"Always wanted to go there," he told the dog. Riley farted in reply. Darren shook his head in amusement, and began reading.
IN A (COCO)NUTSHELL . . .
Jerome enjoyed the mocha he bought at Starbucks so much that he immediately decided to go a bit more “tourist”. He’d bought a whole bunch of new shirts as soon as he checked in at his hotel, because he was embarrassed by all the Hawaiian-style print shirts he’d packed once he realized how that screamed “TOURIST”. He spent the new few days trying not to be such a haole. Haole. The pidgin Hawaiian word for a white tourist-type person. Like Jerome Keyes. That word reminded him of the word asshole, and indeed he definitely preferred to eschew all association with the image.
But when he saw the advertisement for a mocha made with coconut milk at the Starbucks a couple blocks down from his hotel, he just had to try one. He could not get over how fresh the local fruits were here in Honolulu- the mangoes, the coconuts, and the pineapples. He would have a hard time going back to the canned stuff when he got back home from his vacation.
The mocha was delicious, so he decided to stop by the International Market, and get one of the coconut drinks constantly hawked here- a whole coconut with just enough of the shell lopped off by a machete to allow a straw for drinking. Jerome also thought he could take the coconut back to his room and see if he could also extract enough meat from the shell to snack upon between meals.
The vendor selling the coconuts informed Jerome that he could choose whichever coconut he liked, but he couldn’t touch any of them until it was paid for- health policy. Jerome took his time, trying to determine how to choose an ideal coconut by sight alone. He held out his hand, like a sort of sensor, and it seemed to him that one particular coconut radiated just a tiny bit more heat than the others. Ah, what the hell.
“That one looks good,” Jerome told the vendor, reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet while pointing with the other hand. The vendor grinned broadly as he hefted his machete, scooping up the coconut.
The coconut liquid proved to be just every bit as delicious as Jerome had hoped for, so he looked quite forward to tasting the contents at the earliest opportunity.
The earliest opportunity came the next day, when Jerome returned from an early dinner down by the beachfront. He’d had a couple of beers and something called a Blue Lagoon, which was strong, sweet and . . . quite blue. The sun, the energy of the city had gotten to Jerome, and so he elected to call it a night early, chill in his room rather than spend the evening out in the streets, like he had he last few days.
As he lay upon his bed, his slightly woozy gaze sweeping around the room, he noticed the coconut sitting upon the end table near the cooling unit.
Jerome got to his feet, and walked over to the table. He nearly dropped the coconut because it was slick with condensation, so he left it on the table to retrieve a hand towel from the bathroom. He held it in place on the table as he began wiping it with the towel. Consequently, the genie bumped its head, quite hard, on the ceiling when it emerged from the coconut.
Therefore the first word Jerome ever heard uttered by an actual magical deity was: “Fuck!”
Twenty minutes and five denials on Jerome’s part, the genie rolled its eyes. “Yes, I came from the coconut, Jerry. You can’t tell me I’m supposed to come from a lamp. That’s just a story, anyway. I’m here, yeah?”
Jerome rubbed his temples, then his eyes, but both the genie and headache remained. He stumbled backwards and sat down on his bed.
“Alright, so you’re real, and you’re here. So. Is there any truth to the wishing thing, or is that just a story too?” Jerome looked up at the table, and frowned. The genie was gone. Then he yelped, startled by the genie seated immediately on his right. The genie smiled, obviously pleased with itself.
“Oh, no, you do get three wishes- but you gotta know, there are conditions.” Jerome glanced at the genie suspiciously. This sounded like a line from the Disney Aladdin movie. The genie continued. “You can have any three wishes you want, but remember this. One wish you will regret as soon as it is granted, one wish will go wrong, and one wish will be overcompensated. You will not know which is which until the wish occurs.”
Jerome stared at the genie. The genie stared back. Then finally, Jerome blinked. “Say what?”
The genie repeated the wish criteria. Jerome continued to stare. The genie stared back. Then Jerome gestured in bewilderment, also in contempt. “That’s . . . kinda fucked. Who’d want to make wishes under these circumstances?”
The genie beamed. It spread its hands wide. “Exactly. You wouldn’t want a million people all clustered around each coconut tree, rubbing all the nuts, would you now? Gotta put a bit of a spin on it, make people think about it a little, maybe not share intel on us genies as enthusiastically, hmm?”
