“My,” Daddy said, “do I have the most beautiful girls! Good thing I’m the most handsome devil.”
We piled inside the Lincoln and sang “Jailhouse Rock” along with Elvis on the car radio. Daddy drove down West Slauson Avenue. Yellow lights flickered like fireflies from billboards, lampposts, and neon signs. The busy streets sounded like rushing water with cars speeding by us. It wasn’t long before Daddy was pulling in to park behind Sheri’s Restaurant.
“Bert from work told me this place has the best steaks around,” he said as he opened the car door for Chich and Mama.
“Oh, we have enough money for steaks?” Mama asked.
“We have enough money to buy the cow,” Daddy said. “And the potato crop.”
Mama took his arm and entered the restaurant through its red leather-padded doors.
Sheri’s restaurant was super fancy compared to the diner in Grand Ronde. Instead of scratched tables and chairs, red leather benches lined the walls in front of dark wooden tables topped with bright white cloths. Sparkling vases filled with flowers sat at each table. A cascade of shimmering lights drooped down from the ceiling. We walked over the richly patterned carpet that covered the floors.
“Wow,” I said.
No one greeted us, so Daddy pointed to an empty booth just a few steps away. We all sat down.
“Can’t wait to see what they serve,” Mama said, watching one waitress carrying plates of sizzling sirloins and baked potatoes. Peewee nodded in agreement.
“You can have anything you like, baby,” Daddy said. “We’re celebrating.” He leaned next to Mama. “Guess who’s a new supervisor?”
“You got a promotion?” Mama said, giving him a peck. “So soon?”
“What can I say?” Daddy said. “I’m invaluable. And I smell nice too.”
“That’s because Indians don’t sweat,” Chich said.
Daddy chuckled. “Tonight we’re rich Americans, Ma.”
“Well, this place looks expensive. Hope you brought enough money,” Chich said, opening her purse and taking out her wallet. I watched as she counted her bills.
“Put your money away, Ma,” Daddy said. “I’m taking care of it.”
While waiting for menus from the waitress, Daddy talked about his new position. “Four men now report to me. I might have to work late and on weekends, depending on the deadlines.” He leaned forward. “I even have my own office.”
“Will it have a desk and chair?” Peewee asked.
Daddy laughed. “Hope so!”
Mama’s eyes twinkled, and Chich nodded with approval.
“Bert, one of the other managers, lives in Westchester, by the way. He says there are some really nice houses for sale,” Daddy said.
“John, buying a bigger house will require a down payment,” Mama said, glancing at another waitress passing us by.
“I have the GI Bill. We can get a mortgage loan without a down payment,” Daddy said as he stroked her hand.
“I don’t want to move,” I said without being asked. “Keith lives on 58th Place. And so do our other friends. We moved enough already.”
I expected a scolding, since the rule was to never interrupt when adults were talking. Both Daddy and Mama just stared at me.
“She’s right,” Chich said, touching my braid. “We’ve moved enough already. Maybe the girls need a little more time to adjust to the city.”
I smiled. Chich was on my side, though she never gave me the impression she was happy living on 58th Place or living in the city at all, except when she was helping our neighbors.
I glanced around the restaurant. Lots of people were enjoying dinner. Some old, some young and a few couples with children. I started thinking about life on the rez, only to realize I couldn’t remember some details. Was I beginning to forget Grand Ronde? Maybe even being Indian?
“Daddy,” I asked, “any chance we could go home for a visit, maybe?” I didn’t like the idea of losing my Indianness.
“It would be nice to visit, John,” Mama said, touching his hand. “For your mother and the girls?”
He looked away and sighed. “Maybe we can drive up in early August when the weather’s nice.”
We all smiled.
Waitresses still rushed around us, giving out menus to other customers, filling their water glasses, and taking their orders. I noticed two customers who’d arrived after us receive menus.
“John, try to get the waitress’s attention,” Mama whispered to Daddy.
An older blonde waitress passed our table. Daddy raised his finger to call her to the table. She stopped. “May we have our menus, please?” Daddy asked.
But the waitress just stood there. She glared at our table and huffed.
My face flushed. I rocked back and forth in my seat. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure it out. Peewee looked down at her lap.
The woman’s blue eyes seared into us. She leaned close in with her right hand pressed down on the table. She whispered so the other customers didn’t hear. “I don’t think we have anything here you can afford.” She straightened and folded her arms. “Besides, we don’t serve Mexicans here.”
Mama’s eyes widened. Then Daddy straightened up. “We’re not Mexicans,” he replied with a low, firm voice.
The white woman pursed her lips. “I don’t care what you think you are. Our restaurant does not serve your kind here.”
She was kicking us out. Daddy had money to pay for our meals. He rose from his seat. The waitress backed off with a frightened look. Suddenly all conversation in the restaurant stopped. I wondered what Daddy would do.
Chich motioned for us to get up.
Mama stood up next. Daddy helped her with her coat.
Anger replaced fear in me. I hated how the white waitress talked to us. I hated everyone’s stares.
I grabbed my sweater and then lagged a little behind the others as we walked toward the doors. I don’t know what got into me. Suddenly I whipped around. “We’re not Mexicans!” I shouted at her. “We’re Indians!”
Daddy reached back and snatched me by the arm, pulling me out through those red-leather doors.
24 Indian No More
“Do you think Daddy will come back?" Peewee said to Mama.
We all wondered the same thing sitting around that rusty kitchen table. Peewee and I munched
