Three More Wishes: Be Kind To Your Genie (28 page)

“Don’t go into the walk-in-freezer till I tell you it’s okay,” Paula ordered Ted. Paula knew that because of an earlier Suggestion, Ted wouldn’t even
think
of disobeying her.

Ted finished undressing, then climbed into bed and passed out. Paula was herself close to passing out; instead, she made herself walk through the house and into the garage.

That genie bitch was still straight-faced lying to Paula, claiming that she didn’t know where Fatima’s bottle was. But at least Jernie was getting a little karma payback for her lying: Paula noticed that Jernie was walking strangely, like she was wearing stiff ski boots.

****

Monday, 7:00 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time

BAM-BAM-BAM! I was awakened by someone pounding on my bedroom door.

“MARVIN?” a young woman’s voice called. “YOU’LL BE LATE—”

By now I had unlocked the door. Standing beyond the door was Janice. She said, “It’s 7:00, Marvin sir. Are we still all going to meet at school at 7:15?”

“Shit, I overslept!” I said. Then I told Janice, “Be at my car in five minutes.”

Janice gave me a dubious look, and I realized that I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. But what she said was, “Yes, Marvin sir.”

Then Janice glanced past me to my bed and asked, “Have you seen—?”

But I held up a hand. “Janice, I need to get ready for school.” Without waiting for her to answer, I shut the door.

Showering was out. I dragged a razor over my face, brushed my teeth, yanked my old clothes off my body, jammed myself into clean clothes (almost forgetting to swap out comb, wallet, and keys), and grabbed my book bag. I was strongly tempted to slide down the bannister, just to get to my car a few seconds earlier.

****

Minutes later, on our way to Plato Smith’s front doors, Janice and I spotted Stephanie Eklund and we waved to her. Stephanie walked over to us and gave each of us a hug. Janice looked relieved to see her, since Stephanie’s I-serve-Marvin outfit nuked the dress code as much as nervous Janice’s own clothing did.

As I said, the three of us walked through the doors at 7:18. I expected to see waiting ahead, a teacher and four girl students. Or fewer than that, if someone was running late.

Instead, waiting for me was a teacher and
five
girls. Anna Kay said, “Marvin, it’s same song, second verse. Kelly Brown wants to join your group.”

Reader, I’ve mentioned Kelly Brown a few times. The PSHS joke about her is this:
Does Kelly Brown have standards? Certainly! She won’t fuck a guy whose dick is less than three inches, and she draws the line at forty guys in one night.

Now I noted how Kelly was dressed: Slutwear with a capital
S
. Maybe she fully expected to be allowed into my harem today. On the other hand, what she was wearing wasn’t much different than outfits she’d worn in the past.

Kelly had larger-than-average tits, puffier-than-average lips, and suicide-blond hair. Meaning, even if she were forced to wear a choir robe, she’d have sex appeal. But Kelly Brown was much more than a sexy body. If the Wicked Witch of the West were to dress like Kelly dressed, and move like Kelly moved, even the Tin Man would get an erection.

So you can imagine my body’s reaction when Kelly sashayed up to me. “Hiii, Marvin, you’re looking
big
and strong this morning.”

“Stop, Kelly,” I commanded. “Stand right there, hands at your side.” I did
not
want Kelly touching me unasked, and becoming my touch-slave accidentally. Kelly obeyed me, because of my magic pheromones.

I stood out of her reach and asked, “Why do you want to join my harem?”

She said, “Because it’s one group I’m perfectly qualified to join. In fact—”

“Do you have any other reason to want in my harem?”

“Ooh, ‘harem’, such a sexy word. I have another reason, Marvin sir, but I don’t want to tell it.”

“Too bad. Tell it anyway.”

Kelly looked at me with anger, then fear. She made several faces, and twisted her hands together; clearly she did not want to answer the question. But then she said, “People have asked me the last few days, ‘How come you’re not in Marvin’s harem? Are you so skanky that he doesn’t want you?’ ”

“No comment,” I said. “Now I know why you want in, but my next question is: Why should I take you?”

Kelly gave me a dick-stiffening smile. “Well, I’m sure I could teach your other girls a thing or two.”

“Pfft,” Janice said. “Tell us, Kelly sweetie, do you do Kegel exercises?”

Kelly didn’t look cocky anymore. “Um ... I guess not. What are those?”

