Page 88 of Love Is an Art
Yes.We have a definite lead.
I pull out the interior decoration services consulting invoice. “Can you try calling this vendor’s number? Let’s see if this is legit.”
“Good idea.”
No one answers.
We stare at each other.
“They could be out for a long lunch,” she says.
“Let’s try again at three,” I say. “Speaking of which, we should go for our own lunch.”
We put all the documents back in the boxes and take our notes with us in our backpacks. She pulls up a map on her phone and shows me.
“If we go down Avenida Álvaro Obregón to Avenida Cuauhtémoc and then up that until we turn here to find the first restaurant, that’s probably the easiest,” she says.
I peer over her shoulder. She smells of fresh laundry and roses. I don’t turn my head because she’s so close.
“But if we walk up Calle Jalapa, we’ll hit the Plaza Rio de Janeiro, so we’d get to see that,” I say. “And then we can take Calle Durango. That’s a more scenic route.”
Roberto comes out as we leave the conference room. “I’m sorry I can’t take you to lunch today. I scheduled this meeting with these government officials a while ago.”
“Está bien,” she says. “We wanted to walk around Roma and check out some of the restaurants on the app, so we’re fine. Thank you anyway.”
“Dinner last night was delicious,” I say.
“Roma is pretty safe, but be careful,” Roberto says. “Watch out for pickpockets.”
The sun is hot, but the trees provide lots of shade as we walk down Calle Jalapa to Plaza Rio de Janeiro. Plaza Rio de Janeiro lives up to its picturesque reputation.
In the center is a fountain with a bronze replica of Michelangelo’sDavid. Mansions surround the plaza, and we take our picture in front of the most famous one. It is called The Witch’s House because its top looks like a witch’s hat.
As we keep walking through Roma at a brisk pace, there’s so much to check out: murals, the Porfirian architecture, bustling cafés. Tessa keeps pointing out street art.
We pass by a mural of an older couple hugging.Love is an artis written in block, capital letters around the elderly couple.
She stops and walks back to take a photo.
That might be my favorite piece we’ve seen so far. I want to be that couple who makes it.
We pass by the Plaza de Romita with all its lush, green trees, a fountain in the center, and a small church built in 1503. The streets are narrower here, but there are so many murals to see.
The first restaurant has a cheerful, orange-and-yellow-painted storefront. Tessa asks to speak to the owner about our new app. A middle-aged man comes out from the kitchen and joins us at the table outside. Tessa quickly goes through our fake pitch PowerPoint. She’s nervous, not that it’s obvious. Maybe I’m learning to read her. Still, her Spanish sounds impressively fluent.
He nods and responds in Spanish. Tessa translates that he doesn’t see a downside, so he’s willing to join, but he wants to confirm that there’s no up-front fee.
I shake my head. “No. Why would there be an up-front fee? It’s to our benefit to have as many restaurants as possible.”
Tessa translates my response and his reply back, which he says with some disgust, “Some other apps say that they only want the ‘best’ restaurants included, but being the best is so subjective that maybe a little payment under the table can help persuade them that you’re one of the ‘best.’”
“Like Comidas en Canasta?” I ask.
He nods and says in English, “But not from me.” He shakes his index finger.
Tessa pulls out a picture of Pamela and asks, “Did she ask you for that ‘extra’ payment?”
He nods.
