Excerpt: The Girl from Alpheratz

Captain O'Toole's had been a bar at one point, and was clad in that weathered wood paneling that covers all such nautically-themed watering holes. The windows were, rather pathetically, made to look like portholes and decorated in brass, and the effect might have worked if not for the glaring light and insectile buzz of the hideous neon sign. As we walked up onto the front porch and then through the front doors into the waiting room, I kept glancing over at her to try to gauge her reaction to the place. She just looked serene and contemplative. This was good news: maybe if she was spacey enough, I had a real chance of sleeping with her. My gallantry, such that it is, recoiled at the thought, and demanded that I be a gentleman. I held open the inner door for her, and she stood in the corner while I spoke to Hans, the “maître d'.” I knew him well from when I'd frequented O'Toole's just after moving to Franklin. Back in those days, I'd merely been a cynical professor, and had been youthful and charismatic enough to have fun even in such a dull town. Now, though, Hans looked almost surprised to see me.

“Ah! Hallo, Mister Sanders! It is gut to see you again!” It didn't make sense. Hans had been in Franklin for at least as long as I had, and yet, his accent was still as thick as the first day I'd met him.

“Hello, Hans. Table for two, please.”

“Sure. Right this way.” I motioned for Julie to follow, and Hans led us to a nice table in the back, by one of the ridiculous windows, and far enough from some of the hideous nautical decorations that a casual observer might mistake it for a classy restaurant. Julie sat down and immediately started staring at me. After a few seconds, I couldn't stand it any more, and gave her a quizzical look.

“I'm sorry I made you fall,” she said, once again deploying those doe eyes.

“That's all right. I forgive you.” I tried to sound suave, but just ended up sounding snide. I was pretty convinced by then that I'd made a mess of the whole evening, and started browsing somberly through the entrées. After a moment, she looked over at me, seemed to remember something, and started looking through her own menu. “I think I'll have the lobster pasta,” I said, then watched Julie scanning her menu. She read one entry, then rolled her eyes back for a moment, until comprehension dawned on her face, and then she frowned and moved on to the next one. I was beginning to wonder what was wrong with her, and, of course, whether or not that would make it easier or harder to get her into bed. My inner white knight did his best to subdue my inner dirty old man, but it was a hard fight. I'd always thought my sex drive would start to wane as I approached forty, but that night, it was out of control.

“I think the lobster tail looks very good. I think I'll have that.” She set her menu down and smiled at me. I smiled back, but was frowning on the inside. Of course, she'd order the most expensive thing on the menu. I cursed my “gallantry” -- after all, I was doing my impression of a gentleman, so of course I would pay for her dinner.

It was then that Julie sneezed. I watched a confused expression pass over her face, and then she cupped her hands over her mouth and emitted an explosive noise.

“Excuse me!” she peeped politely. I was trying to decide whether to say “Bless you” or “Gesundheit,” when something diverted my attention: her eyeball was hanging out of its socket.

I thought at first it might have been some sort of joke. After all, I didn't doubt that you could buy such props as a popped-out eyeball at the grubby-looking joke shop down the road. But no, this was a real eyeball. It was hanging out of the socket, strands of muscle and nerve protruding between the deflated eyelids. Julie didn't seem bothered at first, but then reached up, touched the dangling eyeball disgustingly, and looked horrified.

“Oh! Excuse me! I'll be right back.”

“Oh my God!” I finally blurted, “I'll get some ice and call an ambulance.”

“No, no, no! It's all right,” she said with an honest smile. “I'll have it fixed in a second.” Dumbfounded, I watched her walk to the ladies' room. She didn't seem in much of a hurry. I, meanwhile, was panicking, trying simultaneously to work out why she wasn't worried and get the image of her dangling eyeball out of my mind. I was still trying when I saw her emerge from the bathroom. Now, her eyeball was back in place, but something else was out of place. At first, my mind refused to acknowledge its existence, and so I watched her, puzzled, trying to figure out what about her (aside from the obvious) was suddenly making me uneasy.