by Rita Lakin
Aha, Ida is positive it was meant to be a stupid trap. Here she goes, setting her own trap. Bite this, mister. ‘I’ll pay ten.’
‘Forty?’
‘Ten.’
‘Thirty?’
‘Ten.’ She wants to tell him to wash his ears out so he’ll hear her better. ‘I said ten.’
‘I suppose twenty won’t make you happy?’
‘You got that right.’
‘Bueno. Is good. I give to you, I do it for ten.’ His English is getting better.
‘Five.’
‘What happened to ten? Mama mia, es stupido, que pasa?’
‘Your time is up. Five or goodbye. I’m a busy person.’
‘All right. Five, pero with una condition. Que es … What you call it – unbreakable?’
‘You have an unbreakable condition?’
‘That I drive my own truck and you give to me a lunch hour every day at noon, for una hora, one hour.’
Ida smiles. Gotcha! ‘Sounds good to me. How soon can you get here?’
‘What is your address?’
Ida fills him in, and he says he’ll be there in thirty minutes and she informs him he better be on time. She pats herself on the back. Well, not really. She can’t reach her back, but she knows what she means.
Thirty minutes later, packed with what she thinks she’ll need, and ready to go; right on time, Ida hears a horn. It’s a weird horn. It blows some kind of a fast-musical tune. He is probably Cuban, so maybe it’s a Cuban-type song?
She goes downstairs. What the hell? There’s a huge white panel truck parked in front of her building. With writing all over it: Emmanuel’s Taqueria en la Rueda-el mejor empenadas en todos Miami. Tacos. Tortillas. Burritos. Chile Rellenos. Arroz y frijoles. Words, words, words. She stares at the truck, dumbfounded. She doesn’t have a clue what they say.
And a short, nice-looking, dark-haired, dark-eyed, cheerful looking man in white shirt and blue jeans, in what might be his early forties, stands in front of it and waves at her. ‘Ola, me llamo Julio, you don’t pronounce the J, it’s Hulio Mendez. You like my theme song? It’s very popular – Don’t Worry, Be Happy.’
Ida is speechless.
‘What’s this truck doing here?’ Ida is horrified to see Lola Binder suddenly standing next to her. Another surprise.
Think fast, think fast whirls through Ida’s mind. Don’t die here. What would Gladdy do or say? Ida manages a toothy grin. ‘Isn’t this neat? Something new in the neighborhood. I’ve never seen one of these kinds of food trucks before; isn’t it interesting? I wonder how the food is.’ She’s blathering, but she can’t stop herself. ‘I’m going to try it.’
She turns to Julio and pokes Julio hard in his arm. ‘So, what’s the special today, Senor?’ (She pronounces it snore.)
Naturally Julio is puzzled; the lady’s face is changing by the minute as she looks at him. He recognizes many emotions: fear, the beginning of tears, and then a silly smile. And she keeps poking him. The woman is trying to tell him something.
Ida’s eyes are pleading. ‘Is it too early to open up and serve some of your delicious food?’
Lola addresses Ida. ‘This is weird. I’ve never seen one of these trucks around here before either.’ She smiles, ‘Hy and I saw a really good movie once about a guy and his young son riding around the country cooking up a storm along the way. It turned us on to Cuban food.’
Don’t mention Hy being missing, Ida prays. In front of a now gathering crowd. ‘Yeah, I saw that movie. I liked it, too, and was hungry while watching it.’ I point to distract her. Look at the menu, don’t think about Hy. Whew, she does just that, mouthing the words, as if that would make her understand them.
Julio is one smart hombre, Ida thinks; feeling hope. He’s caught on.
Julio bows to Lola. ‘Senora, it would be my pleasure to cook for you. What would you like?’
He also indicates the side of the truck. ‘As you can see, there are many wonderful choices.’
Lola examines the menu as Ida starts to breathe again. She smiles at Julio, her new hero, ‘Me, too, snore. I feel hunger coming on.’ She just had finished a huge breakfast, but what the hell.
Lola, self-appointed connoisseur of foreign food, asks bravely for a taco (pronounced tack-o).
‘Soft or hard? Flour or corn? Meat or vegetarian?’ Julio asks. Ida blesses him; he’s struggling to say it in English; he knows he’s helping me.
Lola smiles at her new pal. ‘Oh, you choose for me.’
