Tastes Like Chicken Read online

  “Who?”

  “Richard T. Jones.”

  Reesy shrugged.

  “To tell you the truth, darling, I can’t answer that question, because I don’t know who the hell that is.”

  They went to the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. The sun was out a little. They walked among the various shops, drifting in and out of stores. Reesy and Rhiannon both bought a few things.

  “This place is nice,” Reesy said.

  “Yeah, it’s a pretty cool spot. Everybody comes here.”

  They passed by a Borders bookstore.

  “Hey,” Rhiannon said. “Let’s go in here.”

  Reesy lingered at the front of the store, checking out the new releases.

  “I’ll be over in the African-American section,” Rhiannon said and walked off.

  Reesy flipped through a book called Cooking Italy. She had just bought the book, two weeks before the wedding. Dandre loved Italian food and she had intended to master some of his favorite dishes.

  “Whatever,” she mumbled.

  She wandered over to the African-American fiction section. An ocean of books stared out at her. Reesy took a step back, overwhelmed.

  “Jeez, when did this happen?”

  Rhiannon came up behind her.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “All these freaking books.”

  “These?” Rhiannon reached out and took one from the shelf, something written by one of those three-name authors that were all the rage. “These books have been here. How can you act like you don’t know about black books? You seem so smart.”

  “I do know about black books. I just didn’t know it had come to this.”

  Rhiannon held up the back cover of the one in her hand. Eric something-something. Reesy thought she saw the word dick in there somewhere. She was an expert at spotting dicks.

  “I love him,” Rhiannon murmured, stroking the man’s face.

  “And he’s really fuckable, don’t you think?”

  Reesy made a mental note to add the Dick writer to Rhiannon’s ever-growing list of fuckable men.

  “If it wasn’t for these books, I wouldn’t be able to sit through getting my tracks put in.”

  “You have tracks?” Reesy asked, startled out of her book daze. She studied Rhiannon’s head for the telltale humps.

  “Yeah.” Rhiannon shook her lustrous mane of loaner hair.

  “You didn’t even know, did you?”

  Reesy looked closer, shaking her head. It was fabulous work. Imperceptible to the naked eye.

  “Can I touch it?” Reesy’s hand was already on Rhiannon’s crown. She palmed the top, then felt along the back. Everything was smooth, barring the random surface variations that only a good palming would detect, and even then, those variations could pass as dips in the topography of Rhiannon’s natural dome. The texture and color were seamless.

  “It’s good, ain’t it?” the girl gloated. “I go to this chick on Sunset. She does all the stars. You wouldn’t believe some of the people in this town who got weaves.”

  “What else on you is fake?” Reesy asked.

  Rhiannon was stunned by the abruptness of the question. She’d never been asked in such a bald-faced manner.

  “Well,” she stammered, “it’s not like I’ve had a buncha stuff done.”

  “What qualifies as ‘not a buncha stuff’ to you?”

  Rhiannon’s eyes went up a little to the left as she did a mental checklist. Her lips moved but no words came out as she began to count on her fingers the litany of physical tweakings she’d had. She double-counted and threw herself off. She shook her head and her hands and began her tally again, this time aloud.

  “Let’s see…there’s my hair…my nails,” she held out her fiery-red talons, “…and my titties are new.” She cupped them as she said this. “Girl, this doctor’s good too. He went in from the side, so I don’t have that ugly nipple with the cut-around marks like Freddy Krueger’s been at ’em or something.”

  Reesy checked out Rhiannon’s showroom 36C’s. They were nice, as tits went, but now that she was aware of their pertness, she was aware of their pertness.

  Rhiannon paused, thinking again.

  “I had my thighs sucked a little and my stomach sucked a lot…my upper back…” Again, the eyes rolling up to the left as she touched each part of her body she referenced. “…Oh, my bad, I almost forgot about this…I had my gums shortened and my teeth shaved down.”

  Rhiannon bared her teeth like a blue-ribbon mule.

