Glorious Sunset (14 page)

He was striding down the street when he saw the familiar yellow of a book sitting on a metal shelf in the midst of a glass box. He remembered such a book in Violet's apartment; it held phone numbers and addresses of business establishments. Only just this morning a man had called from a shop wanting to buy Zahara's brooch, which meant he knew its value, despite the fact that he was attempting to cheat Violet out of it. The thought of the man trying to steal the brooch—her very own brooch—from Zahara was enough to make him want to pound the man into the concrete. He was merely a modern-day thief, a thief who might have other pieces of Jahanian jewelry and art.

He went to the glass box and fiddled with the handle until the door opened, and then stepped inside to open the book. It was a shop. What category of shop was it? Some sort of art shop? But he knew art from the past was no longer called art. Artifacts and antiquities. He looked up “artifacts” and came up empty but stopped at “antiques.” He browsed the page. They were listed by names. And what was the name again. Skittle? Screcter?
Oh yes.
He spied a name three-quarters down. Skeeter. It said to look at the ad on the next page and he turned it. S
KEETER'S
A
NTIQUES
: T
HE BEST NEW OLD STUFF AROUND.

Thief.

He tore out the page and stepped out of the box. A young woman gave him directions to Skeeter's shop. He did as she suggested and hopped on a bus, was told he needed to pay or else the police would be called, and hopped back off. He took off on foot. By the time he got to the store he was winded, but refreshed. His anger had dulled, which was a good thing. Anger only dulled deductive reasoning skills and he needed to be sharp.

The bell tinkled signaling his arrival and he stepped inside the small, quiet space. He looked around, immediately realizing most of the articles in this place were junk. Counterfeit pieces, some not even good replicas, some made of inferior materials and shoddy workmanship. But here and there was a decent piece or two. A scarf made of real Chinese silk. A lamp that was indeed Victorian, as it claimed. He was surveying the items with a sharp eye when a man shuffled from the back.

The old man squinting at him stepped back, reflexively. Taka groaned inside; yet another mouse disguising himself as a man. He stepped forward, not at all concerned about being intimidating. He looked him over, found him lacking, and then went back to perusing the items while he spoke, clasping one hand behind his back to keep from prematurely strangling the wrong man.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Are you Skeeter, the owner of this place?”

“Why, yes, yes, I am. Can I help you with something?”

“Just looking at your treasures. You have quite a collection.”

“The best new, old stuff around,” Skeeter said weakly. “Can I help you find anything?”

How about helping me find my people?
he wanted to say.
How about helping me find my dignity and self
-
respect, maybe coughing up my village's legacy?
He wanted to say those things, but settled on, “I was looking for something a woman might enjoy.”

“Woman?”

“Yes. You've heard of them? Female persuasion, opposite of male, shapely, sweet-smelling creatures who are God's gift to men? This woman is one of noble bearing. A woman of grace and intelligence. A woman above all women.” He was curious to see if the old man would pull out another of his murdered wife's stolen precious jewels, the swine. Perhaps he would whip out the earrings Taka had given her pounded from gold as a gift for their first anniversary, or perhaps the striking sapphire wrist bauble he'd given her as a thank-you for all the things she did tirelessly on behalf of the townspeople. Perhaps the silks that had draped her cold, dead body. He had to force himself not to pounce.

He heard the old man swallow before croaking, “You mean like a necklace or something?”

Taka whirled and glared at him, anger making him tense. He was about to tell the man, “No, not like a necklace, like a brooch!” when something caught his eye. He turned quickly and spied a bowl. It was hand-carved wood, an intricate design that simulated lace, a design as familiar to him as his own name. Some of the women in Jaha had taken to carving special bowls such as this for celebration and libation. It was a sacred bowl. It was an honored tool. It was on sale for $1.99.

Taka's blood took fire again and the heat threatened to consume him, but he fought to keep his fury to himself. Taka had always been unaware of his effect on others but he knew of the legend. When King Taka went to battle, men dropped dead first from the fury of his presence before a sword or knife ever lanced their bodies. It had been said that armies could feel him coming before he was ever seen by their eyes. Young warriors would often run in fear of him, willing to face their villages as cowards rather than look upon the angry face of King Taka.

Of course, Taka never understood what the fuss was about. He did not actively seek to take advantage of this natural ability, but he could no more suppress his exceptional maleness than he could expect other men to stand up to it. Some things were just impossible. And apparently he still held his power even centuries later if the way the old man began to shake in his feeble bones was any indication.

Alas, this old man did have a stroke of rebellious courage and seemed to gather it at that moment. “Look, whatchu want? We don't want no trouble in here!”

“Who said anything about trouble?” Taka returned, annoyed. “Silence your senseless babbling and tell me, where did you get this bowl?”

