The inauspicious office of The Hollywood Pulse was in a storefront wedged between a lavanderia and a Burger King. Manny Valdez was at his desk, sprinkling a few drops of Tabasco on to each of six Nutter Butter cookies he’d lined up when Rhea walked in. He offered her one.
“Nutter Butter?”
“Sure.” Not one to turn down a pretty good cookie, she took one and bit into it. She nodded, nominally impressed by the added heat.
“I know.” he agreed, “So… ” he continued, scrolling through her submitted text on his PC. “I got your Barragans review.”
“And–?” she asked, more nervous than she expected to be.
He let out a breath, “It’s a little… prose-y, a little political–”
“Political?” Shit. She thought the piece was clever. Insightful. “How?!”
He read from her review, “Everyone else is looking for fame or minimum wage–?”
“You used to write for ‘Regeneracion’. In the eighties? I checked. That was all political.”
“And you’re a benched cop. For whatever reason. I checked. Now we’re both here, trying to make some money.”
“Yeah. Trying to…”
“Hold on– I think this is an OK first effort. Tone down the politics, in future, and keep it sexy. That part’s good.” He handed her a check. “Next one’s due next Wednesday by eleven. PM.”
“OK. Ahhh… Thanks.” She took the check. It wasn’t all she hoped it would be. “… a hundred twelve dollars?”
“And seventy five cents….” Manny added. “You gave me five hundred eleven words. Minus taxes you get a hundred and twelve seventy five.”
“Jesus. I thought it would be more.”
“Use more words.” he advised her.
It was eight fifteen when Rhea left Manny’s. Before she got in her car, she looked again at the check. So depressing. She felt that little panic again in her gut. The one where she runs out of money.
Across the street was a Food For Less. Rhea wasn’t much of a grocery shopper. She could get any essentials she needed – Pay Days. YooHoos. Lime Juice. Fritos. Cold Cereal. – at any little local market or mini mart. But she’d been in the Food For Less a few times when she needed to stock up on canned soup and sour cream. The bad lighting over street-wide aisles of canned goods, dish detergent, imitation chocolate, stuffed toy unicorns, cello-wrapped pork butt– was an alien landscape. But they had pretty good polvorones.
Not wanting to think about her money situation, Rhea went in and bought three of the classic cookies. She ate half of a pink polvorone in her car. The sugar, flour and lard delight soothed her enough to see things straight. Maybe she could get her job back. She started her car and headed east, into Japan town.
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