Glorious Sunset

by Ava Bleu

  “Gift? Ha!” she laughed, losing the bra. “I knew a genie was too good to be true. I can’t just get three wishes like in the books? No, apparently Violet’s miracle comes with a price. I don’t know if the three wishes are worth listening to your mouth, genie.” Bluff, of course. If this thing was legit, three wishes would be more than worth the sound of his voice. She’d listen to him gripe until down under froze over if it would get her what she wanted.

  “I can sit in silence for the remaining two days waiting only for your wishes to come. Is that what you would prefer?”

  Violet couldn’t help but smile at that ridiculousness. She dropped her underwear and wrapped herself in her robe. “Don’t even tease me like that; we both know you don’t have the self-control to keep your mouth shut. You’ve been whining and complaining since you came out of that stone. Releasing you was like releasing my worst cases of PMS all wrapped up in six feet of overgrown baby.” Way, way overgrown baby. Overgrown baby with shoulders like balls of granite under a layer of dark brown velvet and abs firm enough to tap dance on. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and find my newspaper. My neighbor seems to think he is entitled to it the way he helps himself to it every day. Just like a man.”

  “I do not know what PMS is and I am closer to seven feet tall, and the true problem is that you cannot tolerate someone asking you the questions you know you should be asking.”

  Violet opened the door and stopped suddenly at the solid wall of his chest before climbing her gaze upward into his dark eyes. His look was fierce, but not fierce in the usual way; fierce in a way that made her suddenly hot under the terry robe. Smoky and intimate. Her hands clenched the robe closed in response to the sudden perverse desire to let go and let it all hang out.

  Now, that couldn’t happen. She could not get busy with a genie. She might be a bad girl, but she tried not to mess with the cosmos. That begged the question, why would the cosmos put a tasty morsel of a man like this in front of her? Surely the cosmos knew what she was missing in the bedroom department. What good could come of putting man candy in her path? Surely the cosmos knew she was almost engaged!

  The slight tic in his jaw found an answer somewhere in her nether regions as she picked up the earthy scent of him, the heat of his closeness, the beguiling way his neck bent ever so gently, as though awaiting the feel of her hand on the back of it, pulling the ultimate prize closer.

  She longed to run her hand in a long swipe from his arm all the way up in a smooth stroke ending in the short, short, textured hair. She could almost feel it in her hands, could imagine her fingertips in it so clearly it was unseemly. As if his body could see her private thoughts, his full lips parted slightly as though ready to kiss her silly. And she was ready to be kissed silly.

  Get a grip, Violet. The man is a genie! He’s not even real. He’s like a cartoon character or something! At least that’s what she had to tell herself to get her body functioning like normal again. She swallowed her desire and planted one hand on her hip, riling the ire that worked so well for her on a daily basis.

  “Are you going to block me at every turn, genie? My period chocolate, the coffee, and now the bathroom; you’re really starting to be more trouble than you’re worth.” She waited for his response, anything to take her mind off the assault she had almost committed on his person, and was surprised when only a strange, choked sound emerged from his voice. Then he stepped out of her way and she breathed a sigh of relief. Skirting him, Violet stomped into the bathroom, slammed the door behind her, and immediately sagged against the other side.

  That was close. Too close! As honest as she was to herself about her lack of physical attraction to Jerome, she didn’t want to be a cheater and one second more standing that close to genie and there would have been some crazy, unreal, cartoon cheatin’ going on.

  One minute she was threatening to throw his home into a place he’d never heard called “Scioto,” the next minute she was standing before him clutching a covering in a way that made it clear she was bare underneath. He’d lost all sense seeing her standing before him, close enough to stroke and be stroked. He could almost feel her hand on the back of his neck pulling his head and lips toward hers. Sometimes Zahara would use a slim middle finger to tease the back of his neck, stroking back and forth leisurely until the fire of his desire could take no more teasing and he would groan a kiss into the sweet skin of her neck to stop the exquisite torture. A gentle, soft laugh from her, so low in her throat to be almost silent, would signify her conquer of his will. It was a sweet, sensual sound of pleasure she always made when he capitulated to her. He always capitulated.

