Jamie is doing a great job. She has been keeping up with the dishes, and I can see her being sweet and pleasant to the guests in the restaurant. Geneva is in deep concentration arranging the trays and seems to be in a much more pleasant mood, so I converse with her. “So Geneva, I didn’t know that we did catering here too. How’s that work?” I’m beginning to believe that Billy and Ray are way over their heads. “Every once in a while we have a large group come in. This one’s called Carefree Caravan. When they make their reservation online, they can order these trays for a get together after they arrive. I’ve been doin’ these for Billy for five years now. I also fill in on cookin’ when she needs me to.” Geneva says as she plunges a knife into the top of a pineapple.
“Well, it looks very beautiful.” I say to be kind. Geneva is spearing the spiky green top of the pineapple with chunks of cheese. Geneva finally smiles at me. “I’ve got an old black and white TV in the car. I was wondering if ya needed one.” Geneva offers.
“A TV? Really? Sure, I could use a TV. How sweet. Thanks.”
“It doesn’t work that great, but maybe ya could at least have some TV to look at. Before I leave today, ya can follow me out to get it.”
“Thanks, Geneva.”
After Geneva has finished her trays, she puts them into the cold storage unit inconveniently in the way of my cooking supplies. The restaurant has reached that quiet time, in-between lunch and dinner. I’m pleased to see Jamie busy with the dishes. I arrange with Geneva to meet outside. She drives around to my trailer and hands me a tiny TV. It appears to be one of the first miniature black and white models ever made. It is very dusty and has certainly seen better days. I thank her for her kindness anyway. She meets my dogs, then leaves. I take advantage of the moment and get them out for a quick walk.
When I return to the back kitchen door, I see that the flytrap is full again, and change it. The fly problem is definitely getting bad around here! I just know that they are breeding profusely in the back forest area! The pile of empty cardboard boxes is halfway up the outside wall again.
Jamie and I have time to get to know each other. We work well together. This gives me encouragement. It turns out that she is the daughter of a local preacher in Brandon. She leaves for college in September, hopefully at the same time that I will be heading out of here. Suddenly Bubba bangs through the back door shocking me out of my thoughts. “WHERE’S THEM TRAYS?” he demands to know as he barges in my space making himself an immediate priority.
“In the cold storage room. How’re you doing today Bubba? Have you met Jamie yet?” Bubba eyes our young, pretty, new, blonde waitress, and puts on the charm. Jamie reaches out to shake his hand.
“Hi Bubba, nice to meet you.” Jamie says sweetly.
“YEAH, SAME HERE. I’M THE COOK ROUND HERE, SO IF YA HAVE ANY PROBLEMS, LET ME KNOW, AND I’LL TEACH YA ALL YA NEED TA KNOW.” Oh brother! He has the biggest ego of anyone I’ve ever met!
Bubba grabs two trays and precariously carries them out to the open rear door of Billy’s car. He returns and takes the final tray out along with a fresh twelve pack of beer.
“I thought you were the cook?” Jamie questions as we watch him drive away.
“I am Jamie, but Bubba is a control freak. He cooks breakfast. He thinks he runs this entire place, but take my word for it, he doesn’t. If you have any problems, just go see Billy about it or ask me.”
“He looks mean!”
“He can be, that’s for sure, so just stay out of his way, and I think you’ll be fine. Hopefully you never have to waitress for him.” At this moment Ginger arrives with fresh pies and we help carry the pies to the case.
I am getting ready for the dinner crowd, when a tall man, dirty from head to foot with a black film of soot, walks up to the counter. I am not sure if he is a vagrant or what! He looks very tired and the black soot has settled in the creases of his facial lines and the outer edges of his lips.
“Can I help you?” I ask the man.
“Yes, I would like a chili burger with fries, to go please.”
“Whatever your job is, I don’t think I’d want to try it.” I bravely say.
“Oh, sorry ‘bout that. This is what happens when you’re a logger. My name is John. I’m Ruby’s boyfriend. You must be Denise. Ruby’s spoken highly of you.” He knows better than to shake the hand of a food handler right now.
“Oh, John! Nice to meet you! How’s Ruby? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“I guess you haven’t heard yet.”
“Heard what?”
