GRILL!

by Diane Stegman

  After taking the order for the table of three, I walk over to the Indian.

  “Hi! Are you all done here?” I ask with a big smile.

  “Yes! Tell the big man cook to come see. Tell him I want more of his wee, tiny, pancakes!” The Indian is pointing proudly at his plate. His girlfriend clutches her tote bag.

  “Hey, Bubba! This gentleman would like to show you something!” I yell for all to hear.

  Bubba looks over the meat counter at the Indians empty plate. “NO WAY! NO ONE’S EVER EATEN ALL MY PANCAKES! YUR THE MAN! CAN’T BELIEVE IT! NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE!”

  “Big man cook owes me breakfast.” He demands without a hint of guilt.

  “He sure does, doesn’t he?” I take the ticket with a wide smile and a sassy gait, over for Bubba to sign. I can tell he is pissed, but I am overjoyed that the Indian got one over on him. The Indian leaves me a five dollar tip.

  Helen comes on duty at 2:00. Bubba leaves as soon as he sees her. The lunch crowd has thinned out. I guess I’ll have to put up with Helen, even though she’s a worthless helper. She walks over to the grill, where I am dealing with Bubba’s mess.

  “Did ya get yur paycheck yet?” she asks while carefully peeling open an envelope using a knife instead of her precious fingernail.

  “Oh yeah, today is payday! No, not yet.”

  “I’ll get it for ya.” Helen returns and hands me the envelope with my first paycheck. I rip it open. My gross pay for the week was $345. After all the deductions, I clear $266. With $352 in tips for the week, plus the $63 I had left from my original $400, I now have $681! Not bad! If I can survive the torment around here until September, I should have a small savings account!

  I do my regular routine to prepare for the dinner crowd. I find a large can of clams in the storage room and make some creamy clam chowder. I also make spaghetti for my special of the day. I ask Helen, who is now filing her nails, to put all the info on the special board, which fills in her next half hour of time.

  As the busy evening progresses, I become aware and eventually obsessed with the neglected and growing pile of dishes that Helen is avoiding. The good feeling from my wonderful morning has vanished. I start to become quiet and uncommunicative to Helen. She’s a big phony and has some illusion that her fingernails give her some sort of attractiveness or youthfulness. As far as I’m concerned she’s using her nails as an excuse to avoid hard work. Sure, I’d just love to baby my hands, but as I look at them I know that they have been used to the fullest extent. I’ve dug, glove-free, in the soil preparing and tending gardens, loving the feel and smell of wet earth. I have one small mark on my right hand from Bandito’s habit of reaching over and pawing at my hand as I drive. He didn’t mean to rip the thin skin with his claw. It’s just that this is his way of telling me to extend my arm closer to him so that while he sits on his pile of blankets he can lay his tiny left front leg on my arm while I drive. It’s hard to punish him for this, since he looks so proud and content resting his leg on my arm while he looks blissfully down the highway. I can’t help but to be touched by this human-like show of affection.

  Bandito has been this way since the day I rescued him from the animal shelter. When I brought him home he was nothing but bones and had been neutered just a few hours prior to my picking him up. I took him with me to my flower shop that very same day to keep an eye on him. When I walked out the screen door to display my sign on the side of Carmel Valley road, he bolted out and ran like he had an urgent destination in mind, which was not with me. I ran after him until I had no more breath and he was just a small black disappearing dot on the side of the busy road. Then I collapsed onto my knees on the shoulder of the road, crying. In one day, I had lost him. I could not believe that a malnourished Chihuahua with fresh stitches could run that fast. When I looked up again, I could see the tiny black dot returning as fast as he had disappeared. Bandito was running back and thankfully, staying on the dirt shoulder of the road. He ran right to me and jumped into my arms. He must have realized that he had no place to go. Bandito made me feel very special, and in that moment on the side of the road, we were bonded for life.

  The rest of the evident premature aging on my hands is from working too damn hard for too many years and also from being a slightly clumsy left-hander all my life. I am nobody’s princess that could warrant such panoply and luxury as acrylic nails. It’s certainly a little late in life for Helen to be a pampered princess in a remote RV park located in the middle of hell, so she gets no admiration from me. I just want her to do the damn dishes!

