Stranded in Oasis

by Clay, Verna

  Instantly, she knew when the man dismissed her as inconsequential, and it angered her. She'd met his kind before—arrogant, self-absorbed, and probably handsome. She'd been married to one. Turning her back on him, she continued raking the ground around her trailer.

  * * *

  Max drew his gaze away from the woman raking dirt. Although she was young, she was wearing one of those old lady things and it looked like hell. If she had curves, he certainly couldn't see them. Not that he expected to see anything like that in this wasteland.

  Returning his attention to the trailer housing the "office," obviously a throw-back to the sixties or seventies, he made his way through vegetation that looked more like weeds than landscaping flora, and knocked on the metal door that had been painted bright red. Bemused, he wondered if this was a trailer of ill-repute, and shrugged off that notion when an elderly woman opened the door. Her startling blue eyes, not faded with age, perused him from head-to-toe.

  The elderly woman's face suddenly broke into a smile. "My guess is you're Maximilian. Old Max told me you'd be here soon." She stepped back and waved him inside.

  He entered a small living room. "You know my grandfather?"

  "Shore do. We go way back. Had more fun together than a passel of monkeys." She tilted her head and asked, "How's the old rascal doin'?"

  Max gave her a sour look. "If doing well means controlling my life, he's doing fabulously."

  The perky old woman shot out her hand. "My name's Belle Starr Thatcher. BS to those who don't like me. But I go by Princess, to everyone else. Looks like you got your grandfather's dry sense of humor. Time will tell whether you call me BS or Princess."

  Max looked at the woman askance. Is she for real?

  Belle motioned toward a recliner. "Go ahead, kick back and give yourself a rest. You've had a long drive."

  "Ah, ma'am, I just want to get my rig parked somewhere and hooked up to power and sewer." He cleared his throat, "And also find out exactly what my duties are for the next six months."

  "Well, at least give me some breathing space." She motioned Max farther into the room in the single wide trailer. "I need some coffee to get my brain workin'. You want some java, son?"

  "No, ma'am." Max walked to a window sporting yellow curtains with orange fringe that had been pulled open. He could see the woman that had been raking dirt now playing with a puppy.

  Max didn't hear Belle reenter the room and jumped when she said behind him, "That's Pilar and Piggy. Piggy is old man Goodacre's new puppy. He just lost his dog of eighteen years, Donkey. I shore miss that old hound. Sounded like a donkey braying when he barked. Anyway, Pilar found Piggy at the animal shelter in Phoenix. She's helpin' with the training."

  With his back to Belle, Max rolled his eyes. Princess, Pilar, Piggy, Donkey. This place is a real piece of work.

  Belle asked, "How do you like Pilar's new fence. She saved for months to buy it. Said she always wanted a home with a white picket fence. My handyman, Gator, or maybe it was Hank; put it up for her yesterday as a surprise while she worked my diner. It tickled everyone in the park at how excited she got when she saw it. What do you think? You like it?"

  For some reason, Max had the feeling Belle was testing him. For what, he hadn't a clue. He decided to lie. "It's very nice. Makes her trailer look…er…nice." He turned around. "Now, about my RV space and duties…"

  Belle plopped her tiny frame into the recliner. "Sure you don't want to take a load off?"

  "Ah, no ma'am."

  "Okay, then I will." She reached to pull the lever and raise the footrest of her chair. With a satisfied sigh, she said, "You're in the space behind Pilar. I can't remember the space number. Never can remember those blasted things. Your northern neighbor is Goody, that's what we call old man Goodacre, and on the south you've got Pinky. After you meet Pinky, you'll see why we call her that." She reached for the coffee cup she'd set on the table beside her and sipped. "Ah, I just love my coffee. The secret is to grind it fresh every time and use really cold water. As for your duties, I'm handing the reins over to ya. Ain't had a vacation in nigh on fifty years so I've decided to visit the Big Island of Hawaii. After I get back, I'm gonna drive to New Mexico and find a hotel to laze around by the pool and read 'til I go blind. After that I think I'll conquer the mighty state of Texas. As you can see, I'm flying by the seat of my pants."

  Max worked his jaw. "Exactly what does 'handing over the reins' entail?"

