THERE had been some light snow off and on for two weeks, and everyone was resigned to a long and hard winter. The cold and grey November weather did nothing to improve Kevvin's mood. He was not pleased with recent developments in his department at work. The department head had become 'magisterial.' There was no other word to describe the change in her, he thought. Earlier in the week, he had written the required memo to Personnel to inform them that he would be taking several days from his vacation during the weeks after the upcoming Christmas and New Year's Day holidays. That would give him two full weeks in which to concentrate on his writing except for the one or two days he must spend with his family.
The day before, he had received a memo back from Personnel. The tone of the note was rather too high-handed when addressed to a section head like himself, but the greater annoyance came from their refusal to approve his request for the vacation time, justifying their decision by some obscure policy. Kevvin was aware of the policy in question, but considered that it applied only to ordinary workers, not to management.
Kevvin had gone to the personnel office to discuss the matter further, but was told bluntly that the policy was applicable to all staff below the level of department head. He then went to his department head. She had been unsympathetic when he pointed out that he had done the same in previous years and that she had allowed it. She countered that he had done it twice before, and reminded him that after the second occurrence, she had told him such a request must be submitted for her approval in advance, and that he had not done that. What she said after that made Kevvin leave her office fuming. She had told him that such permission would not be granted except in exceptional circumstances, and since Kevvin had none to offer, his request was refused.
Kevvin did not even think to try to explain his reasons. He knew that the bureaucratic mentality the woman embraced could never comprehend the reasons why he needed the time off. He was feeling increasingly stifled by the constraints that a full-time job imposed on his writing. After the tedium of a long day at the office, he was beginning to find it difficult to concentrate in the evenings. That left only the weekends with any long stretches of uninterrupted time in which to give his creativity free rein.
For over a month, Kevvin had found to his horror that he had not written a single new word worth keeping nor had he been able to put together a decent outline for a new story. He felt as though the soul had gone out of him. It was as if the creative fires had burned so low that they could not provide even a spark for anything new. All the passion had gone out of his life.
Kevvin had not left his apartment since arriving home the night before. He had even passed up his weekly ritual of reading the Times over coffee that morning. The gloomy overcast outside had combined with his own sullen mood, and even his attempt to do some story plotting that morning had not lasted more than a couple of hours. He then spent the afternoon dusting his books and cleaning the apartment, something anyone could have done. After a bowl of soup and a sandwich for his supper, he knew that he did not want to face the evening alone. He needed to go out because being around people was stimulating for him. He had always known that his best ideas were drawn from the observation of those around him. In one sense, people were his Muse.
When he remembered that, Kevvin smiled. Inspiration was the word to describe what he wanted. Perhaps some inspiration might rekindle his waning passion, or passion provide some inspiration. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that that was exactly what he needed to do. It had been three or four months since he had sought that kind of inspiration, and it had turned out to be an enjoyable if only trifling diversion. Kevvin decided that he would go to his favourite bar to see what inspiration or even passion might be obtainable there. He was already feeling better. An as yet unknown Muse could help him a great deal.
Kevvin got up and washed his supper dishes then went and changed into his bathrobe and took his toilet kit and towel to the bath. After his shower, he dressed carefully and changed the sheets on his bed. He went back out into the living room to check the tea table. There was not much sherry left, so he opened a new bottle and poured it into the decanter. When everything was ready, he put on his camel hair coat, wound his cashmere scarf around his neck, took his hat and left the apartment.
It was quite cold out, but still very damp. There was enough frost on the ground, even at that hour, to make walking treacherous in places. Despite having to watch his step to avoid slipping, Kevvin embodied the old confidence that was starting to return to him. In fact, his own enthusiasm made him walk much more quickly than his normal pace. He cut across the street after a car drove past and walked into the lane that provided the short cut for him to the main street of the Village where his destination lay.
As he approached the little park, he thought of Mike. He had not given the young man much thought at all in the past several weeks, but that was all for the better, he believed. Whatever other emotions had intruded themselves momentarily, the one thing Kevvin had consistently felt about Mike was that he wanted him out of his life. He felt almost exuberant.
