Smells like Old Spice
The wizened man steps to the mic and launches into “Mack The Knife,” while behind him the 17-piece band goes a-one-and-a-two and begins to really swing. Evelyn rises carefully from her chair and stalks across the dance floor, her eyes locked on her target: a tall man, distinguished, steel-rod-for-a-spine in a dinner jacket with a green bow tie and matching cummerbund.