from "Lucky Thirteen"
© 2005 Barbara Ferrer

When Miami restaurateur Isabel Valdes unexpectedly finds herself in the midst of an intense mutual attraction with one of her much younger waiters, any logical or celebrity-proven arguments about older women and younger men go out the window, along with all of her independent feminist ideals.  Reverting right back to her Cuban/Southern roots, she tries to convince herself a lady of a "certain age" (okay, thirty-eight) would never find herself wanting a man young enough to be… well, her nephew, at least. Certainly not when said lady has a son of her own.  At twelve, Alex is highly impressionable—at least, that's what Isa tells herself and she can't deny it makes for a great excuse.  No matter how cute Josh Levine is...

Isabel

Ay Dios mio, was this cabrón ever gonna shut up?

Pleasant and neutral, Isa… pleasant and neutral.  It was all I could think as the ad agency rep sitting across from me continued to drone on, like some damned bee or… gnat.  Although, to be fair, he did toss in the occasional theatrical gesture at the colorful mock-up he had propped on a portable table easel so there was at least some variety.

"…so, you see, Señorita Valdes—wait, can I just call you Isabel?" he grinned in what I'm sure he thought was a totally cute, Enrique Iglesias sort of way. Too bad for him Enrique makes me want to hurl.

"Ms. Valdes is fine, thanks."

The ingratiating smile didn't even falter. He just kept going, full steam ahead, thoroughly clueless.

"Well, Ms. Valdes, what I'm proposing is this tremendously hip, high-concept approach to turn your location from what we feel might be a minus to a plus. Conveying the idea—the image—that there's more to Miami than just South Beach.  Fabulous food and fun can be found north of the Julia Tuttle Causeway. Terrific, no?" he added with—oh my God, was that a leer? Yet, I had distinct impression even he wasn't totally convinced by his own declaration.

With a sigh, I reached into our complimentary munchies basket and picked out one of the tostones, morosely biting into the crunchy fried plantain. Really, how difficult were my directions? Considering I was dealing with ad agencies I'd made it a point to keep things simple: don't come with a sales pitch—don't come with anything. I mean, even among Miami's quirky and unusual restaurants, Margarita Mae's Low Country/Latin fusion approach was unique.  I just wanted them to get a feel for the place first before coming up with the perfect campaign. Yet every blasted ad exec who'd waltzed through my door came loaded with charts and mock-ups and a cocky confidence that the señorita hadn't really meant it when she said to come empty-handed. The first six guys had been out the door pre-appetizer.

"…so we take your current logo, which is really adorable, don't get me wrong, but we punch it up a little—" I reared back as he literally punched the air between us. 

"Add some pizzazz with the neon cocktail in a tall cylindrical glass offered up by a retro-style waitress in a halter and short shorts. The waitress draws in the guys, the cocktail," and again the leer, with the added touch of a raised eyebrow as he emphasized cock, "for the ladies. Something for everyone, entiendes?"

He was kidding right? Oh, Lord deliver me from former frat boys with Animal House mentalities.  That's about where I should've stopped the officious little prick, but honestly, I just didn't have it in me. The beginnings of a summer cold were conspiring with the arctic interior temps to do a number on my usual sparkling personality. In other words, I felt like shit. At this rate, it looked like he would be the first of the ad peons to score a meal while I pretended to listen.

At least Chris would be happy. He'd been getting progressively more pissed with me each time I'd halted him mid-creation the last few weeks. Generally not a good practice to continually tick off the guy who's both your business partner and head chef. High caliber chefs not only have that whole tortured artiste thing down to a science, they also pose the added danger of being in possession of very big knives and extensive training in how to use 'em, tu sabes?