by Lucy Finn
He smiled as he looked at me, running his hand gently from my neck to my breasts as he knelt above me, straddling my hips with his strong legs still clad in his jeans. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he whispered. “Your skin is the color of pale peaches and soft as eiderdown. Your breasts,” he said as he stroked them with his hands, “take my breath away. You are robbing me of my will, Ravine. I am your servant, not by the rules of enchantment, but by the rules of the heart.”
I reveled in the shivery sensations his fingers made as they roamed across my breasts and teased my nipples. Part of me was warning that this was the second-most foolish thing I had ever done. Another part of me was demanding that I continue, telling me that I was a grown woman and I had no other commitments, telling me that I had needs that had gone unmet too long, telling me that this wasn’t even real and I should enjoy the dream or whatever it was that was going on. At that point my rational mind broke in again to insist that this was no dream; Gene was by all external evidence a corporeal, living, breathing person, and the act I was about to commit was irrevocable. Nothing could be the same afterward. Was I completely sure I wanted to be intimate with this person about whom I knew so little and understood not at all?
Then, as if by magic, I stopped thinking completely and lost myself in feeling as Gene lay full length, fully clothed, atop me. He kissed me while he took both my hands in his and pressed them against the cushions above my head. He was staring into my eyes, and I watched his face which shone with a radiant light. “I want you,” he said. “I want you more than I have ever wanted anything.”
“If you want me so much, my genie,” I whispered, “you are going to have to take off your clothes.”
He grinned, a cocky, happy grin because even as I said the words, he was naked atop me. His body was warm and hard-muscled. His scent was light and musky, still tinged with desert breezes. I raised my head and licked his shoulder. It was salty. My body became warm then, as hot as if the Sahara’s sun beat down on us. Gene used his legs to part mine. He was breathing hard. “Do you want me to do this?” Gene asked. “I will stop right now if you tell me to. But I confess, I do have a condom on.”
“I guess genies think of everything,” I groaned. “Please. Don’t. Stop,” I said, quivering beneath him, and in one quick, fluid motion he entered me. Gene groaned, the sound coming out low and aching, as he laced his fingers tighter in mine. When he pushed upward into me, I made a sound, somewhere between a scream and a moan. Then we rocked together in a mad, fast coupling, rushing toward release, mindful of nothing but the wild, spiraling ride upward toward fulfillment that I suddenly wanted more than I had realized. I began panting then, faster and faster. Gene covered my mouth with his and kissed me hard as he took one, two, then three long hard thrusts into me before the stars in my mind exploded in a shower of white sparks. I trembled, tightening around him, wanting the pleasure to continue and never end.
Afterward my body was slick and drenched in sweat. Gene let go of my hands and leaned his weight on one elbow. With his free hand, he pushed the damp strands of hair from my face. He lay there and stared into my eyes. We didn’t talk; we stayed joined, in the flesh and in the spirit. He stroked my forehead and cheeks.
“You’re smiling,” he said.
“I am,” I said. “So are you.”
“We have something to smile about,” he said.
“Do we?” I asked.
“Ah, we surely do,” he said and kissed me. And I kissed him, and soon we were kissing each other for a long time until I felt him growing hard inside me.
“Should I give you something else to smile about?” he whispered.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I murmured. And he did.
I dozed off afterward, falling into a deep and peaceful sleep as if to make up for my troubled night. When my eyes opened again, I smelled food. I also heard no sounds coming from the baby monitor. I bolted off the sofa and went running wild-eyed into the kitchen. My son was sitting in his high chair and Gene was spooning scrambled eggs into his mouth. Brady looked up at me, waving a chubby fist in my direction. It was wrapped around a spoon. “Ma ma ma!” he chanted happily and beat the spoon against the chair’s tray. “Gee gee gee gee,” he added.
“Gee nah,” Gene said to him as he spooned egg into Brady’s mouth. “Gene.”
Brady shook his head back and forth as egg dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. “Gee gee nah,” he crowed happily.
