Tastes Like Chicken

by Lolita Files

“Then I guess that means I was effective.”

  “Hmph.”

  “So why don’t you come over?” he said. “I’ll cook us something to eat.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  She imagined him standing in a sprawling kitchen in a fabulous house in the Hollywood Hills, chopping cilantro and onions, tossing them with shrimp into a sizzling wok. She figured him to be a good cook, considering the way he relished both eating and sex. James was a sensualist. It would only make sense that same zeal would translate into culinary skills.

  “What are you going to cook?” she asked.

  “Let me surprise you,” he said. “You just show up.”

  Reesy stretched her legs, considering his offer. It was rainy and cold, but she wouldn’t mind being around some company. She looked at the puppies. They’d be okay.

  “Alright,” said Reesy. “Give me your address.”

  She did Mapquest on the computer before she left. James had tried to give her directions, but she preferred the computerized method over everything else. It was foolproof.

  She took the 105 to the 110, getting off a few exits before downtown.

  She headed east. The neighborhood had a distinct inner-city feel to it.

  This wasn’t the Hollywood Hills. She knew that much for sure.

  The directions led her to a weathered apartment building. Guys were hanging out front despite the rain. They watched her, eyeing Black as she pulled into a parking space.

  Shit, she thought, where the fuck is this?

  “’Zup,” one of the guys said with a nod as he blocked the doorway.

  “Hi,” she said, respecting the rules of the street.

  “Yo, that’s a Boxster, right?” another one asked.

  “Yeah,” Reesy replied, stopping and making eye contact with him. She saw him check out her engagement ring.

  “Dayum, baby,” he said. “Somebody must be lovin’ you right.”

  She smiled.

  Reesy had learned a long time ago that men in groups could be like dangerous dogs. If they sensed fear, they preyed upon it, often reacting as a pack to take their victim down. If a person took them head-on, though, then respect was due. Reesy wasn’t about to give off fear. The man stepped aside and let her pass.

  “Hey,” she asked, “what area is this?”

  “This is Watts, baby,” the guy replied.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  Watts, she thought. She’d heard Fred Sanford talk about this place too. If she remembered right, it was riot-prone. Maybe that was a long time ago. She wasn’t sure. What she was sure of was this wasn’t the Hills.

  She walked into the building. The hall was pissy and dirty. A stack of soiled diapers leaned beside the elevator. The sound of loud music could be heard coming from behind one of the doors on the first floor.

  She pressed the elevator button several times. The doors creaked open and, after she got on and pushed the button for the fifth floor, the doors struggled shut. It was a small, claustrophobic box with an ammonia stench. She wondered if she had taken down the wrong directions. This couldn’t be where James Rivers lived. He was a producer, and, from what she knew, this wasn’t how Hollywood producers lived.

  When the elevator doors opened, she walked down the hall to apartment 521. She gave the door a tentative knock. She could hear the sound of a TV. She knocked again.

  The door opened. James stood there in all his fineness. He flashed his dazzling smile.

  “You made it,” he said, embracing her and guiding her in.

  “Yeah,” she said, looking around. The pungent scent of sage rushed over her.

  “What’s that you’re cooking?”

  “I made my specialty,” James replied with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Sausages and rice.”

  The apartment was as spartan as any she had ever seen. There was a black leather couch, a sixty-inch high-definition TV, a DVD player, about fifty DVDs, a Sony PlayStation, a glass coffee table, a floor lamp, and an orange candle. There was no artwork of any kind.

  “Sit down,” he said. “Let me fix our plates.”

  Reesy sat on the couch. There was no dining table. She assumed they would eat while they watched TV.

  Pulp Fiction was playing. The scene where Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta had to clean smattered brains from a car. Reesy watched the screen. After a second, she didn’t feel so hungry anymore.

  James came in with two plates and set them on the coffee table in front of her. He went back into the kitchen.

  Reesy stared at her dinner. It was a big piece of kielbasa, scored and browned, smothered with onions. Beside it was a mound of white rice with a small pat of butter melting in the middle.

  She wondered if him feeding her sausage was some sort of ghetto mind trick—foreshadowing of what he planned on stuffing her with later. The food smelled good, but it was not the cilantro-shrimp stir-fry she had envisioned.

  James returned with two Heinekens and sat beside her.

  “You drink beer?” he asked as he put one before her.

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  He began to eat at once. Reesy was startled at his abruptness even though she had experienced this with him before. She bowed her head and said silent grace. She knew this was a time when she would most need divine protection.

  Samuel L. Jackson was on TV complaining about being on brain detail.

  “Perhaps we want to fast-forward from the gore since we’re eating, you think?” she said.

  James glanced at her, his mouth full of food. He swallowed, licked his fingers, and picked up the remote. He stopped the movie and turned to Entertainment Tonight.

  Reesy was just biting into her sausage when she noticed a leggy brown roach creeping across the opposite wall. She put down the sausage and took a long swig of beer.

  James leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, leaving a greasy spot where his lips had been.

