Chapter 2

Honestly, there isn't really very much to say about my naval career, really. It was the early 1980's and we were more or less at peace with nothing terribly exciting happening much of anywhere. Especially for a Navy cook. Nowadays they call us Culinary Specialists and some cooks have the opportunity to attend the famous CIA (Culinary Institute of America) but that was just a pipe dream in my day.

I never once went to sea. I did basic at Great Lakes, then did my technical school training at ... Great Lakes, then was assigned to my first duty station at ... Great Lakes (slinging hash for some other newly arrived poor fellows doing their basic training).

After over 2 years in Michigan I'd had enough of cold winters to last me a lifetime!

At last I received orders to travel to a strange and faraway land — back home to Texas. Off I went to spend my last 18 or so months in a navy uniform at the Naval Air Station at Corpus Christi. I actually enjoyed my duties working the early morning breakfast shift until lunch and liked having my afternoons free to soak up the sun on the wonderful beaches. I often spent my weekends camping and hiking along the vast expanses of South Padre Island. The only real problem was that I wasn't nearly far enough away from home to suit me but I had a very good boss and I enjoyed my work. NOBODY, even the senior officers, usually ever messed with us cooks and we never got picked for bullshit work details or 'special projects'. Our bosses usually succeeded in keeping us fairly insulated away from 'the real military' and even the greenest Ensign learned fast never to piss off us cooks. Other than putting on a uniform for work, my life wasn't really that much different that it was back at the Waffle.

I hadn't kept up with affairs at home. I wasn't much of a letter writer and I was never any good at picking up the phone to keep in touch with my few friends and family members. My usual means of communication was the annual Christmas card with a very terse greeting and a few odd words about how I've been both pretty busy but not really up to much of anything of importance.

It was something of a surprise to get a message from my boss, a pretty laid back and all-around good Joe of a Petty Officer who had a light hand with us ratings (I still sort of keep in contact with him to this day), that our CO wanted to see me ASAP, now at once. Immediately, if not sooner. I hadn't screwed up anything that I was aware of but a trip to visit either the CO or Chief PO was rarely good news.

It wasn't. My father had died of a heart-attack the previous night and my mother had phoned the Navy and started to get the wheels going to have me home for the funeral. My Emergency Leave orders were already waiting for my signature on his desk. There was just one problem.

"No Sir. Thank you for approving it but it will not be necessary; I do not wish to return home for the funeral. I decline my Leave, Sir." I think he was a bit shocked and surprised but he didn't try and change my mind too much, for which I was grateful. He did request (strongly hinted in a tone that was nearly an order) that I pay a visit that afternoon to a Chaplain and I agreed. I think he just wanted to make sure that I wouldn't start to become a 'problem' for the unit during my final six months or so of remaining service.

I had already decided that I would not be reenlisting, despite the hint of a possible promotion soon to PO3 (the lowest rank of Petty Officer). Folks liked my cooking enough that there were constant threats of promoting me over to work at the Officer's Mess. I had learned how to do some fairly fancy cooking over the years but frankly I liked just flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs. I occasionally had to work a lunch or dinner shift but it was never as much fun for me as working late nights and breakfast. Sooner or later if I stayed in, I was going to end up having to serve rack of lamb to some flag officer on a ship somewhere and that just didn't sound at all like any fun to me. I had long decided that I was not CIA or any other fancy cooking school material.

My mother was furious that I missed the funeral, as the now constant stream of letters to me very clearly indicated. Most of them I ignored. I did give her a brief phone call shortly afterwards that made it very clear to her that I had no regrets about never seeing my father again, alive or dead, from the moment I had left home about five years ago and this was unlikely to ever change. She could accept and respect my decision or she could keep her disappointment with me to herself from now on.

I received a card from her about a week before my final separation from the Navy. She was remarrying, apparently to another old High School friend and sometime work buddy of my dad's that I had vaguely known as a younger child. Apparently, she wasn't too broken up about her husband's death either.

I was not invited to the wedding. At least this marriage seemed to be a happy one according to the few information sources I had. Not too long later they moved into semi-retirement together in Scottsdale, Arizona. Our relations remained strained and for the next ten years we only exchanged our annual Christmas cards.

