… Women's Club announces La Merienda, their annual Old Spanish Days party. And for your evenings, don't forget El Baile del Mar, nightly dancing under the stars in the El Encanto Restaurant parking lot. Viva la Fiesta!
"Platos!"
Steam, clatter and curses, the cry goes up and Amado hustles plates across the line to Motown. Lunchtime. Motown grilling a ham-and-cheese, old Chow scowling over an omelette and Ross, the big, slow Anglo, making a mess of the prep work.
"Platosl Mis platos! Let's go!"
Motown whipping his spatula in, under, flip! onto the plate and under the lights.
"Skip!" he yells out to the floor. "Yours!"
Jesus peeling and de-veining shrimp, telling what the smell reminds him of just loud enough so the two Anglo salad girls can hear as they shred coleslaw nearby. Luis wrestling pots clean at the deep sink, Whitney, Skip and Ernesto careening in with loads of plates and silverware, shouting out their orders, sweating, and Ross's radio nasal, blasting -
Drivin southbound out of Oxnard, Now how can I explain The vision of sweet loveliness Out in the passing lane? She has a four-speed stickshift, A set of radial tires, And all the specs and extras That every man desires -
"Ham-and-swiss omelette, hold the peppers, side of fries!"
Whitney, the black maricbn, glides in with a trayful. Amado at the wash counter — separate the silver and the plates, soak the silver, scrape the plates, then spray — he wears a layer of trash liner under his shirt against the wet, bounces the spray off into the long sink. He loads plates onto the rack, slides it into the washer, flicks it on with a buzz -
And as we pass Tarzana, It's settled in my mind, The way she drives it's clear that she's Romantically inclined.
"Dumb fucker!" screams Motown at Ross. "Where's the cheese? I'm all out herel"
They all tease Ross, it's hard not to, but only Motown screams at him. And Ross is the only one he screams at.
"Idiot, grate some up, hurryl"
"Saut6 pant" shouts Chow to Luis. "Gimme saute pant"
The old, sour Chinese watching the eggs in front of him, holding his hand out for a clean pan -
"Mi mariquita!" Jesus gooses Whitney on his way through, then makes a move for one of the salad girls -
"Avo-bacon burger, side of fries, BLT on toasted whole wheat, Garden Harvest," starts Skip from the window -
"Hands offs" cries Jennifer, swatting by reflex -
"and one side of mayo!"
"— guajira, one-sida-mayo," sings Jesus to "Guantana- mera." "One-sida-maaaaaaaayo!"
"The bacon, Ross, the bacon!"
Her ruby lips, her slender hips, Her long and golden hair. Her velvet-lined interior, Equipped with fact-ry air.
The hungry look she gives me, The seed of lust has sowed. My Vega and her GTO, A romance of the road.
Amado dumping the silver, sorting it, knives, spoons, forks, into the plastic drainers, onto the rack, pushing the silver in, the plates out, hot wash of steam billowing. Steam, clatter, curses and smells — egg-sulfur, garlic, charcoal, grease, sizzling deep fat, even, shouts Jesus in his crude L.A. Spanish, Chow's middle-aged alky breath -
I have the inclination, And boys, I've got the time, But I also have three little kids And a wife in Anaheim.
Meat sizzling on the grill, eggs sliding in the pan, vegetables chopped and torn, fries bubbling, orders thrown together, snatched away, then hurtling back at Amado, scraping the plates, meat, egg, vegetable, grease, into the barrel with the side of his hand. Steam, clatter, cursing, smells -
Yes the exit ramp's approaching now, And so we have to part. The San Diego Freeway Is stealing my heart.
"Platos! Let's go! PLATOS!"
… for the kiddies, La Fiesta Pequena, followed by Carnivdl! The popular Old Spanish Days extravaganza tomorrow at noon at La Playa Stadium. Viva la Fiesta!
In the lull after lunch-rush they eat. Jesus and Motown have their hamburguesas, Jesus drinking a raw-egg chaser for virility. Ross just picks, not hungry after eating his mistakes all morning, and Chow drinks a beer. Amado, Luis and Ernesto heat up a panful of beef and peppers, warming their tortillas over a burner. Skip orders a vegetarian omelette that Chow cooks extra greasy for spite and the salad girls take some carrots to chew out at the bar. Jesus turns Ross's radio off.
"Too much bullshit, that station," he says. "Too much cuacha."
Parrando and Rudy Pena look in, dressed sharp, already a little high on their day off.
"Viva la Fiesta!" calls Rudy. "Viva la nalga!"
"Estoy bombo," grins Parrando, and blushes, pleased with himself. Parrando is up only a month, they call him El Canon because he has such a big one.
"They got the floats all line up," says Rudy. "All them little girls ready to march. Ay de mil" He smacks his lips.
"We decorate Parrando's chile," says Jesus, "put it in the parade, it wins first prize. All the ladies want to ride on it."
Parrando blushes again.
"At the Park they have Los Babies playin tonight," says Rudy. "They do it for real at the Park. All the women be there, get all hot. Even Luis get laid."
"I got to work tonight, double shill."
"Why for?"
"Cause they get Ortega."
Rudy stops smiling.
"I heard that," says Motown from the other side of the line. "Got his ass busted. That's too bad."
"I thin they send him back." Luis eats so fast the meat squirts out of his tortilla onto the floor. "They check his paper, give him to La Migra. La Migra take him back down."
"Gachos gavachos," mutters Jesus.
"If Mr. Charles would put in a word he might be okay," says Motown. "Or even the boss, if he found out. Aint no chance of that, though."
"Pinche jefe," says Jesus. "Pinche Mr. Charles."
"Old Ortega, up in the slammer. That's too bad."
"It's okay maybe, he goes back," says Amado. "He don like it here, is too fast. Ortega belong down South, nice an slow. Like Parrando." Parrando giggles, not understanding but hearing his name.
"An not like you, huh?" Jesus flicks a cherry tomato at Amado. "Half here an half there. Ni aqui ni All."
"Just the same, it can't be any picnic," says Motown, up to start the soup for dinner, "sittin up in the slammer."
Rudy and Parrando leave, quiet now, and the salad girls return from the bar. Motown is bummed out, starts to sing -
The high sheriff said to Stagolee,
— staring moody into the pot -
"Boy, why don't you run?" "Well I don't run, white fokes, When I got my forty-one."
And the rest of the verses while they ease back into work, putting things into shape for the dinner shift. The way Motown tells it, Stagolee is so tough the noose can't crack his neck, so the sheriff has to get Billy Lyons's widow to poison him to death. Amado likes it when Motown sings. He does the glasses that have piled up -
Motown singing sets Jesus off, wailing, serenading the salad girls with the tragedy of the outlaw Heraclio Bernal -
High and sweet, trying to catch their eyes. Jennifer scowls, thinking the verses must be something dirty, and Sheri deals with Jesus the way she always does, pretending he's not there -
High and sweet he sings, slicing mushrooms for the Veal Bonne Femme. And Ross, thinking he's been challenged, blurts out with
Twas a dirty little coward who shot Mr. Howard And laid Jesse James in his grave -
but can't remember the rest.
… all you wranglers out there, the Competicidn de Vaqueros Rodeo and Stock Horse Exhibition at the Earl War ren Showgrounds Arena. Three nights of rumble-tumble action! And today at five, the Mayor's La Fiesta Hour, by invitation only. Viva la Fiesta!