LITMIR.BIZ

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      The youthful soloists idea also worked pretty well, so I kept my mouth firmly shut. Harry began talking about wanting to be stuffed and laid out behind the bar when he eventually cashed in his chips.

      Then Olivia walked in.

      Outside, a February storm was blowing, hopefully one of the last gasps of a miserable three-month stretch of extreme cold and snow, but the Sal was still gratifyingly half filled.

      Stepping through the door of the club, she looked like a street person. While I prefer to play with my eyes closed most of the time, floating with the groove I’m laying down, for some reason my eyes were immediately drawn to her.

      Her brown hair was long, but badly cut, and her baggy clothes, toque and duffel coat looked as if they were straight out of a Salvation Army bin – which turned out to be the literal truth. The only spot of colour was a bright red scarf.

      She wasn’t much over five feet, and soaking wet she would have weighed in at not much over a hundred pounds, but there was something about her. She was pretty in a conventional sense – nice lips, cute nose, sort of a heart-shaped face – but her dark eyes gazed right into my soul for a brief moment before she looked away.

      I watched her find a perch on one of the tall stools lining the wall in a back corner, places set out for those who wander in alone to catch a set or two. She spent the evening nursing two soft drinks that she paid for from a fistful of small change.

      Loraine, the waitress, gave Olivia dirty looks as the level of her drinks got very slowly lower. Tuesdays were generally not good nights for tips, and a couple of colas over the course of an entire evening would hardly pay the rent.

      I don’t think anyone but me noticed the waif-like woman as she listened to us accompany hopefuls and drunks with equal equanimity, and even I didn’t catch Olivia as she slipped off her stool and out the door at the end of the evening.

      That would never happen again.

      I next came across her in a totally unexpected place on a Saturday afternoon a week or so later.

      My elderly car was again in the shop, this time for a new transmission. Since I had missed visiting my daughter Kate the previous weekend because of an out-of-town gig, I’d decided to catch the train out to Oakville, where my ex-wife Sandra was living with her new guy in his three-thousand-plus-square-foot house.

      Knowing that yet again that bastard Jeremy would look down his long nose at me, my mind was on other things, so I nearly knocked Olivia down as she panhandled for change in between the subway exit and the lower level entrance to Union Station. The Tim Hortons coffee cup in her hand went flying, the coins tinkling as they bounced all over the concrete. Immediately, two other street people appeared from nowhere, stooped and began snatching them up.

      “Oh, damn! I’m sorry!” I said.

      The poor girl looked as if she might start crying. It took me a moment to realize who she was. She just stared at me, then stooped to pick up her cup and two nickels and a dime that had fallen nearby.

      Turning around, I saw the two interlopers scurrying off with their booty. No honour among thieves.

      I pulled a handful of coins out of my pocket and dumped them in her cup. “It’s the least I can do.”

      Big eyes looked at me, and a shy smile lit up her face. “Thanks.”

      Feeling embarrassed, I hurried off with a muttered,“Well, take care,” and went in search of my train.

      The whole way out to Oakville, I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

      She puzzled me. Had the girl wandered into the Sal simply to get warm? It had been a frighteningly cold night, but you didn’t often see street people in a jazz club – unless they were on the stage playing...

      My daughter kept me busy all afternoon, first at a movie then at one of those indoor putting places. The cab fare to and from the big complex out on Winston Churchill Drive where both were located, along with the cost of lunch, movie and putting set me back more than what I made in one night at the Sal, but it was worth it. I’d missed Kate dreadfully since Sandra had taken up with Jeremy, and we’d had a great afternoon.

      Eleven-year-old Kate had begun to remind me of my own mother, all dark, curly hair and a broad, pleasant face. She’d never be a beauty like own mom, but her sense of humour and fierce creativity would stand her in good stead. I’d gotten her interested in music, and she showed some talent on the piano. Sandra pushed her hard in school because Kate was very bright. I had no idea how she’d turn out, but I knew she’d be very good at everything she took up.

      Whenever I saw Kate, I tried to show her the best time possible. I’m sure a lot of divorced dads do the same. You have to. Jeremy probably made more in three months than I made in a whole year and could give her just about anything.

      There was no question that Kate should live with Sandra. With the hours I kept, it couldn’t be any other way – certainly not at her age. Perhaps later that might change, but for now, we had to be satisfied with what felt like stolen moments. Unless I went out of town for a gig, I tried my level best to see her every weekend. We’d share email during the week and talk on the phone. Kate was also after me to get a game system like the one Jeremy had given her so we could both play online. I’d reluctantly promised that I’d get one, not because I wanted to, but because I wasn’t about to let the interloper have one more thing that my daughter could share with him and not with me.

      So that Sunday it was a bad movie (we agreed on that), pizza and a game of mini-putt, where we both cheated as much as possible. We also laughed a lot, and I forgot for minutes at a time how hollow the whole thing felt. Kate was just as aware as I how we had to fit a whole week of being together into a few short hours.

      On the cab ride back to Jeremy’s, she cuddled up to me and whispered in my ear how she thought he was a “dork”. I squeezed her tight and didn’t say a word, mainly because her words hit me so hard. That was the first time she’d said anything on the subject.

      “I love you, honey,” I managed to say as we pulled up in front of her new home.

      “And I love you too, Daddy.You take care of yourself this week.You’re beginning to look pretty skinny!”

      She kissed my cheek, and I kissed her forehead. Then she ran for the house without another word. Sandra was at the door to let Kate in, and her expression, as she closed it, was as devoid of emotion as ever.

      On the train ride back into the city, I worked on my electronic agenda, lining up all the gigs the trio had over the next three months.

      Just before the axe had fallen on our marriage, Sandra, Kate and I had discussed going to Disney World. That afternoon, I decided that if I could talk Sandra into allowing it, I’d take Kate there for a week in April. The plane tickets would cost a fortune, let alone rooms, food and Disney World admission, but gigs had been plentiful in the six months since Sandra had split, and I could just afford the trip.

      I’d be damned if I was going to let Jeremy get there first with my daughter.

      Back at Union Station, the mysterious girl I’d seen at the Sal was still standing outside the subway entrance with her pathetic coffee cup. Snow had begun falling, and that short stretch between the two stations was alive with flakes, dancing as they descended out of the darkness into the light. Even though completely fed up with winter at this point, the sight caught my attention.

      It had apparently caught the girl’s, too, because she was standing there, head upturned, watching the big flakes descend. From the amazed expression on her face, you’d think she’d never seen snow before.

      Noticing that her attention was elsewhere, a punk made a snatch for her cup.

      Reaching out, I grabbed his wrist. Although I’m not the bulkiest guy around, drumming has made my forearms pretty strong, and he couldn’t shake me off.

      “Hey, man! Leggo! What do you think you’re doing?”

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