GRILL!

by Diane Stegman

  I work on the dishes for twenty minutes or so; at least I now have room to put more dirty platters. There is still a mountain left, but I think I can do it all eventually.

  The tri-tip is dated: Sell or freeze by June 25th. That’s today, perfect! I am going to make my Mom’s famous Spanish steak! It’s made with thin slices of tender steak, browned with onions and fresh garlic, then simmered in tomato soup, last but not least, you add lots of green olives stuffed with pimento. It’s served over a mound of mashed potatoes.

  While the Spanish steak is simmering, and potatoes are boiling, I look for ideas in the cold storage room to make a soup. I find a large box of broccoli and decide on a broccoli cheese soup. By 4:30 I have most of the details of dinner ready, including a pile of pre-made hamburger patties ready to throw on the grill. The dishes are slowly but surely getting done in-between cooking. I go up to the front to ask Vi if she would keep her eye out on things for ten minutes while I let the dogs out and bring them a treat.

  Upon my return, I see that she is seating a family of four. While they are looking at the menu, I quickly write my specials on the board, erasing Bubba’s mumbo jumbo about something dead. I decide to charge $7.95 for my special. The family is watching me do this and questions about the Spanish steak. The two adults would like to try it, and the kids want a grilled cheese sandwich and french fries.

  I am excited about my special, and quite honestly, I am having fun being here by myself. I prepare the meals, adding to my special half an artichoke with a side of mayonnaise. A leaf of green lettuce with a slice of spiced apple laying pretty on top, and a sprig of parsley on top of the Spanish steak. I serve it to them. They seem pleased when they see it. Now, I hope they like it as well as my family always has. Another couple is seating themselves as I bring out the order. They are looking at what I am serving. They too would like to try it. This is fun!

  It starts getting busy, and I feel like I am going in fifty directions at once. I take a deep breath and decide that I can only do what I can do, and to not get in a panic.

  My family of four has gone and has eaten every bite of their dinners. When they left, they made a point to come and compliment the chef. I sell fifteen plates of my special, and almost all of the soup is gone. My pre-made hamburger patties paid off. It took no time at all to just throw them on the grill. Even old Henry came in and broke his habit of a New York steak and baked potato just to try my special. Henry is the man I first saw in here talking to Bubba. He comes in everyday. He is definitely flirting with me, but he is harmless and quite sweet.

  As the place slowly empties of people, I am able to begin cleaning up the major mess on my hands. I dish up a large helping of Spanish steak for Vi and myself in to-go containers. The pan is now empty. I wrap up the last piece of banana cream pie for myself. I have been saving leftover meat for the dogs that goes with me too. Billy and Ray come back at 7:45 and look very tired. They go straight into their home area and shut the door. I hope everything is okay with them. Neither of them are very healthy, that’s for sure, but Ray is definitely in trouble! I wonder what those rough patches are on his arms that itch so bad.

  The store and restaurant are now closed and locked up. It takes me until 9:30 to finish all the work I have to do. I leave the special board up, just my way of telling Bubba that I am doing fine in here. I count my tips; $110! Wow! I love it! As I am clocking out, Billy comes out holding a drink, smoking a cigarette, and dressed in her nightgown. I am slightly put back by the sight of Billy in a knee length nightgown with her manly build. She would be better off wearing men’s flannel pajamas. It would be more believable than that flowery pink nightgown.

  “Vi tells me ya did real good today. And ya had a delicious special. Ya rang up $675 for lunch and dinner. Between the new RV guests, and the groceries, we did over $1500 in total. That’s really good! Proud of ya Denise. Ray and I are beat, so we’re heading to bed. See ya tomorrow.” Billy gives me a gentle hug. A hug she obviously needs right now. My return hug confirms to her that I care, I know, and I’m trying my best.

  Outside the wind has picked up. Bubba is burning cardboard boxes and tiny sparks are flying high into the sky and then dissipating.

  “HOW’D IT GO TODAY?” He hollers out to me.

  I walk closer to Bubba so as not to shout, but not too close, the smoke and sparks are bothersome.

  “It was actually great! I had a fun time tonight. Made a special, and sold all of it.”

