Half Moon, Full Heart

A Last Goodbye

Chapter Six

A Last Goodbye

Rachel stood next

to her crammed Mustang, which sat poised on the cobblestone driveway, facing Mission street. She had placed the bag containing her laptop computer, on the front passenger floor; her 35 mm camera and digital camcorder in the rear, just behind the front passenger seat.

With the driver’s door open, her left hand resting atop the car roof, Rachel faced the house. She took a final look, and found it more difficult to turn away than she had imagined. She had rehearsed this moment a thousand times, even dreamed about it, but never contemplated the emotion that would attend it.

Rachel thought about the people and places she would miss. Not a single one belonged to the Hollywood jet-set or, except for her closest friend, Carol, were co-workers from the Times.

They were people like Jesse Ortiz, the mechanic at a Ford Dealership on Pasadena’s, Colorado Boulevard, who always serviced her Mustang so lovingly. Jesse was a burly, but pleasant man in his late thirties. He had a scroll of tattoos on each of his massive, trunk-like arms. He insisted on being the only one to care for the “Stang,” as he called it.

He often pleaded with Rachel, asking that in the event she ever decided to sell her car, he be given first opportunity to buy it. When Jesse learned Rachel was leaving and taking ‘his’ car across country, he was heartbroken. He tried to convince her to leave the car in his care, even if she wouldn’t sell it to him. He would care for it; send her pictures—even 8mm video clips.

Having met David Marin only once before, but knowing of his wealth, Jesse would say: “Let Mr. ‘M’ buy you one of those fancy imports or something to tour the USA in. He could get you a Porsche or Mercedes or a Range Rover or BMW or something. Keep the ‘Stang’ on the ranch.”

When it was clear Rachel would take her car with her, he buried her in an avalanche of tips and instructions about how the car best operated; who should be entrusted to care for it, and more. Rachel thanked him, even gave him a framed “8x10” of the car with her standing next to the driver’s door.

 Jesse and others who had meant something to her, received a small gift and a personal good-bye from Rachel, during the preceding week. There was Valerie Salcedo, the young woman who owned a small flower shop near Fair Oaks and the Pasadena Freeway. Valerie always gave Rachel so much more than she purchased, especially great service and a smile.

Then there were the Basillia brothers, who ran a family-owned bakery and deli, of the same name, in Old Town-a revitalized area of Pasadena-west of Arroyo Parkway, at Colorado Boulevard. The amiable brothers made the “best bagels and croissants on the west coast,” they insisted, and with good reason.

 The twin brothers, both in their fifties, whose heft and haughty manner were proof of their love for life, offered much more than bakery goods. They dished out healthy helpings of ‘rolling in the aisle,’ humor, and sincere concern for every customer. Amazingly, they seemed to know every customer by first name; even remembered their favorites.

 And there were other people and places, most of them within a few blocks of where she lived. That was what Rachel loved most about her neighborhood; it was a real neighborhood; it had the feel of a neighborhood.

 No chain stores or, what Rachel referred to as oversized corporate kiosks, staffed by automatons that think “service” is another name for the military. These were small businesses, run and operated by real people who worked their shops every day.

 Like the Fair Oaks Pharmacy and Soda Fountain, a fixture at 1516 Fair Oaks at Mission, established in 1915. Not only did they fill prescriptions, but you could have lunch, grab a real sundae or just nurse a coke and watch the traffic go by.

 Rachel’s favorite was the “Grace MeGee” Hot Fudge Sundae, named after the original owner. It featured rich hot fudge generously served over vanilla ice cream, nuts, whipped cream and a cherry to top it off. Extra hot fudge was fifty cents. She always had the extra fudge.

 Other favorites were: The Flower Box-right around the corner; Gus’s Barbecue—great ribs; the Talk of The Town Hair Salon. All would be missed. And then there was Shaker’s Restaurant, a South Pasadena fixture, located at Fair Oaks and the 1 Freeway.

 Rachel wasn’t sure how long it had been there. It was certainly of fifties vintage, and the food and the staff were always great. She loved the atmosphere. There were the cut-stone walls; the fully carpeted floor. Never mind it was old and the color could not be determined.

 There were mirrored and paneled booths, with seats covered with cracking vinyl upholstery; and the hanging baskets with real plants. Shaker’s was non-pretentious and a must stop for everyday people of all ages, especially seniors on a fixed budget.

 The restaurant wasn’t a five star eatery, but you would be hard put to find an empty seat at Shaker’s, most times. Rachel loved The Farmer’s Vegetarian Omelet, served with zucchini, mushrooms, spinach, tomatoes, sautéed onions, parmesan and Jack cheese. The bacon on the side, exposed her as a not-so-serious vegetarian.

 As Rachel stood next to her car, a wave of emotion crashed over her like a tsunami. She resisted, forced herself to turn away; she slipped quickly behind the wheel and fired the ignition. As she did, she admonished herself to not look back.

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