I bought her a large double-double and a toasted bagel. We went over to the seats where you wait for the local trains.
Olivia wolfed down the bagel. While she chewed and sipped her coffee, I waited patiently, trying to figure her out.
Toronto has a lot of street people. It’s part of our city’s shame. But something about this girl didn’t seem quite right.
I put her age at well over twenty, far too old to be a runaway. She also didn’t have that spaced out look of the alcoholic or druggie. With her torn jeans and ratty coat, her appearance wasn’t the best, that was for sure, but her hair wasn’t dirty, and she didn’t smell. She knew I was studying her but kept her eyes averted.
As the last bit of bagel disappeared, she licked a dab of cream cheese off her finger, and I spoke. “You sing really well, you know.”
Her head stayed steadfastly down. “I do?”
“Couldn’t you tell by the way the audience reacted?”
She shook her head and gave me a sidelong glance. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Why?”
“Can’t tell you.”
I took another tack. “If you ever came back again, what song would you want to sing?”
She took a long time to answer. The flow of people around us had increased as the downtown office towers emptied for the day. If she’d wanted to bolt, there would have been little I could have done to stop her, and she had to know that.
“Cole Porter. I like Cole Porter.”
“What song?”
“‘Just One of Those Things’.”
“You like that one?”
She nodded. “I used to sing it for my daddy.”
“You know, if you wanted, you could come down to the club, tonight even, and sing with us. We might be able to offer you a job. You wouldn’t have to hang out here any more.”
She took that in. “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t worry about being frightened to sing in public.You’d soon get used to that.”
“I shouldn’t do it.”
“Why not? A steady paycheque has to be better than panhandling. Safer, too.”
Her eyes suddenly got big again, but she said nothing.
Patting her shoulder, I said, “Come down tonight and sing a couple of Cole Porter tunes with us. Okay?”
I knew I should leave or risk having her run away again, and I also knew next time I wouldn’t find her so easily.
As I walked towards the subway, she remained behind, but I could feel her eyes on my back.
Since it was the second night of our three-day gig, I didn’t have to set up my drums, but I arrived early to check out the doorways in the area of the Sal. No sign of Olivia.
By the time the first set had ended, I’d convinced myself she wouldn’t show. I couldn’t have told anyone why it was so important, but I just knew that it was. After all, the girl had only sung one ballad with us.
She had good rhythm and listened to what was going on around her, that was clear. Even Ronald couldn’t fault her pitch. I felt confident that whatever makes a great vocalist, she had it in spades.
As we sat down at our usual table, I casually mentioned to Dom and Ronald that I’d seen Olivia and invited her to sit in again. The bass player greeted that news enthusiastically, the pianist phlegmatically. I wondered what his problem was.
She slid in between the second and third sets, and I immediately saw her standing uncertainly by the door. Getting to my feet, I motioned her over to our table. This time, though, she wasn’t alone. A woman, definitely older and with less of an air of indecision, followed in her wake.
“I’m glad you made it,” I said as I helped her off with her coat.
She had on a reasonably nice black dress. From the way it fit her, it had probably been borrowed or picked up at the Salvation Army Thrift Store or some such place. Still, it looked reasonable, if a bit old-fashioned. Around her neck was another scarf, this time a white silk one that complemented the dress nicely.
Dom slid over two seats to make room for the newcomers. Olivia just about fell into her chair, and I could see she was even more nervous than the week before.
The friend said nothing, and Olivia didn’t make an effort to introduce her. She looked to be at least fifteen years older than Olivia and definitely more careworn. Her face had a wary expression, and I got the feeling she’d been dragged down to the Sal against her will, or that Olivia had come against her wishes. She said her name was Maggie, but something told me it also might not be.
Dom leaned over towards the frightened girl and said in his usual friendly manner, “Andy told us you’d like to sit in.”
She kept her head down. “He asked me to come.”
“So what will you be singing?”
“‘Just One of Those Things’,” I answered for her. “Maybe another Cole Porter tune or two.”
“Like what?” Ronald asked sharply.
“I know ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin’,” she answered.
“And I suppose you don’t know what key you want to sing them in.”
I was about to tell Ronald to back off, but Dom saved me the trouble. “Just sing them, honey, and I’ll tell you what key they’re in. Okay?”
In a very soft voice, Olivia started ‘Just One of Those Things’ and Dom immediately said, “That’s in A.”
Her other chosen tune was in G. We were ready to go.
As the other two got ready, I pulled the vocal mike and stand to the centre of the bandstand and turned it on, checking its level.
Ronald insisted on opening the set with a rather Bill Evans-like rendition of the Porter tune “Night and Day”, and it went on far too long. I kept my eye on Olivia, but my attention wandered when I did a brief solo at the end of the song. When I opened my eyes, I noticed that both women were missing.
Cursing Ronald under my breath for not starting the set with Olivia’s songs, I was about to let him have it when they appeared from the corridor leading to the washrooms. Maggie looked even less happy than before, but Olivia had a very determined glint in her eye as she led the way.
Ronald switched on his mike, announcing to the club that we had a special guest who’d dropped by to sing a few songs. Olivia, having sat down again at our table, popped up immediately and stood there. Dom motioned her towards the bandstand, and she came much more readily than she had the previous time.
“Will somebody help me come in?” she asked shyly.
“Sure thing, sugar,” Dom said.
Olivia seemed a bit more relaxed (as evidenced by her actually letting go of the mike stand a few times), and her performance was that much better because of it. Often she’d sink so far into the songs that she actually seemed to become the person described by the lyrics. The effect was quite astonishing and had the patrons of the club mesmerized – not to mention her backup band. The girl could swing, she could shout, she could be tender. I could only imagine what Olivia would be like with a little rehearsing under her belt.
She wound up doing the rest of the set with us. We would suggest songs until we came up with one she thought she could do, she’d sing a few bars so Dom and Ronald could get the key, and we’d be off.
By