Me and Bruno – Chapter 1
Preview from Ron and Bruno: Against the Doctatorship

Bruno and I have known each other since our twenties. If you’d met us during the first few years of our friendship, you’d never guess we knew each other. Bruno wore jeans, a Pendleton, and army boots, while I looked like I’d just walked out of a business meeting. And our differences didn’t end there.
Bruno’s knowledge of the darker side of Seattle brought me to a more skeptical view of the world, a world of cronies and criminals. Maybe he got his information from overhearing the bosses down at the union hall, or from the regulars at the Doghouse Restaurant and Bar. Fact is, it could have been any number of places, Seattle has a large underbelly. But the stories he told me? I’d rather not have heard. It felt like my ears were burning, hearing the evil of the city just north of our suburb. But they were stories I needed to hear. Leave it to Beaver was a TV show. America was not like that. The America I thought I knew was a creation of Hollywood. Oh, there’s a good Old America, hidden in small towns, independent churches and families where people read the Bible and pray. But Bruno’s frankness about the world opened my eyes to the fact that there is a hidden government in every big city, one that cares more about political donors than citizens. Bruno knew of the corruption that was taking place in Seattle, even before the grand jury indictments of the 1970s. At least 260 so-calledcops were indicted. So called, because wherever there is something of great value, there will be counterfeits. And a real cop certainly is someone of great value. A dirty cop isn’t a cop at all. A dirty cop is a fake cop. Just like a lying reporter is a fake reporter. The only thing real about them is their prop: a camera for a fake news reporter, a badge for a dirty cop, and now an FBI badge for a stooge of the Communist National Committee. Oops, I forgot. They like to be called Progressives.
But I made up for my ignorance of political crimes with my knowledge of street crimes. I’d been driving taxi for years and had come across my share of criminals, of which Seattle had no shortage. And every so often, I’d share one of my stories with Bruno. Here’s one of them.
“So, me and my passenger are standing next to the cab and I’m waiting for him to pay me, but instead, he pulls out a chain. So I pulled out my .38 and say, ‘You just gave me permission to shoot you.’ Then he drops his chain and I say, ‘Take off your shoes.’ ‘What?’ He says. Now my gun’s still in my hand and I say, ‘I respectfully request that you take off your shoes.’ So, he takes ‘em off, and I say, ‘Walk that way and don’t turn around.’ So, he hunches over as he walks in the direction I pointed, as if I’m gonna shoot him in the back. So I pick up his chain. I get in the cab. I put it in reverse. And I slowly back it around the corner. Then quietly I drive away. He doesn’t see me. He doesn’t see my cab. He doesn’t see my cab number. Who knows what that creep would have told the cops. No sense calling them. You know the rules. Never assume the cop will believe your side of the story.” Then I took out the chain to show it to Bruno and said, “I think he’d been a lot worse off if he’d pulled this chain on you.”
Bruno replied, “You’re not kidding! I’d a let him swing that chain around my wrist and used it to jerk his scrawny face toward me. Then I’d smash it in!” We both laughed. Bruno had a knack for delivering a clear and concise message. I’m sure he’d have done exactly that if he’d been the driver.
So that was me and Bruno in our twenties. By the time we were in our sixties, he’d been married once, and I’d been married twice. But a funny thing happened, rather than become more jaded, we’d become more idealistic. Seeing Trump turn our Nation around was not just heartening, it was exciting and fun. We loved the way he handled the fake news. And the more the fake news attacked him, the more we trusted Trump. It was a sad day when we all had the election stolen from us.
It had been over 20 years since I’d moved away from Seattle, but Bruno and I kept in contact with frequent phone calls. It was just a 3-hour flight from Phoenix Sky Harbor to SeaTac, but this was my first trip back.
I hated Seattle, but Bruno’s mom had passed away and I was flying up to help him with paperwork. I was providing moral support more than anything.
Now that you know a little bit about Bruno and me. I’d better introduce you to who I am today. I’m Ron, Ron Miller. I haven’t driven taxi in 35 years, and I don’t miss it. I write Christian stories that teach children good morals. I’ve had major tragedies in my life but my trust in God has only gotten stronger. The Bible is my reference book and guide for how I look at everything in life. I read it daily. I’m a sinner saved by grace, and I pray like I talk, a lot. So, here’s my story.

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SeaTac Airport – Chapter 2
Preview from Ron and Bruno: Against the Doctatorship

Bruno met me at the airport. He knew I’d need guidance since they were under lockdown. It was the first time I’d been anywhere that had a population of obedient maskers. I was used to defying lockdown orders. I never wore a mask. I wouldn’t get vaxed. And there was no way I was going to supply papersto any government official.
“You’ll need to put on a mask.” The security officer at baggage claim said.
Bruno could see me from where he stood on the other side of baggage claim. He was shaking his head and putting his finger over his lips shushing me. But when it came to my freedoms it didn’t take much to set me off.
The security officer asked me again. “Mask?”
“Oh, you mean the Mask of the Beast?” I said.
He just looked at me, silent. I put on my mask which had large red letters that spelled out Lamb of God in Hebrew.
“What’s that say?” He whispered to me.
I figured since he whispered, he wanted to keep it between the two of us, so I whispered back.
“It says, Lamb of God, in Hebrew.”
Still whispering, he said:
“There are supposed to be 144,000 of us. I’ve been reading a lot about that. Do you have an extra?”
I handed him one.
“God bless you.” He said, no longer whispering.
“I’ll take that as a real blessing.” I replied. “Remember me in your prayers. My name is Ron”
“Okay, Ron. Just call me Hank. Looks like you got a friend waiting for you in baggage claim.”
“Yeah, Hank. I better be going. Nice meeting you.”
I nodded my head to Hank as if tipping a hat, a custom I’d picked up in Arizona. Then I walked over to where Bruno was, but not before getting a good look at Hank’s name tag: Captain Henry Lewis. I repeated the name in my head and to remember, I associated it with John Henry the hard driving man and Joe Lewis the champ. You never know when you might meet a person again. Remembering a person’s name is an act of neighborly love.
Bruno was nervously pacing at the baggage claim.
“I thought you were gonna get yourself arrested.” He said.
“As if what you thought wasn’t obvious.” I replied. “I saw you pacing back and forth like a guard dog locked inside a junkyard fence.”
“Got any other poetry for me?” Bruno asked.
“Well, I got the best book of poems right here.”
I held up my Bible and smiled, looking around me as I said it. A woman with cropped hair and overalls glared at me across the concourse.
“Ah, Seattle. Good to be back where the women hate me and aren’t afraid to let me know.”
“So why’d that cop stop you for so long.” Bruno asked.
“He wanted to know what my mask said and then asked for one.”
“So, what does it say?” Bruno asked.
“It’s Hebrew. It says, Lamb of God.” I said.
“And what’s that mean?” He asked.
“The Bible says about Christians in the end times, that they shall see His face, and His name shall be between their eyes.”
I paraphrased the verse.
“Better give me one too.” He said.
Once we exited the airport doors, I expected to see people walking without masks. But there wasn’t a person in sight without one. Even the maintenance workers on the tops of buildings were wearing masks.
“Tyranny!” I shouted to Bruno.
“It’s the shits.” He replied.
