The Omelette Man was Manny Valdez, an East LA native 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 triple use of Tabasco, Verde and Cholula. The second thing was the way she alluded to food with sex. Valdez published a little local throwaway rag, “The Hollywood Pulse.” It was one of those freebies stacked at the grocery stores that featured blurbs on local events, local politics and food – covering stuff like the chorizo at Yucca Meats, traffic on Franklin and the craft fair at Cheramoya 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. He needed a new reviewer and he needed an angle. This Rhea chick could be it. It also looked like she was a low-rent eater. That was definitely a must.
“A cheap food writer.” He specified.
“Cheap food or cheap writer?” Rhea asked him, already let down before she even got the job.
“Both.” Valdez answered.
“How cheap?”
“Twenty five cents a word, five to seven hundred words plus thirty bucks a week for food. No single item or entree over five bucks.”
“Five bucks? Rhea challenged him, “You’re talking a short stack, or a half-side of Mee Grob or a family sized payday and a Yoo Hoo at 7-11.”
“Exactly.” Manny assured her. “And… I’m looking for an angle. I liked that sexy thing you said about the guy and the tomatillo sauce.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Rhea pulled back.
“I heard things.”
“What do you think you heard?”
“A date. A tamale. An encounter…”
Rhea’s arm shot out fast as she reached over and yanked open the right side of his jacket, “You Vice?”
“What?” he asked.
“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… are you interested?
Rhea wanted the job. It could work out to a seven hundred a month plus the 120 for food. It wasn’t much but it was something. Still, “I’m not sure I’ll be any good.” She worried.
“Me either.” Manny shrugged. “Let’s give it a try.”
“Two things…” Rhea hesitated, “There’s some food I just don’t like–”
“Oh crap–” Valdez thought hoping she wasn’t some bagel-scooping, anti-sugar, fake-allergy claiming nut. “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 hated turkey bacon too. “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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