  “I WANNA TAKE YA TO A REAL PRETTY SPOT ON TOP OF THAT MOUNTAIN ONE DAY REAL SOON. IT’S MY SECRET SPOT. YA CAN SEE THE ENTIRE NATIONAL PARK FROM UP THERE.” Bubba is pointing to the mountains far beyond the RV park. I can see these mountains from the window of the fifth wheel. Bubba is also once again drunk. It almost looks like the sparks are actually hitting him in the face when he stuffs more cardboard into the split oil drum barbeque. I then notice the shotgun lying on the picnic bench next to his beer.

  “I see you’re ready for the mountain lion.” I walk over and touch the gun.

  “COUGAR! IT’S A DAMN COUGAR! AND DON’T TOUCH MY GUN!” Cougar, scooter, pork and cheese, blah, blah, blah. I’m too tired for this! All I want is to let the dogs out, and go eat. It’s so much later than I would ever eat dinner before. I’ve always had my dinner at around 5:00 for years, so that I could digest it before sleep. At least I can sleep in, maybe.

  Bubba is all involved in the raging flames at the moment. I think he stuffed too many boxes in there. I walk away.

  My poor puppies, I sure wouldn’t want to be trapped inside like this for ten hours! I do my best to soothe my guilt by walking them around outside for a little longer than I want or feel like, and then I eat my Spanish steak, which made with tender tri-tip, is out of this world delicious!

  While eating, I notice my fingernails. They are becoming stained with grease, probably from grinding the grill. I know that I wash my hands at least a hundred times during my shift, before and after anything I do. Gawd! Is this permanent? It looks horrible! My wrists are sore. They used to get really sore from cleaning the whirlpool tubs at the inn, and changing those California king beds! Talk about a back breaker!

  I change into some cozy sweats. The dogs leap under the covers. I suppose they are too anxious to really rest or relax during the day. At least they can jump onto the bench by the table and look out the windows while I am working and see some of the passing world.

  The wind is whipping the canopy against the side of the trailer. I see the half moon through the skylight above my head. Sparks fly by.

  Chapter Nine

  “QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK!”

  The ruckus made by the ducks, alarms Bonita and Bandito and they jump up and stick their heads out from under the covers. Bonita bounces out, jumps on my tummy, and crawls over my head in a rush to get to the window. All she can see is the top of the canopy. Both of the dogs run down to bark at the door. I forgot to close the fenced area! It is later than usual, 8:45AM.

  I climb out of bed and unhook the bungee cord to the door, I feel pain radiate in my sore wrists. The dogs yelping is loud and piercing. “Bonita! Bandito! Shut up! Please, shut up!”

  I slip on my flip-flops and go down the steps. All the ducks are in a group by the bottom of the steps, looking up and quacking like mad at something, or me, like they are hungry. There is no evidence of them ever having been in the fenced area. In fact, I did not leave the fenced area open at all. Are ducks smart enough to know who buys the seed? Is this Bubba’s way of some sort of revenge for buying the seed in the first place, by not feeding them anymore?

  I walk sleepily over to the storage room. I’m sure my hair is all over the place and my eyes must surely be puffed up like balloons. The smoke coming out of the vent by the kitchen door smells like pancakes and burns my puffy eyes. The ducks are following me like in some children’s fairy tale book. Bonita and Bandito are still barking from inside the trailer. I scoop out a large pan of seed, walk over to the lake’s edge, and toss it on the g
round. The quacking ceases as they eagerly eat.

  Walking back to the trailer I notice the rumbling logging truck parked across the street. The highway is busy. I slept through most of the morning noise.

  I put the dogs in the fenced area while I make coffee. They smell all around, marking their small confining territory. I’m too tired to care if they pee in there or not, maybe it will help to keep the ducks away.

  After my shower and a bowl of oatmeal, I load the dogs into the car. We spend an hour walking by the creek. When I return, Terry is walking by my trailer at the same time I pull into my parking space. She looks like she wants to talk, because she is walking towards me. She has a cup of coffee in her hand. “Denise, can we talk for a minute?” Her coffee cup is printed with, “Shut the hell up. I’m not awake yet!”

  “Sure Terry. Let me put these guys in the fenced area first. Come on in and sit here on the bench. Look out for duck poop. I’ll get myself some coffee too.” I close Terry and the dogs in the fenced area and go to make my coffee; I can see Terry from the kitchen window talking to my dogs. When I return to the bench, she starts in. “I’m scared Denise. Bubba’s trying to make me leave. I have no place to go! We’ve been together for two years. He’s gotten so mean!” Terry says distressingly. I’m not so stupid as to think that Terry is some sort of innocent victim here. I’ll bet she could be as mean as a pit bull if she wanted to.