“No, it’s not the shits.” I said. “I think Jesus is coming soon and that’s fantastic.”
“Well, you can think whatever you like, Ron, but today, it’s the shits.”
And Bruno was right.

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The Taxi – Chapter 3
Preview from Ron and Bruno: Against the Doctatorship

We jumped in the taxi, both of us wearing masks.
“What’s with the masks?” The driver asked.
“You mean we don’t need them in your cab?” I said.
“No. You don’t need them in mycab but the restof the drivers? They’re nuts. Maskers! All of them. But I’m curious. What do the letters on your masks spell?”
“The letters spell Lamb of God in Hebrew.” I said.
“You don’t… happen to have an extra one, do you?”
“Sure, I’ve got an extra.”
I handed him a dozen masks and a self-inking stamp so he could make some of his own. Then he introduced himself.
“My name’s Diego. Diego Armandia”
“Nice to meet you, Diego. I’m Ron and this is Bruno.”
“Nice to meet both of you. My wife will be so happy. We’ve been talking about masks like this in our church.”
“Your church is open?” I asked.
“Not our oldchurch. We have our ownchurch now where we meet secretly. That’s the only way you can do it without covering the image of God with a mask.”
“Now that’s one I even know.” My friend Bruno said. Then he quoted, “In the image of God created He them.”
“Well, Bruno,” I said, “I’m glad to know you’re still listening to the TV preachers, even if it’s just to mock them.”
“Oh, you do that too?” Diego said. “When they didn’t speak out against the masks, I knew them for who they were.”
“‘And no marvel, for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.’” Bruno quoted the Bible again.
“This guy’s good.” Diego said.
“See that, old Ron? Takes a stranger to appreciate me.” Bruno said.
“So where are we headed?” Diego asked.
“Here, this is the hotel.”
I handed Diego a brochure I’d been sent by the hotel staff.
“It’s close to the hospital where we’re going.” I said.
“I hope everything’s alright.” Diego replied.
“As right as anything can be considering the times.” I said. “It’s just a paperwork thing. The doctor has to sign off on some forms for my friend here. His mom passed away last year.”
“She didn’t passaway!” Bruno erupted. “They killed her! She was a perfectly healthy senior citizen that tested positive on their fake Covid test. Then they kidnapped her. They claimed it was voluntary. But when doctors tell us we need to be admitted to the hospital, is it ever voluntary? They did it to get their blood money, $13,000 from the Feds just for admitting her! And on top of that, the insurance company still paid all her bills. The Fed money was bonus money raining down from taxpayers. We were paying doctors to lock up our parents. Oh, but do you think that was enough? No, they had to triple their money, $39,000 in Fed money if they slapped her on a ventilator. And justifying it was easy, just put her in a filthy room and she’ll have pneumonia in 24 hours. Have you seen what the hospital rooms look like now? They’re empty except for patients. The workers who refused the jab were fired. There’s nobody left to disinfect the equipment. And the doctors, under orders from, well, may his name not be praised, forced her to die alone, without family. Maybe mom thought I was the one who forced her to die alone. I don’t even know if they told her that I was kept out. What kind of subhuman tormentors are those doctors! Tell me!”
Bruno’s anger was the only thing that kept him from sobbing. But he continued railing.
“And they kept that ventilator crap stuffed down her throat for weeks. I know who killed her and why. Doctors killed her! And since they didn’t speak up against their paymasters, they were part of it, as one by one, they willingly took part in one of the largest mass murders in history!”
Bruno’s rage was a combination of anger and pain. Had his personality been different, he would have been in tears. But when Bruno hurt, he wanted to pummel someone. But there was no one to pummel, just a nameless bureaucracy of doctors on the dole. Even so, his words landed like punches. It was hard seeing my old friend suffer through his grief.
“I know, Bruno, it’s crazy. For so long I thought it was God’s doing, that God was exercising judgment on the world by confusing our leaders. How could the governors be so stupid as to lock down their own countrymen and bankrupt them! Still, it might just be God’s will. But Bruno, you’re right. I think the world was in shock when they saw Governors across the United States destroy life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Where the hell did the patriots go!”
“Ron, don’t take the name of a place nobody should want to go and use it as an expression.” Bruno quoted what I’d said to him years before.
Bruno had a memory for anything that could be used against those with faith. But now, I was starting to think Bruno had his own type of faith, and a discerning spirit that could weed out those who weren’t what they put themselves out to be.
“I know, Bruno. Leave it to you to correct me with my own words. We need to pray for those governors. It must be a huge burden for them to know that they…”
“Screwed America!” Bruno finished my sentence. “And then screwed the world! With their lockdowns and mandatory vaxes the politicians starved and literally put our people on the street. And despite the rising deaths from unknown causes, they keep pushing those crap phony vaccines that by now have injured and killed more people in the world than Mao did with his great leap backwards.”
“I can’t disagree with you.” Diego said. “The hospital did the same thing with my little cousin, wouldn’t let any of us go to him during his last days. He was hit by a car. No covid, nothing, but they wouldn’t let anyone into the hospital who didn’t work there. I think he would have survived with moral support. And I think his not getting moral support was what killed my aunt.”
“Was she vaxed?” Bruno asked.
“No, none of my family got vaxed. She died of a broken heart. She blamed herself for my little cousin’s death. She said she must not have tried hard enough to get into the hospital, that she should have at least tried to sneak past security. We all felt guilty that we didn’t defy the hospital authorities and just march on in there. And we’re still asking ourselves, how much longer are we going to put up with this? And to this day, the media won’t report the fact that vaxes have killed tens of thousands of Americans, if not hundreds of thousands, not to mention the millions of vax injuries. I don’t get it.”
“All of it’s bad.” I said. “And then they used fear to usher in cheat by mail, stealing not just the presidential election, but a ton of local ones.”
“It’s sad to see all this.” Diego said. “Anyway, you guys have a hard road getting into a hospital. They’re so locked down in Seattle. I don’t know how you’ll get in to see a doctor to sign forms, unless you got someone on the inside. I’ll pray for you.”
“On the inside.” Bruno retorted. “Sounds like a prison.”
“Got that right.” Diego said.
“So how many masks you got in that suitcase?” Bruno asked. “I don’t know. I’ve got a few thousand.” I said. “And you can breathe right through ‘em.”
“Oh, you know, Ron. He counts everything, Diego. Ron’s got some odd thousand minus what he gave out today. How many you got, old Ron?”
“Okay, I’ve got twelve thousand minus the ones I gave out in the last half hour. I got some self-inking stamps too.”
“I like this guy.” Diego said to Bruno.
“Yup, not a superstitious bone in him.” Bruno chuckled.
“Superstitious or not, Bruno. There’s something happening today that’s beyond what our eyes can see.” Diego said.
“I’ll agree with you there.” Bruno replied.

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Pill Hill – Chapter 4
Preview from Ron and Bruno: Against the Doctatorship

Diego pulled into the driveway of the Sortida Hotel. It was just outside of Seattle’s First Hill District, also known as Pill Hill for all its hospitals and clinics.
“I hope you won’t mind if I give Hank a call to let him know I got you here okay. You know, Hank, the cop you met at the airport. He’s the one who called me to pick you up in front. Drivers aren’t allowed to pick up there, but since we’re both believers, he helps me out once in a while.”
