“Nevertheless, as you’ve guessed, although uncle is – as we all are – subject to the Sultan’s will, he walks a unique path between the radical and conservative elements of our tiny society here. It’s sometimes difficult to determine which the Sultan holds in highest regard. This greatly confuses the young people in our country, who are very polarized compared to their parents. They’re either staunchly conservative, desiring a return to the historic roles of people and rulers in society, or are radically interested in adopting western ways, including the creation of a ruling parliament with elected representatives of the people.

  “Uncle seems to be the only one, among the other Emirs or the Sultan, who is able to hold meaningful dialog with both sides. He has an intuition about how to approach them that the others can’t seem to either understand or duplicate.”

  “I suppose the Sultan is conservative?” Claire asked.

  “But not as much as the young conservatives would like. At the moment, that is the group which is most vocal in its displeasure with the Sultan’s direction for the country. They’d prefer that he openly silence the radical faction. Up to now, my uncle’s been most influential in keeping a lid on the situation.”

  “Could there be a revolution coming?” Elliot asked, concerned for his friend, Ali.

  “Not soon, I would hope. I’m confident that uncle could defuse any overt dissatisfaction that might boil over to revolt. The radical elements wouldn’t tolerate any move toward a more conservative culture without a conflict with the conservative faction.”

  “Here’s hoping your uncle’s talents prevail,” Claire offered.

  “Thank you, Claire. So far, they have.”

  The palace was so large that they were only able to see a small part of it before they all tired and decided to call it a night. The guests’ agha, their butler, showed them to their apartment.

  “Ali’s uncle must be quite the character,” Claire said to Elliot, after they’d retired to their suite for the night. “Have you met him?”

  “Actually, I have. I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘character,’ however. He’s more like one of the last of the independent principality rulers in the Arab world. He can be quite charming, but I always sensed a ruthless, determined, take-no-prisoners core beneath the civilized veneer. He’s something of a throw-back – a ruler more in the Suleiman the Magnificent tradition.”

  “You’re playing with me again.”

  “No, but I’d like to do that as soon as I get cleaned up a bit …”

  “You know what I mean. And, of course, you can play with me all night if you want. I’ve missed you. But you’re a hopeless tease. The next thing you’ll be telling me is that his uncle keeps a harem.”

  “As a matter of fact …hey!” She’d thrown a pillow at him. “Claire, cut it out. He does keep a harem!”

  “In case you didn’t notice, the year is 2012, not 1512. Nobody can have a harem in the modern world.”

  “Believe it or not, the Sultan and the various Emirs here do. If you don’t believe me, ask Ali – or Saida – tomorrow. Now, if you can avoid hitting me with any more pillows, I’m going to shower.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I think I’ll insist on it, slave girl.” He ducked to avoid another pillow, grabbed Claire, and carried her now-naked body into the enormous shower with him.

  * * * * *

  Breakfast was a sumptuous feast of Arab delights, blended with traditional western fare. Alongside croissants, hard rolls and eggs benedict were manaqeesh, sfiha, sautéed lamb cubes with pine seeds & tomato, foul medames with chick peas, roasted Kellaj filled with grilled halloumi cheese, yogurt, strong Turkish and Arabic coffees, orange, pomegranate, and grape juices, and a dozen things Claire couldn’t identify at all.

  They ate and talked for a couple hours on a third-floor terrace overlooking a prolific, verdant courtyard that was awash with tropical flowers and large, leafy succulents. In the center was a reflecting pool with fountains. The bustling oasis lay beyond a wall at least three hundred feet away. Their apartments overlooked the courtyard and, the night before, Claire had seen the fountains glow with blue and yellow, lighting the night.

  “Would you ladies like to go shopping this afternoon?” Ali asked. “My treat, of course.”

  Elliot and Claire both started to object, but Ali laughed them off. “No one could break my bank shopping on the oasis here. Frankly, the selection isn’t that great. I suppose you could fly to Dubai – It’d take a few extra hours, of course.”

  He was serious and Claire had to laugh before she told him she’d prefer to stay close by.

