Mollywood (15 page)

“TASTE THIS, DIRTY S.” I held out my latest creation for my second in command as he climbed onto the food truck.

“This isn’t another one of your ‘craving’ wraps, is it?” He gave me a skeptical glance, but he inhaled the smell and his expression shifted to curiosity. The crews of both trucks had been teasing me about some of my special lunch requests lately. I still failed to see what was funny about sizzling rice soup with toasted pimento cheese sandwiches.

We’d had a rough couple of weeks. Some asshole tried to demand six months of free food after claiming he’d found a bug in his wrap. Stacy handled it, which was good, because if
I
had been there I would have called him a fucking liar to his face.

Then there was the abysmal replacement chef we’d tried to train in preparation of my maternity leave. Sanchez and I had interviewed six people and chose to hire two part timers instead of one full timer. Ian turned out to be a great choice. He was fun and a very fast learner. Darla, on the other hand, had
supposedly
trained at Le Cordon Bleu. It was painfully clear after two days that she’d either faked her resume or taken a head injury since leaving the culinary institute. She kept saying “I know” every time Sanchez instructed her on anything and finally I snapped.

“No…you don’t know or he wouldn’t have to keep telling you all the damn time.” I shouted. She clammed up for the rest of the day and never came back. Due to this incident and a few more of my hormonal tantrums, the staff was now referring to me as ‘Gordon Ramsey’ behind my back. They didn’t think I knew, but what fun is coming to work if you can’t rag on the boss? Especially when she deserves it.

“Really, Sanch. Try it.” I insisted. Taking the wrap from me, he sampled a decent sized bite and chewed slowly.

“I call it the Gangsta Wrap. It’s my spin on dad’s brisket with some of his cole slaw. What do you think?” I’d spent all day brining, smoking, and slow cooking the meat at the commercial kitchen I rented for occasions when we needed advanced prep that the food trucks couldn’t facilitate. It was kind of fun getting back to my barbecue roots, though sitting around waiting for them to cook gave me way too much to think, which wasn’t ideal these days.

Sanchez paused, took another enormous bite, and chewed with a blissful expression on his face. When he finally swallowed he held the wrap away from my outstretched hands refusing to relinquish it.

“I think this just might be the best thing you’ve ever made.” He went in for a third bite and nodded. “Really, little mama. This is a winner.”

“Fabulous. We’ll make it tonight’s special. We have an hour before the runners line up at the starting line. That should be plenty of time to go over the slaw with you”. I frowned as I looked past him and saw no one around. “Where’s Stacy?”

Sanchez’s dark eyes wandered. “Isaac is working the window tonight. Stacy had a conflict.”

“Oh.” I could tell there was a story behind this change of plans. Stacy had been the one who’d gotten us involved with the race organizers in the first place. She’d been pimping Wrapgasmic’s appearance at the Howl-O-Ween 5K on Twitter and Facebook nonstop since October first. The way Sanch hurried away to the sink to wash his hands clued me in that he was dubious about discussing Stacy.

“Should I be concerned?” I asked, trying and failing to make eye contact with him.

“No. it’s all good.” He replied, tossing on his apron. Oh, how I hated that phrase. People usually said it was ‘all good’ when things in their life were decidedly a clusterfuck.

“Okay. If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.” I offered, wondering if the honeymoon was already over. He nodded and then changed the subject back to food. He told me he had an idea for a deep fried wrap with egg roll filling. It sounded insanely good, and we kicked the filling ideas back and forth, agreeing to try a pork and a chicken version later in the week for a test market on South Congress. That demographic was a more reliable crowd to get feedback from than the drunks on Sixth.

As we went through the Gangsta Wrap recipe, I marveled at Sanchez’s talent. His knife skills were impressive when you considered he’d never taken a culinary class in his life. He was like a savant, the Mozart of the mobile restaurant world.

