It seemed as if a small eternity passed as the priest stood silently, gazing from Sabit to Lugal and back again.
Finally, he spoke. “What you say is true, Sabit. I have followed Lugal’s exploits since he was a boy just entering Sumer’s army and never was there a time when I did not believe him to act with honor. However, his past actions do not excuse his present. The gods are clear on that. Our laws state directly that Lugal must pay with his head for the intended ruin of a virgin priestess. Unless…”
Ibi-Utu’s frown grew deeper still while Lugal’s heart pounded out a hasty beat as he awaited his fate at the hands of the pious high priest.
“Unless?” Sabit asked, a glimmer of hope lighting her eyes.
“Imprisonment,” Ibi-Utu finally muttered. “For the rest of his days.”
Both Lugal and Sabit gasped. “By gods, I would rather die,” Lugal spat. Folding his arms over his chest he stood tall, bracing his still-weakened body against a pillar as he elevated his chin in a proud manner. “Just lop off my head and be done with it so I may accompany Ereshkigal to the underworld. I am ready to die.”
“Nay, Lugal, do not speak that way!” Sabit implored. “What about the incantation of service to womankind, patesi?” she suggested. “It is more deserving than death and more humane than watching a valiant warrior rot away in chains.”
“A fair solution.” Ibi-Utu nodded. “It shall be so,” he said, walking to one of the small altars and selecting a clay tablet inscribed in cuneiform.
“Nay!” Lugal said, not even understanding what an incantation of service to womankind was. But whatever it was, he had learned long ago to be wary of the spells, rituals and incantations of those in devout service to the ferocious and mighty gods.
“Do you have an appropriate vessel, Sabit?” the priest said, ignoring Lugal’s protest.
Sabit scanned the chamber, pointing to a small stone box secured with metal strappings atop one of the altars. “There, patesi. Inside there is a bottle of the finest spun glass brought as an offering by one of the city’s wealthiest matrons. It was meant to hold perfumed oil or for use as a tear vase, but is still empty and should be a perfect vessel.”
Ibi-Utu gestured to one of the lesser priests who immediately brought the box forward, opening the latch for Ibi-Utu’s scrutiny.
“Yes, this will do,” he said. “It has significant weight, appears strong and sufficiently protected to survive at least one lifetime.” Nodding to Sabit, he stated, “We can proceed quickly because our altars are already set with lambs for sacrifice, lard and roast meat, as well as dates, fine meal, dried fruit and a confection of honey and butter. The goddess will be pleased.”
Lugal’s mind whirled. How he wished he had both his strength and his full senses about him to help him comprehend what was happening. Stories from his childhood of men imprisoned in jars and bottles, trapped in the abomination of perpetual servitude, slowly surfaced. Surely this is not what the patesi had in mind?
As the high priest and his subordinates examined the clay tablet bearing the incantation, Sabit rose to stand at Lugal’s side.
“Fear not, brave and honorable one,” she whispered, “for I shall discern a way to free you from your servitude as soon as it is possible. I shall never forget that I owe you my life as well as my eternal gratitude, dearest Lugal.” With that she crossed the room to join Ibi-Utu, who held his right hand aloft and began to read aloud from the tablet.
“O great Inanna, Queen of Heaven, goddess of love and war, I summon you. I am Ibi-Utu, he who withdraws the first fruits from the temple. He who has received divine powers from the most elevated dais. You are the great lady of the gods. Your terror is fearsome as it weighs on the land. No man anticipates your commands. The heavens fold themselves in your presence like a mourning garment. You are she who hastens like a north wind storm into the midst of the people. You are she who hears prayer and pleading.”
He looked to Sabit and nodded. She took the tablet from him and continued.
Lugal released the pillar when he felt the room shake. He tried to take a step forward but realized he was frozen in place.
Drawing upon his warrior’s courage, he steeled himself for whatever may come, for he would not cry out in fear. Never! Lugal Damu-zid feared nothing and no one! Even to the gods and demons who toyed with the lives of mortals, he feared not. Given that he no longer had the power of speech, Lugal kept repeating those words inside his head, fortifying himself as the incantation continued.
