Glorious Sunset

by Ava Bleu

  That afternoon after work she made a stop at her favorite antique shop on Parsons Avenue. It was a great place to shop for things to accent her designs. She had spent a pretty penny on items she found there to accent her works of art, which was what she considered every completed design. Tables, chairs . . . she had a keen eye for style that spanned the ages.

  She entered the shop, approached the counter, and rang the bell. She stood there, tapping her foot on the floor and fingernails on the counter, growing more impatient by the moment before finally leaning over it for support to enable her to toss her voice through the doorway behind the counter and into the little room beyond. “What’s a girl got to do to get some service around here?”

  Seconds later an old man shuffled out, not surprised in the least. “You young people, no respect. And don’t go flashin’ that smile at me ’cause I know your mama ain’t raised you right.”

  Violet promptly dropped her cordial smile. “Don’t worry about what my mama did, old man. I’m here on business.”

  “What kind of business? I ain’t got nothing new in and you done already bought up the best stuff in here.”

  “I’m not here to buy, Skeeter. I’m here to sell.”

  “Sell? What you got to sell?”

  She pulled the brooch wrapped in a napkin out of her purse, unwrapped it, and handed it to him. “What do you think of this?”

  He looked at it closely, pulled out a magnifying glass from under the counter, and pressed it up against the brooch to look closer. As Violet watched she saw the unmistakable sign of recognition before he made a valiant attempt to disguise it. He cleared his face and looked at her innocently.

  “That looks like a fine piece of costume jewelry you got there, darlin’.”

  Violet narrowed her eyes at him. “Doesn’t look costume to me,” she bluffed, though she had indeed thought it was costume jewelry until his pitiful poker face had given it away. “That looks like a ruby to me.”

  He rolled with the game. “They make ’em nowadays so you can’t tell the real from the fake.”

  She tossed back, “But this isn’t a new piece, Skeeter. It looks pretty old. Strange pattern. Not European.”

  He threw on his wise, amused old man expression. “You think they didn’t have fakes back in the day? Look, whyn’t you hand that over and I’ll take it off your hands. I’ll even give you a coupla’ dollars for it. Bound to be somebody out there want to wear something big and gaudy like that.”

  Violet watched him a moment longer and her lips pinched with the resolution that the old man was an old liar and not to be trusted. “Thanks, Skeeter. But I think I’ll hold on to it. I could use some good costume jewelry.”

  His eyes darted to the piece. “Okay, I’m being generous ’bout this. But I’ll give you two hunnert for it.”

  She felt a lick of satisfaction. “For a piece of paste? That’s awful generous of you, Skeeter. I couldn’t take advantage of you that way.”

  “It’s okay. I got somebody in mind who loves to throw money away. I buy it for two hunnert, she’ll buy it for double that. So you see, everybody gets something out of it.”

  Violet smiled and wrapped the brooch back in her napkin. “That’s awfully tempting. But you know, I can use a good piece of costume jewelry myself.”

  “Okay. Three hunnert.”

  “Thanks, Skeeter.” She turned to leave feeling his eyes on her the whole way and knowing he was panting after the piece like a dog in heat. Heck, she thought as she walked out, it might be worth enough to get her out of her crummy apartment and into a place with some real style. She left the store practically skipping.

  By the time she reached her apartment she was running through the possibilities. She would have to find a reputable appraiser. Skeeter was a thief to the nth degree. That piece could be worth a fortune and he would steal it from her with a smile and a shake of his old head. Not in this lifetime!

  She pulled the jewelry out of her purse and tossed the purse on a table. Unwrapping it, she looked closer at it. It still looked like a big old glob of paste to her. But then again, when was the last time she’d had a good look at a real ruby? Unfortunately, precious gems did not make their way into her possession every day. Perhaps she’d misjudged it.

