“Jonathan Fortran Schnecklmyer. Your very own Geek God.”
The room seemed to spin and I held onto the wall again before dashing out and closing the bedroom door behind me. I raced towards the lamp and checked the screen.
Third wish granted.
I pressed the My Account icon at the bottom and then Wish History. A list of my three wishes appeared on screen just as I’d typed them. My eyes darted to the third wish.
Oh no. No way. One little typo or that wretched autocorrect and my wish had completely changed. There was no ‘r’ where there should have been. In my frantic moment of ignorance I’d carelessly forgotten to double check my spelling. I’d thought it was just a novelty lamp after all, but there it was, plain to see: I’d wished for a Geek God.
Chapter 2
There must be a way to cancel the wish — there must be! I clicked on Terms and Conditions and upon seeing that it was about double the length of War and Peace, opted to type a search into the Help section.
How do I return a wish?
A few search results popped up, and the first informed me that there were no refunds on wishes. But the lamp manufacturer allowed one —and only one —wish to be exchanged.
Yippee!
Hang on.
On further inspection it also informed me that exchanges took twenty-four hours to be processed. So this pink high-tech piece of plastic could instantly transform my house, make me a gazillionaire and manifest a human being, but not immediately send said human being back to wherever in Geekland he came from? You’ve got to be kidding!
My bedroom door eased open.
“Mandy, there you are! Come here and give me a kiss.” The God of Geeks approached me with pouted lips and glasses askew and I grabbed my handbag and ran for it. As soon as I opened the front door and went to go outside I bumped into some invisible wall and stumbled backwards. Jonathan caught me, his hands under my armpits and the scent of body odour mixed with cheap cologne invaded my nostrils.
“Where are you going?”
“I, ah, just have to pop out for a bit. You stay here and...make yourself at home.” I tried again to leave but some kind of force field held me back. The lamp chimed. I picked it up from the table and read the message on the screen:
You must not leave your third wish alone. Wishes involving human beings require a lot of responsibility and it is up to you to take good care of them.
Oh dear God. I closed the message and quickly pressed Process Wish Exchange. The lamp told me it would be back in contact in twenty-four hours, after which I’d have fifteen minutes to make another wish or be stuck with my original choice forever. Making another wish would be easy. Putting up with the Geek God —not so much. Maybe I could hide all day, fake illness, lock the house and set up Jonathan what’s-his-name in front of the computer to keep him occupied? But I couldn’t miss Jodie’s wedding! I wasn’t one of the bridesmaids or anything —she had four sisters taking on the role which was more than enough —but we were close nonetheless. And I’d made the happy couple a stylish mobile with dangling framed photos of the two of them together. No, I had to go. But he, unfortunately, would have to come too.
With heavy feet I dragged myself to the kitchen and opened the bottle of Moët I was saving for a special occasion, or a crisis, and gulped straight from the bottle.
“Here, let me get you a glass, darling.” Jonathan hurriedly opened cupboard doors until he found a mug —a mug! —and reached for the bottle.
“No, it’s fine thank you...”
Smash! My Moët-burdened hand collided with his eager-to-help one and I lost my grip, the bottle falling to the floor and creating an explosion of gold liquid and glass.
“No! Look what you’ve done!” My hands ran through my hair and Jonathan grasped me by the shoulders and turned me to face him.
“I’m so sorry my darling, let me make it up to you.” His lips formed a pout again and I pushed him off.
“No kissing, no!”
“How about I sing you a tune then?” he offered, clearing his throat and belting out a rendition of Rick Astley’s eighties hit, ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’, complete with daggy dance moves.
I shook my head and turned back to face the mess but my jaw dropped. The broken bottle, the spreading deluge, it was all gone. Like it never happened.
“See, nothing to worry about,” Jonathan said.
