By Sally Kilpatrick

I picked up the gauntlet from Nicki and tried to turn this fairy tale on its end.  My advance apologies for the length, and I hope you enjoy it.

“I think Dylan would just love this lamp, don’t you?”  Ally Dan held up a burnished brass lamp.

Her best friend, Sherry Zade frowned.  “I think Dylan would have to know that you’re alive for it to matter.  Besides, it’s an ugly thing.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it that a little brass polish wouldn’t fix.”  Ally took the lamp and turned to the owner of the flea market stall.  While they negotiated, Sherry considered her friend.

There was nothing wrong with Ally Dan that a little confidence wouldn’t fix.  Her seemingly dull brown hair was pulled back in a pony tail, but letting it fall around her shoulders would reveal blonde highlights.  She wore glasses with clunky frames, but contacts would emphasize her green eyes.  Ally wore her usual work uniform of untucked button down shirt and shapeless skirt.   Sherry turned her head to one side to consider Ally’s wardrobe while her friend negotiated with the ancient man who own the stall.  Sherry decided that Ally Dan could be a looker if she would focus more on what she deserved and a little less on what Dylan Michaels deserved.

Ally handed the weathered vendor cash and turned to flash Sherry a bright grin.  She fell into step with her friend as they walked in the direction of Southern Phone Systems where the two of them worked.   They often walked the two blocks to the flea market for lunch.  For one, the Tacos al Pastor at the front booth were both cheap and delicious.  For another, milling through the stalls gave them the opportunity to breathe fresh air and to get some light other than the anemic fluorescent ones they usually sat under.

“I can’t believe you bought a lamp,” Sherry said.

Ally pressed two dollars into the hand of the homeless man they passed every day before he had the chance to ask.  “It wasn’t that expensive, and I promise you it’s going to look like new when I get done polishing it.  You’ll see.”

###

That afternoon Ally kicked the apartment door closed with her foot then put down her laptop bag, her keys, and the bag that contained the lamp.  She had been thinking about the lamp all day and couldn’t wait to polish it into brilliance.

She looked left and right for the perfect spot for her latest purchase, but her apartment showed no promise.  She had furnished the tiny rooms with the help of Ikea, and the modern lines of the furniture looked odd against the cracked beige walls with crown molding or against the old-fashioned brick fireplace.  It didn’t matter, though.  One day, she was going to get Dylan Michael’s attention.  One day she would live happily ever after with him in what was, no doubt, a thoroughly modern apartment with the occasional well chosen antique—an antique like her lamp.

Digging around in the hall closet, she found brass polish and a rag.  The lamp looked like one you would have found on the Orient Express, but it had been rewired with a cord for a regular light bulb.  She worked on the base of the lamp, satisfied by the shine that emerged.  Then she polished the middle, and a wisp of smoke emanated from the hole where the light bulb should be.  She held the lamp at arm’s length and considered.  No, there was nothing about polishing a lamp that should cause burnt wires.

She turned the lamp in her hand and continued to polish.  The wisp grew into a room-filling fog, and Ally coughed until tears came to her eyes.  When she wiped away the tears and waved through the smoke, she saw the genie.

He stood tall with long black hair falling over broad shoulders.  He wore no shirt, only flowing black pants and golden wrist bands, and she sucked in a deep breath at his muscular physique.  He bowed low on one knee.  “I am at your command; you have three wishes so use them well.”

Ally closed her eyes and opened them, but the yummy man still bowed low.  She pinched herself—hard—but the genie continued to bow low.  How could a man so big that he dwarfed her apartment still express a humble deference?

“What?  How?  You can stand up now.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Ally gulped.  He had to be at least six four.  She looked from the lamp to the man again.  It made no sense.  “Three wishes?  For real?”

He sighed.  “Yes, you have three wishes.”

“Wow.  Would you like to have a seat?  Can I get you something to drink?”

His black eyes widened.  “Thanks.  Don’t mind if I do.”  He plopped on the couch, and it moved two inches back.  Imaginary genies couldn’t move couches could they?

“I have got to get more sleep,” Ally muttered.  She pinched herself again.  Nope, still in her apartment with what appeared to be a bona fide genie.  She peered into the open cabinet.  What did one serve a genie?

“If you have Coke, that would be great.  Picked up a taste for those in the forties.  If you have a splash of Jack for the Coke, that’d be even better.  Picked up a taste for that shortly after discovering Coke.”

Ally shivered at the thought he might be able to read her mind.  She reached for two high balls then ice.  She took the whiskey down from the top cabinet and poured one finger in each glass.  The genie ran a hand through his hair, and she poured another finger’s worth in each glass before adding the coke.

“So, what’s your name?” she asked as she sat down across from him.

“No need to chat; I couldn’t give you more than three wishes if I wanted to.”  He took a gulp of the mixture, made a face as the whiskey hit, then smiled broadly.  “Man, it’s been a long time.”

“I wasn’t fishing for more wishes.”  Ally frowned and took a modest slug of her own drink and twitched at the burn of the liquor.  “I was just trying to be friendly.”

