Tastes Like Chicken Page 16

  “I’m sorry, Reesy.”

  “Well, I just made an idiot out of myself at the vet,” she said.

  “Thanks for making me look dumb once again.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I saw you with that woman. I can’t believe that after what happened at the church and me losing our child, you were still seeing her. What did you think I was, a fucking fool?”

  “What woman? I don’t understand what you’re talking—”

  “Fuck you, Dandre. What were you thinking? Huh? You think you can just come back into my life like nothing ever happened?”

  “No, Reesy. That’s not what I—”

  “Were these three dogs supposed to take the place of our baby? Because if that’s what you thought—”

  She flipped the phone closed, her emotions snagging on the edge of her words, and flung it onto the passenger seat. Dante was standing at the window. He glanced back at her with a wide-toothed grin.

  * * *

  Reesy was ready for a night out. After cleaning up behind the dogs and putting them and the baby pen in the kitchen, she had taken a long, relaxing shower. She pulled at the ring once more, but it would not be moved. She rubbed butter around her finger and still nothing.

  “This is stupid,” she said.

  She got dressed and headed out to meet Sleazy.

  He was standing in front of the club when she and Black pulled up. She parked the car and came over to him.

  “You clean up nice, mami,” he said, giving her a hug.

  “So do you.”

  Sleazy was in a well-tailored suit and sporting a pair of gators. It made him appear even more imposing. The unlit cigar was in its usual place.

  “You sure you’re not cold?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

  He guided her toward the entrance.

  “She’s with me,” Sleazy said to Derrick, the tall, fresh-faced, could-be-Latin-could-be-black ethnic crapshoot of a cutie collecting money from behind the Plexiglas.

  “Yeah, I’m with the moulie,” she said.

  Derrick flashed an instant grin that lit up his questionable-heritage face.

  “She got jokes.”

  “Yeah, man…she got mad jokes.”

  “Yum,” Reesy mumbled, staring into Derrick’s face.

  “Stop it,” Sleazy said through closed lips. “No fucking my friends.”

  “I don’t know you well enough to know who’s your friend.”

  “Then no fucking the help.”

  “So why am I here? And why is your mouth closed? What you are now, a ventriloquist? Are you about to ram your hand up my ass?”

  Sleazy laughed as he pressed his palm into the small of Reesy’s back, guiding her into the club.

  “You’re way too rowdy to be a girl, you know. And that pretty face is a straight-up lie. You’re the devil, and I’m gonna find those sixes. I know they’re on you somewhere. They’re probably tattooed inside your—”

  “Whatup, nukka,” came a shout from the sidewalk. The two of them turned in the voice’s direction.

  Sleazy’s buddies—an assortment of popular, unpopular, and waiting-to-become-one-or-the-other comedians—stood outside the club, checking out the newest sexy broad he was sporting at the spot.

  L.A. weather was flaky as hell. Even though it was chilly, it

  was warmer that night than it had been during the day. Reesy had a wrap draped over a backless halter top—a series of strings fashioned after a cat’s-in-the-cradle. She wore a pair of low-rider jeans that looked like she was poured into them. They showcased the beginnings of the dimples on her high yellow bubble. Her feet were nestled in a pair of Manolos pointy enough to caulk a tub. It was later than they had agreed to meet, ten-thirty, the witching hour for the acts on stage. The nips of Reesy’s tits were bullets, colder than Hecate’s. A few gasps escaped as she weaved her way inside. None of the men even noticed her face.

  “That nukka gets more pussy than the Crenshaw Clinic,” one of the wannabes mumbled in awe.

  “That’s Sleaze for ya,” came the drone of one of the famous.

  “I don’t know why he still even bothers with comedy. He needs to just go get him one of them regulation caddies, set these hoes out, and go ahead get his paper on the level.”

  Still within earshot, Sleazy shot them a glance and flashed a quick wink, all over Reesy’s shoulder.

  “I hope they don’t think we’re kicking it,” she said, breaking his rhythm.

