The Magic Carpet
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by Fletchina Archer
Category: Erotica/Erotic Fantasy/Fantasy
Description: The Genie Brought Her the Perfect Lover--What Else Could He Do? Jazmine is broken-hearted and disillusioned with love. So she consoles herself with shopping for bargains. But when she finds the long missing mate to an heirloom oriental rug, she finds more than she bargained for. For the carpet is one of the legendary magic carpets, complete with a genie to match. Soon things are looking up! Not only is Jazmine flying high over head, she is also head-over-heels in love with Robert, a new flame whose appearance may be coincidental or the result of the genie's magic. The only fly in her ointment is the constant verbal battles of her friends Mark and July, whose conflicts are as over the top as their non-stop sexual experiments. Meanwhile, Jazmine and Robert are in search of their own bliss, picking over their past disappointments and future possibilities as forces they cannot comprehend draw them to explore each other's bodies and souls. Everything would seem set for a hot, happy ending. But the genie and the flying carpet aren't through with Jazmine yet. Once you try a little magic, it is so hard to stop! When Jazmine wishes one wish too many, magic, oriental intrigue and steamy hot sex combine with steaming hot Chinese food and a bottle of wine to produce an irresistible erotic romance. The Book Corner hails Fletchina Archer's work as "fast paced, graphic, thoroughly enjoyable--with well-written scenes, both explicit and non--strong writing--complicated characters--definitely to be added to the collection."
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, 2005
eBookwise Release Date: March 2005
7 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [123 KB]
Reading time: 80-113 min.
As soon as he got to his cubicle, Robert Carter called the phone number in the classified ad. A gravelly voice agreed to meet him shortly after noon.
Carter's mind wouldn't stay on his work. He checked data sets, contemplated statistical procedures, thought again about the question-do smokers have more auto accidents than non-smokers? It's just a simple problem. Work it out. Nothing. His mind wandered everywhere but statistics. He couldn't put his finger on what bothered him. The numbers swam in and out of focus as he tried again to think about his work. There's a pattern here somewhere, if I can find it. There's a pattern to everything. A design. The trick is to find it. Maybe if I try.... Once in the groove, everything faded from consciousness except the patterns in the data set.
"Want to have lunch?"
Carter flinched at Mark's voice. "Is it lunch time already?"
"Yeah, let's hit that salad bar you were talking about."
"Can't today. But do you want to work out after work?"
"Can't. Tonight is Tai Chi."
They both laughed as they said in unison, "Tomorrow." * * * *
Robert took the subway to the Gold Coast and followed the directions he had written earlier to a posh curvy dark glass high rise near the yacht club. He stopped at the security desk to identify himself and his destination.
Trim and tall at six foot-two, an elderly man answered the door on the twelfth floor. His crystal blue eyes were shielded by jutting white eyebrows that threatened to dominate his craggy nose beneath a shaggy mass of white hair.
"Hi, I'm Robert Carter. I called earlier about the television?"
"Yes, come in. Marvin Fields." The older man showed the guest to the living room where a giant television stood. "We're getting older and can't read the words on the twenty-five inch television any more, so we got this one." Guiding him by the elbow, Fields showed Carter to the bedroom and the smaller television.
"Would it be okay if I come by and pick it up this evening? I don't have my car with now. I'm on lunch break."
Indicating the TV with his hand, Fields asked, "Want to test it or anything? Color's good. It works fine. We just needed a bigger one."
"I don't need to test it. Your word is good enough for me." Both men smiled.
As Carter prepared to leave, a woman, Fields's equal in age, came in from the kitchen. "The other bargain in Chicago today is the rug."
"This is my wife, Amy."
"The ad just ran this morning and the phone is already ringing off the hook. Don't you want to see it? I just had it cleaned."
She hauled the roll of carpet out of a large closet into the hall where Carter stood beside her husband and slipped the twine circle from the cylinder.
