Abby Cooper, Psychic Eye

  "Yes," he said as he took my hand and pumped it exactly once. Looking around, he turned away from me, already in motion toward the door. "You ready?"

  Oh my, I thought. No manners, a lateral lisp, Elvis hair and a cocky attitude. How ever did Allison resist the temptation to fall madly in love?

  "Where are we going?" I asked, thrown a little by how quickly we seemed to be moving.

  "We can't have dinner here," Dirk said, turning back to me and looking around as if the coffee shop were distasteful. "I know a place that's much better."

  I hesitated a moment considering. I hadn't brought my Mazda so I would have no choice but to let him drive, and even though I was hungry, I wasn't sure it was safe to get in a car with him. I asked my crew if it was okay to go with this man, and I got a light and airy feeling right away so I nodded to him, making a small detour to throw away my iced tea.

  I walked out of the shop and saw him heading for the parking lot. I wondered what he drove, hoping it wasn't one of those monster trucks; he seemed the type. I caught up with him as he stopped in front of a small red, rather innocuous two-door. I didn't recognize it, so I looked at the painted decal on the back hood. The car was a Ford Aspire. My, how appropriate.

  The automobile was tiny, faded red in color with torn seats and tires that looked like they were all spares. I noticed also that it listed slightly to one side, rather like someone very heavy had been riding in the passenger seat.

  At least Dirk had the decency to unlock my side first and open the car door, but just as I was moving to get in he stepped in front of me to clear off the seat. Most people would have taken care of that before they picked up their date, but Dirk didn't seem like the plan-ahead type. "Sorry," he said as he tossed various papers, bags and junk into the backseat.

  He finally finished and moved out of the way. I was about to sit down when I saw that he had left a huge banana comb on the front seat. Ah, now I knew how he got his hair so high.

  "Just toss that in the back," he said as he unlocked his door.

  I looked at the comb and wished I had a pair of gloves so I wouldn't have to touch it. With the tips of my fingernails, I picked it up and tossed it gingerly into the backseat. I sat down and inconspicuously wiped my hands on my pants as Dirk climbed in. As I watched him get situated I noticed two things immediately. First was that the scent of cheap hair spray that smelled alarmingly like Aqua Net hung cloyingly in the air; and two, that in the time that Dirk had parked and come inside to get me in the coffee shop, he had locked his steering wheel with the Club.

  He sorted through the keys on his key ring and located a small key, which he inserted into the keyhole of the Club. "Let me just unlock this baby and we'll be on our way."

  I began to imagine all sorts of scenarios that would save me from this disaster of a date. I imagined a fifty-car pileup with such whimsy that I had to shake my head to clear the image. To distract myself, I tried to make casual conversation. "Have you had your car stolen before?" I asked, pointing to the Club, which Dirk was now setting on the backseat.

  "No, that's why I carry the Club" he replied, in a tone that suggested I might be slow on the uptake.

  I looked around the parking lot of the coffee shop. I spied a BMW to my left and a Mercedes to my right, but why would a car thief bother with those when he had the crème de la crème of all cars, the Aspire, to choose from? I mean, who could resist a faded, four-cylinder, two-door, listing-to-one-side classic like this baby? More imaginary visions of slapping Dirk with the Club.

  Dirk started the engine and we pulled out of the lot and headed toward the highway. "Where are we having dinner?" I asked.

  "There's this place called the Copper Kettle in Southfield. You'll love it."

  "Oh? What kind of food do they have?"

  "All kinds."

  "Ah." It was going to be a long night.

  We arrived at the restaurant ten minutes and only two sentences later. Dirk got lucky with a parking spot right in front. Before we could go in I had to wait while he put the Club back on his steering wheel, and I stood wishing very hard that no one I knew would see me. Finally we walked into the restaurant and were lucky enough to get a seat right away.

  The Copper Kettle was a microbrewery with a sports bar ambience: waitstaff in jeans and T-shirts and polished copper trim on everything from the beer taps to the picture frames. It was extremely casual, and having taken a shower, I suddenly felt overdressed. We were seated in a booth on the far side of the restaurant and were immediately approached by our waitress, wearing a name tag that read kelly.

