One Friday afternoon in 1969 Ron Bond and I decided to make an early start on the pub scene. We were both recently separated from marriages that we had entered as mere children. I had been eighteen when I got hitched. I was so young and naive I thought I was going to a birthday party... Anyway, we were now both free men and definitely on the prowl. We left my stable and were cruising out of the park in my pickup truck, preparing to head downtown for a night of frivolity when I noticed some activity at the side of the road. I slowed down to get a better look then abruptly hit the brakes. Ron, who had been combing his thinning hair and admiring himself in the rear view mirror, shot forward and hit his head on the windshield. “What the hell do you think your doing?” he shouted. “Are you trying to kill me?” He had his fist clenched and was about to give me a shot in the arm but as I held up one hand to fend him off and pointed with the other to something that was happening near the side of the road, he immediately backed off. After a lingering look in the direction I was indicating, he leaned back in his seat and sighed a whispery “ My, my!”
Two beautiful young women came running helter-skelter through the bushes. One was a blonde and the other a brunette. They both had long flowing hair and were scantily clad in tight short shorts and tank tops that looked like they were about to burst.
We watched mesmerized for several minutes trying to figure out what they were up to as they ran around shouting and waving their arms. Ron speculated that they were probably some sort of cult celebrating a rite of spring but I was convinced that they were just stoned or on acid. Either way we were ‘in’ and if things worked out, it might save us from making a costly time consuming trip down to the Coal Bin.
Ron was making some final touchups to his hair and trying to flatten his bushy eyebrows before joining the ladies when I noticed something that put the situation in a new light. Both of the women were now out of sight deep in the bushes. Suddenly a grey ball of fur going a mile a minute, came flying out into the open. The girls were hot on the trail of what was a big old Persian cat and just when one of them was about to pounce on it, the cat ducked back into the bushes and disappeared.
The situation was perfect: all we had to do to break the ice and ingratiate ourselves with these ladies was to offer to help capture their cat, so we weren’t long in approaching them and offering our services.
We got right down to business combing the brush for the ferocious feline and making a great show of our efforts. Actually, we were in no hurry to get the job done. As long as that cat was still at large we had the girls’ undivided attention and the opportunity to garner some gratitude points for further consideration. I was hoping that we would be able to draw the hunt out for an hour or so, enough time for me to bond with the luscious blonde who was flitting seductively through the brush always a few steps ahead of me.
Two beautiful young women came running helter-skelter through the bushes. One was a blonde and the other a brunette. They both had long flowing hair and were scantily clad in tight short shorts and tank tops that looked like they were about to burst.
We watched mesmerized for several minutes trying to figure out what they were up to as they ran around shouting and waving their arms. Ron speculated that they were probably some sort of cult celebrating a rite of spring but I was convinced that they were just stoned or on acid. Either way we were ‘in’ and if things worked out, it might save us from making a costly time consuming trip down to the Coal Bin.
Ron was making some final touchups to his hair and trying to flatten his bushy eyebrows before joining the ladies when I noticed something that put the situation in a new light. Both of the women were now out of sight deep in the bushes. Suddenly a grey ball of fur going a mile a minute, came flying out into the open. The girls were hot on the trail of what was a big old Persian cat and just when one of them was about to pounce on it, the cat ducked back into the bushes and disappeared.
The situation was perfect: all we had to do to break the ice and ingratiate ourselves with these ladies was to offer to help capture their cat, so we weren’t long in approaching them and offering our services.
We got right down to business combing the brush for the ferocious feline and making a great show of our efforts. Actually, we were in no hurry to get the job done. As long as that cat was still at large we had the girls’ undivided attention and the opportunity to garner some gratitude points for further consideration. I was hoping that we would be able to draw the hunt out for an hour or so, enough time for me to bond with the luscious blonde who was flitting seductively through the brush always a few steps ahead of me.
We had barely started getting to know each other when we were distracted by the sight of a long black limousine pulling up to the curb beside us. We watched while a uniformed chauffeur got out, walked around the car and opened the rear door. A thinnish woman who looked to be in her late sixties, emerged from the car and headed in our direction.
Her graying hair was done up in a bun at the back. She wore no makeup and her face seemed to be ablaze with a ruddy rash. “Boozer”, I thought to myself. When she spoke, and she wasn’t long waiting to do so, it was with a squeaky, hoarse authority that suggested that she was someone who was used to being listened to and obeyed.
“What’s going on here?” she demanded. We hadn’t noticed her watching us when her limo had passed by previously and some how she had got the notion that we were about to abuse the cat that so far had alluded us.
I set her straight about what was going on and told her that we had things well in hand but she insisted that we were going about everything the wrong way and that she would show us the proper way to catch a cat.
She enlisted her chauffeur’s help and directed we three men to go to the rear of the clump of bushes that contained the defiant cat.
She had created a trap by using two of the lap robes from the limo, stringing them between herself and the girls.
“ Now, gentlemen,” she shouted in her croaky voice, “ You will advance towards us making as much noise and commotion as you can.” When she barked her command, we reacted instantly and had only taken a few steps forward when the cat took off full tilt and buried itself in the blanket.
I had to give the old girl credit. Before the cat knew what it was doing, she had it wrapped up in the blanket and was handing it to its owners.
I wasn’t sure what effect this early capture was going to have on the burgeoning relationship that was developing between us and the girls so I thought I better suggest something to keep our options open.
“Listen, my place is just around the corner. Why don’t you come up for a drink or a cup of tea or something?”
All three women were clustered around in a group making a fuss over the cat and the young ones weren’t long declining my offer. Apparently they had been tricked before. Instead, they offered to buy Ron and me a drink at the nearby Inn On The Park. I didn’t want to seem too eager so I paused for a second before accepting and, unfortunately, that gave the old girl time to pipe up with, “I dare say I could use a good cup of tea.”
