I CAUGHT GLORIA’S EYE when it fell from her head, wobbled down the bar, dodged an over-full ashtray, bounced hard once, twice to my table. Slippery thing. Shone blue, white, sharp. Stared right at me.
“Miss? This yours?"
“Oh." She covered the fleshy right socket with her hand.
“Sorry."
She took the shell-shaped glass, gave it a rub against her lapel, and returned it to its rightful spot. Son of a bitch sounded like a fleshy grandma thumb going into a warm apple pie. Woman had a face like a warm apple pie.
“Guess I owe you a drink, yes?" An American sounding European. “I’ll have another, too." Jiggling her near-empty glass, she wanted another eyeball. I told her I could see why, but the fake one seemed a good substitute.
“No. A highball."
That sounded delicious, I told her, and she ordered two.
“But thank you for noticing. I do have the one good eye. Things could be worse."
What an outlook on this woman. But I knew better than to say that. I told her my name’s Charlie. She said it sounded like a Boy Scout. Smartass that I am, I held up three fingers.
“Be prepared."
She rolled her eye, and the sound of her giggle floated with ribbony cigarette smoke. “I’m Gloria."
She raised her glass. We tried to clink, but she missed wide to the left. Poor thing. Still, this chick acted classy as hell. Later in the night, some dude tried to talk her up. Like every other guy here, he wore black wingtips with a high shine, pinstripes, no tie. That’ ll be it for me, I thought. Sure as shit, though? Gloria said she was “with someone." Guy slithered away. Surprised me, frankly. I looked like someone who should be fixing her water heater. I worked at the locksmith apprentice across the street.
“Mr. Camper says I’ m on my way. Thinks I have an eye for detail." Slipped again. “Happens all the time. Hey, can we switch sides?"