“Great Inanna, I, Sabit, priestess of Nanna, the Moon God of Ur, summon you to intern Lugal Damu-zid, mighty warrior who has fought many battles in your name, into this sacred vessel.” She motioned to the open box containing the bottle, which Ibi-Utu held aloft, bowing as he did so. “So that Lugal Damu-zid may obliterate his transgressions to womankind by serving them for all eternity…”
Eternity. The thought of ceaseless captivity rose in Lugal’s throat like the bitter tang of bile. Sabit’s words seemed to drone on forever as she delineated Lugal’s verdict of indentured servitude.
“The language of his possessor will Lugal Damu-zid speak and understand,” Ibi-Utu added, as the lesser priests chanted in the background while lighting fragrant incense.
“The matter of pleasing his female possessors and satisfying their every urge shall be Lugal’s sacred duty,” Sabit read.
“Within the period of six lunar cycles,” Ibi-Utu, said, “will Lugal grant his possessor three wishes…”
As the priests chanted and Sabit and Ibi-Utu spoke the endless words of the incantation, Lugal became aware of a pervading heaviness seeping into his being. Servitude to women. By gods, Lugal, the great and mighty warrior, the sought after lover of queens and woman of the greatest beauty and wealth would be reduced to no more than a slave to women’s peculiar impulses, which, he knew, could shift with the mere blink of an eye.
Lugal would have shuddered at the thought had he not still been frozen in place like a great pillar of salt. Truly, it was a foul fate worse than death to which he was being condemned. He only hoped Sabit would be true to her word and quickly discern a method for his liberation.
“O make it be, great and wondrous Inanna! Let it be so!” Ibi-Utu nearly roared as he pulled the stopper from the bottle, again elevating the container high above his head.
The ethereal visage of a woman, as beautiful as she was fearsome, suddenly loomed over the proceedings.
The last thing Lugal remembered seeing before feeling his body curl and contort into naught but a vaporous substance that voyaged through the air of the temple chamber and into the bottle, was the tortured expression of repentance mixed with gratitude on Sabit’s tear-stained face.
Chapter One
Portland, Oregon
“Empathy, people. Empathy and sympathy. That’s the key,” Bunny Turner stated with conviction as she rapped her pointer against the board. “If we want to keep those clients coming back, we need to convince them we know exactly what they’re going through. Let them know we’ve been there too. That we feel their pain.”
The absolute picture of sincerity, she clapped her hand against her heart, tapping the area with her fingers as her gaze roamed over the crowd.
“But what if we never have been there?” Lenore, the newest Tuned by Turner weight-loss counselor asked with a shrug. “How am I supposed to make fat people believe I’ve been fat and can relate with their problems if it’s not true?”
“By being creative,” Bunny advised through a calculated smile. “I’m not advocating hurtful lies, mind you, but there are ways to embellish our past experiences to fit most situations. Remember, Lenore, while Tuned by Turner offers a fabulous weight-loss program incorporating proper diet, nutrition, counseling and exercise as well as a complete assortment of packaged foods, those aren’t the things that keep our satisfied clients coming back each week.”
“They’re not?” the doe-eyed Lenore said, biting like a fish on a baited hook as Bunny had clearly intended.<
br />
“No, Lenore,” Bunny said in a reverent whisper. “It’s you.” Nodding, she gave Lenore a benevolent smile, bordering on heartfelt tears. “You and every other dedicated counselor in this room. Without all of you, TBT would be just another diet program. But that’s not what we are, is it, people?” Bunny’s brown-eyed gaze swept the room of eighty or so men and women. “Come on, everyone, let’s tell Lenore what we are!”
“We’re number one! We’re number one!” Hoots, hollers and clapping ensued as the troops rallied. Bunny punched her fist high into the air, boasting a toothy, triumphant grin.
At that point, Samantha Rutledge resisted the temptation to roll her eyes and groan. After working for Tuned by Turner for more than a year, she’d been through enough of Bunny’s mandatory corporate training classes and rah-rah seminars to be able to repeat her pat answers word for word.