After arriving at the bar, Kevvin unbuttoned his coat and adjusted his scarf then went up to the bar to place his usual order. He was pleased that both of the two men who took turns behind the bar now seemed to recognise him when he ordered. Smiling to himself at this affirmation, he made his way across to the counter running along the opposite wall. It was barely 9:00, but it was a Saturday night, so there was already a good number of customers there. He knew that it could become very crowded and noisy later on in the evening.
As always, the brash and noisy younger men stayed mostly around the tables in the back, but there were already enough that small groups of two or three were detaching themselves and moving forward to the front of the bar. Within an hour, enough reinforcements would arrive and they would be able to claim the whole territory as their own.
Kevvin found himself caught in between the younger men and the half-dozen or so older men seated at the bar or standing at the counter. Most of the older men were at least 10 years Kevvin's senior. He was sure that many of them had been coming to the bar for years and simply refused to give up their claim to it, no matter how much the clientele changed. From their looks and the way they dressed, Kevvin assumed that they were just ordinary men with ordinary jobs. With nothing to set them apart, they could offer no real competition to him for any of the younger men.
Kevvin almost felt sorry for some of the older men. One or two would occasionally turn to look longingly toward the men at the back, but very seldom did anyone venture back there to try his luck. They simply did not have a plan, or their own experience had made them reluctant to risk bruising their egos any further in competition with men half their age.
For Kevvin, planning was what ensured success, whether in writing or in life. Once you had the key elements on which to hang your story, it would write itself. You needed a suave opening line to get someone's attention and to suggest your character. Then you made a few tentative comments about yourself to pique someone's interest. You made a few leading statements to encourage questions. Then, when you had made your decision, you might offer a nightcap with the suggestion of something more. For all this to work, you needed a few likely choices; if one turned out to be unsuitable, you could quickly move on down your list.
It was in sizing up likely candidates that Kevvin was smugly certain that he excelled. His gift for observation and analysis seldom failed him. He was able to tell so much about people just by watching them. It was all about preparation, moving in, taking charge and remaining in control throughout. His system had served Kevvin reasonably well in finding inspiration; any bright young thing impressed with Kevvin's persona was putty in his hands.
Kevvin had already picked out one or two possible choices, but he was not yet satisfied. He found that a certain vulnerability was a feature that attracted him. It gave him the opportunity to share his knowledge and his accomplishments and almost to be a mentor. The whole process was very much like what he did in creating a story. After all, a writer was always working.
After adding a few more candidates to his list, Kevvin would start. The bar was slowly filling up. Most of the newly arrived customers headed straight for the back after a short stop to pick up a drink on the way. That afforded Kevvin ample opportunity to observe.
The door opened again and he casually glanced around to see who was coming in next. He was both surprised and annoyed to see it was Mike. His hair had been cut and his clothes were clean, but beyond that he looked much the same as he always had. He did have a plain woollen scarf around his neck; that was new. He was probably copying Kevvin's look from the first time they had met. He had obviously been taking better care of himself. His eyes were bright and he looked quite confident.
When Kevvin caught himself making this quick appraisal, he was quite relieved to find that he was unmoved. That was only to be expected, the thought. He had finished with Mike. Mike had no more control over him. He nonetheless did not want to give Mike the opportunity to try to talk to him.
Since Kevvin was forced to watch Mike so that he himself could escape undetected, their eyes almost unavoidably met. Mike smiled at him in what Kevvin thought could almost be taken as a look of friendly recognition. He noted, even at that distance, that Mike's broken tooth was visible at the edge of his smile. For his part, Kevvin let his face go blank and stared through the boy as if he were not there. He stood up to move further back when he saw Mike go to one of the few free seats at the bar.
Under no circumstances would Kevvin give any indication that he even noticed that Mike was there. He must do nothing that might encourage Mike to try to speak to him. If he were bold enough to make the attempt, Kevvin knew that he would be able to cut the boy off with no effort at all, quickly and decisively. Even Mike should be able to understand that.
He moved to the back of the bar. He disliked the noise around him there because it distracted him. He was forced to stand in one corner to avoid the laughing and chattering young men around him as much as possible. His position at least let him engage in his favourite pastime of observing others, and he also had a clear view of what was going on at the bar at the front. Mike had ordered a bottle of beer.