  Saida turned to Claire. “We’ll have to wear those dreadful burkhas if we shop here, you realize. If not, everyone will stare and we won’t be able to move through the crowd of gawkers.” Saida, a very progressive Muslim from Tunisia, seemed resigned to but not pleased at the prospect.

  “It would be an adventure for me, if you’d like to,” she told Saida.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Saida seemed to forget any concern, once she knew Claire was open to being traditional for the day. “After breakfast, I’ll have the chauffeur ready the car. I suppose Agha Rezai can chaperone us?” She asked Ali.

  “Of course, Dear. The two of us will stay here. That way Elliot and I can do a little business, and then I can slaughter him in a game or two of squash.”

  “Business, yes. But we’ll see who squashes whom,” Elliot replied. He did enjoy Ali’s camaraderie. He also thought Claire would have an interesting afternoon.

  “Since I’m going to be all covered up anyway, should I even bother with this wig?” Claire asked Saida as the two of them got ready for their outing.”

  “I wouldn’t bother,” Saida offered. “You’ll be cooler without it. No one will know. By the way, I think you’re very pretty without hair. I’d never have the courage to do something like that.”

  “I probably wouldn’t have had the courage either, Saida. I was – shall we say – under the influence of a weird potion when I went along with this.”

  “Do you really miss your hair? I remember you saying that it won’t start to grow back for a couple months yet.”

  “I missed it a lot at first, but as soon as I knew Elliot liked it, I didn’t feel as upset. I’d like to have my hair back, but I’m resigned to being like this for a while. I’ve gotten used to looking in the mirror and seeing myself this way.”

  “So Elliot likes it?”

  “Elliot loves it. Without a doubt, it turns him on. That makes it a lot easier for me to just be this way and not think much about it.”

  “That seems like a good attitude to have. I don’t know if I could do that. Losing my hair would probably put me into a fit of depression. What color is your natural hair?”

  “It’s sort of a darker blonde. It was dyed black when it was shaved – that’s another long story – basically, I lost a forfeit to Monique …”

  “As in Monique and René?” Saida interrupted. Claire nodded. “I know them – and I know about Monique’s forfeit parties too. You had a lot of courage to try to beat her. I don’t know anyone who ever has.”

  “I wanted that mink ensemble. And I think I came close. But she got me in the end. So she had Jean-Pierre give me a make-over as the forfeit. In the end it was kinda fun. That seems like just yesterday, but it was actually about six months ago now.”

  An hour later, they were strolling among the stalls and shops of the oasis bazaar, completely covered by their white burkhas, and chaperoned by Agha Rezai. It was noisy with shouted bargaining and animated conversations everywhere. It wasn’t as dusty as Claire had imagined it would be, but it was crowded and hot. Fortunately, the white burkhas served to keep them cool enough to prevent the afternoon from becoming unbearable, instead of just very hot.

  Claire bought some beautiful, hand-made, filigreed, silver earrings. Five deeply blue lapis lazuli stones dangled from the tips of each earring. With Saida’s help, she managed to find a lapis ring to match. Claire was delighted with her new jewelry.

  After Claire bargained the price down, again with help from Saida, she paid and turned to walk away. Her gaze landed on two strangely dressed, unattractive women sitting cross-legged in front of a table covered with small bottles and jars. Claire had never seen faces so darkened and etched with wrinkles from the sun. It made it impossible to guess the women’s ages – they could have been anywhere from their twenties to a hundred years old, she thought. And, in contrast to everyone else around, including Claire who was wearing her brown contacts to conceal her deep blue eyes, these women had pale blue eyes.

  Saida had noticed Claire looking at the two. Sotto voce, she said “They are Berbers” to Claire. “They come into the oasis from their desert homes once a week to sell their wares.” She took Claire’s arm, intending to lead her to a loaded flower cart just across the small plaza.

  Claire heard the Berber woman speak. She thought the woman was speaking to her. She turned to Saida, her eyes questioning.

