I make a gin and limeade, and walk to Billy and Ray’s house. Harley greets me at the sliding glass door.
“Hello! Anybody home?” I yell.
Billy comes around from her kitchen. She must be cooking their dinner, because I smell fish broiling. She greets me. “Well if it isn’t our runaway cook!”
“Sorry about that Billy, but I couldn’t bleed all over the platters and I don’t particularly like getting shot either.”
“Oh, Bubba don’t mean no harm. He was practically born with a shotgun in his hand. Besides, we can’t be havin’ no cougar wanderin’ round the park, we’d end up havin’ a lawsuit on our hands. So, ya gonna run ever time ya cut yourself?” Billy asks with furrowed brow. She didn’t seem to care about my well being.
“I don’t intend on cutting myself ever again, and I don’t think it’s a cougar that Bubba is after. I saw a pit bull crossing the street with a wound on its rear end. He was a mess! He had scars all over his body!”
“Oh that was Jack! Jack lives cross the highway at the old cattle ranch. He’s been shot and run over so many times, but he keeps on livin’. He’s never bothered anyone or anything, just lookin’ for scrapes of food. Bubba knows the difference ‘tween a cougar and a pit bull.” She is giving Bubba far too much credit for intelligence, almost as if he was her son.
Ray is now coming out of the back part of their house. He looks beat! His oxygen hose is trailing behind him. “Well, if it isn’t our pretty lady! Ya gonna have some supper with us?”
“Sure smells good, that’s for sure. I don’t want to interfere with your dinnertime. I can come back in a little bit.”
Billy responds. “Won’t have that! Set these plates on the table and sit yurself down.”
I do as I’m told and sit down at the table. The salmon is broiled beautifully. Billy has fresh green beans and a baked potato on the plates. I am suddenly starving! We chat about Jamie’s first day. Billy also likes her and thinks she’ll do just fine. I ask about Ruby, and Billy tells me more about her arrest. Billy plans on writing the court with an appeal to Ruby’s good character. For some reason, Billy has in some way adopted Ruby, or perhaps she just really cares about Ruby’s future. Billy has too soft of a heart for the undeserving.
Ray is falling asleep at the table with a fork full of salmon in his hand. They have been drinking bourbon, straight on the rocks. “Ray! Ray! Wake yurself up! Yur fallin’ asleep again. Eat a little more of yur dinner then maybe Denise will rub ya with the witch hazel.” Ray’s eyes open, and he smiles dreamily at that idea.
Billy begins cleaning up the kitchen, and Ray settles himself on the couch facing the television set, which has been on all this time with the volume off. I get a bowl of warm water, a couple of washcloths, and the witch hazel. I begin gently wiping his arms with the warm water. Ray’s eyes close.
“Ray? Do I have cable hooked up to my trailer?” I softly ask.
“Sure do. Only thing is wur havin’ one hell of a time with the cable company. Half the outlets don’t work, might be yur problem too. Wur dumpin’ them, and havin’ satellite put in real soon. Tired of hasslin’ with those guys ‘bout the problem. Why, ya got a TV?”
“Yeah, Geneva gave me a little black and white TV, and it doesn’t really get anything, but that’s okay, I don’t really watch much TV anyway.”
As I rub Ray’s arms, I can see that the rough patches go toward his chest area too, and ask him to take off his T-shirt. He happily obliges, and I now see more red, raw, blotches. Poor guy.
“Ray? Have you known Jim a long time?”
He talks to me with his eyes shut. “Jim and me go way back. We wur in the Korean War together. He hangs out here in his trailer for the summer, and then he heads to Mexico for the winter.” I was right. He was in the war.
“Were you in the Army?” I further question.
Billy, who is now smoking and drinking at the dinner table watching us, interjects. “Yeah, but we don’t discuss them matters ‘round here.”
Ray is now asleep. My questioning ends and so does the massage.
I chat for a short time with Billy. We discuss our past lives and adventures. Billy has had an exciting life. She shows off some of the framed photos of her ranching days, and explains the history of the tarnished dusty spurs, and various bridles hanging on the walls. She was practically born on the back of a horse. I can tell that she is proud of her past, and misses the woman that she used to be.