Kevvin considered joining one of the tables. His practised eye told him which tables held groups of friends and which were simply spaces shared by strangers. Whichever he might join, it would definitely be an opportunity for some interesting conversation. He even noticed one or two cases where a couple seemed to be in the midst of making each other's acquaintance and found it quite charming. He felt no hurry to do anything. He could indulge in people-watching while he waited for an opening.
Kevvin observed different young men around him and built up a picture of their characters and created little back-stories for each of them. Once in a while, one of his subjects might glance up at the man staring at him, then quickly look away. Kevvin believed that it would only be a matter of time before one of them worked up the courage to come over and try to break the ice.
After a few minutes, one young man detached himself from his friends and made his way among the tables toward Kevvin. Kevvin carefully looked away, smiling to himself. He did not want to seem eager. When the young man came up to him, Kevvin turned his head and smiled, but the man didn't even look at him. He pushed the restroom door open and went inside. Kevvin looked back toward the front of the bar. There he saw Mike sitting on the last stool in much the same attitude of display as he had first seen months before.
From his vantage point at the back, Kevvin found that he could easily observe what was happening at the other end of the room. At that distance, it would be almost impossible to make eye contact with someone, so he could never be accused of staring. As he watched, he saw a well-dressed man move from the counter toward the bar. He was wearing a business suit. That was quite out of place in the bar, and it suggested to Kevvin that the man might be in the city over the weekend for a conference or some such work-related activity. The man in the suit walked directly up to the bar and stood right beside Mike. Mike removed his right elbow from the bar to make space. The man waited patiently for the bartender to serve him. It was getting quite busy. When the bartender arrived, the man seemed to smile as he spoke A moment later, the bartender left to fill the man's order.
While he waited for his drink, the man turned toward Mike. His back was now to Kevvin, but it was clear that the man said something to the boy. Mike swivelled around and smiled as he answered. It struck Kevvin that Mike must have been polishing his manners as well as his looks; it had taken Kevvin a good deal longer to get his attention.
The man in the suit sat down and he and Mike continued to talk. When the bartender returned, the man spoke to him across the bar and the bartender went off again. A few moments later, he returned with a bottle of beer. The man paid for the two drinks and the bartender made change from his apron. The business man slid the money back across the bar toward the man who swept it into his hand with a surprisingly sincere-looking smile. In Kevvin's own experience, bartenders and waiters in general were seldom grateful for tips.
Mike and the older man touched their drinks together. They had both turned to face each other and looked like they were having a conversation. For all that Mike seemed more animated than usual-he was smiling and laughing at what the man was saying-he still sat so as to display his attractions most effectively. Kevvin was bemused that the man in the suit had not yet recognised Mike's posture for what it was. He saw the man lean over. He seemed to whisper something into Mike's ear. Kevvin could see quite clearly that Mike didn't answer the man; he just smiled slyly and began to make that gesture with his hand on his thigh. On seeing that, the older man actually threw back his head and laughed. He leaned over to Mike once more and said something into his ear again, but immediately stood up and made for the back of the bar. Alone now, Mike turned his seat around to the bar and took a pull on his beer.
It almost looked as if he had closed up shop for the night, Kevvin thought. It was no doubt due to embarrassment at being found out. The farce must over, Kevvin decided. He wondered that it had taken the man so long to realise what Mike was up to. He watched the man continue toward the back of the bar. He seemed to be in full retreat, obviously embarrassed by what had happened. The man kept coming, as if determined to get as far away from the front as he could.
Kevvin decided that it was unfortunate that Mike continued to play out of his league. He wondered why he even tried to find customers in a bar like that. Even more to the point, how could he ever have thought that he would have had a chance with that particular man anyway? From his clothes alone, it was clear to anyone that he must be a shrewd businessman. Sad as it was, Mike fit in better in the lanes and on the streets. In fact, that was where he had chosen to live.
When the man in the suit was a few steps away, Kevvin noticed a small wry smile on his face. He seemed to be taking it all in good humour. He brushed past Kevvin as he raised his hand to push the restroom door open. Kevvin turned slightly to make room. He saw a wedding band on the man's hand.
A few minutes later, the same man walked by Kevvin again. He went directly back to the bar. Mike looked up and smiled. It almost looked as if he had been waiting. He tilted his bottle of beer one last time, put it down on the bar empty and stood up. The two walked out of the bar side by side. Kevvin stared after them. He could not believe it.