  “I think she says she has the lotion to restore your hair. Her Berber accent is very thick when she speaks Arabic. But she said something like that.”

  “How did she know my hair was gone?” This was creepy and Claire was totally freaked out at the Berber woman’s comment. Claire was completely covered. There was no way the woman could have known her hair was gone and wouldn’t start to grow back for at least a couple months.

  The Berber woman said something else.

  Saida struggled with the translation. “She says that you will soon need the hair to conceal you.”

  “What does that mean?” Claire asked, exasperated at the crazy Berber who vaguely reminded her of the gypsy women in Santorini.

  “I have no idea. She is very disconcerting, no?”

  “She’s very disconcerting, yes.”

  The woman stood and looked over the contents of the table. She reached for a jar and presented it to Claire, who gingerly took it and turned it over in her hands, examining the colorless jar with a dark green lid. The contents were white. There was no label or writing on the jar.

  Claire unscrewed the lid to look at the thick cream within. She cautiously sniffed the contents, which turned out to have no odor at all. She just touched a fingertip to the cream and rubbed it between her fingers, then rubbed it in a little circle on the top of her wrist. It was almost gel-like and not at all greasy. It made her fingers tickle slightly, a tiny vibration that slowly moved down her fingers to the palm of her hand. Her wrist tingled too, and the feeling moved part-way up her arm.

  She turned to speak privately with Saida. Agha Rezai looked on dispassionately. “Uh, I don’t know what to do with this. Should I just buy it so we can get away from these women? Can you ask her how this is supposed to work?”

  Saida turned to the woman and asked. The response was quick and rapidly delivered. “She says you are to rub the cream liberally onto your scalp and eyebrows and allow it to soak in before you go to bed. In the morning, your hair will be restored, or grown out – the word she uses could mean either.”

  The woman spoke again. Saida translated. “I think she said you should eat a big dinner before you use it. But, I admit, that doesn’t make much sense. I get the feeling she’s genuinely trying to be helpful to you, Claire. The Berbers in this sultanate are a strange, mysterious lot. But they are not deceptive, dishonest or evil.”

  The woman spoke again.

  She assures you that the cream is safe. She says she’s known of you from others like her. I have no idea what that means. She knows you’re a guest of the Qaid, and what could happen to her if she deceived you. Plus she says she would never do that anyway. And again, she insists that you will need your hair to conceal you.”

  “Need?”

  “That’s the word she used; I have no doubt there. I think she believes that, too. I have no way of knowing if she’s truly seeing something to come, or if she’s a little – how to say this – a little not-right in the head.”

  “Let’s see how much she wants for the jar. If it’s not too much, I’ll just buy it from her so we can get away. I don’t intend to … holy shit!” Claire had looked down at her wrist. Where she’d rubbed the cream, a patch of dark hairs had apparently grown, in the few moments they’d been talking. She’d previously used Jean-Pierre’s inhibitor on her arms and, indeed, everywhere below her neck. “Look at this!” Claire exclaimed to Saida.

  Saida smiled knowingly. “It appears that the Berber woman is a true practitioner of sihr, what you would call the occult or witchcraft.”

  “I don’t know about witchcraft, but her chemistry is pretty impressive. Ask her how much. Maybe I can get my hair back early. Maybe even without having to wait for it to grow out.” Claire was now more excited than nervous.

  Claire paid the woman what she asked without bargaining. The cream wasn’t cheap, but Claire thought it worth every riyal - the sultanate used the Saudi money. They quickly departed.

  At dinner, Ali’s table, always with ten times more food than could be eaten by the number of people there, was again full to overflowing. Claire ate until she couldn’t stand to look at another bite. She’d work it off playing squash with Saida or Elliot tomorrow.

  Elliot was bemused as Claire carefully rubbed the cream over every inch of her scalp and the line where her thin eyebrows had been.

  “But I like you bald,” he complained good-naturedly.

  “This might not work at all. If it does, I’ll have my blonde hair while we’re here. After we leave, you can do anything you want to it. I’ll even let you use Jean-Pierre’s treatment on me if you want. But for now, I want to see if I can get long hair back – or any hair back, for that matter. I wonder if this might restore all my brows – even the ones you permanently removed by electrolysis?”

