I don't go directly to "Sultan's" where I know Jasmine will be. First, I have to find some offering. . . a small token. She deserves something after the day she's had. Therefore, I travel to Charlie's Pawn Shop. I've known Charlie since I was a kid, and although he's somewhat of a thief to others, he's always been generous with me.
The bell above the door rings as I enter Charlie's familiar shop, and he looks up from his magazine. When he recognizes me, a broad smile spreads over his burly features, and he motions me toward him, putting out the cigarette he cradles between two fingers.
"Spike! How are you? What brings you here today?" His voice is scratchy from chain smoking, and his face remains unshaven.
"Well, I need a bit of a gift."
"For Xander's birthday? Didn't he have one a couple months ago?" Charlie appears visibly confused because I only ever buy gifts for my friends. Right now, Xander is my sole friend.
Suddenly, I can't meet his eyes anymore. "Not for Xander. For a *girl.*"
"Really? I'll have to think about that one. What'd you have in mind? Jewels? Flowers? Chocolates? If it's flowers or chocolates, you're at the wrong shop."
Glancing at him, I shake my head. "No. It has to be something. . . I don't know. Better."
"Better?" Charlie grabs his inventory book off the shelf and flips through the crusty pages. "Hmm."
I pace nervously as he searches for something. What if Charlie doesn't find anything? What if Jasmine doesn't like what Charlie finds? What if. . .
"Listen, Spike, if you don't stop marching back and forth like that, I'm gonna throw the cash register at you."
"Um. Sorry." I stop moving and shift back and forth in one spot.
"Got it!" he declares, slamming his inventory notebook closed. "Wait right there, mister. I'll be back in a jiff."
"What is it?" I call after his retreating form.
I barely catch his next words as he disappears into the depths of his cluttered storage room, "Something I should have thought of before. . ."
True to his word, Charlie emerges, bearing an object, which he ceremoniously holds out to me. . . a very dirty metal object.
"What is it?" I ask in a rather disgusted tone.
"A very special lamp. . . all the way from the lands of Arabs." Charlie is disconcertedly in awe of his own inventory.
"It's disgusting. How am I supposed to give that to Jasm. . . a girl?"
He plunks the lamp in my hands. "Trust me. It's a magical lamp. Clean it up, and you've got a rare prize."
I am incredulous. "Uh huh."
"Now go." He shoves me toward the door. "That's all I have for you today."
Exiting the shop, I sigh. Back to square one.
"And Spike?" Charlie leans in the doorway, watching me.
"What?"
"Good luck with Jasmine." He lights a cigarette with shaking hands.
"H-how did you know?"
He inhales deeply on the cigarette. "Three other guys have been in here today for the same reason after that news special."
"Oh." My stomach plunges. I don't stand a chance.
He nods at me. "Trust me. I've given you the best deal with that lamp."
Looking down at the dust- and tarnish-covered lamp, I highly doubt him. "Thanks."
* * *
Chapter 3The parking lot at "Sultan's" corporate offices is jammed with cars before six A.M. Vehicles also flood the street and are parked in several neighboring business lots. Two police cars are patrolling the lots, pinning what promise to be nice fat parking tickets on those cars parked illegally. Lucky me, I don't own a car.
Heart hammering, I stride up to the building, bearing my still dirty gift. Xander and I don't have reliable running water, so last night, I was unable to wash the lamp after I cleaned myself up. I decided to come to "Sultan's" early in the hopes of sneaking into a bathroom in the main lobby to scrub down the metal.
As I enter the expansive, high-ceilinged lobby, my eyes widen. I've seen such building on television programs but never dared set foot in one myself. Paintings cover the ceiling, depicting scenes of the rich Arabian palaces of folklore, flying carpets, and mounds of gold and treasures. One could get lost in the dreams that such scenes invoke.
I'm so busy staring up that I don't notice the woman in a business suit standing at my elbow until she speaks, "Hello, sir."
I almost jump out of my skin. "H-hello."
She smiles gently at me. "Are you here to see Miss Summers?"
"Y-yes, I am." I straighten my shoulders. How did she know?
My eyes follow the direction she points. "Just go stand in line over there. I'm sure she'll see you. . . sometime today."
The huge line of men snaking around the edge of the lobby makes my jaw drop. "Wow. What are so many people doing here?"
The woman chuckles softly. "The line goes up the stairs for several stories, sir. Didn't you see the cars outside?"
