Tastes Like Chicken

by Lolita Files

  Hill stopped and turned to her.

  “Alyssa.” He took a moment to check his anger. He’d lost enough control already that day. “Didn’t I tell you that drugs are a no-no? What are you, crazy? What if something happens to you? You want me to lose my license to practice? Forget the fact that I’m a black man.”

  “Oh, and what a black man you are…”

  “This isn’t funny.” He was stern now. Paternal. About as sexual as a spore.

  “But Hill…” she whimpered.

  “But Hill, my ass. Look at all the liquor you drank. I don’t know what that stuff can do when you mix it with some man-made shit like Ecstasy. This is bad, Alyssa, real bad.”

  “Oh no, Hill, no.”

  Oh yes, he thought, oh yes, yes, yes. The white-girl phase, for him, was deader than those sacs of saline she was packing up front.

  He made for the door.

  “I know,” Alyssa said with a grin. “Can I call some of my girlfriends over? Maybe we can help get you back into the spirit of things.”

  “I can tell you right now you won’t be getting any action out of me tonight,” he said. Or ever, he thought. “Call them if you want. What you guys do is your business, but there better not be any drugs in here.”

  “Hmmm,” she said, legs open wide, rubbing herself as she contemplated the ceiling. “I haven’t had an all-girl-fest in weeks. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”

  Hill stood in the doorway staring between her bare golden legs. Nothing.

  “Just have them out of here by two,” he said as he left. “And if you think that’s going to be a problem, let me know and I’ll get another room.”

  “I’m still waiting for an apology.”

  Tyrene stared at her husband’s broad yellow back. A thicket of hair raged across it like a rampant fire.

  “Tyrone,” she said. “Tyrone, answer me. This is outrageous.” She waited for him to acknowledge her, but he didn’t. “Instead of having my back,” she said, “you choose to curse me out in a room full of people. How could you do that to me? What were you thinking?”

  Tyrene shoved him. He responded with a deep grunt that she recognized as sleep.

  “I can’t believe this,” she said, getting up from the bed. “Here I am losing my mind about Reesy, and he drops right off like it was nothing. You big hairy muthafucka. We will talk about this. You can best believe that.”

  She walked over to her suitcase, ransacking the contents, throwing things onto the floor until she located what she needed. She grabbed a black cable-knit sweater and pulled it over her head, then slipped into a pair of black slacks. She snatched a pair of black ankle boots from the suitcase and sat on the edge of the bed, still mumbling as she pulled them on.

  “Fine. Go to sleep, you fat fuck. You’ve got to wake up soon enough.”

  She snatched her coat from the closet, determined to go for a walk. She remembered that she was in New York and that her big fat fuck of a husband wouldn’t accompany her. Tyrene knew, as huffy as she was, she wasn’t prepared to walk the streets alone. She tossed the coat aside, grabbed the key from the nightstand, and left.

  Tyrone waited until he heard her angry stomping grow softer, then disappear. He opened his eyes and stared at the wall. He wondered how his daughter was doing. The fact that he could have lost her rattled him to his core. Why did Tyrene keep bringing it up? His grandchild was dead. Both of these blows had almost felled him. They were enough to make him revisit a habit that had once almost torn him and his wife apart.

  He hoped Reesy was sleeping well and that her mind was a little at ease.

  He reached up and wiped a tear as it made a perpendicular streak down the side of his face.

  “But you’re already registered as a guest in one room.”

  “I know,” said a frustrated Hill. “But I’d like to get another one.”

  The hotel attendant poked at the keyboard and squinted at the computer screen. Hill’s temples throbbed. He didn’t want to go up later and have to deal with Alyssa’s shenanigans. He figured he’d go ahead and get a room now.

  “So you want to check out of the one you’re in?” she asked.

  “No. I want to keep the room I’m in now. In fact, there are about eight rooms that I’m paying for this weekend, and I’d like to keep those too.”

  “Oh really,” the pretty redhead said. She poked and punched some more. “Oh yes, right, there it is right there. George S. Hilliard, M.D.” She looked up at him, her green eyes dancing.