“You want it, take it! Just take what you want and leave.”

Taka's eyes narrowed as the implication struck him. Who did he think he was talking to?

Taka was a king. His reputation was beyond reproach. How dare he suggest otherwise?

“I am no thief, old man. Not like some people,” he ground out, picking up the bowl to run his fingers along the pattern. “No, I would not defile the purpose of such an item by stealing it, even from a thief.”

“Why you call me a thief, mister?” Skeeter said, indignant. “I ain't steal nothing.”

“How is it you can sell such an item for such a price? It is ludicrous. This is a sacred piece of art.”

“What you know about that?” Skeeter asked, his greed outdistancing his fear. “Guy who sold it to me was certain it was one of those they mass produce over in India for tourists and such.”

“This is not Indian and most certainly not mass produced.”

“I didn't think . . .” Skeeter trailed off, his eyes now glued to the art. “I thought maybe it come from someplace else, but he told me he knew for sure and I couldn't place it, myself.”

Taka turned and placed the bowl on the counter in front of the man. “Ah, another thief. What a surprise. I will take it.”

“Well, okay. It's . . .” he hesitated and Taka watched greed war with his cataracts. “It's $199.”

“It says $1.99,” Taka growled. He didn't know why he was asking. He hadn't a cent to his name. Perhaps he could bargain. Surely the buttons of his coat were worth something? Maybe the coat itself, certainly worth at least $2.50? He began to shrug it off.

“That's a mistake,” Skeeter said, licking his lips like the mangy cur he was. “The decimal point's in the wrong place, is all.”

Taka stiffened and shrugged the coat back on. “You are a thief and a pathetic excuse for a man. Men like you should be wiped from the earth. You should have your entrails torn out and fed to dogs and lowly swine. You should—”

“Fine, fine! Take it!” Skeeter said, pushing the bowl his way. “It's only a bowl. Take it and leave 'fore I call the po po!”

Taka was taken aback by surprise. “I cannot accept it without paying.”

“Yes, you can. It's a gift from me to you. Just promise me you won't come back. Ever.”

Taka thought about it. It was a fair deal. And he wanted the bowl. “Wrap it, please.”

Once outside, Taka held his package lovingly. It took him ten minutes to find a yellow book. And then he couldn't find Violet in it. But there was another book with white pages and he found her listed, last name first. He found her address and spent another forty-five minutes making his way back, asking directions all the way. He'd left the door unlocked and thought to himself how dangerous it was for her to live in an unlocked residence with so many strangers around. Good thing for her he was there to protect her.

Violet left her car for the valet in front of the Sheraton on Capital Square and made a beeline to Ronald Bickman's suite. Her briefcase was filled with swatches, testimonies, magazine articles, and reviews; it would take all that to turn this disaster around.

When she walked in the door, Tracy's sad face was the first thing she saw. Tracy was one of those people who couldn't keep a secret to save her life. If Bickman was on the warpath, her face reflected the internal terror the visiting offender should be feeling. Today, her sadness did not bode well for Violet. In fact, she didn't even respond to Violet's greeting, simply pointed to her boss's door with eerie solemnity, her eyebrows raised in warning Violet could read: she'd better not waste his time after Tracy had pulled strings getting her in there.

Violet made a note to self to invite Tracy over for poker after this was all over.

Violet walked in to face Bickman's scowl, but she didn't let that deter her. “Mr. Bickman, so nice to see you. Thank you for taking time out of your busy day—”

“Ms. Jackson, I have to be honest with you. I've already chosen the company I feel comfortable with. I appreciate you coming out, but I don't want to waste your time.”

“And I don't want to see yours wasted, Mr. Bickman, which it will be if you go with any company other than Shades of Violet.” She propped her briefcase on the guest chair and popped it open, pulling out papers to slide across his desk as she spoke. “These are statistics on the average job times for most companies in town. You'll notice Shades of Violet has the shortest duration. These statistics are the average costs of these other companies. And these are the consumer reviews on those companies. Now I'd like you to look at these.” She pulled out a local magazine already flipped to the information she wanted to impress him with. “This is a home designed by Shades of Violet. And this one, and this one. And here is a cost breakdown of my services. My rate is comparable, but my work is beyond anything my competitors can provide. And most importantly, my team can get it done in a fraction of the time of my competitors. Shades of Violet understands the inconvenience of renovation so we hire the best contractors in the city and the best supplies worldwide to make sure you get the high-quality design you want in record time. Because we know your time is important, Mr. Bickman. This last magazine here, this will tell you all about the fact that Shades of Violet is on the cutting edge of all the most progressive design techniques. You see, I invented the Melting technique. As a matter of fact, I own the patent on the process.”