  She went into the kitchen and reached under the sink, rummaging around for a cloth. She had some solution for cleaning silver somewhere. She was going to look for it but stopped herself. She’d seen on TV somewhere that some people had cleaned the value right off an antique. No, she’d leave the cleaning to the professionals. But she did use the cloth to pull some of the remaining soil from the crevices. There, it looked a little better. The stone, itself, was breathtaking, really. She buffed the surface lightly, looking deep into it like Skeeter did, trying to see the worth. She didn’t see anything but she did feel the strangest flutter in her abdomen. Apparently her lunch was wearing off. She shrugged. Still looked like paste to her.

  “Well,” she said to the piece. “Skeeter was willing to scam me to get you so you’re not going anywhere until I figure you out.” She rolled it in her palms and buffed it a little more. “Oh well, maybe if nothing else you’ll be good luck.” She put it down onto a table and sighed. She then hummed her way out of the room and into her bedroom, but not before noticing a sparkle in the depth of the glob of “paste.”

  Maybe it was time for a visit to the optometrist.

  Chapter 3

  The morning rose and woke Violet with a smile on her face thinking of Bickman. He wouldn’t know what hit him. She’d sell her case like she’d never sold anything in her life and then she would tiptoe into Odyssey with a smile on her face and fake tears and ask Brenda to be happy for her. She flushed with pleasure just thinking about it.

  She proceeded with her morning toilette: showering, brushing, polishing, and shining. Her daily peppermint face mask tingled on her skin and she knew the firm encasement would soon birth moist, supple skin, one of her best features if she did say so herself. She’d remove it after coffee. And last, but not least, she returned to the bedroom and sat cross-legged on her bed as she meditated. One second, two seconds . . . that was enough!

  Hopping off the bed, Violet wrapped her fuzzy pink robe tight around herself, put her feet into matching pink fuzzy slippers and proceeded out of the room and across the living room to the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of coffee, placed it on the table, and headed to the door for the morning paper, her body sensing a large mass in the shadows between the kitchen and the door. She tilted her head, and darned if the shadow didn’t appear to have a shape, kind of like a large man crouching, forearms resting against spread knees in a warrior stance. But that was silly. She really needed coffee.

  She took a step toward the door when, before she could think straight, the shadow moved and stretched and the large mass morphed into an equally large man who stepped forward and now stood before her. He was tall and broad, imposing mostly because of the dark eyes almost hooded by the prominent brow. His mouth was tight in a line and his jaw was square and firm. He stood there, intimidating even though he seemed there by happenstance.

  He began to speak, a voice low and deep, rich with the promise of ability to rumble at will. But it was calm as he said, as matter-of-factly as you please, “I am King Taka Olufemi of Jaha. Do not be alarmed; I come in peace. And for goodness’ sake, cover yourself, woman; there is a man in the room.”

  Violet froze, feeling her blood gel in her veins. The skin of her face was itching like crazy under the peppermint mask—an inconvenient allergic reaction to fear. She’d discovered it the first time she stood to give a presentation before a lecture hall in college. Fifteen minutes later she was so relieved to be done she barely noticed that her face burned like crazy after a fifteen-minute unconscious assault by her own hands. No wonder that hall of students looked shell-shocked by the end.

  Luckily, the promise of gunk under her manicured nails and even more intense terror at her very first home invasion kept her ha
nds from her face. But Violet was no wimp. Fear wouldn’t keep her stupid. She soundlessly moved into the kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled out a gun to point at him.

  “And this is Smith & Wesson of Violet’s house. You’ve got two seconds to get out before I shoot.”

  The man sighed and spoke, his eyes to the ceiling. “This gets old. Every time the same thing. Since when did a nobleman of Africa become the most dreaded and feared mortal on the earth? As if I would stoop to the behavior of a common criminal simply because I have brown skin. It is an abomination. It is a cruel joke.”

  Violet cocked her pistol. “Okay, that didn’t work, so let’s try it again. Turn around, walk out that door, and take your little friends—or whoever the heck you’re talking to—with you.”