Kevvin moved slowly back to the front of the bar and sat down at the end in order to leave a couple of empty seats between himself and the other customers seated there. He had finished his drink and wanted another one. Business had been picking up steadily and the younger crowd at the back had spilled over and filled the space between the bar and the counter. There seemed to be a steady stream of people walking up for drinks or refills at the other end, and Kevvin wondered when he would be able to attract the bartender's attention. He didn't see why there could not be two men behind the bar when it became so busy.
The four or five other men seated along the bar were all older than Kevvin. He was on the verge of calling to the bartender when the man finally came down to take Kevvin's empty glass. He asked for a scotch on the rocks. The bartender returned very quickly with the drink and accepted his tip with a mechanical 'thank-you' before moving back toward the line that was growing at the other end. He had walked away just as Kevvin was about to make a bit of small talk with him. As he stepped out of the way, Kevvin was left staring at himself in the mirror on the wall behind the bar. The space filled by the bartender who had been standing before him just a moment before was replaced by a reflection of himself.
Kevvin picked up his drink and sipped it. It was bar scotch, single malt. He should have been more specific when he had ordered. He continued to look at himself in the mirror. He didn't preen, but he made a quick inspection to ensure that he was still well groomed. He readjusted the cashmere scarf to hang more loosely around his neck, and pulled his camel hair coat open a bit more because he had begun to feel a bit hot. The influx of people had made it noticeably warmer in the bar. He thought of taking his coat off, but it would not hang very well over the back of his stool. He noted that his glasses gave him a certain grave air. In his estimation, very few men were able to look good in glasses.
He was satisfied that he appeared to be what he was, a well turned out man, still young. He acknowledged that this still made it rather difficult to call his look distinguished, but he felt that his image showed a respectable, confident man who was a success in both his vocation as a writer and in his job in the government. His clothing clearly showed that his taste was understated but very good, and the expression on his face, particularly in his eyes, was that of self-assured man of the world. There was something about him that was distant and aloof and he deliberately cultivated it. He would be the one to call others to join him; his demeanour told them that they were not to presume to approach uninvited.
As he continued to stare into the mirror, he remembered the night he had first met Mike right there. He felt a surge of anger at how forward Mike had acted once Kevvin had begun talking to him. There had been nothing at all in his look that betrayed any loneliness, and still less that even suggested he was unable to find suitable company when he so chose. What did Mike know about seeing people for what they were? Then again, what did Mike need such a skill for? Kevvin remembered West Side Story again. Mike was Anybody's. He was willing to belong to anybody who wanted him for a short time and for some small sum of money.
Kevvin admitted that Mike had looked far better that night. He wondered if he had, in fact, finally taken some of Kevvin's advice. However well he had cleaned himself up, though, he still remained a hustler. That much had not changed.
He also began to wonder, for the first time, how Mike had managed it... how he managed everything. How had he survived for three years on the streets without being killed? He had been in at least two serious fights that ought to have received proper medical attention, and he had intimated that something very frightening had happened to him just after he had arrived in the city. Kevvin simply could not imagine how Mike survived from hand to mouth like that. What was it that could drive him to keep going? Was it simply the animal instinct for survival?
Kevvin smiled again when he realised that despite how he had looked that night, whenever Mike had been in Kevvin's company, there had been something of the wild animal in him, unwilling to be tamed. He remembered reading an article years previously about a circus performer who had worked with wild cats his whole life. He had been mauled after a performance one night while feeding them. He had said in an interview from his hospital bed that after 40 years he had forgotten one important rule for a split second, and it had almost cost him his life. He had forgotten that a wild animal could never be tamed.
Kevvin returned his gaze to the mirror and looked at the reflections of those moving around behind him. They were laughing and enjoying themselves, but it was strange to see it in the mirror. It was an exact image of reality, but it was disconnected from it. It was almost like seeing the world from a completely different point of view for Kevvin, as if he were watching what was happening around him through someone else's eyes. He quite liked the metaphor it represented of watching life but being unable to participate in it.
