Mike chose a family owned café down the street from Olivia’s work. It was one of those places Olivia had always wanted to go eat in, but never got around to it. The décor was mainly vintage things. An entire wall was filled with old covers for records in a checkerboard pattern. It had records from The Beatles, The Who, The Animals, Etta James. Each table was dark wood and in a different style, but old and classy, a set of tables that weren’t all the same, but defiantly went together. They served paninis and sandwiches for lunch.
Olivia learned that Mike had just graduated with his masters in journalism from college in (a state I haven't decided yet) and had three interviews in town as a reporter the next day. “It’s not the most glamorous pay or life style, but I love the work.”
He was smart, witty, and laid back. Olivia had no idea why he took so much interest in her. She spent most of the lunch laughing and could only think of things to say concerning the book they were supposed to be discussing. Mean while, he told stories about the one time he was in Bangalore, India, or his funny plumb landlady who smelt like cooked cabbage and carried around a large flowery carpet bag, or a relative painting he saw in the Louvre that depicted the literary device she was talking about. She felt so boring. He encompassed the ideal thirty year old reporter living life, while Olivia encompassed the image of a stiff librarian. She tried not to, but it was the demeanor she took when she was nervous.
At the end of the hour she had allotted, Mike asked, “So what do you think of movies?”
Holding her coffee mid air, Olivia replied, “I think they are worth seeing, if tactful and well done. I like a lot of older movies.”
He grinned. “Well what would you think of seeing a tactful and well done movie with me?”
Olivia was caught off guard by the grin and said, “Sure.”
Mike cocked his head. “That easy huh?”
Olivia hesitated, “I mean…I…am-”
Mike cut her off, “Tomorrow night, 6:30 at The Krox. I will meet you there, unless I could come pick you up at your place?”
Olivia only said, “The Krox? That theater only shows foreign films.”
“Sure does.” He had already paid the check, despite Olivia’s insistent demands she pay her own bill. He stood up and walked around the table. He picked up Olivia’s hand, not holding her coffee, and held it, leaned over and asked, “I will see you tomorrow night then.”
Unsure what to do, she answered, “I suppose.”
He smirked. “Good.” He gently kissed her hand and gave it back. As he left he said, “Till tomorrow night then.”
Olivia responded, “Tomorrow night.”
When she told the story to Sam at work, Olivia felt ridiculous for falling for it, but she did. Now Mike was using the last of her cereal and toilet paper and she loved it.
Olivia, leaning against the candy store, figured it wasn’t worth going home, not even to make her lunch, by the time she got there she would have to turn around and go back. She rested her head back on the brick and took a few breaths. She started to dig through her purse looking for her phone. She didn’t want any one at work to worry about her and if she was more than five minutes late, it would cause alarm, after an hour, they might call the police. She started taking things out of her purse and holding them in her hand. “Where would I have put it?” Olivia could have sworn she left it in her purse last night and never used it, but it wasn’t there. The only thing she could conclude was Mike must have moved it. Last night was the first time he had slept at her place, she would defiantly have to set some ground rules.
She hadn’t had time to grab her book either, so Olivia people watched to pass the time. The man with the walking cane who she talked to earlier was now discussing politics with a man in a business suit who didn’t look very interested in what he had to say. The suit man kept glancing at his watch, nodding his head a lot and rocked on his feet, back and forth from his toes to his heels. He even yawned a couple times.
The bench was still full of people. On one of the edges, closest to Olivia, was an elderly black woman with a purple coat that seemed too heavy for the spring cool air. She was hugging a large brown paper sack full of groceries. Her hair was short and graying. It looked like, after years of fighting with her hair to look how she wanted, she had given up and let her hair win the fight. It was crimpy and laid all over the place. Next to her was a white girl, no more the twenty-five. She had shorts to short for the cool spring air. She wore sunglasses that hide most of her face and wore a tank top. Suddenly, Olivia was distracted by two interesting characters walking up the street.
They both where wearing 1800’s clothes with top hats, scarves tucked into their vests and tailed coats. One was holding a walking cane and was rambling insistently, hardly taking notice of his partner. His partner was trying to keep up with him, asking questions and listening intently. The one with the cane was saying, “You know my methods, Watson. For instance, this lady,” He walked over and stood beside the older black women, “Her coat is far too warm for the spring day it is turning out to be, unless, she came from a long distance and was out early this morning, when the day was still chilly. In order to constitute the use of the coat, she must live at least an hour away and based on the south bound bus she is taking and the sack from the specialty store, that is nowhere else in the city but the north end, I conclude she is from either the Treeline neighborhood or Chipsome.”
The black lady roughly said, “Treeline.”
His partner, who he referred to as Watson, asked, “Why would she have been up so early?”
He smiled, “Excellent question, my dear Watson. From the prescription bottle of antibiotics I perceived on the top of her bag, I would say she had a doctor’s appointment. She lives in a residential area and there is a building of offices right over there.” He pointed to a tall building, rising over the small corner stores. “But no point in making the long journey twice, so detoured to Milcoe for their doughnuts, it is the only thing they are really good for.”
The black lady once again confirmed his theory, “Dang ear infection, been trying to get rid of it for weeks.”
“Excellent!” Watson cried.
The man holding the cane stated, “Elementary. It is one of those instances where the reasoner can produce an effect which seems remarkable to his neighbour, because the latter has missed the one little point which is the basis of the deduction.”
He started walking away from the bench saying, “Observation of the details, my dear Watson.”
Olivia watched them walking down the street. She was grinning to ear to ear. Surely, Sherlock Holmes had just jumped off a page and landed right on Boulevard Blvd. Olivia kept cocking her head sideways, watching their tail coats flap behind them and the steady swing of Holmes’ cane as he walked. As Holmes turned to Watson, Olivia could see his profile. A pipe was dangling out of his moth and smoke was swirling out of it. He must have produced it out of his pocket. She looked around expecting people to be gawking at them, maybe not in awe like her, but at least in confusion or looks of “what weirdoes”. Instead, no one even seemed to notice something odd had happened, not even the black lady, still hugging her bag.
Despite that, Olivia’s day defiantly had brightened, even if they were weirdoes or paid actors. It is not every day one sees one of the most famous book characters come to life.
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