“Yeah, tell him you got us here.” I said. “Maybe we can all go to your secret church together. I’m thinking meeting you and Hank may turn out to be a heavenly coincidence.”
“Serendipitous, as the secularists would say.” Bruno quipped.
“Yeah, my cousin married a commie professor.” Diego said. “He loves using that word. I suppose it’s serendipitous that we ended up on the only planet in the universe where more than nuked cockroaches can survive. I had to look up the word, and once I knew what it meant, I decided to pray for whoever used it. I know you’re a man of faith.” Diego said to Bruno. “But I’ll pray for you anyway so as not to break the habit.”
“Good to know you’re praying for me, Diego, just so you don’t mistake me for a commie professor. If I recollect right, the last time someone prayed for me, I twisted my ankle. Couldn’t walk for a week. I just hope the result of your praying will be a bit more gentle than Ron’s. But thanks for the ride.”
“Yeah, Diego, thanks for the ride.” I said.
“You’re welcome. And thank you both. Stay free.”
Diego bid us goodbye, handing each of us his business card as we got out of his cab.
“Vaya con Dios.” Bruno said.
We waved as Diego drove off. Bruno’s favorite restaurants were Mexican, so he’d picked up a bit of Spanish over the years. To the staff, he was a welcome face, and not just for his friendly attitude and good tips. But because they could depend on him to subdue unruly customers. His bellowing voice and fists pounded on the table were usually all it took. If that didn’t work, Bruno was willing to take what he called corrective measures. He liked to say that he preferred iron fists to steel bullets. I’d never had the pleasure to witness Bruno dishing out corrective measures. But knowing his knack for words, I’m sure every punch came with a punchline.
The last time I’d been to the Sortida Hotel was to dine at the Sortida Back Room, a five-star restaurant on the top floor. It had a fabulous view of Puget Sound and Downtown Seattle. For $9.95 they served a full course meal that included Prime Rib. Let’s see, that was 44 years ago, when I was just 25. My date was Vilma, my Filipina girlfriend. She paid for our dinner. I didn’t find out till years later that in the Philippines, if the girl is rich, she thinks nothing of footing the bill for her less financially fit date. My contribution was my two-for-one dinner discount card. There must have been some marketing benefit for a five-star restaurant to include itself on a discount card. You’d think. But it sure was a benefit to us. After deducting one meal, adding coffee for me, and a drink for Vilma, plus a 20% tip on top of the total before discount, the cost was still less than twenty-five bucks. Maybe I should have paid for the meal myself, but my date had just gotten lucky on coffee futures. She’d put in five-thousand and gotten back twenty-five thousand. She netted twenty thousand in less than two months. She was the only smart gambler I ever met. It was her first and last bet. It tided her over for a few years on top of what she was getting from her well-connected father, or was it alimony? Being the 80’s, and my having no interest in a serious relationship, I didn’t ask where all her money came from.
But there was one thing about Vilma that she couldn’t hide. I arrived one night at her apartment to find a friendof ours coming out the door just as I was about to knock. I found her lyingin bed. And yes, I learned later, the dual meaning fit. There were cough medicine bottles strewn all over the bathroom and towels with blood. She was very pale. For someone who normally had a dark complexion this was a dire warning. I wrapped her up in a blanket and put her in my car, then drove to Harbor View Medical Center. I parked as close as I could to the emergency entrance, then picked her up and bolted through the double doors. There were two police officers standing next to a table between the first and second set of doors. One of them waived a nurse over who was standing next to the ER desk. She pointed to a stretcher. I laid Vilma on it and the nurse rolled her inside.
“You packin?” The officer asked.
I nodded.
“Leave it on the table. You can get it on the way out.”
There was another pistol in its holster already laying there.
“That belongs to the cab driver delivering blood” He said.
I did as I was told, then walked over to where the nurse had rolled Vilma.
“My girlfriend’s hemorrhaging and losing blood fast.” I said.
The nurse got Vilma’s insurance card and handed it to the person behind the ER desk.
“Have a seat here in the lobby.” She said. “Only relatives can go where I’m taking her.”
Except for cab drivers, she might have said. Because for the next hour, cab drivers kept going through the heavy double doors that divided the lobby from the patient rooms. They were delivering packages labeled blood. A few hours later and the doctor called me in to see Vilma. She was back to normal. The color had returned to her face. She was alert and seated in a wheelchair.
“She’s good to go.” The doctor said. Then looking at me with all seriousness, he stated. “Your baby didn’t make it.”
Vilma, my now ex-girlfriend looked at me. I remained silent to protect the guilty. I had a vasectomy. But I didn’t blame her for straying. Ours was an on again off again relationship. I took Vilma back to her apartment and sat in a chair to keep an eye on her. It was my day off. Staying up while she slept wasn’t anything heroic. I worked the night shift. I’d have been up till 6am whether at her place or mine. And when she woke up, I left.
I didn’t hear from Vilma for years after that. Then out of the blue she calls me up to help her move out on her fiancé, on the very day she’d moved in with him. I had a talk with her soon to be mother-in-law. She said her son was crazy about Vilma, and that she was too, and that she loved her like a daughter. I never found out what caused Vilma to call me that day. Maybe she had to be sure we really were over. But I hadn’t given it a second thought after her self-induced abortion.
I know it’s a lot to think about in the seven seconds between my getting out of the taxi and turning around to find Edwin, the bellhop. But the Sortida Hotel had lots of memories for me.
“Hi. Sir Ron?” The bellhop asked.
“Yes, I’m Ron.” I replied.
“We’ve been expecting you.” He said.
Still true to my new habit, I looked at his name tag. He had the same last name as the girl I’d just been reminiscing about, Santos. It’s one of the most common Filipino names, so it was unlikely he was related to her.
“Please excuse the workers.” He said. “They’re testing all the hotel security cameras today. I’m sure they’ll be finished by evening.”
“Walang suliranin.” I replied.
Which meant, no problem,in his language. With Santos for a surname, and his pronouncing f’s like p’s, it didn’t take a linguist to know he was Filipino.
“Oh, you speak my language!” He said.
“Yes, I happen to be one of the few old white guys who can speak Filipino, other than Mormon missionaries. But I’d bet you speak a few of your own languages, plus English.”
“Yes, I speak my mother’s and my father’s languages and the two national languages, Filipino and English. Plus, I’m learning Spanish from my fiancée.” He said.
“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten how English is one of your national languages. Kind of amazing how it’s yours but not ours.”
“Oh, really, Sir Ron. I didn’t know that.”
“By the way, Edwin. How’d you know my name?”
“The bellhops are the first ones to see the guest itinerary and your reservation profile included a picture, Sir Ron.”
“That’s good. I was just wondering because I ain’t wearing a name tag and I ain’t famous.”
“Yes, you are not famous.” He said.
There was an odd tone to his voice when he said it. But it was an hour past nap time for old Ron, and everything gets a bit odd when I’m late for my siesta.
Bruno didn’t have a bag except for the wrinkled grocery bag he was carrying. He’d be heading home after he got his form signed. It was just a ferry boat ride and a short trip by taxi to his place. I remembered the story my dad told me about a ferry ride with my nephew. They were standing on the top deck and all of a sudden, the horn blasts. My nephew about jumps out of his socks. Then he looks up at my dad and says: “Do it again, Grampa, do it again!”
