Mad About You

had set her up!
    She wheeled, standing on tiptoe to voice her outrage. "This was all a ruse!"
    He inched backward, his hands raised. "Jasmine, I swear, I knew nothing about this."
    But she advanced, poking her finger into his chest for emphasis. "I... don't... believe... you!"
    Gesturing to the old man, he said, "Tell her."
    "It is true what my Master says," the old man proclaimed, inclining his turbaned head.
    Incredulous, she looked back to Ladden. "And I'm supposed to believe him? A man who claims to live in a copper lamp and grant wishes?" She laughed in amazement. "You know what I think? I think you're both nuts, and I'm getting out of here."
    She turned to go, but the door leading to the showroom slammed shut inches from her face, and when she tried the knob, it wouldn't budge. Frantically, she tried to remember if she had anything in her purse to use as a weapon. A cell phone, two lipsticks, and a fountain pen. Slowly, she turned until her shoulderblades scraped against the door. "I'm warning you two—I have a b-black belt in karate." An outrageous lie, but what did she have to lose?
    "Jasmine, wait," Ladden said. "No one's going to hurt you." He walked purposely toward the old man. "You, on the other hand..."
    The man's eyes widened until the coal black centers were framed in white. "Master, I arranged for you and your princess to be alone. The wind, the rain—it is all for you."
    Ladden stopped and glanced back to her. "I think he's schizophrenic. The man's lost touch with reality and I've been letting him make me crazy."
    "How can I convince you?" the man asked, splaying his hands and talking hurriedly in broken English. "You rub the magic lamp and release me from shackles of many centuries. I call you Master, say I will grant you three wishes." He shrugged, looking bewildered. "I grant the two wishes you made, yet you still don't believe in magic."
    Smiling fondly in her direction, he continued. "I know my master loves the fair princess Jasmine, and although I cannot make her love him back, I can help."
    Her cheeks warmed, and Ladden shifted nervously.
    Gene pointed a bony finger at her. "I arrange blister on heel and for women's dressing room door to lock, so she will use men's."
    A strange tingling started in Jasmine's fingers.
    Then he pointed toward Ladden. "When you arrive, I arrange for door to lock behind you." The man sighed. "Still it was not enough, so I arrange wind to blow princess into water and for screams to reach your ears." He sighed louder. "Still no lovey-lovey." Scowling, he said. "Then Master choke me! Today I work hard—break down very long car of driver to—how you say, postpone?— trip with other man. Then I steer car of woman who works with you, arrange storm, and fix pretty table." For emphasis, he gestured to the romantic table setting.
    Jasmine started to tremble. How could one crazy little man plan all this?
    Grabbing his turban with both hands, he wagged his head. "Still no lovey-lovey and still no believe in magic. Americans have hard heads and hard hearts."
    Jasmine inched forward until she stood slightly behind Ladden, shielded—from what, she wasn't sure—by his wide shoulders. "H-how do you know all these things?"
    The man looked at her as if she were dense. "I am a genie."
    "When you say 'arrange,'" Ladden said, "what do you mean?"
    "Arrange?" The man's face wrinkled into a frown. "Make happen." He waved his arms, as if this movement would explain everything.
    Jasmine cleared her throat. "You expect us to believe that you have magic powers?"
    "It is not so strange," he said simply. "Centuries ago, there were many genies doing good things all over the world. But some began to do bad deeds, and their powers were taken away."
    "Taken away by whom?" Ladden asked.
    "The Genie Of Divine," he said matter-of-factly, lowering his voice in reverence as he glanced heavenward. Then he straightened and once again indicated the beautifully set table. "So you will eat and lovey-lovey?"
    Ladden glanced over his shoulder and whispered, "What do you think?"
    Slightly numb, she whispered back, "I'm a little fuzzy on the lovey-lovey part, but from the sound of that storm, we're going to be here for a while, and I'm hungry."
    "We'll probably find peanut butter and jelly sandwiches under those silver trays," he murmured.
    "Fine by me—I'll have a chance to inspect the rug." She nodded toward the carpet that lay stretched in the space cleared for the table—on the floor. "Just get rid