Misgivings flooded over me. When Gene left, what would my son feel? It wouldn’t be good if he became too attached to this genie person. My good mood vanished. For a quick second I felt something like hurt; then I felt mad. Damned mad.
“If you are feeding him what I think you are feeding him, I am going to be really pissed,” I growled and reached for the dish in Gene’s hand. He pulled it out of reach.
“Whoa! What are you talking about? Babies can eat scrambled eggs.”
“Oh yeah, they can eat them. Then they poop them. Do you know how scrambled eggs that turn into poop smell? Do you have any frigging idea? I can’t even think about it without retching, you—you—dummy!”
“Hey, keep your britches on. I’ll change Brady when the poop hits the fan, so to speak. It’s nothing to get upset about.”
“That’s what you say now,” I muttered darkly. “You’ll find out.”
“Honest, I can handle it. Why don’t you eat your breakfast? I made you an omelet with whole wheat toast.”
The sound of tiny bells rang merrily. A crystal vase holding a long-stemmed red rose materialized on the table next to a plate holding a perfectly made omelet accompanied by a side order of bacon. Completing the setting was a crystal goblet holding orange juice next to a sturdy mug filled with coffee, black, steaming, and so freshly poured its aroma came floating toward me. My stomach growled. I was starved. I was tempted. “All right,” I groused. I sat down and devoured the omelet, saying to Gene between bites, “We need to talk.”
“Is that what we need to do?” he said and wriggled his eyebrows as he wiped Brady’s face with a washcloth. “I have a better idea.”
A flash of desire jolted me, but I said evenly, “Yes. We need to talk. We have some business to cover.” I put down my fork, took a long swig of the coffee, daintily wiped my lips on the damask napkin by my plate, and stood. “But right now I am taking my son upstairs.” I lifted Brady out of his high chair. “When I’m done getting him cleaned up and dressed, I will be back—to talk. In the meantime, perhaps you can scrub the kitchen floor and create a few casseroles that I can keep in the freezer.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” he said and saluted. He was the genie; I was the mistress; somehow we both seemed to be forgetting that. I needed to get busy making up my mind about my remaining two wishes. Keeping Gene around was getting far too complicated. The sooner he was gone the better.
I took my time before coming downstairs again. I played with my son and intentionally dawdled until I was sure I could face Gene with a composed mind and emotions in check. I also needed time to think. An idea was buzzing around in my head. I might have a solution to my unemployment dilemma—and with a little help from a genie, I could make it happen. Finally, around ten, I came downstairs to find my kitchen spotless and enough casseroles packed and labeled to completely fill my freezer.
I put Brady down on the clean floor and opened the bottom cupboard where I kept my cooking pots, which were still in like-new condition. I pulled out a few saucepans and their lids. Brady loved to smack them together and push them around the floor. He also liked to play with Tupperware. He kept himself occupied for ever so long with them. Any toys I bought held his attention for maybe fifteen seconds.
While Brady banged away with a pot lid, Gene was lazily leaning against the counter. The jeans I had bought him rode low on his hips, and he had paired them with a green Henley shirt, open just enough so the golden hairs on his chest peeked out of the top. My stomach squeezed. Looking at him, even from a distance, did
something I did not want to my libido. I shifted my eyes toward the floor and noticed he still wore his desert combat boots.
“I think a trip to the mall is needed to get you some footwear,” I said, “unless you can conjure them up and save some time.”
“Sorry, lady, my magical powers cannot enrich or enhance my own poor self in any way. I don’t know why it works like that, but I suppose if I could fulfill my own wishes, I would have gone home a long time ago.”
There it was again. The six-hundred-pound gorilla in the living room. Gene was temporary. He wanted to get out of here. He wanted to go home, and I couldn’t blame him. I had to remember that we didn’t have a relationship and it wasn’t possible for us to have a relationship. As for our lovemaking, we had been two adults enjoying each other, nothing more. We were ships that had passed in the night—well, technically it had happened in the morning, but you get the idea. I could not care about him—I simply couldn’t, unless I wanted to end up with a broken heart.