  "Can I get you something to drink?"

  Dirk turned to me and asked, "You like red wine?"

  "Yes, …" I said and was about to follow with "anything but Merlot" when he cut me off.

  "We'll have two house Merlots." He turned back to me and said, "I already know what I'm having, so I'll let you look at the menu."

  "You come here a lot?" I asked, opening the menu.

  "Yeah," he answered and started picking at his fingernail.

  I stifled a yawn and kept my eyes glued to the menu.

  The waitress came back with our wine while I was still looking, and Dirk turned to me and asked impatiently, "You ready yet?" Apparently he thought my name was "You." I was beginning to believe that this man possessed all the charm of a malaria-ridden mosquito.

  "You go first," I said, stalling for a little more time.

  "I'll have the whitefish, but I don't want it baked, I'd like it steamed. I want the sauce on the side, and no capers or artichokes. And I don't like the carrots or yellow wax beans in the vegetable medley, so can I just have the green beans?"

  If I had been Kelly I'd have bonked him on the head with my tray, but she apparently had more patience than I, and only nodded as she scribbled on her pad. After she'd written a paragraph she turned to me, and I quickly chose the angel hair pasta, just as it came.

  Trying to be a good sport, I tried the wine. Just like I suspected, it was awful. "Isn't it great?" Dirk asked.

  I nodded and sent him a fake smile. Obviously encouraged by my smile, he proceeded to have an "I/me" conversation, where he started lots of sentences with the word "I" and inserted several "me's" along the way, and I was left simply to nod my head and feign interest.

  Apparently Dirk was an outdoorsman. He enjoyed boating, waterskiing, wakeboarding, camping, fishing, hunting, golf, tennis and racquetball, just to name a few.

  He worked at a printing company where he did "something" with computers. He hadn't had much luck with the women he'd met on Heart2heart because they had been too dishonest, unattractive, conniving, materialistic, shallow and fat. My guess was that they had reached the same conclusion I had and bolted at the first opportunity.

  While Dirk chatted at me, I thought about asking him about Allison Pierce. I wondered if he would remember her. My instincts said that this man was harmless, and that the two had met, had dinner and she'd gone home discouraged by the encounter. My heart went out to her as I thought about how hard it must have been for her to have made the bold move to venture out on a blind date, only to get stuck with this idiot.

  Our food arrived about the time I was considering heading to the ladies' room to find an open window. Just my luck.

  The food was horrible, but I figured the faster I ate, the faster the date would be over. Dirk never bothered to ask me a single question, and I wondered how it was possible for a grown man to make it into his early thirties with the social grace of a blowfish.

  All that talking about himself must have made him thirsty, because he switched from wine to gin when our food arrived, and all that talking about himself obviously encouraged more rounds. By the time I'd finished my meal, Dirk was three sheets to the wind and was now spitting at me when he talked. Gee, and I could have saved myself that shower.

  The waitress came to cart away the last of our dishes and asked if we would like dessert or coffee. I could have really gone for some chocolate, but of course Di
rk dismissed her without asking me if I'd like anything. He turned back to me and said, "Well, thish ish going all right, don't you think?"

  I looked at him then, into his fourth gin and tonic, with his bleary eyes and slurred speech, and I held up a finger. "Hold that thought, would ya? I'm going to go powder my nose."

  I excused myself and took off to the back of the restaurant. I found Kelly, our waitress, and asked if she had a phone book, as I needed to call a cab. She looked at me and smiled kindly. "He's a bit of a jerk, huh?"

  "Oh, you're really too kind," I said.

  "Yeah, I see him come in week after week always with a new chick he's met on that Web site. He used to meet them here, but most of them left within about fifteen minutes. Now he insists on driving so they get trapped, but they usually end up doing exactly what you're doing. I've never actually seen him leave with a date— in fact, the last girl he came in with slapped him silly!"

  "No!"

  "Yeah, they were having dinner, and I guess he got rude and she hauled off and whacked him," Kelly said, laughing.

  Something tickled in my mind and I asked, "What did this woman look like?"

