GRILL! Page 5

  “Bubba. This is Denise.” Helen stands there with her arms crossed keeping her distance from the grill area.

  Bubba keeps up with the constant motion of cooking, but turns to acknowledge me. His eyes are bloodshot. He smiles, almost flirtatiously, and says, “LET ME FIX YA UP WITH SOME BREAKFAST. YUR GONNA NEED THE ENERGY TO MAKE IT THROUGH THIS DAY. SINCE I’M THE COOK, YUR GONNA HAVE TO TASTE WHAT BREAKFAST SHOULD TASTE LIKE.”

  Bubba seems to be making it clear to me that he is the cook. Fine with me. He isn’t a bad looking man with his rosy cheeks and manly stature, but you can feel his intensity and see his puffed up chest and intimidating gestures. His stomach and overall appearance is slightly bloated. He’s a real ‘man’s man’ in a backwoods sort of way.

  “KAREN, ORDER UP!” Bubba yells, and then to me he loudly says, “GO SIT YURSELF DOWN AND I’LL BRING YA SOME BREAKFAST.” It sounded like an order from a drill sergeant. I could use a large dose of comfort food anyway, so I go and find myself a seat. Helen prances off back to the register.

  I chose an empty redwood picnic table to sit at and take in the surroundings. The décor is ranch style. Large photos of cattle and steer hang on the wall of each booth. An old horse drawn carriage hangs precariously from the high log ceiling.

  “Hi. I’m Karen. Bubba says he’s gonna make you some breakfast. You want some coffee?” Karen is also in her early fifties, thin with short-cropped hair. She seems nervous or high strung in some way. She’s not too interested in me at the moment. I’m sure she has tons of things to do.

  “Sure, coffee would be great! Thanks.” I guess I don’t get to decide what I will be eating, and what’s the deal with all us fifty-year old women?

  After a few minutes, my breakfast arrives on two giant platters. One platter is holding three pancakes the size of basketballs with two ice cream scoops of whipped butter. The second platter has three fried eggs, hash browns, four pieces of bacon, and two slices of sourdough toast. I look over towards the kitchen and see Bubba leaning on the meat counter watching me. He tips his baseball cap in my direction. I smile back in acknowledgment. Good gawd! If I ate all this, I’d blow up! I might as well eat what I can while I can. I’ll bet this is some sort of rite of passage. If it means I can only pass if I eat the entire meal, then I will surely fail! I hear Bubba belt out with one of his loud laughs from over by the grill area. He is alone in there, so the laugh must be directed at me and his own private food joke.

  I whittle away at an edge of the pancakes, eat two eggs and part of the hash browns. I wrap the bacon in my napkin and put in it my purse for the dogs when I get a break.

  “We’ve got a lot of work to do. As soon as you’re finished, bring your plates to the sink and I’ll show ya what we need ya to do for now.” Karen was standing next to me with her arms piled with dirty platters from the tables. Her tone sounds irritated with me for eating. Maybe I should have refused the free breakfast. Was that the test? If so, I was set up to fail either way.

  The platters are as heavy as their size. I carry them over to the sink area and wait for Karen to finish ringing up a customer at the register. Bubba is at the grill on the other side of the wall, so I don’t have to look at him.

  “All righty! Here’s an apron. Get goin’ on these dishes. Then we have to make the potato salad for the barbeque. We also have corn to shuck, salad to make, beans to heat, fruit to slice, and sour cream containers to fill. I’m goin’ out to have a smoke!” Karen spins around angrily and disappears around the corner of the wall, heading to the door to the outside next to the grill. I hear her say something to Bubba, and they both start laughing.

  I turn to the sink and face my duty head on. The platters, bowls, silverware and pans are piled dangerously high. The dishwashing sink is filled with cold, dirty, sudless water and is also filled to capacity with dishes. Likewise, so is the rinse water. There is a large trashcan at the edge of the third and final sterilizing rinse sink packed with leftover food. I put on the gloves I find over on a rack, empty all three sinks, and then refill them with hot and sudsy, hot and clear, and hot with sanitizer. I scrape away all the wasted food into the trashcan. Karen who has finished her cigarette is clearing off more tables and bringing them to the pile. I do dishes for about two hours, changing the dirty water twice. I leave the pans for last. As I am about to dip a small Teflon fry pan into the sink, I am shaken to the core by Bubba’s roaring angry voice. “DON’T PUT THAT IN THERE! DAMN IT! DON’T EVER PUT MY PAN IN SUDSY WATER!”

