The next morning Roger woke early, even though he'd stayed up late the
night before reading his genie manual (standard issue to all new genies,
and written in an ancient Persian dialect that now, for some reason, he
could understand). He had come up with all kinds of wonderful plans for
pleasing his new Mistress, brilliant ideas on how to make her life better --
things that *he* certainly would have appreciated when he was still a
normal human being! He could complete her thesis in the blink of an eye. He
could get her into the graduate school of her choice, or see that she got
her dream job. He could put all the answers to her next exam in her head so
she'd have time for things that were a lot more fun than studying. Or maybe
he would simply give her so much money that she would never have to worry
about work or school again.
Now he knew how Jeannie had felt when Tony rescued her. There was a sense of freedom, as well as a sense of purpose to it all. He couldn't wait to get started.
After coming out of his bottle in the requisite puff of blue smoke, he reappeared in solid form, wearing what he'd had on when he'd been released, what he thought of as his 'uniform' for the job, rather than the newfangled clothes he'd created last night. (The 'uniform' was surprisingly comfortable, and he could see why Jeannie used to wear hers most of the time.) He had decided that the best thing to do until his Mistress was awake was to reacquaint himself with where she was living. Now that it had been straightened up, he wanted a better look around. Even in the dim light he could see the typical student items like textbooks and notes, as well as a small refrigerator with a television perched somewhat precariously on top of it. There was one of those keyboard-and-flat-screened computers on her desk, with a clock next to it that said it was 8:34 AM.
In her bed, Jean stirred, pushing away the covers and murmuring something softly. She turned so that she was lying on her side, facing out towards him.
Roger smiled and crept closer. She looked so sweet, lying there sleeping. Like a little angel. He could just stand there and watch her for hours...
Jean's eyes opened slightly, peering out in that half-asleep Sunday morning way. Not quite awake yet, it was just a coincidence that they happened to fall on the shadowy figure standing by her bed. She gasped and let out a small sound of distress.
Roger, noting the alarmed look on her face, took a step forward. "Don't worry Mistress, it's only me," he began, but it was too late. A tiny, delicate foot shot out towards him...and connected with his stomach like a sledge hammer.
He went down like a sack of potatoes, doubled over on the floor beside her bed. He couldn't move, he couldn't talk. He couldn't even ask her nicely not to kick him again.
Through the pain, he couldn't help but be surprised that even as a genie, he could still have the wind knocked out of him.
Jean's eyes widened in shock and, fully awake now, she sat up. "Ohmigod, I'm so sorry -- I didn't know it was you, I thought there was somebody in here -- are you OK?"
Still gasping and clutching his abdomen, he forced himself to nod. He didn't think he was up to speaking any actual words yet. He could only be thankful that she hadn't hit him anywhere lower.
She jumped out of bed and knelt down beside him, grasping him by the shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Roger...are you really all right?"
"Yeah," he wheezed. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Where did you learn to do that?"
She looked incredibly apologetic. "In the self-defense class for P.E."
"I hope...you got an 'A'."
"Let me get you a drink of water or something..."
"No...thank you...I think I just need to lie here for a while."
"Let me help you," she said, pulling him into a semi-upright position and guiding him onto the bed. He was still curled up in a ball, but he was on his side, which made him slightly more comfortable. "Is that any better?" she asked.
"Yes...thank you Mistress," he said, hoping that her feet (as well as her fists, knees, and elbows) would stay far away from the more delicate portions of his anatomy. He wondered if he should blink himself to the nearest hospital.
She sat down on the bed next to him and took his hand. "I am very, very sorry. All I saw was somebody standing over me, and I panicked."
"That's probably a good thing," he murmured. "It might have been some crazy person who'd broken in after stealing an old 'Arabian Nights' costume."
"Are you *sure* you're all right?"
This time he managed a half-smile. "Yes."
"Well, OK," she said, as if she still wasn't quite convinced. "Um, I guess since I'm up, I should probably go take a shower. Would you like to watch some TV? The remote's by the bed."
He didn't think he could reach it just yet, but he nodded anyway, watching as she went over to the door. "I'll be back soon," she said. "Until then...just rest."
