Evolution

The Professor stared into his closet trying to decide which black sweater he should wear. The V-Neck sweater. No, he thought. Too new. Makes my black pants look even more faded. Maybe the crew neck Alpaca. Warm enough for this time of year. But It sheds too much. No, not that. He moved those two aside and reached for the merino with the zippered neck and brown elbow patches. Yes, this will work. She’ll approve of this look, for sure.

He could not get his mind off of Kaila, the new, weekend bartender. It’s how she moves, he thought. It’s as if she is gliding back there. I know that’s ridiculous, but she seems to walk on air. Slipping his arms into the merino, he laughed at how foolish that sounded. And so gracious to everyone. Her smile. He felt his own smile appear as he thought this. Remembering how once the entire block was filled with pubs with names like Shaughnessy’s and O’Hara’s- all small squat structures that stood shoulder-to-shoulder with one another- he couldn’t help but think, none of them had women in them. Let alone behind the bar. “Ha,” he said aloud. She’s probably the first woman bartender in the neighborhood, he thought. Certainly, the prettiest.

He always wore black, although he allowed for small colorful flourishes, accents to pop against his monochromatic suits. For his black work suits, he chose a distinctive bowtie with a matching pocket square. His hung his impressive assortment of polka dot, paisley, houndstooth, and patterned bowties in a proud array on the back of his closet door. A casual night like this though, was not a suit night. A sweater that doubled as a shirt would be smart. I’m only going to Donegan’s, oh, The Depot, excuse me. The Professor didn’t like the new name despite its clear connection to the subway terminal residing a few yards from its front door.

“A rose by any other name,” he recited out loud. He checked his watch. He was on schedule to arrive before the main after-work crowd tumbled out of the subway, but with enough time to allow Kaila to set up her bar. He didn’t like to interfere in those moments when she counted receipts or refilled the olives, lemons, stirrers and other drink accompaniments. He didn’t want to distract her and respected that she needed to concentrate on her work at those times.

When he came home from college in the early ‘70’s and moved to the neighborhood, he chose Donegan’s as his pub. I could’ve gone to any of them, I guess. Luck of the draw. Gosh, he thought, that was quite some time ago. So much has changed. He scanned his shoe rack settling his eyes upon his caramel-colored monk straps. The leather matches my elbow patches. It’s coming together. Looking closer at his shoes, he noticed they needed some attention before he could head out. He bent down to grab his shoeshine kit from the rear of the closet.

He placed his pants, sweater, and socks, a black pair with thin brown lines serving as borders, on his bed. Kaila likes when I dress down a bit, he told himself. She practically said so the first time she saw him not wearing his customary suit. “No bowtie today, Sir?” He remembering her asking that in her flannel-soft voice that seemed to wrap around his body as she spoke. He imagined having long phone conversations with her just to hear her voice. “In time young man. In time,” he said. He found his brown polish along with his brush for his brown shoes and placed them on the bench top of his shoe rack. Her remark about the bowtie lingered in the silent air of his bedroom as he began dusting the shoes with the brush, scraping away any loose dirt before applying the polish. “No bowtie today, Sir?”

The Professor thought about the new owners of “The Depot” and the changes they had made, tearing away the brick exterior and replacing it with smoked glass. Now, the letters of the name stood on top of an image of an old-fashioned steam engine roaring out of a mountain tunnel. Inside, they had added a toy locomotive that circled above the bar, emitting a whistle at intervals. The theme continued to the restrooms which had been restored and had sliding doors with large, gun-metal handles mimicking the doors of old-fashioned rail coaches. That was a nice touch, he thought. His mind returned to Kaila as he applied the liquid polish to his shoes and let them sit. That was a change he was sure he liked. Tonight I will make my intentions clear. We’ve played this flirting game long enough. He thought about the tattoo on her right hand that slithered up her wrist and wrapped around her forearm before disappearing into her sleeve. I’d love to travel my fingers along that winding line.

His shoes shined, The Professor pulled the sweater over his head and turned his back to get a glimpse of his rear view in the cheval mirror. Sucking in his paunch, he turned to the side. I really must start doing sit-ups again, he thought as he expelled his breath. He puffed the sweater out and away from his protruding gut. Draping the bottom of his sweater over his belt, he thought he covered his belly well. Ok, belly covered, he reached for his cologne and cradled the black bottle with its gold trim, spraying the air. Stepping into the fragrant mist, he let it settle on him. He smiled as he thought about how he would lean in close as Kaila took his order. I’ll be close enough for her to smell this. The look on her face will tell me how much she likes it.

