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We’d always kiss goodnight, though, hugging in darkened hallways and whispering long after everyone else had fallen asleep. He turned down the first real pass, the one I made in college, a few weeks after the night of the scarf, before I broke my engagement. I turned down the next one, that he made a few years after college, just after I started dating a co-worker at my social work job, cursing my poor timing but pushing him away at the same time. He turned down the next one, made by mail, when he was in Berkeley newly single and I was in New York newly single and I said alright already, lets do this, and he said No. I was angry, terribly angry, cursing him out on the phone long-distance in an argument I could ill-afford. And so I devoted myself to the man I’d eventually marry, and separate from this year, and he married the woman he’d lived with for years. We kept on being friends. I became friends with his wife. He and my husband were never close, though, I always suspected that. This man could order anything. Have poison put in her coffee as easily as sugar, and then smooth it over as an unfortunate accident. Have her strip searched in front of him. Have her carried off to his harem. The possibilities were endless...She was brought back to earth by the Emir repeating his question, "Would you like some coffee?"She nodded, unable to speak for the moment.The Emir sat on an ordinary chair and waved for her to do likewise. As they sat she looked around, seeing a small throne on a dais at the far end of the large room, close to which there were a number of men waiting patiently."Are these your advisors, Your Magnificence?" she asked."Oh, no. These are petitioners who want a decision on something."He waved one over, and the man came forward and knelt, pressing his forehead to the floor. An attendant took a paper from his hand and passed it to the Emir who read it and passed it back to the attendant.~La, he said, meaning, "No."The petitioner rose, turned and left.
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