New Fic-Wishful thinking -19

"It's about time," Jaze grunted.

He was a farmer. His plaid shirt was obscured by faded coveralls, and his John Deere cap had been green sometime in the distant past. His hands were huge. Fresh dirt was creased into his knuckles, rubbed into the tattooed flames that burst beneath the frayed cuff of his sleeve. Deep ruts set off his eyes, as if he spent most of his time outdoors, in the sun. Bits of straw glinted in his hair.

I wondered if he'd been practicing for his time in the Garden. Somehow, I didn't think so. The place he'd described in that field of nothingness seemed much more refined.

I shrugged. Jaze, and his farm, and his Garden weren't going to be my concern much longer. "I've chosen my fourth wish," I announced.

"You sure rushed that. Just in time for the kale harvest." I thought he was being sarcastic, but I wasn't sure. I didn't know the growing season for kale. "Well, go ahead! Think I'm going to stand here till the cows come home?"

I knew less about dairy farming than I did about raising kale.

But what was I waiting for?

I raised my chin and looked steadily at Jaze. "I wish that Gerry Randolph would cast both Rob and me in his New York production of New Day Dawning."

I was taking a risk. The play might flop. Rob and I might never regain our familiar footing. I might hate leaving the Twin Cities, abandoning my father and my sisters and the only home I'd ever known.

But it was time to take a risk. What I had wasn't working.

"Yup, that's a good one." Jaze raised one mammoth hand to scratch his neck before he narrowed his eyes. "That's your last, you know."

"I know."

He cocked his head to one side, and a sliver of straw spiraled to the floor. "You're sure?"

"I'm positive."

"All right, then." He took a step back, shifting his right hand to capture his fleshy earlobe. "As you wish," he said, and he tugged hard, twice.

Once again, I felt the electric shock that had announced Jaze's arrival. Once again, the air filled with lights. Once again, I blinked. But this time, I opened my eyes to find my genie gone.

I raised my tingling fingers, only to discover that my shadowy tattoos were missing as well.

My days of debating about magic were over. I stared at my transformed self in the bathroom mirror and wondered why I didn't feel more of a loss.

In the silence, my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I'd set it on vibrate so that I wouldn't disrupt the Silent Stage audition. I fished it out and stared at the unknown 212 phone number.

This was it.

"Kelly Reilly," I answered.

A woman's nasal voice twanged, "Hold the line, please, for Gerry Randolph."

My heart started pounding as I waited for the famous producer to invite me to my future.