As usual, my mind was everywhere but where I was. The bump of my bag on the cart brought me back to the present.
“By the way, Edwin, this is my friend Bruno.” I said. “We’ve got a form to get signed over at the hospital. He’s just hanging out till we get it taken care of, then we’ll celebrate.”
“Nice to meet you, Edwin.” Bruno said.
“Nice to meet you too, Sir Bruno.” He replied.
“Welp, I told you my family descended from the Knights of the Round Table, old Ron. See how he called me Sir Bruno?”
“Oh, sorry sir. It’s our custom. I just came back from a trip to my country, and all my old habits have returned. I’ll try to remember next time, Sir Bruno, I mean, Bruno.”
“Oh, it’s no problem, Edwin. I’m jousting a bit with my old friend Ron.” Bruno said.
“Oh, jousting.” Edwin said. “So maybe Ron’s a knight too.”
“This kid’s got rhythm, Ron. But I’m not surprised. He’s a workin as a doorman at one of the most exclusive hotels. I can imagine the kind of pull Sir Edwin must have.”
Bruno took a stride like a warrior king as we entered the Sortida Hotel, cradling his well-worn MAGA hat like a knight’s helmet.
As we proceeded through the doors of the elegant Sortida, I forgot for a moment that I was one of the detested class, an old, straight, white man. Funny how they’d substituted the word privileged for detested and felt that gave them permission to treat us like second class citizens. Well, I didn’t put up with it. I was vocal, and so were my friends, few of whom even belonged to the detested class. But now we were being treated like royalty, guests at the Sortida Hotel.
“So Bruno, the stairs or the elevator?” I said.
Bruno noticed Edwin’s nervous glances toward the front desk. It might have broken protocol if Edwin’s guests, who were to receive five-star service, bounded up the stairs of the hotel. But I must admit it was tempting.
“No, Ron. I think I’d rather enjoy the fine service this young man is providing. His service is every bit as elegant as the hotel.”
I could see the relief on Edwin’s face. His home country was one where authority was honored. Even if the desk clerk hadn’t minded, Edwin would never have felt comfortable with guests bounding up the stairs at the Sortida.
Edwin held the doors open as we stepped into the elevator. The mahogany panels oozed nostalgic reminders of the Sortida that once was, and the famous men who’d dined at the Back Room Bar on top. We were only going to the second floor, but I planned on going to the top later, to see what memories I might awaken. Memories have so many doors. Open one, it leads to more. Ha, I was already daydreaming in poetry. Now, I knew I’d find a tale to spin about this place, even if only for a children’s story.
Edwin followed us into the elevator with the luggage cart.
“I have your check-in information here.” He said. “You’re booked five nights in room 211, isn’t it?”
“Yes, five nights. And 211, it is.” I said.
It was déjà vu when Edwin said, “Isn’t it?” That’s exactly what Vilma, my ex-girlfriend, would say. I’d never heard it used prior to meeting her. It’s simply not American English. But for Filipinos it makes perfect sense. It’s a direct translation of their phrase that turns any statement into a question. It was Vilma’s non-standard English, contrasted with her high intelligence, that turned my once snobbish attitude about proper English, into one of accepting the way a person speaks, as long as they’re able to make their point.
When we arrived outside Room 211, Edwin looked up at the closed-circuit camera on the ceiling. There was a monitor connected to it so that anyone entering would know they were not anonymous. It was flickering like an old black and white TV and then went off.
“Ever since CHAZ.” Edwin said. “You know, the Capital Hill Autonomous Zone. Since CHAZ, we’ve implemented strict security protocols. Don’t worry, I’ll report that camera. We’re only eight blocks from where the takeover happened. You’ve heard about CHAZ, right?”
“Yes, yes, we’ve heard about CHAZ.” Bruno answered, with contempt in his voice.
“I don’t like them either.” Edwin said.
Edwin unlocked the door to my suite and handed me the key. The lights and heat were already on.
“This is your suite. And this door opens to your bedroom.” He said.
Edwin opened the door to my bedroom. It was reminiscent of pictures I’d seen of the bedrooms of kings. The bed included a headboard that rose five feet behind its satin pillows. Ornate carvings of flowers, leaves and branches were cut into its ebony stained hardwood. Heart shaped leather insets were nested within an embroidered braid of vines. See-through curtains created a dream-like effect as the chandelier reflected off its threads. Finely upholstered chairs were on each side of the bed. Matching armoires stood with doors open, robes hung on wooden hangers and slippers leaned against their base. Valet stands were placed like guards next to the armoires and a padded chest was at the foot of the bed.
I didn’t deserve this room. Nor did I reservethis room. But I was anxious to find out who did. It was a gift from an anonymous donor. Why I’d received such a gift, I was to find out. At least, according to the letter I’d been given along with the reservation.
Now this, was a room! I’d never imagined such a room, let alone been in one. I was tempted to take a nap just so I could wake up in that majestic bed.
Edwin’s voice brought me back from my, well, how would you describe it, from my immersion in the room.
“So, you like the room, isn’t it?” He said.
“Yes, it is, a fact, I lovethis room! Why would anybody give me such a gift? I really think it’s some kind of strange mistake, like somebody with tons of money put the room in the wrong name, and after they’d mistakenly given me the reservation, didn’t want to take it back for fear of bad publicity. If that’s the case, and you know who it is, just tell me, and I’ll get another room. I won’t tell anyone about it.”
“Oh no, Sir Ron. It’s not a mistake. It was wonderful seeing your reaction to it.”
Edwin handed me his business card which included his cell number and the extension for the concierge.
“Well, this is great.” I said. Then I handed him a tip.
“Thank you!” Edwin said. “And by the way, Diego wanted me to text him when I got you to your room. Yes, Sir Ron. I know Diego and Hank, both of them. I’ve attended Diego’s secret church too.”
“That’s good to know, Edwin. If it weren’t for that, I’d think you were all Feds by now.”
“Feds?” Edwin asked.
“No worry, it’s an inside joke, Edwin. I’m too worn out to explain it now. And yes, go ahead and give Diego a call. He’s a brother.”
“In more ways than one.” Edwin replied. “I’m engaged to Bella, his sister. She works at the hospital. Diego said you might need help to get in. She can get you in and make sure you see the right person to sign your form. Take that nap you’ve been looking forward to. I could see in your eyes how much you wanted to try that bed. Then after you’re rested, I’ll take you to the side door of the hospital where you’ll need to enter.”
“Wow, that’s, that’s a blessing. This is going to be a lot easier than either Bruno, or I thought. Right, Bruno?”
I looked to where I thought Bruno was standing but he was already sound asleep. He was lying on the couch in the main area of my suite. He must have conked out right after we walked in.
“He probably got up really early to meet you at the airport.” Edwin said.
“Yeah, well, it’s good he’s resting. It’s never easy to finalize paperwork for a loved one who’s passed away. It’s like saying goodbye to them all over again. I know. I’ve had to do it myself.”
“Yes, so have I, Sir Ron.”
“Edwin, I’d prefer it, if you don’t call me Sir Ron. We’re both believers. And, as of today we have a lot of friends in common. Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?”
