Omelette Man was Manny Valdez, an East LA native and Homeboy graduate who put hot sauce on everything: eggs, donuts, french fries, ice cream – He kept little packets of the stuff in his car and his desk drawer. It’s what he first noticed about Rhea – her double use of verde and Cholula.
The second thing was the way she alluded to food and sex. Valdez published a little throwaway rag, “The Hollywood Pulse.” It was one of those freebies stacked at the neighborhood stores and eateries that featured blurbs on local events, local politics and food – covering topics like the chorizo at Yucca Meats, traffic on Sunset and the craft fair at Michlortenia Elementary. His aging food reviewer was growing partial to “senior specials” which was a valid market but Valdez wanted to “tart up” the Pulse – make it more hip – to try and get in some new advertisers and more classifieds, which made up the bulk of the bi-weekly paper. He needed a new reviewer and he needed an angle. This Rhea chick might be it. It also looked like she was a low-rent eater – definitely a must.
“A cheap food writer.” He specified.
“Cheap food or cheap writer?” Rhea asked, already let down before she even got the job.
“Both.” Valdez answered.
“How cheap?” Rhea asked, already let down before she even got the job.
“Twenty five cents a word, five to seven hundred words. Bi-monthly reviews but fifty bucks a week for food.
So what? I go to Jitlada and get only 2 things and an egg roll? Catfish is twenty bucks. Prawns, thirty. That’s hardly comprehensive.
“No no. Downgrade. No single item or entree over ten bucks.”
“Ten bucks? Rhea challenged him, “You’re talking three Guisados, or maybe a side of Mee Grob or a family sized payday and a Yoo Hoo at 7-11.” She pointed out.
“Exactly.” Manny was on board; he liked her thinking. Look, you get a couple things are fifteen, that’s OK. Primo thing…I need it to be sexy. Like what you said about the dude and the tamale.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Rhea pulled back. Her radar lit up.
“I heard things.”
“What do you think you heard?”
“A date. Some food. An “encounter”…”
Rhea’s arm shot out fast as she reached over and yanked open the right side of his jacket, looking for a badge. “You Vice?”
“What?” he asked, surprised by the move.
“I haven’t seen you before. Are. You. Vice?”
“No…” Valdez smiled. This was getting interesting, “A little paranoid?” he commented.
“With cause.” She acknowledged.
They were quiet for a minute. Manny spoke first, “So…you interested?”
Rhea wanted the job. It could work out to Thirteen hundred twenty five. It wasn’t much but it was something. Still, “I’m not sure I’ll be any good.” She worried.
“Me either.” Manny agreed. “What the hell, let’s give it a try.”
“Two things …” Rhea hesitated, “There’s some food I just don’t like–”
“Crap–” Valdez thought, this could be bad. “Like what–?”
“Cantaloupe, turkey bacon, soy, kale, veal – on principal – and duck, except Peking.” She told him.
Valdez nodded; that wasn’t too bad. He didn’t like turkey bacon either. “And the second thing?”
“You can’t tell me what to eat.”
“Let’s give it a shot.” Valdez agreed and stuck out his hand.
Rhea shook it.
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