When he opened his eyes, someone was standing in the corner of the room. An older man, in his fifties, wearing a robe a shade of green usually reserved for the sourest of sweets. Like some neon cloak. He stepped out from the shadows into the middle of the room, the moonlight bouncing off his head like a satellite dish in summer. He stood there, lollipop in hand, looking down at the man. The man gulped, and before long he mustered up the courage to ask the question to which he already knew the answer. “Are you-?” Kojak lifted a finger to his lips before placing the lollipop in his mouth, the stick hanging out like a frozen cigarette. He took off his glasses and hung them over the front pocket of his robe. The man lay in bed, trying to speak, but he couldn’t, as if his mouth were filled with sand. Kojak walked over and sat at the foot of the bed, crunching the lollipop between his teeth. After a while he took the mangled stick from his mouth, flicking it to the other side of the room, then he stood up, untied his robe, and climbed into bed. “Who loves ya, baby?”
Then he woke up.
Jamie looked around the room, but it was empty. With a sigh, he wiped the sweat from his brow before squinting at the hazy-green diode of the clockface. 04:13. He stood up, stretched, and stumbled into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water before walking back to the bedroom. He sat at the foot of the bed, staring out the window. What the fuck? he thought.
06:15. I’m not getting back to sleep, am I? He went into the kitchen, probing through the cupboards and the fridge, but it was slim pickings. Spaghetti, beans, soup. Cheese, stale bread. Eventually, he filled a pot with water and he put it on the stove, cracking the spaghetti in half before dropping it in. It was still dark outside. He walked into the livingroom and turned on the TV, flicking through the news channels. Falling employment, rising crime. After a while he went back to the kitchen. Stirring, waiting. He watched the spaghetti bob up and down and flay in the boiling water, like some sea anemone sprung to life by the faintest far-away vibration. A few minutes later he turned off the stove and poured the spaghetti into a sieve, grating some cheese to stir into it. He put it all on a plate and he took it to the livingroom, sitting crosslegged on the couch, watching the blurred TV. I need glasses, he thought. When he finished, he went back to the kitchen and he put the plate in the sink before finally going for a shower.
Outside, the rain was lashing down heavily. From the bus he saw pedestrians hurrying to and fro under their umbrellas like scuttling beetles. When he got to the office he signed in at the desk before going up the stairs. He glanced into the elevator, surveying the sardined occupants with pity. Jamie took his physical fitness pretty seriously. Each morning, before his shower, he’d do a hundred situps and fifty dips on each leg, and every Thursday he’d play football with some people from the office. Thighs like oak, buns of steel. He sat down at his desk and he turned on the computer before lying back in his chair, listening to the sounds around the office. Rain beating off the windows, phones ringing. Inane chitchat. A moment later, the familiar sound of his computer starting up made him open his eyes and slide forward. A login screen.
Name: JamieM88
Password: ******
Before long, there was an assortment of windows open on his desktop. Spreadsheets, internet browsers, a calculator. Solitaire, minesweeper. He sat for a few hours, typing away, before he heard a knock on the frail walls of his cubicle. It was Gary.
“Yo yo,” he said. “Lunch?”
“Sure,” said Jamie. And then he typed some more.
Jamie and Gary walked into the cafeteria, each carrying their lunch in scrunched-up paper bags. Gary brought out a BLT sandwich and a can of coke, whereas Jamie sat silently, gnawing contentedly at an apple. Gary looked up, speaking with a mouthful of bacon and lettuce.
“You look tired, man.”
Jamie sighed. “I didn’t get much sleep.”
“How come?” he said, the crumbs falling to his lap like a miniature rockslide.
“I had a dream.”
“Easy, Martin.”
Jamie balled up his paper bag and threw it across the table. “Very funny.”
“Alright, alright. Seriously though, what kind of dream? Like a nightmare?”
“Sort of.” Jamie looked over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. He lowered his voice. “It was kind of like a sex dream - but not in the good sense.”
Gary looked up over his glasses. “Really now?” he said, enthused. “Who was it, your mother?”
