"Ultramarine" at the Acapulco Restaurant and Cantina

Who the hell turned the heat up in L.A. today? After walking around town under the broiling sun, I was looking forward to that Happy Hour ice cold margarita on the rocks at Acapulco this afternoon.

I arrived at 3:45 PM with “Ultramarine”, a collection of Raymond Carver poetry, in tow. I like Carver’s poetry; a great many of his poems have all of the elements of a short story at play — character, diction, a sense of place and time.

I settle in at the bar on my usual stool near the waiters station, perched sideways on the stool, my back against the wood wall of the station. I unpack my briefcase and place the Carver volume, a black Jetsream pen, and a yellow legal pad on the bar. I had a hunch I would be needing that legal pad and I wasn’t wrong.

At the table to my left sits a couple in conversation. The man is probably around 40, a dark-skinned black man sporting two days of stubble on his face. He is wearing pale acid washed jeans, a pale blue and white checkered short sleeve shirt, and white sneakers. She is white, pushing a hard and mean 45, too much make-up, too much pancake on her face, lips painted a pale shade of pink. She is a long-haired brunette, wearing a one-piece chocolate brown dress and matching brown high heels. She has a well-used silver and black Gucci handbag resting on the empty stool in front of her.

He is drinking a margarita on the rocks. Her selection is a blended strawberry maragarita.

I was getting an odd vibe from their table. Almost a first date kind of vibe, with all of the accompanying body language and then there was the actual language, of which I could only hear her end of the conversation because, well, because she steam rolled over him and his replies were uncomfortable soft whispers.

For all she knew — and she did notice more than once that I was scribbling on the legal pad — I could have been writing a grocery list or a rough draft of a memo or an e-mail or a suicide note.

I was, instead of those alternatives, writing down what she said as she flapped her jaws and nervously twitched one high-heel clad foot. It all went something like this:

You knew exactly how to find the place. Do you come here often?

Do you like it like that? On the rocks?

Do you drink much? I don’t. I have allergies. I take Benadryl.

Are you going to order something?

That’s funny about what your friend said about my friend.

His friend didn’t call her so she invited someone else over. She was just with his friend last week and he found out about it. He said she’s really kinky.

I lay out by the pool every day. I just had it built a year ago. $50,000. It doesn’t have any tile. It has all kinds of rock formation things and concrete.

What about your girlfriend? How long has she been a dental assistant? Where does she work at?

I’m tired. I was up early this morning. 3:30.

Well, he calls me in the morning on his way to work. Sometimes if he’s on an errand he’ll call me but otherwise he always calls me after work.

He got mad at these two guys just because they said “hi” to me. He copped a big attitude and made this scene and I was like “All they did was say hi” and I said “I’ll talk to anyone I want to.”

And this one didn’t call you? Maybe you did something to make her do that. Guys do that sometimes.

We were driving down the street one day and there’s this hot looking girl walking this cute dog and he’s all “That dog is so cute” and then he actually slows down and rolls down the window and says “Hey, your dog is cute” and I’m like “God, I’m in the car with you! Do you want me to leave so you can have some time alone with her and her dog?” He’s too much work! All of you guys are. You’re too much work.

Are you going out tomorrow night? No? You’re not going out on Friday? Where’s your girlfriend?

My 17-year-old daughter takes private acting lessons in L.A. She likes to hang out with me. Can you imagine that? Teenagers that like to hang out with their parents? We go to Fox Hills Mall.

My son is 21. He graduates in two years.