“I don’t think so, Ray. Not these guys. They’d kill a duck or chase the first coyote into the woods and I’d never see them again.” I pat them on their heads.
“Little hunters, huh? Sounds like yur right on that one then. Okay, I think the problem is under here.” Ray opens up the cabinet under the sink and gets on one knee to look inside.
“Yep! I see the problem. I’ll need to get that valve at the hardware store. I might have time today. I have to take the garbage to Redding with Bubba around noon, so I can get it then.” They take that beat up truck full of trash all the way to Redding?
“Great, Ray. That would be wonderful.”
“Now, what else ya got to show me?” Gosh, why is all this sounding so dirty? Could it be the confined quarters we are in together or does Ray in fact have a sexual undertone that I am picking up on? It’s probably just my repressed sexuality. Single at fifty-one can do that to you. “Oh, it’s that pleated hose that comes out from the holding tank. It’s old and cracked. It’s also leaking in several spots.”
We exit the trailer and Ray looks under to inspect the hose.
“Got one of those in the grocery area. Go in and ask Vi to get ya one. I’ll help ya put the new one on. While you do that, I’ll get ya a tank full of propane so you can cook inside. Can’t use the water heater just yet until I fix that pipe.” I leave to get the hose.
When I return from the main building, Ray is filling up my propane tank. He asks if I could carry it over to the trailer for him because he is running out of oxygen and can’t quite find the strength. I can see as we walk back to the trailer that his breathing is getting strained.
He hooks up the propane and says he better get inside to his oxygen.
“Thanks Ray. I sure appreciate all your help.” I give him a one-armed hug.
“No problem, pretty lady.” Ray says, tapping my back. He walks slowly back to a side entry to his living area, which is over by the lawn.
Replacing the pleated hose was fairly simple. I always carry a few tools with me in the car. I’m pretty handy with tools. I’ve had to fix things for many years on my own. I take the cracked stinky hose over to the nearest trashcan and feel so much better about the progress on the trailer.
Inside I light the stove. It works! I can boil my water inside now. I can even heat water to wash in if I need to, which would be a good idea right now since I was handling that disgusting hose.
It is now 9:00AM. I am free for at least two more hours, so I decide to drive to the creek with the dogs and explore. While leashing up the dogs and putting them into the car, I notice an average height, extremely skinny man, exit the back kitchen door. He is carrying a toilet plunger and wearing a cowboy hat. He walks very fast and jerky, kind of like a person on speed. That man, I presume, is Little John. It’s obvious that Billy and Ray do the best they can with what they’ve got. I knew I’d be appreciated somewhere in this world.
It’s a warm beautiful June day. I am thankful for a few hours to myself. The dogs are alert and watchful sitting on top of the pile of blankets that I always have for them in the passenger seat. They are so small and love to look out at the passing world. We turn right at the exit of the park to explore more in that direction. I had only gone that way when I first saw and passed Hacienda and ended up at that motel where the man called Billy on the phone about the job.
Today is Saturday and there seems to be many vehicles on the road. Many of the turnouts have cars in them, probably fishermen. I chose a turnout about eight miles down the highway. There are enough parked cars and visible people to give me the security to hike further than I would if there were no cars or people, besides, I always carry pepper spray with me at all times when walking. Since I had adopted Bonita and Bandito from the shelter in Monterey nine years ago their social skills have always been lacking, to say the least. They bark and snarl at other approaching dogs, which makes the other dog, which might be loose, want to eat them! I haven’t had to use the pepper spray yet, but have had some close encounters.
The creek is a beautiful, clear pale turquoise and running strong. We hike up the small pathway along the edge made from the many fishermen and hikers. All the trees are green and there is a cool breeze. The dogs are very happy exploring with me. I am happy to be in nature again.
We walk for about an hour and a half, and then head on back to Hacienda. The dogs will be tired and will relax better inside the fifth wheel while I am working. I will have had my dose of nature to get me through the day.
By the time I feed the dogs, and have some lunch, it is 11:15. I turn on the small fan inside the trailer, open the windows, and shut the door. Outside, I see and hear the large dump truck coughing its way to the rear of the kitchen. Ray is waiting there with his oxygen tank in hand. Bubba is driving. Ray climbs inside with Bubba and they drive past me. The stench is horrible! They leave a trail of drippy goop behind them. I pity the cars that will be behind them on the highway.