“I’m not sure what a ‘Kegel’ is. But you know when your bladder is full, but you don’t want to pee in your panties, there’s a muscle inside you that you squeeze?”

“Yeah,” said Kelly, with a
Where are you going with this?
look of puzzlement.

Janice said, “Well, in a Kegel exercise, you voluntarily squeeze that muscle as hard as you can, then you keep squeezing, then release. Then you do that ten times. Then it’s just like gym class: three sets of ten reps, do that every day. And after a while, you have a pussy that can crush rocks into gravel.”

I added, “And I can tell you, Janice’s pussy feels great.”

Kelly looked deflated now. “Well, can I just straight-out ask to join your girls? Anna Kay did that Friday, and you let her join.”

I sighed. “The thing with Anna Kay was, I’ve had a crush on her since tenth grade—”

“Really? Wow,” said Anna Kay. Then she moaned and shook with orgasm.

“—and so when she asked, of course I said yes,” I said.

Anna Kay said, “Yeah, right. Marvin, tell Kelly about all the pussy I had to lick
before
you said yes.”

I’d delayed giving Kelly an answer. But now was answering time. I said, “Kelly, for guys it’s really hard to walk up to a girl and ask her for a date, or ask her for sex. Rejection is scary! And most girls haven’t a clue what agonies the guy suffers. But
you
know that, you’re being very brave—”

“Oh shit,” Kelly said, “you’re turning me down, aren’t you?” She started to cry.

I said gently, “With the exception of Anna Kay, who’s a special case—”

“Yeah, you had a crush on her! But nobody gets a ‘crush’ on Kelly Brown—if a guy wants me, he gets me. God, I’m pathetic,” Kelly sobbed.

“—
any
girl or woman who asks me before I ask her, will get turned down. Of that group of Marvin-rejects, potentially numbering billions, you’re the bravest, and so you’re the first.”

She looked at me with hope. “So that’s the only reason you’re turning me down? Because of ... because of...?”

“Policy,” Bellina suggested.

“Policy is some of it,” I said. “But also, Kelly, I want to feel special. Whatever girl I’m with, I want to be the only man in her life. Whereas you—”

Kelly said, “This is so unfair. You fuck lots of girls; I fuck lots of guys. We’re the same.”

“Not so. A teacher here has made it clear that she wants me for fun on the side. She’s married, you see. But I don’t
do
married women, and I don’t
do
‘fun on the side.’ Can you say the same, that the guys you fuck, don’t fuck anyone but you?”

“No,” Kelly said in a small voice.

Then I raised my voice. “My ladies, each of you give Kelly a hug, to show no hard feelings.”

As Kelly got surrounded by girlflesh, she looked at me, clearly hoping that I too would hug her. I shook my head. “Kelly, I think it best that I not touch you.” She nodded, as tears ran down her face.

When the hugs were done, Kelly looked at me and stood straight (while still sniffling). She said, “You don’t respect me, Marvin. This hurts ten times worse because you
haven’t
called me nasty names. Hell, you’ve bent over backward to be nice. But I swear, I am gonna
bust my ass
so that one day, I have your respect.”

And with those words, Kelly Brown moved away from me and strode straight toward the school office.

By second period, the school was abuzz with the gossip: Kelly Brown, after she’d talked to me, had ambushed Mr. Bender, and had told him that she was going home and changing clothes. Without Mr. Bender ordering it first.

During class change after third period, I passed Kelly Brown in the hallway. She was wearing non-tight jeans, and a sweater draped over her low-cut top. She actually looked normal, if genetically blessed. I gave her a thumb-up; she gave me a weak smile in return.

****

“Fuck!” Virgilia said. She threw the covers off and climbed out of bed, even though her body craved sleep.

Virgilia, newbie dancer Pepper, and Yuri had been the last to leave Nimfo Club. Which meant that Virgilia had gotten only three hours of good sleep, before sunlight and noisy motel guests started disturbing that sleep this morning. And yet here she was, five hours after she’d gone to bed, unable to ditch the thoughts that were blocking her sleep.

From the motel room’s other bed, Sherry said sleepily, “What’s wrong, Virgie? Why you up?”

Virgilia said, “I need to talk to someone at the mansion, Sher.”

“Marvin? He’s at school.”

“No, not Marvin. It’s no biggie, Sher, go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Sherry said in a trusting voice. Seconds later, she was indeed asleep.