I frown at the line. "Yeah, I did, but I thought they were workers."
"Nope. 'Sultan's' had to be closed down for today because employees had nowhere to park." Disappointment must have shown on my face because the woman pats my back sympathetically. "Jasmine is one lucky lady to have so many potential suitors."
"Yeah." I stare down at my pitiful gift. What was Charlie thinking? What was *I* thinking? "Is there a restroom down here?"
"Sure. On the opposite side. Help yourself. May as well make yourself comfortable."
The woman has been nothing but nice to me. "Thanks."
The bathroom is just as luxurious as the lobby with two large rooms, one filled with actual stalls and beautiful basins and one with richly colored lounging sofas and chairs and a floor to ceiling mirror. The ceilings are lower but also painted with heavenly designs. Thankfully, the entire facility is empty. Probably no one wants to lose his place in line.
I hurry to the sinks, setting down the lamp to search for paper towels. The only thing remotely resembling paper towels turns out to be a soft cotton-like material that deposited some sort of lotion to the skin. Perhaps the lotion will give the lamp something akin to polish.
Wetting the towel a bit, I wipe the material over the surface of the lamp. Soon, I fall into a trance as I scrub the metal into a high-quality shine. The more I work the lamp, the better the surface begins to look. Maybe Charlie wasn't so far off the mark after all.
As I am putting the finishing touches on the lamp, a puff of smoke begins rising from the lamp spout. A bit alarmed, I step back, eyes widening. What the hell had Charlie given me? A bomb? Great, what a way to impress a girl, blow her and her dad's business to kingdom come.
The smoke becomes thicker and thicker as I stand paralyzed in fear. A vague thought tugs at the back of my mind: why isn't the smoke detector going off? As I watch in amazement, a figure begins forming out of the haze.
I blink once, and suddenly a red-headed young woman stands. . . actually floats before me. She blinks a few times and rubs her eyes somewhat childishly. She is dressed in a flowing forest green skirt and a matching lace blouse with long, bell-shaped sleeves and a short midriff that exposes her belly button. Glitter covers her fair skin, face, and scarlet curls, lending her a look of peace and magic. Around her neck, ankles and wrists, she wears golden manacles.
Blue eyes widen as she studies me. "Hi, sweetie. What's your name?"
"M-my name? Shouldn't I be asking *you* that question? Who are you, and where did you come from?" I demand.
"Why, I came from the lamp, of course," she replies as if I am somewhat dense. "Don't you know who I am?"
"Um, no, pet, I don't know who you are." I cross my arms. "How did you fit in that tiny lamp?"
She frowns slightly. "I would have thought surely you'd know who I am since you called me forth from the lamp."
"I was just cleaning the lamp up."
Spinning in place and streaking glitter through the air, she asks, "What manner of place am I in now?"
"The men's restroom. And you haven't told me who you are or how you fit in such a small face."
She halts mid-spin and catches my eyes again, proudly announcing, "I am Willow, the genie of the lamp. You called me forth by rubbing the lamp in which I was magically imprisoned. I must grant you three wishes for freeing me from my prison." She narrows her eyes at me. "So, wish carefully, young one."
Laughter bursts from my mouth before I can stop myself. "I have everything I want, witch."
A pout appears on her pretty face. "I am *not* a witch! I am a *genie!* Got it? GENIE! And you have three wishes. I can't go away until I grant you three wishes. Surely, there's something you want. . . riches, a successful career, a house, power, what?"
I shake my head. "None of those things," I murmur, fingering the decorative trim on the lamp.
Willow circles me, running a hand lightly across my shoulders. "Ahhh. There's something you want. Does it have something to do with the lamp? Were you going to give it to someone?"
What would be the harm in telling her the truth? Telling the truth doesn't mean I've ceased being wary. "I want true love and understanding."
Willow's face falls. "True love is not a wish I can grant you. I am sorry. I can grant wishes that will make your path to true love easier, but I can't hand you true love on a plate. That you have to earn yourself."
"Oh."
She is uncomfortable with my disappointment, so she attempts to assuage me, "So, do you have someone in mind that you're trying to win over?"
I match her blue eyes with mine. "Yes."
Willow smiles broadly and then clears her throat, slipping into business mode. "Who? Show me the girl and the situation, and I'll see what I can do to assist you."
