thatâs Oregon too,â Ralph said, more to himself than to me.âAll righty, now weâre getting warmer. San Francisco. Dave did excellent there. Palo Alto is Stanford University.â Ralph unclipped sheets of paper that looked like contracts.
âHere we go,â he said, his voice louder. âActual fact, it wasnât in Los Angeles Dave played.â
Ralph separated out one contract.
âCulver City,â he said. âI guess thatâs a Los Angeles neighbourhood or something, little town close by maybe.â
âLike Anaheim, Azusa, and Cucamonga.â
âIt was the Alley Cat Bistro Dave worked at,â Ralph said. âHow in the world could a man forget a name like that? Alley Cat Bistro in Culver City.â
Ralph handed me the contract. It was four pages long. Most of it was in printed clauses, standard boilerplate stuff, but there were dates and money amounts typed in. I flipped to the last page. Whoever signed for the Alley Cat had an illegible hand, but the name was too long to be Raymond Fenkâs.
Ralph said, âDave thought the audiences were hep at this Alley Cat. Couldnât have been a big place though, not according to what they paid.â
âDid he play other jobs out there? A concert? Anything?â
âNot in L.A.â
âWhat about a movie soundtrack?â
âA week at this Alley Cat and Dave flew straight home,â Ralph said. âHe was a pretty excited guy.â
âHow could you tell?â
Ralph performed the grin that lit up Don Mills.
âOh sure, Daveâs one for keeping the feelings to himself,â he said. âBut anybody could see the week with Harp Manley had him real pleased.â
âHe knew about that before he came back from the western tour?â
âBefore he even went west,â Ralph said.âI had the contracts signed up first of May.â
âSigned with whom? Manleyâs people?â
âWith everybody,â Ralph said. âAbner Chase booked Manley into his club, and his agency in New York, Manleyâs agency, told Abner they needed another horn for Toronto. Abner asked if Dave was okay. Well, that needed backing and forthing because Manley had to give his personal stamp, which he did soonâs he heard it was Dave. So, Bobâs your uncle, the contract came from New York and Abner signed and I signed, and Dave felt real good about everything.â
âUntil Raymond Fenk arrived on the scene.â
I gave the Alley Cat contract back to Ralph. He aligned the orange files so that their corners were exact and placed them on the floor beside the Motolounger.
Ralph said, âWhereâs all this get us?â
âNot far past square one.â
âDonât think I donât appreciate your worry, Crang,â Ralph said. âBut Iâm just thinking Daveâll walk in tomorrow, you know, sheepish, apologizing to all concerned. Iâll read him the riot act, count on it, and weâll get back to business as usual.â
No rum and Coke had passed Ralphâs lips. Maybe Doreen was the drinker in the household. I finished my glass and told Ralph Iâd keep in touch. He stood under the porch light until I drove out of sight around one of Hiawathaâs curves.
I chose a route home by way of Eglinton and North Torontoâs back streets. If someone I knew spotted me on the DVP, word might get out I was a closet suburbanite. It was ten-thirty, and I hadnât eaten since Cam Charlesâs spread. Falafel felt about right. I stopped at the Kensington Kitchen on Harbord and ordered a plate to go. Falafel, hummus, tabbouleh, and pita. The pita was whole-wheat.
I ate the food and drank two glasses of Soave in front of the CITY-TV news. The sports guyâs sweater had more colours than a test pattern. He said the Blue Jays lost in the ninth and the Maple Leafs had a couple of promising defencemen. I switched off the set. When the Boston