Page 51
The place was rammed, dark, and—Oliver winced—verging on deafening. If he’d thought getting inside was a challenge, it looked like finding Georgie would be like the search for the Holy Grail.
She could be anywhere or nowhere. Oliver unbuttoned his coat. Almost an hour late, it would hardly be surprising if she’d got fed up and left.
Heavy cigarette smoke stung Oliver’s eyes as he squeezed through the jubilant crush, ignoring the small, overcrowded dance floor on his right in front of the street-facing windows. He headed in deeper, away from the thumping speakers, angling past busy high-top tables and stools toward the middle of the venue and what looked like a square bar, its green pillars festooned with neon beer signs and framed photographs of hockey players. Keeping a safe distance, Oliver peered between patrons ordering drinks and spotted two women serving and a man with greying temples cracking open a box of mixers.
His heart jumped into his throat. Is that him?
Oliver shifted sideways and looked downward, hiding his face as he zigzagged slowly around busy booths and green square tables, searching…searching…
“Oliver?” someone shouted.
He turned around.
Clad in a white Leafs jersey with 17 on the sleeves, Leesa grinned. “You made it!” She clutched a pitcher of beer and a stack of clean pint glasses.
His shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad I found a friendly face.”
“I know! It’s MADNESS in here.” Leesa shook her head, her gaze hopping to one of several televisions suspended from the ceiling, their screens broadcasting sports highlights. “Way too many baseball fans. This place is a notorious hockey hangout, but with the Jays in the World Series, we’ve been overrun.” Motioning with a head tilt toward a section of booths and tables on their left, she led the way. “C’mon.”
Pulling off his green scarf, Oliver followed, past several guys in immaculate suits, and around a waist-high half wall and an empty table draped with a radio station banner, the words Hockey Talk printed in a chunky blue font.
Leesa half-turned. “Player interviews happen here after every game.” She slowed her pace and stopped in the front of a glass- and bottle-strewn, U-shaped booth where a dark-haired guy in black-framed glasses and a faded Rush concert t-shirt smoked a cigarette and chatted to a besuited man.
“…she’s due Christmas Day—” The man glanced over his shoulder, his intense blue eyes raking over Oliver and Leesa. “Oh, hi! Sorry, lemme get out of your way.” He grabbed his beer and patted the smoker’s arm. “Listen, it’s been great catching up.” Smoothing his Looney Tunes tie, the man climbed out of the booth and nodded farewell as he departed.
Jaw dropping, Leesa plonked the pitcher and pint glasses on the table, her stare pursuing the man as he weaved through the crammed bar. “Whaaat? Davis, how on earth do you know Eddie Scott?”
“From Oshawa. He went to my high school.”
“You never said!” Leesa tsked. “You know Georgie’s gonna flip, right? She LOVES him.”
Lucky guy. Oliver glanced over his shoulder. Whoever he is.
Davis shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette in an ash tray, his attention moving to Oliver and his blue button-down and dark blue tie peeking out from his long coat.
Leesa tilted her head. “This is Oliver, Georgie’s friend from the museum.”
“Hey, man!” Davis reached out, offering his hand, which Oliver duly shook. “Thanks for taking over.”
Oliver blinked, not sure how to respond.
“Don’t be a dick, Davis.” Leesa glared. “You offered.”
“And now that you’re back”—he stood, swiping his pack of cigarettes from the table—“I can play pool.”
“Shark,” she coughed into her hand as Davis gave her a cocky salute.
Leesa waited until he was out of earshot, then said, “He’s our usher and a smartass.” Dropping into the booth, she scooted along the seating and relegated Davis’s heaping ash tray to the farthest reaches of the table. “Oliver, take a load off. Have a drink.”
He removed his coat and sat down. “So…what am I taking over?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, ignore him! Someone always stays behind when we’re dancing or in the washroom, looks after our bags and coats.” Leesa gestured to a heap of Leafs jerseys and jackets. “It also prevents weirdos from spiking our drinks.”
“Oh.” Oliver eyed the crowd disparagingly as she began pulling apart the glasses stacked inside each other.
“Georgie’s up front dancing,” said Leesa. “She ordered food and left her camera and photos here, so she’ll be back soon.”
A bulging Blacks Photography envelope spilled pictures onto the table, teasing images of Kaitlin, Leesa, and others Oliver didn’t recognize, along with a single blurry photo affixed with a black sticker stating ‘Print No Charge’. He shifted deeper into the booth and glanced back at the bar. A wide pillar boasting a framed hockey jersey blocked his view. If he couldn’t see Will, Will couldn’t see him. He exhaled into a grin. “I thought I might’ve missed her.”