  Was he watching me? And for how long had he been watching? Was he just waiting for me to get to his pan? I notice a few of the customers were looking in my direction to see what was going on.

  “What? I don’t understand.” I’m confused at his anger about this seemingly simple problem about a small pan.

  “IF YUR A COOK THEN YA KNOW NOT TO CLEAN THESE PANS IN DISH WATER, EVER! HERE, LET ME SHOW YA SINCE YA DON’T KNOW. YA TAKE A PAPER TOWEL AND WIPE IT LIKE THIS.” Bubba begins violently wiping his pan with the paper towel. He takes it back over by the grill with me following him and hangs it above the grill.

  “HERE! YA HANG IT HERE! NEVER WASH MY PANS!”

  “Listen Bubba. You really don’t need to be angry with me. I didn’t know that was the deal with the pans. You could have told me that without yelling. Why was it over there in the pile? I’m really a reasonable person. You can tell me what I’m supposed to do and not do. I follow instructions very well.”

  Bubba seems surprised that I am not mad right back. I think he expected me to blow, but I just don’t have confrontation in me. Never have. I’ve had to think about this a lot through the years and through the men that have had power over my life. I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that some people thrive on debate and defense, that for them, this is a thrill, a blast, a passion. Personally, it shrinks me into a ball rolling away. I depart, leaving my debater to their personal agony and the emptiness of silence. I am happy, they are not. I save this kind of energy for more important issues or until I am pushed to the point of insanity, then they accidentally get from me the combative response they were looking for and I am left with shame. They are thrilled.

  It seems that the breakfast rush is over. I am finishing up with the last of the dishes when Karen walks over to a large oversized coffee cup stuck under the counter. She dumps out a pile of folded dollar bills and begins counting. She and Bubba are exchanging small talk about the events of the morning crowd. They seem to be pretty buddy-buddy, and I am not included in the conversation. Karen divides the tips, and hands Bubba his half. They do not offer any to me.

  “Good morning for us. Looks like fifty dollars a piece.” Karen announces.

  Wow, that sure will help when I start cooking! It pumps up the minimum wage thing to a more acceptable level.

  There are no customers at this point in the restaurant. I hear Bubba go into the cold storage unit, when he comes out; I hear the pop of a beer can being opened. Karen approaches me. “I need ya to start peeling the skin off these cooked potatoes. I’ll start getting the rest of the ingredients ready. When we’re done with that, I’ll need ya to get on the corn.” I hear the back door next to the grill open and shut. I also hear the golf cart rumbling outside. Goodbye Bubba. Have a nice day! You’re welcome you big jerk! What a bully! I feel my adrenalin flowing now. Why is it always a few hours late? I won’t be sucked into his negative energy.

  As soon as I have finished peeling the warm potatoes, Karen plops down a large bowl of boiled eggs. “Here, peel these too!” She is cutting up the potatoes and adding them to the giant bowl of potato salad. We are working side by side, yet so far away. I think I can warm Karen up to me at some future point. I feel that she could possibly need a friend; either that or she is having one hell of a menopause. Bubba has no excuse what-so-ever. He’s just a big, stupid, uneducated jerk! Oh dear, I think I’m getting an attitude. It’s too early for that!

  The space between the meat counter and the table we are currently chopping
at is only wide enough for one body. Helen squishes past Karen and me, our butts uncomfortably rubbing together. She opens the meat counter and gets herself a large handful of hamburger, using a sheet of wax paper.

  “I guess I’ll have to cook myself some lunch since Bubba is off duty.” Helen says holding the mound of raw meat.

  “Nothin’s stopped you before. So what makes today any different?” responds Karen.