  Belle took another sip of coffee and peered at him over the top of her cup. "Collecting rent, fixin' things, listenin' to people bitch, dealin' with a few snow-birders, maybe killing a rattler now and agin. As for the diner in town, don't worry 'bout it. I got my cook, Manuel, takin' charge."

  Max clenched his back teeth so hard he was sure they would crack.

  Belle waved a dismissive hand. "Son, we can talk about all that tomorrow. For now, you just go get settled in and meet yer neighbors. Hope you don't mind if I don't get up. I'm startin' to love my vacation."

  Quietly, Max said, "I'll let myself out."

  "Thanks, Maxie."

  The childhood name brought Max up short. His father was the only one who had ever called him Maxie.

  Chapter 3: Pinky, Goody, and Piggy

  Max located his assigned space and pulled in. The Prevost was so long, a foot of it hung out in the road. His front window was facing the back window of Pilar's trailer. Beyond her white picket fence he could see rake marks in the dirt. She'd made the place neat and tidy, he'd give her that. Reaching to close the drapes across his front window, he saw his new neighbor round her trailer. She had changed into what looked to be a white waitress uniform with a light pink apron. Her auburn hair was in a ponytail that reached her shoulders and bounced back and forth. She was appealing in a girl-next-door, sort-of-way, and he guessed her to be part Hispanic. Although heavier than the women he dated, she had nice legs and an ample bosom. Because Max was an observer of people, a necessity in his line of work, he convinced himself that that was the reason for his careful scrutiny. She wasn't his type at all; not at all.

  As he drew his drapes together, she glanced up and met his gaze. He nodded. When she smiled, his gut kicked. She had big dimples. He loved dimples on women. Max snapped the drapes closed and focused on the next order of business, get his car unhitched and his RV hooked up. He certainly had no interest in a female desert rat who liked white picket fences.

  Max had just unhitched his car and pulled it beside his RV when a woman called, "Yoohoo, young man, I need your help."

  Max turned and blinked. He blinked again. A woman with pink hair—hot pink hair—rushed toward him. Well, maybe rushed was too descriptive a word. She ambled as quickly as her large girth would allow. Pinky. This must be Pinky, his neighbor.

  He waited politely for her to reach him.

  "Hellooo, I'm Pinky. I live next door. I'm so happy to have a neighbor between me and Goody. The man drives me nuts and now that he's got that new puppy yapping half the night, I haven't had a good night's sleep in over a week. Course I was sad when Donkey died, but why couldn't Pilar get him an older dog."

  Max said, "Um, Nice to meet you, um, Pinky. What is it that I can do for you?"

  "Oh. Oh, that. I got a potted plant on one side of my door that I want to move to the other side and it's too heavy for me to push. You stayin' here long? You one o' them snowbirders? 'Cause if you are and you got animals–"

  Max had a feeling the woman would keep asking questions if he didn't take charge of the situation. "Please show me the pot." He made a waving motion.

  Pinky's jowls jiggled when she smiled. "Oh, I see you're the take-charge kind. I like that. Follow me."

  Max almost smiled at her right-on observation and followed the large woman next door. She pointed to a planter with a cactus bearing long spikes. He wanted to curse and ask why the hell she wanted to move it in the first place, but he bit his tongue.

  "Careful, young man. I just want you to move it here." She pointed three
feet over. Max inhaled deeply, more so to calm himself than anything else, and relocated the pot.

  "Perfect!" Pinky exclaimed.

  Max's curiosity got the better of him. "Why did you want to move it?"

  Pinky said, "Because I needed a change. Too much of the same thing makes life dull."

  Max wondered if the entire park was inhabited by nut cases. Saying a quick goodbye when Pinky started asking questions again, he returned to his RV to hook up the sewer and plug in the power. He'd used the corporate RV before when business took him to remote locations, so he was already familiar with the vehicle's operation. He had just pulled out the electrical cord and plugged it into an ancient outlet when a dog's yapping captured his attention. He turned to see a mongrel puppy peeing on his front tire.

  "Oh, shit. Shoo, puppy, shoo."

  A man with a long white beard who looked to be a skinny version of Santa Claus, and wearing faded coveralls over a bright white T-shirt, rounded the corner of the Prevost Custom RV, and whistled. "That's some fancy ride, young man." He glanced at his dog. "Piggy, that's no way to greet our neighbor."

