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He makes atsknoise and shakes his head. “Roman doesn’t like customers up here.”
“Who’s Roman?” I ask.
“He owns the shop,” the guy says, digging a beer out of the refrigerator and using an opener on his keychain to pop the top.
Roman doesn’t like customers in here, but he allows drinking beer on the job?I think to myself.
“I thought Emiliano owned the shop,” I ask, confused.
He laughs, taking a sip of the beer.
“What’s so funny?” I rub my palms on my jeans. “That’s what Gabriel told me.”
“Emil only thinks he owns the place. Roman’s his older brother, and he actually does own the place.” He laughs some more, shaking his head as he digs into one of the cabinets, pulling out a bag of Cheetos.
“You the guy that owns the record store?” he asks as he pops a Cheeto in his mouth.
“Yeah, in Santa Monica,” I confirm.
“Sergio.” He holds his hand out to me and I take it.
“Cash.”
“You come a long way to get your bike worked on.” He takes another drink and peers into the shop through the Plexiglas window.
Santa Monica is not that far away, but Boyle Heights might as well be a different world. I remember a few years ago there was a lot of turmoil around gentrification of the neighborhood, and it’s the reason everyone in the shop is leery about anyone from the outside coming in.
“Gabriel said he’s the best.” I hope he is as I watch Emil work on my bike.
“He can work on anything,” Sergio confirms.
“Doesn’t look like you have many Harleys in here.” I notice it’s all crotch rockets, built for speed.
Sergio laughs. “Harleys are for old men.” He tips his chin at me playfully.
I look at all of the young guys in the shop. “Maybe you’re right.”
Sergio takes a seat on the couch and picks up the remote from the table where I dropped it, and changes it to a soap opera.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and when I pull it out, I see it’s Sasha.
“Hey, how did the interview go?” I ask.
There’s a lump in my throat like the scratch of a record, skipping, and hesitating, knowing summer is coming to an end. I admit that having her in my record store has brought it back to life, and I worry that when she leaves, it will slowly fall back into slumber.
“Really good. I’ll tell you about it later if you’re free.” she says excitedly, but there’s a hint of the same trepidation in her voice.
The need to spend as much time with her as I can courses through my body, and suddenly, Emil can’t finish my bike soon enough. I look at the clock on the wall and see it’s already late afternoon. I closed up the store early so I could get this done today.
“I’m at the bike shop and I probably won’t be back for a few hours, but if you want to wait for me, you can let yourself in and hang out in my loft,” I tell her.
“If you’re sure,” she asks, tentatively.
She’s never been in my loft before, but I like the thought of her being there, waiting for me. “I won’t be long.”
There’s chatter in the shop below and the music cuts out. I look through the window to see Gabriel enter as I shove the phone back in my pocket.
Sergio presses his face to the Plexiglas as Mariana strides over and pushes him, speaking rapid Spanish that I can’t hear clearly or understand. Gabriel grabs her arms to stop her from hitting him. The minute he let’s go of her arms she slaps him, the sound echoing through the shop. Gabriel slowly turns back to her, his stance apologetic.
