It was a green curry wan that beckoned Rhea hardest. ‘Toolong’ on Hollywood Boulevard was a tiny, cheap joint wedged between a used appliance store and Mel Pierce Camera. She had always thought they had a so-so Kee Mao but a pretty decent Pad See Ew. But she’d never tried their Wan. She found a parking spot only a half block away – a miracle in LA. As she approached, she passed by three young men hanging around outside.
“You shouldn’t eat alone.” the one with olive skin and a careless vibe whispered as she opened Toolong’s decaled door, around nine that night. She’d intended to write the sexy parts of her reviews based on memories and fiction – but this one smelled like clean cotton T shirts and summer skin. He smelled like youth. She didn’t intentionally hold the door open for an extra second but maybe she did.
She took the booth farthest from the front windows. He slipped in across from her.
“What’re we having?”
She pulled two menus from the slot behind the bottle of soy sauce and slid him one. As he looked it over, she wasn’t quite sure he could read. The waitress showed up.
“Something to drink?”
“A Tsing Dao” Rhea told her “For me and…”
He nodded, “Me too.”
“You have some ID?” The waitress asked him.
Though his ID said twenty-one, Rhea was pretty sure he was younger.
“But all we’re doing is eating.” She thought, then ordered,
“Green Curry Wan, Pad See Ew, Phad Thai and…” she looked at the kid. He smiled,
“Whatever you want.”
“Chicken Sa-Tae.” Rhea closed her menu. The waitress left.
“So…?” She asked him.
“Andy.”
“Andy. Yeah,” she thought. And my name is Beyonce. Still, the less she knew, the better. And… all they were doing was talking.
“Been in L.A. very long, Andy?” She asked as the waitress brought them their beers.
“’bout three years. I’m from St. Paul.” He answered and told her he’d left there so he wouldn’t be a burden on his mom who “Praise God” had beaten cancer but still had a lot of bills to pay. It was an OK story, good for playing the “heartstrings” card. He even wore a saint’s medal around his neck, which he fondled: Saint Nicholas. Patron saint of children.
Even if it wasn’t just a prop, Rhea didn’t want to tell him there wasn’t any God or any saint that protects kids so she let him ramble on… about video games, comic books and bands. While all she could think about was how smooth his arms were, how soft his lips as he mouthed the neck of that beer; how young his dick was, how good it would feel and how bad this could be for her… Trying to concentrate on her new job, she got out her notebook and wrote down a few words.
“What’re you doing?” He asked.
“Writing.”
“Is that your new job?”
She looked at him.
“Kevin’s a friend of mine.”
Ah. Her reputation preceded her. She wanted to ask how Kevin was – if he was still on probation. She hadn’t seen him around. Not that she was looking. But she missed him a little. She’d come close with him.
“I made more money when I knew Kevin.” Was all she said, letting Andy downsize his expectations.
“That’s ok.” he smiled. She felt that familiar, addictive throb between her legs and smiled back.
The waitress brought the food just then. As she set it down, he told her,
“We’ll get this to-go.”
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