  Piggy paid no attention to either of them and finished his business. Max had never seen a dog that looked to have the blood of at least a half dozen breeds. The dog was cute as hell and Max stifled a laugh. He did grin, however, and kneel down. Piggy immediately waggled his body, long like a wiener dog's, toward Max. His tail, curly like a pig's darted happily back and forth. The mongrel's face, sort of like a Dutch pug's, looked like he was grinning.

  Max shook his head and glanced up. "I take it this is your dog?"

  "Yep. 'Bout the strangest looking mutt I ever seen. Don't ya think?"

  Max finally laughed. "Yeah, I'd have to agree. With his curly tail, I see why you call him Piggy."

  The old man laughed, too. "I guess that's part of it, but mostly I call him Piggy 'cause he's such a pig when it comes to food. Loves to eat, he does."

  Max stood and stretched his arm toward the man. "My name is Max Rutherford."

  The elder man grasped his hand with surprising firmness considering the frailness of his person. "Paul Goodacre, but most folks call me Goody. Nice to meet you, Max."

  "Same to you, sir."

  "I heard through the gossip network that we got a new manager takin' over. Would that be you?"

  Max sighed, "Yes, that's me for the next six months."

  Goody laughed, "I came here twenty years ago on vacation and never left. The place kinda' grows on you. Who knows, maybe you'll stay longer than six months."

  Max wanted to shout a vehement denial that there was no way he'd stay one second past his six month incarceration in a trailer park. It was only good manners that kept his response in check.

  Goody bent with difficulty and picked up Piggy. "Guess I best let you get back to settling in."

  Max could hear the old man's joints creak as he rose.

  Goody said, "Just a word of advice, young man, steer clear of Pinky. She'll have you doin' stuff all day long. She's as cute as they come, but she's a slave driver. Always wantin' to move things around 'cause of her crazy notions 'bout change."

  Max replied, "I already met her and moved a pot for her."

  Goody gave a hearty laugh. "I shoulda' known she'd be on you like shit on a shingle. Well, you been warned. Not that it'll do much good."

  Goody turned to leave with Piggy yapping. Max called, "Ah, excuse me. I haven't met my neighbor in front of me. I understand her first name is Pilar."

  The old man grinned. "That would be Pilar Armstrong and Willie. Been here for five years now. A sweeter gal I never met. She's the one who surprised me with Piggy after Donkey died." The old man looked like he might cry.

  Max said quickly. "Thanks. I look forward to meeting Mrs. Armstrong and her husband."

  Goody's sad face changed when he winked. "Willie ain't her husband, he's her boy." His face changed again to one of concern. "If you're thinkin' of havin' hanky-panky with Pilar, you'd best forget it. She's an upstandin' woman and don't go for womanizers. Said she had her fill with her ex. Said he was–"

  Max jumped in. "Goody, I have no such intention. Since I'm managing this park for six months, I just thought it wise to get a head's up on everyone. I–"

  Goody interrupted, "Don't git yerself in a snit. I'm jus' givin' ya the scoop 'cause you'll likely change yer mind when you meet Pilar." The old man lifted an eyebrow and gave Max a look that brooked no challenges.

  Over the years, Max had gone head-to-head with the best of old codgers trying to retain their failing empires and he knew he could hold his own in a word-war with the old man, but he backed down. "See you later, sir."

  Max could still hear Piggy yipping long after Goody was gone.

  Chapter 4: Warm my Coffee, Please

  Lunch goers began filtering into Desert Princess Diner. Most were locals that Pilar greeted warmly. Over the years, she'd come to know everyone in the lazy town with a population of eight hundred eighty-two since the birth of the O'Sullivan twins. She had a short shift today, from eleven until three, because she had to drive to Phoenix to pick up Willie. She grinned when she thought about her son—eight years old and mischievous as all heck. His tiny bedroom in their trailer was crammed with so much baseball paraphernalia, he'd begun storing the videos, bats, baseballs, card binders, mitts—most of which were found at garage sales—under his bed. His latest acquisition, however, a brand new mitt, was an extravagance Pilar had saved for, like the white picket fence, but worth the effort.

