Taco Night Who: Ro/Tasha What: First Impressions Where: Las Vegas When: Present Ratings/Warnings: Low
Tasha had been following the Sinaloa Tacos truck for a while now on Instagram. They were absolutely fire, and the only chance of the musician enjoying a hot meal that night, unless she wanted to settle for frozen pizza again. She balanced a tray loaded down with tacos al pastor and a plastic Solo cup filled with Modelo, and found a place at a wooden picnic table.
Once seated, she smoothed down the hem of her floral-print H&M dress, tucking one leg underneath her, her Converse sneaker shaking in time to the music playing in one Air Pod. Tasha watched the crowd around her as she began eating, one hand cupped beneath her mouth to catch any errant toppings.
Life was better with tacos. That was a universal truth, as far as Ro was concerned. She'd been eating more like an adult in the past week or so and now if she didn't get something fun and delicious in her she might just die. It was absolutely a night for tacos.
She had a combo of fish and carne on her tray, now she just needed to - aha. "'Scuse me? Are you saving a seat? Mind if I sit down?"
Tasha looked up at the woman standing before her, offering a lopsided grin as she delicately plucked out the ear bud. She paused Spotify and nodded. “Yeah, go ahead. Free seats all around.” The musician picked up her beer to wash down the few bites of spiced pork that she had just wolfed down, peering curiously at the other’s food.
“Ooh, that looks good, too,” she remarked. “It was so hard to choose what to get.” Taking in her new dinner companion’s clothing and tattoos, she had to ask. “Are you in a band, by any chance? I feel like I might have seen you around somewhere. You just have that look.”
"No," Ro said with a smile and a headshake. She didn’t mind the question. Conversationwas always welcome, especially from a woman with such amazing hair. "But I feel like I would have been great in a band? In a way that if people who know me heard I was in a bad they'd think, "oh, that makes sense.'" She bit into the fish taco and it was light and refreshing with the perfect match of spice and acid. Delicious.
"Are you in band?"
“I am,” Tasha laughed. “I also do a lot of solo gigs. Hang on.” She fished around in her purse and found a dog-eared card floating around amongst a tube of lipstick and her keys. She handed it over to the other woman. “This is my ‘please hire me to play your function’ card. I just did this crazy rich people fundraiser the other night.”
She picked up her second taco and began eating it, more daintily this time now that Tasha had company.
Ro took the card, looking it over before half rising to slip it into her back pocket. "I don't have a lot of functions but if I know anyone who does, I'll pass it along." There was always work, or Roman. "Any type of music? For my hypothetical future functions?"
“When I’m working a gig like that? Pretty much whatever they tell me to play. On my own time? Indie, alternative, the usual.” Tasha shrugged and smiled, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.
“I wonder if you noticed my name is on that card,” she said pointedly. “So that I can segue into asking yours, since we’re having dinner together.” Tasha’s eyes glittered mischievously.
"I bet you're great. You look like you'd be great." A little piece of fish had escaped its tortilla and Ro popped it into her mouth with relish..
Tasha's question showed a forthrightness Ro appreciated and her eyes sparkled. "You can call me Ro. Nice to meet you."
She laughed softly at the praise heaped her way. “Nice to meet you, too, Ro.” Tasha adjusted herself so that her leg wouldn’t fall asleep, pinned against the bench.
“So, if you’re not in a band, what do you do?” Her eyes fell on Ro’s skin that was currently exposed. “Tattoo artist?” Tasha grinned cheekily.
"I would have been great at that too!" Ro exclaimed. "You're doing very well at guessing things I could have been." Or still might be in an identity yet to come. "Should I tell you? Or do you want to keep guessing?"
“No,” Tasha laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think I could bear to be wrong again. You can tell me, put me out of my guessing misery. I’ve run out of ideas.” She kept eating as she waited for Ro to answer. Around them, people gathered in small groups and chattered cheerfully. It was a beautiful night, still in the high 80s, and the soft breeze felt good on her bare shoulders and arms. For someone who had grown up in Seattle, she had quickly become accustomed to the desert climate. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, now.
"You were an excellent guesser. I was going to offer to buy either dessert or your next drink if you got it right." Ro shrugged and took another bite of taco before answering. "I'm a pastry chef."
“Damn. Is there anything I can do to redeem myself and earn this free dessert?” Tasha countered jokingly. She leaned her elbows against the picnic table, hair falling forward over her shoulders. “Pastry chef, huh? So I guess that means you’re really sweet?” She quirked an eyebrow.