“No,” he said. “It was-”
Silence. Gary gestured with his hand, as if directing traffic. “Yes?”
“It was Kojak.”
Abruptly, he stopped chewing, like a wary gazelle. “Kojak?”
“Kojak.”
He placed his sandwich on the table. “Kojak, as in, Kojak Kojak?”
“The very same.”
Gary picked up his sandwich again, nibbling at the hard crusts. “You know,” he said, “The G is wondering if there’s something you’d like to tell me.”
Jamie’s eyes widened. “Gimme a break, fucknuts. And stop calling yourself that, no one else does.”
“Whatever. I’m not the one that got in the sack with Kojak.” Jamie scowled at him. “But really though, he just showed up, and he fucked you?”
“No no, nothing like that.” He slid forward, as if ready to armwrestle. “I woke up – at least, I thought I did – and he was just standing there, wearing this ridiculously green robe.”
“The robe was the ridiculous part?”
“Shut up. So anyway, he’s standing there, and he eventually puts a goddamn lollipop in his mouth before taking off his robe, coming into bed. He actually fucking said it.”
“Said what?”
“You know what.”
Gary puffed out his cheeks and held out his hands, palms up.
“Who loves ya, baby?”
Gary swung back in his chair and let out a loud guffaw, his mouth hanging open like a greedy pelican.
“Calm down,” he said. “Anyway, that’s when I woke up.”
“And you’ve been up ever since?”
“Yeah. Four in the goddamn morning.”
“Jeez.” Gary glanced up at the clock above the counter. “We better get going.” He stood up, brushed the crumbs from his lap, and headed for the door.
Jamie looked at him. “Gary-”
He turned. “Don’t worry,” he said. “My lips are sealed.”
When he got home, he took his off his jacket and hung it on a peg next to the door. He went into the bathroom and grabbed a towel before walking to the livingroom, turning on the TV. He sat on the couch, dabbing at his hair, flicking from channel to channel. He thought about making something to eat, but he remembered that he had next to no food. Instead, he ordered a pizza. After a while it arrived and he ate it all before checking the news and heading to bed. It was only eight o’clock.
As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light. At first, he dreamt of going to the office. He climbed the stairs, but when he walked through the door, he was back in his hallway. He was standing next to the peg at the door when he realised he was wearing nothing but his socks. “In here,” a voice said. It came from the livingroom. When he walked in, Kojak was sitting on the couch, wearing the same robe from the night before. He patted the cushion beside him, but Jamie stood there, statuesque. “Suit yourself,” said Kojak.
Finally, he spoke: “What are you doing here?”
Kojak slipped a cigarillo from his front pocket, gesturing toward Jamie, who shook his head. He shrugged his shoulders and put it in his mouth. It was already lit. “Are you going to smoke that?”
Jamie looked down at his hands. He was holding a cigarette. “I need a light,” he said.
Kojak stood up and patted his pockets before sitting back down again. “Sorry, kid.”
Jamie stared at him, almost oblivious to the fact that he was stood naked in front of a fictional television detective. “Why are you-”
“I’m here because you need me,” said Kojak.
“Because I need you?”
“That’s right.” He sat blowing smokerings toward the ceiling; their wavy outlines a pale shade of blue in the moonlight.
“But aren’t you-”
Kojak held the cigarillo in his mouth, cracking his fingers and neck simultaneously, as if limbering up for a fight. “I don’t think that matters here, Jamie. Besides, you’re going to wake up in a minute.”
It was two in the morning.
The next morning, Jamie sat at his desk, bleary-eyed, peering into the piercing luminescence of his computerscreen. On his break, he went down to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee. When he got back, he noticed a new temp worker wandering around the office, her finger hooked in her bottom lip, like a child that’s lost in a shopping centre. She was wearing a plain black pencil skirt and a blouse that seemed at least two sizes too small. “Can I help you?” he asked. She turned and looked at him, her eyes lighting up at the offer.