Virgilia showered, did her face and hair, and threw the plastic bags that contained almost all of her worldly possessions into the back seat of her car. (The diamond necklace and Virgilia’s mink jacket were in a bus-station locker.) Then Virgilia headed off to the mansion where she had lived for the last two years, and which would soon be her residence for the next however-many years.

But Virgilia wasn’t headed to the mansion merely to move her stuff back in. She
needed
to talk to Fatima. Virgilia needed to
know.
Was Fatima a genie? Had Warren, and then Marvin, ensnared Virgilia through wishes granted?

Minutes later, Virgilia and her car were just outside the entrance gate to the mansion. Virgilia heard a young woman’s voice parroting through the speaker, “Can I help you?”

That must be Elvira,
Virgilia thought.
Nobody else at the mansion works so hard at sounding so bored.

Virgilia identified herself, and two minutes later, she and all her trash bags were at the front door of the mansion. Sure enough, it was French-Maided Elvira who answered the door.

As Virgilia walked in, while struggling with the heaviest trash bag, she casually asked, “Know where I can find Fatima?”

Elvira’s smile was catty. “Nobody’s seen her since last night. Know who had to help Janice with breakfast? Almie and me.”

“No shit? Fuck!”

Minutes later, Virgilia had carried the three trash bags up the stairs and into the bedroom that had been assigned to Sherry and her. Virgilia’s calf muscles burned, and she was sweaty. But she needed to find Fatima.

Virgilia
needed
to talk to Fatima. Maybe Fatima would lie, maybe she would refuse to answer Virgilia’s questions—hell, maybe Marvin had ordered Fatima to clam up. But what was Virgilia’s alternative to asking her questions and getting shot down?
Not
asking, and so going through life always wondering.

Thus with her ass on fire, Virgilia searched the mansion for Fatima, as only someone who’d lived there for two years could search. Virgilia walked through the garage, the pool shack, and the poolside kitchen; she walked through the billiards room, the electronic recreation room, the computer room, the ballroom, and the library; she checked the monster kitchen and the laundry room; and she peeked into every bedroom, including the guest bedroom downstairs. No Fatima.

When Virgilia got to Fatima’s own bedroom, Virgilia did more than peek in: She actually walked into the bedroom, looking for some sign of where Fatima might be. Not only was there no clue to Fatima’s whereabouts, the bedroom itself had a blank, not-lived-in look. Fatima’s bedroom reminded Virgilia of a vacated motel room after the motel maids had finished.

Then Virgilia went up the stairs to the attic, CLUMP-CLUMP-CLUMP-CLUMP-CLUMP. The attic was huge, not well lit, and already hot, but Virgilia walked it all anyway.

By now Virgilia had realized that if Fatima
wasn’t
a genie, then Fatima was now likely to be dead or dying somewhere on the property. And it would be Virgilia who found her body.
Yeep.

SLAP! There was one walkway board near the attic stairs that wasn’t nailed down properly; anytime someone stepped on it, it made a loud noise. Virgilia never remembered to avoid it till too late.

A second later, Virgilia thought,
I’m an idiot.
She realized that she hadn’t checked the bathrooms. The mansion had twenty-two of those: one each for the monster kitchen, the poolside kitchen, and the guest bedroom; and nineteen for the upstairs bedrooms. Virgilia decided that she would search the upstairs bathrooms last, and Marvin’s bathroom would be very last.

So Virgilia headed for the attic stairs—SLAP! CLUMP-CLUMP-CLUMP-CLUMP-CLUMP down she went—then she walked across the second-floor hallway to the main stairs.

Twenty minutes later, Fatima still had not been found anywhere, alive or dead. Now Virgilia stood before the door to Marvin’s bedroom.

Fatima didn’t own a car; and she hadn’t taken Marvin’s car, Miriam’s car, the Mustang convertible, or any of Warren’s cars. And Virgilia was certain that Fatima wasn’t anywhere else on the property.
So Fatima must be here, in Marvin’s bedroom,
Virgilia figured.

****

In my second-period French IV class, I noticed that a girl Andrea was wearing green nail polish. Seeing this made me think of Fatima, who’d worn shiny green nail polish when we’d gone on our dinner-and-a-movie date, and she’d worn green nail polish every time I’d seen her thereafter—

Fatima, jeez! I left her in her lamp!

Note to self: Apologize to her when I finally let her out. She deserves better.

I tried to remember what I’d done with the padlock. Had I left the footlocker unlocked? Was it
obvious
that the footlocker was unlocked?