With a surreptitious gaze around the packed room, she noted less than a quarter of the mostly twenty-something counselors in attendance had ever been overweight by more than five pounds or so. Most of them wore nothing bigger than a size four.
Samantha knew that because the skinny counselors openly discussed it while snickering as they ridiculed the overweight clients behind their backs. The thin, young male counselors were just as bad as their female counterparts.
At thirty five, and a solid one-hundred-pound-weight-loss veteran, Samantha felt dumpy and practically ancient compared to the eager, aggressive young counselors in her midst. Hell, she’d even spotted a few strands of silver peeking through her shoulder-length, deep auburn hair last week.
Naturally, the fact that her social life had been akin to a black hole the past year or two probably didn’t help matters. She kept waiting for all the dramatic changes, all the astounding magic to happen after she’d lost her weight. Her life was supposed to blossom like a dewy, blooming rosebud…wasn’t it?
Damn. Where the hell was her knight in shining armor? Men were supposed to fall at her feet, dumbstruck by her newly almost slender visage, weren’t they?
At last count she hadn’t had to sweep any knights or other hunky admirers off her front porch.
“Take me for example.”
Bunny’s voice snapped Samantha back to the present as the chic owner of TBT gestured to her gray-suited model-thin frame.
“Whenever I talk to clients I make sure to tell them I fully understand what it’s like to diet, exercise and be deprived. Looking as sincere and sympathetic as possible, I say, ‘I know it’s hard to tell by looking at me, but I once battled a heartbreaking weight problem myself.’”
“Wow…” Staggered, newbie Lenore’s gaping expression was one of sheer awe.
“It’s true,” Bunny assured. “I used to be practically obese.” With a sensitive sniffle, she shuddered a little as she smoothed her TBT-pink fingernails along her beige-blonde hair, tucking a nonexistent stray lock into the bun at her nape. “I ate my way all the way up to a size six back in college. It took me more than a whole semester of living on coffee, cigarettes and by sticking my fingers down my throat to get back into my size zeros.”
Each time she sat through this dimwitted story, Samantha indulged in a satisfying mental fantasy where she strode up to the podium and slapped the emaciated business owner upside the head.
A former deluxe car saleswoman, Bunny Turner had built a financial empire on her reputation as a fat guru. Much to her disappointment, Samantha discovered early on that the woman was cold, calculating and completely lacking in compassion. Especially when it came to the trials and tribulations of TBT clients—people who struggled, often for years, with the pain and complexities of living as a fat person in a thin world.
“Get ready,” Rosie Dudchowski whispered into Samantha’s ear. “Here comes the glorified bullshit.”
Samantha had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at her friend’s knowing remark. Rosie was one of the only other people over the age of thirty in the room—and one of the only who’d lost a lot of weight.
Their lives paralleled each other’s in many ways, except for the fact that Rosie had found her knight in shining armor, married him and had two adorable kids with him. After supporting each other through their weight losses, the funny, sassy brunette had become Samantha’s closest friend. Together they gathered the courage to apply for jobs at Tuned by Turner.
“Of course, Lenore,” Bunny continued, “when I’m speaking with clients it wouldn’t be prudent for me to expound on how I actually lost the weight. Instead, I let clients believe I accomplished it by following proven TBT methods. While it may not be true, it’s essentially a helpful LWL. Little white lie,” she clarified, hanging invisible quotes over the words with her fingers.
“A lie that can’t hurt anyone. Why? Because Tuned by Turner is the best weight-loss solution for our clients. Since we care, really and truly care, about their health and wellbeing, we understand that, on occasion, an LWL might help them achieve their desired goals. Isn’t that right, people?”
The room exploded with shouts of “Right!” and booming applause while Samantha slunk down in her chair, exchanging dubious looks with Rosie.
“Before we end our time together today,” Bunny said, holding aloft a black canvas bag embroidered with the company’s logo in pink, “I want to give each of you a TBT tote containing our ten newest food items. These are dynamite, people. Delicious, nutritious fat-burning gems. Our food technicians have really outdone themselves this time.”