  “So you’re a doctor, yes?”

  The white-girl phase was toast. Even without the Tyrene episode, they were bringing it upon themselves.

  “Yes, I’m a doctor. Do you have an extra room?”

  She poked again.

  “Smoking or nonsmoking?”

  “As long as it’s not on fire, I don’t care.”

  She punched and pushed, got a key, put it in a cute little folder, and handed it to him.

  “It’s on the first floor,” she said. “If that’s a problem, just let us know.”

  Hill was halfway to the bar before he realized she was still talking.

  Tyrene walked right past Dandre as she exited the elevator on her way to the lobby. He was relieved she didn’t see him. He watched her make her way toward the bar.

  That must mean Tyrone’s alone, he thought. He wanted to try to talk to Reesy’s father. Perhaps he could make him understand that he did love his daughter, and that he planned to do everything in his power to care for her and protect her well-being.

  “You do like him, admit it,” said Tonio, stepping naked from the shower. “I saw how you kept staring at his dingle.”

  “Honey, that’s not a dingle,” Julian said. “That’s a dongle.”

  “See? See? See what I’m saying?” Tonio walked into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist.

  “Why the modesty, babe?” Julian said. He and Tonio never shielded their nakedness.

  “Because you call mine a dingle.”

  Julian got up from the bed and slid his nude body into his favorite ruby red silk robe.

  “You’re silly,” he said. “You’re just looking to pick a fight. You need to be like me, worried about how my girl’s doing over at that hospital all by herself.”

  “Misty said she was doing okay.”

  Julian stuck his feet into a pair of fleece slippers. His ankles were ashy. He reached for a container of mango butter and slathered the lotion against his skin.

  “She’s in the hospital,” he said. “How okay can that be?”

  “I guess you’re right,” said Tonio. “So how come mine’s not a dongle?”

  Julian, still bent over, looked up at him.

  “Sweetie, you’re gonna have to ask your folks about that.” He stood. “I’m going to get some ice. I’ll be right back.”

  He grabbed the bucket and the key and headed out. Tonio undid the towel and glanced at himself.

  “I do have a dongle.” He reached down and lifted it. “Sorta.”

  “Give me a scotch on the rocks,” Hill said to the bartender.

  “Single-malt, please, Glenfiddich if you have it.”

  “Make that two,” said a voice sliding into the seat beside him.

  Hill’s head dropped. No, no, no, he thought. Not now. Not here. He didn’t need this.

  He had a headache. He had an almost-daughter-in-law laid up in the hospital and a son two hysterics shy of jumping off the roof. He had a white girl upstairs on the verge of an orgiastic Ecstasy crash that would ensure his well-crafted career went down in a glorious blaze of ignominy.

  And as if that weren’t enough, his now rock-hard dick was thumping something fierce.

  Dandre knocked at Tyrone and Tyrene’s hotel room door. His rap was gentle at first. It was late, past eleven, and he didn’t want to make a fuss.

  He rapped a little harder. He put his ear to the door. He thought he heard movement, then the sudden sound of heavy snoring.

  He
stood, perplexed for a moment, his knuckles raised to knock again.

  Go to bed, his better judgment said.

  Seeing as ignoring his better judgment in the past was what had gotten him into this jam to begin with, he figured it was time he started to listen.

  Tyrone had been pacing the room, smoking an extra cigarette he had gotten from the woman outside the hospital. The knocks at the door startled him. Tyrene must have forgotten her key.

  He opened one of the dresser drawers and mashed the cigarette out inside. He waved at the air with frantic motions to kill the scent, then made a perfect Mark Spitz for the bed. The mattress let out an agonizing creak when he landed. His snoring commenced at once. The rapping continued.

  Let her go back downstairs and get another key, he thought.

  For the first time, his wife had gotten on his nerves so bad, if he could have choked her and gotten away with it, she would have been wearing a palm necklace that night.

