Convoluted Coversation with "Jake"
by Daniel Beadle - Thursday, September 6, 2007
Stalker sits in a dive bar, sipping the seven and seven that sits in front of him only when it occurs to him to do so. The bar is almost empty, with the exception of two rednecks playing pool, and the three or so drunks slumped over the bar.Stalker shifts his gaze to the TV hanging over the bar. Some late night talk show host is making fun of the president, and the audience is lapping it up.
“Turn that shit off,” says a man a few seats down from Stalker. The bartender lazily switches the channel to a recap of the afternoon’s football game.
Stalker looks wearily at the man next to him, squinting his eyes. “Hey,” he says. “Aren’t you Jake… Alberts?”
The man looks at him, then smirks. “You recognize me from TV, eh?”
Stalker furrows his brow. “I thought you were dead.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Jake finishes his drink and signals the bartender for another. “So what’s your name, friend?”
Stalker’s mind is lazy, so he responds in kind. “Stalker.”
“Stalker?” He gets his drink. “Thanks pal.” He looks back at Stalker. “Is that a name nowadays?”
“Actually, it’s more like a profession.”
“Oh yeah? Who do you work for?”
“I’m freelance.” Stalker finishes his drink.
“Hey, let me buy you a drink. You look like you could use it. Hey barkeep, get this kid some whiskey.” Jake stands and move a few seats over. “Actually, I’m not Jake Alberts. I just look a lot like him. I’m more of an opportunist: I take his place at gigs and rake in money for it.”
Stalker looks at him cautiously. “No… really?”
Jake starts laughing. “You’re too easy, kid. I really had you going.” Stalker’s whiskey arrives. “C’mon now, let’s drink to… ah… to celebrity status… and how quickly it goes.”
Stalker replaces the phrase “celebrity status” with the word “love” in his mind. The two men drink, and Stalker coughs.
“Good shit, ah?” Jake laughs. “Now that’s a man’s drink.”
The minutes start to slip by, and the Stalker’s sense of time and place become blurred as he listens to Jake speak.
“You know how it is, don’t you?” Jake continues, “They love you one day, hate you the next… I didn’t know everyone was so god damned sensitive… You see them walking by, and it just pulls at your guts, you know what I’m saying? …And then she screamed… But that’s neither here nor there, am I right? …You could just kill them… She hates you, right… One day you’re in love…. and the next, you’re just killing time… killing…. make a killing… you do want to kill, her right? …getting attention for all the wrong shit… like you’re some psychotic asshole… …and then I raped the corpse… but that was once… you loved that girl… and she was worth it…”
Stalker snaps up. “What? What are you saying?”
Jake looks at him, confused and slightly amused. “You okay, buddy? That stuff a little strong for you? Christ, it’s only your fifth one.”
Stalker looks at his empty glass, then at the smiling bartender. Stalker looks around, and notices that everyone is missing. “Where did everyone go?”
Jake checks his wrist. “Well, it’s late. One forty two. Is that what you got?”
“I don’t… wear a watch…”
“Even so… but why don’t you tell me this much, Mr. Stalker… why don’t you tell me the year?”
“The year? Why would you ask that?”
“Just answer the question.”
“That’s easy. It’s two thousand and…” Stalker searches his mind. “Two thousand… something…”
Jake starts laughing. “Two thousand and something, eh? That was a while ago, buddy. We say ‘twenty something’ nowadays. Unless we’re not in the now. Are you in the now?”
Stalker gets angry. “Why are you asking me these questions? Who are you, anyway? Jake Alberts died years ago… didn’t he?”
Jake shakes his head. “Don’t you mean ‘years from now’?”
Stalker’s head feels heavy, and his eyes get crossed as he slowly lowers it to the table.“It’s okay, Stalker. You just rest up.” In blackness, Stalker hears the final words: “You’ve got a lot to do tomorrow. Have fun with Jennifer.”