Kevvin wished he had brought his leather-bound notebook with him. He really did not want to forget this. It would be an excellent concept to work into a story. His mind was already turning over ideas in his head. Perhaps an old man would do... one who had worked hard and achieved everything he had ever wanted, but who still felt unfulfilled... and then, when looking at the reflection of his granddaughter in a mirror, he realises that even if he touches what he sees, he will fail to make contact with what he wants to reach. That would be an excellent climax to a short story. Kevvin's smile grew. That was what writing was all about: taking something everyone could see but not recognise, and turning it into fiction.
Kevvin continued to watch the mirror with delight as the scene in the bar behind him played on. He saw a young man separate himself from a small group of friends and walk toward the bar with an empty bottle in his hand. He had an open and intelligent face and his bright eyes hinted at a cheerful and friendly disposition. He had obviously taken care in dressing for the evening. He was wearing a well fitting salmon coloured t-shirt, slacks and a baggy denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up. His dirty blond hair was a bit long, but carefully styled and gelled into place.
The young man squeezed into the space between Kevvin and the next stool and waited patiently for the bartender. After a few seconds, they made eye contact and he held up his empty bottle to show he would like another, then resumed his waiting. In spite of his good looks and stylish clothing, he gave the impression of self-confidence rather than arrogance or vanity. He was clearly someone who could have anyone he chose on the strength of his personality alone. His boyish good looks and artful style were simply an embellishment, not a vulgar display. Kevvin recognised the heavy musky scent the boy was wearing. It was a surprisingly expensive brand, and it was not unpleasant.
Kevvin decided to speak. Perhaps, after a minute or two, he would invite the young man to sit down. He was quietly amused that the man had no idea that Kevvin had been observing him and already knew so much about him. Just as he was turning his head to say hello, the boy looked into his eyes in the mirror and smiled.
"It's really busy tonight, isn't it? And it's still early," he said with a cheerful smile.
Kevvin was taken aback by the young man addressing him through the mirror, but decided it was rather clever of him.
"I really wouldn't know. I don't really come in that often. I'm a..."
"You really should. It's so much fun here," the boy interrupted.
Kevvin gave him the benefit of the doubt. There was enough noise in the bar and the young man had probably not realised he was cutting Kevvin off. "Funky Town" was fading into the opening bars of "Another Brick in the Wall" over the sound system.
"Yes. I'm a writer, you see. I come once in a while when I need to recharge my batteries, so to speak."
"Really? You meet so many kinds of people here. I was just talking to this guy, and he's a dancer with the Royal Ballet. Well, he's actually at their school, but he's going to audition." The younger man was looking back toward the busy bartender, but still remained patient.
Kevvin was beginning to think the boy might be a bit shallow in spite of his intelligent face. He was very difficult to talk to and kept interrupting.
"A good talk with someone new is quite inspiring for me. Getting to know someone..."
"There was this really hot guy here before. He was right where you're sitting. He was so cute and tough-looking."
"I never noticed. I much rather prefer talking with someone with more intelligence," Kevvin said, smiling casually at the boy.
"It was too bad. He got lucky in, like, ten minutes. He was one of those guys that can just snap his fingers and you fall in love," he said wistfully. "I guess I'm just romantic. I want to fall in love, but how can you fall in love with somebody when you can't talk to them?"
Kevvin needed to get the conversation back on track.
"I'm surprised that someone with your looks has any trouble..."
The young man laughed and looked down in embarrassment. Kevvin was quite pleased, but before he could finish, the boy started talking again.
"Sorry. What I mean is, I don't think looks matter as much as personality. There are so many looks, aren't there? It all depends on what you go for or what you're interested in. I guess it's 'first impressions'..."
"You certainly make a good first impression," Kevvin said, taking his turn at interrupting. He smiled directly at the young man.
The younger man looked back at Kevvin with a slightly hesitant smile; he didn't seem to know what to say. Kevvin thought it was quite captivating. He decided to press his advantage, but the boy found his voice again.
"Well, that's just first impressions, though, isn't it? You have to really talk to someone to find out if you like them or not. Take me. I can talk to anyone, except when I think they're hot. Then I get so nervous I can't even go up to them."
"Oh?" Kevvin replied carefully. "Well, in any event, if you at least talk to someone, you have a chance to find a little bit of romance, as you say."
"That is so true. Some of the guys here, most people wouldn't think they were hot, but they can be a lot of fun to talk to." The boy brightened and went on.
"That's why you should come here more. There are a lot of older guys here. If you talked to them, really got to know them, you could meet someone really interesting."