  Reesy picked at the rice to make it seem like she was eating. Her ring seemed brighter than ever.

  She wondered what Dandre was doing.

  James had her pinned on the sofa with her legs wide open and raised in the air. She had managed to elude his meal but there was no avoiding what he wanted to eat.

  His face was buried between her thighs. Reesy’s eyes were closed and her mouth was open. James was good, very good, but her thoughts were not in Watts. They were far, far away, in a brownstone on the Upper West Side, in the bed of the man she’d almost married. He used to do her like this, only better. This time around, the fucker’s remorse was settling in before the act had even started.

  There was a thunderous knock at the door. A banging sound that startled them both.

  “James,” a woman’s voice screamed. “James. Open this damn door right now. I know you’re in there. If I have to use my key, muthafucka, it’s on.”

  Reesy scuttled away from him. James’s face bore an expression of clear panic.

  “Who the hell is that?” asked Reesy.

  “Sssh,” James said. “Don’t say anything.”

  The woman pounded the door again.

  “I hear the TV, James. I know you’re in there. I can smell that damn sausage.”

  “James,” Reesy whispered. “Who is that?”

  “It’s Ray,” he said.

  “The woman from the audition? Your associate producer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is she your girl?”

  “Well,” he said, “we kinda live together. I didn’t know she was going to be back so soo—”

  Reesy pushed him out of the way and pulled on her clothes. The pounding at the door continued.

  “James,” the woman screamed.

  “How can I get out of here without any beef?”

  “Act like you just came by to pick up a script,” he said.

  “You know I don’t give a fuck about a script, right? After this
, I don’t want shit to do with you.”

  “Fine, whatever,” he said. “Just play it off for now. Ray is crazy. I never know if she’s packing heat.”

  He got up and fastened his jeans, then rushed the plates and empty beer bottles to the kitchen.

  Ray banged at the door. Reesy heard her put a key in the door.

  James grabbed a script from beside the TV. He handed it to Reesy. She was standing there looking at the script when Ray walked in.

  “How come you didn’t open the damn door?” she asked.

  James frowned at her.

  “Because,” he said, “I was trying to explain to her about the character, and how we plan on doing this, once we get the funding.”

  “You don’t have the money to make this yet?” Reesy said. She shook her head. “I don’t believe this.”

  “Now look what you’ve done, Ray,” he said. “You’re scaring her off. We’re never gonna get this shit made if you keep bugging out like this.”

  “I’m out,” Reesy said as she walked past a stupefied Ray.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” she heard the girl say to James.

  Reesy slammed the door behind her and prayed that Black was still outside in one piece.

  * * *

  It was 9:45 as she navigated the 110 South. She figured now was a good time to call her parents and tell them she had moved. After the scene she had just left, she found herself needing the anchoring of her father’s voice.

  She dialed from her cell phone. The call was answered on the very first ring.

  “Hello.”

  It was her mother. Wide awake and very alert at forty-five minutes past midnight.

  “Hi, Tyrene.”

  “Daughter,” Tyrene said with undisguised relief. “Where are you? Your number at home is disconnected, and you haven’t been answering your cellular phone.”

  “When did you call my cell phone?” Reesy asked.

  “Tonight. Several times. I didn’t leave messages.”

  “Well, there you go. I had it turned off, so there’s no way I’d know you called.”

  “Where are you? Why is your home phone disconnected? Do you need money?”

  “I moved, Tyrene.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, as long as you’re safe.”

  “What?” Reesy would have never predicted her mother’s response.

  “Listen, Teresa, I’ve got a bit of a concern. Do you think there’s any way that you can come home for a few days?”

  “Why? Is there something wrong?”

  “Well, I don’t want to alarm you, but I think your father’s gone crazy. He destroyed his office at work today and he’s been downstairs locked up in the library. I can hear him in there pacing back and forth. He won’t speak to any of us. Not Anushka, not me. The only person he halfway deals with is that ballplayer Trini. Maybe you can come and talk some sense into him.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I think he’s cracking up. He hasn’t been right since we came back from New York.”

  Reesy’s brow furrowed. Why was everything so insane? she wondered. She glanced up at the sky. A full moon peeked from behind the clouds.

  That explains it, she thought.

  “I’ll see if I can get a flight out tomorrow,” Reesy said.

  “Thank you, daughter. We really need your help.”

  She was just pulling up to her house when her cell phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “What’s up, mami? I’ve been waiting to hear back from you to find out how that audition went. So what happened?”

  “I got the part,” she said, “but I don’t want it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” she said, “it was bogus. They don’t even have the money to make it.”

  “That’s how folks get down in L.A. every day. Everybody’s a producer. Everybody’s got a film. Most of them don’t have any money.”

  “You’ve done this kind of thing to someone before, haven’t you?”

  “It’s a good hustle,” he said. “A nice way to get ass. I’ve fucked mad hoes by telling them I’m a producer.”

  Reesy was silent.

  “Uh-oh, mami. Did one of ’em give you a callback?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice was just above a whisper.