Violet stopped talking then and stepped back to allow him to absorb the information she'd thrown at him. She clasped her hands serenely before her as her heart pounded out her anxiety. This was it for her. If she could get this account her life would change. If she could get this account it would validate all the hard work she'd put in all her life. Working her way through college, giving up trips and cars and a nice home to put every cent into her business. No, Violet wasn't a nice person, maybe she didn't deserve a break on that front. But she was good at what she did. Her talent to design was the one thing that was pure in her life. Her business was the one thing, the one place, that made her feel worthy. Her talent was the only thing that kept her hoping. This deal would mean everything. She struggled to keep it from showing on her face.

“You invented the technique? But what about Miss Daniels? She led me to believe—”

“Brenda is a very good friend of mine. So good that I showed her my technique. And I give her props; she executes the process almost as well as I do. But I feel a man of your recognition must have the real product. With a deal this size, people and media from all over the world are going to scrutinize this job. It is important that any work in your home hold up to the highest degree of scrutiny. Brenda can do the technique, but she can't explain how it works. Nor is she familiar enough with it to be able to experiment with different textures and colors. Please don't misunderstand me, Brenda is very talented. But Brenda is only copying what she's seen me do time and again. As the creator, I am still the only one who can do it properly and I am invested in making sure it stands up to my reputation.”

He was looking through the papers and she could see he was thinking now, paying attention. The minutes ticked off as he flipped through her work. Her body wanted to pounce on this opportunity, but her head told her to back off. She'd given him the evidence and documentation she wanted; now was time for her to make her escape.

“Mr. Bickman, as I know you have a very busy day I will take my leave now. I just want to leave you with one last word. If you ask around Columbus you'll find that my reputation extends beyond my clients. Many of my competitors will tell you that Shades of Violet is their primary competition. And I will tell you without a doubt that Shades of Violet is the last word in interior design in Columbus. My name and my talent speak for themselves. Please be brave enough to choose the best for your home renovation. That is my challenge to you, Mr. Bickman.” She shut her briefcase with a click and pulled it off the chair. “Thank you and have a good day.”

Turn, walk, do not let him see your fingers tremble!

Violet left Bickman's office with him staring after her, sashaying out with a tremulous smile on her face that he couldn't see. She glanced at the clock on the wall and noted she'd done it in nineteen minutes. She walked calmly past Tracy who was staring after her in question, then shot her friend a thumbs-up and a toothpaste commercial smile and left as quietly as she'd arrived, despite the internal screaming.

She didn't have a doubt that she'd made an impression on Bickman. And now, no matter what happened, at least she could say she tried. She didn't just roll over and take it; she fought back.

She couldn't wait to tell Taka all about it. Even though he'd tried his best to rain on her parade this morning and was always looking at her like he was expecting something other than what she was saying to be coming from her mouth, she still wanted to share this with him. For some unknown reason she wanted his respect. The irate call she got from her local restaurant owner, father and employer of the two juvenile delinquents who made faces behind her back and smart-mouthed her every chance they got, well, that put the seal on their friendship as far as she was concerned.

Glancing in her rearview, a forgotten piece of orange caught her eye and snagged her brain with sudden epiphany. She knew exactly what her next wish should be. It was right in front of her nose!

Violet got back to the apartment, put down her briefcase, and looked at the large lump on the sofa. She felt a nudge of affection for the giant who looked so peaceful in sleep. She really should let him enjoy his dream, but . . .

Walking over to him she slapped him hard on his arm, waking him as effectively as if she'd doused him with a pail of cold water. “Wake up, King! I've decided on my second wish.”

As Taka blinked the sleep from his eyes she tossed the offending orange dress still wrapped in plastic on top of him. “This is a problem,” she declared.

Taka shook himself to, pulling the dress away by two fingers as if it were a cobweb. “What problem?”

“It came to me on my way home. The witch intentionally ordered this two sizes too small. And do you know why? She wants to put me through the humiliation of having it altered. And I won't even mention the color again, you get the point.”

“It is only a dress. Have it altered; you will still outshine her with your beauty and the glow of your spirit.”

Violet stopped short and cocked her head. “That is the sweetest thing any man has ever said to me, King. If I weren't already taken you might have a shot. But back to the dress. I was thinking about it and I've decided on a second wish. I want to be able to eat whatever I want and not be larger than a size eight. There.”

Taka rolled his eyes. “By all that is holy, Father, not another one.”

“Have you seen Brenda? She's a size negative two. I'm going to look like a horse standing next to her.”

“Your body is perfect. You do not need to be thinner. Why do you want to be like these women I see walking around, skeletons with hair? A woman should have meat on her bones. Something to hold. The padding is necessary if good lovemaking is to be had by all. It is, how do they say, a shock absorber.”

