The glass eye rolled across the table and the woman swatted it across the restaurant. It ping-ponged off two chairs, hit a bald man in the face and then landed in the froofy red hair of a 60-year-old woman.
"Where is it?" Joe cried.
"It's in that lady's hair over there -- nobody knows it came from this table."
"Here, I'll give you another one," Joe said. He fished around his black bag, equivalent to a purse, and handed Rebecca a green eye. Rebecca grabbed it, dropped it in her soup, played around with it so the iris pointed up and jumped up, pushing her chair back and hollered, turning everyone's attention to their table. A waiter jolted up right next to Rebecca, her hands were over her mouth and she pointed at the green eye that looked at the two of them in her tomato bisque soup.
The waiter fainted.
Joe took a blue eye out of his black bag and rolled it on the floor so it would be next to the waiter's head. As the manager rushed out from the burgundy double doors, he noticed his maitre'd on the plush shag rug and saw that his eyes were closed as the blue eye lay next to the waiter's head.
"Phillipe has a glass eye?" he asked. "Ma'am, is that what frightened you?"
"There's something in my soup," Rebecca said.
The manager saw the green eye floating in the bowl of deep, red soup like a pool of milky blood.
Then came a scream across the restaurant.
"How did this get in my hair," the red headed, 60-year-old said. She dropped the glass eye, this one a brown eye, and it popped up and down on the floor, bouncing like a golf ball.