Mad About You

right now she and the governor make a nice couple."
    "She dates Governor McDonald?"
    "The one and only."
    She dismissed the most powerful man in the state with a wave of a veined hand. "You're much more handsome."
    "You're prejudiced, and besides, he's so rich, he can buy any face he wants."
    "So? Women don't want money, Ladden." She lowered her voice. "Women want magic."
    Ladden blinked. "M-magic?"
    A faraway look came over her face. "You know, that zing you feel when you make eye contact across a room."
    "Zing?"
    She swept her arms above her head. "The fairy dust that falls around your shoulders when you dance."
    "Fairy dust?"
    She wiggled her wrinkled fingers in the air. "The fireworks that go off when you kiss."
    "Fireworks?"
    "I may be old," she said with a mischievous smile, "but I remember zing, fairy dust, and fireworks. Take my word for it, my dear... women want magic." With a fluttery wave, she was gone.
    "Magic," he mumbled, turning back to the rug just as it began to unroll. The carpet gained momentum over the uneven wood floor and unfurled at the toe of his work boots with a snap of fringe. A flurry of butterflies materialized and hovered above the richly colored pile. Ladden looked heavenward and counted to ten. Then he calmly walked to the front door, stepped outside, and locked the door behind him.
    During the short walk to the homeless shelter, Ladden recited the presidents' names, the states and their capitals, and as much of the periodic chart as he could recall to keep his mind occupied with thoughts other than a migratory carpet and personalized newspaper headlines. An old metal desk sat just inside the entrance to the shelter, manned by a stoop-shouldered fellow who glanced up at Ladden with a smile.
    "Welcome. May I help you?"
    Ladden twisted his hat in his hands. "I'm looking for a man I believe is staying here."
    "Is he a relative?" the man asked, opening a ragged spiral notebook.
    "No, just an acquaintance."
    "Name?"
    "I don't know. He's an older gentleman, wears some kind of white sarong and a black turban. He speaks with a heavy accent."
    The man's brow furrowed. "We have a few guys who wear turbans, but no sarongs. Are you sure he's staying here?"
    "I dropped him off this morning."
    "What time?"
    "Around ten o'clock."
    After running his finger down a log, the man shook his head. "Only three people signed in this morning, and I know all of them—no turbans. Sorry, pal."
    Ladden thanked him and dropped a twenty in the donation bucket. When he exited, he looked around for the nearest travel agency that might accept major credit cards. An impromptu vacation was sounding better and better.
    "Greetings, Master."
    At the sound of the old man's voice, Ladden wheeled around. He was standing an arm's length away. The sarong was gone, replaced by clothing that resembled gray pajamas.
    "Please don't call me Master. I'm Ladden."
    "Yes, Master. You did not have to travel. A simple call would have summoned me."
    Pursing his lips, Ladden asked, "What's your name?"
    The man's face wrinkled into a deep frown. "Name?"
    Did he have amnesia? Alzheimer's? "You don't remember your name?"
    The man spread his arms wide. "I am only Genie, Master."
    "Genie?"
    "Yes, Master."
    "How about just Gene?"
    "I do not object."
    "Okay, Gene, I need to talk to you about a couple of things. Let's grab a cup of coffee."
    The man nodded and followed him at an embarrassingly subservient distance to a donut shop a few doors down. Ladden ordered them strong coffee, which Gene sipped tentatively, winced, then sipped again.
    "Gene, do you remember the first time we met?"
    "Of course, like it was yesterday."
    "It was yesterday." Ladden tapped his fingers on the brown Formica tabletop. "My insurance company doesn't believe my claim that there was an earthquake, and I need for you to sign an affidavit that you witnessed it."
    His brow creased. "An affi—?"
    "A paper that says you were in my store during the earthquake."
    "This word earthquake , what is it?"
    Sighing, Ladden gulped the dark liquid in his cup. "Where the ground moves and destroys things, like that day in my store."
    "Ah, I apologize for disturbing your things. So much pressure built up in the lamp."
    "The lamp?"
    "My home for the last few centuries."
    Ladden took another swallow, then repeated, "Your home for the last few centuries?"
    "Yes," the man said matter-of-factly. "My last master was an evil man. When I could not provide as much wealth as he desired, he