Robrt Pela Used to Have a Secret

After work on weekend nights, I’d join the waitstaff at afterhours discos. I’d sneak into the men’s room and change out of my three-piece suit and into a pair of Jordache jeans and ankle boots with Cuban heels—this was the late 1970s; if you couldn’t do the Hustle while wearing a shirt made of spun petroleum, you were a loser.

My Brush with Sugar Ray Leonard’s Pizza

I put on my best corduroy skirt, my Famolare shoes and went down to interview. I was afraid that my lack of restaurant experience would hinder my chances, but I shouldn’t have worried. I was 15, I had just gotten my braces off, and I was a size two. I was qualified.