  “Damn,” Reesy muttered, rubbing her chin. “A regular bitch like me just doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “What do you mean, regular?” Rhiannon said. “You’re not regular. You’re gorgeous. Everybody’s been checking you out everywhere we go today. Your guy in New York must be really good.”

  Reesy frowned. “What guy in New York?”

  “You know, your plastic surgeon.”

  Reesy laughed, loud. Her voice was cacophonous and startling, even amid the choppy sounds of the Dave Matthews Band being piped everywhere, the clinking of espresso cups on tables, the foaming froth of the cappuccino machine, cash registers ringing, and the general din of scattered conversations. Reesy’s laugh was rich and full of gravel, kind of guttural, almost angry—a wretched sound.

  “Why are you laughing?” Rhiannon asked. “What, you think I might try to go to your doctor and get him to do me up like you? That’s some Single White Female stalker shit. I don’t get down like that. I was just giving you a compliment.”

  “Well, keep your compliment. I don’t have a plastic surgeon, and I don’t want one.”

  The left corner of Rhiannon’s lip curled a little. She tilted her head and let out a soft breath.

  “Okay. Whatever.”

  “Whatever, nothing. I haven’t had any work done.”

  “Fine,” Rhiannon said and walked off. She continued to mumble to no one in general or particular as she rifled through the shelves of books again.

  “I can’t stand people who wanna know all your business but they keep their shit to themselves like they’re special or something. Like I’ll tell her business. How stupid is that? Everybody’s had some work done. What she wanna front for?”

  Rhiannon stood among the books, giving no one a piece of her mind.

  “This is unreal,” Reesy said, laughing again. “Who the hell is she talking to?” She looked around. “Who the hell am I talking to?”

  She went up to Rhiannon and put her arm around her.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you like that. On the real, I haven’t had anything done to me. That’s the truth, I’m not trying to be tight about my business.”

  “Well, you must work out a lot.”

  “I’ve been taking dance lessons since I was two. I did it all through college. I did theater. I’m trying to do the movie and TV thing now, so I’m careful about eating right and staying in shape. That’s all it is. I guess my body’s just trained.”

  Rhiannon’s expression indicated she still found Reesy suspect.

  “Take my word for it. I don’t have any reason to lie.”

  Reesy walked away to another section. She could feel Rhiannon watching her au naturel body in continued disbelief.

  They were meeting a friend of Rhiannon’s for lunch at PF Chang’s.

  “I think you’ll like him,” the girl said. “You’re not looking for anyone to date. He’s protective and he knows everybody. When you need a guy to hang out with without worrying about if he’s gonna try to fuck you, Sleazy’s your guy.”

  “Sleazy?” Reesy asked. “He doesn’t exactly sound safe.”

  “Oh, he is. I mean, he’ll come on to you at first, but that’s just instinct. Once you check him, he’ll be cool. Sleazy’s got his share of women, so he’ll probably appreciate having a girl as just a friend. I’ve known him for a few years and he’s always had my back.”

  “Are you one of his women?”

  Rhiannon smiled.
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  “We kick it every now and then. He’s fun. But he’s not the marrying type. Not right now. But then again, neither am I.”

  She flipped her mane.

  Reesy thought about Dandre as she listened to Rhiannon. Perhaps that’s how the woman from the photo thought of him. As somebody to kick it with. Fun. Not the marrying type.

  “Sleazy’s a comedian,” Rhiannon said, “so that’ll be a fun scene for you to check out. If you guys click, he’ll probably take you around to some of the spots. You can meet the regulars on the Hollywood night scene.”

  * * *

  Rhiannon was right. Reesy and Sleazy clicked at once.

  He had an easy personality, a blend of something both East Coast and West Coast, although he reminded her at every turn that he was from the great and wonderful land of Cleveland. Their conversation was seamless as they nibbled on seared-tuna-and-lettuce wraps. Rhiannon faded into the background, a bit annoyed that Sleazy was discussing things that he’d never broached with her before. She excused herself to the bathroom.

