LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      At 3:30 we start putting tablecloths, salt and pepper shakers, and steak sauce on the tables outside. It’s a beautiful afternoon. Some people have arrived early. Bubba is over by the smoking barbeque tending to the tri-tip. Ray is sitting on the redwood table next to Bubba having a cocktail of some sort. He smiles and waves to me as I pass by with loaded trays.

      By event time we are in full swing. Billy has the juicy tri-tip sliced and ready to serve, which Helen carries out with Billy following. Billy will personally serve this to her friends and guests. The other gals will service the tables and clean up after the event. I have been told to start cleaning the kitchen, and to keep an eye on the remaining corn and beans on the stovetop. I am also to cook and serve any restaurant customers who wander in for something other than tri-tip. Vi, whom I had met when I first arrived at Hacienda, was manning the guests, groceries, and register. Billy had earlier apologized to me for the chaos of my first day, and was very glad I had come into her life at this time. She assured me that things would settle down, and to not let this scare me away. So I keep that thought in mind as I look at the unbelievable pile of dishes and large sticky vats and bowls that need to be cleaned. One of the large trays that held the cooked tri-tip is sitting by the stove with a few left over pieces screaming to be tasted. I am now hungry, so I eat one of the slices. It’s so good! Wow! My taste buds plead for more. I also eat a chunk of french bread and a slice of watermelon.

      I see as I am starting the dishes, that most of the customers can not eat the entire hamburger, so I wrap up some leftovers for the dogs when I return to my trailer. I scrub for two and a half hours. I can hear behind me the opening and closing of the back door as everyone comes in and out for various reasons. I had to cook one hot dog and one grilled cheese with fries. After all, I had been cooking most of my life anyway. I’m quite happy with my first stab at being a fast-fry cook.

      Bubba enters the kitchen and goes to the cold storage and comes out with a twelve pack of Bud. He looks kind of looped. He leaves with a bang of the door.

      When I have completed most of the dishes, and the crowd has left the premises, Billy tells me to take a break for a half hour or so, but she also wants me back to finish the kitchen duties for the night. It has already been twelve hours since I came to work. I can’t believe I am not done yet! Everyone is allowed to take home whatever tri-tip is left, but to leave one uncut slab for tri-tip sandwiches to serve in the restaurant tomorrow. I walk back to the fifth wheel with my bag of leftovers.

      Poor Bonita and Bandito, they are so confused! “Hi guys! I’m so sorry! Do you have to go potty? I’ve got a treat for you!” I had heard them barking a few times when I was hauling trays out to the tables. It wasn’t real loud since they were inside with the door shut, but I’m sure all the noise and music was confusing for them. Thank God Hacienda doesn’t have a barbeque every day.

      I take them for a nice walk forgetting to put on long pants, shirt and socks. I get bit again on my ankles and on my lower arm. I feel my neck again and it is not any better. I put my tri-tip in the refrigerator, and slice up the hamburger for the dogs. I’ll bet I never have to buy food for either of us all summer. Can I really do this all summer? I will certainly try. I should be able to save money. I don’t have any expenses. I obviously get fed. If I can just stick this out then perhaps I will leave with a nice savings account and that could make it all worthwhile.

      When I head back towards the kitchen, I pass the empty tables on the lawn. It is getting dark. That sheep dog is scrounging the ground for droppings of food. A short, stocky, male Indian with long hair is arguing with a plump female Indian on the dirt road between the barbeque and the rear entry to the kitchen. He is holding a six-pack of beer. She is screaming. “Who is she?! Ya dirty bastard! Who is she?!”

      “Leave me alone ya dirty, ugly, bitch! I already told ya, It’s no one!” He yells right back. They are both drunk. I must pass by this scene. It’s unavoidable.

      “Who are you? Are you the one?” She looks demonic as she addresses me.

      “Excuse me? Are you talking to me?”

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