The flame licked Carter palpably, forcibly, hot, full of passion as the rug unrolled on the floor in front of him. He fell to his knees to examine the patterns more closely. They exuded a heat he could only associate with ... experiences ... distant from this one. But equally incomprehensible. He had never been able to understand the ways of his own heart, much less why it had been broken. Badly. Twice. Where is the pattern?
"Do you know where it's from?"
"No, just that my mother bought it in the '20s or '30s in New York and had it since then. After she died, I got all of her rugs." Amy waved a hand at the other oriental carpets on the floor. "But I don't know where it's from. I asked at Kasim's when I had it cleaned, and all he said was that it is unique."
Robert hauled himself back onto his two feet and stared down at the rug from all of his five feet nine inches. His gray blue eyes were wide in wonder under his full black eyebrows. Thirty-five, daily running and exercise routines--and under that, pain that he tried to hide from the world-chiseled his face. The fire pulsed out of the center of the rug, reaching out to him, through him, engulfing him. The last thing in the world you need is a rug to collect dust. Unbidden, his hand grasped the checkbook in his shirt pocket.
"How much did you say? For the rug and the television?"
"Robert Carter," she read from the check. "Oak Park. Good." Amy smiled at her husband again and added, "You'll enjoy it. May it bring you good fortune."
Feeling a little stupid, like he'd just fallen for a con trick, Robert returned to the subway station to get back to work before the end of his lunch break.
That evening Robert picked up the rug and the television in his car and connected the television to the cable and the power. He let the rug stand rolled against the wall like some giant cigarette while he watched shooting, shouting, chasing, kissing, and talking. Through all of it he saw the rug out of the corner of his eye as it pulsed and strained against the constraining cord. When he turned to focus on the rug it stood calmly, invitingly, waiting.
Finally he gave in and took the twine from the roll and unfurled the rug. Little geometric forms filled the borders and center. Every square inch squirmed with moving shapes, forms and patterns. The fire from the middle filled his mind and body. After staring at the rug for half an hour, he got on his hands and knees and to examine it up close. He started to feel dizzy, like kid too long on a merry-go round, who continued to push it because it felt good. He staggered to his feet. He didn't know how he could live with this thing pulsating in his living room.
Was that laughter? Where? Must be the new neighbors in the condo across the hall.
The next morning the rug seemed to have calmed down and by evening, when he returned from work, it had settled into the center of his living room. From a few feet away it appeared more stable, less full of movement, less frenzied. He stood, rooted, and stared at the rug, drawn into it until the phone rang.
"I ... uh ... called ... Mrs. Fields gave me your ... that is I wanted to ask..." I'm stammering like an idiot. "...about the rug you bought. You bought a rug? From Mrs. Fields?"
"Yes, it's a beautiful rug."
His voice sounded like rain on her bedroom window on an autumn evening at sunset. How can I be logical and concise with that voice in my ear? Her stomach quivered with a vibration that spread through her body.
"I was wondering if ... that is..." Stuck again. Idiot, Idiot, why did you even pick up the phone.
"My name is Jazmine Solomon. I was thinking ... that is ... I was wondering ... if I could possibly see it ... sometime?"
"Sure, I'd be happy to show it to you. If you know anything about rugs, I'd like any help you could give me."
"Help?" How could a person need help with a rug? A person with a voice like this that melting my mind-and my body-over the telephone can't need help.
"Well, I'm not doing anything tonight. I was just wondering about this rug, thinking about getting a book from the library or going online or something to see if I could find out something about it."
"Have you eaten supper?"
"Do you like Chinese food?" I should have offered to bring Lebanese food or something Mideastern. What made me say Chinese?
"How about Mu Shu chicken and tofu with broccoli? I can bring take out and be there in an hour."
"I'll have the table set with two pairs of chopsticks," he laughed. The laugh reminded her of the sound of a brook running gently over well-smoothed stones. He's probably married. But Mrs. Fields made a point of saying he wasn't wearing a ring.
"Do you like red wine?" he asked with a hint of the laugh lingering on his voice.
"Ok, see you in about an hour?"
Whew, that worked out okay even if it got off to a slow start. Her knees had turned to liquid.