Jerome had to admit, the genie had a point. But still! A magical deity that could grant him any three wishes! How could he turn that down? He had this huge advantage over, well, the rest of humankind at this moment. The elation Jerome felt was so great he actually opened one of the bottles of water provided by the hotel. Never mind the replacement fee- he could wish for more bottles, the money to replace them or that he never drank the water in the first place. He drained the bottle, and then tossed it into the tiny wastebasket.
“Alright. I’m down. How do we do this?” he asked the genie.
The genie shrugged. “All you have to do is wish.”
“Now?”
“Whenever you like,” the genie replied. Jerome nodded, then sighed noisily.
“Right, yes, but do I have to like say something specific? Or keep the coconut, rub it each time I want to make the actual wish?”
The genie walked over to the window and peered out through the blinds. Then it looked at Jerome.
“Magic, Jerome. I’m made of magic. You summoned me already. We’re bonded now. I serve you for the duration of these three wishes. I channel the forces, align the ley lines, pull the rabbit out of the hat. Abracadabra, and a lá peanut butter!” The genie uttered this last sentence in a very passable Sesame Street Count voice. The genie made a small bow. “No need to deal with the coconut anymore- I will not be going back in there. After my service to you is completed, I’ll find another suitable –“
“-coconut,” Jerome declared. The genie gave him a look of annoyance.
“-object. But it won’t be a lamp.”
Jerome smiled. Then a horrifying thought occurred to him. “Wait a minute! When I was drinking the coconut milk earlier, I had the straw in there, with you!”
The genie just stared at Jerome. Finally, it nodded.
“Well, yeah.” Jerome gagged. The genie scowled. “Hey, it wasn’t any fucking picnic for me, either.”
Jerome shuddered, and squeezed his eyes shut. “I really wish-“ he caught himself, inhaled deeply. “Almost blew that one,” he muttered.
“Maybe,” the genie replied. “I can pretty much tell the difference between a real wish and a turn of phrase, but still, I commend you on your quick thinking. I can see you’re going to be taking this quite seriously-“
“I wish I could get laid tonight, and not with just one woman,” Jerome declared.
The genie blinked. “Or perhaps not,” it muttered under its breath. It gestured towards the window. “Well- go on, then. Night’s still young and your . . . wish awaits fulfillment.”
Jerome leaped to his feet, and strode for the door, but then he stopped, and turned to ask the genie which wish this was, since he’d already made it. The room was empty. He shrugged. He had places to be!
Two hours and three bars later, Jerome was beginning to wonder if he’d been scammed in some way, or if he’d imagined the entire genie thing. It had been a long and hot day. Or perhaps this was the wish that he would regret. Ah, whatever.
“Fuck it,” he muttered angrily into his beer.
“Not sure that’s your best option,” a voice said next to him. Jerome looked up quickly, surprised. The woman seated next to him wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she had a nice aspect to her.
“What?” Jerome asked a bit confusedly. The woman smiled, tilting her head flirtatiously. She nodded her head at the beer.
“Ah well, you know, if you’re going to fuck, a beer might not be the best option, you know. Sure, it’s wet, but not a lot else going for it.” Jerome gaped at her. The woman giggled. Jerome let out an uncertain chuckle. “I’m Miriam,” the woman added, holding out her hand.
Jerome took her hand. “Jerome,” he said. “You’re here by yourself?” he asked, signaling the bartender.
“Actually,” Miriam replied coyly, “I’m here with a couple of friends . . .”
Jerome grinned.
Not only was the orgy one of the most exciting events Jerome had ever experienced, but also the sex itself was quite incredible. Miriam and her friends were quite skilled. Utterly drained, but quite content, Jerome lay upon his bed as the women gathered up their clothes, cleaned up, drank from his minibar, and various other post-coital activities. He had just begun to doze off when Miriam nudged him.
“That’ll be $1000,” she said, zipping up the side of her very short and snug dress.
Jerome came wide wake, sitting up with eyes wide. “Say what?” he exclaimed incredulously. Miriam fixed him with cold eyes.
“$1000, “ she repeated. “Of course, feel free to tip us extra.” Jerome shook his head vehemently.
“Wait, no. You’re hookers?” he demanded, his voice cracking with indignation.
Miriam tilted her head, rolling her tongue inside her cheek impatiently.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know, pal,” she retorted, glancing at her companions with tightened lips. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees, and the women were definitely far less friendly now.
“But I didn’t!” Jerome exclaimed. “You tricked me!” he accused Miriam. “There’s no way I would have done this if I knew- and I don’t have that kind of money!”