  “Bubba did that to your face, didn’t he?” I ask.

  “Yes.” Terry says touching her cheek.

  “Terry, you can’t live like that! Get the hell out of there!” I plea.

  “Ya don’t understand! I have no place to go! My Mom lives in Utah, and we don’t get along. I don’t even have a way of getting there. Bubba’s gonna kill me. I just know he is. But I’ll fight back. I’ll kill him first. I’ll fight until I’m dead. He won’t be able to kill me easily. Listen Denise; if ya don’t see me for a couple of days, I want ya to remember what I said. Do ya understand? I guarantee I’ll be dead inside that trailer! Call the cops, cause I’ll be dead for sure!”

  Now this is going too far! “Terry, if you feel this way, then leave now! What in the hell are you trying to say, that you’re so desperate that you’re willing to stay and know he might eventually kill you? Is Bubba really that stupid? This is insane! Use common sense here. Get out now!”

  Terry is now crying. “Never! I’ll die first! He loves me. I know it. It’s just that something is wrong with him right now. He used to have cancer, and I think he’s worried about it again. I don’t know. All I know is that he’s changed.”

  I’m now wondering if he has changed because he is interested in me. Is this what a big bully does to get himself free—terrorize the living hell out of whatever is in his way? Terry is stupid! Flat out stupid! I hate this type of dysfunctional thinking. They are just addicted to violence and alcohol.

  “Terry, I have to get ready for work. I’ll remember. If I don’t see you, I’ll call the cops. I promise. You should think seriously about getting the hell out of here. Okay!”

  “Ain’t gonna happen, Denise.”

  “Whatever. I’ll talk to you later.” I resign my effort to advise. People don’t really want advice, they just need a person to hear them vent. I have been guilty of having deaf ears once or twice myself.

  I go back inside the fifth wheel and watch Terry walk over to Billy’s lawn. She turns on the water hose and begins spraying the potted plants.

  Drama. Drama. Drama. Oh, to be back at my little stone house by the river in Carmel Valley, feeding my wild birds, walking the river, my dogs running free, and that wonderful silence. I miss walking on the beach of Carmel on warm sunny days, Bandito biting at the foamy edge of the waves, Bonita barking at the sea gulls. Maybe I’m really a professional bum at heart, a recluse. How come my sons don’t have any of my characteristics? They are into the man ‘toy’ thing and making lots of money, very much like their father. Maybe it’s a good idea for them to be financially stable; I might need them to take care of me one day.

  It’s getting hotter everyday. I turn on the air conditioner, feed the dogs, and eat my banana cream pie. On the way to work, I walk past my fire pit. It looks as if I won’t be spending much time enjoying that working as late as I do. I always have my two days off, I guess. The one twisted piece of wood that looks like a bird, still needs to be leaned against the pine tree, so I carry it over to display it properly before Bubba throws it into the fire pit.

  Ray is watching me as he sits on the rear ledge of his truck parked by the propane tank. He waves, and I walk over to say hello.

  “Hello pretty lady! I’m waitin’ on a guest to fill his propane tank. How is my gal this fine day?”

  “I’m just fine Ray. Thanks. And so how are you?” I ask.

  “Besides not getting’ enough oxygen, and this damn eczema, and being tired, I’m doin’ fine myself.” Ray scratches his arm.

  “So that’s eczema that’s giving you all the itching problems huh?”

  “What I need is a good nurse! Someone to make me relax and rub my tired bones.” Ray is now scratching harder.

  “Next time I come over, I’ll make sure that you put some cream on that.”

  “Promise?” He looks hopeful.

  “Promise. I’ve gotta get into your kitchen now before you fire me for being late.”

  “Never.”

  An RV is slowly moving in our direction. I walk away.

  Inside, Billy is at the counter registering a guest. Helen is stocking the grocery shelves. I clock in as Billy explains: “Karen is still bein’ stubborn. She doesn’t seem to care that Helen won’t be workin’ the kitchen no more. She refuses to come to work until Helen is gone. She’ll come around soon. She’s done this before. She needs the money to help out with the grandchildren. Not many jobs round these parts. The fact of the matter is this; I’ll be needing ya to waitress for Bubba for a few hours’ till Betty gets here. That okay with ya?”