  “I hope not, or I’ll have to do them all over again. I would’ve said this didn’t have a chance of working, but I vividly remember our Santorini gypsies …”

  “Holy shit! That’s it! That crazy Berber woman said something about knowing of me from others like her. And remember – the gypsy in Santorini said something about her sisters who lived in a dry place told her my pussy rings would always be with me but they’d move – I still don’t know what the hell that meant, but I’ll bet the gypsy was referring to these Berbers! Oh wow, that is so weird!”

  “Well, I think your mind is making connections where there aren’t any.” He was obviously skeptical. “I just hope you aren’t poisoning yourself with that cream, you know.” Then he grinned, boyish hope and desire in his eyes. “Care for one more night of wild, crazy bald sex?”

  Claire’s head had begun to tingle. The feeling slowly spread to her eyes, face, and down her neck. “Uh .. I’m tingling all over …”

  “It must be my sparkling personality,” he interrupted. He reached for a nipple ring and began to fondle her.

  “No, darling. I really am tingling all over my head and neck. Even my eyes itch. It’s very distracting. So is your playing with my nipple ring – ooh that feels so good. But I think I need to lie down until this soaks in and stops. Maybe we should wait until morning.”

  “Sure, Love, I’m easy.”

  Moments after her head touched the silk-covered, gold-trimmed pillow, she was fast asleep. With a sigh, Elliot closed his eyes and drifted off almost as quickly.

  * * * * *

  Claire woke to a tangled mass of hair everywhere. She sat up immediately, the effort pulling on the long locks caught under her. She reached up to touch her head, felt the full head of hair, and ran her fingers down tresses that reached to the small of her back.

  “Holy shit!” She cried out, waking Elliot. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and looked at her. Then he rubbed his eyes again as she pulled a handful of hair forward and held it in front of her face.

  “WHAT THE HELL?! MY HAIR IS BLACK!”

  “Yep, it certainly is! And there’s an enormous amount of it too!”

  She jumped out of bed and ran to a full-length mirror. Curly waves of long, coarsely-thick, black hair surrounded her. Only her thin eyebrows were back, but they were as black as her hair.

  Her hair was beautiful, healthy, glistening. But it was about as far from her natural – or what had been her natural – dark blonde as you could get. As she stared at herself, she realized that something else was wrong. It took a moment before she realized that her eyes were now a very dark brown – no longer the deep twilight blue she’d had her whole life. And to top it off, her skin was noticeably darker too – more the color of a good tan on an Arab woman than on a blonde.

  She turned back to Elliot, just as he said, “Your skin looks darker. How did you get tanner when you were completely covered up yesterday?”

  “My skin - and my eyes too! Look at my eyes! They’re dark brown! It’s like the cream somehow boosted the amount of pigmentation I have everywhere. Is this permanent?”

  “I don’t know Claire! You saw those crazy Berbers, I didn’t. Let’s go find Saida and see if she has any ideas. Maybe the two of you can go back to the bazaar and find the Berbers.”

  Saida, Ali, and the Agha Rezai were as surprised as they were. Claire was so hungry that she had to gobble up a huge breakfast before she could go try to find the Berbers. After breakfast, a quick trip to the bazaar showed that the Berber women were gone.

  “Perhaps they’ll be back next week,” Saida offered hopefully. “Meantime, you do have lovely black hair, Claire.” She gave the distraught American a hug. “And your eyes, though different, go lovely with your darker, more mysterious look.”

  Claire knew Saida was trying to be helpful, and loved her for it. She tried to chin-up and look on the bright side. “Oh well, I’ve had more different looks over the past six months than I ever expected to have in my whole life. I can always get my hair lightened if it doesn’t change back – and get blue contacts if my eyes stay like this.”

  “Or just enjoy yourself as you are, perhaps?” Saida suggested. “I could help you adjust your makeup to your new coloration.”