Yeah, except that a perfectly good bottle of Moët has gone AWOL. And then I remembered two things: I’d wished for a house that never needed cleaning, and I had loads of money and could fill the whole fridge with bottles of Moët if I wanted to. Okay, disaster averted. One of them anyway. I had no idea how I was going to get through the next twenty-four hours with him shoving his lips in front of me every chance he got and breaking into song at inappropriate moments.
“C’mon,” I said, exiting the kitchen and grabbing my handbag, shoving the lamp inside it.
“Where are we going?” His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.
“We’re going shopping. It’s time for you to have a makeover.”
Chapter 3
If I had to endure him as my plus-one at the wedding, I could at least make him look a little...less geeky. Money was no issue; I could buy him a suave Armani suit, get his hideous sideburns shaved, his hair done, and express contact lenses prescribed. I would also have to talk to him about his choice of songs and dance style and ask him to reign in his libido. He might even scrub up alright, it was slightly possible.
By the time we sat down on the bus headed towards the city, I’d realised what a mistake I’d made to choose this mode of transportation. Firstly, I could have hired a limousine —although that may have drawn more unwanted attention to us —and secondly, the bus was packed and Jonathan took it upon himself to provide some light entertainment.
“The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round —c’mon everybody —round and round, the wheels on the bus go round and round, all day long!”
A few kids seated nearby joined in the sing-a-long, while a few discerning adults moved to the last remaining seats down the back.
“Ah, Jonathan, how about toning it down just a little?” I pressed my thumb and forefinger together. He nodded. And then began whisper-singing.
“The people on the bus go up and down, up and down...” he sang as he raised his body off the seat for every mention of the word ‘up’, the squelchy sound of the vinyl seat providing an irritating accompaniment.
Oh God. What to do? I rummaged through my bag for something that could distract him. iPhone? No, he’d probably call someone, most likely Dan, and give him a personal serenade. My fingers came across a squashed mint in the bottom of my bag and I held it up in front of him.
“Here, have this. It’s yum!”
Johnny popped it into his mouth and refrained from singing for the rest of the journey, though I did have to put up with enthusiastic sucking sounds.
By the time we arrived in the city and I surveyed the classy window displays of designer menswear, I felt more hopeful. A change of clothes and a trip to the hairdresser and Jonathan would be looking at least ten percent more like a Greek God than a Geek God. Well, maybe that was pushing it, but anything would be better than the atrocious outfit and hairstyle — if you could even call it that —he was sporting now.
I strode past the looks of disbelief on the faces of the sales people in the Armani store and plucked some suits from the racks. Jonathan was quite skinny, so I chose a few smaller sizes and declined a staff member’s offer to have him measured for it. He’d probably do something extremely embarrassing; it would be best for him to have as little interaction with people as possible, including me, but that wasn’t going to happen thanks to the high-tech magic lamp’s ridiculous terms and conditions I’d failed to read.
We entered a private dressing area which thankfully contained a private dressing cubicle for Jonathan to —gulp —get undressed.
“Aren’t you going to come in and help me?” h
e asked as I pushed him gently into the cubicle.
“No, Jonathan, you’re a big boy, you can get dressed by yourself.”
“But I’ve only ever worn this outfit.” He gestured to his high-waisted shorts and polo shirt. “I’m not sure I can remember how it’s done.”
Was he serious? What kind of genie hands over a grown human being who can’t dress himself? I didn’t ask for a baby.
“Okay,” I drew a breath. “You’re a smart guy, Jonathan...”
“I know. My IQ is so high they had to make a new category for it.” He smiled victoriously. His fashion IQ would probably require a new category too —in the negatives.
“Well, all you have to do is pull these suspenders down over your shoulders, undo the button and zipper on your shorts...” I pointed, keeping a safe distance. “Pull them down and step out of them, and then lift your shirt up from the bottom and pull it over your head.”
“Right, I think I’ve got it.”
He better bloody get it.
“Oh, and first of all, take off your shoes by undoing the strap...” I demonstrated by undoing mine and then doing it back up again. God, I’d have to buy him new shoes and socks too. I hoped he knew how to do up shoelaces or I’d have to take him to one of those children’s shoe fitting specialists, have him sit on the ‘steps to the castle’ and reward him with lollies for good behaviour.
