Stranded In Oasis (excerpt)
Oasis Series

 

Two: Trailer Park Blues

 

Following the winding road to Oasis past prickly cacti and blowing sand pushed Max's attempt at anger management past the red mark. He pulled his RV over in a turnout that barely fit its forty-five foot length. He had a sudden craving for a smoke, a nasty habit he'd kicked five years back. Rounding his Mercedes CLS550 that was being towed behind the RV, he paused to gaze out across flat arid land dotted with sparse vegetation, toward a ridge of mountains. Leaning against the RV he sucked some calming breaths and closed his eyes. What a nightmare!

His anger morphed into determination when he visualized his grandfather shaking his head in disgust if Max was to turn the damn rig around, head back to New York, and refuse to go along with this idiotic request. But if he did that, he'd blow his chance of inheriting control of his grandfather's empire, something he'd been groomed for since the age of seventeen, when he'd joined the corporation as a mail sorter. It had taken eight years and a university education for him to move into the ranks of management, and now, at the age of thirty-four, he was a mover-and-shaker in the world of corporate reorganization and resale. His grandfather needed his expertise, which made his demand that Max waste half a year in some God forsaken place called Oasis, unfathomable.

Max opened his eyes and felt a little calmer. Movement at his feet caught his attention as a finger-sized lizard skirted across the toe of his Hogan sneakers. For a second, remembering his fondness as an adolescent for all things reptilian, he almost reached to pick it up.

With the craving for a cigarette gone, and his anger manageable, Max climbed back into the driver seat of his luxurious RV. At least I'll live in comfort in this godforsaken place.

* * *

Pilar stepped out the front door of her trailer, actually, the only door, and breathed deeply. She'd worked a morning and evening shift the day before at Desert Princess Diner. Her employer, Belle Starr Thatcher, named after the notorious female outlaw of the nineteenth century, had lived in Oasis for over fifty years. To those who managed to get on the receiving end of Belle's sharp tongue, she was known as BS, but to most in the community, she was called Princess. Her critics said she was older than the distant mountains, but Pilar guessed her to be in her mid to late seventies. When she'd asked Pilar to work extra hours because Aggie was out ill, Pilar had readily agreed. Princess had given her a job five years earlier when she'd desperately wanted to move to Oasis.

Moving her gaze to her new white picket fence, Pilar grinned. Willie was going to love it when he got back from visiting with his father in Phoenix. So what if the fence wasn't surrounding a cute cottage nestled in the midst of mountains or perched on a jagged coastline. So what if it surrounded a forty-two foot, 1984 trailer, in a trailer park in the tiny community of Oasis located in the middle of nowhere. It was still her pride and joy. She'd always wanted a white picket fence and she'd saved for over a year to buy it. Life was good!

A dust cloud in the distance captured her attention. It was too early to be a snow-birder. Usually, they began arriving in October. She wondered if it was old Mr. Howard who always drove down from Canada, but then decided it was too early even for him. Pilar smiled. Mr. Howard, who insisted everyone call him Howie, always had a story to tell and a piece of hard candy for Willie. Her son hated the stuff, but never let on to Howie. Her boy was kind and courteous; traits she was enormously thankful for.

Turning on a faucet, she watered the few cacti she had growing in pots and then raked the ground of her newly enclosed tiny yard. Running her hand lovingly over the pickets of her fence, she turned her attention back to the RV that was now discernable. It was a big one. A big fancy one. A big expensive one. And it was towing an expensive Mercedes. Pilar figured the owner must be lost because RVs of that caliber never stayed at Desert Princess Trailer and RV Park.

The motorhome braked at the entrance to the park and Pilar wondered if the driver was going to attempt to turn around. There was barely enough room. She was surprised when he continued forward and followed the sign that said OFFICE with an arrow pointing to the right. She watched the RV navigate the short stretch to Belle's 1970s-ish trailer and then brake. Belle liked to garden, so she had a profusion of odd plants selected to survive in the desert growing haphazardly around her trailer. Like Belle, the plants were unique.

Pilar lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the morning sun as she watched a tall man descend from the RV. He was far enough away that she couldn't distinguish facial features, but not so far that she didn't pick up on his air of authority. He was a man with attitude. Pilar grinned. Well, Mr. Attitude, you've met your match in Belle.

Briefly, the newcomer glanced in her direction. She watched him scan her trailer and new fence and then her. Standing a little taller, even though she was dressed in a lightweight moomoo that looked better suited to a sixty year old than a thirty-two year old, she returned his stare.

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.