  Though his body had waited for her touch, the lack of it reminded him of who he was and what he was almost about to do. He had only been capable of choking out a pathetic husky sound in apology and allowed her to pass, watching her backside in pale pink fuzzy cloth switch by him to enter the bathroom. After she slammed the door on him, yet again, Taka had looked down at the telltale sign of his own sudden distress and covered his shame with both hands, gently pounding his forehead against the nearest doorframe.

  Taka took a shaky breath through shakier lips and looked to the ceiling to speak to his tormentors. “This is no use. She is not my wife and you will not allow me to help her become my wife. I have condemned myself to a lifetime of torture for this woman whose only likelihood to my wife is her face, and body,” he gurgled, taking a deep breath on that note. “And you will not allow me to remind her of who she truly is.”

  Silence.

  A frown sprung up between his eyes and he fidgeted. He had to do something with this pent-up frustration. He was feeling angry and helpless and knew himself well enough to know those feelings would only gain in intensity if he did not alleviate them.

  Something popped into his head. Violet had said something before that he’d only barely heard but now rang like a beacon in his head. The man next door stole her paper every morning? Stole from her? A common thief. Right next door. Like a cool glass of water to a man starving of thirst, he sighed with relief that he’d found a proper outlet for his anger. If he could not speak his mind to the spirit of his dead wife, he would most certainly make due with a neighbor who took liberties with Violet’s property. Happily he stood and walked to the door to make a short visit with the neighbor.

  Chapter 13

  Violet made sure the coast was clear before making her way back into her bedroom for morning meditation. Her quiet time quickly dissolved into further thoughts of the genie and comparisons to her almost-betrothed.

  So what if she didn’t have the hots for Jerome? At least he didn’t criticize her every move. So what if Jerome was not the best man in the world? At least they understood each other. Sure, maybe he used her more than he loved her. But she knew that going in. Had she known the second she’d laid eyes on him that he would never love her? She couldn’t answer that, even now. But she could answer the question of why. Jerome was easy and safe. And there was nothing wrong with that.

  Still, it was a little annoying. If she was headed for disaster, wouldn’t it be a genie-like thing to do to smooth her path a little? Would it kill him to use a little genie sense to steer her in the right direction? She always sensed that there was more he wanted to say, more she needed to hear; more, besides criticisms or put-downs. Something about his deep, hooded eyes told her he knew much more than he revealed.

  She finished dressing and left her bedroom just as he was stomping in from the hallway, muttering under his breath. She raised an eyebrow.

  “Who were you talking to this time?”

  He tossed her newspaper onto the table. “You shall have no more trouble receiving your daily paper. The man next door folded like a Chinese fan the second I looked at him. Men today are mealy, pathetic little cowards, are they not? In my day, if a man was not prepared to fight to the death for what he felt was his right then he, himself, would not deign to assert himself. Today, you have thieves who are more frightened than their victims and
men who talk filth to women out loud and then are surprised when they are smacked down.” His eyes darted to her like a spear. “And, by all that is holy, why does it take so much time for women to prepare themselves for the day?”

  “By all that is holy, why do men always complain when they know they like the results?” Violet breezed past his shrewd stare. She dumped her old coffee for a fresh cup and then unwrapped some chocolate. Breakfast. “Besides,” she explained, “I took a little time to meditate. I was feeling a little un-centered. There’s a little more tension in my home these days than usual.” She intentionally punctuated that point with a direct look and a loud sip of coffee.

  “Is that a fact?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Perhaps if you discard a little dead weight there would be no tension at all.” He sat on the edge of her sofa and returned her steady look.

  “I’m sure you would like nothing better than to take care of that for me, genie.”