  He laughed. “I hope that big-ass rock doesn’t make them think we’re engaged.”

  “Please. You wish.”

  “These fools know better. Me and marriage? That’s like pigs eating pork rinds. Ain’t hapn’n. Just let a player roll. This is a win-win thang. Niggas see you with me and that raises your stock.”

  “My stock is doing just fine, thank you. I just hiked your portfolio, if you wanna be real.”

  “My nukka.”

  “Shaddup.”

  They disappeared inside the club.

  Sleazy was funny. Reesy sat in the audience and watched him on-stage. He was wry, deadpan, brooding, and dark. The women seemed to love it and the men found it cool. Much of his act centered on subduing women for sex and complaints against babies’ mamas.

  A lot of the other comics discussed the same thing. Reesy didn’t realize there were so many hilarious variations on the same commonplace theme.

  A man sitting alone at a table across the room caught her attention during Sleazy’s act. She could tell he was tall, although he was sitting. He was bald and fair-skinned, with penetrating black eyes that twinkled, even though his expression was firm. His mustache and beard were trimmed low and neat. He was a stunner, so handsome she tried to downplay it, as though he were the most nondescript presence in the room.

  She could see him watching her. It gave her a warm sensation, as if the hairs on her skin were being singed.

  Sleazy came over and sat next to her after finishing his set.

  “You’re funny, for a big nigga,” she said. “Very funny.”

  Sleazy laughed.

  “Thank you. I think.” He took a sip from the glass of Hennessy he had left on the table. “Meanwhile, all my boys are sweating me about you.”

  “Really?” she said, her eyes on the man at the other table.

  Sleazy followed her gaze.

  “You want me to check this cat?” he asked in a harsh tone.

  “No,” she said, laughing. “Stop tripping. You’re messing up my flow.”

  “Alright,” he said. “But I suggest you let me clear these punks before you start kicking stank at ’em.”

  “Be quiet, Sleazy. I’m just having fun.”

  The man took a sip of his drink. She could still see the twinkle in his eye.

  “Alright, mami,” Sleazy said, “listen to me. Here’s how this works: I’ll introduce you to someone that’s a friend of one of my friends, but again, no fucking my friends.”

  “Why is that?” asked Reesy.

  “Because, if the fool tries to do you dirt, I don’t want to have to beat down somebody I’m cool with. I’d rather squash a muthafucka I don’t know. That way there’s no complications. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  His two-way chimed. Sleazy read it and typed back a response, talking as he typed.

  “If the guy’s a friend of a friend, well, my friend can vouch for him without me knowing the cat directly.”

  “I see you’ve got this whole thing worked out.”

  Sleazy laughed as he drank his Hennessy.

  “You don’t understand, mami. With me, broads are either for bedding or bidding bye-bye. Anybody else is either my mom, sister, aunt, cousin, or grandma. I’m not used to having chicks as friends. This might be a real first for me.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Every guy I’ve been friends with ended up in my bed. Except for one, but he was gay. My choreographer back in New York.”

  “Then this is a mon
umental moment for both of us,” Sleazy said. “Let’s toast to the trying of new things.”

  “That’s for real,” she replied. “Those three balls of fur at my house are proof of that.”

  He held his glass aloft. Reesy raised hers. The two of them clinked.

  “You need to let me train ’em,” Sleazy said around his drink.

  “Ha,” she laughed. “When can you start?”

  “We can do it tomorrow. I’m a dog man. I know all the tricks of the canine trade.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Reesy leaned back in her seat and sipped her drink. This big dapper monster of a man had her back. It was almost funny. She glanced around the club at all the different men, then gazed over at him. It felt good not to have the pressure of a romantic relationship.

  This was cool, she thought, giving the sexy brother across the room another peep. Perhaps the wedding disaster wasn’t the end of the world after all. It seemed like L.A. might have a few surprises up its sleeve.