  “Let me go check on her,” Reesy said. “I think she’s got a bit of a ’tude.”

  Reesy followed her.

  “I’m not into him, Rhiannon,” she said. “You said I’d probably like him. Well, I do. He seems like a fun person to hang out with.”

  “I’m not mad at you. It’s just that he’s talking to you about computers and movies and music and stuff, and you haven’t even known him an hour. I’ve known him five years and he’s never talked to me about any of that.”

  “Have you ever expressed interest in it?”

  “No,” Rhiannon said with a smile.

  “Well then.”

  Both women laughed.

  “Let’s go,” Rhiannon said. “He’s probably hitting on the waitresses. Not that I care, but we need to save him.”

  “From what?” asked Reesy.

  “Himself.”

  Rhiannon took off, leaving Reesy and Sleazy at the restaurant to continue their conversation.

  “So how you adjusting, mami?” he said, chawing on an unlit cigar.

  “I like it. I don’t know about the rain so much. It reminds me of Florida. I thought it didn’t rain in Southern California.”

  Sleazy’s two-way pager beeped. It was sitting on the table between them. He checked it.

  “It doesn’t rain much here,” he said, typing in a response on the tiny gadget. “Just in the winter. If we’re lucky.”

  They ordered another round of drinks, and Reesy found herself talking to Sleazy as though she had known him for years. He told her how he used to hustle. She told him, without mentioning Dandre’s name, that she had moved to L.A. to get away from someone who had broken her heart. She talked about her drive cross-country. She told him about the dogs.

  “My ex followed me here,” she said.

  “Oh damn. Well, if you need some protection, just holla. I’m a big muthafucka. Folks tend to back off when they see my ass roll up.”

  “Thanks, Sleazy. I appreciate it.” She took a sip of her drink.

  “Let me ask you a question.”

  “Alright.” His two-way beeped again. “Hang on,” he said. He read it, then typed something back in response. “Okay, mami. Shoot.”

  “Rhiannon said you’d probably hit on me. Why didn’t you?”

  He laughed, his big bald head tilting back like a heavy ball that might not rebound. His beard was salt-and-pepper. She didn’t know how old he was. He could be thirty-three or forty-three.

  “I love Rhi to death but she runs her mouth too much. She makes it sound like I holla at everything with a gap in its legs.”

  “She likes you. And from what I can see, you do holla at everything.”

  “Well…yeah. Just as long as it ain’t got a dick.”

  “So?”

  “So what, mami? You had me in the friend zone when I first sat down. I’m not stupid. I know a love-struck bitch when I see one. No offense. Plus this is a bit of a giveaway.”

  He tapped her left hand.

  “That’s a pretty big rock,” he said.

  “Yeah? And?”

  “And, so, why do you still wear it if he broke your heart?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Habit, I guess.”

  “Habit, hell. You’re still hanging on.”

  Reesy stared at him. Sleazy stared back, his expression daring her to refute his words.

  “You’re hilarious,” she said.

  “I’m trying,” replied Sleazy. “It’s how I get paid. So look, mami, we gotta get you out. Get you into the L.A. groove. This is a filthy, rotten city, so brace yourself. But it’s fabulous. The filthy and the rotten never looked so good.”

  “Bring it on,” said Reesy. “I’m ready.”

  He glanced at the ring.

  “You sure?”

  In a grand gesture, she pulled at the thing. It didn’t budge.

  “My finger must be swollen.”

  “Yeah, right. Of course.”

  His two-way went off again. Sleazy checked it again. Reesy played with her finger.

  It was somewhat pudgy. Not much, but enough to make the ring tight. Sleazy didn’t know about her former pregnancy. Reesy tugged at the ring again, but it wouldn’t come off.

  “Forget the ring,” he said. “That nigga’s got you branded. Tell people you wear it to ward muthafuckas off.”

  “That’s a thought.”

  “In the meantime,” he said, “let’s go out tonight. I’m thinkin’ ’bout doing my thing onstage. You down?”

