Tastes Like Chicken Page 17

  “The Tonies,” they said.

  Both women abandoned a startled Ebay and made for the stairs.

  The guy who had been filming the hot tub scene followed them.

  * * *

  Dandre was huddled in a corner of the room, covering himself with a sheet. The Tonies—Tonita Green, Toni Cole, and Tonishi Wang—were doing each other on the bed. All three women were porn stars, but Dandre had never seen them before. He glanced at himself under the sheet. He was wearing a condom. While that was a partial relief, he was still terrified at the thought of what might have already occurred while he was asleep. He was sluggish, the dregs of way too much Courvoisier still polluting his system.

  Zoe and Chloe appeared in the room, the camera guy right behind them. At the sight of the minicam, Dandre became hysterical.

  He lunged at the guy and snatched the thing, smashing it against the floor again and again. Springs, metal, screws, and plastic ricocheted away as the man tried to get his equipment back. Dandre shoved him off as he removed the tape and tore it apart, ripping, tearing, pulling at the reel.

  “Get out,” Zoe and Chloe said to the Tonies and the guy. “Go. And tell everyone downstairs to get out too.”

  “Awww, Z,” said Tonishi, “this is wack.”

  “Just go,” Zoe said. “We’ll catch you later in the week in the Hills.”

  Dandre kept tearing at the tape, the thought of Reesy seeing it enraging him. His breath was heavy and he was dripping sweat. He looked up, glaring at the twins.

  They stood before him like naughty schoolkids and, except for the absence of clothes, that’s what they felt like.

  Dandre’s eyes were red, wet, clouded with anger.

  “I think he’s crying,” Chloe whispered without moving her lips.

  “I think he’s still drunk,” Zoe answered in a similar fashion.

  “He might not remember this tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I’ll remember it,” he said. “I’ll never forget what the two of you did.” He wrapped the loose tape in a bundle and shredded it again. “You’ve got two days.”

  “Two days for what?” asked Chloe.

  “To be outta here. That’s all I’m giving you, then you’re on your ass.”

  The naked twins flailed their hands, their eyes filled with fear.

  “But, Dandre, how can you do this? We don’t have anyplace else to go.”

  “I don’t care,” he said, getting up. He went into the bathroom.

  “I want you out. I asked you to respect me and you didn’t. So don’t expect me to have any respect for you.”

  He slammed the bathroom door. They heard the shower come on.

  Zoe and Chloe stared at each other, the tattooed tongues on their asses licking at the air.

  Sex and the Titty

  “I swear I didn’t give him your information,” Misty said. “I had it written on a notepad. Rick must have gotten it, although I thought we agreed we’d both stay out of it.”

  “Is he in California?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t even know he had your address until five minutes ago when you told me about the dogs.”

  Reesy ran her hand across her cropped hair.

  “You need to check your husband,” she said. “You guys don’t seem to understand each other when it comes to making agreements. Give him something else to stick his nose into besides my business. You tell him you’re pregnant yet?”

  “No.”

  “Any idea when you plan on doing that?”

  “No.”

  “Umph,” said Reesy. She heard a rough chewing sound. She turned around. Harlem was eating a hole into the hardwood floor. “What the fuck kinds of devil dogs are these?” she screamed. “What was he thinking, giving me a pack of wild animals? I was lucky I talked my landlord into letting me keep all three. He’s gonna kill me when he sees the floor.”

  She ran over to the dog and put her in the baby pen, which she had moved into the living room since it was no longer night. Peanut was sitting on the sofa watching The Young and The Restless. Dante was by Reesy’s feet.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said, sitting down on the couch.

  “They’re not housebroken, they’re eating up the fucking wood. He just dropped the damn things off and left me with something that I really don’t need.”

  “So call him and tell him to take them back.”

  Reesy rubbed Dante’s back with her big toe. He leaned his head against her leg.

  “Well…they’re kinda cute.”

  “Then call him and thank him,” said Misty.

  “How about I not call him at all?”

  “Reesy, those pictures were old. He told me that and so did Rick.”

  “And, of course, men don’t lie or protect each other.”

  “You know he wasn’t lying,” Misty said. “He was with you every night. If you’re scared, just say you’re scared. We both know that’s why you’re running. But don’t put something on Dandre that you know isn’t true. Don’t pretend he’s still a player. You know he loves you.”

  “I didn’t call you for a lecture.”

  Her phone beeped.

  “That’s probably Rhiannon,” Reesy said.

  “Rhiannon? Like the song?”

  “Yeah,” Reesy said with a laugh. “Like the song.”

  “Who is she?”

  “A girl I met at the gym. We’re supposed to hang out today.”

  “Is she black?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She is?” Misty asked with disbelief.

  “Hold on.”

  Reesy clicked over.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi.”

  Both ends of the line were silent.

  “So do you like them?” Dandre asked after the moment of surprise had passed.

  Reesy let out a deep breath.

  “Why can’t you just let me be?”

  “Because I love you. I’m sorry about everything that happened. I don’t want to lose you. I’m not going to lose you.”

  “Dandre, I’m not ready to talk to you just now.”

  “So when will you be ready?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe never.”

  “Reesy, I’m in Califor—”

  “I’ve got Misty on the other line. I gotta go.”

  She clicked over.

  “So was that your girl?”

  “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Misty.

  “The muthafucka’s here.”

  Reesy put the puppies in the baby pen and laid two folding chairs across the top. She figured that would keep Peanut from getting out.

  She went by Rhiannon’s apartment in Lawndale. It was a roomy two-bedroom job with underground parking. Rhiannon’s walls were covered with various head shots of herself, blown up and framed. The place looked like a gallery. Rhiannon was a beautiful girl who was quite photogenic.

  “So have you booked much work?” Reesy asked as she walked around Rhiannon’s place.

  “Yep, I have. My agent’s pretty good. I was an extra on The Jamie Foxx Show, and I had a speaking part on an episode of Seinfeld one time.”

  “Really?” Reesy said, turning to look at her. “What’d you say?”

  Rhiannon put on her game face as if she were on the Seinfeld set. She positioned her shoulders and flashed her pearly whites.

  “Coffee?”

  Reesy waited, but there was nothing more.

  The girl broke character and grinned. “That was good, huh?”

  “Superb,” Reesy said.

  “Yep. I thought so too. I’ve got a callback tomorrow for this movie I auditioned for. I hope I get it. It’s got Taye Diggs and Richard T. Jones in it. Don’t you think he’s cute? I think he’s really fuckable.”

  “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 t
o 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.

  “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.”