Bette picked up two baseball caps an eggplant purple one and the other, an olive green, both with yellow equal sign logos emblazoned at the front.  “Gonna keep the top down.  It’s nice out.”

Tina put on her cap and playfully yanked the bill on Bette’s as she ran to the door.  “Come on, let’s go.”

* * * * *

Bette followed Tina’s directions and turned from Santa Monica onto La Brea, then a right onto a side street.  The restaurant Tina had chosen was a former single-family residence.  The owner, Miguel Cardoza had been a marketing and production guy at the film studio when Tina was there. His dream had been to open a restaurant of his own and after fifteen years in entertainment, that’s what he had done.  LA Weekly proclaimed it the new, hot restaurant to look out for. Tina called Miguel on his mobile and he explained that even though they were packed solid, he’d squeeze a table in for her.

“What is the name of this place again?”

“You know what I said.” Tina laughed.

“It is not seriously called ‘I Like Fish.’”

“Yes, it is. The only problem is that he said we might be practically sitting on top of people—not a lot of room and they’re totally booked for the night.”

“You might want to practice your most grumpy expression so people will know to stay away.  What do you think of this sneer?”  Bette spared a quick turn to show Tina her upturned lip.”

“You’ve got it, Billy Idol.  I’d stay away.”

“The last thing I’d want,” Bette mumbled to herself.

Bette found a space just barely long enough for the Saab and parallel parked with a bit of effort.  The restaurant was located between two identical residential homes, but this house, in bright pink and green neon lights declared “I Like Fish.”

“Jeez, look at this place.”  The women laughed as they got out of the car and walked toward the door.

_____

Tina’s friend had placed them in a corner, but it was by no means secluded.  The restaurant’s dining area was once a large living room.  It looked like the regular living room furniture had been cleared and 15 small tables for two and four brought in for the night.  But in the background, patrons could hear the chatter and clatter of kitchen workers in the back, the din of couples and small parties laughing and talking, and the sound of pewter flatware making contact against the brightly colored dishes.  The restaurant was a hodge-podge of fish-related art—men in rubber overalls holding their catch, abstract paintings of fish, pastel clay art of a school of fish crossing the wall, and a photograph of a row of vacated fishing poles hanging over a pier entitled, ‘The Fish Don’t Catch Themselves.’ Bette and Tina ordered two fresh tuna dinners and an appetizer of oysters on the half shell.