His eyes moved around as though he was memorising my instructions and then he closed the door, allowing me a moment of peace to sit and breathe.
Only twenty-four hours, that’s nothing. It’ll fly by. Tomorrow he’ll be a distant memory and I can have the wish I really want.
I couldn’t help but notice Jonathan’s thin hairy legs beneath the dressing room door as he hopped about on one foot, trying to keep his balance. “Yes!” he exclaimed when both shoes had been removed and placed on the floor next to his bony bare feet. Another “yes!” escaped his mouth at the same time he flung his beige shorts over the dressing room door, followed by his olive green polo shirt.
“Mandy, do I remove my underwear too?”
I shot up. “No!” I cleared my throat. “I mean, no, please keep them on. Now put on the suit pants, like I instructed.”
“Right-e-o darling!”
I waved away the sales person who peeked through the door to ask how we were getting on, and smiled as I looked around at the luxurious decor. I could buy this place if I wanted to. I had the money. I could buy anything I wanted to! I almost dashed out the door in a flurry of financial bliss when I remembered I’d probably be met with a sudden bump to the face if I tried to leave Jonathan on his own.
“Ah, Mandy?”
“Yes?”
“It’s stuck.”
“What’s stuck?”
“The zipper, I can’t get it to go up all the way, it’s caught on my underpants.”
Holy hell. “Um...just slide it down and then back up again, okay?”
“I’m trying!”
I wished I’d brought some Moët with me to provide some much needed Dutch courage but a deep breath and pure willpower would have to do. He opened the door and I eased myself in there, appraising the severity of the situation. My hands moved in on the target ever so carefully, as though I was about to deactivate a bomb or play a really intense game of Jenga. I clasped the zipper handle delicately with two fingers and the suit pants with two others, and got Jonathan to hold the top of his...er...underpants. I yanked down swiftly, freeing the underpants from the zipper’s grip, along with something else I wished I hadn’t seen. I turned away momentarily, and then turned back. The pants seemed much smaller than when I took them off the rack.
“Jonathan, forget these pants, try this suit instead.” I took the next size up off its hanger and left him alone again to hopefully achieve his mission this time. It worked. A few minutes later he was shouting “Hallelujah” and pushing open the door to reveal his accomplishment.
He stood with hands on hips. “I did it. I’m wearing a suit!”
Except it looked five sizes too large. The pants hung low and baggy like jeans on a homeboy and the jacket could have belonged to Hagrid from Harry Potter. What the hell?
Jonathan’s forehead crinkled on seeing my stunned expression. “What’s wrong?”
I ignored his question and picked up another suit jacket that looked like it would be the perfect fit. “Take your jacket off and put this one on in front of me. Keep the door open.”
He wriggled out of the large one and threaded his arms through the jacket I handed to him. It looked fine, until the sleeves suddenly tightened, squeezing his arms like he was being vacuum-packed to save space.
“Ouch! This one hurts!” He tugged at the sleeves which were so tight they appeared painted on. I pulled at the hem of one sleeve and mustered a grunt to try and pull it down his arm, but it only moved a smidgen.
“Is everything alright in there?” a voice spoke through a crack in the dressing area door.
“Oh yes...” I said in between grunts. “We’re almost done!” Jonathan held onto the clothes hook for leverage and I yanked the sleeve off, his arm bumping me in the chest and the hook coming off the wall.
“Oops,” he said, holding the hook awkwardly in his hand.
“Quick, let’s get this thing off and get out of here!” I yanked at the other sleeve and freed his arm, then closed the door as he removed the oversized pants and shirt. I plucked the magic lamp from my bag and typed in a search for why do clothes keep changing size on the person you sent me?
No results found. Please contact customer service for assistance.
When Jonathan emerged dressed again in his geeky get-up, I tried to shove the hook back in the wall but it wouldn’t take. So I grabbed the clothes and dashed out to the sales floor, dumping them as delicately as possible into the sales person’s hands.