  Helen is using the palms of her hands in order to protect her fingernails. She pats the wax paper covered hamburger into a patty then plops it on the hot grill. She then brushes a bun with melted grease from a stainless steel container and lays them gently on the grill, being careful not to let her fingernails make contact. She stands at the grill looking at her nails while the hamburger cooks. “Just want you to know. We have eighty-five confirmed tickets for the barbeque tonight.” I’m not sure if Helen is speaking to both of us, or just to Karen. Is eighty-five a lot, or is that a low turnout? Karen does not respond, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond. I say nothing. Helen continues. “And as we know, twenty or thirty extra guests usually just show up without tickets.” Where have I landed? How could one small restaurant in the middle of nowhere be the center point of a major food source for some unknown hidden community? I really expected this job to be casual and easy going. Is it too late with too little money to run home to mom and dad? Would Lori take me in? My sons would love for mom to move in. Wouldn’t they? No, I could never ever admit failure.

  I need to get Bonita and Bandito out to pee as soon as possible. Is that bacon soaking grease into my purse? When will Ray fix my water leak? My mosquito bites are burning and itching again. That is one hell of a pile of corn to shuck! I think I’m having an anxiety attack, but no one notices, or even cares.

  I stop ranting in my mind and take a deep breath. I close my eyes and chant to myself within the quiet place inside. ‘I own my life, and only mine, and so I shall appreciate my person, and so I shall make proper use of myself.’ I take another deep breath and begin again. ‘I own my life, and only…’

  “Billy I could never ever thank ya enough as long as I live!” My concealed chanting is silenced by the sound of Ruby who is over by the register hugging Billy, who is patting Ruby’s back. Billy has a cigarette in her mouth and it bobbles up and down as she says something to Ruby in their embrace. Ruby has some cash in her hand and is crying. Billy starts heading in the direction of the kitchen with Ruby following behind.

  As soon as Billy enters the kitchen area, an aura of control and reason seems to follow her. Karen smiles and Helen stands up straighter, no longer looking at her fingernails. I can feel Billy’s powerful and reassuring presence; at least I am praying that she has some sort of power over these people. I need someone who is grounded in this whack joint, please!

  Ruby leans on the meat counter and is looking in our direction with a sort of slobbery look on her face, a sort of sincere dreamy happiness with a slight bit of drunkenness.

  “Hi Ruby.” Both Karen and Helen acknowledge Ruby.

  “Hi Ruby.” I am the only one smiling at her.

  “Denise! Hi! How the hell ya doin’?” I feel slightly more loved and appreciated at the moment, even under the circumstances. Billy taps my back in a reassuring way as she passes on her way to the cold storage unit. She knows that she has put me in hell! She’s going to be my rock, my firm ground to depend on. She’s glad I’m here. I just know she is! She knows everyone else is nuts! All is well.

  Billy comes out with a dozen eggs and a twelve pack of beer. She puts it up on the meat counter and has Ruby sign a piece of paper.

  “Thanks again Billy. Yur the best!” Ruby walks out of the building with her goods.

  “First things first.” Billy says calmly and directed at me. “Never, I repeat; never, loan that girl any money. You’ll never get it back. Bless her heart. She means well, but she just can’t get it together, always a crisis with her. The damn dog that I told her not to get in the first place, got bit by a rattlesnake yesterday and needs anti-venom. I can’t let the brute die! Can’t much afford to save it either. So Denise, how ya gettin’ along?”

  Karen and Helen are staring at me. “Great, Billy! Everything’s just great!” I fib, while thinking about the twenty bucks I’ll never see again.

  “That fifth wheel gonna be okay for ya?” Billy asks.

  “It’s just fine. Thank you very much.”

  “Good. Now let’s all get ourselves busy. People will be coming in for lunch, and we have a lot to do to get ready for the barbeque. Karen, get the slabs of tri-tip out of the cold storage and bring it here. I need to season it for Bubba to get on the barbeque pit. Denise, how’s that potato salad comin’?”

  “I believe it’s about ready Billy.” We have a leader! I’m so happy!

  “Good. Good. Now we better get the corn shucked and get the beans in a kettle. It takes a few hours to heat up that amount of beans. Helen, get the lettuce and soak it in the sink.” Billy has obviously been doing this routine for years.

  “Uh, Billy? I’m sorry but could I go back to my trailer for just a few minutes and let my dogs out? It’ll just take a minute.”

  “No problem! Just get yurself back here ASAP.”