I looked away, pretending I had gotten something caught in my eye as I surreptitiously wiped away a tear. “Of course you would wish to go home.” The words stuck in my throat. I coughed. “However, we are going to the mall. Besides the matter of getting you some shoes, I need to enlist your help while I do something about Scabby.”
“What about Scabby?” Gene asked.
“I need to find out who he has been working for. Then I might be able to figure out why the Katos are being harassed. I have the phone number I copied down from his notepad, so first off, I’ll do a reverse search on the computer.”
“On the what?” Gene asked.
“Never mind. I’ll show you later; it will be easier than trying to explain it. I also need to make a phone call to my distant cousin Peggy Sue. In other words, I need to put in some time at the office, only I don’t have an office and I don’t have a babysitter. That’s where you come in.”
“You want me to take care of Brady while you work?”
“For today. Just this once. Then I’ll set up a regular child-care schedule with my mother and Freddi.”
“Okay, I don’t mind babysitting Brady. I’ll watch him anytime you need me to. I used to watch my brother, Mickey. He was a little kid when the war started and I left home. Brady reminds me of him a lot. I wonder…Maybe Mickey will still be a kid when I get back. If I get back…”
“As a matter of fact, I might be of some help to you with that,” I announced. “I am ready, or almost ready, to make my second wish. But I have a question first.”
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” Gene said under his breath.
“Can I be very specific about the contents of the wish? I mean, like, if I show you a catalog can you create the things I show you?”
“Absolutely.”
“It might be easier if I put it all in writing. Is that allowed?”
“I imagine so. As far as I know, it’s not required that you speak the wish. I guess you can write it out.”
“Okay, give me a half hour to get it together.”
Using the computer, I searched for supplies, reference books, furniture, phones, a new computer, and anything else I could possibly need to set up a fully functioning legal office in the downstairs back bedroom of my farmhouse. I printed out pictures and descriptions and soon had a thick file folder filled with the items. I even remembered curtains for the windows, a sturdy rug, an ergonomic desk chair, and a sign saying RAVINE PATTON, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW to hang on a post in the front yard.
I could use a legal secretary, but I figured if I was successful in attracting clients, I’d hire one. In the meantime I’d handle my own paperwork. Having Gene conjure up an employee would be far too risky. I might end up with a troll or something.
Before I headed back downstairs, I printed out a photo that approximated what I wanted my home office to look like. I was determined to get this wish right.
I went back to the kitchen, my nerves dancing and my heart speeding up. I mentally rehearsed exactly what I had to say in order to make the wish come true exactly the way it should. I got to the door and took a deep breath. Gene was on the floor with Brady; they were playing with some toy trucks that Gene must have produced, because I had never seen them before.
“I’m ready to wish,” I announced.
“Wish away,” Gene encouraged.
“Not so fast. I need you to hear me out and hear the entire wish. Agreed?”
“I live to please you,” Gene said and winked. “I thought you’d have figured that out by now. I’ll please you when you wish, and I’ll please you without having to wish, if you catch my drift.”
“I’m being serious here.”
“So am I. Believe me, so am I.”
“Gene, come on. I need to get this done perfectly. Listen. I put together this folder which contains all the components of a complete home office where I can practice law. These items need to be installed in the back bedroom which is located behind what used to be called the parlor in old farmhouses built like this one. That room even has its own exterior door. There needs to be a walkway from the driveway to that door and clear signage for clients. May I give you the folder?”
“Hand it over.”
“All right, using the information I have provided to you in that folder and the parameters I set forth, I wish for a home office.”
