“It seemed funny to me, but here you are acting all hurt and bothered.”
“I guess I’m just feeling a little emotionally vulnerable tonight.”
“Really?”
“No, not really. Don’t worry about me, dude, it was nothing. A momentary lapse into pathetic adolescent angst. And you know what that means?”
“What?”
Kyle affected a bluff Russian accent. “Tonight we drink like fools.”
“But we are fools.”
“Perfect. You think she likes me?”
“Who, the babe? Well, she’s a little prim, not your typical fare. And you have been insulting her all night.”
“There’s that, true. But I still bet I’ll be making out with her before the night is over.”
“Yeah,” said Skitch, looking back at the table. “I bet you will, too.”
Later, in the dark corner of the bar, Kyle found himself softly cupping the curve of her blouse as he rubbed her teeth with his tongue. She tasted fresh, like he imagined daisies would taste with their linenwhite petals and pollen-filled centers. Her hair was blond and aromatic, her jaw trembled innocently as her lips pressed against his, her teeth were smooth, her breast was pert and responsive. And there was a moment, as he kissed her, pulled away to gaze into her dewy blue eyes, then kissed her again, a sublime moment when he felt fully calm and at peace. The bar fell away shard by shard until the surroundings turned dark and starry and they were in a universe of two and there was nothing he wanted more, nothing at all, than to lose himself in this woman’s arms. And he felt safe and calm, and he began to believe that maybe, yes, maybe this was the answer that had kept escaping him all these years, an answer so elusive he didn’t even know the question.
His answer pushed away and stared at him for an instant as her lovely nose wrinkled sweetly, and then she sneezed.
“I have to go,” she said.
“Don’t leave. I have a secret to tell you.”
“What?”
“Patience. It’s still early.”
“Not anymore.”
“What time is it?”
“Eleven-thirty.”
“See, early? Why don’t you stay a bit? We can go to my place. Talk about English. You teach English, right? I’m all for English. I even speak it.”
“I thought you said you were staying with a friend?”
“Well, her place, then.”
“Her place?”
“See, how cute is that, you going all jealous on me. But don’t worry about Kat. I’ve known her forever. She’s like a sister. Come on.”
“I can’t.”
He followed her gaze and saw her friends standing by the door with coats on, staring daggers at the two of them. Skitch was at a table talking to two sinister characters wearing baseball caps with flat brims and pretty much sharing a single eyebrow between them. Old Tommy Trapp was nowhere to be seen.
“This was nice,” she said.
“Yeah, it was. So nice.”
“Here.” She pulled out a pen, grabbed a napkin, wrote a number, and pressed it into his hand. “Call me.”
“I will.”
She leaned forward, kissed him on the lips, slipped a bit of tongue in for good measure, and then stood. “Do,” she said.
He watched her as she walked toward her friends. Her legs were well shaped, her hair was shiny, she had nice posture. And she was a teacher, which he liked. It was substantial and noble, and maybe she could get all stern and cross at him when he screwed up his homework. He imagined the smart slash of a ruler on his flesh when he ended a sentence with a preposition, and then he looked at the number in his hand. Maybe he actually would call her. Betty. Or Berty. No, something like that, but with an s. Esther? Yeah, that was it, Esther.
Funny, she didn’t look Jewish.
Skitch’s head swiveled as Esther walked out, and then he waved Kyle over to join him and his two companions, but Kyle shook him off. Skitch had a steady job with Comcast, putting in cable, and a lucrative side business putting in all sorts of rogue connections, but he still was always up to his chin in some shady scheme or other, and these two goons were most likely his newest partners. Kyle had so far successfully withstood Skitch’s entreaties to join in any of his nefarious business deals. The lure was easy money, and that was pretty much the only kind of money that Kyle liked, but Skitch seemed to be hustling pretty hard without getting very far. The whole point of Kyle’s life was to avoid hard work, and just because the hard work was probably illegal didn’t make it any more palatable.
So instead Kyle stood up, adjusted his pants a bit, and headed over the bar to grab a quick draft for the road. Just one more. There was something nagging at him that he couldn’t quite figure out, but one more beer and the nagging would stop and that would suit him just fine.
He elbowed his way into an empty spot, ordered a glass of lager, blew at the head when it came, and downed a spurt. He hadn’t eaten yet. He didn’t have much cash left, but McGillin’s had a decent burger for not much money and a hot turkey sandwich with masheds and gravy that was more than decent. He leaned on the bar, considered the possibilities as he took another drink, and then, through the windows facing Drury Street, he saw it again, the mop of gray hair bouncing along.
His emotions teetered for a moment before slipping into anger. He was being followed. Some old guy was following him. First the ball field, now this bar. Following him like a taunt. He swallowed what was left of the beer, slammed it on the bar, took out a few bills from his wallet to leave with the empty glass, and headed toward the exit.
“Kyle, yo, over here,” yelled out Skitch, but Kyle ignored him and barged through the door.
He looked right, looked left, saw a figure walking down the dimly illuminated street and turning onto Juniper. Kyle hop-stepped cautiously toward Juniper, turned the corner like a spy, and saw the man heading north, toward City Hall. City Hall, where his father had plied his trade in the city’s courts. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then followed, quickly, hustling to get close, to get a view. His sneakers smacked against the cement as he got closer.
The man stopped, turned around. Kyle pulled up short as the man eyed him.
He was nobody, nothing, just a man walking down the street, fortysome years old with a dark shirt and a head of prematurely gray hair. The man cocked his head and then turned around and kept going.
And Kyle felt stuck there, right there, on the sidewalk, as if the rubber of his soles had melted onto the cement. He needed somebody to pry him loose, and he thought of Kat.