He could do that. He could do that very well. Maybe by the time she got back he'd be able to walk again.
He exhaled slowly, concentrating on getting his breathing back to normal; and his gaze wandered around the room. Now that the lights were on, he could see all the posters and pictures that adorned the walls -- there were a lot of things he didn't recognize, and a few that he did, but there was one that caught his eye. It was a picture of the Earth from space, probably taken on some orbital flight or lunar mission. He smiled, remembering the times when he'd actually seen that view. Maybe she'd like to see it too. He could certainly do that for the person who'd rescued him (even though she had a kick like Bruce Lee). A trip to the moon, or Mars, or Venus would be great fun for both of them. She'd said there were no sights to see around here, so why not a tour through the solar system?
He was so lost in thought that he was startled when the door opened a little while later, revealing his Mistress wearing nothing but a towel.
"Sorry I took so long," she said, closing the door behind her and going over to the closet. She emerged with a pair of khaki pants and a black shirt. "Nothing like a good hot shower to wake you up, right?"
"Right," he said, sitting up (now that he was able to) and politely facing away from her. If she was going to get dressed, he wouldn't be watching. At least not directly.
From where he was, he could just see her reflection in the mirror by the bed.
He fought the urge for a few moments, then shrugged. What could it hurt?
Casually, he shifted his position so he could get a better look. //Just for a little while,// he thought. He was feeling very pleased with himself, watching her pick out what she wanted, until she leaned down and started rooting around in a lower drawer...
What he saw shocked him.
"Mistress?" he exclaimed, turning around to face her. "What is *that*?"
Jean shot to her feet and yanked her towel up. "What's what?" she asked, looking around as if expecting to see something dangerous crawling towards her.
"That thing on your back, that's what," he demanded.
She relaxed, but she looked a little confused. "Do you mean my tattoo?" she asked.
"*Yes*, I mean your tattoo," he replied in disbelief. "What in the world are you doing with a tattoo?"
"Oh, they're very popular these days; they have been for years...since the 1990's I think, for both girls and guys," she said. "And by the way, I don't have *a* tattoo. I have three tattoos."
"*Three* tattoos?" He was sure that his voice cracked on that one.
"Sure -- there's the Celtic one on my back, the moon and stars on my shoulder...and I'd offer to show you the hummingbird on my butt, but since you were watching me in the mirror you've probably already seen it," she retorted, glaring at him. "Do you have some sort of problem with body art, or just a problem with voyeurism?"
"I was only going to watch until you actually started to get dressed," he proclaimed loftily. He was determined to explain this in a way that wouldn't offend her, so he was going to try his best to be diplomatic and not get distracted by her turning the whole thing around and making *him* look like the bad guy. "Where I come from, girls don't get tattoos...except for Janis Joplin, and she wasn't your typical girl."
"Really?" she said, still standing there in her towel. "And that was how many years ago? Back when girls could only be secretaries or housewives? Back when women couldn't be governor or president? Times have changed, you know."
Roger was standing his ground. "I still think they're a bad idea -- I'm just looking out for your best interests," he replied. He turned away slightly, rubbing his forehead so his eyes were covered...and then blinked.
Jean didn't miss what he'd done. Her eyes narrowed, and she twisted around, trying to see her back in the mirror. When she saw that her shoulder (and presumably the other areas hidden by the towel) were bare, her jaw dropped. "You...you put them back, do you hear me? Put them back right now."
Roger frowned and folded his arms, no more able to disobey a direct order than when he'd been in the army. "Mistress..." he began, hoping to talk her out of it. What would people think years from now? He remembered all the lectures against tattoos that he'd gotten when he'd first joined the army, and he was a man -- whatever would possess a bunch of young people, particularly girls, to go out and get the things?
"Come on," she said. "If you can take them off you can put them on again. Do it."
"All right, all right. Don't be angry; I thought I was doing you a favor," he muttered, and blinked again.
Jean's face showed triumph...for about one second. Then her eyes widened. She twitched a few times, then grimaced.
