"Ilya Kuryakin," the other man replied, "Professor of Languages at Midtown University.  My colleagues Helen Barstowe," the
lady nodded, "Pat Haley," a second nod from the other lady, "and Harry Carstairs," a nod from the gentleman.  After the
introductions they exchanged small talk, and Ilya and Napoleon sized each other up unaware of what the other was thinking.
 
Suave, urbane, sophisticated, and charming, Ilya thought as he watched his host flirt with both women.  He noted the man's
physical appearance: dark brown hair, olive skin, medium build, a few inches taller than himself.  Warm brown eyes above a
dimpled smile.  A voice as smooth and smoky as charcoal-filtered Scotch.  I wonder if there's anything under that bright
facade.
 
His host was looking at him with interested eyes.  Quiet, shy, diffident, doesn't speak much but when he does it's highly
intelligent.  Does he know how beautiful he is?  Straight beige blond hair parted on the side, pale-to-translucent skin,
boyishly small and slender.  Wide china-blue eyes above full lips.  He'd already noticed the beautiful voice, and he wanted
to hear it sing again.
 
When the waiter came by again Napoleon ordered a round for the table and Ilya passed the man a filled-in song form.
 
"I've got it," he said, stopping the Ukrainian from paying.  "I did offer, remember, and I insist."
 
"There is more than one song --" Ilya protested.
 
"I don't mind," he replied, "as long as you're singing them."
 
When the table's turn came Ilya delighted the crowd with a rendition of Ray Price's "For the Good Times":
 
"Lay your head upon my pillow,
 Hold your warm and tender body close to mine . . . "
 
"Is it just me, or is it suddenly warm in here?" Napoleon heard from a nearby table.  He was seriously considering checking
the room's thermostat himself.  However, when Ilya's song ended the waiter brought over two extra mikes; it seemed the other
song he'd written down was "All for Love" by Bryan Adams, Rod Stewart, and Sting.
 
Handing mikes to Harry and Napoleon, he said, "You don't expect me to sing all three parts, do you?"
 
They didn't have time to argue; the music started and they had to, too.   There were a few fumbles, but everyone managed to
survive the song with only minor dents to their pride.  It didn't help Napoleon Ilya was looking at him with a mischievous
twinkle in his eye.
 
After the song was over Harry excused himself to go to the men's room, leaving the ladies with Ilya and Napoleon.
 
"How did you ladies end up with him?" Napoleon asked.
 
"He's been eyeballing me all year, and tonight he finally managed to corner me by inviting Ilya along for Pat," Helen admitted.
 
"You mean he doesn't know?" he replied.
 
"You mean you do?" Ilya interrupted.
 
"I should know about two of my best customers," Napoleon shot back.  "It doesn't bother you?"
 
"Why should it?" he answered.  "They are my friends; what they want to do is their own business as long as there is no force
or coercion."
 
"You should bring him by the next time you come in," their host told them.
 
"I would not wish to be in their way," Ilya said.
 
"You wouldn't be in the way," Helen offered, "and we'd love to have you along."
 
Pat giggled, "Think of the rumors it would start!  Our quiet Languages Professor out with two women at once!"  They both
dissolved into giggles as Ilya colored and ducked his head.
 
"You're welcome any time," Napoleon said, and Ilya wondered if he'd really heard what he thought he'd heard in his host's
voice: a special invitation to him alone.
 
When Harry returned from the men's room, the ladies excused themselves to "freshen up".  Harry started telling Ilya what sort
of moves he was going to put on Helen, but the other man didn't want to hear it and excusing himself he left the table headed to
the men's room.
 
As he was leaving he was stopped by his host, who drew him into an office nearby.  He turned as he heard the door being
locked and met Napoleon halfway, opening his mouth for a searing kiss.  When they finally broke for air, the darker man said,
"I've been wanting to do that all night."
 
"So have I," the blond replied.  "What time do you close, or should I meet you elsewhere?"
 
"I have to lock up after I close," Napoleon said.  "I usually stop in at the coffee shop up the street afterwards and have a bite
to eat.  Say, about 2:30?"
 
"I'll be there," Ilya whispered. "Your place, my place, or neutral territory?"
 
"My place; it's above the coffee shop."  He let Ilya go after another kiss and watched as the foursome finished their drinks and
left.