  “Alright.” She reached in her purse for money for the check.

  “I got this,” he said. “Sort of a welcome-to-L.A. treat, on me.”

  “Thank you, Sleazy.”

  “Right,” he said. “Don’t get too comfortable with it, though. I’m still on the incline. You’re gonna have to get a rich dude if you’re looking to get laced on the reg.”

  * * *

  When Reesy opened the door, one of the folding chairs was on the floor and all three dogs were out of the baby pen, nowhere in sight. Newspaper was shredded throughout the living room. There wasn’t a square inch of floor space that didn’t have a piece of the L.A. Times.

  The smell of piss and feces dominated the air.

  Reesy slammed the door. The three dogs emerged from places unknown and charged her like a pack of rats.

  Dante let loose with an anguished sound, as if someone were stabbing him. Reesy jumped back in horror. Harlem and Peanut continued to yip, but Dante warbled and croaked as though he were on the brink of death.

  She picked him up in her arms.

  “Oh my goodness, what’s wrong?”

  He let out a wail that made her run to the phone and dial 911.

  “I think I have a dying dog.”

  Reesy sat in the veterinarian’s office. Barbara had given her the name and address of Meg’s doctor.

  Dante was sleeping in her lap. The moans had ceased once they got into the car. Dante had stood on his hind legs, staring out the window during the frantic drive over. He’d panted, looking back over his shoulder at Reesy. She’d kept expecting him to drop dead at any moment, victim to some mysterious newsprint overdose.

  “I’m Dr. Cho,” the Asian woman said to Reesy. She looked at Dante. “Oh, what a cute little shiba.”

  Dante wagged his tail as the vet lifted him from Reesy’s arms.

  “Come on back,” Dr. Cho said. “Let’s go in the examination room.”

  “So what’s the problem?” the doctor asked, looking into the dog’s mouth, then feeling his underside. She checked inside his ears and put a stethoscope against his fur.

  “Well, he was screaming. It was a hideous sound. I thought he was dying. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

  Dr. Cho chuckled. She rubbed Dante’s chin. He appeared quite happy. She scratched Dante behind the ears.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your dog,” she said.

  “Then why was he wailing li
ke that? I’ve never heard an animal make such a god-awful noise.”

  “It’s just something that shibas do,” Dr. Cho replied. “Get used to it. He was probably happy to see you. Had you been away for a while?”

  “Just a few hours.”

  “Then he was just glad that you were back home.”

  Reesy put her head in her hands.

  “You mean to tell me this dog is going to do that every time I come home?”

  “Probably, especially as he grows more attached to you. More than likely he’ll do it every time he’s excited about anything.”

  “Oh my goodness. I have two other shibas. Will they do it too?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  Dr. Cho handed Dante to her.

  “There is one other thing about shibas that you also might not know.”

  “What’s that?” Reesy asked, bracing herself.

  “They can never be walked off the leash. Ever. No matter how well trained they are, there’s always the chance that they’ll dash off or run into the street. They have a very strong hunting instinct, so it’s their nature to race off. You have to be careful with them.”

  “Great,” said Reesy.

  Dr. Cho smiled and put her hand on Reesy’s shoulder.

  “It’s not a big problem. Just don’t be casual about leaving doors open so they can get out.”

  Dante licked Reesy’s face.

  “This visit’s on the house,” the doctor said.

  “I appreciate it.” Reesy stood. “I’m sure you’ll see me again.”

  She dialed Dandre’s cell phone on the drive back home.

  “These dogs you bought me are screaming lunatics.”

  “Whaddya mean?” he asked, surprised by her call. “The woman at the pet store told me they were low-maintenance. They hardly bark or anything.”

  “No, that’s true. And except for the occasional hysterical wail from hell, they’re perfectly fine.”

  “I don’t understand what you…”

  He flashed back to the woman’s comment at the pet store. She’d said something about a curious bark, but insisted it was rare.