Billy is at the counter when I clock in. She says she’ll meet me at the grill in a little while. I was to clean up from breakfast, chop tomatoes and red onion, peel potatoes for mashed potatoes and get them boiling, and think about a soup we could make for the day. She would show me how we put together a tri-tip sandwich for $5.95, which is today’s special. Betty would help me with any questions I had, and Karen was coming on shift at 12:00. I was to train today to cook for lunch and dinner. Lunch and dinner! It never occurred to me until now that I’d be cooking both meals.
Betty is wiping off the special board out on one of the redwood tables. She starts to hang it back up with nothing written on it.
“Good morning Betty, or should I say afternoon yet? It’s not quite noon, but hello anyway.”
“Hello Denise! Are you ready to cook?” Betty moves so fast, she makes my head spin!
“As ready as I’ll ever be. Are you going to write the day’s special on that?”
“Oh, I never write anything on here. Bubba usually does this, but he was in a hurry to get out.”
“Well, Billy tells me that today’s special is a tri-tip sandwich. Don’t you think we should write that on the board?”
“I won’t, but you can if you want.” Betty seems slightly frightened at the thought of doing this small project. Is that also Bubba’s, and only Bubba’s, special board?
“Here I’ll do it.” I take the large board from Betty’s hands. I can’t start harboring a bunch of fears on this job.
“Okay Denise, if you want. I need to finish with the ketchup bottles and dishes.” Betty nervously looks around for Bubba.
I get the colored chalks I had seen by the counter and write the special with flowing letters and floral designs in the corner. It’s time to get out of the road kill specials now that I am the cook. I hang the sign back up above the kitchen and walk back to the grill area.
The grill, the floor beneath the grill, the cutting boards, and every square inch of the cooking area is a mess! Globs of hash browns are stuck everywhere! The oil drip catcher pan is overflowing onto the floor. Fuck!
I start with the overflowing drip pan and am still cleaning Bubba’s mess when Betty taps my shoulder and says that she has an order for two hamburgers. “Denise, I can cook these if you want. I’ve been here for six years and cook for Billy in a pinch when needed.”
“Great Betty! That would be great! I need to get a handle on this mess. I can’t cook in a dirty kitchen.”
“I understand.” Betty zooms over to the meat counter and grabs two fistfuls of meat and starts the hamburgers.
By 12:45 Billy enters the kitchen. I have begun to peel the potatoes and have water boiling for them. I had let Betty cook the few orders that came in so I could catch up on all I was told to do.
Billy jumps right in.
“Okay, let’s get to training! Oh, and Betty, Karen had an emergency with one of her grandchildren, so she can’t make it in until around 5:00. Ya could leave now. Denise and I will handle everything just fine until she get
s here.” How nice that Karen has grandchildren. I have not had that honor yet from my sons.
Betty has an order that she places on the crown of thorns. “This is an order for two tri-tip sandwiches.”
“How’d they know we had ‘em?” Billy asks.
“They read the special board. Denise wrote it on there.” Billy smiles at me in a funny way.
“Good! Well, lets make a tri-tip sandwich then! The kitchen looks really clean. Good job! Have ya thought about a soup?”
“Actually I have, Billy. How about we make corn chowder from all the left over corn on the cob?”
“Excellent! Let me show ya how we make a tri-tip sandwich, ya can serve it to the customers. I’m sure ya can wait tables? And then ya can scrape the cobs while I get the rest of the ingredients for the soup. We need to mash those potatoes as soon as they get cooked. We also need to bake some potatoes for dinner.”
This is beginning to be fun. I’ve always enjoyed cooking and it’s a career challenge I’ve yet to have. I like Billy and her gruff rancher ways. I know that she appreciates me. It is obvious that Billy and Ray are not in the best of health, especially Ray. It is also obvious that they respect the fact that someone with work ethics has come to them at a much-needed time. I give my best when I am needed and appreciated. What I’ve seen up to this point is an extreme lack of management. If Bubba is considered the manager in any way, shape, or form, they are in big trouble.