I, too, owned horses in my other life. That’s one of the few things I miss, riding the hills with my girlfriends who were also young mothers. If I concentrate on the memory, in spite of everything I’ve been through and all the passing years, I can still smell the sweat and hear the exhaling bursts of air from Maggie, my first and favorite horse, as she galloped along with me riding bareback through the hills and valleys of Big Bear. Despite the memories that can make me smile inside, I do not miss the woman I used to be. Billy and I both agree that it seems like we are talking about someone else in another lifetime.
Billy and Ray are currently the only connection I have right now to somewhat of a normal everyday relationship. This gives me the motivation I need to continue on at Hacienda, and God knows I need motivation. Ray is snoring, I am exhausted, and my finger is throbbing. Billy gives me a hug as we wish each other a good night’s rest.
Chapter Twelve
All I can hope is that Bubba and Terry have forgotten about our commitment to go shopping today. I do not see our day together as one of good conversation and laughter. It’s Sunday, and I would prefer to be on my own. I like my aloneness, always have. Aloneness is far better than the loneliness of being with someone who makes you feel desperate to find refuge from their toxic poisons.
There is much to be said about routine. I am glad I have laundry to do, and a holding tank to empty. My finger needs hydrogen peroxide, and Bonita and Bandito need to be taken for a walk. The ducks outside my door have been fed. I can see them now, through my window, swimming along the edge of the lake. I also see and hear the high-pitched squawking of the Scrub Jays that seem to be in abundance in the forest. I wish I had a bag of peanuts in the shell. I’d try to see if I could get one of them to come to me and take it out of my hand, but I will never have another Scrub Jay like Ms. Blue, so why try. Ms. Blue made it her own choice to be my bird for eight years. It just happened naturally.
I was eating peanuts at my picnic table outside my flower shop when Ms. Blue landed on the table. I began by laying one or two peanuts close to her. She would grab them and fly away. After a week or two, I began to put them on the palm of my hand. She was apprehensive at first, but soon enough she began to trust me. After about a month of this, I started to stand outside and call her by name as soon as I got to the shop. I would have the peanut in my hand and see her flying towards me from way off in the distance, squawking loudly in return. She would not stop in flight, but come directly to my hand, pick up the peanut, and stand there for a few seconds with the peanut protruding from her beak, then fly off to some unknown destination. After approximately three years of daily hand feeding had passed, she appeared one day with two young Scrub Jays. She showed them how she retrieved peanuts from my hand and after a few days, I had three Scrub Jay’s who ate from my hand. Her babies did not stick around for too long, but she was there everyday for five more years. I often wonder what happened to her. It was wonderful having a pet bird that lived outside. My clients were amazed every time I showed them how she would come on demand. Word spread to their friends about Ms. Blue, and the next thing I knew I had new clients.
Guests are packing up. I hear the squeaking axles of the heavy trailers passing a few feet away from my window on the way out of the park. I love it when they leave. If only they would stop coming back.
I find it hard to think about what I will be doing after I finish my summer here at Hacienda. It seems like my life has always been on hold. I could get a nine-to-five job somewhere in Lancaster, near my parents. The thought of tha
t makes my skin crawl, not the thought of being near my parents, but the thought of being a hostage to airless, skyless, uncompassionate environments. I would prefer a one-on-one job, making proper use of myself, with time left over for my dogs, my sanity, my adventurous spirit, and visits to see my sons more than once or twice a year. If only life were that simple.
I load my laundry and my dogs into the car. We drive through the back forest area first. Perhaps I am being obsessive over the disgusting problem back here, but I can’t help myself, it’s just too weird! Anyway, it might make the dogs feel like they went on a small road trip.