"OW!" she screeched, gripping the edges of her towel hard enough to make her knuckles white. "I meant put them back the way they were, not re-tattoo me! Owwww..."
Roger gulped; he hadn't expected that reversing the magic would have an effect like *that*. "Oh Mistress, I'm sorry -- I didn't mean for that to happen..." his voice trailed off helplessly as he watched her gather up her clothes. "What are you doing?"
"I think it might be safer if I got dressed in the bathroom," she replied, grabbing her sneakers and heading for the door.
"No, you don't have to do that -- listen, I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I'll go back in my bottle and I won't come out until you say you're fully dressed. I promise."
"Well..." she said, frowning. "All right. But go back in first, before I start."
"Yes, Mistress," he replied, as if in response to an order from a superior officer (he almost wanted to salute). There was a flash of blue, and then he was back in the bottle.
Jean leaned over and looked inside; all Roger could see of her was a big gray-blue eye and some mascara. He waved, then covered his own eyes, as if trying to prove that he wasn't going to peek.
"OK, then," she said warily.
"I'm sorry," he apologized again.
"Are your eyes still closed?"
"Yes, they are," he called. "Can't see a thing."
There were some fumbling sounds for a short while, then silence. "All right, I'm finished. You can come out now."
Turquoise smoke issued from the bottle, and Roger reappeared. Just as he was about to say something, there was a knock on the door. "Hey Jean, you ready yet?" called a male voice from outside.
Jean jumped, then glanced wildly around the room. "Back in the bottle," she hissed; then, in a louder voice, "Just a minute, guys!"
"Hurry up -- they've got Belgian waffles today," came another voice, this one female and extraordinarily perky.
"Who's that?" Roger whispered.
"That's Annie, the girl we met last night on the path," she whispered back.
"I didn't mean *her*, I meant the other one."
"Oh. That's Gary, he's a poli-sci major."
He tried to keep the suspicion out of his tone -- he knew what these college men could be like, having been one himself. "Is he a friend of yours?" he asked casually.
"Yes, of course he's a friend of mine," she said in exasperation. "And so are Annie and Lynn and the rest of them out there, who are waiting for me so we can go over to the dining hall to get Sunday brunch."
"Brunch sounds good. Can I come with you?"
"*No*...jeez, what if they catch you in here?"
"Wait a minute...I thought you said nobody cared about that sort of thing anymore."
"They care when they think I've just picked up some guy they don't know."
"Jean...?" came another voice from outside.
"Almost ready -- just getting my pants on," she called frantically. "Roger, get back in your bottle before anyone comes in and thinks I've been sleeping with some grad student from Wisconsin."
He 'hmphed' and folded his arms, then did as she asked. But from inside the bottle, he could hear the students' conversation after the door opened. (Having his ear pressed to the inside wall helped.)
"Hey -- you cleaned," said Annie, sounding rather stunned.
"Wow, she really did...I've never seen her room so neat before. The end of the world must be coming," said another female voice (presumably Lynn or one of the others).
"Quick, call CNN and tell them we have the story of the year!"
"Ha ha ha," said Jean nervously. Roger could imagine her trying to herd the others out the door before any of them got a look at his bottle.
"We may have to take a picture of this for posterity," laughed Gary.
"I'll bet you five dollars that by the end of the week it'll look like it did before," was Annie's reply.
"You're on."
Jean snorted. "So are you guys ready, or are we just going to stand around all day? I'm hungry."
"Yeah, let's get going."
Roger waited until after the door was closed, and the students' voices grew so faint that they faded into nothing. When he was sure they had gone, he blinked himself out and into the middle of the room. He went over to the window, lifting the shade carefully and peeking out. He was looking for people outside -- he wanted to see what they were wearing. It wouldn't do to go outside before a quick change of clothes, and he didn't want to show up in the same pants and blue shirt he'd had on last night. When he spotted a group of students walking across campus, he took a moment to study their apparel; then he blinked himself into something that looked similar. He couldn't bear the thought of being cooped up any longer, not on a Sunday morning and especially not when brunch was being served. He was certain that Mistress would understand how unpleasant any confinement would be, after so many years of being trapped in the bottle.
