"I—er—I didn't think of bags," I admitted.
"Do you want me to take care of it? You'd have to take over here."
I looked around at the workers plastering, painting, and papering. The smell was already making my eyes water. "I'll do it."
I headed for the door. "And what about music?" she called behind me.
"I'm already on it!" I assured her.
"Naturally, naturally," Moa remarked, when I laid out the situation for him. "We can take care of everything for you. We do it for hundreds of the stores here. A lot of them are sole proprietors, don't have the time or expertise, or access to the right resources. I'll send a Djinn around to you at your hotel. He'll get everything you need." "Marco at your service!" exclaimed the cheerful, portly Djinn in purple robes who appeared at the door of our suite. He bowed.
"Another Djinnelli?" I asked, showing him in.
He beamed at me. "My cousin Rimbaldi said you were a sharp observer! We are so happy you decide to join our little community! Now, come, let me show you all the things we can offer."
Marco waved his hands. The room filled with huge, hardbound sample books.
"Shall we begin?" he inquired.
"The visitors are doing what?" Rattila asked.
Garn timidly extended a paint chip to his master. "They're opening a shop. This is the color. I just spent three hours painting the walls. There was nothing else to steal yet except this. They don't even have a name."
Rattila rubbed his paws together. "How fitting!" he cackled. "They are going to assist me in draining the essence of their own friends, and I can use their own merchandise to do it! What are they selling?"
Garn rubbed his nose with a paw. "I dunno."
"Then go back! I want a full report. I want to see it," Rattila added greedily, "with my own eyes."
"Boxes," I decided finally, after going through dozens of packaging options.
"Good choice, Master Aahz," Marco congratulated me. He threw a hand toward the hovering examples. "Now, flat square, cubic, flat round? You have all these choices because this handsome little item"—he flourished one of our sample garters—"would look beautiful in all of them." He kissed his fingertips. "Now, which one would you like best, if you were bringing a present to a beautiful lady?"
I have always prided myself on being able to scope out the psychology of people I was dealing with. In this case, I had to guess how people I didn't know yet would think. The factors that went into the decision were subtle. Now, subtle I could do, no problem, but I wasn't sure about generally popular.
"Flat round," I announced at last.
"Very nice!" Marco agreed, jotting a note on the notepad that followed us around the room. "Out of the ordinary. I recommend two sizes, for a single item, and for two or three."
"No," I corrected him, narrowing my eyes at the floating boxes. "Just the one size. We're trying to go for the special, one-of-a-kind look."
"Then you need ribbons, or bags to put multiple boxes in."
"Ribbons," I decided at once. "Three colors. White— no, silver boxes, three colors of purple ribbon. Pink's too namby-pamby. If we're going for solid sex appeal, then let's go for it."
"It's a pleasure to do business with such a decisive personality, Aahz!" Marco exclaimed heartily. "Except for my cousins, everybody is so timid; and then they are so unhappy with the results."
"You oughta set up shop in the Bazaar," I suggested, with a grin. "We get the screaming out of the way in advance there."
"And, now," Marco went on smoothly, "a catalog?"
"No," I stated flatly. "We're gonna change styles all the time."
Truth was, I had given the Deveels a fairly free hand, and I wasn't sure what they would come up with. Also, the less of a paper trail I could leave, the better. The last thing we needed was to have a catalog turn up ten years from now, and have someone bug us in the middle of an important operation in search of a size eight blue left-handed garter with marabou.
"Ah!" Marco exclaimed, enlightened. "You are an exclusive boutique. I understand."
"Yeah. A boutique." I was picking up all kinds of vocabulary as I went.
Marco made notes. "So you will want purple-and-silver tissue. Business cards—magikal will cost you a gold piece per hundred. Paper, a thousand per gold piece."
"Paper. Er, silver ink on deep purple card. Shiny." I began to picture it in my mind. "A little frilly ring in the upper right-hand corner. The store number in the bottom right."
"And the name?" Marco asked, pencil poised.
"Uh." He had me there. I hadn't even considered what we were going to call it. "Garterama?"
"Not a boutique name," the Djinn declared firmly.
I wasn't really the marketing specialist. "We Are Garters?" I grinned evilly as a thought struck me. "Garter Snake?"
Marco wiggled a hand. "Not really family appeal. A few species would respond to that favorably, but some won't. Cute is what you want. Perky. Make the buyers think they're in on something special."
"Not bad," I mused.
Good advice. But what could we let the punters in on? I had to admit that I was surprised that Massha had suggested garters in the first place. Not that she was body-shy; her normal attire was a modified harem-girl outfit. And she had a healthy attitude about love and marriage. She'd waited long enough for them, after all. I don't know why her idea took me off guard. I guess it had been a long time since I'd thought about the little things that made a relationship romantic. She knew them, and she was willing to share. "How about Massha's Secret?"
Marco kissed his fingertips. "The delectable lady? Perfect, perfect! Yes, that will attract the visitors, you wait and see! Shall I prepare a lovely portrait of her to hang on the wall over the counter? It can wink at each person!"
I cringed. "I don't think that's what she's got in mind. But, uh, you could put a winking eye on the receipts."
Marco waved a hand, and a nice line drawing of a long-lashed eye appeared on the notepad.
"Thicker line there, and more curve in the lashes. Yeah. Substitute that for the garter on the cards, too. And you mentioned in-Mail ads. A simple line drawing in purple on white or silver posters. No text, at least not at first. Let them wonder. Then add the store number in the second round. Then add a slogan, 'Do you know Massha's Secret?' Yeah. I like that."
"You are very subtle for a Pervect!" Marco exclaimed.
I nodded with satisfaction. "I've been around. Now, what about key chains? And maybe lapel pins? Bumper stickers?"
"T-shirts?" Marco asked, writing furiously.
"No!" I exclaimed. "I don't want to go crazy on this. I'm just trying to sell garters."
Marco and I quickly agreed on the rest of the designs, colors, and quantity of each item. I thought Massha and the others would be pleased, and the intrigue ought to bring in the punters on the run. Everyone loved a mystery. Half the fun was becoming an insider before the other people you knew.
"And to prevent theft," Marco concluded, with a flourish, "the very latest in deterrents!"
He presented me with a very small wooden box. I opened it, to behold a second lid, this one of glass. Beneath the glass was a small, very angry-looking black-and-white bee. It threw itself at the lid, trying to get out at us.
"They are very hard to kill, they cannot be bought off with honey or other sweets, and they cannot be removed without the correct spell. Anyone who carries a piece of merchandise past the alarm belt, which you will place around your door, will be stung repeatedly. The bees also have a very loud buzz, which can be heard for several feet."