* * *
Chapter 4The ability to be invisible turns out to be a useful genie characteristic. We swiftly and easily bypass the hundreds of suitors who remain unmoving on the stairs at the restaurant headquarters.
As we pass the men, Willow whispers comments under her breath about each. "Too fat. . . too tall. . . too nerdy. . . not good looking enough. . ."
I punch her lightly in the arm. "Um. What are you doing?"
She raises her eyebrows at me. "Ruling out your competition. Geez, this girl's got a bunch of suitors. What'd she do to get so lucky?"
"Don't know if she's lucky, pet. Her father sort of forced it on her," I inform the genie.
"Ohhh." Willow shakes her head, holding up her bound wrists. "Poor thing. I know what it's like to be forced into something."
Sympathy shines in my eyes. "I bet you do."
We reach the top of the stairs in record time. Willow steps through the closed door marked "Staff Admittance Only." I hesitate. I can't pass through solid material.
Willow's arm and head reappear through the wood. "Come on, you. Don't stop now. We're almost at our destination."
"Um, pet, I can't pass through solid wood."
She takes me by the arm. "When you're with me, you most certainly can."
Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I follow her through the wood, my skin tingling from the motion. I open my eyes to find myself in another world. . . a world in which I never dreamed of being a participant. Willow stalks through the offices that are void of people. She takes no notice of her opulent surroundings until we reach a large, handsomely carved, wooden door. On the other side, I can hear two voices, likely of Jasmine and her father.
Without a second thought, Willow drags me through the door.
"Wow," Willow whistles softly. "Jasmine or whatever you said her name was is filthy rich."
"No kidding," I breathe in awe.
The office is richly decorated in deep colors and various expensive paintings and sculptures, but my eyes can't move from Jasmine's elegant form. Her blonde hair is pinned up off her neck, and loose curls fall gently about her face. Her slender body is wrapped in a long, flowered dress. Surprisingly, she wears no expensive jewelry but just a simple necklace and cross. I cock my head, listening intently to her conversation with her father who sits behind a splendorous desk.
"No way, Father. No way am I meeting with all those men out there!" She points forcefully toward the line of men she can't see but knows is just beyond the door.
"Yes, Jasmine, you will," Hank Summers insists. "You've talked me out of many things before, but this time, I am not giving in. I've obviously given in too much to you in the past. Look how spoiled you are."
Jasmine rolls her eyes, and her spunkiness makes me smile. "How many times have I told you. . . my name is not Jasmine. It's Buffy. I prefer Buffy."
Mr. Summers sips his coffee, not moved by his daughter's passion. "A childish name that your mother used to call you when you were little. You are a young woman now. Your legal name is Jasmine. I'd like you to use it."
"Jasmine is a shrub! I am *not* a shrub. My *legal* middle name is Elizabeth, and Buffy is a nickname for Elizabeth. I prefer Buffy," the young woman, who instantly becomes "Buffy" in my mind, argues.
Mr. Summers frowns but ignores his daughter's arguments. "Whatever, dear. But you *will* meet with the men out there."
Buffy turns from her father and crosses her arms defiantly. "Why are you doing this to me, Father?" She cannot hide the sobs in her voice and breaks down then, her shoulders shaking and rivers of tears pouring down her face.
Mr. Summers rises and rounds the desk to face his daughter. Wiping her tears away with a tissue, he cups her cheek. "I always do things in my daughter's best interest. . . even if my daughter doesn't seem to think so at the time."
She gazes up at her father with emerald eyes that melt my soul. "But forcing me to marry a stranger is *not* in my best interest, Father."
"It is in your best interest if it ensures the survival of 'Sultan's' and 'Flying Carpet Catering' after my death."
"But you aren't in danger of dying, are you?" she asks worriedly, fresh tears welling.
He catches the drops before they fall and hugs her close. "No, my daughter, I'm not. I just want you to be happy *and* have a chance to see how your spouse will treat you before I do die. I don't want my daughter marrying a gold digger."
"I know, Father; I know."
Willow squeezes my elbow, drawing me out of my trance. "I think I know how I can help you win her heart."
TBC. . . Willow's plan is formed. . . and Spike meets Buffy for the first time. How will he win over Buffy? Find out next. . . ;o) I know I said that they'd meet this chapter, but I had to lay a little more ground work. . .
Thanks for the great reviews! Hope you enjoy this! ;o)
Take care, dears!
Sandy
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