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Soolie was a pretty girl who kept her long
brown hair wound in a bun stabbed through with an alabaster
spike. She’d chosen the spike as a bold statement of style,
which, if considered fairly, was not entirely uninspired.
But her concept of fashion wasn’t so inspired. She
invariably strolled around the city in frumpy summer dresses
adorned with lacey birds and flowers, heavy white socks and
clunky shoes of questionable taste. This lack of esthetic
acuity seemed to plague her in every sphere of her life.
Still, she boldly strode into the world despite this social
obstacle, and the world responded as the world always seems
to respond in these situations—quite ironically.
Soolie dreamed of finding Mr. Right, though
was perpetually being asked out on dates by men who saw her
through the lens of her trampish fashions and only wanted to
take advantage of her. She was, after all, a girl of
surpassing intelligence and sensitivity, despite how the
world seemed to treat her on a daily basis. She quickly grew
weary of entertaining men whose only thoughts were focused
on sex in parking lots and cheap hotel rooms. So one day she
decided to take matters into her own hands and conjure
her ideal companion through supernatural methods.
She sat in the heart of the banana-colored
sofa in her living room and leaned over the books and charts
spread across the coffee table. These were mostly, if not
all, concerned with aspects of magic and witchcraft, which
did not bother her in least since she had no binding
religious affinity, anyway (especially since her particular
curse in life seemed to indicate that such higher forces
might not be well disposed to her in the first place). She’d
hoped to create a likely candidate from scratch, but since
the materials necessary for such an enterprise would have
been nearly impossible to purchase at the local botanica,
she decided on a ritual that would cause the man of her
dreams to fall hopelessly in love with her.
“Joel Spiegel,” she said to herself while
admiring her orange fingernail polish, “your days as a
bachelor are numbered.”
Joel Spiegel was the young man who lived on
the floor above her apartment. She’d stopped him several
times in the lobby hoping to strike up a scintillating
conversation that would cause him to fall madly in love with
her, though these encounters usually concluded with Joel
nodding his head, wishing her a good day and desperately
making his escape. Joel was a rather handsome young man who
dressed conservatively and drove a used BMW; in the matter
of personalities, theirs seemed at polar opposites.
“Not to worry,” she said to no one in
particular as she began writing the list of arcane
ingredients she would need to fulfill the spell. “What
nature has inexplicably kept apart the black arts will bind
together.”
#
Two days later, after she’d mixed her
poultice according to the specifications in the magic
ritual, she walked up to Joel’s apartment and knocked on the
door.
“Yes?” Joel Spiegel said as he opened the
door as far as the security chain allowed.
“It’s me, Soolie.” She’d made certain to
unfasten the top button on her blouse. She also wore the
unforgettable scent of lilacs, and the buckles on her shoes
were polished like mirrors. “Can I ask a favor of you?”
Joel, who’d apparently been eating dinner,
wiped his lips with a napkin. The aroma of baked chicken
drifted into the hallway. He blinked his deep blue eyes a
couple of times before replying.
“Sure. What can I do for you?”
“I need to borrow your shampoo.”
“Hmm,” Joel said uncertainly. Then, perhaps
seeing that this was not an unreasonable request, said, “All
right, Soolie. I think I have an extra bottle in the
bathroom.”
“No, no!” Soolie raised her hand. “I mean, I
wouldn’t want you to open a fresh bottle just for me. I’ll
just use the bottle you’re already using.”
“The bottle I’m already using?” Joel’s
eyebrows rose above his beautiful eyes, perhaps realizing
that his earlier assumption had been premature. “Sure, I
guess that’s all right. Hold on.”
Joel closed the door while Soolie waited in
the hallway. She spent the interim considering how fine a
man Joel seemed to be, and what great earning potential he
must have since he was a top flight insurance salesman. They
would have children, of course, and she’d never have to
accept romantic overtures from any more degenerates.
After a moment the door opened again and Joel
handed her the bottle of shampoo beneath the chain. “Here
you are. Enjoy.”
Soolie accepted the bottle with a wide smile.
“Thanks. I won’t hold on to it too long.”
“Take your time.”
“No, really, I’ll be right back.”
Joel nodded guardedly. “Okay, whatever.”
#
Soolie ran down to her apartment and poured
the poultice into the partially emptied shampoo bottle. She
frowned at first because it was the kind without
conditioner, and she never used shampoo without conditioner.
But then she remembered she really wasn’t going to use it
and recapped the bottle securely.
She wrapped her head in a towel, ran up to
Joel’s apartment again and knocked on the door.
Joel opened the door again, a napkin to his
lips. “That was quick.”
“Thanks for the shampoo,” Soolie said. She
forced it beneath the chain. “I make it a rule to return
anything I borrow as quickly as possible.”
“Well, all right.” Joel pulled the bottle
into the apartment. “I suppose that’s an admirable quality.”
“How nice of you to say so.” She held her
hands behind her back and tried not to seem too anxious.