“That’s what they all say.  You’ll leave me high and dry when all’s said and done.”  The genie chugged the rest of his drink, a waste in Ally’s opinion, and set the glass down on the coffee table with a thud.  “The sooner we get started, the sooner we finish.”

Ally stared through him, her drink suspended just beneath her chin.  Being trapped in a lamp had to be a colossal pain in the ass, but there was no need to take out his frustrations on her.

Something in his eyes softened under her glare.  “My name is Jacob.  I am half Egyptian and half-English and have been trapped as the servant of this lamp for over two hundred years.  Never love and leave a Moroccan belly dancer.  Especially not if she has friends who dabble in sorcery.”

“Jacob, that’s a nice name.  And I’ll stay away from belly dancers.”  Ally paused then took a swig of her drink for fortitude.  “There is this guy, though—”

“Yes, yes.”  Jacob leaned back with his hands clasped behind his back.  Ally was having a hard time focusing on Dylan when she had a veritable male pin-up lounging in front of her.  “It always begins with a guy.  Or a girl.  There are a few things we need to get straight before we go any further.”

He turned, his black eyes boring through her until she shivered.  “I can’t make anyone fall in love, and I can’t bring anyone back from the dead.”

Ally shrank back in her chair.  Jacob leaned closer; his breath smelled faintly of whiskey.  “And you seem like a nice enough girl.  You need to understand that genie magic is a dark magic.  Your wishes won’t end up like you think they will.  No matter how well you think it through, nothing is ever as easy as it seems.”

###

Ally couldn’t remember the last time she had gone out in the world without glasses.  First grade, maybe?  She had tried contacts, but they irritated her eyes.  She was too squeamish for surgery, and, despite what Jacob had said, she didn’t see how a wish for perfect vision could possibly hurt her.

She put her laptop and her insulated coffee mug down on her desk.  She loitered here every morning at ten until nine, waiting for a glimpse of Dylan as he walked to his office.  Like clockwork, Dylan Michaels appeared with a copy of the New York Times under his arm.  He walked by the same glass windows whose eastern sun always gave him a halo.  Ally sighed at the perfection of him:  tall, athletic with blond hair and dimples.  Then, he pinched the secretary’s behind.  The sun caught how his golden hair was beginning to thin and how his complexion was sallow from one too many nights out.  Ally blinked her eyes twice, and he was perfection again.  That genie was playing mind games with her.

She plopped into her desk chair and swallowed hard.  As if summoned by her thoughts, Dylan leaned over the top of her cubicle for the first time in her four years on the eighth floor.

“Hey, it’s Ally, right?  Did you do something different?  Cut your hair?”

Ally nodded but couldn’t form the words.  It was all a trick.  Jacob had warned her that wishes never turned out as you hoped or planned.

“No!  You got lasick surgery!  That’s it.  Anyway, I was wondering if you would like to meet me for dinner tonight.”

Ally’s heart leaped up to high five her uvula.  Dylan Michaels had not only noticed her but had also asked her out to dinner.  Jacob was wrong; these three wishes were heaven sent.

###

Ally barely made it through the door before she called for him.  “Jacob!”

He slid from the lamp in a wisp of smoke.  She was just as bad as the rest of them.  Hooked, she would make another wish then waste her third one getting rid of the others.  Nothing would change.  She would return to her life more miserable than ever; he would return to the lamp and wait for someone else to rub it the right way.  It would be a while since the lamp was enchanted, causing the owner to hang on to it until death without ever really knowing why.

“Jacob, I have my second wish!”

He had to admit she was pretty, especially with the pink in her cheeks from racing up the stairs.

He bowed low.  “Your wish is my command.”

“I wish for a killer body and a killer wardrobe to go with it.”

“Very well.”  Jacob clapped his hands, and Ally’s outfit changed to an orange jumpsuit with large black numbers.  Her body resembled that of Charlize Theron.  In Monster.

“Very funny,” Ally said.  “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Jacob considered her for a moment.  This was just exactly the sort of twist wishes were supposed to take.  He wasn’t supposed to take anything back once the magic had settled itself.  Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes, and he relented.  “Fine, fine, you can’t blame a guy for having a little fun.” He clapped his hands again, and Ally elongated into a supermodelish version of herself complete with a chic black sheath and matching Manolos.

Ally gasped and twirled.  “Look at me!  Just look at me!  Dylan Michaels has finally noticed me, and he isn’t going to forget me after this.”

She ran across the room and flew into Jacob’s arms before he could stop her.  “Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you, Jacob.”  She planted a kiss on his cheek and skipped out the door.

Jacob touched callused fingers to the tingling spot on his cheek and grinned.  He was going to pay for her embrace, but he would endure it happily.  He couldn’t remember the last time one of his masters had bothered to say thank you.

To find out what happens next please visit my blog in progress, the aptly named Sally’s Temporary Blog otherwise known as “The blog Sally put together for the rest of her story while she thinks of something much more creative to actually call her blog.”

About the author

Sally Kilpatrick | Sally Kilpatrick is a full-time student and mother and an aspiring house frau. She has just finished her fifth novel, Beulah Land and the Happy Hour Choir, a thoroughly southern story full of things like religion and politics that are sure to get her in trouble.

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