‘Me, too,’ says Ida jumping in. Anything to keep Lola from finding out she is speaking to the man who will drive her to where Hy is hiding.
Julio gets started opening his truck. First he pulls down the side panel, including a shelf, which opens up to his spotless interior tiny kitchen. He busies himself to start his cooking. First he changes the music to peppy Afro-Cuban jazz, and then Julio picks up a huge frying pan and waves it at his two customers, smiling cheerfully.
Lola gushing, calls out to Julio, ‘Do tell us what you are cooking for us. Say it in Cubana. I’m just crazy about the sound of foreign languages.’
By now a small group of neighbors is forming. They’ve never seen this kind of truck before, and they are curious. Among them is Tessie.
Ida gasps. Oh, no, not Tessie. She’ll blow my cover. She pretends not to see her.
Julio announces, ‘Bienvenidos a Emmanuel. Greeting from the truck of Emmanuel. I now cook for the two beautiful senoras: tacos, maiz de concha blanda. Carnitos asada.’ He translates, ‘Corn tacos, soft shell, with little meats.’
Lola smiles proudly, as if she’d known all along what it meant. She is having a good time. Good, she isn’t thinking of Hy.
Julio makes a production out of his cooking skills, waving his knives and doing a little dance to his music. The audience oohs and ahhs. Their feet are moving to the catchy tune.
‘Call out what you want,’ says Julio. ‘I am here to cook for you and make you happy.’
And the voices of her neighbors do call out, reading from the menu on the side of the truck, not realizing that they are butchering the Spanish language:
‘A shrimpo salado!’ Irving from Building R thinks if you add an ‘o’ or an ‘a’ to any word, it becomes instantly Spanish.
‘One order flautos.’ Along with a giggle from Lena from Building S. ‘I wonder what I just ordered. It sounds … musical.’
And from Tessie, unaware of Ida cowering; in a big voice, ‘I feel like a large Chile Colorado Tostada.’
Phil from Tessie’s building, standing next to her can’t resist, ‘And you look like a large Chile Colorado Tostada.’
Tessie swats him playfully. ‘I once visited Colorado, so shut up, Phil.’
Julio is a magician, Ida thinks. He is cooking four things at once and humming and dancing along with his music.
The food fest goes on. People eat, spilling salsa and meat juice on themselves, unmindful, uncaring. Throwing money at Julio. Feet still wiggling. The smells of this food, enticing. Everyone’s having a good time.
And then something happens that tells Ida she has met the man of her dreams, business-wise.
Julio calls out to his small group. ‘No money today. Whatever you eat is free. A free sample of what Emmanuel’s Food Truck cooks. So next time I come around, you come to eat. Then you can pay.’
They cheer. The truck stays put as Julio cleans up his kitchen. The eaters happily take back their money.
Ida watches as the crowd is moving off, happily patting their full stomachs. The street is empty. Ida is relieved. Alone at last. Not quite.
Except for Lola and Tessie. Ida is horrified to watch Lola, wiping the sauce off her blouse with a napkin, and Tessie, eating her second tostada. Both of them waiting to chat with her.
A catastrophe about to happen. The last two people in the world to be chatting with one another. Tessie, with her big mouth, who can’t keep a secret. She knows Hy is gone. She suspects hanky-panky. If she blurts this out, better duck
when she lets loose the fireworks. Lola with a short-fused temper will hear those words; will attack with the power of a banshee. And Ida will bear the brunt of this disaster.
Ida tries to defuse in advance. ‘Nice treat, that truck. Hope it comes around again.’
‘Delicious,’ agrees Tessie the gourmand, interested in anything called food.
‘I thought the tacos were soft enough.’ Go away both of you, Ida prays, before it’s too late.
‘Tasted delicious to me,’ Tessie, with gravy on her cheeks, waves her sloppy, wet napkin in response.
‘Lola, what else did you have to eat?’ Ida asks as if she really gives a damn. Keep them from getting on the wrong topic.
Lola proudly, ‘I had a burrito, vegetarian, not with any meat. There goes my diet. I hate to think how many calories were in it.’
They all laugh.
Tessie with stomach rumbling, ‘Who cares?’ This from a woman who thinks diet is a dirty word.
‘So, Ida,’ says Lola breaking away from the food subject, with her idea of subtlety, ‘I thought you were going out of town with Gladdy.’ Translation – why the hell aren’t you away from here, looking for my husband?