  "Let's see," she said, thinking. "She was tall, with shoulder-length brown hair and glasses. Pretty, and she was nice to me. I remember they were having this really deep conversation, something about suicide. I think she mentioned a sister who'd killed herself. I overheard because I had just set down their plates at the time. He made some kind of a wisecrack about it, and she just hauled off and slapped him."

  My mouth dropped open and Kelly gave me a sympathetic look. "Yeah, he's about as sensitive as sandpaper. Hang on just a sec and I'll get you the name of the cab company."

  While she was in the back I hid in the narrow space between the back wall and the waitstaff station, which luckily afforded me a view of the booth where Dirk sat now, turning in his seat looking for me. I scrunched down into the tight space as his head swiveled in my direction, praying he hadn't seen me. I stayed ducked like that until I became aware of a pair of Italian loafers standing mere inches from mine. Tentatively I looked up, right into midnight blues.

  "Dutch!" I said, never so relieved in my life to see a familiar face. "What are you doing here?"

  "Evening Abby," he said, looking at me curiously. "Milo and I are here catching up with some guys from the Southfield station."

  "Uh huh," I said, squishing down again as I saw Dirk swivel in the booth again, looking for me.

  "Don't tell me you pissed off the host and this is where he seated you?"

  "Ha, ha, you're funny! No, actually I'm in a bit of a jam."

  "I can see that."

  "No, not this! I'm on the date from hell and I need a ride home."

  Something almost imperceptible changed on Dutch's face. For a moment I could have sworn this announcement upset him, but as quickly as something flickered in his eyes, it disappeared. "Do you have anyone you can call?" he asked.

  Oh, so we're going to play it that way, are we? I thought. "Not really. The waitress is bringing me back the number for a cab."

  "Do you have enough money for the ride?"

  Jerk, jerk, jerk!

  I looked in my purse and found a twenty. I held it up and sneered at him, "Yeah, I'm great."

  "Okay, then, have a good night." And with that he turned on his heel to walk away.

  Irritated I stood up from my hiding space as I watched him walk back toward a group of men at the bar which was on the other side of the hostess stand where I was hiding. Just then I caught sight of Milo sitting on a barstool watching me with a smug smile on his face and I scowled at him. Good naturedly he waved back and mouthed, "Hi Abby," and I couldn't help but smile back as I turned away embarrassed now.

  In the next moment the waitress came back and handed me a number on a slip of paper. I pulled out my cell phone and punched in the number. Just as it picked up I saw another pair of shoes in front of me and looked up to see Dirk standing there wobbly-legged. "Where'd you go?!" he slurred.

  "Uh, hi, Dirk…Hold on a sec," I said as the cab company picked up.

  "Main Street Cab, can I help you?"

  "You're leaving, aren't you?!" Dirk demanded.

  I held up one finger at Dirk and spoke quietly into the phone. "Hello, I need a cab, as soon as possible please …"

  "You know you're all the schame!" Dirk shouted at me.

  I covered the phone with my palm and glared at Prince Charming. "Dirk, listen, it was lovely, but I just didn't feel we had a connection…"

  "I bought you dinner!" Dirk shouted again.

  "Hello? Hello? Lady, you there?" coming through the phone.

  I put the earpiece back to my head and said, "Yes, I'm at the Copper Kettle in Southfield."

  "You know what you are? You're a bitsch! You schat there through dinner and pretended to like me juscht for a free meal, and now you're juscht going to leave like all the rescht of them! You're juscht a lying leasch who doeschn't even like…"

  Dirk never finished his sentence because at that moment he was yanked backward by his shirt collar and spun around so quickly that the movement startled me and I dropped my cell phone, effectively cutting off the call to the cab company.

  I watched spellbound as Dutch angrily grabbed Dirk by the front of his shirt lifting him to his tiptoes, and in a slow and even tone he said, "That's no way to speak to the lady, buddy. Maybe you need a few lessons in manners?"

  Dirk's eyes were enormous and frightened; he looked at Dutch, then down at the ground, and promptly burst into tears. "Oh jeez!" Dutch said and set him down. Dirk buried his face in his hands and continued to sob. As he let out a particularly large sob he also farted, making both Dutch and me back away from him a few feet. At that moment the manager arrived. He was a short fat man with black hair and beady little eyes. "Detective, is there a problem here?"