He went over to the mirror (the one that had gotten him in trouble earlier). Satisfied with his appearance, he left the room, retracing his steps from last night until he got to the front door of the dormitory. He stepped out into the cool morning sunlight.
Now all he had to do was find the dining hall.
Now he knew how Jeannie had felt when Tony rescued her. There was a sense of freedom, as well as a sense of purpose to it all. He couldn't wait to get started.
After coming out of his bottle in the requisite puff of blue smoke, he reappeared in solid form, wearing what he'd had on when he'd been released, what he thought of as his 'uniform' for the job, rather than the newfangled clothes he'd created last night. (The 'uniform' was surprisingly comfortable, and he could see why Jeannie used to wear hers most of the time.) He had decided that the best thing to do until his Mistress was awake was to reacquaint himself with where she was living. Now that it had been straightened up, he wanted a better look around. Even in the dim light he could see the typical student items like textbooks and notes, as well as a small refrigerator with a television perched somewhat precariously on top of it. There was one of those keyboard-and-flat-screened computers on her desk, with a clock next to it that said it was 8:34 AM.
In her bed, Jean stirred, pushing away the covers and murmuring something softly. She turned so that she was lying on her side, facing out towards him.
Roger smiled and crept closer. She looked so sweet, lying there sleeping. Like a little angel. He could just stand there and watch her for hours...
Jean's eyes opened slightly, peering out in that half-asleep Sunday morning way. Not quite awake yet, it was just a coincidence that they happened to fall on the shadowy figure standing by her bed. She gasped and let out a small sound of distress.
Roger, noting the alarmed look on her face, took a step forward. "Don't worry Mistress, it's only me," he began, but it was too late. A tiny, delicate foot shot out towards him...and connected with his stomach like a sledge hammer.
He went down like a sack of potatoes, doubled over on the floor beside her bed. He couldn't move, he couldn't talk. He couldn't even ask her nicely not to kick him again.
Through the pain, he couldn't help but be surprised that even as a genie, he could still have the wind knocked out of him.
Jean's eyes widened in shock and, fully awake now, she sat up. "Ohmigod, I'm so sorry -- I didn't know it was you, I thought there was somebody in here -- are you OK?"
Still gasping and clutching his abdomen, he forced himself to nod. He didn't think he was up to speaking any actual words yet. He could only be thankful that she hadn't hit him anywhere lower.
She jumped out of bed and knelt down beside him, grasping him by the shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Roger...are you really all right?"
"Yeah," he wheezed. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Where did you learn to do that?"
She looked incredibly apologetic. "In the self-defense class for P.E."
"I hope...you got an 'A'."
"Let me get you a drink of water or something..."
"No...thank you...I think I just need to lie here for a while."
"Let me help you," she said, pulling him into a semi-upright position and guiding him onto the bed. He was still curled up in a ball, but he was on his side, which made him slightly more comfortable. "Is that any better?" she asked.
"Yes...thank you Mistress," he said, hoping that her feet (as well as her fists, knees, and elbows) would stay far away from the more delicate portions of his anatomy. He wondered if he should blink himself to the nearest hospital.
She sat down on the bed next to him and took his hand. "I am very, very sorry. All I saw was somebody standing over me, and I panicked."
"That's probably a good thing," he murmured. "It might have been some crazy person who'd broken in after stealing an old 'Arabian Nights' costume."
"Are you *sure* you're all right?"
This time he managed a half-smile. "Yes."
"Well, OK," she said, as if she still wasn't quite convinced. "Um, I guess since I'm up, I should probably go take a shower. Would you like to watch some TV? The remote's by the bed."
He didn't think he could reach it just yet, but he nodded anyway, watching as she went over to the door. "I'll be back soon," she said. "Until then...just rest."
He could do that. He could do that very well. Maybe by the time she got back he'd be able to walk again.