“Yeah, hi,” she said, smiling. “I can’t seem to get this new software to work. Can you help me?”
“Sure,” he said. “Kate, right?” She nodded, turned and walked toward her desk, his eyes fixated on her firm, peachy ass.
Jamie leaned against her desk, looking at the screen. “Here’s your problem,” he said. “Right here.” He leaned over, his hand brushing against her shoulder as he reached for the keyboard. He stroked at the keys like a concert pianist before stepping back. “Now you try,” he said. She sat typing away, pointing with enthusiasm at the stats as they popped up on screen. Casually, he kept looking down her blouse. Those buttons must be about ready to burst, he thought. Like two happy zeppelins. Kate was talking, but her words faded softly into the background. Eventually, he snapped out of it. “Everything seem okay then?” he asked, hoping the question was somehow applicable.
“Absolutely,” she said, her eyes glancing up and down over his body. “Are you about ready for lunch?”
Jamie and Kate lay in bed together, the sheets soaked with sweat and other unmentionable bodily fluids. He looked over at the clock. 00:23. “I’m beat,” she said.
He smiled. “Me too.”
Kate climbed out of bed, wrapping herself in the bedsheet, fumbling on the floor for her underwear. Jamie sat up. “Going somewhere?” he asked. “I mean, you can stay if you’d like.”
She stood up, slipping on the black lace north and south. “Thanks. I would, honestly, but I don’t have any clothes here or anything. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” he said. Kate walked around the room, picking up her clothes and her shoes. As she bent over, he stared at the full extent of her exposed cleavage. You lucky fuck, he thought. Before long, he stood up, retrieved his boxers, and went into the kitchen. “D’you want a cup of coffee or something?” he asked, calling through to the bedroom. “Before you go, I mean.” Kate walked into the kitchen, the buttons of her blouse still undone.
“Sure,” she said. “I’d like that.”
Kate said her goodbyes at the door before kissing him on the cheek, thrusting a piece of paper into his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. Quickly, he glanced at the paper. It was her phonenumber, scrawled down in red ink. Like the markings on an exam. After she left, he went into the kitchen and looked out the window. She walked down the steps and onto the street, the wind whipping at her already messy hair. Jamie walked into the bedroom, leaving her number next to the clock, then he showered and crawled into bed, her sweet scent hanging softly on the pillow.
“She’s quite the catch,” said Kojak. Jamie opened his eyes, and there he stood, gazing at him from the foot of the bed like an emerald monolith. “Yeah, I’m here,” he said. Jamie sat up, reaching for the sheets to hide his face under, but they were gone. The room was abnormally warm.
“What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice wrenched with desperation.
Kojak reached into his front pocket, bringing out a lollipop. He unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth, the plastic wrapper creaking on the floor like a blossoming flower. “More to the point,” he said, sucking on the hard candy with every pause, “what do youme?” want from
“I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t.”
Kojak looked at him side-on. “Are you sure about that?”
Jamie looked around the room. Everything was there but not there, as if looking at a painting. He drew his knees up to his chin, hugging them for dear life. “What do I have to do?”
Kojak crunched the lollipop and dropped the stick to the ground, wiping his hands as if there were crumbs. He swallowed. “I think the way to look at this,” said Kojak, “is to look at it like it’s some sort of test.”
“A test?”
“A test, yes.” He sat at the foot of the bed, looking out the window. “Y’see, it’s your mind that’s presented you with this challenge. I don’t think avoiding the problem is going to do you much good.”
Jamie swung himself round, dangling his legs over the side of the bed. He seemed to be several feet from the ground. “But surely Kate answered that question,” he said. “Surely that’s proof enough.”
Kojak let out a billowing laugh, his throat undulating under every chortle. He looked like a giant frog. “The proof,” he said, “is most definitely not in the pudding.”
Jamie sighed, looking at his feet. “Is this the only way?”
Kojak nodded, his hands thrust into his silky pockets. “‘Fraid so, kid.” He brought out his hands, once again cracking his neck and his fingers. “Who knows,” he said, “you might like it.”