"I'm 36."
"Some of them are lots of fun. They can get really flirty. That can be fun too."
The young man suddenly paused when he noticed that Kevvin's expression had changed. He was intelligent and perceptive; he hated it when he said the wrong thing by accident and felt bad that he had offended the older man. After a very short silence, he tried to make amends.
"You don't look 36, really."
Kevvin smiled, but before he could thank him for the compliment, the boy continued.
"I mean, my dad's around your age, like, 44. You look way younger than he does."
Kevvin stopped smiling. The bartender was walking toward them with a bottle in his hand. The young man saw it and reached into his pocket for money.
Kevvin turned his head away and looked ostentatiously in the other direction. Any further comments from the boy would have to be directed at the back of his head. He would give him a few seconds to register his faux pas, then turn back, invite him to have a seat, and suggest that they get to know each other better. After a sufficient amount of time had passed, he turned around again. The boy was gone.
Kevvin avoided looking into the mirror again. He picked up his scotch and took a drink. He didn't know why he bothered trying to talk to people like that. The boy had been so full of himself. He obviously did not know the first thing about getting to know people. You had to show you were interested by asking questions. More importantly, you had to show that you were listening to what the other person was saying and respond appropriately. Gradually, you got to know each other better, and then things would follow their logical course. That fellow had seemed to think that it was all about making small talk.
He reflected bitterly that that was the trouble with most men in their twenties. They were still unfinished. Their education was not complete. They were like lumps of clay that needed to be moulded and formed, or at least have a bit of polish added to them. Yet they all seemed to think that they could get by on their looks.
Kevvin was a bit disappointed that his first impressions of the boy had been so far off the mark. Superficially, he had looked very promising, with his good looks, style and self-confidence. In reality, the boy had been completely different, bringing up things like being too nervous to talk to people he was interested in, for example. He had talked to Kevvin, hadn't he? Then he had prattled on about what he wanted: romance and to fall in love. Had he honestly thought that talking like that was any way to sell himself?
Kevvin held up his empty glass and shook it toward the bartender. Just at that moment, the young man returned with a friend. They were in the middle of a friendly argument, and each laughed at everything the other said. The bartender approached the end of the bar, but stopped short and took the new boy's order without even looking at Kevvin. Kevvin tried to make eye contact and lifted his glass again, but the bartender seemed to ignore him.
He fumed at the service in the bar. He tried to ignore the two young men carrying on beside him. They were obviously already well acquainted since their digs and jokes seemed to presume some degree of prior knowledge of each other's foibles. Kevvin gathered that the new boy was ready to leave, but his friend was trying to get him to stay by making him order one more drink.
When the bartender returned with the order, Kevvin interrupted the payment by asking the bartender for a refill. He was not going to wait all night for another drink.
The bartender took the empty glass and walked away without a word. Kevvin was again alone at the end of the bar. At least the obnoxious young men had retreated back across the bar and it was relatively more peaceful. Kevvin glanced up into the mirror while he was waiting for his fresh drink. He quickly picked out the two boys. He took a long, critical look at the newer one. He was dressed much like the first young man had been, but he had on a black t-shirt. It set off his dark eyes and hair very well, Kevvin admitted. His swarthiness gave him an almost Latin appeal.
Kevvin's drink arrived and he paid the bartender without a word. His mood was considerably darker than when he had arrived a couple of hours earlier. He had not had a single decent conversation; the blond young man's pointless chatter had hardly qualified as that. Despite the crowd, there had barely been anyone he would even consider talking to. To top it off, he had been forced to witness Mike's games almost as soon as he had arrived. Mike had barely even acknowledged him when he had seen him.
There would be no inspiration tonight, thought Kevvin. Not only that, he had not learned a single thing the whole evening. It had been a pointless waste of his time and energy. He drained his glass and did up his coat. He stood up and managed to get around his stool with some difficulty. It was ridiculous how close they were to each other. He made his way to the door and stepped onto the street.
The air was bracing after the heat of the bar. Kevvin adjusted his scarf and composed himself. With shoulders back and chin up, he started back down the street. After a few steps, he lost his footing on a patch of frost. Flailing his arms, he managed to keep his balance and avoid a fall. His face reddened at the spectacle he imagined he must have presented.