Violet had to stop and think about that a moment before moving on. “Things have changed since your time, King.”

“Must you change with them?”

“Unlike you, I can't just hop along to another time and place. Look, I'm sure there was a time when big was beautiful, but that's not today. I need all the ammunition I can get.”

“You speak like you are at war when it is only you on both sides of the battle line. Why do you fight yourself, Violet? Don't you know you can never win?”

Violet thought about that for a moment, then smiled, making her point with a finger gesture. “Or, I can also never lose. Depends on how you look at it, King. Listen, your concern is much appreciated. You obviously have a lot of time to spend pondering the meaning of life but I really just want you to grant my wish.”

“To make you like a stick?”

“Size eight, no larger.”

“You are already larger, are you not?”

“I can afford to lose a pound or two.”

“I do not want to grant this wish. Can you not believe me when I tell you you are beautiful as you are?”

“Once again, very sweet, but let me explain this in terms you can understand. You”—she pointed at his chest—“will be gone tomorrow and I'll be stuck in a time where size fourteen is way too fat. I need to be smaller. It's simple.”

“Why? So that bug of a man can wear you on his arm like a bauble?”

“So I should want to be what you consider attractive? What's any better about that than wanting to change for Jerome?”

The question stunned him for only a second. “I will not even begin to discuss how wrong it is to compare me to that slime in the first place; but, since you ask, the reptile does not care about you or your health or your well-being. I care about more than just your appearance, even though I am highly appreciative of it. I am a person who thinks of you as more than just a plaything. I believe you would be happy as you are if you would simply accept yourself and love yourself. Why can't you see what I see?”

Taka's voice rose with his desperation as thoughts of her wasting away to nothing invaded his brain. She had a beautiful body. He could spend days on end simply staring at it. The thought that it would be ravaged and twisted just to be smaller left him feeling sick and panicked. He hadn't come all this way, all these centuries to make love to a starving woman!

“It is idiocy at its worst!” he continued. “You cannot truly want to defile your body on the word of that bug, that maggot, that—”

“I'm not listening to you,” Violet said, putting her fingers in her ears and humming.

He simply spoke louder to drown her out. “And you say you are powerful? Your power is in turning yourself inside out to appeal to others! That is not power; that is conformity and cowardice!”

Violet unplugged her ears and responded, “Then call me a cowardly size eight and take a chill pill. Look, do I have to go to your boss?”

“You are being foolish.”

“This coming from a man who lives under a rock?”

“I live inside a precious gemstone!”

“Whatever. My mind's made up. No more arguing. Do it, King. Snap, snap. Snap, snap, I said!”

They glared at each other for a long, angry moment. A muscle jerked in his clenched jaw. “Fine.” Taka took one last, longing look at her form before turning away, his head shaking with futility and his spirit lower than ever. “It is done.”

His sudden defeat stunned Violet for just a moment and then: “Woo hoo!” She clapped her hands while hopping with glee. Ten years of yo-yo dieting over! Though to be honest, the yo-yo only ever went in one direction. She was always on a diet in her head but the only part of “diet” that ever translated itself to her actions was the breaking of it.

“You have no idea what a relief this is. I'm going to celebrate tonight with three pints of ice cream.”

“That's what you think,” Taka mumbled under his breath.

“I'll order a pizza for dinner, maybe two.”

“Live it up. Fill yourself with unhealthy food and treats, makes no difference to me,” he groused. He could not believe she would betray them both this way. All for the rat of a man she threw herself away on. He was angry enough to break something.

“What are you over there mumbling about?” Violet asked. His face was as moody as a thundercloud but he wasn't ruining her high. This wish was a stroke of genius! “I'll share the pizza with you if you're nice to me. Look, I had a great morning and I think we should do something special. It's a beautiful spring day. I'll change and we can go to the park. Would you like that, King?”

His glare only sent her into peals of laughter as she left the room.

What was the matter with women? Were they so unhappy with themselves they went looking for problems?

“I hate this wish above all others,” Taka spoke to the ceiling through clenched teeth. “To alter oneself is an abomination.”

“That is an abomination? What do you call giving up your mortality?” The words came so quickly and Ani appeared so suddenly Taka did not even have warning of his arrival, his face earnest. “How do you think we feel?”

The phone rang and they both looked at it, content to allow the machine to pick up.

The recording of Violet's voice was followed by a familiar voice.

“Look, Violet, if you're there, pick up. Okay, okay, you got me. I'll give you seven hunnert for the brooch. That's more than half of a thousand dollars. Violet, you're not going to get a better deal than that! Look, call me.”