“Well, I figured out what you meant by your joke about the Feds, but that’s not what I wanted to tell you. It’s just that, I’ve got one more heavenly coincidence to tell you. You see, I am here because of you.”
“Okay, so what’s going on, Edwin?”
“Well, Mr. Miller. Sorry, I, I just don’t feel comfortable calling someone older than me by their first name.”
“That’s okay Edwin. My kids wouldn’t either, and I wouldn’t be happy with them if they did. So, what’s this you want to tell me?”
“Um, Mr. Miller. I have something to finalize too. It’s the last request of my mom. She passed away a year ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Edwin. Grieving is a difficult thing to deal with.”
“Yes, but I was at her bedside when she died, and she was able to share so much with me. I never had a doubt as she left her body behind that she was cradled away in the Lord’s arms.”
“That’s wonderful, Edwin. So, what have you got to finalize? I’d be happy to help you with it.”
“Well, Mr. Miller. You’re actually the only one who canhelp me. You see, my mother knew you. And she told me she regretted not thanking you.”
“So, your mom was Vilma Santos?” I said.
Now Edwin’s seriousness vanished as he burst into laughter. “Yes!” He continued to laugh, but still managed to get out the words: “And my aunt was Nora Aunor.” Then he laughed till tears filled his eyes. When he regained his composure, he asked: “So, she never told you her real name?”
“Now that you mention it, I must have been pretty dense not to realize Vilma was her nickname. I’d even told her she looked like Nora Aunor, the Philippine actress who competed with Vilma Santos for roles. Chalk it up to my being a shallow young man.”
“Yes, I mean, no, No, you were, you were not shallow, Mr. Miller.” Edwin began to laugh again. “I’m sorry. I’m rude.” He said, barely able to contain himself. “This is not right.” He said, regaining his composure. “I should not be laughing when this is a serious matter.”
“Don’t worry about it, Edwin. You remind me of your mom. She loved to laugh and had cute expressions like, ‘What in the worldy pie!’”
“She said that when she was young?” He asked. “I thought she only talked like that because she was my mom, and we were kids. What else did she do?”
“Well, the first time I heard the Filipino nursery rhyme about a bald father falling into a well.”
“It was from my mom?” Edwin exclaimed.
He had the biggest grin, and I could see this was giving him a lot of joy, hearing what his mom was like when she was young.
“Yeah, and she sang it with such glee, as if she was five years old all over again, taunting the neighbor kids. She was adorable.”
“It’s wonderful to hear that you cared about her. Now I must tell you about her, after you knew her. And I must tell you one of her last requests, the one that included you.”
“Well, I’m honored, Edwin. Let’s take a seat over here at the table.”
We sat down and Edwin continued.
“She said one of the things she loved about you was your idealism, and from the way you remember her, I can understand what she meant. You have an idealism that most people lose after they’ve lost their innocence. But she said that even though you were a disco playboy, that you were the most romantic man she’d ever met. She kept the letter that you sent to her when she was working in the Alaskan cannery, the letter that caused her to drop that job and come back to Seattle to be with you. She confessed to me that every time she was angry with Dad that she’d waive that letter in his face.”
“Well, some things don’t go the way they’re planned, Edwin, at least not the way men and women want them to. What about your dad?” I asked.
“Dad was a new Christian when he married mom, and mom had done a good job of fooling about everyone when it came to her faith. My grandpa and the members of his church, everyone, thought she was a Christian. But she’d never really accepted the Lord, at least not in Dad’s lifetime, and Dad knew it, so he left her a letter. And I don’t mean any offense by this, Mr. Miller, but the letter that Dad left her made yours look like filthy rags, as the scripture goes.”
“Yes, I know the scripture, Edwin.
We are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteous acts are as filthy rags, and we all do fade as a leaf, and our sins, like the wind, have taken us away.
Nothing we do in this world, as you know, Edwin, can compare to Jesus’ work on the cross. Our works are as filthy rags and that includes all the love letters and love songs that have ever been written. No love story, Edwin, is more beautiful than the real-life love story of Jesus, sacrificing Himself for us on the cross.”
“Amen, Mr. Miller. And Dad told Mom everything about his faith, with the letter he left for her, and how Jesus loved mom more than he ever could. And how he would have gladly let her marry anyone in the world if he could only know on his dying bed that she had accepted Jesus. Mr. Miller, my mom got saved that day, the very day that my dad went to be with the Lord.”
“That’s a wonderful story of God’s grace, Edwin, for by grace we are saved through faith, and that not of ourselves: it is the gift of God.”
“Yes, and I’m so thankful. because when Mom died, she was more in love with Jesus than with Dad, or you, or all the money and jewelry she’d accumulated. And that was no small amount.”
“Yes, Vilma was blessed with an ability to accumulate wealth. I’m glad she finally put her trust in God’s treasure, His own Son.”
“Yes, Mr. Miller. But I better tell you Mom’s real name, so I don’t start laughing again when you call her Vilma. Her name was Victoria. She signed V. Santos, so it was only natural that Filipinos would kid, ‘Let me guess, Vilma?’ And she’d giggle and say, ‘Yes.’ When you admitted her to the hospital, that may have even happened. There are so many Filipinas that work as nurses in the U.S.”
“Which hospital?” I said, still covering for her indiscretion.
“Mr. Miller, all my family knows what happened and about the hospital. My mom told us about all of that in the days before she died.”
“She didn’t have to do that.” I said.
“That’s what she said you’d say.”
Now Edwin teared up from emotions, but he continued.
“You know, Mr. Miller, part of the reason Mom wanted me to contact you, was so to tell you that she’d come to know the Lord. And that she’d see you on the other side, as one of your Christian friends.”
“I’m so happy to hear that, Edwin. I look forward to seeing her and so many more of my friends and family when it’s my turn to die. It took a lot of life’s punches to get me on my knees before God. And it’s beautiful to know that the Lord has a mansion with many rooms where my Christian friends have already taken up residence, and that they’ll be there when I arrive.”
“Amen, Mr. Miller. So as you know, after my mom accepted Jesus, she was a new creature in Christ. And she kept a daily log of what she must do to serve God. Her final confessions, and last wishes, were in that daily log. Her death was quick. The Lord was gentle with her. My dad did his best to get his whole family saved but he wasn’t successful during his lifetime. Mom was Dad’s last convert, but as I’ve said, that didn’t happen till the day he died. But when she did accept Jesus, something happened to her, and to everyone in the family. God’s spirit worked through her, and then through each one of the family as they experienced God’s calling. So, when we read her log, as she requested that we do in her will, we were shocked to learn that she killed her first baby with cough medicine and that you saved her life.”
“Now, wait a minute, Edwin. I don’t think I saved her life. If that guy who was visiting her didn’t know I was coming, I’m sure he would have gotten her to the hospital. But he knew I packed a gun. He probably figured I’d be angry if I found out that he had something to do with her drinking that cough medicine.”
“Mr. Miller, I respect you. But I can only tell you what my mom wrote in her daily log. She said that man, I won’t name him, was cursing her, and telling her he wished she was dead, for no reason at all. She called you because she knew he was leaving. But when you got there, she was afraid to say anything to you, because she knew you were against abortion. That’s why you got a vasectomy, isn’t it?”