  He looked at her, his eyes boring into hers uncomfortably. “If I walk out the door, woman, you will forfeit three wishes. You are free to do so but I warn you, it is unlikely you will ever get the chance again if you decline.”

  “Oh, I see. You’re here to grant me three wishes. Right. A genie.”

  “I am no genie. My Arabian friends died out long ago. Though my offerings are similar I am not of that species. Alas, there is no category for me. I am in a unique confinement. Surely, the only one of my kind.”

  “Confinement,” she said with a quick twist of her face, which clearly told him what she thought of his explanation.

  “You tire me, woman, and I have been aching to get out for a good long time. I think a cup of that juice of the bean would help to revive me.”

  She had to do a double take when she realized he was looking at her coffee pot. Coffee? This joker had a lot of nerve and she was losing patience and itching to do something with her trigger finger.

  “One more step and you won’t have to worry about revival. I mean it. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  He breathed in exasperation. “Who am I? A fool. What am I doing here? Making a further fool of myself.” He walked into the room right past her, seemingly oblivious to her panicked waving of the gun, and sank into the sofa. “I am old, woman. So ancient, if you knew exactly how much so you would put that silly weapon away in respect and deference to my age and wisdom. I am Taka Olufemi, King of Jaha, the jewel in the heart of West Africa. My purpose here is to grant you three wishes. Decline this and I will go away, but it seems a silly thing to do. You have power at your disposal and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to better your life, which is more than some of us are awarded. Not to mention the fact that it will earn me a short time of freedom.”

  Violet’s head and body swiveled back and forth in disbelief from where he had been and where he now sat. Had the man really made himself at home on her sofa? And her with a gun trained on him? He must be mentally ill. She rubbed her forehead. “Okay, let’s take this one step at a time. Look, I don’t want to shoot you, so just answer the questions I ask. How did you get in here?”

  “You brought me into your home.”

  “That’s a lie.” She looked to the door that was still locked, the chain still on the hook, the bolt still on. “I locked the door last night so don’t give me that crap.”

  “You came upon a piece of jewelry, did you not? You are the holder of the piece, are you not?”

  The piece. The piece? Ah, the brooch. She looked to the table and it was still there. “And?” she prompted.

  “The jewelry is my vessel. It is my home. I am only released when a person such as yourself polishes my stone.”

  “Okay, enough of the filthy talk, mister.”

  Taka rolled his eyes. “I do not talk filth, woman. I am a king. I wouldn’t lower myself to speak filth.”

  “Yeah, yeah, King Taja of Kaka.”

  “You intentionally massacre my name. You are an extremely disagreeable woman.”

  Violet had had it. “I’m an incredibly disagreeable woman who has lost her patience. Get out!”

  “You are relinquishing your right to your wishes?”

  “I’m giving you a chance to live, scumbag. Go on, there’s the door.”

  “The only way I can leave is through my stone. You must take the jewelry and dispose of it. It doesn’t matter where; it will survive for as long as the Great One deems it necessary.”

  “Whatever. Look, go!” She waved the gun at him in an effort to be scary.

  He merely sighed. “Goodbye, woman. I regret you have pilfered this opportunity.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She perched, one hip jutted out and her gun up in the air in a Bonnie and Clyde stance, ready to pop it right at him if need be. She hadn’t yet had an opportunity to put those shooting lessons to good use.

  She backed up to give him room to go by her. She wasn’t an idiot. He was big; she wouldn’t give him the chance to get too close. The second he left she would call the police; surely some institution would be missing a big guy who called himself King Tacha of Baba.

  But as she stood there waiting, he faced her, unmoving, and yet his image wavered, watery like a painting. She blinked; surely her eyes were overtired because his very body seemed to be slimming, and his features seemed to be smearing. His colors were dissipating, his clothing melding. Her mouth went dry as his face blurred and seconds later what stood before her was a plume of smoke. And seconds after that, the top end of the plume pointed, rose into the air, and carried the rest across the room, pointed itself at the brooch which sat on a table, hovered for a moment, and then shot into the stone like a cannon causing the jewelry to buck, jerk, and fall onto the carpet with the impact.

