, I kissed each eyelid. Then my lips found his, and I kissed him hard, letting all my yearnings and pent-up hungers loose as I devoured him with a fierce passion that leapt out like a tiger released from its cage.

  Gene moaned and held me tight, kissing me back with a ferocity that matched my own. Putting his hands under my armpits, he lifted me up as if I were no heavier than a doll. My arms tightened around his neck. My legs encircled his waist while his hands moved down to cup my ass through my scratchy wool bathrobe. Without my understanding how we moved, we were in the living room, and Gene was putting me down on the sofa, untying the belt of my robe. I had nothing on beneath.