Billie Holiday Blues

Don't Explain

Rafaela showed up at her job at the Oceanic Brew Pub with a slight swelling beneath her eye and a discoloration of the skin beneath it. The new grill cook, Hobgood, saw this right off when she came into the kitchen. Her effort to avoid eye contact and to avert the damaged side of her face told him to mind his own business, so he continued with the hand-shaping of the six-ounce hamburger patties from a ten-pound block of ground beef.

When Roy, the owner of the place, saw her, he flushed a deep red and balled up his fists. He had carried a hot torch for Raphael Johnson-Diaz since he was eight years old, when she lived next door and babysat him on the nights his parents went steppin' out.

Raphaela pulled a bag of lemons from the refrigerator and started cutting wedges, and Roy slid up to her and said "How's Morgan doing, Rafe?" Morgan, the boyfriend who was quick with his fists.

"Mind your own fuckin' business, Roy," she hissed.

Hobgood put his patties in the refrigerator and decided it was time to go take a leak. Roy called Rafaela stupid for putting up with Morgan's shit, and Raphaela asked him if he didn't have some work to do to get the place ready to open, as the translucent ghost of her mother, Juanita Diaz-Johnson peered through the service window and shed tears for her little girl.

The Oceanic opened to a brisk lunch business, the air turning frosty whenever Roy and Rafaela came into close contact, and Hobgood, on only his third day of employment here, ran the grill like seasoned pro, serving up California Burgers (cheddar cheese, tomato slices and avocado, with a criss-crossing of bacon strips, topping a steaming patties displayed open-faced on the plate); Continental Burgers (a sizzling patty topped with Swiss cheese and a grilled onion and red wind sauce); Teriyaki Burgers (a succulent patty topped with a spicy Asian Sauce with a sprinkling of chives). And more...

When Brenda came in before the dinner rush to help at the bar, Raphaela slipped back to the kitchen, sat down on a milk crate and applied ice wrapped in a napkin to her eye. When Hobgood gazed at her, she slumped lower and looked so sad that it broke his heart.

My Man

At the tail end of the dinner rush, Raphaela's man slithered in the front door like something slimy, looking for his woman. Rafaela saw him from her post behind the bar, slipped into the back hallway, and locked herself in the ladies' room. and Brenda banged through the swinging door into the kitchen, where Roy was helping Hobgood with the cooking. She grabbed her boss by the arm and said: "That motherfucker Morgan just showed up."

It scared her, the look on Roy's face and the way he exploded out into the dining room.

Brenda got in Hobgood's face and hissed, "Go out there and help him, dumb ass." That is not part of my job description, Hobgood thought, but it hit him simultaneously that what appeared to be cowardice on his part in not helping out his new boss might not bode well for ongoing employment. So off he went, sliding along the booths on The Oceanic's south wall as Roy and Morgan stood center floor, chest to chest, barking at each other like a pair of enraged Rottweilers looking to taste each other's blood

Brenda called 911, as Hobgood, knowing he wasn't young enough or in shape enough to go mano-a-mano with this guy. came around behind Morgan and grabbed him in a bear hug from behind, pinning his arms to his sides, giving Roy the chance to throw four punches. Three landed flush on Morgan's mug. One went by Morgan's writhings and clipped Hogbood in the eye. A fifth blow cold cocked dirt bag. He sagged to the ground, out of Hobgood's embrace, and two men jumped out of a booth, out of their spectator mode now that it was safe, and grabbed Morgan's legs and dragged him out onto the sidewalk, as the apparition of Raphaela's mom Juanita sat down at the piano and— over the sound of the dying crowd noise—played into a hushed version of Billie Holiday's "My Man," singing in a hushed voice over spare chords:

"He isn't true, he beats me, too. What can I do?

Morgan regained consciousness in less than a minute. He struggled to his feet and staggered off, leaving a couple teeth in a small pool of blood on the sidewalk, and a busy night resumed at the Oceanic Brew Pub, and Raphaela—who had come out of the restroom to witness the beating of her man—brought some ice wrapped in a dish towel for Hobgood as he worked the grill. The cook took it, pressed it to the swelling eye and said, "Thanks, Rafe."

And she gave him a quick side hug and stepped off the resume her work at the bar.