  Julian’s bucket was filled with unnecessary ice when he saw Dandre get off the elevator. He’d been hoping to get another glimpse of him.

  It’s not like he wanted Reesy’s man. He loved her to pieces, and had seen the two of them go through so much over the past few months, even though Dandre might now be a free agent. No, he realized, he wouldn’t do that to Reesy. Besides, he loved Tonio, dingle and all.

  He was just curious. It was so big in the photo, and that redheaded girl was taking it all. He just had to see it. He wondered if Dandre would show it to him. Everybody always commented to Julian about how much he was packing, which was why he liked to show it off in his tights at work. Maybe he and Dandre could compare notes, sort of mano a mano, but different. More like dongo a dongo.

  He could ask, he thought. What harm would that do?

  “And now he’s smoking again,” she said. “He’s gone crazy. It’s like I don’t even know him anymore.”

  Hill was on his third scotch. The last two were straight, no rocks. He was hoping the heat from the swill would kill the fire down below. He figured if he didn’t look at her, his rise would fall.

  Neither tactic had proved effective. There was something about her endless yammering and the shrill pitch of her nonstop voice that challenged him. He wanted to physically shut her up. Shove himself so deep inside that bottomless trap that she wouldn’t think of talking for the next ten years.

  “I got another room,” he said when she paused for a breath.

  He sipped his drink with casual effort, not even looking at her. She was quiet for a moment. She thought of her husband. The first image that came to mind was the look on his face as he’d barked “fuck you” at her.

  Tyrene pursed her lips and tried to steel the shaking in her body. She was nervous, and more than a little bit frightened. Nothing had gone the way she planned this weekend. Not her daughter’s wedding. Then there was the miscarriage. Tyrone’s outburst. And now she was on the verge of committing full-blown adultery. This wouldn’t be a blip like the kiss-’n’-grope scene in the vending room. There was no sweeping this kingsized dilemma under anyone’s rug.

  “Did you hear me?” asked Hill.

  Tyrene picked up her drink and hurled it against the back of her throat. She loved her husband, but he’d left her alone one time too many that day.

  “Is that white girl still in it?” she asked.

  “I said I got another room,” Hill replied. “It’s on this floor.”

  Tyrene stood. Hill stood too, making a signing motion at the bartender.

  He cashed them out and brought over a receipt. Hill pulled the cute little folder out of his pocket and looked at the room number. He wrote it on the bill, signed his name, then touched Tyrene in the small of her back as he guided her through the lobby, around the corner, and into the privacy of his old bird chamber.

  “Hey, Julian. I’m surprised you’re still up. I figured almost everybody was knocked out by now.”

  “Yeah, man, this day was crazy. My adrenaline’s high. It’s kinda hard to sleep, you know?”

  “Yeah, I hear ya,” Dandre said, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. Julian put his hand on Dandre’s shoulder.

  “It’s gonna be alright, man. Really. I mean, those weren’t, like, recent pictures or anything…were they?”

  “Nah, man,” Dandre said, leaning toward him. He was relieved to have someone that was considered Reesy’s friend believe him.

  “That shit happened over three years ago. I haven’t been with anybody since Reesy. That girl is my heart.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” Julian said, rubbing his shoulder. “I understand you, man. I know you love her. I saw what y’all went through, remember? I mean, because of you, we still have a show on Broadway.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d do anything for her. She makes me rise to my better self, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Oh yes,” said Julian, the bucket blocking his own self’s rising. He tilted his head back and forth a few times, measuring the moment.

  “So you doing okay?” he asked. “You need anything?”

  The hand that had been rubbing Dandre’s shoulder was now making its way down toward his wrist.

  “I’m straight, man,” Dandre said with a weak smile and a look of gratitude. “I appreciate you asking. I think I just need to unwind, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Julian said. “Unwinding is probably a good idea.”

  His hand was now past Dandre’s wrist, hovering near his belly.

  Dandre had closed his eyes again and was rubbing his temples. He was tired, worried, on edge, oblivious to everything. He wanted to go back to the hospital. The thought of Reesy there alone, because of him, was the most unsettling thing of all.