  “Did you do him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn,” he said.

  She was sitting in the driveway with the engine off and her head leaned back against the seat.

  “He lives in a broke-down apartment in Watts and I don’t think he has a car.” She paused. “I’m scared of this place. The rules are crazy.”

  “There are no rules,” said Sleazy. “Perhaps you should think about giving your boy another chance.”

  “Where’d that come from?”

  “I’m just saying. The odds of finding a good one out here are slimmer than slim. From what you said this morning, it sounds like what happened with y’all can be fixed.”

  “Well, that’s not happening any time soon, if ever.”

  “Why is that?” he asked.

  “Because,” she said, “I’m going home to Florida tomorrow. Hey, do you think I can get you to watch the dogs?”

  “Sure, mami.”

  “Great. I’ll leave a key under the mat and let my landlord know that you’ll be coming by.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just remember, Sleazy—don’t let them out the front door or out of the yard without a leash. And if you give them access through the doggie door, make sure the garden gate that leads to the backyard is closed so they can’t get out.”

  “I know, mami, I know.”

  “I know you know. I’m just making sure.” She got out of the car. “They’ve got puppy chow, but I’ll leave some money so you can get them some chicken.”

  “Chicken?”

  “Yeah. They like those roasted hens they have at Ralph’s. Be sure to give them the bones.”

  “Sure.”

  “And make sure they have lots of ice water, and get some cheese cubes. They love those things.”

  “Damn,” Sleazy said. “Those little fuckers eat better than me.”

  “She’s going to Fort Lauderdale.”

  “When?” Dandre asked.

  “Tomorrow. Apparently there’s some kind of drama with her folks. She said she’s going to see if she can leave first thing on whatever airline has a flight open.”

  Sleazy and Dandre were at the beach house. The twins had been packed up and moved out. There was nary a trace of them left.

  Sleazy was on the couch. Dandre was pacing as he nursed a drink.

  “Did she say how long she’d be gone?”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  Dandre kept pacing. He sipped his scotch.

  “Mind if I light up?” Sleazy asked.

  “Nah, man, do your thing.”

  Sleazy clipped his stogie and fired it. He took a few puffs, then exhaled the pungent smoke into the air. His two-way beeped. He grabbed it off the coffee table and checked it, typed something back, then put it down.

  “I’m going down there,” Dandre said.

  Sleazy took another puff, then reached for his drink on the coffee table.

  “How are you going to explain that?” he asked. “She’s going to think you’re stalking her. You’ve gotta handle this carefully. There’s a fine line between loving somebody and freaking them the fuck out.”

  “I haven’t approached her yet. The most I’ve done is put puppies on her doorstep. I haven’t even been stressing her with calls. I know where she lives, but I haven’t shown up on her unannounced.”

  He sat in one of the leather armchairs.

  “So how are you going to explain it?” Sleazy asked.

  “I’ll figure that out when I get there. I know where her folks live. She and I were just there a couple of months ago.”

  Sleazy shrugged. “Do what you gotta do, man.” His two-way went off again. He picked it up.

  Dandre nod
ded and finished his drink. He watched the big guy typing on the tiny box. He was relieved that wasn’t his life anymore. Phone tag, two-ways, wild parties—the perpetual quest for the next piece of ass. He’d had his fill of that life. Watching Sleazy made his need to reconnect with Reesy seem even more urgent.

  “So how’d she say her audition went?”

  Sleazy puffed his cigar and shrugged again.

  “She said it was wack. I don’t think she’s too keen on the way they do things out here.”

  Sleazy continued to puff his cigar. He blew smoke rings in between sipping his drink.

  He was still surprised about Reesy’s encounter with the producer, but he figured he’d keep it to himself. As far as Reesy and Dandre knew, they were both 0-and-0. Even though each had had sex with a stranger since his or her arrival in town, neither party was happy about it.

  Don’t ask, don’t tell, Sleazy thought. That seemed to be the best route for him to go.

  Where My Dogs At

  Hill was sitting in first class, headed back to D.C.

  It was morning, just after ten, but he was already drinking the heavy stuff. He needed it. The scotch was necessary to help chase away what he was feeling for Tyrene.

  They had spoken by phone before he left. He’d uttered the L word again.

  “Would you stop it,” she said, sitting in her office. “This is just an affair.”

  “I don’t have affairs,” had been his reply. “I’ve never been with a married woman. I’ve never had to.”

  “Then get over it. It’s just sex.”

  “So you don’t love me at all?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Hill, I don’t know. I like you a lot. I don’t know what I feel. There’s chaos in my house right now. My husband is on the rampage. He won’t even speak to me. He didn’t come into the office today. I’m only here for a few minutes, then I’m going back home.”

  “Do you think he knows about us?”

  “He can’t. I’ve done nothing to give him any indication that this is going on.” She paused. “Was going on.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later this afternoon. On second thought, maybe not today. My daughter’s on her way here.”

  “From California?”

  “California? No. She was in the Poconos.”