Jamie looked back at the ground. It was normal. After a moment, he stood up, turned, and faced Kojak straight on. Kojak took off his robe, exposing his round, well-earned stomach. Fuck it, he thought. Jamie walked over and grabbed him by the back of the head, like someone testing the ripeness of a melon, and he kissed him firmly on the lips. A few seconds later, he pulled back. Kojak was wearing his robe again. He pulled a cigarillo from his front pocket and handed it to Jamie, then he took out another for himself. “Congratulations, kid,” said Kojak. “You’re off the hook.” They stood in the middle of the room, smoking with a sense of relief. After a while, the walls melted away and the moonlight turned into a soft spring day, the faint sound of birds chirping in the distance.
When he woke up, the clock read 09:00
In a rush, he grabbed some clothes from the closet and threw them on. No time for exercise, he thought. At least I showered last night. Like an athlete, he sprinted down the stairs, out the door and onto a bus, each breath raking at his chest. Before long, he got off and signed in at the desk, running up the stairs, his face red from exertion. At his desk, Gary sat at his computer. “The prodigal son returns.”
“Sorry,” he said, “I slept in.”
“I can see that,” said Gary, “and with good reason.” He pointed at his neck. “So who’s the lucky girl then?”
Jamie stood at the desk, his eyes scanning round the office. “Where is she?” he asked.
“Who?”
“Kate, where is she?”
“Oh, the temp? She got recalled this morning. New assignment I guess, I dunno. Why?” Jamie stood with his hands on his knees, still recovering from the impromptu workout. “No way,” he said, smiling. “Her?” Gary held his hands in front of his chest, mimicking an impossibly large set of breasts.
“Yeah, well.”
He punched him on the arm. “You fucker,” he said. “She did look pretty beat.”
“Did she say anything?”
“Like what?”
Jamie sighed. “I don’t know, like, did she ask where I was?”
Gary swung round in his chair, holding a pen in his hand like a cigarette. “She was in and outta here by eight-thirty,” he said. “Why, d’you miss her?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “She’s certainly different.”
“You got that right. D’you get her number?”
Jamie smiled. “Yeah,” he said, “and I didn’t even have to ask.”
Gary pointed the pen at him. “There you go, broski. This could be the start of something beautiful. Assuming Kojak doesn’t mind.”
“Nah,” he said, “I don’t think he will.”
Jamie opened the door, ambling into the hallway, his hands filled with shopping bags. Arms aching, he shuffled into the kitchen, dropping the bags heavily on the counter. After unpacking, he made himself a sandwich and sat down on the couch. The television chattered dryly in the background, but all he could think of was Kate.
He went into the bedroom, picked up her number, and sat back down on the couch. He held the phone in his hand, deliberating.
Fuck it, he thought.
It rang. She answered.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” he said, “it’s me.”
“Hey you,” she said, her voice brightening.
For a second, he hesitated. Then he said: “I was just wondering-”
“I’d love to,” she said. “Tomorrow?”
He smiled, punching the air in victory. “Tomorrow would be great. Meet you here? Around eight?”
“Eight sounds good. I’ll see you then.”
“Alright then. Bye.”
The line went dead. He sat there, phone in hand, not quite sure of what to say. Lucky fucker indeed, he said.
That night, he dreamt that he was a young boy camping in the woods. The sky was bright but the air was cold and his breath plumed softly before him. In the trees were the dark outline of birds, their song piercing the long-still silence. He sat on the ground watching his father build a fire. As the sun was failing, cold descended through the trees and it spread throughout the wood. Cold enough to crack stone. He sat near-chattering when his father wrapped him in a blanket and then a sleeping bag before walking off toward the fire. He watched as he placed a blackened pot over the dwindling flames, the dry wood cracking and sending a cloud of thin smoke high into the air. They blew onto their numb hands to breathe the life back into them and they warmed side by side in a perfect silence. An unspoken awe between the two. When the night came, they sat huddled by the orange glow of the fire as if it were their own sun and after a while they fell asleep.