“So, do you think you’ll be taking a shower tonight?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Are you showering tonight?”
Joel blinked. “Maybe.”
“Oh, I see. “ Soolie tried to disguise her
disappointment by biting her tongue, though this only seemed
to encourage a pained expression. “Well, that’s okay. Today,
tomorrow, who knows?”
“Are you saying I need to shower?”
“No! I didn’t mean that at all!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I mean, you smell fine.”
Joel nodded. “Thanks for the kind words. See
you later, Soolie.”
Soolie winked knowingly as Joel closed the
door.
#
Two days later, after she’d confirmed that
Joel had washed his hair with the doctored bottle of shampoo
(she’d called his number repeatedly until he made his
confession), Soolie walked up to Joel’s apartment dressed in
a beautiful new silk skirt with an equally beautiful dragon
embroidered above the hem, her hair down seductively on her
shoulders, and knocked.
Joel opened the door. “Hello, Soolie.”
“Hi.” Soolie stared adoringly into his eyes,
expecting him to rush through the door, smother her with
kisses and proclaim his everlasting love for her. But when
he didn’t she stood back in the hallway somewhat confused.
Perhaps the poultice worked its magic more subtly. Perhaps
she needed to jump-start the process in some way, though
there was nothing in Bertram’s Black Arts From Hell
that referred to a waiting period. She decided to play it by
ear.
“May I come in?”
Joel’s eyebrows collapsed on one another,
betraying his suspicion. “I’m really busy with paperwork
right now—”
“But this is important.”
“How important?”
“It’s a matter of life and death!”
“Really?”
“Would I lie to you?”
Joel sighed resignedly. He unchained the door
and motioned her inside. “But please make it quick, I have a
busy day tomorrow.”
Soolie smiled at her good fortune (at last
she would pass through his doorway, and wasn’t the potion
working well so far?) and stepped into his apartment,
tossing her hair coyly in his face as she passed him. She
expected to be ravaged.
Joel closed the door. “Okay, what’s so
important?”
Soolie stood admiring Joel’s fine sense of
interior design. The furniture appeared eminently
comfortable, the walnut trim on the sofa and loveseat
offering a young professional’s touch of class. An oak wood
bookshelf filled with volumes by the masters adorned one
wall, while a plasma television with a theatre quality sound
system occupied another. The white shag carpet was
immaculate as well. She was very impressed. She swirled her
skirt as she turned to enflame his passions.
“Well?” she asked.
Joel shrugged. “Well what?”
Soolie bit her lip. Something was definitely
wrong. Had he really used the shampoo?
“Did you happen to wash your hair recently?”
“Yes, I did actually. Why, doesn’t it smell
clean?”
“With shampoo?”
“Yes, of course.” Joel was really too
trusting a young man for the insurance business—he stood
staring at the frumpish Soolie trying to see past her
weirdness to some hint of sane purpose. “I’ve never had
anyone show so much concern for my hair’s hygiene.”
Soolie was perplexed. She sat on the sofa,
which was very comfortable. Her sofa downstairs was, in
truth, rather lumpy. “Good hygiene is important.”
“I’ve always thought so. Listen, what is it
that’s so important?”
“Did you happen to use the bottle of shampoo
I returned to you the other day? The one I borrowed?”
Joel paced to his bookshelf, nervously
scratching his head. Thoughts of exotic poisons ran through
his mind, but certainly Soolie wasn’t that bad. “Yes, I
believe I did. I can’t use the kind with conditioner. My
hair is kind of oily.”
“And you don’t feel any differently about
me?”
“In what way?”
“I mean, do you feel any differently for me
now than you did before?”
Joel contemplated this question a moment.
“No, I feel exactly the same about you as I’ve always felt.”
Soolie sighed. “I was afraid of that. Joel,
you aren’t gay, are you?”
“No.”
“Or an animal freak or anything?”
“No, Soolie, I have no carnal interest in
animals.” Joel walked over to the sofa and sat next to her.
His proximity to her caused her to break out in a sweat.
“Soolie, what’s this all about?”
She silently recited the list of ingredients
in her mind: chicken feet, ginger, spices from Korea—no, she
was certain she followed the formula precisely. Perhaps it
was just her fate—perhaps she was destined to walk the earth
with her arm entwined with some weirdo’s. Still, if she
wanted to positively confirm the ineffectiveness of her
poultice, she may as well employ a more direct approach.
“Joel, do you love me?”
Joel sat blinking. He seemed proficient at
the act. “No, I’m afraid not. I mean, I hardly know you.”
“And you don’t feel a mad, passionate desire
to possess me body and soul?”
“No, I can’t say that I do. “ He laughed
nervously. “I mean, I can barely afford to make the payments
on my car.”
Soolie’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not funny.”
“No, I suppose not. Look Soolie, what is this
all about? If I barely know you, how can I love you?”