I creep the car slowly down the dirt road until I arrive at the dump truck. It’s parked near the center of the messy junkyard overflowing with trash and sitting with the hood open. Wires are draping out from the engine, and greasy parts are on the ground. It also has a flat tire. You can hear the buzz of flies coming from the bloated green trash bags piled high in the rear of the truck. I’d love to have the power to clean up these uninhabitable acres and return the forest to its natural state. The conflict between human waste and nature is so palpable I cannot even begin to comprehend how a chore like this could be undertaken. It would take an army to haul all this crap away. I roll my windows up and leave. I have seen enough, it stinks, and I don’t want to get myself all worked up about something I have absolutely no control over.
At the laundry room a lady is reading a book while her washing machine spins. It is banging against the machine next to it. There is a fly swatter laying on the empty chair next to her. She strikes up a conversation.
“Aren’t you the cook here?” the lady asks.
“Yes, I am,” I say apprehensively.
“Well, could you tell me if there really is a mountain lion running around here? That scene in the kitchen last night was quite disturbing, and is this a bad year for flies? They’re driving us nuts!” She swats at a fly and misses.
“Well…it’s kind of hard to explain. I think the mountain lion was really just a loose dog, and yes, the flies are horrible this year.” What can I say? Normally I’m far more honest than this. I’d love to sit down and tell her the truth of everything, and possibly cry on her shoulder about my current nightmarish working vacation! She looks like a really nice, understanding person that could knock some sense into me. But I’m not ready to pack up and leave, my purpose has not been fulfilled and I’m not quitting.
She continues, “That big guy with the shotgun cooked breakfast this morning. He had a special on the board, Cougar Cakes. He must have a sick sense of humor, wouldn’t you say?”
“Indeed, I would! Don’t know what to tell you, I’m only temporary help here. There is a lot I would change if I were in charge, that’s for sure.” Like calling the real trash company to haul away the garbage for starters.
She puts her load into the dryer, while I load mine in the washer.
“I’m going to go walk my dogs. It’s been nice talking to you.”
We walk around the perimeter of the slowly emptying park. Jim and his mean dog are not outside, so I don’t have to anticipate any outbursts of barking, but Terry is. She is watering her wilting flowers in front of her trailer. I do not see the kittens. When she sees us, she turns off the hose and approaches me. “What time are we goin’ to the market?” she asks.
“Oh, I don’t know, Terry. Maybe around noon, or sometime thereafter.”
“Yeah, Bubba will be off duty then. I hope ya have lots of trunk space. We really need to stock up, with the Jeep broken down and all. By the way, Bubba is being really sweet to me lately. In fact, we might get married soon!”
I am extremely suspicious of Bubba’s sweetness and any hope of a future marriage. I also think about my camping supplies in the trunk of my car that I will need to unload before we go. “Lots of room in there. No problem. I’ll see you then Terry.” I have to get back to the laundry room before I say stuff I’ll regret. “Just come on over to my trailer when you’re ready. I’m glad things are working out for you and Bubba.” The bruise on Terry’s face is now faded to a yellowish green. She does not seem to notice or question my wounded finger.
After finishing my laundry, I return to the trailer. Immediately upon entering, I smell something stinky through the screen door. At first, I think it is the holding tank again, but I empty it so often, that it never has a chance to get an odor. Then I understand, with the door left open, and only the screen door shut, a breeze must have blown the pilot light out on the stove, located right next to the door. Propane sure smells like sewage! Most of the windows were open anyway, so I relight the pilot, and wonder if this is something else I need to worry about, especially with Bonita and Bandito in here a good portion of my working days.
I make myself an early lunch and feed my dogs. I hear someone outside the trailer doing something at my utility post. I look out to see Bubba hooking up a hose with a large, industrial size sprinkler attached to the end.
“Hi Bubba, what’s going on?”
“NEED TO GET THIS GROUND WET. RAY AND I ARE GONNA START TURNIN’ THE DIRT TOMORROW. NEED TA KEEP THE DUST DOWN. WE’LL NEED TA MOVE THE SPRINKLER FURTHER DOWN THAT WAY LATER. WE INTEND TA WORK THE GROUND ALL THE WAY OVER TO PAST THAT SECOND EMPTY SPACE OVER THERE.”
“Great! How exciting! A lawn! I’ll be glad to move the sprinkler for you when I can. Are you about ready to go shopping?”