Placing the bag on the table behind her, she drew out each gem, one by one, describing it in such a way that it would make most anyone not familiar with the TBT line of foods salivate. Of course, those already familiar with TBT’s barely palatable edibles knew better.
“Each of you is invited to stay for lunch. You’ll be able to try our tofu-based salad dressings as well as our no-refrigeration-needed Plum Dandy Chicken Cakes and…are you ready?” Bunny looked as if she were ready to announce they’d be partaking in rich, gooey hot fudge sundaes. “You’ll all be the first to taste our brand new Mango-Lime Tapioca Pudding Cups!”
Again, rousing applause.
Samantha and Rosie engaged in joint shudders.
“Right now my mind is screaming cheeseburger!” Rosie whispered. “What say we grab one after we get the hell out of here?”
Samantha gave her friend a sideways glance. Rosie was so bad and if Samantha didn’t watch herself, under Rosie’s evil influence she’d start packing on the pounds again. “I’ll split one with you,” she whispered back.
“Fries too?” Rosie added. “I mean, seriously…what’s a cheeseburger without the fries, right?” She gave a wicked wink.
Already salivating, Samantha groaned. “Maybe just a few.” She could already feel the weight of the guilt hammer whacking the top of her head. “But only if we go for a walk afterward. Deal?” Begrudgingly, Rosie concurred.
As soon as the seminar ended, Samantha and Rosie scrambled to get out before Bunny could corner them. They almost made it but Bunny’s piercing voice calling their names caught them before they could escape.
Bunny gave each of them a sealed letter from TBT’s corporate office. After less than thirty seconds of innocuous small talk, she turned on her stiletto heel, wiggling her miniscule butt as she walked back toward the exceedingly unappetizing lunch spread.
“Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of here while we can,” Rosie said, snagging Samantha’s sleeve and hauling her to the door.
Their cheeseburger lunch was delectable. It was amazing how good everyday fattening food tasted when you’ve been away from it long enough. Samantha made sure to leave a bite of the burger on her plate along with a small handful of fries, just to prove she could. They called to her during the rest of the time she and Rosie sat there chatting, but Samantha remained unflinchingly strong.
“I want to open my own weight-loss center one day,” Samantha admitted after they’d paid the check and headed out of the restaurant. “Nothing would be mor
e fulfilling than to offer a viable, reasonably priced weight-loss solution for overweight people. Each counselor would have to truly want to help, not be there just for the money, you know?” Rosie nodded. “They’d have to be caring, compassionate and they definitely would have had to be fat in the past.”
“You mean like a size six?” Rosie guffawed.
“Yeah, right. Poor obese Bunny,” Samantha scoffed. “Can you believe her? Sheesh, I don’t think I’ve ever been that small, except maybe before I reached my teens. After puberty it seems I just zipped right past single-digit sizes and ended up yo-yoing through the entire gamut of double-digit sizes for the next twenty years.”
“You and me both,” Rosie agreed. “Last time I checked though, I think one of my thighs was a size six.” She and Samantha laughed. “But,” Rosie continued, patting her short hair, “I think we look damn good now, no matter what that dumb-ass letter of warning from TBT headquarters said.”
“That letter! What a bunch of crap.” Samantha picked up her pace as they walked up a tree-lined side street. “For chrissakes, Rosie, you and I have the biggest number of clients—more than any other counselor—and you know why?”
“Yup. ’Cause we’ve been there. And when we talk it’s not through our ample asses.”
“Exactly.” Samantha gave a resolute nod. “The clients don’t care that we’re not a size two. In fact, they can relate to us better because we’re not! They feel more comfortable with us because we wear a double-digit size. They’ve told me that, Rosie. They know we care, that we’re not just giving them lip service to make a buck off their problems.”
“Well, corporate doesn’t see it that way,” Rosie said. “They want us to…what was it they said?” She stopped, digging the letter out of her purse. “Streamline your body in accordance with the lean, healthy TBT image.” Rosie huffed a humorless laugh as she stuffed the offending missive back in her bag and resumed walking. “They’ve, ahem, suggested I lose twenty-five pounds in the next six weeks. Hah! Ain’t gonna happen.”
Samantha and Her Genie Page 2