“I’m sorry, I’ve just had an emergency phone call and have to leave immediately.” I feigned a look of immense worry —which didn’t take much effort considering my circumstances —and ushered Jonathan outside.
“But I thought we were buying clothes.”
“I thought so too.” I gave Jonathan another squashed mint to chew, dialled the customer service number and waited, wondering who on Earth (or some other planet) would answer my call.
“Welcome to World of Wishes. Press 1 for sales, 2 for accounts, and 3 for customer assistance.”
I pressed 3.
“All our virtual genies are busy with other calls right now, but your call is very important to us. So we can help you best, please speak clearly and tell us why you are calling.”
“Oh, c’mon!” I rolled my eyes, while Jonathan kept himself occupied counting the cars driving past.
“I’m sorry, can you say that again? Our system could not understand your message.”
I held back a laugh. This was like calling a telephone company. I swallowed a lump of disbelief and spoke. “I tried to buy new clothes for the fashion un-conscious geek you sent me but they kept changing size.”
“Right, so you’re trying to buy new clothes but you’re an unconscious geek who keeps changing size? Say ‘yes’ to confirm or ‘no’ to start again.”
Holy mother of God. “No.”
“Please tell us why you are calling.”
“My geek cannot wear any new clothes!” I shouted.
“Right, so you’re Greek and not wearing any clothes?”
Oh geez, now they choose to get the Greek word correct! “No!”
“Please tell us why you are calling.”
Okay, calm down and speak simply and clearly, Mandy. “I wished for a Geek God and tried to buy him new clothes. Why don’t they fit?” I dragged each word out slowly and separately, attracting a few awkward glances from passersby.
“Right, so you’re trying to buy new clothes for your Geek God but they don’t fit?”
“Yes!” Finally.
“Please wait while we transfer your call to an appropriate genie... I’m
sorry, all our virtual genies are busy with other calls right now, but your call is...” I removed the phone from my ear and tipped my head back in frustration. As odd music kept my call on hold I walked with Jonathan for a couple of blocks, then bought him a vegetarian wrap that he salivated over as we approached a window display of lunch treats. Who gets excited by a vegetarian wrap? I bought a sausage roll for myself and prompted Jonathan to use a paper napkin as a sliver of zucchini slid down his chin.
“Thank you for waiting, I understand you’re trying to buy new clothes for your Geek God but they don’t fit?” An unnatural-sounding voice asked over the phone. I hoped the genies had a better understanding of the English language than the system I’d dealt with initially.
“Yes, why do the clothes keep changing size?”
“Let me process your concern...” The odd music returned and I waited again. “It appears your problem is due to item four thousand and sixty one in section three hundred and fifty two of part two of our terms and conditions: One cannot change the appearance of one’s wish. What you wish is what you get.”
“Huh? So I can’t even get him a new hairstyle?”
The genie repeated the earlier statement from the terms and conditions and I hung up. I eyed Jonathan for a moment then grabbed his glasses. They remained firmly attached to his face. I ruffled his hair but it instantly manoeuvred itself back to its comb-over. I wasn’t prepared to get his sideburns shaved off only to have new hair sprout right in front of the hairdresser and try to explain what was going on. Nope, there’d be no makeover for Jonathan what’s-his-name. He’d be staying just the way he was. His socks and sandalled feet and I would be walking into that church this afternoon whether I liked it or not. Maybe I could pray for a miracle. I sure as hell —I mean heaven —needed one.
Chapter 4
I dragged Jonathan away from the weary taxi driver whose ears had been practically eroded by Jonathan’s non-stop commentary about the history of vehicular transportation, and stomped up the steps to my house. My neighbour, Mrs Kramer, nodded a hello as she sat on the wicker chair on her verandah, its frame just as wiry and fragile as her body. Jonathan noticed the woman and approached the hedges dividing our yards.
I Dream Of Johnny (novella) Page 2