Karen comes on duty an hour early. I do not have much time to get to know her. She isn’t a bad looking woman, but she has a pinched, angry mouth and she acts like she wants to go home the minute she gets here. The only time she smiles is when she serves the tables, and that is only to get the tips, which could make it better for me at the end of the day. So keep on smiling Karen or we won’t get anything!
The soup gets made. I write corn chowder on the special board. The potatoes get mashed and baked. I learn how to use the meat slicer for the roast beef and turkey. I learn how Billy likes each dish prepared and displayed on the platter. There is a full menu from French dips, chicken fried steak, fresh fish, steaks, shrimp, artichokes, salads (three kinds), hot dogs, chili, Rueben’s, ham, soup, gravies, sandwiches, and barbequed beef. Then for desserts, we offer fresh homemade pies from chocolate and banana cream, to apple, berry, and pumpkin which Ginger brings in at around 5:30. All made fresh today. It is a very busy restaurant and I had no idea that Billy took such great pride in what she had achieved all these years. The community depends on her for a good hearty meal, and travelers are pleased with the quality, especially for being out in the middle of nowhere.
We sell beer, sodas, ice cream, malts, milk, eggs, bread, bacon, coleslaw, fruit, RV supplies, propane, and worms for fishing. I see the many ways that I can be beneficial to Billy. I see my space and because she is so sincere, I plan to do the best job I can.
There is a small time gap in our busy evening for me to let the dogs out and feed them. Billy also lets me have a quick bite to eat off the menu.
At around 7:15 the back door opens and Bubba enters quite jovial and talkative to Billy. He seems a little more pleasant this evening. Ray follows him in and looks very tired and his breathing is strained. He does not say much and heads into his home area. Bubba tells Billy stories about their adventure with the dump truck. He walks over to talk to a customer he knows who is eating. On his way back to the kitchen he stops abruptly and looks up at the special board. His smile leaves his face. My heart sinks and I feel slightly intimidated by his reaction. I am also confused as to why that damn board could make him so pissed off! I am not going to have road kill written on there on my shift! He walks into the cold storage and grabs himself a twelve pack of beer and leaves without acknowledging my presence.
By 7:45 Karen is finishing up all the dishes and preparing the tables for morning. I am scrubbing the grill. Billy is smoking and having a drink talking to a friend by the meat counter. She comes into the kitchen and thanks me for all my hard work. I will be having Sundays and Mondays off since that is her slowest time in the restaurant. Yahoo! That’s tomorrow!
“Billy? Could you do me a favor and look at this bite on my neck? It hurts like hell!” I bow my head and lift the small amount of hair to show her my bump. “Gawd! That there is one nasty bite! Let me go get ya some Campho-Phenique. Looks a bit infected. Better keep yur eye on that one.” She returns with the ointment and invites me to have a drink at her place after I finish up the kitchen. She’d like to get to know me better and show me her place. I decline, but would love to do that at another time. I’m pretty pooped!
By 8:30, Karen and I have finished cleaning the kitchen and mopping the floors. She divides the tips up three ways, to include Billy, and hands me $75.00. I am very happy that I will be making some money.
I lock the kitchen door and clock out. As I walk through the front entry I notice again the overflowing trashcan and all the cigarette butts on the front porch. If I have time, I’ll clean that up tomorrow. First impressions are the most important for the guests. That is so negative looking!
I see Bubba’s flaming fire pit down the road. I just don’t understand that! It’s not even cold out. I can see his dark silhouette standing next to the flames that are three times his size. The shadows of the tall pine trees dance in the dark perimeter surrounding his area. I walk nearer to my fifth wheel and in the safety of darkness. What could he be thinking as he stares into his explosive flames? Is it thoughts of being a better man? Is it shame for ruining a father-daughter day of fishing? No, I doubt that is the case. I stay in hiding and watch this bully of a man who has awakened the wounds of my child within. He tilts his head back and finishes the last of his beer. His dark, heavy outline becomes the silhouette of my father, and I am suddenly seeing through the young innocent eyes of a different sort of spirit who stayed in the shadows and wondered if all men were angry.