  Sleazy came over the next morning to help Reesy with the dogs. His claims about being an expert dog trainer turned out to be true. In less than two hours he had taught them all how to sit using both spoken and nonspoken commands. They lined up in perfect unison, like miniature members of the Nation of Islam. All they were missing were the little bow ties and the FOI hats.

  “The one thing you have to remember is that you’re the alpha dog.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “It means a pack of dogs always has to have a leader. Three dogs qualifies as a pack.” He laughed. “I still can’t believe you have three dogs,” he said. “Just add water in this bitch and you’ve got a kennel.”

  “Alright, alright, so I have three dogs. So let’s get past that already. How do I make them know I’m the alpha?”

  “They already know it. You’re bigger than them. You give them food. You control the environment. You just have to know it. When they get out of hand, talk to them like there’ll be repercussions. If you’re good, you won’t even have to yell. They’ll know you mean business even if you speak in a whisper.”

  She watched the dogs as they sat like little soldiers.

  “Okay. I got it,” she said as she looked at them. “From now on I’m the alpha dog.”

  The dogs gazed up at her, ready to do her bidding.

  Sleazy had brought over wee-wee pads to help housebreak them. He installed a doggie door so they could go out whenever they needed to use the bathroom. It took him ten minutes to coax them through the hole, past the plastic flap. After that, the puppies couldn’t seem to get enough of coming in and going out. As long as the garden gate that gave her access from the backyard to her car was locked, the dogs were free to run and play.

  “So what you getting into tonight?” Reesy asked.

  “A party,” he said. He juggled Harlem in one hand as he sat on the couch. Peanut was in his lap, fascinated by his ever-beeping two-way.

  “Oooh, that sounds like fun. What kind of party? Where?”

  “No, ma’am,” Sleazy said. “You’re not coming to this. It’s not your kind of scene. It’s probably gonna get buck wild up in there, and I don’t want to be responsible for introducing you to that type of thing.”

  Reesy was in the kitchen making pastrami sandwiches. She walked over to the doorway and watched him.

  Sleazy had no idea of her background as an exotic dancer and she planned to keep it that way. She found it amusing that he had categorized her as the polar opposite—a Pollyanna that needed to be sheltered from everything that wasn’t fit for polite society.

  “So what is it, some kind of sex party?”

  “Well, it’s just a party party. At least, that’s how it’ll start off. But my girls Chloe and Zoe be gettin’ kinda freaky. Some porn stars might roll by, you never know. It’s a pretty thugged-out, hoeish kinda scene, but, you know, sometimes that’s who I be.”

  “Ew,” she said.

  “Ew is right.”

  “Is Rhiannon going?”

  “Hell, naw,” Sleazy said. “That’s like taking sand to the beach, baby. I don’t need her breathing over my shoulder while I’m trying to wax me some neezy.”

  “What’s neezy?”

  “New ass.”

  “You’re stupid.”

  Reesy went back into the kitchen to finish the sandwiches.

  “So how do you know I might not wanna check it out?”

  Sleazy picked up Dante and put him on the couch.

  “Because it’s not for you. That’s all there is to it. End of discussion.”

  Dandre was sitting by the water’s edge, watching the sun go down. He was drinking Courvoisier straight from the bottle. He’d been there awhile and now the tide was coming in. His sweat bottoms were soaked and there was a sharp chill in the air. He seemed oblivious to both.

  It had been more than twenty-four hours since Reesy had hung up on him. He kept replaying their conversation over in his head. What did she mean about seeing him with that woman? Did she know about Rejeana coming to his house?

  There was no way she could have. She would have confronted him before now. He wondered if Rick had said something to Misty. He didn’t think his best friend would be that casual about something so grave. He hoped not. It could destroy his chances altogether.

  The part about him trying to replace their baby with dogs had hit him like a foot to the gut. Bruce Lee’s foot.

  “Why can’t I get this right?” he asked, his arms raised, the bottle extended. “How come everything I try to do with her keeps turning out wrong?”

  Random beachgoers and lingering lovers walked by, wondering at the drunken nut sitting in the middle of the advancing surf.

  Zoe had given him the bottle of liquor.

