I'm at the front desk on a normal, non-descript Tuesday afternoon, about 1 pm.  In comes a fabulous blonde. She steps to the front desk and says, "I'm meeting a friend. Mind if I see if he's here?"     

"No, go right ahead,"  I say, knowing whoever she was looking for wasn't here, as none of the seated guests were waiting for anyone.

A few minutes later, she returns to the desk. "He's not here yet. Can I leave my name?  He should be here shortly." "Absolutely,"  I reply.  "Romi", she says

."OK. By the way, who am I looking for? Would I know this gentleman? Is he a regular?"    

"Oh, no.  He's not a regular.  But you would know him."    

"What's the name?" I ask.

"Uh, it's Mr. Johnson." she says..."Magic Johnson."  Completely serious.     

"Yeah, right," I reply.  Magic would never, I was thinking, ever be going out to eat dinner in...Torrance!  (You come to Torrance if you're lost on your way to Palos Verdes.)     

"No really.  He'll be here in a little while."  She left.  In my mind, I dismissed her as an air-headed blonde do-do.  By then, it was 4pm, and I was standing in my exhibition kitchen.  From my vantage point I could see the front desk. My eyes suddenly fell from my head and rolled across the tile.  I picked them up, replaced them in their sockets (making sure to put the correct eye in the correct socket).  

Magic Johnson was standing in my lobby, at front of my desk, talking to my hostess.  I regained my composure, ran-walked to the desk, and kindly said, "Earvin!"   

He turned around, and, with that "magic" smile, said, "Hey!"     

"Romi said she would be meeting you here," I informed him, as though I've known Romi since childhood.      

"She's already here", he says. "She's in the restroom."     

Just then, my assistant manager Doug came from out of thin air, patted Magic on the back and said "Hey Magic, I watch you on TV all the time!"  What a freakin'  idiot...      

Magic gave Doug the same glance you give a gnat at night. You hear it, but you don't see it.  You make no effort to find it.  You forget it.  It goes away.      

I take control. "So, would you like to wait in the bar?"      

"No. But I do want to sit at a table to get some of those chips!"     

This guy is out of touch, I thought.  Doesn't he realize that the regular El Torito serves chips?   We here at the El Torito Grill serve tortillas, roasted salsa and orange-honey butter... far more sophisticated than those cretins at regular ET.  I seat him at a booth, in a closed section.   He and Romi seem like good friends, not romantic. Did he just kiss her?  He DID!  But it wasn't a lovey-dovey kiss. Just a little peck, near the lips, but not quite on the cheek...

But wait - now I'm thinking, 'Magic is married. This is not cool'.    The hard part was... to whom to assign the table.  I had 6 servers from which to choose. Jasmine? Raul?  Tim?  None of them sports fans, but they knew who he was. Ah, I know. Walter. He was the one. Good server, big sports fan. He got the plum.   Dinner comes and goes.  I personally expedited the plates.  They looked like pictures in a magazine.  Perfect in every detail.    

Now comes my big moment.  Dessert. This would be on the house.  Chocolate enchiladas in a banana cream sauce. I would spell out "Go Lakers" in the sauce. After all, the next night the Lakers would play Portland in the Western Conference Finals. If the Lakers won, they would play the Bulls for the title. The dessert was served.  4 minutes later, I went by to check on them.  To ask how their experience was. You know, do my manager thing. I doubt I visited any other tables that day.    But they were gone.    I sought out Walter. "Where are they???!!!"

"He paid and they left".    "What about dessert?"

"They took it to go"    My face was the quintessential...."Wha...but...how?...they left...?"       

6 months later, Magic announced he contracted HIV.