If Jerome thought the temperature was cold and the women were unfriendly before, there was definitely no doubt of these conditions now.
“Are you,” Miriam asked in a tone below zero, “telling us you aren’t going to pay?”
Jerome nodded with conviction. “Damn right,” he declared. Then he slowly turned his head in disbelief. He would have raised his hands in a gesture of righteous anger, but the handcuffs prevented that; the handcuffs slapped onto his wrists by the blond companion – Jerome was pretty sure her name was Dana.
“What the hell is this shit?” Jerome exclaimed. He stood up, intending to make his way out of the room for some assistance, but then the other woman actually tackled Jerome, bringing him down painfully and definitively. He attempted a kick at his assailant, but Dana had already slapped another pair of handcuffs onto his ankles. She was quick, Jerome had to give her that. Dana and the other woman flipped him onto his back, and so that he was looking up at the obviously pissed Miriam.
“Listen,” she stated,” you only get to screw us one way. But you try screwing us another way, guess what?” She reached into her purse, which was actually more of a shoulder bag, and pulled out a very large dildo. With barbs on it. A very large one. “We screw you right back.”
Jerome began to scream. Then he really began to scream.
The next morning, he limped his way out of the hotel and hailed a taxi. “Airport,” he whispered. To hell with the rest of his vacation. He was going home, to try and forget the terrible ordeal he’d been through. As he sat down gingerly in the back seat, he leaned forward. “Do you take credit cards? I don’t have any cash.”
Four hours later, he finally limped into the airport, dragging his luggage on broken wheels. Yet again, he silently cursed Miriam and her harpy accomplices. He was in great pain, and utterly cash-broke. After they’d thoroughly humiliated and abused Jerome, they’d taken all of his cash and clothes, except his dirty underwear and a single outfit. Which of course included his most garish Hawaiian print shirt. A shirt that screamed, “TOURIST”.
After a week or so of increasingly bringing his credit cards closer and closer to their maximum limits, Jerome sat on his dusty and sagging sofa contemplating his situation.
“Ah, shit,” he exclaimed. “Here goes, I wish, I wish I would have more than enough money to get out of debt and live comfortably for quite some time.” That wish could not possibly go wrong, he reasoned. Suddenly Jerome brightened as an idea occurred to him. He could expedite this wish by going out and buying a lottery ticket. He got up carefully from the sofa- certain areas were still quite tender- and grabbed his keys from the peg they hung upon by the front door.
Jerome hadn’t gotten more than two blocks down the street before he was hit head-on by a careening car. He woke up in the hospital without any recollection of the accident, but the lawyer who sat down by his bed to recount the incident assured Jerome that the other driver, with a .23 blood alcohol content was more than responsible for the numerous broken bones and punctured lung Jerome had suffered. The monetary compensation potential was quite large, the lawyer assured Jerome. Enough to allow him to live very comfortably for quite some time, and then some.
On the eve of his third night at the hospital, as the myriad starbursts of pain burned through the morphine fog Jerome tried to remain shrouded within, he had an epiphany. This had all began with the genie, and the genie was magical. Any wish he could have, any wish at all.
Jerome swallowed, and through cracked lips, mumbled, “I wish I never met the genie.”
SNAP.
Jerome stood in his hotel room in Honolulu, two weeks backwards in time, staring at the genie, who was glaring back at Jerome with such concentrated hatred Jerome’s knees actually buckled slightly.
“Do you know what you have done?” snarled the genie, instantly a mere inch from Jerome’s frightened face.
“I don’t- I don’t und-understand,” stammered Jerome. “ I wished that I-”
“I know what you wished, you fucking idiotic worm!” roared the genie. “You created a paradox, you asshole! A Möbius strip!”
Jerome held up a trembling hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is,” he begged.
The genie’s expression grew even more scornful and hatred, and Jerome felt his bladder release.
“It’s really quite simple,” the genie hissed, “you’ve created a continuous, never ending time loop. In wishing you never met me, you nullified the wishes granted, yet to have the third wish granted, the other wishes cannot be nullified. You see? Round and round we go . . . for eternity . . . dick.”
Jerome staggered backwards until he bumped up against the bed. “You mean . . .?”
“Oh yes,” the genie stated, “I’m stuck here, trapped with you forever. No, actually, let me rephrase that. You’re stuck here with me, for eternity . . . and I am pissed.”
Jerome gulped. “What- wh-what are you going to do?”
The genie smiled. And Jerome nearly went insane.
“Everything,” the genie said.
Jerome began to scream.
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