‘Well, I wasn’t feeling well, but I’m so much better, so I’ll be leaving tomorrow.’ Translation. I’m on the job tomorrow. So shut up and scram.
Tessie is about to say something horribly wrong, so Ida quickly derails her. ‘Any word from Sol on the safari? I bet by now they’ve taken pictures of a lot of amazing animals.’
Tessie frowns. ‘Not one letter. Wait till he gets back, he’ll get a what-for from me!’
Ida forces a cheesy smile. ‘I just know they are having a wonderful time. They are so lucky to be on such a great trip. Next year we women should go away on a vacation of our own.’
Ida starts toward her getaway. ‘Well, I need to do a few things around the apartment. Toodle-doo.’ She waves bye-bye at them. Then stops as if she just thought of something. ‘I must thank that truck man for the wonderful food.’
Both women leave, unaware that they’ve been given the heave-ho; a little disappointed and not knowing why.
Ida waits until the two of them wander off, thankfully in different directions. Then, she quickly races to Julio’s truck. His kitchen is immaculate and he is closing the serving door.
Julio grins at her. ‘I get the job, si?’
Ida hugs him. ‘You sure do, Julio with a J, now vanish. No way we leave today. Come back eight a.m. tomorrow and we’ll head out for Miami then. Don’t play any music, and park around the corner; just show up. I’ll meet you there.’
‘Hasta Manana.’ Julio closes up his truck and takes off; with Don’t Worry, Be Happy playing again in all its ear-splitting grandeur.
Ida feels like she just dodged a bullet.
TWENTY-TWO
The Papa Quiz With Visionary Bella
I give my girls last-minute instructions.
‘Remember, we’re here to get information if …’ I choke on it. The reality of this situation still irks me. ‘… the ghost knows something about what really happened to Robert Strand. We’ll try kindness first.’
Evvie laughs. ‘If Ida could see us now. She’d shriek with laughter and call us idiots.’ Mimicking, ‘You see ghosts, you are crazy.’
Sophie says, ‘What if Papa’s in a bad mood?’
I say, ‘We deal with it. Whatever it takes. Just follow my lead.’
Sophie, ‘I’m afraid of him.’
Evvie laughs again. ‘Why? He’s dead. What can he do to you? Yell Boo?’
We arrive at Gray Lady and go through the same rigmarole. The Wassingers want to serve tea or coffee. We want none of that tepid liquid, no sidetrack hurricane discussions, and no stops for admiring antiques, straight up the stairs. Do Not Pass Go.
Evvie entertains herself climbing behind Sophie and to torture her, whispering, ‘Boo’ in her ear.
Bella is silent. I’ll bet she’s anxious about her next session with the dead guy. Worried whether she’ll still see and hear the ghostie. And more troubled about the things he might say to her. And worry about us being mad at her again. The wonderful thing about our sweet Bella is I can always read her thoughts.
‘What’s the weather up there, mood-wise?’ I ask Louie and Sadie, halfway through the climb.
‘Cheerful,’ says Sadie.
‘Grouchy,’ says Louie at the same moment.
I’m beginning to pretend climbing these endless stairs is exercise. See how easy it is to think positive when all else fails.
Here we are, on the roof. Same scene. Same empty spaces. Weather a little cloudy. Sun peeks out occasionally.
We call out in chipper mode, ‘Hi, there, Papa.’
We get via Louie, ‘Lookie here, back again, the girl scout brigade.’
Uh oh. The emotional weather promises dark skies, with stormy weather ahead.
Evvie’s mood is playful, sarcastic. I let her loose. Plan A.
‘Dong!’ she says pretending to be a bell. ‘Round Two coming up. In one corner, the Champion, bloody, but not bowed, Papa Ernie. In the other corner, the Challenger. She’s the up-and-coming bruiser, favored by the odds to win, Gladdy Gold.’
‘Ho ho,’ we are told by Louie, ‘Papa likes this. He’s an expert in boxing.’
I use it. ‘A man for all seasons. And for all reasons. A man for all wars. Why, he won a medal for his bravery in the heartbreaking Spanish Civil War.’
Louie again, ‘Papa’s smiling. He says you got that right.’
‘Received that medal,’ I say to finish it, ‘not as a colonel, nor a sergeant, not even a foot soldier – as an ambulance driver.’
