Table 1 - The Fashionable Seats, Chapter two

June 15, 1983 Tobormony, Ontario

When Perpetua Kelly boarded the Greyhound bus to Toronto she carried with her an imitation carpet bag, a tuna fish sandwich for lunch and a miniature leather paddock purse containing her brother’s address on Palmerston Avenue and five bright, green twenty dollar bills. At eighteen years old, she was pretty, clever and ambitious. She’d been to Toronto once before, when her eldest brother Francis had first moved. She and her dad lugged Gran’s mattress and bedframe to Francis’ freshman apartment on Spadina Road. Right in the heart of Chinatown, Francis’s two-room apartment seemed the epitome of sophistication to Pet. Francis could walk to the Royal Ontario Museum, ride his bike to the Art Gallery of Ontario, or simply meander down his street to Art 80, a collection of tiny galleries clustered in a non-descript building at the foot of Spadina. Not that the engineering-bound scholar would do any of the above, but she could picture herself doing so with perhaps a coffee in hand, a Canadian Holly Golightly, beautifully dressed wandering aimlessly amid chic, educated people.

The bus rambled along Highway 6, making a straight run to Wiarton before stopping. Pet had two seats to herself, the bus was barely half-full. At Wiarton, the driver pulled into the bus station and all the passengers got off for a quick break. The bus station smelled strongly of cigarettes. Pet flirted with the idea of purchasing a pack. She’d never smoked before, but then she’d never moved to the city before either. She opted for chocolate instead and withdrew coins from her purse for the candy vending machine. As the jaws of the machine released her Aero bar a well-dressed gentleman sidled up to her.
“Sweets for the sweet?” He smiled into her eyes. He was merely a few inches taller than her, maybe ten years older, light-eyed and fair. His suit was obviously city-made, the cut more self-consciously stylish than the Sunday best of Tobermory’s menfolk.
She laughed, not unkindly, “You should write that down, it’s a very clever.”
He laughed in return, and affected a courtly bow. “I thought an old-fashioned phrase for an old-fashioned young lady. My name is Robert Cratton, at your service.”
Perpetua stopped laughing. “What you do you mean old-fashioned?” Her blue eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant you were dressed nicely, like a young lady.”
“Meaning not very smartly? I suppose the women in Toronto dress very fashionably.” Pet looked down at her plain-navy pleated skirt and white blouse with dissatisfaction.
Robert Cratton followed her gaze down her fitted, neatly tucked blouse lingering before looking back into her eyes. The announcement for Bus 1029 leaving to Toronto in six minutes came over the P.A. system.
Robert shook his head, “Meaning that young women in Toronto don’t dress so formally anymore. It’s rare to see them in anything but jeans and a T-shirt.” He smiled briefly and said, “Well, that’s my bus, nice talking to you.”
She took in his words as he walked away. Instinctively she knew they may be wearing jeans, but not just any old jean. She looked around at the other passengers loitering in the station. She saw a couple of teenage girls boarding a bus. They looked a bit younger than she. Both had long, tousled heads of hair restrained by floppy lace bows. Compared to her shiny, straight hair they looked, not chic exactly, but more alive, fun even. She looked staid, and yes, old-fashioned. An announcer came over the system and made the last call for bus 1029. Pet checked her ticket with a start and ran for the bus.
She resumed her seat to find the seat beside hers now inhabited by Robert Cratton.
She looked at him suspiciously, “Were you on this bus earlier?”
He nodded, “I sat at the very back earlier. But since things are a lot more crowded now, and I hate traveling beside people I don’t know.”
“Won’t your reputation suffer, being seen with such an old-fashioned girl?” Pet responded tartly.
Robert shook his head good naturedly. “Whose gonna know, it’s a Greyhound, it’s not like it’s the elite’s traveling preference.”