My four years of military service completed, I was free again in the world but with little or no idea about what next to do with my life. I returned to my home city and found a decent inexpensive apartment complex very near my old pre-Navy one. I had a good deal of savings and wasn't desperate to have to work for a living right away. Military service has never paid well but on the other hand your living expenses are also nearly nothing as well. It evens out and I had developed a very frugal lifestyle even before I went into the Navy.

The Awful Waffle at my old work location was no more, instead it had been bulldozed (no loss) and a new slightly more upscale 24-hour diner had been built in its place. On a whim I stuck my nose in one morning to see if they needed a late night to breakfast cook. They did and the next day I was back at work.

I knew this was just a transition job until I made up my mind about what I really wanted to do with my life. I was still young, in my mid-20's, so I wasn't really in much of a rush. The only thing I had really decided for sure was that I had no interest in completing my Journeyman Electrician certification. I did enjoy cooking though and thought I could be happy sticking with that, especially if I could just work breakfast.

How I survived the next six months without murdering the owner I'll never figure out. More than once I think my guardian angel had to restrain me from sticking a chef's knife into him! Frankly he was absolutely impossible to get along with and few employees lasted longer than a few weeks working for him. Many quit after the first day and some didn't even last that long. He was ill tempered and extremely fussy about every trivial detail of the restaurants operation. Heaven help the poor waitress who did not keep the tabletop sugar canisters refilled at a height of exactly ½ of an inch from the top. A ¾ inch gap or only a ¼ inch gap would not do!

He constantly fiddled with the smooth operation of the kitchen by trying to find ways for us to 'more efficiently' do our jobs (invariably also with cheaper food ingredients). He shadowed the poor waitresses and harassed them to be faster with their service (and sexually harassed the younger ones to provide him with other services in his office). I pointedly ignored him as much as I could but it was hard. He threatened to fire me at least once every week but it was largely a hollow threat; there was no one waiting eagerly to take over my job. I had become popular with some of the morning customers who greatly preferred my cooking to my predecessors and several other competitors in the local area.

I had just about decided it was time move on. I could certainly find a cooking job just about anywhere I wanted to now but I had really liked being within walking distance of my apartment and had been feeling a bit lazy. My plans changed one morning when I was astonished and surprised to see Charli sitting on a lunch counter stool, filling out a job application for one of our perpetually open waitress jobs. Naturally, with her astonishingly good looks, long blonde hair and bubbly personality she was hired on the spot!

We had a loud and joyful reunion but I think the owner was far from pleased that Charli and I had 'a history' and I immediately warned her in private about the lecherous idiot she now worked for. She assured me she was used to 'wandering hands' from bosses and not to do anything 'silly'.

"She could most certainly handle herself." She said and indeed she could. She flirted shamelessly with everyone (including the boss) but made it clear she was 'very' selective about whom she slept with ... which included me for nearly a full week after our reunion. We had a long talk after work one afternoon and she established some very firm conditional ground rules for if she were to shack up with me and very clearly staked out some very definite limits to our relationship.

Basically, we could be only roommates 'with benefits' as the expression now would go. It was made extremely clear that while I could be her primary lover, she reserved the right to take others when or if she wished to but she would never bring them 'home' and mostly likely I would never see or hear of them. Likewise, I could also have other lovers if I chose. Any 'bad scenes' or fits of jealousy and she would 'move on'.

She made it perfectly clear she still had no interest whatsoever in forming any lasting relationships — with anyone. Deal with it or else!

I dealt with it. That sort of a relationship seems odd but she was nothing but honest and up-front about it. These were her terms and conditions and they weren't negotiable. She had plenty of other options and no shortage of other friends that she could stay with. She was nothing but polite about this but she was indeed firm. I decided to accept and take whatever I could get and bide my time for a change in her attitude maybe later.

We did now spend far more time together at work and at home than apart and she never attempted to hide her 'dates' from me. Neither did she ever flaunt them in my face or make me feel to be some sort of a cuckold. It was an amazingly complicated and intricate dance — somehow she could always pull it off without hurting my feelings.