Louie again, ‘You’re making him angry. He begged the draft board to sign him up. They refused to induct him.’
Sadie adds, trying for peace. ‘He did save a man’s life.’
‘Dong!’ rings Evvie again, calling the sport. ‘Below the belt accuses the Challenger. The Brawler fights back with angry, aggressive punching.’
Louie is shaking now. ‘Don’t call him a brawler. He fights fair.’
Bella finally squeaks up, desperate to help, ‘We come in peace.’
Evvie and I laugh. Leave it to Bella, doing her best. Nice try, but this is not about greeting tribal Indians.
Now ghostie relates to Bella. She timidly repeats, ‘What are you doing back here? I thought I got rid of you.’
I answer. ‘We came for the information that you say you have. About Robert Strand’s death.’
Bella getting the voice from the beyond again, repeating, ‘And why should I give that information to you broads?’
I ignore the anti-feminist put-down. ‘Because, you can’t act on it, and we can.’
‘Bong!’ calls out Evvie, announcing, ‘Papa has a glass jaw. Gladdy’s got him on the ropes. Gladdy goes the distance.’
Louie cries out for Papa, ‘Low blow! Low blow! Stop that! Stop that this minute!’
‘Palooka,’ Evvie whispers loud enough to be heard.
Louie is shouting as Papa. ‘Don’t you dare call me that! I am not clumsy. I am a winner. How dare you accuse me of lacking ability! I have been called one of the twentieth century’s most important and influential writers ever!!!!’
Evvie snarky, ‘The bigger they are, the harder they fall.’
Louie as enraged Papa, ‘Get out of here, you stupid bimbos!’
My turn. ‘Not until you give us what we came for.’
A few minutes of silence. We hold our breaths, then:
Louie repeats, trying for sly, ‘Papa says, what will you give me for this information?’
I go for earnestness, pun intended. ‘What do you want?’
Sadie takes over, ‘He wants a new box of his Cuban cigars; he’s run out and he’d like his favorite red bullfighter’s cape.’
Louie jumps in quickly, ‘And I know where to find them. They’re in the mansion. I’ll take you there.’
‘No thanks. Time to leave,’ I say, leading my c
rew towards the staircase. ‘We’re out of here.’
‘Wait!’ Sadie cries out, desperately needing us. ‘Don’t go.’
Louie and Sadie are beside themselves. Probably thinking, what are we foolish women doing? One mustn’t anger their dear Mr Hemingway.
‘Wait!’ Louie calls out for Papa, ‘First, remember, I get to quiz you. Before I’m willing to deal with you.’
We stop, but do not go back. ‘Quiz away,’ I toss at him, my feet on the first step down.
Sadie, for Papa, ‘Question number one: they said my mother dressed me like a little girl until I was eleven. A lie, of course, my dear mother never did that; but what color might those dresses have been?’
I am ready; the library paid off; in a sugary voice, ‘They were lacy white and flowery dresses with pink bows. Must have been tough being called your older sister’s twin.’
Sadie for Papa, ‘And don’t you dare say I hated her. I adored my mother. I took care of her all her life.’
Evvie standing on the next step down, ‘Sure, you did, Mama’s good little girlie.’
Louie doing Papa – drastic, ‘You shut up. I’m questioning your leader. Question two. They called me a survivor. What did I survive?’
I call out the list and continue reciting, step by step, as we all go slowly down the staircase, ‘Anthrax.’ Step. ‘Malaria.’ Step. ‘Dysentery.’ Step. And so on. ‘Hepatitis, diabetes, two plane crashes. Ruptured kidney, spleen and liver, three car crashes and a fire in a bush somewhere.’ And we are downstairs, arriving at the door.
We can hear Louie yelling down the stairs, Papa’s final words, ‘I’m not finished! You come back! Or you’re fired!!!’
It echoes down the staircase. ‘You’re fired! You’re fired!’
We remain standing in the street in front of the Gray Lady, half laughing, half really upset. The nerve of that man.
I hear Sadie calling our names. I know what that means. Begging time.
We wait quite a while, waiting for Sadie and probably Louie, as well, to make their way – oh so slowly – down that tortuous staircase. They finally reach us, breathing hard and sweating. Very worried, poor things.
I try to stop what is coming. ‘We’ve had enough. We’re going home.’