  “You look exhausted,” Julian said.

  “Yeah,” Dandre replied, eyes still closed. “My head feels so tight.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” said Julian. “I can imagine. You just need to relax. Let yourself feel good for a minute.”

  His hand was on Dandre’s crotch a few seconds before the sensation registered. Dandre opened his eyes, confused. He glanced down at Julian’s hand clutching his nuts.

  “Man, what the—?”

  “Mmmmfffhmmmfffummmphhh,” Tyrene grunted as she knelt between the legs of a standing Hill, pulling him deep into her mouth. His trousers were around his ankles and his Mandela was free.

  “Shut up, you old hen, and take it.”

  She did. Tyrene grabbed him in both hands and gag-reflexed him in a move he’d only seen done on film. By Janet Jackme maybe, but never by anyone in the flesh.

  “Good grief,” he cried, falling back on the bed.

  She pounced on him with her petiteness and rode him like she was Billy Shoemaker. She stared into his eyes as he gazed up at her, mesmerized.

  “I think I could love you, you evil broad,” Hill murmured.

  “Shut up, you old fool, and fuck me,” she said.

  Tonio had been watching from the cracked door of their room. He suspected that Julian was up to no good. And considering how freaky Dandre was in those pictures, no telling what he was down for.

  “Get off my man,” he screamed, running up the hall in just the towel. “Get off him. I knew it. I knew it. I knew this shit was about to go down.”

  Dandre’s attention shifted from Julian to Tonio, who was flying at him like a black banshee. Halfway there, the towel fell off.

  “Oh Lawd,” Julian said, dropping his head into his hand.

  “What the fuck is wrong with y’all?” Dandre said, several feet now between him and Julian. “My girl is in the hospital, and the two of you are out here fucking around with some stupid sex antics. Ain’t nobody thinking about no damn sex right now.” He glared at Julian, his jaw tight, fists clenched. “You’re lucky I don’t fuck you up for that shit you just pulled.”

  Tonio rushed Dandre, pushing him against the wall and clocking him in the right eye.

  “What the—?” said Dandre, shoving him off.

  “You and your dongle keep a
way from my man,” Tonio screamed. “Go handle your own business. I got this.”

  Doors opened and heads peeked out. Tyrone heard the scuffle but stayed put for fear of unearthing Tyrene.

  “C’mon, babe,” Julian said, “before they call security.” He led Tonio past the peering faces. “C’mon. Get your towel there. Yeah. Pick it up. We don’t want all the nice nosy white folks looking at your dingle.”

  Tyrene lay entangled in Hill’s arms, breathing in the smell of him. It was a sensual, animal scent mixed with a light sesame that made her want to taste him again. When she had gone to the lobby, it was with the hope of finding him again, just to see if what had happened in the hospital vending room had indeed been a fluke. When she came upon him in the hotel bar, she knew it hadn’t been. She wanted more. When he took her to his room and rent her ways she hadn’t been by Tyrone in years, she felt like the young, fiery Panther she’d once been. In that moment, she was a woman with a purpose. And as Hill mounted her and spanked her fifty-eight-year-old tight yellow ass, she was given a taste of power that she hadn’t felt in years.

  There was something about the way he talked to her. So vulgar and disrespectful on the surface, but she could tell he was in awe of her in a guarded kind of way.

  “What happened to your eye?” the bartender asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You sure?” he said. “That’s what they pay me for.”

  “Nah, man. I just want this day to be over with. Lemme have another scotch.”

  The bartender poured him his sixth Glenfiddich.

  “You’re not planning on driving, are you?” he asked, hesitating.

  “I’m upstairs. I’m about to call it a night.”

  The bartender pushed him the drink.

  “You want the check?”

  “Yeah, man. Gimme the check.”

  The bartender rung him up and gave him the receipt. Dandre scribbled his room number, wrote in the tip, and signed his name.

  “I’m outta here, chief,” he said, getting up with care. “Take it easy.”