Chuck’s Place

Shelby sat down on the backless stool and ordered a Bud Light. She squinted through a window, yellowed with years of BBQ pit smoke. Looking back, she smiled at the familiar walls smeared brown. The greasy air clouded the mirror behind the bar. Taking a sip, she appreciated the cool amber liquid. Chuck’s wasn’t like most BBQ joints in that regard. The beer was actually cold, not like that piss warm beer they served at Three Pigs down the road. Absent mindedly, Shelby picked at her beer label and scraped lines into the label softened with condensation.

“Dammit, Danny” she thought. “Late again.” She’d already been forced to skip lunch due to the open house going late, and now this. She was selling her house—a bigger undertaking than she’d hoped for—even with the bad market. The plan was to move in with Danny as soon as possible. She’d explained to her mother that she loved him and besides, the money she’d save on bills alone would make it worth it.

“Hi Chuck.” Shelby said.

Chuck had come out of the kitchen to mingle with the guests; his usual routine for a Friday evening. He cradled a slab of pork ribs, baked beans, and collard greens. Shelby’s favorite. Grunting, he sat them down with a thud in front of her. The cutting board on which they were served stretched nearly to the front edge of the bar and sauce dribbled lazily down the sides to pool below the edges of the fall-off-the-bone meat.

“Chuck, I’m not ready for food yet. I’m waiting on Danny.”

“And how is Danny?” Chuck asked dryly. He didn’t like the man. There was something about him that Chuck had only recently been able to put his finger on. He didn’t like the way Danny treated Shelby and he sure as hell didn’t like the way Danny told everyone how much he hated Chuck’s food.

“He’s fine Chuck. He’s just running late.”

“What time was he supposed to meet you?”

“Six”

“It’s already a quarter till seven.” Go ahead and eat. On the house. If he gets here, I’ll make sure to invite him back to the kitchen.”

S

helby knew what Chuck meant. Danny had a habit of getting drunk at Chuck’s Place and telling people how dirty the kitchen must be in order to “make shit like that”. Just as Chuck hated Danny, there had been several things about Chuck that Danny didn’t like either. Especially the way he looked at Shelby.

It was nearly eight o’clock by the time she’d finished her rack of ribs and both sides.

“How’s Danny?” Chuck asked smiling.

“He didn’t show. Again” Shelby didn’t look up.

“No. I meant your food. How was Danny?”