April 1972
"Bob, there’s a girl at the bar…” John's voice cut through the buzz of the Jarvis House, where I was sitting with a few assembled 'so-called friends.'
After leaving me hanging for a minute or so, he finished his thought, saying, “You’re gonna love her.”
Now, a bit curious about his words, 'you’re gonna love her,' I quietly responded, “Umm…okay… And why?”
He pointed to the back bar, where a slim, stylishly attired girl wearing a brimmed straw hat sat. Unfortunately, the hat covered most of her face, but managed to reveal a pair of finely shaped lips on peach-colored skin. She exuded confidence.
“She won't talk to nobody!” John chuckled, “Ha—She won’t even look at anyone who approaches her.”
Ah, that explains why John took so long to fetch my drink. He had been entertained by this girl, as a few young guys, one after the other, offered to buy her a drink. According to John, she hadn't even lifted her head in acknowledgment.
It took a lot to really get my attention in those days, being at the peak of life in the fight game and other stuff (bookmaking, doing runs for Bertie or Ooch), but this girl intrigued me enough to approach her.
Earlier that day, my pal John had called to suggest meeting up at the Jarvis House, our regular joint for beers and more. The suggestion to 'meet up' was code for the nights I'd typically pick up drinks, maybe head for dinner at Sai Woo for wonton soup, or enjoy good Greek food at the Mercury in downtown Toronto.
While everyone else was in college, I was making good money, and constantly picking up the check affirmed the adage, “Who says you can’t buy friends?” This both amused me and spared me from the effort of 'making' friends.
The girlfriends of these 'friends' were not enamored with me because of my rough humor and brutal sarcasm. My dark view of people made them uncomfortable. But what could they do? More humiliatingly, the guys had grown accustomed to the idea of paid checks in exchange for granting me more social leeway.
The game became: what price will people pay in terms of self-respect for a couple of free drinks and a few bowls of wonton?
But this intriguing woman at the bar had interested me enough to make me walk over, where I took a neutral position: close enough to be heard, but not so close as to appear forward. Not sure how to proceed, I stood silently, doing my best impression of an unread page. Surprisingly, it worked. She slowly raised her head, revealing one azure-colored eye. After giving me an appraisal, she proceeded to say... nothing.
Confounded about how to open a conversation with such a cool-looking gal, I lamely asked, “Are you waiting on a date or friends?”
She returned to her drink.
Desperate not to lose any more ground, I threw in the sink, proposing, “Hey, I’m taking these supposed friends, or whoever, out for dinner. Want to join us?”
Keeping her head down, she replied, “I’m not hungry.”
Encouraged, I shot back, “Well, just have drinks. You know, company,” assuming she might be enticed by an offer of free drinks.
“I said, I am not hungry,” she snapped, motioning at the glass in front of her.
Taken aback by her tone, I said, “Ah, whatever—I was just offering.”
She turned to me, and after giving me a quick appraisal, drawled, “Wow, a real live Stanley Kowalski!”
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