It helped that he’d been born with an amazing palate, and could taste even the most subtle change. His consistency was far better than my own, but I tended to get bored easily and then, in turn, get creative. I’d been surprised when he started proposing new recipes. I was thrilled, but I wondered how long it would be before he realized just how talented he really was and I lost him to some high roller with bottomless pockets.

I didn’t think I needed to worry too much. Sanchez was fiercely loyal to me and he had staunch principals. Everything he’d learned about cooking he’d learned either in prison or from me. His parole had ended in the spring, and that very day he’d proposed to Stacy. Never one to think before she acted, Stacy immediately said yes and shouted their news to the world. But that was Stacy’s approach to life; when I put the status about my pregnancy on Facebook, she took a screenshot of it and put it on the Wrapgasmic page and tweeted about it. The following week I was inundated with gifts from vendors and some of my more loyal customers. I had to call Joe twice to come help me load up the flowers, edible arrangements, gift cards and presents from Motherhood and BabiesRUs.

Sanchez and I threw ourselves into our prep, making two large batches of slaw and the fixin’s for three other standard menu options. I’d was about to review the recipe for my brisket with him, when Mac turned up at the window. The sight of him without his beard, made me do a double take. He’d had one since he was twenty years old, but he actually looked better without it. However, his neon green running clothes and a sweat band around his head nearly made me pee my pants. He’d even borrowed Mason’s hound dog for the race. Bones wagged his tail at me, obviously enthused to be out in public. He was at least ten years old and was as unlikely to finish the race as Mac was. I struggled to keep a straight face.

“Have you seen Kelly?” He asked eagerly, and I bit my lip to stifle a guffaw.

“This is the finish line, dumbass!” I replied and when I saw the panicked look in his eyes, I felt a little pang of guilt. It’d been years since I’d seen him look so vulnerable, and I quickly explained where he needed to go to register and get his number.

As Mac drove off, I texted Joe, who was working late. Before he left for work that morning, he’d mentioned coming down for dinner.

I waited for five minutes before his response came through.

Joe:
Maybe. I’m still working on something.

I felt my lips purse in a pout. He’d been living in the shop for the last couple of weeks. I really wanted to see him, so I decided to tempt him and texted back

I made a new wrap tonight. It’s barbecue. A lot like daddy used to make.

His response was immediate.

Joe
:
I’ll be down in an hour, or so, baby girl. Luv you.

Smiling, I stuffed my phone into my pocket as Isaac pulled up in his ancient economy car and trudged in our direction.

“Hey, y’all.” He fussed with his hair in the mirror above the sink and set about washing his hands. He seemed out of his element, working the night shift. “What’s the delectable smell?”

We prepped as much as we could and served the few early birds who’d come to cheer their loved ones on at the finish line. The majority of customers were ordering the special and one older gentleman even came up to the window to tell me my daddy would be proud of the brisket. I was thanking him for the lovely compliment when my cell phone rang. I looked down to see it was my friend, Dan calling.

“I’ll be back in a second.” I said to Sanchez and Isaac, and stepped off the truck.

“Hi. How’s life in Margaritaville” I answered, sounding cheery. Dan had a condo with a view of The Gulf that I’d been dying to visit. I’d taken to referring to him as ‘the beach bum’.

“Hey, sweetie. You doin’ alright?” He had a hang dog tone to his speech, and I knew he was regretting the entire Elaine business before he even had a chance to bring it up.

“I'm doing very well. Thanks for askin’.” And I was. The nausea and vomiting were almost entirely gone. My energy was back, as was my sex drive. I chose to focus on the positive.

“Has Elaine stopped bugging you yet?” He sounded like he was walking on eggshells, and I immediately wanted to put him at ease. Dan was one of my dearest friends, and I couldn’t handle any rift with him. I felt the intense need to circle the wagons, and presumed that this compulsion might be my version of nesting. Besides, talking to him always improved my mood.

“We talked. She said Draven has a parole hearing coming up.”