  Just when things begin to unwind and I prepare to shut down the kitchen for the night, a party of twenty walks in. They push three tables together. I have no time to fixate on Helen’s laziness anymore. At least she is managing as best she can to help me through this nightmare! Everyone at the table orders something different. At 8:50 they have finished eating, and are starting to leave. I see Helen counting out her tips. She gingerly walks away.

  “Get back here right now Helen!” I shout.

  Helen responds. “I don’t do dishes!”

  “Oh yes you do! You are not leaving me with this mess! I’ll be here all night!” I realize my fists are clinched and attempt to relax them.

  “I don’t do dishes.” Helen says calmly.

  “You don’t do dishes because you’re so worried about your fingernails!” She ignores me, and walks over to clock out. I storm over to the register and yell into Billy’s house. The door is slightly ajar.

  “Billy! Helen is leaving! She refuses to do the dishes. I’m not going to do those! I have yet to clean the grill, and mop the floor. Can you help me out here?” I sound like a tattle-tale, but screw it, I’ve reached my limit.

  Billy walks out smoking her cigarette. “Now Denise, yur gonna have to figure this out on yur own. Ya know how I hate confrontations,” she says with irritation in her voice.

  “But Billy, you have to help me out here. I’m very tired, and I can’t do this alone. You’re our boss for heaven’s sake! Just tell her to do the dishes! If she doesn’t do them, then I’m sorry, but I will never work with her again. I’m not quitting you. I’m just telling you that I will never cook with her as my waitress again! That bullshit about being afraid of some sort of blood poisoning is a cop-out! She’s just afraid of hurting her damn fingernails!” The anger explodes out of me like darts.

  Billy guides Helen through her doorway, at which point she turns around to me and says, “Ya get started cleanin’ up Denise, unless ya want to be here all night. I’ll have a talk with Helen.”

  Is she serious?!…I am so pissed, that I can’t even see straight! My adrenalin is flowing stronger than I have felt in years! I am also extremely mad at Billy for being such a coward. How dare her not stand up for the right thing!

  I return to the kitchen to see the huge pile of dishes. My cheeks are hot and flushed with anger. I start throwing dishes into the sink, filling it with hot water. I bang pans around, making all the noise I can, mumbling under my breath venomous thoughts about every single one of these backwoods idiots! What in the hell is wrong with these stupid people?

  By the time I finish cleaning the kitchen, it is 11:00. The $92 in tips does not make me feel any better. Helen never came out of Billy’s house. If she did, then she left through the glass slider by their porch. My blood pressure must be really high, because my heart rate is beating through my chest! I’m not sure that I can make it through the summer. My $681 plus these tips, makes $773. I could leave now, but I’d be back to zero in no time.

  What I need to do is get to bed and flush my mind of these malicious feelings for Helen and terrifying fears for my future financial security. I’m completely exhausted and have the feeling I have entered Dante’s Inferno.

  Once in bed, with Bonita and Bandito sweetly cuddled on either side of my hips, and my worn-out, aging hands resting gently on the backs of their curled up little bodies, my pounding heart gradually quiets and I drift off in the solace of the only uncondi
tional companionship I retain.

  Bandito turns his head under the covers and licks the top of my right hand two times, and then lays back down to sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  “NO! NO! NO!” I scream.

  “Now Denise, calm down, we had to cook ‘em cause we ran outda meat. Now ya better get yurself in there, and get them dishes done.” Billy is patting my back to comfort me.

  Bandito wakes me from my nightmare by tapping my back with his paw. He sits by my face looking down at me in concern. My pillow is wet from tears. In my dream, someone had left the fenced area open and Bonita and Bandito had gotten out. We were having a tri-tip barbeque and hundreds of people were eating gluttonously at the picnic tables. An obese mountain lion was walking through the tables like a pet. People were hand feeding it their leftover scraps. I walked over to the oil drum barbeque where Bubba was drinking a beer and grilling up some meat. I looked closer at the grill, and to my horror, I saw my precious babies, Bonita and Bandito, sizzling on the grill! Ray, who had all sorts of strange tubes coming out of his head and chest, was sitting at the picnic bench laughing. Billy was standing behind me, patting my back with one hand and holding a cocktail in the other.