“Because,” Soolie said, shoving his knee
playfully, “I put a magic poultice in your shampoo to make
you fall madly in love with me.” She placed her elbows on
her knees and her chin in her hands. “It seemed like a
pretty good idea at the time.”
Joel sighed. He was a charismatic young man,
or so his mother used to tell him, and this sort of thing
had happened to him before in his life. He’d actually been
trying to deflect Soolie’s overtures since he moved into the
building. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Soolie—he just
didn’t find her attractive in the least. He also had a
little black book full of the names of women he did
find attractive. Though he’d never had a women try to use a
magic spell on him. That was a first.
“Soolie, I’m flattered,” he said,
predictably. He patted her arm affectionately. “But I’m just
not attracted to you. I think you’re a very nice person, but
there’s no spark between us, no fire, no, if you’ll pardon
the expression, magic.”
“I don’t think I will.”
“You’ll find some nice guy who’ll return your
affection. Wait and see.”
Soolie raised her head. “I’ve been with lots
of guys who wanted to show me affection. They wanted to show
it by hopping in bed with me. I’ve never had a decent guy
ask me out, never. You know, one who wears sweaters and
reads book. Real ones, and I don’t mean magazines with lots
of pictures.”
“Some day you’ll find him,” Joel said in a
practiced manner. “All you need is a little patience.”
“But I wanted you.”
“It wasn’t meant to be, Soolie.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to jump
my bones?”
“Positive.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“If you ever need anything,” Joel said as he
escorted Soolie to the door, “as a friend, don’t
hesitate to ask. Okay?”
Soolie smoothed down her skirt. The shag
carpeting was giving her dress a nasty static charge.
“Okay,” she said. “It’s really too bad,
though. You really do seem like a nice guy.”
“Good-bye, Soolie.”
#
Despite the dictates of common sense that
Soolie’s confession should have been the last hope of her
pursuit of Joel Spiegel, who’d made his position quite
clear, poultice or no, Soolie was made of much stronger
stuff. She refused to accept the genius of such old axioms
as ‘it’s better to have loved and lost’, or, ‘every cloud
has a silver lining’, or even, ‘don’t hold your breath,
sister’. This last pearl of wisdom had come from her very
own mother. According to Soolie’s analysis, the poultice
failed for one of three reasons: the spell was bogus, or her
use of that magic was flawed, or she’d simply delivered the
poultice to Joel incorrectly. Her money was on the last
possibility.
So a week later Soolie walked up to Joel’s
apartment and knocked on the door.
“Yes, Soolie?” Joel said from behind the
safety of the chain.
Soolie extended a glass of curious smelling
green liquid. “Would you drink this for me?”
Joel’s mouth compressed into a line. “You’re
kidding me.”
“No, please, as a favor.”
“It looks toxic.”
“It’s perfectly harmless.”
“I don’t think so, Soolie.” Joel made a
valiant effort to close the door.
Soolie’s bulky shoe was firmly wedged in the
jamb. “Look, you said that if I ever needed anything to come
up and ask. Well, here I am. Now, please drink this.”
“Soolie—”
“Don’t be a baby,” Soolie said, raising the
glass to her lips. “If I take a drink to prove to you it’s
not lethal, will you take a drink, too?”
Joel frowned dubiously.
Soolie took a healthy swallow from the glass.
The ingredients were, after all, perfectly organic, though
the flavor of chicken feet was somewhat arresting. “You see?
It’s harmless. I just bought a juicer and I wanted your
opinion of this recipe.”
Joel, realizing that Soolie hadn’t keeled
over dead from drinking the liquid, felt less suspicious
about the nature of the drink, and naively thought it was
probably only vegetable juice.
“If I taste it for you, will you leave me
alone?”
“Of course.”
Joel pulled the glass in under the chain and
took a swallow of the liquid.
“That’s awful,” he said as he returned the
glass.
“That’s what I thought,” Soolie said. “Well,
thanks for being a friend!”
“No problem,” he said through a puckered
expression.
“Feeling any—healthier?” She studied his
face, hoping to see confirmable signs of desire.
“Not really. If you’ll excuse me, I think
I’ll go brush my teeth.”
With this Joel closed the door on Soolie’s
quizzical stare.
#
All things being equal, sometimes the dark
arts could prove to be really effective agents for change.
Later that afternoon Joel found himself knocking on Soolie’s
door with roses in one hand and a Verdi recording in the
pocket of his velvet blazer. Unfortunately, Soolie wasn’t
home. Instead she’d decided to attend a Marx Brothers film
festival to take her mind off her latest magical failure and
had, rather inexplicably, fallen deeply in love with the cab
driver who’d driven her to the movie house. The cab driver’s
name was Erving and he’d been married and divorced six
times. And despite the fact that he still had three months
to go on his parole, they planned to fly to Reno the
following night for their wedding.
Joel, unfortunately, was heart-broken. But he
really was too trusting a young man. As Soolie’s mother
always told her—in this crazy world of ours you have to be
very careful accepting what other people try to make you
swallow. |