  Violet’s fingers shook with a sudden onset of palsy. She looked at the jewelry on the floor. It was still and harmless. And yet . . . She stepped closer to it, staring. There had to be an explanation. There had to be a logical explanation. She was still dreaming; that was it! But she wasn’t dreaming. The sofa still held the imprint of his behind but he was gone. It didn’t make any logical sense.

  She looked down at the jewelry, stuck a toe out, and kicked it, jumping back quickly. It didn’t move. It was sitting there harmless as you please. And yet the man had disappeared into it. It didn’t make any sense! She racked her brain trying to remember all he’d said, something about being a king, something about granting three wishes, three wishes. But if he wasn’t a burglar, he might very well be what he said he was. But she didn’t believe those kinds of things could happen. But he disappeared right before her! But, but, but!

  She thought about Skeeter and his eyes when he’d recognized the piece and how he’d tried to cheat her out of it. She thought about the three wishes the big guy had told her not to pilfer. Three wishes. Anything she wanted.

  She picked up the brooch, looked at it hard, and then began rubbing the stone furiously. “Come back! Come back. I changed my mind. You have to give me a chance!” She stopped and nothing happened. She put the gun away, and went back to rub the stone again. Nothing happened. Finally she moved to sit on the couch, staring at the piece in despair. “My God, what if it’s real? All those stupid fairy tales are true? No wonder he wanted me to sell it to him so bad. The thief!” She put the brooch on the coffee table in disgust and rose to wander into the kitchen, too absorbed in her thoughts to notice the plume of smoke materialize. At the sound of his voice she whirled to see him standing there again.

  “Ah, she comes to her senses. It is about time; your stubbornness almost cost you dearly. Usually my friend is not so generous to allow a second chance. For some reason He has taken pity upon you; though if it were up to me your ingratitude would have already sealed your fate.”

  Violet’s eyes widened and she smiled, cracking the mask and getting a waft of peppermint scent. She could tell he was talking because his lips were moving, but darned if she could hear a word he said. Her brain was racing with possibilities. But first, she had to know he was the real McCoy. “Okay.” She rubbed her hands together. “Do something. Prove it.”

  “What?” Taka looked at her, annoyed and insulted.

  “Prove it. Prove who you are
.”

  He rolled his eyes upward. “I am here to do good for them and yet I have to prove myself constantly. They are ungrateful creatures.” He glared at her. “I suppose we can’t move on until you are sufficiently satisfied with parlor tricks?” Her look affirmed his suspicion. He sighed. “Close your eyes.”

  “Not a chance. I want to watch.” Violet was a consummate skeptic, and proud of it. She hadn’t gotten as far as she had by being gullible.

  “Just one second. A long blink.”

  Violet frowned. Okay, she thought, closing her eyes briefly, about two seconds. “There, I blinked,” she started, to be struck dumb when she opened them again. Her eyes grew wide as a different scent reached her nose and filled the air around her. Her lips curved slightly, falling open involuntarily. Her apartment was filled, every corner, every open space, with violets. She turned in a circle to see them all. She shook her head with disbelief. “My God. You’ve filled my apartment with—”

  “Flowers, yes. Women seem to like that best of all. No matter the place or the time, women always like flowers.”

  “No, you’ve filled the room with violets. That’s my name, you know. Violet.”

  “Sheer coincidence, I assure you,” he said. “He chooses the type. A parlor trick to get mortals to believe.”

  But Violet did another twirl looking at them. All different shades of violet, like the sky sometimes right before dawn. Like the silk that decorated some of the walls of Shades of Violet. Like . . . He couldn’t know, could he? When she was in high school she went through a particularly bad period because she didn’t seem to fit in with any group of friends. Her mouth was too smart for most people and she didn’t have enough money to be with the “in” crowd. She wasn’t smart enough to be a nerd. She was just an outsider, and felt it every day.