  Bad dreams are not new to me. I have grown accustomed to the distorted reflection of my, often times, chaotic reality. I try very hard to understand what dreams are telling me. This bad dream is, flat out, easy to analyze. The only trouble is I can’t leave here now, because of the uncertainty of what lies ahead. What would I be trading this job for further down the road? The embarrassing and humiliating acknowledgment of defeat, and the thought of yet, one more unknown, in yet, one more direction, would be an even greater nightmare to further haunt my subconscious mind. The good thing is I believe that I am a decent, healthy, human being, trying my best to survive, and be self-sufficient. I will survive this! There has to be some good that will come out of all this insanity. “I own my life, and only mine, and so I shall appreciate my person, and so I shall make proper use of myself.” I chant out loud as I climb out of bed.

  Bonita and Bandito think I am talking to them. “Sorry guys, I forgot, I own your lives too, don’t I? You don’t even know that last night Bubba had you all barbequed up, do you? Are you ready to go outside?”

  I leash them up, and walk them out. I see Bubba feeding the ducks at the bottom of the ramp to the kitchen. Good! That’s one problem out of my way this morning. Terry is in the scooter watching him. Surprisingly, she waves at me. I wave back. Maybe the sweethearts have made up. Bubba jumps into the scooter and they drive off. Gee, Billy must be cooking breakfast today. I only have one more day of work, until my two days off. Shit! I have to take Bubba and Terry shopping tomorrow. I can’t even imagine what that will be like.

  I’m not sure what time it is right now. According to where the sun is, it could possibly be around 9:00. I walk the dogs over to the front of the main building. Ray is standing over across the parking lot in one of my favorite, semi-private, safe areas to let the dogs walk around in. The area is about the size of two acres. There are scattered parts and pieces throughout the dirt area of the remains of an old miniature golf course that is now becoming part of the earth. Bandito loves to rummage through the crumbling remains. Ray is talking to a gentleman and pointing to a spot in the center of the empty lot.

  I walk the dogs further down the road. On my way back, Ray is saying good-bye to the man, who is now in his truck and driving away. Ray sees me coming. He smiles and greets me.

  “Good mornin’, pretty lady!” he shouts. He is not wearing his oxygen hose this morning.

  “Good morning, Ray! So what are you up to this morning?” I ask as I approach him.

  “I was just meetin’ with a general contractor ‘bout them cabins we got comin’.”

  “You have cabins coming? What kind of cabins?” Is he joking? They can’t handle any more responsibility. What they already have is falling to pieces. Who’s going to clean them?

  “Small rental cabins on wheels, like trailers. We’ve ordered four of them several months back. If, and when, they ever get here, we could make some pretty good money rentin’ them out. The cabins come complete with a bed, toilet, kitchen area—perfect for fishermen. We’re gettin’ kind of nervous ‘bout them cabins. They shoulda arrived ‘bout three weeks ago. We got over $15,000 deposit all tied up in them cabins, not to mention the paid in full trash truck that Billy ordered over the internet that we haven’t heard any news on yet either. ”

  Ray shows me where the four cabins will sit on the empty lot, but has failed to mention the amount they paid for the trash truck, disappointing my curious nature.

  I have enough time left to shower, have some breakfast, and clean up the fifth wheel. My organic diet is going to pot! When I look in the small bathroom mirror, I suddenly realize that I have not thought about make-up the entire time I’ve been here. Make-up is not needed in this crazy place, so I will continue to be my natural self. I have no desire to impress a living soul right now, and I don’t need Bubba thinking that I am looking good for his benefit, that’s for sure! I’m enjoying the freedom of not wearing a mask.