“YEAH, AS SOON AS I GET THIS SET UP AND CHANGE MY CLOTHES, WE’LL BE DOWN.”
“I’ll see you then.”
I hate to leave Bonita and Bandito alone today! It messes up my time driving around with them. I shut the trailer. Pilot is lit. Air-conditioner is on. Windows are cracked.
“I’ll be back real soon kids. Sorry.” They stare at me with such sad abandonment.
I empty the trunk, and put all the camping equipment on the picnic bench. Terry and Bubba are walking down the road towards my car.
Bubba sits in the front with me. The bulk of his body makes him seem uncomfortable. He will not use his seatbelt. Terry is all dolled up today, at least as dolled up as she can get. She is wearing a skirt and has make-up on. They both seem in good moods.
We actually have a fairly normal conversation on the way to Brandon. Bubba talks about his relationship with Billy and Ray, which is along the parent—son line. He idolizes Ray. Bubba has a daughter named Cynthia. She will be visiting soon. I never pictured him as a father. Terry was married once, but never had children. Bubba talked about the cancer in his shoulder. He said it was cleared up a few years ago, but it has been hurting lately. He wanted to have it checked out by a doctor soon. They want to know more about my past. I probably tell them too much. I can’t help but mention that I used to be rich, and have chosen a more humble life instead. I tell them about my sons, the flower shop I had in Carmel, and my old stone house.
Once at Brandon, they tell me that they will be at least an hour or more in Safeway, so I drop them off. I want to go to the thrift store, drug store, and feed store. When I return, I can get the few groceries that I need, in less than ten minutes.
At the drug store, I buy a package of rubber finger protectors, and some garlic tablets suggested by Henry to help prevent mosquito bites. I run into the feed store, and buy another bag of duck feed. My final stop is to the thrift store. I leave there with a plastic tablecloth for my picnic table, a large bolt of pale yellow netting that I think would work to make a mosquito netting barrier around my canopy and a coffee cup that has a goose on it, wearing an apron, and waving a large mixing spoon in the air. The caption reads; ‘Goose the cook, and she’ll cook yours!’ I’ll put it on the counter next to Bubba’s cup. All three of these items only cost me seven dollars.
Back at Safeway, I see Bubba and Terry, who are both pushing a full shopping cart, rummaging through the frozen food section. It makes me wonder how big the refrigerator inside their trailer is. It looks like I have time to grab the few items I will need to get by for the week.
Outside, I open up the trunk for
them to load their groceries. Bubba sees the bag of duck feed. I explain to him my intentions, since I’m not really sure if he understands why I am doing this. “Bubba, I bought this feed for you to keep at your trailer for the ducks. You see, the ducks have been hanging out at my place in the morning. I was thinking, that if you fed them at your place, they would stay there, or at the back of the kitchen.”
“YA CAN HAVE THE DUCKS!”
“Bubba, I don’t want your ducks. I probably never should have bought them feed, but it just seemed better than dog food.”
“THEY’RE YUR DUCKS NOW!” Bubba and Terry are smirking at each other over this debate. I think they are just yanking my chain.
“I don’t want your ducks, Bubba! Come on. Give me a break here. I just felt that they should eat proper food. I’m sorry if I started something, but I’m hoping we can work it out.” I’m trying to be more assertive, and show I can take a little teasing now and then, even though I’m not very good at that. I’m quite sure that they aren’t really going to try to piss me off, when I have just spent half my day taking them shopping.
Terry interjects at this point. “Bubba is just teasing ya Denise. I think it’s very nice of ya to buy the ducks feed. Ya might have to do that all summer though. We’d be glad to keep the feed down at our place.”
They treat me to lunch at a small Mexican restaurant. I worry about their frozen food in the trunk of my car. Oh well, that’s not my problem. I have a habit of making too many things my problem. Like what Bubba is eating right now. I’m appalled! He’s going to have a heart attack! He’s ordered enough food for himself to feed five people! He doesn’t chew it properly, and most of it is deep-fried! He also finishes what Terry does not eat. His gut is stretched to the max! They both have two beers apiece.
GRILL! Page 17