  "Yeah, Sal, this guy's had a few too many. I think you need to call him a cab. He's in no shape to drive."

  "This guy again? Christ, every weekend with this one. I'll take care of it—thanks, Detective."

  I had watched the scene unfold in front of me with my mouth agape, and it suddenly occurred to me to pick up my cell phone. Dutch had the same thought at the same time, and we bent over together, reaching for the phone. He got there first and retrieved it for me. He handed it to me and said, "Come on, Abby, I'll take you home." I noticed that he avoided my eyes when he handed me the phone.

  "Thanks" was all I could muster. I walked behind him as he sauntered back over to his seat, withdrew his wallet and placed a twenty on the bar. He said good night to his friends, who were all looking around him at me, and we walked out the door.

  We got to the parking lot, and I had my head bent, feeling really bad and concentrating on just following behind him. We had walked only a few feet when I noticed Dutch's legs had stopped moving and he was standing still in front of a motorcycle. I looked up at him with eyebrows raised in question.

  "You ever ride a motorcycle before?"

  "You're kidding, right?" I asked, convinced he was pulling my leg.

  "Would you rather share a cab with Dirk?"

  I stifled a sigh. "No, not really. I've never ridden one of these before, though," I warned him.

  "Well, first things first," he replied as he opened a compartment under the seat, pulled out a spare helmet and handed it to me.

  I took the helmet, surprised by how heavy it was, and slipped it on. I felt stupid in my dress slacks and silk top wearing a motorcycle helmet. "But it clashes with my other accessories," I said, holding up my little beaded purse.

  Dutch ignored me, fastened his own helmet and mounted the bike. Looking at him decked out in jeans and a T-shirt that revealed well-sculpted muscles and bronzed skin, I felt parts of me go all wet and sticky. He turned his head toward me and motioned for me to get on. I did so tentatively and wondered for a minute what I was supposed to hold on to. It seemed a little presumptuous to wrap my arms around him. I settled for just placing m
y hands gently on his back. He looked back at me and said, "Abby, you're not trying to give me a back massage. This is a Harley, and they have a lot of power. You're going to have to hug me when we get moving."

  Well, if you insist! "Okay," I said.

  "Now, when we're moving all you have to do is lean your weight into me. Don't try and lean into the curve, or you could throw our balance off. Just hold on tight and enjoy the ride."

  Before I could nod Dutch jumped up and brought his full weight down on the starter. The engine burst to life, and he revved the clutch several times before easing the bike out of the parking lot. I left my stomach at the restaurant as we cruised out onto the service drive and then onto the open highway headed east. I had my arms wrapped tightly around him trying not to strangle him and at the same time holding on tight enough that I wouldn't be dislodged. I could hear nothing but the wind as it whipped my loose hair dangling from beneath the helmet. It was a warm evening, but the wind made goose bumps appear all along my arms, and I hugged Dutch just a little tighter. We reached the exit for my house, but I noticed Dutch cruised right on by. Fine by me. I was having a ball.

  We drove the open road, weaving in and out of traffic for another fifteen minutes, and then I became so cold I started to shiver. Dutch turned and glanced at me, noticing my shivers, then pulled off at the next exit. He navigated a U-turn and got back on the highway, heading west again, this time taking the exit for my house.

  When we reached my neighborhood he braked slightly and cruised slowly down my street. We stopped in my driveway and he turned off the engine. I stepped off the bike and removed the helmet quickly, patting my hair self-consciously.

  "What'd you think?" Dutch asked.

  "That's a fun toy you got there, pal," I said, giving in to a huge grin.

  "Yeah, she's pretty sweet."

  We stood there for a few awkward moments not really knowing what else to say. "Thanks for helping me out there, Dutch. That guy was a nightmare."

  Dutch had removed his helmet and he held it in his lap as he sat sidesaddle on the Harley. He eyed me for a minute, thinking thoughts that I wasn't privy to. "What's the deal with him, anyway?"