by Edward Ahern
“I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t be in my office; I have a 10:30 appointment.”
“Not with Harald Bremer you don’t. I canceled and rescheduled him. It’s okay, anxiety about his domineering mother isn’t life-threatening.”
The man in the client’s chair was a stranger, obese and balding. George was sure he’d never seen him before. “How did you get in here? How could you know about Harald? I’m calling security.”
“Don’t get your panties puckered, George. You called me in.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh yes, you did, lover boy. Whining to yourself about Adele. Did you know she’s still occasionally mercy-humping her ex-boyfriend? You keep inwardly begging for help to get her back. Okay, I’m a problem-solver. Here I am.”
“Here you are what? Who are you to try and meddle in my personal affairs?
“Not who: what. I’m your good fairy, and a better one than you deserve. Call me Josea.”
“You’re crazy. If fairies existed they’d be cute little elfin women.”
Josea sighed. George noticed sweat rings under Josea’s arms, and a goaty odor crept across the desk.
“I’m a guy fairy, George. I help lost hunters, wounded warriors, bowlers looking for a 300 game, that kind of stuff. ”
Josea might turn violent, and George knew to humor him until help showed up. “So what are you doing here? I’m none of those things.”
“No, for sure you’re not. What I do is nothing like the glutinous pap you offer up to clients. Maybe too different. But I’m here because I was rated as excessively macho and ordered into sensitivity training. You’re my first test case, and you’ll be getting a phone call after we’re done and asked to grade my performance.
“So let’s get to it. This Adele broad dumped you. I’ve got a solution—”
“Adele and I had communication issues that are none of your business!” George shifted into his most caring voice. “You clearly have issues, Josea. I’ll just make a phone call and arrange for you to get help—”
“You half-melted marshmallow. Communication issues, my ass. Okay, you don’t believe me. Here’s a couple of signs and wonders. Hold out your hand, palm up.”
“Just do it.”
George held out his hand, empty palm up and a gold coin appeared in it.
“It’s a twenty-dollar gold piece, worth about three grand to a collector. Stick it in your pocket. Okay, encore. Your performance issues with Adele. You will now become tumescent, and this tumescence will be maintained until I leave. You can recover this firmness any time by just saying my name, and lose it by saying yours. If you get Adele to jump back into bed with you, most of your problem will be solved.”
George felt a trouser tightening. “What? How? I’m an atheist; I don’t believe in God.”
“You’re confused. I’m no guardian angel, I’m a fairy. I handle earthly desires and fears.”
George’s shoulders slumped. “She said she never wants to see me again, that we were incompatible—”
“Duh. Don’t overanalyze. Get the basics right and you can fake the rest; you’re trained for it. You know when she works out. Go to the health club at the same time and wear a nice tight pair of spandex shorts. When she sees the ‘proof’ of your affection, I’m pretty sure she’ll go out for a drink with you.”
“I’m not going to make an obscene spectacle of myself in public.”
“You won’t. Just try it out.”
“George,” said George and his trousers flapped. “Josea,” he muttered, and the pup tent erected.
“Perfect. If she liked you before, despite your obvious deficiencies, think how she’ll feel about you if she’s content. Okay, I think that handles your problem. Now about mine. You’re a counselor, you can appreciate the trauma I’ll undergo if I get canned from my good-fairy gig. Mano a mano, when they call, you need to tell them how sensitively I handled your problem.”
George looked down. “It’s a start. But you should know that I never rate anything higher than four out of five.”
“That’s okay. I’ll just deflate matters a bit.”
“Five it is.”
Copyright © 2017 by Edward Ahern