  “You are correct. But my friend tells me I am not allowed to discard the trash in your life. Even if it is rotten and putrid and the stink of it fills every corner and crevice of your life, it is not my place to solve that particular housecleaning issue. So I will not meddle.”

  “Were you this clever when you were a king? I don’t know what sin I committed to piss God off so much that He sent you down here to be a pain in my rear end but I suspect I know what you did. You mouthed off at Him, didn’t you? You did that same thing to Him that you’re doing here and He didn’t tolerate it and put you in that rock, right?”

  “I’m not discussing my stone with the likes of you,” he said, petulantly.

  “The likes of me?”

  “That’s right. A woman who would throw herself away on trash and then have the audacity to approach me as if I am less than nothing. I am a king. You would do well to remember that.”

  “Oh yes, King Taja.”

  “You know my name. Do not toy with me.”

  “My, my. The king has a temper. Well guess what?” She bent forward at the waist to lean toward him. “So do I! I don’t care whether you’re a king or knight or jester; you’re not my king and you will not be giving orders around here. I’m the one in charge of this palace.”

  “You are in charge of nothing. In my day power was in strength and in battle, and rightly so. Today, it seems the only respected power is in the ability to control one another, no matter to what end. You are a puppet on a string. The female friend, Brenda, she seems to spur you into action very easily. She makes you anxious. Like too much of this juice of the bean. And yet where she leads, you follow.”

  “I’m not following anything. Brenda and I have been friends for years. We’ve always been competitive, but that’s the reason I am where I am today. She helps me to try harder.”

  “At what?”

  “Everything. Work, love, everything.”

  Taka looked at her. “Is life so much of a competition for you, then?”

  “Life is a journey. And no, I may never win, but I’ll die trying. I’ll rest when I’m six feet under, not a moment before. I’m a fighter, genie. You don’t know me, so naturally, you don’t understand my approach. But someday I will have everything I want, you mark my words.”

  “I see. Then perhaps the problem is in what you want. That man of yours . . .” His face soured on the topic. “He takes your power as well. He takes your pride and your dignity. He takes your smile away and brings hardness to your face. He makes you nervous, encourages your meanness. He enjoys seeing you wound others, enjoys seeing you wound yourself. They will all cause you pain. I see it, clearly.”

  “Yeah, well.” She snorted without much mirth. “I know what to expect from them. They’ve already hurt me as much as they can, so there’s nothing else they can do to me. I’m more worried about strangers like you.” Whoa, whoa, whoa, Violet. Danger, Violet Jackson, danger! her instincts screamed. “I know you think Jerome is a mistake—”

  “Your mistake is that you are negligent toward yourself,” he said, his face going serious. “I recognize negligence because I was negligent toward my wife. Perhaps because I knew her heart was mine I did not worry over it. Not until it was all gone did I realize what I had lost. I would hate to see you deny yourself and follow my path.”

  Violet felt heartstrings tug at the despair in his voice. Poor genie. If he would only follow her way of thinking he would never, ever have to feel such pain. She and Jerome may not have been in love, but they would never leave each other as lost as the genie sounded.

  “I’m sorry for you,” she said.

  “I am sorry for my wife. She never knew how deeply she held my heart, and how much I regret that the trust she placed in me was misplaced. You asked if I am being punished. My punishment is of my own making; I am finally old and tired enough to admit it. But my task was never meant to be a punishment. I am on a mission. It is a different thing,” he said unconvincingly.

  Violet wasn’t the religious sort, but she was curious. “So, when I hear you talking, do you talk to God? That’s who sent you here?”

  “That is who sent me here, all right,” he grumbled. “But that is not to whom I speak. I only speak to friends.”

  Hmm, trapped in a stone and sent to do missions he hates by God, who isn’t his friend? She didn’t speak her thoughts but he must have read it on her face.

  “No, you come to the wrong conclusion,” he said.

  “Hey, I’m just saying. I pray but nothing ever happens. Then you show up and you’re cranky and uptight and not friends with God? Should I be worried, here?”