“Ruby got arrested a few nights ago.”
“Arrested? For what?”
“All her warrants caught up with her. They came and handcuffed her and took her away. She might be in jail for a couple of years.”
“That’s horrible! Poor thing. I’m sorry to hear that.” She was definitely the type to have warrants of some type or another. I can only think that she will have to dry out while she’s in jail. Sobriety won’t hurt her any.
I make his meal, and write the amount due on his and Ruby’s tab. People are staring at him as he walks away; leaving black footprints on the floor.
My soup for the evening is cream of potato. I do not make a dinner special. Jamie is doing a great job, and this gives me a sense of normalcy. Finally, I can concentrate on my job. The tables are almost full of guests.
When Karen, Helen, or Betty were waiting tables, there was always a sense of drama, or urgency, but things are flowing along relatively smooth, thanks to Jamie’s youthful and pleasant personality. She is willing to be a part of teamwork, something the others have no concept of. Betty tried, but the buzzing in her head, and her desire to be a willing slave, is, or should I say, was, disturbing to watch, to say the least.
I am cutting up more watermelon for the dinner platters when Bubba slams through the back door. The door bangs loudly on the outer wall and my body jerks in response. The knife slips in my hand, cutting my right index finger. Blood squirts all over the watermelon. I grab a paper towel to put pressure on the deep slice of tissue and turn around to see Bubba holding his shotgun. I am speechless! He is drunk and isn’t aware that I am holding a bloody paper towel on my hand. His eyes are bloodshot and he doesn’t seem to be focusing on anything in particular. He looks paranoid, so I wisely bite my tongue to keep from screaming at him in the manner he so deserves.
“HE’S OUT IN THE BACK FOREST! THIS TIME HE WON’T GET AWAY!” Bubba roars to no one in particular.
Jamie is now standing at the chopping counter with her mouth gaping in awe. She looks horrified! She sees my bleeding hand and Bubba with a shotgun. Some of the guests are now standing up to get a better look at the chaos going on in the kitchen.
“Bubba! What in the world are you doing in the kitchen with that shotgun? The cougar isn’t in here for God’s sake! Get the heck out of here! Look what you just made me do!” I hold up my hand with the waded bloody paper towel wrapped around it.
Bubba pushes Jamie to the side, and shuffles under the counter where we keep the tips. He pulls out paperwork and miscellaneous objects, and drops them on the floor and then pulls out a box of bullets. I do not have time to think of the pain in my finger at the moment. Why are bullets kept in the kitchen? He loads his gun, and storms out the back door. The two New York steaks on the grill are now on fire, the gravy I was heating up, is boiling like a volcano, french fries are ready, chicken fried steaks are burning on the flat grill, and three finished platters waiting for a slice of watermelon, are now cold.
Holding my bleeding finger I walk through the restaurant to find Billy. Vi is at the register. She acts like she did not hear any of this drama going on. Poor Jamie is watching me, and I’m sure she isn’t quite sure how to handle the situation, this being her first day and all.
“Denise! Are you all right?” asks Vi who is looking at my bloody hand.
“Actually, Vi, I’m not! I cut my finger. Is Billy in there?”
“Yes, Billy and Ray are both i
n there.”
I knock and enter at the same time. “Billy, you’re going to have to get over to the grill. I’ve cut my finger. I need to get to my trailer and bandage it up. Two New York’s are on fire.”
“Damn it, girl! Ya otta be more careful!” Billy scolds.
“No Billy, Bubba should not bang through the kitchen with a shotgun while I’m slicing watermelon!” She can see I’m pissed! I quickly turn around and head out of the restaurant holding my throbbing finger.
I walk hastily to my trailer, trying to avoid Bubba, who is nowhere in sight. I retrieve the first aid kit that I keep in the bathroom. My cut is deep. It could probably use a stitch or two. After cleaning the cut and applying hydrogen peroxide, I find the butterfly Band-Aids, put two across the open flesh, dab antibiotic cream over the closed and leaking cut, and then bundle it safely in heavy gauze and tape.