  “Sure. I like to waitress.” I answer, but leery of working with Bubba.

  “Bubba’s goin’ a little crazy in there, so better get yurself over there and help out.”

  The special board is not even hanging up today. I wonder where it is. I put on my apron that I keep inside the kitchen now, and say hello to Bubba.

  “Hey Bubba! I guess I’ll be your waitress today.” I announce.

  “WHO TOLD YA YOU COULD USE THAT TRI-TIP? I WAS GONNA MAKE BEEF VEGETABLE SOUP TODAY!”

  “Actually, Billy had requested for me to make a special out of it for the day. You should have told me, Bubba, and then I would have made other considerations to please both of you.” I was being overly formal at the moment to keep my adrenalin at bay.

  “WELL, OKAY, JUST REMEMBER THAT I’M IN CHARGE OF WHAT GOES ON IN THIS KITCHEN. SO YA BETTER LET ME KNOW NEXT TIME.” Your kitchen my ass! He only cooks breakfast. It’s me that cooks lunch and dinner. I think he’s got it a little mixed up! Right! Like I’m supposed to go find him every time I make a move in the kitchen just to get his approval. I don’t think so! I am feeling the adrenalin begin to pump through my veins anyway, disregarding my fruitless attempt to harness it.

  “YA DID THE GRILL PERFECT LAST NIGHT! TODAY’S SOUP IS CHICKEN NOODLE.” He was now giving me a smile. It’s really weird how he goes from sinister to agreeable in two seconds or less, leaving me all drained, shaky, and fired up for battle.

  Five men, who are obviously fishermen, sit down at a table. I put on my waitress personality, and go to take their order. I’m quite pleasant when I want to be, or should I say, when I’m not being threatened. All the men laugh hysterically at my Chihuahua bait story that I share with them. Each man orders a heavy meal.

  While I am taking more orders from other guests, I hear Bubba yell to me. I walk back to the grill. He is holding the order for the five men in his hand, and shaking it at me. “YUR NOT WRITIN’ THE ORDERS RIGHT! I CAN’T FIGUR OUT WHAT THIS IS! HERE, YA PUT, CHX SAL, LIKE THIS, TA LEAVE ROOM OVER HERE!
DRINKS GO DOWN HERE, OUT OF MY WAY. JUST WRITE BBQBEEF SAN, HERE. NOT THE WHOLE BLASTED THING! PRINT LARGE LETTERS. AND THIS ONE HERE, IS HE HAVIN’ FRIES OR WHAT?”

  “Good gawd, Bubba, I’m trying my best! Give me just a little more time to get your order language down the way you’d like. I’m new here remember?” I’m very close to losing it all together. I hope this is my last time to wait tables for him. No wonder Betty is such a tense, little, self-face-slapper-over-achiever!

  “TAKE THESE PLATTERS OVER TO THOSE TWO GALS IN THE CORNER.”

  “Yes, Heir Commandant!” I salute.

  “WHAT?”

  “Nothing.” I glare at Bubba and grab the full platters.

  After several people have been served, Bubba decides to go over and talk to the group of fishermen, who are finishing up their meal. He starts joking loudly with them. He has just finished up with some macho, sexist type joke. I walk over with the pot of coffee to re-fill their cups. At that same moment, one of the men fart. They all laugh.

  “DENISE! THAT’S NOT VERY POLITE! YA COULD AT LEAST SAY EXCUSE ME!” Bubba feels pretty good about saying that. I raised two boys, and know that burping and farting can be so fun to small boys and immature men. I laugh along with their silliness for the sake of peace. I raise my hand, and with my fingertips, I give Bubba a light push on his shoulder. “Oh Bubba, that’s not nice to say.” I am still laughing with the goofy men, trying to be a part of the fun when Bubba screams. “OOH! OUCH! DAMN IT TO HELL! THAT’S MY CANCER!” Bubba is holding his arm like I have just beat him with a baseball bat, and glaring at me as if I should have known that his shoulder hurt. I guess it was also funny to all the men, because, who would think a big, loud, brute like Bubba could be hurt by the touch of a finger? The fishermen start howling with laughter, thinking he is still joking around. I am not laughing anymore because I see the rage in Bubba’s face.