“Well, Edwin, that’s only half true. Sure, I didn’t want any woman to kill my kid. That was part of it. But I still thought it should be legal for others. Then a few months after I’d had my vasectomy, I was reading my favorite filthy magazine, they may still sell it today, it’s called Hustler. Well, in that particular issue, the publisher, Larry Flint, allowed both pro-abortion and pro-life arguments to be presented. The pro-life argument included pictures. After I saw those pictures of babies developing in the womb, and what they did to them at the abortion clinics, I could never say I was against abortion for me but not against it for others. That’s a condescending elitist view, and it’s wrong. Because if abortion is murder when it’s my kid, it’s murder when it’s your kid too, unless for some elitist reason, your kid’s inferior to mine. But the only favor I knew I’d done for your mom, was to keep quiet when the doctor thought the aborted baby was mine. Oh man, I didn’t mean to let that slip.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Miller. You haven’t revealed any secrets. She wrote in her log that she was nearly as thankful that you were the kind of man that would not shame a woman in public, as she was that you saved her life. And me, my brothers and my sisters, and my nieces and my nephews, not one of us would be here, if you hadn’t saved her life. That’s what I meant when I said, I’m here because of you.”
“You’re going to have to stop, Edwin. You don’t know all the sins I’ve committed in my life.” I said.
“Mr. Miller, we both know that when you were saved that every sin you committed was forgiven, past, present, and future. The Lord already knew everything about you.”
“I know, Edwin. But there’s no good deed that can make up for all the sins a man commits. Our Lord died for our sins. His blood is on our hands.”
“And praise God, our Savior Jesus, that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood. He loved us so much that He gave His life for you and me while we were yet sinners.”
“Amen.” I said. “So, has this discussion of ours taken care of your mom’s last wishes?”
“No, Mr. Miller, it hasn’t. You see, my dad was onboard a fishing boat along with my uncle when it sank. The waters were so cold that even though they had life jackets, they’d gone to be with the Lord before anyone could pull them from the water. My uncle was my godfather. My uncle was godfather to all of us. And Mom’s last request was that you become our godfather and godfather to all the Santos family.”
“I don’t know what to say, Edwin. But of course, whatever she wanted is fine. I’d be honored.”
“I’m glad you’ve accepted. My sister gave birth this week to a baby boy. She’ll be so happy to hear that you can be there for his dedication, and to be his godfather. It’s this Sunday.”
“Where will the dedication take place, Edwin?”
“It will be here, at the hotel. In fact, that’s how you got your room. We reserved the banquet hall as if it were for a wedding. The wedding package included some rooms.”
“Well, thank you for the room, Edwin.”
“Oh, don’t thank me. I’m simply doing what my mom would have done. You know, she was always extravagant. This is what she would have wanted. But I’ll go for now, Mr. Miller. I’m sure you’d like to rest before going to the hospital to get Bruno’s form signed. It’s still early.”
“Thanks, Edwin. I will.”

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Siesta – Chapter 5
Preview from Ron and Bruno: Against the Doctatorship

After Edwin left, I walked back into the bedroom, looking beyond the furnishings to the memories that might have been. I could imagine Audrey Hepburn shyly looking across the room at Gary Cooper, a scene from the movie, Love in the Afternoon. Or was it Audrey Hepburn with Humphrey Bogart in a deleted scene from Sabrina. And yet, I saw Victoria in my imagination, and I was the debonair, older man. She hadn’t aged a day. Her playful eyes and spontaneous smile contrasted with her designer clothes. And was that a smudge of food on her blouse? Such details in a daydream! But that was Victoria: natural, trusting, loving, and… Had I really loved her? What an odd flash of imagination. Well, as the wise King Solomon said, “It is not good to look on days past, but we must put our hands to the day’s task.” And this would be a busy day.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and a voice.
“Food service.”
That’s odd. I just checked in. I opened the door, and a young woman greeted me.
“Mr. Miller?”
“Yes, I’m Mr. Miller. But I didn’t order food.”
“Oh, this is complimentary.” She said, rolling a cart with trays into the room. “It’s included with all the bridal suites.”
She was dressed in the same kind of outfit that might have been worn when the Sortida was established, over a century ago. She reminded me of an old picture of my grandma when she was just 18, around the opening of the Sortida.
My grandma worked in the ticket booth of the Moore Egyptian theater. That’s where my grandpa played piano for silent films. He was as close to a star as my grandma ever met. He was a tall man for the times, but even in high heels, Grandma stood over a foot shorter than him. I would have liked to hear their love story but that was all I knew. I was too preoccupied during their lives to ask. I met Victoria shortly after Grandma passed away. Seattle sure had a way of bringing back old memories.
The young woman waiting with the food cart was Carmelita. It was her hair woven into a net that made her look like the picture of Grandma in my scrapbook, otherwise, there was little resemblance. Carmelita was curvaceous, and despite her outfit looking like it came from another era, it couldn’t hide what was underneath. And let me state, there’s nothing vulgar about anything or anyone that God creates. He has created us to be who we are. Carmelita was created with just a little bit more of who she was.
“My order says there are two guests.”
She glanced to where Bruno was stretched out on the couch, still asleep.
“Oh, that’s Bruno, my friend. He won’t be staying the night. We’ll be taking care of some business later.” I said.
“Bruno?”
She smiled.
“Yes. Is there something I don’t know?” I asked.
“Oh, no, I just lovethe name Bruno. It sounds like the name of a bold man, a say whatever you feel like kind of man.”
“You got that right.” I said.
She spoke with a thick Spanish accent and kept looking at Bruno, as if hoping he’d wake up. She was noisily arranging the dishes on the table, so I shushed her.
“Please, I think he needs the rest.”
“Oh, sorry sir.” She said.
She quietly placed the rest of the contents of the cart onto the table. I put a tip on her cart, and she rolled it out of the room.
“Thank you, Mr. Miller.” She said.
“Thank you too, Carmelita.” I replied
I was still keeping track of name tags. Carmelita Divina, her tag read. I couldn’t read the rest. It was smudged. It matched her makeup which looked hastily done. She had a loose tag hanging from the bottom of her skirt. Too bad Bruno hadn’t woken up. He would have been nuts about this woman. I knew his type and she just walked out of the room! I felt guilty knowing Bruno had missed out on meeting Carmelita. Well, I’d tell him her name. He could track her down later.
I went back into the bedroom. The food could wait. I was dead tired. My dreams were arriving before my head hit the pillow. “Wow, this is a big party. Nice to meet you.” I said under my breath. My dream continued as my head touched that softest of pillows. “Sure, where should I meet you… Zzz”
When I woke up, I was completely rested. I looked at the clock on my phone. I’d managed to get in a quick 30 minutes. Bruno was already eating.
“Where’d you get this Mexican food?” He said. “Es una comida muy deliciosa. I haven’t had food like this since before Guadalajara’s closed.”
“Room service delivered it. They said it was compliments of the house. It’s provided with all the bridal suites.” I said.
“Bridal suites? What ain’t you telling old Bruno, Ron?”
“An old girlfriend paid for the room, Bruno.”
“An old girlfriend paid for the room, he says.”
“It’s a long story.” I said.
“So you gettin hitched?” Bruno asked.