He exhaled slowly, concentrating on getting his breathing back to normal; and his gaze wandered around the room. Now that the lights were on, he could see all the posters and pictures that adorned the walls -- there were a lot of things he didn't recognize, and a few that he did, but there was one that caught his eye. It was a picture of the Earth from space, probably taken on some orbital flight or lunar mission. He smiled, remembering the times when he'd actually seen that view. Maybe she'd like to see it too. He could certainly do that for the person who'd rescued him (even though she had a kick like Bruce Lee). A trip to the moon, or Mars, or Venus would be great fun for both of them. She'd said there were no sights to see around here, so why not a tour through the solar system?
He was so lost in thought that he was startled when the door opened a little while later, revealing his Mistress wearing nothing but a towel.
"Sorry I took so long," she said, closing the door behind her and going over to the closet. She emerged with a pair of khaki pants and a black shirt. "Nothing like a good hot shower to wake you up, right?"
"Right," he said, sitting up (now that he was able to) and politely facing away from her. If she was going to get dressed, he wouldn't be watching. At least not directly.
From where he was, he could just see her reflection in the mirror by the bed.
He fought the urge for a few moments, then shrugged. What could it hurt?
Casually, he shifted his position so he could get a better look. //Just for a little while,// he thought. He was feeling very pleased with himself, watching her pick out what she wanted, until she leaned down and started rooting around in a lower drawer...
What he saw shocked him.
"Mistress?" he exclaimed, turning around to face her. "What is *that*?"
Jean shot to her feet and yanked her towel up. "What's what?" she asked, looking around as if expecting to see something dangerous crawling towards her.
"That thing on your back, that's what," he demanded.
She relaxed, but she looked a little confused. "Do you mean my tattoo?" she asked.
"*Yes*, I mean your tattoo," he replied in disbelief. "What in the world are you doing with a tattoo?"
"Oh, they're very popular these days; they have been for years...since the 1990's I think, for both girls and guys," she said. "And by the way, I don't have *a* tattoo. I have three tattoos."
"*Three* tattoos?" He was sure that his voice cracked on that one.
"Sure -- there's the Celtic one on my back, the moon and stars on my shoulder...and I'd offer to show you the hummingbird on my butt, but since you were watching me in the mirror you've probably already seen it," she retorted, glaring at him. "Do you have some sort of problem with body art, or just a problem with voyeurism?"
"I was only going to watch until you actually started to get dressed," he proclaimed loftily. He was determined to explain this in a way that wouldn't offend her, so he was going to try his best to be diplomatic and not get distracted by her turning the whole thing around and making *him* look like the bad guy. "Where I come from, girls don't get tattoos...except for Janis Joplin, and she wasn't your typical girl."
"Really?" she said, still standing there in her towel. "And that was how many years ago? Back when girls could only be secretaries or housewives? Back when women couldn't be governor or president? Times have changed, you know."
Roger was standing his ground. "I still think they're a bad idea -- I'm just looking out for your best interests," he replied. He turned away slightly, rubbing his forehead so his eyes were covered...and then blinked.
Jean didn't miss what he'd done. Her eyes narrowed, and she twisted around, trying to see her back in the mirror. When she saw that her shoulder (and presumably the other areas hidden by the towel) were bare, her jaw dropped. "You...you put them back, do you hear me? Put them back right now."
Roger frowned and folded his arms, no more able to disobey a direct order than when he'd been in the army. "Mistress..." he began, hoping to talk her out of it. What would people think years from now? He remembered all the lectures against tattoos that he'd gotten when he'd first joined the army, and he was a man -- whatever would possess a bunch of young people, particularly girls, to go out and get the things?
"Come on," she said. "If you can take them off you can put them on again. Do it."
"All right, all right. Don't be angry; I thought I was doing you a favor," he muttered, and blinked again.
Jean's face showed triumph...for about one second. Then her eyes widened. She twitched a few times, then grimaced.
"OW!" she screeched, gripping the edges of her towel hard enough to make her knuckles white. "I meant put them back the way they were, not re-tattoo me! Owwww..."
Roger gulped; he hadn't expected that reversing the magic would have an effect like *that*. "Oh Mistress, I'm sorry -- I didn't mean for that to happen..." his voice trailed off helplessly as he watched her gather up her clothes. "What are you doing?"