Moving towards the foyer, the Professor stopped by his hat rack to see which of his hats he would wear tonight. He nodded at how time changes everything and thought about how choosing hats were not something he did. In the old days, he kept his Afro picked out wide and perfectly rounded, no loose ends anywhere. He smiled remembering that his acquaintances had nicknamed him, “Jackson,” telling him he could have been the sixth brother of the Jackson Five, that’s how perfect his ‘Fro had been. He had a collection of Apple Jacks back then, the only hats he would wear. He slid his hand across the top of his smooth skin. “Fro’s gone now. Need something to cover my pate, especially in the cool weather. He grabbed his black, felt, “Stingy Brim.” He stepped in front of the foyer mirror for a quick look and smiled. “Soon there, Kaila,” he said to the room.

He stopped one last time to check his image in the mirror practicing a few looks to see which one he would offer Kaila when she appeared in front of him. Yes, this one. A smile, not too broad, chin up. Yes, that’s a good look. He positioned himself at a few different angles to be sure he could maintain that expression. Hat tilted at the proper angle, sweater zipped up to the top, the brown shoes gleaming, he picked up his keys and watch from the stand and opened his apartment door.

Stepping into the evening chill, he thought how convenient it was to live across the street from his bar. No need for a coat. As long as my head is warm. He smiled to himself again. He thought about Kaila’s hair. Thick and dark, she tumbled it into different natural looks. We would’ve had matching hair, back in the day. He laughed. Her modern iterations delighted him. He especially liked the hairdo she “rocked” last weekend. He wondered, “rocked,” that is the term these young people use, isn’t it? He tried to remember other new slang, to be able to sprinkle into conversation when they were finally alone. He could only think of her hair the last time he saw her. The sides were pulled tight raising her soft curls into a puffy cloud on top bringing her sharp nose and full lips along with her keen ash-grey eyes into focus. She is a beauty. No denying that.

Opening The Depot’s outer door, he scanned the room as if he had a homing device attached to his eyes. Ah, there she is. He tried not to betray his excitement even as he felt his pulse quickening. She was bent over the bar talking with two women. Her hair was pulled back into symmetrical plaits each leading to a thick, dark roll at the back of her head. From the side, her dangling earrings followed the line of her neck. Breathe, he told himself. The night is young. Patience. To him it seemed that the women were having an intimate conversation, all of them leaning in to hear each other. Kaila was wearing an orange, low-cut blouse exposing her cleavage. The Professor made a mental note to not let himself get caught staring when she came to take his order. From his current distance, he felt safe letting his eyes wander around her curves. Orange is a wonderful color for her, he mused. It makes her deep chocolate skin glow as if wrapped in a halo of fire. He opened the zipper at the neck of his sweater a bit as he felt his own skin beginning to prickle. A single droplet of sweat drizzled down his chest.

Breathe, breathe, he told himself again. She makes me feel like a teenager. I don’t remember ever feeling this way about a woman. He questioned why he ever thought tending to needs without affection was better and had kept most of his alliances over the years staid affairs. What did I miss, he wondered? All those years when he didn’t think it wise to become so involved with a woman that he would have to sacrifice his pleasures came back to mind. He remembered having seen other men who had succumbed to their lusts or their loneliness or to some notion of propriety . Look at them now. Saddled with mortgages and children and constraints. Not for me, that life. Seeing Kaila, though, made his pulse race. Times do change and so do men, if they so choose. Perhaps, this is my time for recalculation. He reached for his handkerchief to dab his moistened neck and opened his sweater a bit more.

He stepped into a space at the bar between two couples whose backs were to each other. Leaning over, he raised his finger, trying to get Kaila’s attention. He could see his face in the mirror behind the bar. He fixed it to the one he had practiced before he left his apartment. Kaila approached and he swallowed her with his eyes. Here comes the love of my life. I think I’ve been waiting for you forever, Kaila. Now that you’re here, how shall we proceed? Kaila continued past the Professor to the other end of the bar to pick up a food order without noticing the Professor’s half-raised finger. She likes this game. My how discreet she is. No one will suspect we are as intertwined as wire cables. When she hands me my drink only the most perceptive will notice that momentary glimpse we exchange. And who will see the tenderness of the faint touch of her finger as it releases the glass into my hand? But I will feel the sensation course through my skin into my blood. It will tell me to be patient.

“Sir? Sir? Kaila was standing in front of him. He saw his face in the mirror. It registered shock. He had no time to recover the look he had practiced. “Can I get you something, Sir? Would you like a menu?” Kaila asked as she tossed a coaster in front of the Professor. Picking up the television remote from under the bar she called out to one of the women she had been talking with before coming to take the Professor’s order. “What channel did you say it was on, Erica?” Scrolling through channels on the overhead television, she asked without turning her head, “I’m sorry, Sir, what did you say you were having?”