“No, I ain’t gettin hitched. That would be an odd wedding. She passed away. Her kids got me this room. I’m gonna be godfather to all their family. I didn’t even know it till Edwin told me. He’s her son.”
“Whose son?” Bruno asked.
“Vilma’s, I, I mean, Victoria’s.”
“Make up your mind, there Ron. I know there were a lot of them, but let’s have a little respect for the dead.”
Now that was the irreverent Bruno I knew. It was good to hear him talk like himself again.
“Here’s the deal, Bruno, I thought Victoria’s name was Vilma but now I know it’s Victoria.”
“Oh, Okay, old Ron. Whatever you say. As long as I ain’t stuck payin for the room, or for the food.”
“Don’t worry about that, Bruno. And by the way, the lady who brought the food was exactly your type. But don’t worry, I got her name.”
“As if you’d know my type, Ron. You know your type, they all look the same, but you don’t know my type. I got a particular taste in women, you know.”
Now I knewBruno was going to get over what they’d done to his mom. It had taken a lot out of him, but this was core Bruno, sarcastic, quick witted, and edgy.
“Okay, Bruno. Anyway, if you want to check her out. She’s probably down in the kitchen. Her name is Carmelita, Carmelita Divina.”
Bruno now roared a roar that only Bruno could roar.
“Ron! You let her get away! Oh! She’s here! My Camerlita!”
Bruno deliberately mispronounced her name.
“Camerlita was here, and you didn’t wake me up! That’s her food. That’s what she cooked for me at Guadalajara’s. They said she went to work in a swanky hotel after the restaurant closed, but I never found out where.”
“Welp, she works here, and when I mentioned your name, she purred, ‘Oh, I just lovethe name Bruno. It sounds like the name of a bold man, a say whatever you feel like kind of man.’ Ha-ha!”
“Oh, she purred, did she. I think she fancies me.”
Bruno’s crooked smile no longer aligned with his meticulously cut mustache.
“Fancy you?” I said. “She was clanging those plates around so much I had to shush her. It was like she wantedto wake you up.”
“Now, Ron, don’t tell me you shushed my Camerlita.”
Just then the room phone rang. I picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mr. Miller. This is Edwin. I heard Carmelita just took a food cart there. She’s my fiancée’s cousin. She said Carmelita is crazy about Bruno. I’m supposed to keep track of her. I was the one who told her about the job here. Promise me you won’t leave her alone with Bruno. My fiancée’s family would be furious with me if she were courted by a man her family hasn’t met.”
“Just a moment.” I said to Edwin.
“Hey Bruno, looks like you’re gonna be meeting Carmelita’s family. That’s the only way you can courther, Edwin says.”
“Court her, eh? I got no problem with that. So, when’s the meeting.” Bruno asked.
“Edwin, Bruno wants to know when he can meet Carmelita’s family.”
“Well, they’re coming to the Sortida Back Room Ballroom tonight. It’s practice for this Sunday’s dedication service. Bruno can meet them tonight.”
“Tonight, Bruno. You’ll meet them tonight.”
“Fine and dandy.” Bruno replied using one of his favorite outdated expressions.
“I’ll let them know.” Edwin said. “And when you two are ready, I’ll take you to the hospital to get your form signed.”
Between my memories and Edwin’s telling me about his family, I’d forgotten he had someone on the inside to help us get into the hospital. God was surely watching over Bruno and me.
“Thanks, Edwin. I’ll give you a call in about an hour.” I said.
After I’d hung up the phone, I sat down to try some of the food Carmelita had brought.
“So tell me about your Carmelita.” I said. “Is there anything in that nickname you’ve given her?”
“Oh, Ron, do I have to explain everything to you? And you a linguist. Camera Lita becomes Camerlita. She was always takin pictures of me and her food. Genius that I am, I came up with that nickname and everyone at Guadalajara’s started using it too. So, what else can I educate you on, old Ron?”
“I’m sure you’ll think up something.” I said.
“Yes, as surely as professors used to actually teach, before the commies took over, I’ll think of something.” Bruno replied.
Bruno knew everything about the food Carmelita had brought. He explained which ingredients were used and why, and the ones Carmelita told him improved a man’s vitality.
“Oh, so Carmelita is teaching you about vitality? Could be she’s worried…” But before I could finish, Bruno retorted.
“Now old Ron, just because you got seven kids doesn’t mean you got vitality. And you told me about that doc who sewed you up, reversing your vasectomy. You said he did something extra to your plumbing, kinda turbocharged it. In fact…”
Now I interrupted Bruno.
“Alright, just a little lighthearted kidding, Bruno. You better figure out what you’re wearing to meet Carmelita’s folks. You got clothes in that wrinkled up old bag?”
“What did you figure I had in this bag? As far as clothes, I’m covered.”
Bruno tilted his head and looked at me sideways, as if his pun was worthy of attention.
“Oh, the punster.” I said. “I’m sure Carmelita’s daddy will be impressed with your one-upmanship. Yes, muy contento having a son-in-law who talks like he’s had a few, even though you’ve never touched a drop.”
“Alright, ya got me there. Just pray that I don’t screw it up. She’s got to have something wrong with her to want me.”
“Don’t start with the poor Bruno routine.” I said, “A woman likes a man who’s not afraid to be a man and blusters around a bit. Just be natural with her. And when she looks at her Bruno with adoring eyes, her parents will see they got no choice.”
“Oh, so now I’m takin advice from a man who’s just gotten his, what is it now, third divorce?”
“If it matters, second. But Bruno, I wasn’t advising you. I’m congratulating you. You got yourself a young woman after you. How old’s that girl?”
“I know what you’re thinking, Ron. And she…”
I finished his sentence.
“She ain’t young enough to be your daughter. I know, I know, your daughter turned 36 last week. So your new girl is somewhere between 37 and what?”
“Between 37 and an old maid, Ron. Can’t you see, I’m a saving her from a life of shame.”
“Ha! Okay. Old Bruno is a saving the damselin distress.”
“Now, old Ron. You know I ain’t a racist, and I ain’t a sexist, well, not in a bad way, and I certainly ain’t an ageist. And I will not make age an issue in this relationship. I’m not going to exploit my girl’s youth and inexperience for any purpose.”
“Well, Bruno, Reagan won an election against Mondale with that quip and I’m certain you’ll win the hand of your Carmelita, quip or no quip. So, congratulations in advance.”
“Congratulations? Win the hand? Now, wait a minute. We don’t need to be talking about any hand winning around here. It’s just a simple introduction to Camerlita’s folks. So stop your congratulating. That’s code for gettin hitched.” Bruno objected.
“Well, Bruno, why do you think Carmelita’s folks need to meet you before they’ll allow her to be courtedby you?”
“Courted by me?” Bruno half roared, then said. “You know, I could do much worse, muchisimo peor.”
“Bruno, I don’t think you could do any better.”
“Welp, I hate to say it, Ron. But this might be one of the rare times you’re right. What is it they say about a broken clock?”
Bruno and I had finished eating every chimichanga, tostada, and enchilada on the plates, as well as the other tasty dishes that Carmelita had prepared. There was nothing left but a few drops of salsa and that was only because we ran out of tortillas to wipe them up.
“So, you got a routine?” I said to Bruno.