"Well, you did let me sit down at your table. We can probably make some kind of arrangement." Ro grinned, pivoting a little and stretching her legs out to the side of the bench. "And that depends entirely on who you ask."
“Hey, the same could be said about me,” Tasha admitted with a shrug. She picked at some of the tacos leavings in the paper container. “And I guess how many of these I’ve had.” She held up the cup of beer before taking a swig. “So, Chef Ro, where do you concoct all your pastry goodness?”
"Everybody's always asking me that." Ro hadn’t anticipated that a regular job would mean that not only people would want to know what she did but where she did it. So many people knew where to find her. It felt permanent in a way she wasn't sure she liked. "Brasserie le Breeze. The food's great. I'm very good."
“Oh, I think I’ve heard of that place,” Tasha remarked. “Never been, though. If you’re as good as you say, I might have to drop in.” She hardly ever cooked for herself, and sometimes her bank account regretted it, but she was curious.
“Have you hit up any of the Vegas buffets?” the musician asked. “Some of the chefs that work there are, like, insane.”
"I did once when I got here. It's a lot, even for me. Give me whatever junk I can buy off a truck," Ro saluted with her taco, "or experiences where they take a bit more care." She half shrugged. "What do you like about Vegas?"
“There used to be someone that I liked about Vegas,” Tasha answered, surprising herself with the candid statement. “When she was gone, I stuck around, because why not? Bright lights, big city. Lots to see and do. Plenty of people to meet.” She continued drinking the Modelo, her gaze falling upon her half-empty tray. “Easier to pretend you’re not lonely, and I get a steady string of work.”
Ro grimaced. She wasn't built for the type of relationship that came with a heartbreaking breakup. Being somebody's rebound, she understood. Breakups? Not so much. "Ouch. Sounds rough. Sorry."
Tasha shrugged again, looking back up at Ro. “It is what it is,” she said nonchalantly. “But you didn’t come here to hear my sob story, so let’s back it up a little. What do you like about Vegas?”
Ro wiped her hands on a napkin. "There's always something happening here. Always someone up for anything. It's not boring. And the sparkling lights are pretty."
“All valid reasons,” Tasha answered wryly. She was beginning to slip into a mild food coma after finishing her last taco. She copied Ro’s posture and stretched her legs out across her side of the picnic bench, the old wood scratchy against her bare skin. The musician looked up above them at the string lights someone had put up, the glow illuminating tiny winged insects.
“You ever wonder about the size of Vegas’ electric bill?” Tasha asked randomly.
"Not as much as the water bill," Ro replied easily. "And I know how the thing at the Bellagio is for tourists but it's still fun to watch. I'm a sucker."
“There are worse things to be a sucker for,” Tasha countered with a slightly impish grin. “Also, dessert is probably not in the cards for me, but maybe a nap.” She leaned her head back a little. “You think it would be weird to take a nap here?”
"You probably wouldn't be the first." Ro smiled. "I did promise dessert so maybe another time?" Tasha was coming off a breakup but it never hurt to try.
“Free food?” Tasha laughed. “Sign me up.” She sat up straighter, gathering her food refuse together on the tray. “Is the venue Brasserie Le Breeze, or elsewhere?”
"If you want? Sometimes it's fun to eat things I didn't make but I'll go wherever you like." Ro smiled encouragingly, resting her elbows on the table and leaning forward.
“I’ll trust your expert opinion.” She pulled a pen out of her bag and grabbed a clean napkin, scrawling down her number, and underneath that, ‘Taco truck Tasha and slid it toward Ro. She liked the old-fashioned aesthetic.
“Now it’s up to you whether you hang onto this, or lose it,” she told Ro, smiling.
Ro stood again, tucking the napkin into the pocket of her jeans. "I'll use it. It'll be fun. Where else am I going to meet such an excellent guesser?"
“There’s a lady in my building who reads tarot cards, I’ve heard she’s pretty good,” Tasha deadpanned.
Ro grinned widely. "Hey if she's as good looking as you, you can give me a napkin for her too."
Tasha’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Wow. Forward. And on that note, I’d better head out.” She stood up, grabbing her tray. “It was nice meeting you, Ro.”
"Hey, you too." Ro kept her voice even and casual, not wanting to come off as too much. Because sometimes she was. Too much. Despite what some might think, not everyone always worked out for her and she was able to make and keep friends she wasn't sleeping with. But sometimes she got that balance wrong. Because was too much. She didn't want to make Tasha uncomfortable if that's what she had done so she just gave a friendly little wave and didn't say anything else.