About Seven Months Earlier
At one in the morning it’s about as dark as it gets in LA. As Rhea was cruised down Hollywood Boulevard, she slowed her LeBaron as she passed the 24-hour Tommy’s Burgers on the corner of Hollywood and Bronson. A few young men were hanging out in the parking lot. They watched her as she turned up a side street, her car disappearing from view.
On the residential block, Rhea cruised slowly, looking for a rare parking place. Spotting one outside a faded ‘70’s apartment building, she inched into it. She turned off her car and waited.
Ten minutes later, one of the guys from Tommy’s walked up the street, looking around. He looked about twenty, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. He spotted Rhea’s car and approached. He tapped lightly on the passenger side window. She leaned over and rolled it down a crack.
“You got something?” he asked.
“Yeah.” she nodded. She tried not to smile too much; he was beautiful.
She waited while he pulled his vax card out of a back pocket and put it against the window. She checked it then flashed her card at him, a common formality these days. He nodded, “Cool.”
She unlocked the passenger door. He looked around, opened it and got in.
She looked him over. She could clearly see the black motorcycle logo on his dark gray T-Shirt.
“It’s too light here.” She realized.
“Yeah.” He agreed, thinking, “The alley behind the IHOP is kinda dark–”
She shook her head, “They closed it off. Construction.”
“The streets around Echo Park?” he suggested.
“There’s zero parking there.” She reminded him.
“How about your place…” He asked, casually; he’d heard from a co-worker she lived nearby.
“No.” she told him. That wasn’t going to happen. She’d made that mistake before. She started the car, “Let’s keep looking.” She maneuvered out of the spot and onto the street. She turned left on the Boulevard.
They rode for a while in silence as she drove east, into Hollywood. Both were thinking of dark places to park. They looked past straggly hipsters leaving clubs without a score; past late-shift workers waiting for a bus; past the homeless sleeping on the sidewalks. They peered up side streets and between buildings. A dog wrestled with an empty Cheetos bag. Two bus boys took a smoking break outside a Thai restaurant.
“Hey…” he said after a minute, “You know the reservoir?”
“Silverlake?” she asked.
“No.” He shook his head, “The Hollywood one.”
She thought for a second then smiled at him, “Yeah…”
She took Franklin west to Cahuenga then cruised up into the Hollywood Hills. She took a few side streets, easing up a twisty road past million-dollar houses crammed against each other like gilded sardines. The road dead-ended in a little dirt parking lot outside the chained gate of the Hollywood reservoir.
Rhea parked up against a dusty chaparral bush. It was quiet. The city lights spread out below like a blanket of stars. The sky above had none. She looked around. And though it wasn’t dark-dark – it never was in LA – they were alone. She reached onto the back seat and grabbed a small paper bag. She opened it and looked inside.
“What did you get?” he asked.
“Two chili cheese, a carne asada and a chicken.” She handed him the bag, “You pick.”
He pulled out a paper-wrapped tamale, the parchment was shiny with grease. He unwrapped it. As he broke open the pliant masa and revealed an ooze of cheese, Rhea leaned over and looked, eager for a taste. He snatched it away, teasing.
“Lean back.” He told her.
She did, watching as he slid a finger down the inside of the paper, gathering the red ancho-tinged oil. He turned to her and wiped it across her lips. She licked them.
“Good?” he asked.
She laughed, “Definitely.”
He unbuckled his seat belt. He broke a big piece off the end of the tamale then leaned over her. She opened her mouth; he eased it inside. It was good – thick and warm and flecked with smoky heat. But it was a little dry.
“It needs some sauce–” she told him, trying to swallow.
He took a Styrofoam cup out of the bag. He pried off the lid, the cup was full of a dense red chili sauce. He plunged two fingers deep into it, scooping some up. He put his fingers in her mouth. She sucked the sauce off and swallowed it.
“Better?” he asked. She nodded. Then he kissed her, tasting the sauce still on her lips. “That is good.”
“Lupita’s.” she told him, kissing him back, “On Chavez.”
“Oh yeah, I know that place, they have those fried jalapeno brownies.” He added as he broke off another hunk of tamale.
“You’re thinking of Estrella’s” She corrected him, watching him dip the hunk into the thick liquid. She opened her mouth, ready for it.
“Estrella’s is on York.” He corrected her back as he dipped again, coating the tamale.
“No that’s on Yucca. And they do Serrano brownies– Hey!” She freaked as he popped the piece in his own mouth.
“Oh wow…” The full taste of it hit him. He dipped another bit of the tamale, forgetting about her. She snatched it from him and ate it, letting some sauce dribble down her chin, down her neck. He remembered why he was there. He leaned in and began to nibble it off her skin, those soft young lips of his following a little drizzle that slid down toward her breast. He pushed her skirt up with his left hand and reached back with his right, dipping the tamale end, letting the sauce drip on her thighs. She leaned back as he kissed that sauce off too. She closed her eyes and slipped into a groove, her slow rocking moves inviting his kiss. Suddenly, she jerked up, whacking his head into the steering wheel.
“Ouch!” He yelped.
“Sorry. Some sauce just went down my–” She squirmed a little; adjusting her behind. “It’s OK now.”
He rubbed his head, a little annoyed. He shook it off and nestled his face back between her thighs. She held his head and closed her eyes, trying to lose herself; trying to fill the night. Fill time. Fill the void.
She tried hard. Too hard. She just couldn’t get there. She forced her mind to go to her happy place, to a December night when she was sixteen, sitting on her boyfriend’s lap in the front seat of his truck, sharing a bag of cinnamon sugar dusted sweet potato fries, so hungry for each other.
“Wait–!” she jerked away again, flush with an idea.
“What now?”
“Sit here. Under me.” She told him, “In the driver’s seat.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.” She added a “Please.” as she lifted herself up.
He slipped underneath her, holding her ass as he eased her down onto his lap. He slid a hand under her skirt and fed her another bite. She swallowed and grooved and tried. Man oh man she tried.
“You gotta relax.” he told her.
“Just do your job.” She snapped, losing her groove.
“I’m trying to. Relax.” He said like a mantra, “Relax…”
She breathed deep. She leaned back, leaned into it. Deeper. Deeper, then–
THWUMP! the whole car shook with a sudden impact, freaking them out.
“Jesus!” It was a coyote who’d jumped onto the hood of the car, using it as a booster to then jump over the reservoir fence and saunter away.
“This isn’t working.” Rhea concluded.
“No kidding.” he agreed. Rhea lifted herself up. He moved back to the passenger seat and zipped up.
“I can drop you off on Vine.” Rhea offered.
“That’s OK. I’ll Uber.” he said as he opened the car door. He turned back to her and held out his hand.
“What?” she asked, knowing what he wanted.
“It’s forty.”
“I don’t think so.”
He kept his hand out. She found twenty bucks in a pocket and offered it to him. “Here. Totally not worth it but–”
As he took the money, he reached over and grabbed the bag of tamales.
“Those are mine—!” she tried to grab them back but he held on. The bag tore, three tamales spilled out. They both scrambled for them. Rhea got one. He got two. And the cup of sauce.
She grabbed his hand, “At least give me the sauce.”
“No way.”
“Wait–!” she pleaded. Man she wanted that sauce. “I got the carne asada one. That sauce goes best with the carne–”
He shut the door and walked away. She started the car. As she drove out of there, she rolled down her window wanting to say something to him, wanting one more try to get that sauce. She rounded a corner, sure he’d be there but just like that coyote, he was already gone.
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