“What do you mean a routine?” He said.
“You know, so you don’t get fat, eating like this every day.”
“I ate like this every day at Guadalajara’s. You’re looking at a fine specimen of humanity.”
Bruno smirked his signature smirk as he boasted.
“Yes, Bruno, as long as Carmelita sees you that way, you’re a blessed man. Well, time to text Edwin so he can take us across the street to get your form signed.” I said.
“Edwin?” Bruno asked. “What’s Edwin got to do with it?”
“While you were sleeping, Edwin told me that they’re locked down over at the hospital. But his fiancée works there, and she can get us in.”
“Okay, let’s get this over with.” He said. “You don’t know how much this kills me, not having this all behind me.”
Then he looked at me, remembering how many griefs I’d been through, and said:
“It’s just an expression, Ron, just an expression.”
“Yes, I know. It’s a burden having unfinished business when it comes to a loved one’s passing. We both know.”
“Maybe that’s Edwin knocking on the door now.” Bruno said.
I opened it.
“C’mon in, Edwin. Bruno and I have to get our lines right, before we walk to the hospital and talk to the doc.”
I took out the form that we wanted the doctor to fill out.
“Are you good with what you’re gonna say to the doctor, Bruno?”
“Yeah, ‘I got a comorbidity form, Doc. Can you sign it?’”
“Well, that may be all it takes.” I said.
“Okay, let’s get on with it.” Bruno said.
Then he turned to Edwin.
“I’d like to thank you for helping us, Edwin.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, Sir Bruno. Carmelita told me about you. She says you’re a get things done kind of guy.”
“Let’s hope so, Edwin. I don’t really need this form signed. It’s just that I’m responsible for taking care of my mom’s estate, and I wouldn’t feel right if I let one penny go unaccounted for.”
“You’re an honorable man, Sir Bruno.”
“You can drop the Sir, Edwin.”
“Okay, Mr. Hartman.” He answered.
“Now on second thought, Edwin. Mr. Hartman does sound a little stodgy. But Sir Bruno kind of rolls off the tongue.”
“I think so too, Sir Bruno.”

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I’m a carnivore, and by that, I mean that I only eat animal products such as meat, eggs, and unsweetened full fat milk products. I don’t eat any plants other than as condiments and I don’t drink any liquids other than a cup of unsweetened coffee with butter or a glass of water. I’m 70 years old, walk 9000 steps a day, and don’t take meds, never did, other than the occasional azithromycin when a bad cough won’t go away. To me, this is simply making sure I’ll be around many more years for my young bride and our children. They’re still in grade school. Our children, not my bride! And we expect that I will be the father of more children soon.
But rather than present an article on how Big Ag (Big Agriculture) is killing us, aided and abetted by the Doctatorship, I’ll do what I do best, I’ll tell a story, to deliver an important message about your health. I hope you’ll enjoy this excerpt from Ron and Bruno. Ron is the main character in this novel and Mika is his love interest. Ron is close to 70 years old and Mika, age unknown, is likely in her mid-twenties.

Ron and Bruno: Against the Doctatorship
Copyright © 2024 Don Milton All Rights Reserved

“So, this is how you stay young.” Mika said, pointing with her lips, Filipino style, to the food on the table.
“Hey, don’t waste your pucker on a plate of food.” I scolded.
“Yes, sir.” She said, then kissed me. “So is this your fountain of youth?”
“Do you object?” I asked.
“Oh no.” She said. “I love fatty foods and I distrust doctors. I distrust them as much on food as I distrust them on vaxes.”
“That’s saying a lot.” I said.
Then I shoveled in a mouthful of beef, eggs, and salsa, topped with a slice of jalapeno.
“And Ancel Keys?” She said. “He was just one man, but he outdid the doctatorship in the number of deaths his recommendations caused.”
“I’m glad you know about him. Yes, he was a villain.” I said.
Then I took another bite of my food.
“Imagine,” Mika said, “with his cherry-picked Seven Countries Study, Keys got the U.S. Government to publish guidelines that were the exact opposite of a healthy diet.”
“Yes, he was a monster.” I said. “He’s probably responsible for more deaths than Mao, Stalin, and Hitler combined.”
Mika finished what she was chewing and then leaned forward as if she were about to share a juicy piece of gossip.
“And the irony, Ron, is his cousin, I shouldn’t laugh, but his cousin, was Lon Chaney Jr., who played monsters in movies. But Ancel Keys was the real-life monster.”
“Wow, I hadn’t realized his cousin was Lon Chaney Jr. They used to play his old movies at double features when I was a kid. He was the first Wolfman.”
“Yes, Ron. And what I think most people in America still don’t know, is that diets high in grains are what’s killing them. Ancel Keys’ fraudulent Seven Countries Study convinced America’s medical regulators to side with sugar over fat, and grains full of pesticides over meat. And look what it’s done.”
“I’d rather not.” I said. “I’m not a chubby chaser.”
“Hahaha!” Mika broke into one of her melodious laughs. I could have watched her joyous face and listened till she ran out of wind. But she stopped after one stanza.
“Ahem. Sorry for that.” She said. “But I hadn’t heard chubby chaser till today. But I love it, Ron. How dare you criticize people who are going to drop dead from diabetes by following their doctor’s advice. That’s like telling a drunk they need detox. In today’s America, we’re supposed to let them keep killing themselves by taking advice from the doctors whose advice made them fat.”
“Yes, and Ancel Keys’ victims don’t even know his name or even of his existence, talk about a silent killer. There were three fat kids in the three sixth grade classes at my elementary school, Mika. That was back in the day, when meat was the biggest part of what we ate. So one in 30 kids were fat. And I still remember their names: Pat, Bob, and Ross. Today’s grade schoolers would have to remember the names of over half the kids in their school to know the names of all the fat kids. But enough of fat talk. Let’s get skinny.”
It wasn’t long before Mika and I finished our food, so I slid out the tray from the cart that contained the second course: herb-roasted lamb. It had been simmering on a hotplate. Next to it was a basket of mint sauce, egg-lemon sauce, garlic butter, and other condiments. The colorful condiments made it look more like we were finger painting each other’s lips than sharing bites. But unlike the feeding flirtations on our wedding flight, we were now alone, and our senses were heightened to a whole nother level. And the bed, fit for a king, was waiting to prove it could awaken our appetites even more than our carnivore platters of food.
The timer on the automated coffee maker chimed like the bell in an MMA match. End of round one. Refresh yourselves before round two. But unlike an MMA match, we wouldn’t care who pinned down who.
Mika drained her first cup of coffee as quickly as I did. It made sense. Anyone who’s gone to graduate school knows most students would never graduate without high doses of caffeine. This was my first cup since waking up after our nap and it felt great. We drank our second cup slower and talked about things that didn’t matter, the color of the curtains, the designs on the headboard, the feel of the carpet. Then Mika reached up to my ears and said:
“May I?”
I nodded.
Mika removed my hearing aids and placed them in the charger on the nightstand, then she came back and nodded to me.
I didn’t need to know sign language. The signal was clear. She took my hand and we walked to the shower that sprayed from all sides.
Our bed would soon get another chance to prove its sleep-inducing effect. But I was sure it would be powerless over our newlywed glow and Seattle’s high-octane coffee.

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