  “The underworld is most certainly in my future but the evil one is not my master yet,” he grumbled. “You say you pray? What do you pray for, Violet?”

  Violet looked at him, a flush of embarrassment making her face hot. “When I was young I prayed for my father not to die, but he did. And then I prayed for my mother not to remarry, but she did. And then I prayed that my stepfather would come to love me like he loved his own children so I could have my mother back, but he didn’t. And then I prayed that I was making the right decision allowing myself to love someone and we both know how that turned out. And a lifetime of little things I’ve prayed for that never turned out. So then I stopped praying. And I stopped being disappointed.”

  “No, I do not believe that is true. I believe you live in disappointment. You have obviously given up on hope.”

  “Hope and twenty-five cents won’t buy you a cup of coffee, genie.” She shrugged. “I make my own opportunities. Everything I have is because I’ve worked hard for it. You’re the first thing that’s ever been given to me, and frankly, this experience isn’t turning out to be a screaming success. And look at you, you’re always so sad. You believe in something, whatever it is, and look where it’s gotten you.”

  He grimaced. “It is because I know how good things can be that I am so unhappy now. I have tasted euphoria and I have tasted the dregs of despair. Presently I am so close to the mouth of the underworld I can feel the flames licking my face,” he said cracking another wry smile. “Perhaps that is my destiny. It doesn’t have to be yours.”

  Violet didn’t know how to respond to that. Sincerity was not something she came across often and her emotion took to it like a thirsty man to water or a lonely woman to a confidante. She liked his honesty. She liked his face. She liked the intensity in his eyes and the way his followed hers steadily. She liked that he didn’t back down or cower to her aggression. She liked the way she felt when he was near. She liked too much about him.

  “Listen, about this, us, and our constant butting heads; I know in your own way you’re trying to help me but you don’t understand. You were a king, once, and this”—she gestured around her—“this is all just silly nothing to you, that’s obvious. The only logical conclusion is that we’re both being punished and this is like some sort of existentialist afterlife on earth or you’re the ghost of Violet’s lost conscience or some such nonsense. Regardless, why don’t we just agree to not tear each ot
her apart until I figure out what to do with the last two wishes? I’ll try not to be too much of a pain, even if you do take up a lot of space in my tiny apartment. I’ll try not to harass you if you do the same. Deal?”

  The expression in his eyes was indecipherable, his voice without its customary accusation. “Your life is not silly. I never said your life was silly.”

  “Genie, I’m not clueless. I can tell how you feel about me. I can feel your disgust and I can see it in your eyes. Last night you looked at me like . . .” She sighed as the wave of hurt from the night before swept over her again. She didn’t understand why she should feel anything. But she did. “It doesn’t matter. Heck, if I were looking in on my own life, maybe I’d think it was pointless too; but I’ve worked hard for it, put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into it. It’s the only life I have and it’s important to me whether or not it is to you. My decisions may be wrong to you, but they’re mine. My mistakes to make, even if for half a second I may wish someone else was making them. I don’t always know what to do, King, but I’m doing my best. Isn’t that what you did when you were human? The best you knew how?” She looked at him hard for a moment and, when he didn’t answer, went on, too committed to stop now.

  “And, I’m sorry about last night. You didn’t want to come to dinner and I was being selfish. I just . . .” Tell him, Violet! Oh, what the heck. “I just thought it’d be nice to have a friend; you know, a new person at the table who isn’t personally invested in making my life miserable.” She laughed slightly at the revelation she only just discovered at this moment. It was true. The people in her life weren’t very nice. And neither was she. “My bad. Don’t worry about tonight; I won’t make you go through that again.”

  Violet trailed off awkwardly, already sorry for her honesty. He was looking at her like she’d sprouted three heads and she felt like she might as well have. She felt terrible. This self-reflection crap was a crock. She much preferred the ignorant bliss of yesterday.