  “Here, cuz,” she’d said just a couple of hours earlier. “You look like you could use a good kick.”

  He hadn’t eaten and his head was light. He stood, brushing sand from the backs of his legs. He grabbed the bottle and walked over toward the house.

  “I’m going to bed,” he said.

  There was no point in going out, he figured. He had come to L.A. to get his woman back, and so far, his plan was failing him.

  Better to sleep it off and restrategize in the morning.

  “Tomorrow’s another day,” he said, taking a swig from the bottle. “Yup. Tomorrow’s another fucked-up day.”

  “He’s out, girl,” Zoe whispered to Chloe.

  They both stood over Dandre, watching him sleep. He was curled in a fetal position on the bed. The empty bottle of Courvoisier was lying on the floor.

  “Good lookin’-out, Z,” Chloe said. “He’s done for the rest of the night.”

  She high-fived her sister.

  “And you know what happens when Big Brother’s not watching,” Zoe said.

  The two girls stared at each other and grinned.

  “Par-taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay,” they both squealed.

  They grabbed each other’s arms and danced a jig around the room.

  * * *

  By midnight, the beach house in Hermosa was so rowdy, any attempt at quality control had long been abandoned by either of the twins. People were doing coke, smoking chronic, and popping not just X, but some Y and Z.

  The sounds and smells of things carnal were everywhere, as threesomes formed and fractured off like small galaxies in a universe of sex. The hot tub was bubbling with nastiness, the scene of some girl-on-girl action that one of the fellas—a pathetic would-be-entrepreneur sort—filmed for his own version of Girls Gone Dumb.

  Sleazy watched from inside the house, then turned around, scoping for any new action that might have arrived unnoticed. He spotted a petite girl in the corner. She was no more than five feet with long black shining hair, bowed legs, and slanted eyes.

  “Oh shit,” he said under his breath. “She’s Asian and a midget. I done hit the jackpot.” He made his way over to the girl, already chalking it up as a victory and future anecdote
to share with the boys.

  Chloe and Zoe were both on the couch with Ebay, who was trying to get his weed together.

  “Wait,” he said. “Let me roll another blunt.”

  Chloe dropped between his legs and grabbed his joint.

  “Not before you let me smoke this first.”

  Dandre was deep into a dream. He and Reesy were together again—in love, in bed, into it—the way they used to be when things were good.

  Reesy was on top of him, her hands on his chest, riding him with an urgency that seemed equal to his.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I missed you too, baby,” she said.

  “Is it still mine?” he asked. “Do you still want to give it to me?”

  “Why are you asking what you already know?” Reesy an swered. “I’m always gonna give this to you. I’m never gonna give it to anyone else.”

  He flipped her over and pinned her against the bed, pounding her hard with profound desperation. She thrashed beneath him, calling out his name. He thrust harder, the cold feel of her tongue against his balls driving him…

  Dandre shifted in the dream, still thrusting, wondering how he could be inside Reesy but still feel her tongue down below. He opened his eyes.

  He was thrusting, but it wasn’t into the woman he loved. It was a dark chocolate thing with scant brows, hazel eyes, and big silicone breasts. His mouth was on one of them. Her expression was savage as she bucked around.

  Someone else was between his legs, licking his balls. He looked back in terror at yet another woman, this one blonde with breasts so large and artificial in appearance, they threatened to become airborne and float her away. She had a tongue like Gene Simmons, and it was no longer on Dandre’s nuts. Now it was making its way up the crack of his behind.

  Dandre screamed—a sound not unlike Dante’s—and tried to dislodge himself from the girl below him. He kicked the balloon blonde away with his heel. An Asian girl stood to the right of the bed, an enormous black strap-on attached to her waist. She was preparing to mount the blonde, but Dandre’s bitch-scream had canceled it all.

  The shrieking could be heard downstairs, over the bumping sounds of the newest Tupac. Chloe raised her head from between Ebay’s legs. She glanced over at her sister, who was sitting on Ebay’s face.