Charli had that one in a million natural gift of being able to walk into a room of strangers and within five minutes everyone would be a life-long friend. She could have made a fortune in either sales or marketing and I saw her on countless occasions charm an angry customer into a happy one with just a few words and a smile.

She liked me 'very much' but she did plainly did not 'love' me. I was content for a while to share her as a roommate. She always paid her half of the rent and other bills but I could soon see her growing increasingly restless. She casually asked if I would mind too terribly if she went back to one of her other evening part time jobs. There was more than a slight hint that she had already made up her mind and that if I objected too much there would be a 'scene' and she'd move out. I wasn't thrilled but I agreed. I had grown to enjoy our evening times that were usually spent together and I have to admit that I was becoming increasingly unhappy with the idea of sharing her at all. I was starting to become a little possessive and jealous and I think Charli was already starting to make her plans to move on.

The fact that her new part time job was 'stripping' at a local 'gentleman's entertainment club' started to eat at me even more. I was jealous — I admit it. She had often done this work before, starting right after she turned eighteen. In fact she had already been a part-time stripper the first time she and I met. She liked the work. It wasn't physically hard or demanding and the money was indeed very, very good. She could and often did make as much in a single night as we together earned in a weekly paycheck at the restaurant. She was fairly frugal with her money as well, much like I was but she wasn't 'cheap' and often offered to pay for our entertainment or other extra random household expenses.

Rather than risk an open jealous fight, I somehow ground my teeth trying to keep my mood pleasant. I think at the time I was very confused and conflicted and I'm sure Charli could sense it (she was a very smart and 'aware' girl and little got past her notice).

I don't think really I loved her but I was terribly afraid of losing her ... and I knew I would sooner or later.

It was sooner rather than later. Charli was having increasing problems with keeping our boss out of her panties and his hands off of her tits (Charli loved sex — but not with 'creepy' bosses). One day he went a little too far with her. He had tried to stick his hands up into her panties as far as they would go and she had responded by kneeing him in the crotch as hard and far as it would go. We both quit on the spot and received a standing ovation from the other restaurant staff as we walked out the door. I think everyone else quit almost immediately afterwards since a few weeks later the restaurant was closed and remained boarded up for over a year until the property was apparently sold and bulldozer as part of a new strip mall. Sexual harassment lawsuits weren't as popular or as successful in those days as they are now. Today Charli could have easily won a civil case and become a millionaire but she was never that type of girl. She laughed the whole thing off and probably had nearly forgotten all about him by the time we reached home.

Charli soon had new plans for her future. It was time she announced to 'pay a visit' to some old friends living a few hours south of us in Victoria. There was relatively little fanfare or discussion; her mind was quite made up.

"It's been fun but..."

She said this more than a few times over the next couple of hours while she packed her relatively few important personal belongings into her bags. She hated long drawn-out goodbyes too and with some vague promises of seeing me again later she headed off to the bus station. She had refused my offer of a ride to Victoria, insisting that she much preferred to travel alone.

For the second time she had entered and now left my life and it hurt just as much this time as it had the first. I found myself alone and not enjoying it very much. Finding a new and better job was easy — finding something to occupy the too many empty hours of my life was much harder.

Charli had left quite a few items at our apartment and after about a month of looking at them I resolved to gather them all up and pay her a 'surprise visit' in Victoria. She had left her forwarding address with me in case I needed to send any final paychecks or important mail to her.

It sounded like a good idea at the time, honest!

Actually, it was very clear from the moment that I rang the doorbell that my presence was a little bit of an embarrassment to Charli and the couple she was staying with. My protestations that I was there merely as a one-time only delivery driver did seem to soothe any tangled nerves. Her friends seemed to be good folks and we actually all got along quite well after our awkward and unexpected introduction. It was made very subtly clear however that Charli was in fact an old lover of both of them and she shared their bed the one and only night I stayed with them. I was on an old but comfortable sofa and had no complaints. There was no 'drama' and no one made any scenes. My heart was broken in a dozen little ways but I kept a smile on my face and resolved to 'behave' myself.