“Spoken like a true lawyer,” Gene said as he took his hands, showed me they were empty, then like a magician said, “Abracadabra.” He made a tossing motion and from his empty hands sparkling confetti flew up into the air. Shards of light spun around the room. Baby Kitty hissed and ran. Brady clapped and laughed. Bells rang gleefully, long and loud. Gene looked at me. “All that didn’t have anything to do with granting your wish. I wanted to make it dramatic. Go look at your office, Ravine.” A grin stretched wide across his face. I scooped up Brady, sat him on my hip, and went out the kitchen door, across the living room, and stopped at the doorway to my back bedroom. I gasped. The room contained every item in my folder, but it looked nothing like the picture I had included. It was far nicer.
The walls now had white wainscoting. Two beautiful Mary Cassatt reproductions in lovely gold frames hung on the walls. At least I hoped they were reproductions, but a voice in my head suggested they were real. The chairs were upholstered in sky blue; my desk, which was beautiful carved and exactly the right size, appeared to be made of real mahogany. It matched the floor-to-ceiling bookcase behind it. Atop it stood a brand-new computer. Stained glass had replaced the casement windows. Beneath the windows a printer stood on a long counter next to an espresso machine. A small refrigerator with a wooden door was tucked under the counter along with storage units. The floor had been limewashed white, and an oriental rug added bright colors. A blue vase filled with white peonies stood on a side table. The entire effect was bright and impressive. It reflected my taste exactly. Tears sprang to my eyes. I kissed Brady’s forehead. His mother had an office.
Then I felt Gene’s arms encircling us both from behind. His face was in my hair. “Do you like it?” he murmured.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak without crying. My knees were growing weak. Gene’s arms tightened around me. “You made a good wish,” he said. “It will help you build your future, I promise you that. Have I made you happy?”
I nodded again. I managed to say, “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“Yes, I did,” Gene said. “I had to. I’m crazy about you. You are the queen of my heart and I live to please you.” He nuzzled my ear. “So have I pleased you?”
“Very much,” I sighed. Having his arms around me pleased me too, and it would be so perilous to my emotions to like being held by him too much. I straightened up and pulled away.
“I need you to take Brady again while I work—in my office. I should only be an hour or so.” I handed my son to Gene and Brady nestled into his arms. “Gee gee nah,” he muttered, his eyelids starting to slide downward. I reached out and took his baby hand and pressed i
t to my lips. “Love you, Brady boy,” I said and as I did, my genie watched me with shining eyes.
Chapter 8
I don’t know what I expected when I searched the reverse directory for the source of the phone number I had found in Scabby’s trailer. I figured at best it was a long shot, but there was a small chance it would lead me to whoever hired him. When the number turned out to be for London’s Salvage and Junkyard, I felt as if I had struck out. Scabby was likely trying to find a part for his truck. I called the number anyway and found out Joe was Jo, a woman with a whiskey-and-cigarettes voice who answered by saying, “Junkyard. This is Joann. What do you want?”
“I’m calling for Alvin Hoyt,” I said, improvising. “Did you find what he was looking for?”
“What are you talking about? Who the hell is this?”
“Me? I’m—I’m—you know, a friend of Alvin’s.”
“Well, ‘friend’ of Alvin’s, you go tell that damned fool that I sure as hell didn’t find what he was looking for.”
I’m not sure what I said but it had pushed her buttons. I could hear her take a deep draw on her cigarette before she started talking again and when she did, her voice was loud and angry. “Now you listen good. Tell ‘Alvin’ that he better learn to shut up and be satisfied with what he got already and not go blabbing to his old lady who is no doubt as dumb and greedy as he is. Now don’t call here again or you’ll get something you sure as shit don’t want.”
The phone went dead in my hand. Maybe I didn’t strike out after all. I took out a file and labeled it “Kato.” I put the scrap of paper with the junkyard’s number inside it; then I wrote down the conversation with Joann as close as I could remember it. I made a note to take a look at any public records and news articles on London’s Salvage and Junkyard. Located right off the interstate, the huge, sprawling junkyard was one of the biggest eyesores in the county. I didn’t know what link it could possibly have with Jade Meadow Farm, but there was a connection to Scabby. I figured it was worth taking a closer look.