  I walk out the back door next to the grill. My dogs are barking. There is a stench in the air, a mixture of smoky lighter fluid and something rotting. As I walk down the delivery ramp of the kitchen, I pass the large trash compactor. It has sticky ooze coming out from the bottom ledge. Flies are buzzing on and around the slime. There is a flytrap hanging above and near the trash compactor that is full to capacity with dead and trapped flies. I see the barbeque drum flaming, but do not see Bubba or Terry. Bonita and Bandito can now see me coming in view through the screen door and turn up the volume of their barking, in fact they even start howling like little wolves. I might have to shut the broken door from now on to keep them quiet.

  Bubba and Terry are setting up picnic tables on the lawn area. I wave at them as I pass. They do not wave back since at the moment they are moving a heavy table, but I doubt if they’d wave anyway.

  It’s pretty warm inside the trailer. The dogs are panting, but do not seem overheated. I look up at the small air-conditioner in the ceiling and hope that it works when the time comes to need it.

  “I’ve got a treat for you, but first let’s go outside!” They are so excited to see me. I walk the dogs for a short distance from the fifth wheel, and then take them back inside. I feel so guilty, the same guilt I had for so many years raising my sons. Being single and working full time, would often necessitate that my sons be at home after school waiting for me for an hour or two. They were old enough to take care of themselves, and probably loved having the house free of a mom. By the time I’d get home they were usually playing with their cousins or friends and would happily tear into the chili dogs or pizza I’d bring home. Comfort food always helps erase any idea of abandonment or neglect, which was in my mind only, not theirs. It never felt right to not be at home waiting, wearing an apron, and holding a large plate of warm cookies. I couldn’t help but worry, but again, I had made my choice to be single and self-sufficient. There are some prices to pay for freedom and survival.

  “Look at this! Momma brings home the bacon!” I wave the crisp bacon in the air. Bonita and Bandito are very happy about this treat. I am forgiven once again.

  I am not too hungry. That breakfast was enough to last me until dinner, but I grab an apple anyway, put it in my purse, and turn on my small fan. I lift up the broken door, set it on the threshold, and shut the duct-taped door.

  When I return to the kitchen, Billy has three hamburgers cooking on the grated grill. There are a few customers sitting at the dining tables. The flat grill has two large kettles of beans in the back area and toward the front are the hamburger buns for the three hamburgers. Two of the six burners on the stove have two large kettles of water ready to boil for the corn when the time comes, and resting on the front four burners are
pans with aluminum foil covering something very large. It could be the seasoned tri-tip. A small pan of chili is warming on the flat grill.

  “I want ya to watch how we cook our hamburgers. Then we need the corn shucked.” Billy is handling the pressure quite well under the circumstances. Karen and Helen are chopping lettuce and I can see that the energy level is getting intense. I guess they don’t stop the restaurant business just because there’s a barbeque.

  Billy shows me how to prepare the platter for the hamburger and chiliburgers she is making. Some french fries are sizzling in the deep fryer that is behind the grill and next to the cold storage door. She makes a nice presentation with her food. The hamburgers are fat and juicy. The red onions and large slice of red tomato lying on a leaf of healthy green lettuce, looks colorful and appetizing. The french fries are crispy and seasoned. The chili poured over two of the hamburgers looks home-made. It is topped with grated cheddar and chopped red onions.

  “Very nice Billy. That doesn’t seem too hard to do. I think I can handle that quite well.”

  “Of course ya can! Just don’t let this fool ya. There’s usually a crown of thorns hanging above yur head.” Billy points the spatula upwards above her head.

  “A crown of thorns?” I ask.

  Billy reaches up to touch the circular and rotating metal receipt holder for the orders from the waitresses. At this time she only has the one order, which she takes down and places under the platters next to the completed hamburgers. “Karen, order up!” she shouts. “You’ll understand what a crown of thorns feels like when that thing up there is full.” Billy gives me a very serious look from over her reading glasses.

  By 3:00 things are percolating to a boil, and I don’t mean just the kettles of corn. The kitchen area now has six bodies running around and into each other. Pots, pans, and bowls are either being used or sitting dirty over by the sink. There is Betty who is now back on duty, Billy, Helen, Karen, myself, and an older, gray-haired, sweet gal named Geneva, who popped in to make the fruit tray. We are all in constant motion, so I do not have time to get to know anyone beyond, “Excuse me. Sorry. Where’s the dressing? Where do you want these? Oops! Excuse me.” Billy has been cooking for the several restaurant customers in-between organizing for the barbeque.