There is no reason to return to the kitchen tonight. It’s 6:45 and soon enough the dinner guests will be leaving. Billy can handle the rest of the cooking. She’s had to do it for years; so a few hours won’t hurt her any. Maybe she will appreciate me even more once she is tied to the grill again. It’s a good thing I have two days off. Maybe my finger will have time to heal or at least close up a little.
I pour myself a glass of wine and sit at the table looking out the window. Smoke is pouring out of the vent from the kitchen. Bonita and Bandito smell my finger in concern. Off in the distance I hear the sound of gunfire. I shake my head in repulsion.
I turn off the air-conditioner and leash up the dogs to get them out of the trailer. It’s a beautiful evening, regardless of the drama. I feel claustrophobic, and need some fresh air. I want to walk out of sight from everyone. I am in no mood to be around the busy, full park, and I don’t feel like driving to find a quiet place.
As I look around, I decide to walk across the highway. There is the large dirt area where the trucks park, and beyond that, is acres of tall grass, where steer are grazing. A ranch is off in the distance beyond the barbwire fence that borders it. A dirt path runs along the fence line. I would be relatively safe walking next to the highway. If there is a mountain lion, I hope he is up in the mountains stalking Bubba. This is one of the areas that I hear coyotes at night, but it is still daylight, and I am keeping a watchful eye out for anything in sight. The dogs are enjoying their time of freedom outside. My finger throbs.
After about twenty minutes I see an animal approaching the highway from the park side of the road. I pull the dogs in closer to me, thinking it’s the mountain lion, and stand behind a large bush for protection. I am a good hundred yards away from it, and hopefully out of sight. The more I stare at it, the less it looks like a mountain lion and more like a large pit bull. The mysterious beast crosses the road, walking fast, and in a straight line. A car barely misses him! He is the same golden tan color of a mountain lion and has blood dripping from his rear end. His body is covered with hairless patches from old wounds. He keeps a straight line from the park to my side of the road and goes through the barbwire fence disappearing into the tall grass. I can see the grass moving as he continues on in the direction of the ranch. I run the dogs and myself back across the highway, and go back into the trailer.
Could that be Bubba’s famous cougar? Could that pit bull be the dark silhouette that killed a duck by the lake a few nights ago? Did Bubba shoot him? Is that the reason for the dog’s bloody rear end? Maybe it’s been that pit bull eating the pile of trash in the back storage area. I’m not sure which one I’d rather be more concerned about—a pit bull, a mountain lion, or Bubba. Bubba’s eyesight must be bad. Perhaps he is mistaking that pit bull for a mountain lion, either that, or he is playing some macho, big hero of the day game with everyone. Our big protector!
I wonder if Bubba was in the Vietnam War. No, that’s impossible, he’s too young. I’ve met many Vietnam vets through the years. Those sad men are from my generation. I’ve even dated a few of them, years ago. It’s like kissing a frog that stays a frog. The prince inside is missing in action. The goodness of life has been erased. The brain cells have been re-arranged. I hate war with every ounce of my being! My son’s will never know how lucky they are to have been born in a time of peace. I would never have let them go to war, never!
My father was a Marine pilot of World War Two and the Korean War, so don’t anyone ever try to convince me to think any different! It won’t fly with my thinking. I love my dad with all my heart and soul, but he has always seemed so joyless, irritated, and stubborn, except in the presence of his male counterparts. I think Ray must have served in the same wars as my father, if not World War Two, then perhaps the Korean War. He too has that glazed look of one that has had to kill, coating and numbing the memories with alcohol. The only difference is that Ray has the temperament of a pussycat. Bubba truly believes he’s out there fighting for the freedom and protection of the park, but instead he is a raging, dangerous, drunk, who disturbs the peace! Everyone internalizes their own life traumas in so many diverse ways. I guess mine has been to become a vagabond! I try not to be dangerous; but perhaps I am a danger to myself.