Chapter Five
My aching wrists and itching mosquito bites wake me before Bubba and the quacking ducks. The dogs are sleeping in for the first time in quite awhile. I make my coffee and heat up a kettle of water to do the few dishes I have needed to clean. It’s nice to be able to make my coffee inside. It gives me time to be alert and ready for any unforeseen obstacle that may await me once I open the door and step outside the fifth wheel. I am so happy I have two days off! I can get my bearings on my new lifestyle and finish cleaning and organizing the fifth wheel.
After setting up my boom box to listen to some music, the dogs are awake and ready to go outside. I walk them a short distance and then put them in the fenced area. It looks like another nice warm day. Inside, I turn on the air conditioner and it works! I turn it off and open the filter vent. The filter is clogged with dirt and nicotine, so I wash it in hot soapy water. Now the dogs will be cooler inside when I’m working. I’m sure it’s going to get hot this summer.
Outside, the quacking and barking start up, and breaks the silence of morning. I look to see the ducks passing by. They are not as concerned about my dogs as much as my dogs are concerned about them. As I am quieting them, Bubba rounds the bend of the road walking towards us. He is drinking his coffee. I have no idea what to expect from him, so I wait to let him speak first.
“SO, WHO ARE THESE GUYS?”
“Good morning Bubba. This black one is Bandito, and the brown one is Bonita.” Bonita loves everyone. She wags her tail a hundred miles an hour, and wants to lick anyone within reach. It’s dogs she hates. Bandito could care less about other people. He sits and observes. Bonita loves up to Bubba.
As Bubba is petting Bonita, the sheep-herding dog walks up to the fence and Bubba. My dogs go off barking again.
“WELL HELLO, HARLEY!” Bubba pets the dog’s head.
“Oh, his name is Harley. I was wondering about that dog. Does it belong to Billy and Ray?” I am trying to calm my dogs down. It is way too early for this ruckus!
“YEH, HARLEY’S A GOOD OLE BOY. WOULDN’T HURT A FLEA.”
“So, are you on
your way to work?”
“YEP!” Bubba takes a slug of his coffee.
“I’m thinking of coming in for breakfast, so maybe I’ll see you later.” I’m trying to find his soft spot somewhere in all that testosterone. I smile.
“THAT’D BE FINE.” Bubba takes a final slug of coffee and shakes out the last remaining drops on the ground. I notice the brown stains inside of his coffee cup and cringe.
Harley walks over to the lake, jumps in, and walks chest high around in the water drinking. A group of honking mud hens clear away from the area that Harley has invaded. Bonita and Bandito are watching his every move in envy.
With the dogs back in the trailer, I go to take a shower walking past the rising RV guests. An elderly couple that recognizes me from their dinner last night greets me. “Good morning! Great dinner last night!
“Well, thank you! I’m new here so I need all the encouragement I can get. Did you enjoy your stay?” It appears that they are packed up and ready to leave.
“Sure did, but it would have been better if the trashcans were emptied. Makes a terrible fly problem,” says the elderly man.
“Sorry about that. I’ll speak to the owner. You have a nice day.”
“You too.” We all wave goodbye at each other.
As I continue to the showers, I notice all the trashcans are full to the brim. Some are even knocked over with trash sprayed about as if an animal had raided it. I don’t understand why Billy wouldn’t hire someone else to do that job. Bubba surely has too many things to be responsible for. How could he possibly do a good job on everything? Maybe I’m getting too concerned about details again, but I can’t help myself, this is what I do. This is also why I kept the inn in Ashland so well maintained, because I care about details and appearances in homes and businesses. I care about the comfort of the guests. I’d like to have blinders on sometimes, but when you have been trained since birth to keep the trash empty and wash every dish as you cook or eat, and make your bed as soon as you step out of it, then it isn’t easy to make a chiseled in stone habit disappear from your mind. My ex-husband thought I was the best thing to come along since slaves were chic. “Cinderelli, Cinderelli…La La La La La La La…,” I sing as I walk to the showers, forgetting the lyrics to the Disney tune that I have always identified with, but conceding to the fact that my Prince never did show up, and that fairy tales were written by men.
GRILL! Page 7