  Inside the main building I see Geneva’s white hair moving about as she frantically cooks. Vi is behind the register and Billy is talking to a young girl, showing her where we clock in. They all look in my direction as I enter.

  “Denise, I want you to meet Jamie. Jamie’s gonna be our new waitress for the summer.” Jamie is a little doll! Her straight, shoulder length blonde hair is shiny and she has a barrette on each side to keep it out of her face. She is free of make-up, but has pink lip gloss on that brightens her features. She is clean, dressed modestly, has a nice smile, and I get to train her! Best of all, Jamie is under fifty years of age, and that alone will be a huge improvement around here. This place needs some youthful inspiration.

  “Hi Jamie, so nice to meet you.” I shake her unblemished, nail polish free hand.

  “Ya show Jamie the ropes and take over the grill for Geneva. She has ta get some trays ready for a group rollin’ in around 3:00. I’ve got things ta do and oh, thaw out sum more hamburger.”

  “Billy, how is Betty doing?” I ask.

  “Sore as hell! Got a sling on her arm. Said she’s turnin’ purple on the whole left side of her body and face. She’s restin’ a lot.” Billy walks away.

  “Lesson number one Jamie, don’t be running too fast in here. Come on, I’ll show you what goes on in the kitchen.” I say with gentle authority.

  I’m very happy about having Jamie in the kitchen. When I look at her, it’s almost as if I am looking at my younger self. She is so sweet and innocent. Life has not jaded her enthusiasm, hopefully it never will. I’ll ease her into the chaos. Poor thing, she has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.

  Geneva has a sweat going down her face as she stands cooking at the grill. Her gray hair is sticking to her cheeks, and her face is bright red!

  “Denise, hurry and come take over these meals I got goin’! I’ve got to start them trays! Cookin’s not my thing! With all these gals out broken and quittin’, and lots of people arrivin’, we better just keep our noses to the grindstone! Hand me that there platter!” I grab a platter. “NO! Not that one! That one there!” she yells. Geneva’s platters of food look sloppy, some look over-cooked, some look under-cooked, there is no fruit on the plate. “Whoa! Geneva, slow down! Give me a chance to get up to your speed!” I plead. “Have you met Jamie yet?” I ask.

  “No, hi Jamie, ya know how to cut tomatoes? See them tomatoes over there? Start cuttin’ them up and clear off some of them tables out there too!” Geneva says anxiously not even looking at Jamie or wanting a reply.

  I look at Jamie. She looks at me. Her smile is no longer there.

  “Come over here, Jamie.” I take her around the corner to the sink area to talk. “Listen Jamie, I know you’re being overwhelmed at the moment. Please don’t worry. As far as I know, you’ll be working with me for lunch and dinner. We’re going t
o make a great team, I promise you. It’ll get crazy in here at times, but I won’t be yelling at you. Just remember to ask me questions when you need to, okay?”

  “Sure, thanks. Should that older woman be cooking? She seems really stressed out!” Jamie looks like a cornered puppy.

  “Don’t worry, Geneva doesn’t usually cook. I guess she’s just filling in for Bubba this morning. Okay Jamie, I’ll do the tomatoes, and you go clear some of those tables and seat any new people. I’ll help you moment to moment if necessary. Also, and this is very important, you need to keep all these dishes cleaned up as you go. Every time you have a lull in waiting on tables, get a few more done, that way it won’t overwhelm you. I’ll tend to the cooking and food prep, and when you start catching on, you can learn to help me out preparing platters for the meals. Don’t worry; we’re going to be a great team!” I had to express my point about the dishes.

  “Thanks, Denise! I’ll try my best. I’m really glad that I’ll be working with you.”

  “Same goes for me. Now you better get going. I’ll handle Geneva until she’s out of here.”

  I take over the cooking for Geneva, who begins to take over eighty per cent of the counter space with large plastic trays, salami, turkey, vegetables, cheese, pickles, fruit, and crackers. The area that Geneva is making trays is the small space between the grill area and the sink area, but her supplies are scattered everywhere. It’s very difficult to properly prepare my own cooking agenda.