Bandito is up on the bed snapping at a fly. He snaps, and then runs and ducks in a corner, he is terrified of flies! My little hunter of fox, lizards, coyotes, deer, skunk, gophers, mice, rats, and even a bobcat once, is terrified of flies! He’s had more than the nine lives of a cat. When Bonita and Bandito ran free on the two hundred acre ranch where my stone house was located in Carmel Valley, they had no fear of anything that moved. I always felt that they should have been killed a thousand times over, but it never happened much to my relief. But flies, they can bring Bandito to tremble. I’ve had to figure this out on my own, but I’m sure I know why he hates them so much. I adopted him when he was a year old from the Monterey Animal Shelter. The story told to me by the attendant at the shelter was that he had been abandoned in a house in Salinas. It was a small crumbling house that was home to several Mexican workers in the fields of lettuce grown in that area. His abandonment was not reported by anyone for several weeks. No one could catch him. He was an escape artist. He lived off of mice and whatever he could catch to survive. When I saw him inside the cage at the shelter, he was on his last day before being put down. He was extremely skinny and his eyes were glazed over from being wormy. His black coat was dull and full of fleas, but I fell in love anyway. So flies are his terror in life. They must remind him of his time of survival, when he had to fight the flies to eat a scrap or two. Bandito has the heart of a giant! He misses being free, of this I have no doubt, but I want to keep him safe now. We’ve had enough thrills and chills of the hunt to last a lifetime.
Bonita came a year later. The shelter had called to tell me that they had Bandito’s soul mate in cage number three. Was I interested? So, after the two dogs met, it was love at first sight. Bonita is more of a bird and fish hunter. She is extremely emotional and very afraid of heights, slippery floors, and cell phones. Her fear over cell phones is the reason I don’t own one. They don’t have to be ringing. They don’t even have to be visible or even turned on; Bonita can hear those wave currents from deep within someone’s pocket or purse and go hide under a bed in the furthest place away from it. Sometimes it took me awhile to figure out where she was, or why she was acting weird, then I’d have ask whoever is visiting me, “Do you have a cell phone?” and sure enough, they did. They would have to take it back out of the house and leave it in the car, and then Bonita would re-appear out of her hiding place. This always makes my visits with my friends and family much nicer. It keeps them off the phone until they leave. Bonita was also abandoned in Salinas. She hates the sound of puppies crying. I think she was born in a puppy mill, a bad one, and kept in a cage until she was a year old. No one ever said to me that this was her story; I just have the feeling that her insecurity issues are related somehow.
I get my Bug Zapper and zap away Bandito’s current frustration. Bonita hides when I do this. She can deal with the flies, but not the Bug Zapper. I can
’t please everyone.
It’s getting dark outside. I hear Bubba clomping by my trailer. I see him enter the rear door of the kitchen to either get another twelve pack, or clean the grill for Billy.
I am eating a tuna sandwich with my bandaged finger pointing to the sky, and dabbing my mosquito bites with tea tree oil with my other hand, when I hear a knock on my door. It’s Jamie. She hands me $74 in tips. Her first day was a little traumatic, to say the least! It gives me a sense of worth to have her confide in me. It’s also nice to have a welcomed visitor. She starts rambling on fast and nervously. “How’s your finger? It looked like a deep cut with all that blood. Wow! What a weird place to work! Please tell me you’re not thinking of leaving or anything like that, because I don’t think I could work with any of the others around here. What’s the deal with your door all duct taped up like that? Anyway, Billy was not very happy about having to finish the cooking. She wants you to come over to her house later. Is Bubba crazy? I don’t think my parents would like me working around a guy like that! He came in to clean the grill for Billy. He was kind of flirting with me. Yuck! His girlfriend, Terry, came in too. She hung around while he cleaned the grill. You make the dinner platters so much nicer than Billy. One guy said his chicken was undercooked. Are you working tomorrow?”
“No, Jamie, I actually have two days off. Thank God! Are you?” It’s the only question I could muster up, but I’m wondering about Terry coming in the kitchen. She’s never done that since I’ve worked here.
“No, I guess we’ll be on the same schedule. Anyway, I can’t work on Sunday’s, because of church and all. I teach Sunday school to the kids.”
“Perfect! You have a nice couple of days, and I’ll see you again on Tuesday. Thanks again Jamie. You did a great job today.”
“Thanks, Denise. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I fiddle with the small television set for a few minutes. It’s enough time to find out that the sound is scratchy, and the picture is fuzzy, flickers, and rolls upwards on the screen. It only gets three channels, even with the cable hooked up. Perhaps this cable is not connected to anything. I’ll have to ask Ray about that.
GRILL! Page 16