Her graying hair was done up in a bun at the back. She wore no makeup and her face seemed to be ablaze with a ruddy rash. “Boozer”, I thought to myself. When she spoke, and she wasn’t long waiting to do so, it was with a squeaky, hoarse authority that suggested that she was someone who was used to being listened to and obeyed.
“What’s going on here?” she demanded. We hadn’t noticed her watching us when her limo had passed by previously and some how she had got the notion that we were about to abuse the cat that so far had alluded us.
I set her straight about what was going on and told her that we had things well in hand but she insisted that we were going about everything the wrong way and that she would show us the proper way to catch a cat.
She enlisted her chauffeur’s help and directed we three men to go to the rear of the clump of bushes that contained the defiant cat.
She had created a trap by using two of the lap robes from the limo, stringing them between herself and the girls.
“ Now, gentlemen,” she shouted in her croaky voice, “ You will advance towards us making as much noise and commotion as you can.” When she barked her command, we reacted instantly and had only taken a few steps forward when the cat took off full tilt and buried itself in the blanket.
I had to give the old girl credit. Before the cat knew what it was doing, she had it wrapped up in the blanket and was handing it to its owners.
I wasn’t sure what effect this early capture was going to have on the burgeoning relationship that was developing between us and the girls so I thought I better suggest something to keep our options open.
“Listen, my place is just around the corner. Why don’t you come up for a drink or a cup of tea or something?”
All three women were clustered around in a group making a fuss over the cat and the young ones weren’t long declining my offer. Apparently they had been tricked before. Instead, they offered to buy Ron and me a drink at the nearby Inn On The Park. I didn’t want to seem too eager so I paused for a second before accepting and, unfortunately, that gave the old girl time to pipe up with, “I dare say I could use a good cup of tea.”
I was trapped. If I didn’t take her to my house, she might have called me a ‘cad’ or something. So Ron jumped into the car with the two babes and headed to the hotel while I went home with the leathery old broad following behind me in her limo.
When we reached the stable, she was out of her car like shot and over to the paddock where a dozen or so horses were clustered by the fence. I stood for a while and watched while she cooed at them and with hands that shook subtly, rubbed their eyes and petted their muzzles. She obviously knew her way around the animals.
We talked a while about horse stuff and then I said, “C’mon up to the house. I’ll put the kettle on.” I made tea and we sat at the kitchen table while she plied me with questions about the stable and the horses she had been admiring.
At one point she asked if she could use my washroom and I watched her as she navigated her way through my bachelor clutter with a look of amusement and mild disapproval on her face. She stopped to admire the ‘Fallow Field Hunt’ prints that hung in my hallway on her way back to the kitchen explaining that she had the same ones in her home.
We talked a little more about my horses and the stable with her asking questions speaking rapidly in a high quivery voice and then she looked at her watch and said it was time she was going.
I realized that I knew nothing about this woman. She had directed the conversation so that it had been all about me. There was something about this old girl and I was thinking that I would like to get to know her better, so I asked if I could get a couple of horses out and go for a ride with her. “Oh, I’d love to, my dear, but my producer would have a fit if I got hurt and I couldn’t perform--and really I must be off!”
She got to her feet and, as I held the door for her to leave, I realized that we hadn’t formally introduced ourselves. “By the way, I’m Garry,” I said as she passed by me and headed down the stairs that led from my kitchen. She took a few more steps and then, holding the handrail, she turned around and with a smile on her face said, “You can call me Kate.”
That’s when it hit me and I stood stunned as she finished going down the stairs. Her chauffeur helped her into the car and I continued to watch as the limo disappeared around the corner and out of sight. I backed into the kitchen, turned and reached for the daily paper. I leafed through the pages until I came to the Entertainment Section and there, glaring at me, was a
When we reached the stable, she was out of her car like shot and over to the paddock where a dozen or so horses were clustered by the fence. I stood for a while and watched while she cooed at them and with hands that shook subtly, rubbed their eyes and petted their muzzles. She obviously knew her way around the animals.
We talked a while about horse stuff and then I said, “C’mon up to the house. I’ll put the kettle on.” I made tea and we sat at the kitchen table while she plied me with questions about the stable and the horses she had been admiring.
At one point she asked if she could use my washroom and I watched her as she navigated her way through my bachelor clutter with a look of amusement and mild disapproval on her face. She stopped to admire the ‘Fallow Field Hunt’ prints that hung in my hallway on her way back to the kitchen explaining that she had the same ones in her home.
We talked a little more about my horses and the stable with her asking questions speaking rapidly in a high quivery voice and then she looked at her watch and said it was time she was going.
I realized that I knew nothing about this woman. She had directed the conversation so that it had been all about me. There was something about this old girl and I was thinking that I would like to get to know her better, so I asked if I could get a couple of horses out and go for a ride with her. “Oh, I’d love to, my dear, but my producer would have a fit if I got hurt and I couldn’t perform--and really I must be off!”
She got to her feet and, as I held the door for her to leave, I realized that we hadn’t formally introduced ourselves. “By the way, I’m Garry,” I said as she passed by me and headed down the stairs that led from my kitchen. She took a few more steps and then, holding the handrail, she turned around and with a smile on her face said, “You can call me Kate.”
That’s when it hit me and I stood stunned as she finished going down the stairs. Her chauffeur helped her into the car and I continued to watch as the limo disappeared around the corner and out of sight. I backed into the kitchen, turned and reached for the daily paper. I leafed through the pages until I came to the Entertainment Section and there, glaring at me, was a
huge playbill advertising a new musical that was opening in Toronto. It was called Coco and it starred Katharine Hepburn.
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