"I think it might be safer if I got dressed in the bathroom," she replied, grabbing her sneakers and heading for the door.
"No, you don't have to do that -- listen, I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I'll go back in my bottle and I won't come out until you say you're fully dressed. I promise."
"Well..." she said, frowning. "All right. But go back in first, before I start."
"Yes, Mistress," he replied, as if in response to an order from a superior officer (he almost wanted to salute). There was a flash of blue, and then he was back in the bottle.
Jean leaned over and looked inside; all Roger could see of her was a big gray-blue eye and some mascara. He waved, then covered his own eyes, as if trying to prove that he wasn't going to peek.
"OK, then," she said warily.
"I'm sorry," he apologized again.
"Are your eyes still closed?"
"Yes, they are," he called. "Can't see a thing."
There were some fumbling sounds for a short while, then silence. "All right, I'm finished. You can come out now."
Turquoise smoke issued from the bottle, and Roger reappeared. Just as he was about to say something, there was a knock on the door. "Hey Jean, you ready yet?" called a male voice from outside.
Jean jumped, then glanced wildly around the room. "Back in the bottle," she hissed; then, in a louder voice, "Just a minute, guys!"
"Hurry up -- they've got Belgian waffles today," came another voice, this one female and extraordinarily perky.
"Who's that?" Roger whispered.
"That's Annie, the girl we met last night on the path," she whispered back.
"I didn't mean *her*, I meant the other one."
"Oh. That's Gary, he's a poli-sci major."
He tried to keep the suspicion out of his tone -- he knew what these college men could be like, having been one himself. "Is he a friend of yours?" he asked casually.
"Yes, of course he's a friend of mine," she said in exasperation. "And so are Annie and Lynn and the rest of them out there, who are waiting for me so we can go over to the dining hall to get Sunday brunch."
"Brunch sounds good. Can I come with you?"
"*No*...jeez, what if they catch you in here?"
"Wait a minute...I thought you said nobody cared about that sort of thing anymore."
"They care when they think I've just picked up some guy they don't know."
"Jean...?" came another voice from outside.
"Almost ready -- just getting my pants on," she called frantically. "Roger, get back in your bottle before anyone comes in and thinks I've been sleeping with some grad student from Wisconsin."
He 'hmphed' and folded his arms, then did as she asked. But from inside the bottle, he could hear the students' conversation after the door opened. (Having his ear pressed to the inside wall helped.)
"Hey -- you cleaned," said Annie, sounding rather stunned.
"Wow, she really did...I've never seen her room so neat before. The end of the world must be coming," said another female voice (presumably Lynn or one of the others).
"Quick, call CNN and tell them we have the story of the year!"
"Ha ha ha," said Jean nervously. Roger could imagine her trying to herd the others out the door before any of them got a look at his bottle.
"We may have to take a picture of this for posterity," laughed Gary.
"I'll bet you five dollars that by the end of the week it'll look like it did before," was Annie's reply.
"You're on."
Jean snorted. "So are you guys ready, or are we just going to stand around all day? I'm hungry."
"Yeah, let's get going."
Roger waited until after the door was closed, and the students' voices grew so faint that they faded into nothing. When he was sure they had gone, he blinked himself out and into the middle of the room. He went over to the window, lifting the shade carefully and peeking out. He was looking for people outside -- he wanted to see what they were wearing. It wouldn't do to go outside before a quick change of clothes, and he didn't want to show up in the same pants and blue shirt he'd had on last night. When he spotted a group of students walking across campus, he took a moment to study their apparel; then he blinked himself into something that looked similar. He couldn't bear the thought of being cooped up any longer, not on a Sunday morning and especially not when brunch was being served. He was certain that Mistress would understand how unpleasant any confinement would be, after so many years of being trapped in the bottle.
He went over to the mirror (the one that had gotten him in trouble earlier). Satisfied with his appearance, he left the room, retracing his steps from last night until he got to the front door of the dormitory. He stepped out into the cool morning sunlight.
Now all he had to do was find the dining hall.
