Jim bought us each a Budweiser, and I put my foot back on the stage, and my black hat on the table. The hat is important to the story, so it's worth explaining: I grew up with a series of Finnish children's books about the Moomintroll family.

There is a sly, quiet traveller character in them called Snufkin, who wanders around, with his shapeless black hat, a harmonica and a pipe. This summer, in Inari, Finland (working for Let's Go), I bought a hat which looked like Snufkin's hat. Phoenix came to our table, leaned over, picked up mine, which is mostly shapeless.

"Mind if I wear this?" She had a southern voice. Tennessee, she told me (the third time I saw her).

"No not at all. Here...you've got to make sure you've got the front right." I reached out my hand. There is a tiny tear in the felt which identifies the back of the hat. Phoenix tried it on.

"Hm. It's too big."

"Oh, your head's about the same size as mine...try it with your hair up."

It fit. It looked wonderful. My first love looked wonderful with her hair up, slender neck exposed. Phoenix danced away, pulling it low over her eyes; Marlene Dietriech. I never brought myself to give any of the dancers a tip, but I hoped that the Snufkin hat was helping Phoenix inspire some generosity around the stage. I told her she could keep it for the rest of her shift.

Chatting to one of the regulars, she flipped up the brim, bumpkin style. I laughed at Chris. "That woman's got a sense of humour."

The third time I saw Phoenix, she was wearing jeans, a grey cotton turtle-neck, and white cotton socks; it was about a week later. "I'm going to ask her out to lunch," I had told Chris. "Yeah, bullshit," he had told me.

It was a Saturday night near closing; I told the doorman I just wanted to ask, "you know, the red head?," a question. He let me stand by the door, waiting for her to come out of the dressing room.

The doorman was huge, with a striped head (shaved blond streaks), a Mr. Universe tanktop on, and sun-bed glossy skin. He wasn't real interested in talking. But he told me her name. Phoenix.

"Seriously?...You know, I come from Boston, and my bank card password is phoenix."

He said, "Yeah?" I waited for Phoenix to come out of the dressing room.

She did, about fifteen minutes later. She hadn't put her shoes on yet and her white cotton socks were obvious against the dark floor.

"Really?" she said, "`phoenix?' Spelled 'oe'?"