And I let out a kind of a yip and pulled my hand back, because my hand was wet with something cold. And there was a splashing noise and a wet puddle on the carpet right at my feet. Right under where my hand had been.
Charlie said, “We should have asked for it in a glass.”
I looked at Charlie and then I looked at the puddle on the floor and then I looked at my hand. I stuck my index finger gingerly into my mouth and tasted.
Gin buck. With gin in it. I looked at Charlie again. He asked, “Did I blur?”
“Listen, Charlie,” I said. “I’ve known you for ten years, and we went to Tech together and— But if you pull another gag like that I’ll blur you, all right. I’ll—”
“Watch closer this time,” Charlie said. And again, looking off into space and not talking to me at all, he started talking. “Bring us a fifth of gin, in a bottle. Half a dozen lemons, sliced, on a plate. Two quart bottles of soda and a dish of ice cubes. Put it all on the table over there.”
He nodded his head, just like he had before, and darned if he didn’t blur. Blur was the best word for it.
“You blurred,” I said. I was getting a slight headache.
“I thought so,” he said. “But I was using a mirror when I tried it alone, and I thought maybe it was my eyes. That’s why I came over. You want to mix the drinks or shall I?”
I looked over at the table, and there was all the stuff he’d ordered. I swallowed a couple of times.