Andrew had visited Portland many times, always on business, and never had time to explore. This time, he was lucky: Friday and Saturday he had nothing "official" to do. But on Sunday, he was to head a major "wrap-up-and-report" committee. Only then could he leave.
An oceanographer and good overall naturalist, he'd heard about the Portland zoo, always in superlatives: it was large, complex, and eminently worthwhile. He decided to spend Friday there. He arrived via metro just at opening, exiting the train at what the system proudly claimed was the deepest underground transit station in North America.
Seniors got a significant discount, which was a hoot - he seldom thought of himself that way except when confronted by fares and admissions and such.
Once inside, he wandered a bit, scoping out the overall layout. He began almost alone, but by nine o'clock kids were swarming about in profusion, mostly under age ten and mostly in school groups and as families. At about nine thirty he was standing in the amazing polar bear exhibit, with its glass-sided tanks allowing simultaneous viewing of the huge bear above and below water, as the infinitely-bored beast paced and swam his circuit, mostly doing the backstroke.
As Andrew tried to watch the bear, the sea of kids formed a blooming, buzzing confusion around him. At one point he simply pulled back, giving up for a moment. Free of the press, he wound up twenty feet from the tank, standing beside a row of sofa-sized concrete blocks, usable for seating or (for small kids) standing upon to gain a view over others' heads. Sitting on the nearest block was a pretty young woman: she grinned at him, shook her head and said "It's more fun to watch the bipeds, don't you think?"
Andrew nodded, studied her briefly. Attractive, slim, sitting legs-crossed and sidesaddle. Pretty legs - slender, muscular. She was dressed in short-shorts snug enough so that it was clear she was either sans undies, or wearing a minimalist thong. The shorts were complemented by a loosely-tied sleeveless blouse that provided occasional glimpses of considerable areas of the upper and inner slopes of her bosom. It was equally unclear whether she wore a bra - which of course meant probably not.
His complete scan took only a fraction of a second. Andrew was impressed - the package was better than nice, close to stellar. He saw a break in the kid-brigade and said to her "Back in a sec. Think I'll try again!" He stepped forward; to avoid being a view-blocking device, he squatted down on the steps nearest the glass.
Almost immediately two young girls pushed in front of him, completely blocking his own view. He gave them the benefit of the doubt - they were chattering excitedly about the bear and seemed oblivious to his existence. From behind him came a sharp voice: "Janet! Clara! Be polite and watch what you're doing. You just pushed in front of that man! That's very rude of you!"
It was the seated lady speaking, and the rebuke brought the girls up short. They said, simultaneously, "Yes, Mom!" and turned to Andrew. The bigger girl said, contritely, "We're sorry, Mister! We didn't mean to be rude, but we've never seen a polar bear before!"
Her sister added "He's HUGE! This is pretty exciting, being so close to him!"
Andrew grinned - he loved to teach, took the opportunity. He stayed in his crouch, keeping his eyes at the level of the girls'. "You're both forgiven. Now, tell me, what color do you think the bear's actual skin is, under all that fur?"
Mom stood up and stepped closer, where she could hear. The girls shook their heads, and he explained: "It's black! Now, why do you suppose the bear's hair is white?"
Several other kids turned to listen.
"After all, they live where it's awfully cold and you both know that something dark left out in the sun will get warmer than something white. Shouldn't a cold-climate bear have BLACK fur to help stay warm? What's going on here?"
The girls engaged in speculation for a minute, dreaming up and then rejecting answers, until finally they demanded to know. By this time Andrew had a dozen kids - plus several parents - clustered about him, all participating.
He said "OK... Here's what's going on with the Polar Bear's Hair! First of all, he has a really thick coat, and it's very good insulation. If the fur were black, only the top, on the very outside, would get warm - but the bear himself is three inches farther down, under that blanket of fur. With dark fur, the surface would heat up nicely, but that wouldn't get heat down to the bear's body. So things work differently here. The hairs are pretty special. They don't soak up water, so he doesn't get wet when he swims. The hairs are also hollow, to help him float, and they are colorless like plain glass, so that they don't absorb whatever sunlight and heat hit the bear. Each hair is like a little tiny light pipe, and together they carry all the light and heat from the sun down, down, through two or three inches of fur to that black skin, and the black skin absorbs the heat, and helps keep the bear warm. Waterproof white fur, light-pipes, and black skin. This is one High-Tech Bear! Neat, isn't it!?"
He got a chorus of "Wow!" from the audience.
Moments after he stopped talking, the group dispersed like smoke. The two girls turned back to watch the bear again. Mom had moved closer during the talk, and smiled at Andrew as he stood up beside her - an absolutely beautiful smile. She was taller than he'd thought - only an inch or so shorter than he - and at 30 or 32, about 30 years his junior. He allowed himself one more scan of her re-arranged anatomy. Long, well-muscled legs supporting a truly lovely bottom half hinted-at and half-visible under the shorts.
She held out her hand and said "You're a great teacher! You really had all those kids' attention! Mine too, and also the adults. Are you a docent? I'm Judith, by the way."
He shook her hand, introduced himself, then briefly explained his presence - the conference, his duties therein, his scientific background. He gestured at the girls: "I presume from "mom" that they're both yours?"
She nodded, named them to him. Most of the "kids-with-parents" groups seemed to include both parents, and he looked about in the milling, flowing crowd, found no obvious solitary man as candidate to be their father. He asked, in perfect innocence, "Nice kids. Intelligent and polite. Where's Daddy? Gone to the men's room or something?"