  She was still grinning when the door opened and her new neighbor strode in. She probably looked idiotic, smiling like a Cheshire cat into empty air. Wiping the smile from her face, she grabbed the coffee pot and started making rounds. Since the sign at the entrance said, SEAT YOURSELF, the tall man walked to a back booth and slid in. Pilar made her way in that direction. The other waitress, Aggie, glanced at Pilar, and winked. She always did that when handsome men entered the diner. Pilar frowned back at her. Maybe she should let Aggie wait on him, but the thought of how much she'd splurged buying her fence changed her mind. Her resources were low and the guy looked like he was rolling in cash. His RV probably cost more than a house in the suburbs. Maybe he'd leave a big tip. Next time, if he sat in her section, she'd let Aggie have him.

  She approached his table with the coffee pot. "Hello. Welcome to Desert Princess Diner. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

  He nodded and said, "Yes, thank you."

  She turned the cup already on the table over and poured.

  He reached for the little creamers and began peeling the tops off.

  "The menu is right there." She pointed to the holder next to the wall. "I'll just give you a few minutes."

  She started to turn away when the man said, "I think we're neighbors. My name is Max Rutherford. I saw you this morning raking your dir–yard."

  There was something about the man's cool demeanor that irritated Pilar. Beneath his polite exterior, he oozed cockiness, or maybe ruthlessness. Ruthless Rutherford. She had to stifle a grin as the words popped into her mind. With her own brand of coolness, she said, "I'm Pilar Armstrong. Are you a desert lover? How long are you planning on staying?" Her questions sounded more rude than inquisitive and Ruthless Rutherford cocked an eyebrow.

  "Desert living is new to me, but I'll be here for six months. I'm the new park manager."

  The way he introduced himself as the manager said louder than words that he wished he was anywhere but Oasis. Pilar loved her community and straightened her backbone. Curtly, she said, "Perhaps not that long. Most folks who aren't used to living in the desert don't last out here. Perhaps you'll move on to manage a park with a golf course." That was really rude. Quickly, she said, "I'll be back in five minutes to see if you're ready to order," and rushed away.

  * * *

  Max watched the testy waitress with adorable dimples and dark chocolate eyes hurry away. He had no idea what the bee up her butt was, but if any of his subordinates had talked to him like
that, they'd have been fired on the spot and tossed out on their asses, metaphorically speaking. Whatever he'd said, it had sure pissed her off. He sighed when he thought about the close proximity of her trailer to his RV. Maybe he could ask Princess if she had another spot. Hell, I'm the manager. If I want another spot, I'll just take it. He silently groaned when he realized he was calling Belle, Princess. The nutty people in Oasis had already rubbed off on him.

  For five minutes Max studied the waitress-with-attitude prancing around the room as if she owned it. She was short and a little overweight by maybe fifteen or twenty pounds. However, she was shapely as hell with a nipped waist, generous hips, and a stacked topside—not his type at all, especially with her attitude. The women he dated were tall, sleek legged, physically fit, with breasts that fit the symmetry of their bodies. Most of all, though, they loved being around him and played to his every whim. In reality, however, he knew his money and power had a lot to do with their attitudes. If Ms. Testy knew my true identity, she wouldn't act so smart ass. Maybe someday I can throw it in her face.

  One of the criteria emphasized by his grandfather during his "trial by fire" was that he couldn't flaunt his money or connections. He supposed he'd maybe broken the money rule by showing up in an RV that cost as much as a condo in Vail.

  The gal returned for his order. Without a pad in hand, she said, "Are you ready to order?"

  Max decided to have a little fun. "Sure am. I'd like a burger, medium rare, salted, not peppered, with mustard and ketchup, no mayo, one tomato slice, two pickles, one lettuce leaf, one half of the bun toasted, the other not, and peppered fries, not salted. Oh, and a coffee refill with cream from the fridge, not this peel-the-paper-off-a-tiny-carton-fake-stuff. Think you can remember that?"

  Ms. Prissy Pants replied, "If I don't, I'm sure you'll remind me." She gave him a phony smile and acted like she received orders like that every day. The other waitress, within earshot, and a couple of nearby patrons, gaped at them.