“I’m so sorry she ambushed you. I know I should have talked to you first, but she just sounded so desperate.”

“She’s just looking out for her son.” While I was cooking the briskets low and slow, I’d put the finishing touches on my letter about Draven. As I read it over, I’d realized how angry I was. Not at Draven, though thanks to him I still jumped out of my skin at loud noises and had bouts of paranoia when I drove home. My anger wasn’t even directed at Elaine, who I really
had
considered a friend. I was furious with
me
. I knew something wasn’t right about Draven when he first started to pursue me. I knew something was off when he proposed just weeks after we met. When things seem too good to be true, you really
should
check the back seat.

“Honestly, I think she’s mad because Draven’s little tirade proves he’s still in love with you.” Dan drawled. “I think this is more about revenge for that than protecting their spawn.”

“Draven doesn’t know the definition of the word love.” Dan had been my shoulder to cry on during my entire marriage to Draven Cirone. Even so, I’d kept a majority of the truth from even him. I’d confided a little to Dan and a little to Mason’s wife Robin, but I’d kept most of Draven’s crazy to myself. Joe and I had had a wicked fight about me helping Elaine, since Draven had his lawyer contact me and assure me that he’d leave town and serve his probation with an ankle bracelet in Seattle if I stayed silent. He wanted to focus on his new wife and kid. Joe was all for it; he wanted Draven as far away from us as possible. I told Joe I couldn’t in good conscious because of Elaine’s baby, but that was a lie.

What I hadn’t told Joe…what I hadn’t told anyone…was just how much Draven terrified me. It would have been impossible to explain to anyone just how twisted the man was. The thought of him being anywhere near a defenseless child. Or God help me, being able to mold the child into a new version of himself. I had spent the afternoon revisiting the years of methodical brainwashing that he had inflicted on me.

He’d get pissed at me for not hopping out of bed when he did, even though I’d hardly slept since I worked nights and weekends. He’d snap me with his towel on his way out of the shower at six a.m. Some of the welts left by the towel would hurt for days. It got to the point where the sound of him in the shower would yank me from sleep like a conditioned response. I’d drag myself from the bed and prepare a gourmet breakfast for him. But I wouldn’t dare to try to go back to sleep until he had left the house.

The most disturbing thing he’d ever done, the thing that haunted me and made me fear for Elaine, had to do with my love for hot baths. I used to love to soak in the tub after long nights in the restaurant. We had one of those bowl type tubs in our ultra-modern ‘Draven Cirone’ style house, and it seemed like a damn shame not to take advantage of it. Drae said only ‘lazy sloths’ soaked in the tub, and that it was a waste of water and our time together. Mostly, I think he wanted me in bed servicing him.

One night, I was particularly exhausted after a seven day stretch, and I actually fell asleep in the tub. I remember him bursting into the bathroom (I am certain I locked the door) and grabbing me by the ankles. He yanked me under the water in one fell swoop.

The surprise and the momentum were my undoing, and I involuntarily sucked water into my lungs. I don’t remember much after that. When I came to, he was hovering over me, looking relieved and afraid. He kept telling me I fell asleep in the tub and had almost drown. Had I not confirmed the splintered door jam the following morning, I would have doubted my memory of him bursting in. I would have believed his bullshit and not really understood how much danger I was really in being in that house. Again, Draven the hero saved me from a situation he created.

“Molly? Are you still there?” Dan asked, sounding irritated. It pulled me from the traumatic recollections.

I blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy for her to come to me for help. She’s got be really worried.”

“Well, I’m sorry that she used me to get to you. And I’m sorry they didn’t lock him up and throw away the key.”

“I get it, Dan. I’m helping her out…or at least I’m doing what I can. Joe’s still got his panties in a twist about it, but he’ll get over it.” I considered how Joe would react if he knew about Draven nearly drowning me. He already hovered and worried. I couldn’t stand to see him fretting about me, and was glad I never told anyone about just how disturbing my ex-husband really was.