“Would you rather live in the 1970s or the 1980s?” the handsome young man with the soft brown eyes leaned in closer.
Katy giggled. The wine bar was so noisy on Friday nights. This guy had an unusual line of conversation.
“Hmmm,” she said, “1970s.”
“Interesting,” he flashed a smile and sipped his drink, “New York or London?”
“No. No – New York!”
“Okay. Upper West Side intellectual or Studio 54 socialite?”
“Let’s see. The Annie Hall look was cute. But I’ll say – Studio 54 socialite!”
“Farrah Fawcett or Donna Summer hair?”
“Why are you asking me all this?” Katy giggled again. A group of office workers had come into the bar and it was even harder to hear.
The guy waited patiently.
“Okay – Farrah’s waves please.”
“Pink satin hot pants and halter top or a Halston floor length gown?”
“Hot pants!” Katy raised her glass.
“Then that’s everything,” he glanced at the strange iPhone-like device on the bar.
He looked straight into her eyes, “Your wish is my command.”
Katy’s heart flipped over. But suddenly the room went dark.
When the lights came back Katy found herself on a glitter-covered dance floor. She gingerly touched her huge blonde hair and looked down at her platform shoes, pink satin hot pants and shimmering tight top.
Across the room, Andy Warhol, Bianca Jagger and Margeaux Hemmingway turned their heads in unison.
In the noise of the wine bar she hadn’t caught the guy’s name, so she had no idea what she was agreeing to when he had said:
“I’m a freelance genie who grants people their deepest wishes. Would you be prepared to release us from all liability and possible time travel hitches as we trial our new genie app?”