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         “Gaucho Grill?  Would you happen to know where the Gaucho Grill is?”  I asked one of the valets at the 3rd Street Promenade.
     He seemed more involved with parking my car than answering my question. “It’s up that way sir.  All the places are up that way.”  He tossed me the valet ticket, jumped in the car, and sped away.  I headed up the street toward the bulk of the shops and restaurants.
     I was going to meet an old friend who I have not seen in about fifteen years.  I called her last night after learning that she lived here in LA.  Back then, I remember my parents driving two hours upstate, to the town of Liberty, New York, to visit her family.  I remember how well-behaved she was helping out her parents at their motel.  She helped out with housekeeping, keeping the grounds, and lots of other things.  She was the only thirteen year old that was able to drive a tractor.  She also excelled in athleticisms.  Sometimes, she used to take a few of us kids to the local roller skating rink.  It was there that I had put on my first pair of roller skates.  I remember grabbing the railing on the sides and pulling myself around the rink.  She was pretty talented and was able to skate in the middle where all the good kids did tricks.  She taught me how to skate around without holding the railing, then, the foot over foot trick while going around turns at full speed.  She was pretty cool.  I once gave her my denim jacket which had a painted Led Zeppelin emblem on the back.
     Today, she seemed to be leading quite the interesting life.  She was working in the movie industry as part of the producer’s crew, supporting the makings of various films for Paramount.  Things seemed so much different now; as is should.  My curiosity peaked some more.  What is she going to be like?  What is she into?  What about this and that?  Obviously, life in Los Angeles is quite different from life in a little town in upstate, New York.

     I continued upward the 3rd Street Promenade, a few blocks of hip shops and restaurants.  The roadway being blocked off, did not allow vehicles, but pedestrians instead.  The ground consisted of tiled cobblestones.  Benches and plant structures lined the sidewalks.  People strolled in every direction:  Some from store to store; others just walked along noticing the decorated windows.  I continued up the block and glanced at the store signs and looked for the words Gaucho Grill.  I also glanced at the passing people seeing if there was any resemblance to what I remembered.  She was probably trying to find me too, but also had no idea of what I looked like.  We had talked earlier on the phone today, and she mentioned the word, “casz,” short for casual, and told me she was wearing jeans and a baseball cap.  That’s all I had to go on.
     I walked passed one block and have not seen the place yet.  I circled through the people and progressed onward.  After about a block, I approached a structure in the middle of the street.  It was a newsstand.  Just then, I remembered her mentioning something about the restaurant being next to a newsstand.  It was about then that my Spidey-sense kicked in – loosely defined as “that warm cautious feeling like I am being watched.”  Looking over to the right, I saw an older man playing a guitar on a bench.  I looked to the left and noticed an outdoor café setup with art-deco letters spelling out Gaucho Grill.  Sitting in the front was a woman with a black baseball cap with her legs up on a second chair, watching me.
     “Chris?” I called out, “Christina Lewis?”  I walked toward her.
     The woman stood and smiled to me.
 

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