It was a no parking, no waiting zone, in fact, the curb was painted red and the cop was reminding me “no stopping here” either. Ticket book in hand, hungrily eying my Z4, he asked to look into my trunk so I popped the button and now he was fondling a deli sandwich, a Kaiser roll with ham and cheese and lettuce sticking out the side. Actually, there were dozens and one had a green jalapeño chili stuck between the cellophane and the roll. I like them hot!
“Go ahead and take one.. take two, I’ve got plenty.” Hooking one thumb on his gun belt, he picked up the fondled roll and jammed it into his pocket. Pensively unhooking his thumb, he took the one with the green chili which was all right with me since my chili was racing out of Papa Jake’s Sub Shop with several more stuffed Kaiser Rolls. Unbelievable how that gun belt stayed up as gravity pulled his paunch over the belt several inches. It -the belt- was loaded too: with a gun, a long flashlight, handcuffs, a squelching radio and numerous pouches I assumed contained bullets, handcuff keys, pepper spray, and maybe a donut from yesterday.
My trunk with the top down is only a half trunk and yesterday it was half-full of donuts; assorted cake and glazed, jelly and New York Cheese Cake stuffed-gluttonous ecstasy. He sorted through the donuts yesterday and took a half dozen at my pleading. No ticket now for a week, as long as the trunk is full of some goody or half-full when the top is down, which it usually is on these beautiful, sunny days with palm trees swaying on Rodeo Road zip code 90212!
Suddenly my chili was scurrying towards us with an armload of stuffed Kaiser Rolls, her black skirt hiked up one long and delicious leg and her stilettos clicking on the pavement. Click, click, click, the cop turned around, stepped aside so she could dump her trophies into the trunk. She bent over low as the rolls slid into the pile, so low that I could see all the way down to her navel, her skinny tits barely covered by her spaghetti strap top; then she slammed the lid down and jumped, literally jumped over the door, landing in the passenger seat.
I awoke to sobbing, annoying loud sobbing. At first I thought that it was “Deli” lying next to me but it wasn’t her; no, it was my Ex in the boat berthed two boats down. Ex girl friend that is. We split because she always cried the morning after; causing no end of consternation on my part. Early, the sun just reaching the yardarm four slips down. I don’t think that she was shacking up at the moment. I never saw comings and goings; just the sobbing every morning.
Oh! “Deli” is not her name, I don’t know her name, we started with a trunk full of cupcakes a week ago and we haven’t gotten familiar enough to know each other’s names. I call her “Deli”, not because we met over the counter at Nate’s & Al’s Delicatessen on Beverly Drive—she is delicious.
“Deli” wakes up to the sobbing and scrambles up, bare buns quickly disappearing behind the head’s door and in a flash, she is made up and click, click, clicking out of the galley and topside. “Got to get home before my husband” she says “I’ll be at Edelweiss Chocolates on South Canon today” and she is gone.
I listen to the sobbing, longing for quiet in the morning, yet longing for my cry-baby to join me, top down, filling up the trunk with Chef Laszlo European truffle soufflé and going on a picnic.