Pastel #1

My friend Kordt used to work at a restaurant on Rodeo Drive called "Pastel." The manager - let's say he was named Fabien - was ebullient guy with a thick French accent. One of the servers (let's call her Telsie), was petite, beautiful, and very self-assured.

Once, as Fabien was ushering a couple into Telsie's section, she said, "Oh, no. No, no. Fabien, I told you I would never wait on them again." Fabien's response: "Oh, I'm so, so sorry, Telsie," and to the couple, "I'm sorry, you will have to follow me." The woman protested, "What?" and Fabien shrugged, put his hands up, "It's impossible! Follow me."

Telsie worked two jobs, Pastel during the day and the Playboy Club at night. We went to visit her - I guess she got us in; I don't remember. We were impressed by her nighttime look, "Oh, my God, Telsie, you've got boobs!" She said, "Oh, yeah, you basically just drag every single bit of your body up into this iron cage and set all of that on a shelf of padding. All of this," (she poked the bottom of her boob) "is just stuffing. Half of this," (she poked the top of her boob) came from my thigh." Then she said, "Oh. I have to go deal with those dickheads," and she walked off smiling from ear to ear at a tableful of business men who looked very much like dickheads.

Telsie had bought a second house by the time I left LA.

This is the real Pastel; I didn't change it's name.

Someday I'll write about the night I worked there.