Marko opened the Cantina on a bright sunny day. The morning sun bounced off the harbor and burned off the cool morning dew. The colors glistened against the soft beige stucco exterior walls of the Cantina. The smells from the Cantina kitchen were overwhelming. The Chinaman and his crew had been hard at it since 5:00 a.m.
“Injure yourself working out?” Marko asked. He was constantly impressed with her nature and work ethic. And physically, he couldn’t help being attracted to her tight, yet voluptuous form, her deep brunette wavy hair and her strong, deep, rich blue eyes. There was something very substantial about this girl, but a catch. Ever since he met her troubled kid, he recognized the only thing in this beautiful woman’s life to cause her anguish.
It was a tough plight to understand for a man who had never given any quarter, but he recognized the enabling plight in women, especially single parents. They seemed to feel guilty for life’s conditions and tried to overcome any missing elements by over compensating.
Unfortunately, from Marko’s perspective, enabling never helped anyone. But when he noticed concern or anxiety in Martha’s soft features, he took it to mean a problem with Billy, her son.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Martha said.
“Bullshit, what did the kid do?”
“He’s about to turn 18 and has been partying a lot. We had a fight. I don’t think he’s going to school. I will call the school on my break.”
“What’s he doing when he turns 18?”
“He’s supposed to graduate, take the summer off, and go to college,” Martha said, but Marko sensed the doubt in her eyes.
“Don’t you think it’s a choice?” Marko asked. “Either he does as you say, or goes down the road.”
“I can’t do that,” Martha said.
Marko knew the conversation had ended and he needed to prep for opening. He reached out to her and took her hand. “Okay, one stone-skipping contest before we get started.”
Immediately, her demeanor brightened. They walked to the edge of the dock where Marko stored his collection of skipping stones.
“Pick one,” he said.
“I’ll take that one,” Martha said, leaning down to the tar-soaked railroad tie on the edge of the doc. She picked up a sand-rounded stone Marko had collected from the seaside. It was almost jade green and the size of a large silver dollar, yet thicker. The stone was perfectly shaped.
The tide was high, which gave her a slight advantage. Marko was completely intrigued by this woman. He approached and gently put his hands on her traps. She looked up at him and saw the deep concern in his eyes. He massaged her traps deeply, as if undoing the knots in her mind.
“I can’t give you too much of an advantage,” he said and stepped back.
She smiled and strode to the edge of the dock. With one foot on the railroad tie railing, she twisted and let the stone sail at the water’s surface.
Marko said a quiet blessing, hoping for her skipper to dance on the water forever, lifting her confidence. His blessing was realized as the stoned leveled out with the briny surfaced and kissed one soft swell after another for a 12-point record before it slipped quietly into the sea. She was jubilant and jumped excitedly into Marko’s arms.
He held her for a quick second and let her joy bounce around the dock. She had scored. “See if you can break the new record,” Martha shouted. “That’s an unbelievable 12 skips!”
Marko purposely picked a flat stone, but it didn’t have a perfect aerodynamic edge. He bent back and let it rip behind his powerful arm. It sang toward the channel surface like a miniature UFO being piloted by a drunken Martian. It leveled, but then a small gust of wind lifted it into an upright wheel-like position and it sliced at the first ripple, then another, but with each encounter it dove deeper into briny blue. It no longer had any momentum to lift, but just cut in and disappeared.
Marko pretended to be upset. “Goddammit, let’s get to work.”
The owner impressed with the sound of his motorcycle, jerked at the throttle. Marko approached him.
“It’s 103-inch R&R twin cam!” he shouted at Marko while pulling off his flamed full-face helmet. “It put’s out about 103 pounds of torque.”
He revved it once more before shutting it off. As he dismounted the partially faired motorcycle, he moved as if he just returned from a race. He made a big deal about removing his gloves and placing them in just the right position on his bike.
“I know Pete Hill,” he boasted. “He helped me design this fairing.”
Marko recognized the swagger as the new customer stood over his bike as if someone was going to take his photograph.
“That’s cool,” Marko said. “Would you mind moving your bike into the motorcycle only parking so no one takes up the bike spaces with little racy compacts?”
This guy suddenly lost all his bravado and he tossed his leg over his massive rear fender. He was about 5’8” and he suddenly yanked off his shades and his eyes darted around the parking lot as if he was being followed.
“I’ll just leave it here. I don’t want to piss off any teenagers and get my bike keyed.”
“Come on in for the best Huevos Rancheros in town,” Marko said, “My name is Marko, welcome.” Just then, a couple of cars pulled into the parking lot and zipped into parking spaces besides the big twin cam.
Loud music blasted from the cars, then stopped as the Hispanic kids piled out and headed toward the Cantina entrance. Giggling and playing grab-ass, the two couples jammed in the door.
“I’m Speed E. Shift,” the newcomer said, his eyes brightening. “Maybe another time.” He straddled his bike again and started to don his helmet.
“They’re just kids,” Marko said. “Come back again anytime. He never extended his hand to the jumpy rider, just kept it to himself.
As quick as Speede arrived, he donned his garb, fired up the big motor and rumbled out of the parking lot.
Just then, Tina peeled into the parking lot on her all-black 48 Sportster and pulled carefully into the motorcycle-only parking spots. At 4’11”,? she was barely able to plant her tiny booted feet on the asphalt. She kicked her kick-stand out and jumped off her bike. As she popped her helmet free and whipped off her gloves, a large black homeless man approached her from her blind side.
“Hey, baby,” the imposing gentleman in tattered attire inquired. “How about helping a guy out.” He leered at her opulent cleavage, her narrow waist and bubble butt.
“You want a job?” Tina spun on her black boot heels to face him eyeball to dark red eyeballs. “We might need some help out back.”
“Listen bitch,” the man said. He was a giant of a man from his monster feet to his 6’3” frame. He was thick and ominous looking. The city of Los Angeles struggled with the homeless population and started to relinquish laws against squatters and indigent motorhomes. “I could do anything I want with you, just gimme some cash.”
“I don’t think so, pal,” Tina said. “I just offered you a job, and you’re getting tough with me? Go for it, and see where that gets you.”
She stood her ground, the big guy backed down and sauntered off the grounds and down the street toward Ports ‘o Call.
Marko approached Tina, who was startled and grabbed her shoulders, then massaged her traps to relieve the tension.
