Tastes Like Chicken Page 21

  “Some affair, huh? You don’t remember what the affair is?” He sat down at one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Perhaps I’ll call the mayor back and find out exactly what it is.”

  “No need to do that. I’ll call him tomorrow.” She stood, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got a meeting with some people over at the library, and then I’m having dinner with Cheri, Dale, and Trish. I should be home around ten-ish.”

  Tyrone got up and waited for her to walk around the desk. When she passed him, he grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. He peered into her face.

  “You alright, Tyrene?” he asked, hoping she would confess, own up, admit to antics unbecoming a wife, something. Even though things had been contentious between the two of them of late and he found that he didn’t like her very much, he still loved her. They’d been through too much, in his opinion, to be unraveling to the state they were in now. She had promised him once that no man would ever come between them; that they would be inseparable for life.

  “We’ve done too much, seen too much, and lied too much to ever leave each other,” she’d said as they lay in bed some twenty-five years before. They’d been laughing at the time. Reesy was young then, but even by that time they’d experienced many things together, a lot of which couldn’t be discussed in the light of day.

  He didn’t know what she was doing now, but whatever it was, she was doing it without him, and that was the rub that he couldn’t tolerate. That was the fly in the ointment that, in addition to his worries about his daughter’s affairs, had kept him in a state of unrest.

  “Are you alright?” he repeated.

  “No, Tyrone, I’m not alright.” She looked him in the face with bold assertion. “I haven’t been alright since Teresa’s disaster, and I’ve been even worse since you started up with those disgusting cigarettes again.”

  “I’ll stop the cigarettes,” he said.

  “Then stop them, and stop them now.”

  She shook herself from the grip of his strong hands on her shoulders and went over to her jacket, hanging on a hook by the door. She slipped into it, staring at him as she did so. He stared back at her.

  “I want every cigarette gone from every place you may have hidden one by the time I get home tonight. If you say you’re going to stop, then I hope you mean it.” She picked up her purse from the leather couch by the door.

  She glanced over at him. His stare was penetrating, so much that it jarred her. Like he was judging her. He didn’t know, she reminded herself. She knew that. There was no way Tyrone could know anything about her and Hill. Unless that Misty Fine had told her business. Misty Fine wouldn’t tell her business. Tyrene wondered if Misty Fine had blabbed her business and it had made its way back to Tyrone that fast. Her husband was cunning, but he wouldn’t remain calm if he’d received news like that. He didn’t know, she decided.

  “Are you going to be gone long?” Tyrone asked.

  “I’m having dinner with Cheri, Dale, and Trish.” His expression was still intense. “Relax,” she said. “Your behavior’s been strange ever since we left New York. Teresa may have lost her child, but the rest of us are okay. You’re not going to lose everybody.”

  “Really?” he said, searching for truth in her words.

  “Really,” she said without looking at him. “Not unless you alienate us first with your disgusting cigarettes. Fix it.”

  She turned on her heel and left.

  Tyrone was quiet as he watched his wife go. He’d given her too many years of leniency, he decided. Too many years of thinking she was in charge. It was time for a wife-check.

  He could sense that Tyrene was involved in something duplicitous. He’d seen the difference in her body in the hotel room. That Saturday night at the Parker Meridien, she’d had marks on her body, and they weren’t from unintended injury because Tyrene would have been quick to complain. She’d done her best to mask them. They hadn’t made love since before they went to New York. Tyrone thought at first that perhaps—in a fit of rage and vengeance—his wife had sought a stranger’s arms during that trip. He couldn’t imagine who. Then he believed she’d made the marks herself to provoke him for cursing at her in the hospital, or for his taking up cigarettes again.

  But now there was something else going on, something untoward, and it didn’t seem like something she was faking.

  She’d never cheated on him, as far as he knew, and he’d never wandered from her since they’d settled down after their earlier years.

  He knew his wife. He knew her well.

  “But can you ever really know a person?” his friend Trini the ballplayer had asked. “I thought I knew Elise. I would have never expected her to be pulling the shit she’s pulling right now.”

  “Tyrene’s been on a slack leash for too long,” Tyrone said to himself. “It’s time for me to put her on a choke chain before she gets out of hand.”

  “Call the travel agent and book me on the first flight going to Fort Lauderdale in the morning.”

  Hill was sitting in his office at his practice. He’d seen six patients and had two more scheduled before the day’s end.

  “But you have appointments tomorrow,” said Bridgette, his nurse assistant.

  “Reschedule them,” he said.

  “You’ve got that big lecture in two days.”

  “Is it in the afternoon?”

  “Yes,” she said, hesitating.

  “Then book my return for that morning.”

  He was talking to Bridgette on the phone. Before he could make his next statement, she had hung up and was standing in the doorway of his office.

  She was a tall, muscular woman with freckled skin and green eyes.

  “What are you doing, Hill? This is the second time you’ve had me cancel appointments in the past two weeks.”

  Hill gazed up at her, taking her in. They’d had their moment of fun when she first came to work for him. She was twenty-eight then. That was four years ago, and now he considered her past the cutoff age. He still felt that way, which made his fascination with Tyrene all the more inexplicable to him.

  “It’s that Alyssa girl, isn’t it?”

  “What are you talking about, Bridgette?” he said, scribbling nonsensical notes into his personal schedule. “That was a phase and now it’s over.”

  “Like us?”

  Hill stopped scribbling.

  “We’ll never be over, Bridgette. I’d be lost without you.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said with a laugh. “Well, if this is a woman—which I suspect it is—I hope she’s worth it. A ticket to Florida this late in the day is going to cost you an ugly penny.”

  “You mean pretty.”

  “I know what I mean,” she said, leaving his office. He watched the sway of her voluptuous bottom beneath the tight white nurse’s pants. Nothing.

  He knew without question that any other man would consider Bridgette a stunner. Still, he found her unsexy. What did the old bird have that made him want her so? he wondered.

  He leaned back in his chair, smiling. That was the part he loved most, he realized. The mystery of it all was a challenge in itself.

  “Where’ve you been? You said you’d be here over an hour ago.”

  “I stopped to look at the Larchmont property on my way home,” Rick said.

  “Oh.”

  It was just eight o’clock, but Misty was in the bathroom doing something to her face. She had taken a shower and was ready for bed. Rick was quiet as he opened the nightstand on his side of the bed and put in the packets of condoms. He walked back into the kitchen and put the box and plastic bag in the trash.

  When she came out of the bathroom, he was already in bed.

  “You’re not going to shower?” she asked.

  “Nah. I’ll get one in the morning.”

  “Oh,” Misty said with a yawn. “You didn’t want any dinner? I put everything in containers in the fridge. I can fix you something if you like.”

  She climbed in
beside him. He opened his arms to welcome her in.

  “That’s okay, baby,” Rick said. “I grabbed a pastrami sandwich before I left the city.” He massaged her shoulders. “You look beat.”

  “I am,” she said, closing her eyes, slipping into sleep.

  “Mmmm…that feels so good. Thank you, honey. I’m exhausted.”

  Rick kept rubbing her shoulders, pressing into the small of her back, rubbing away the knots.

  Misty rolled over so that she was lying facedown. Rick began to work on her entire back. She drifted off to sleep.

  Misty was already deep into a dream when she felt her husband pushing against her.

  “Huh? Honey? Wha…?”

  Rick had gone from massaging her back to kissing the backs of her thighs. He turned her on her side, spooning her. He reached his arms around to her front, fondling her breasts.

  “Honey,” she whispered, her voice thick with grogginess.

  “Baby, what are you doing?”

  “I want you,” he said, his voice low as he nuzzled her back. He felt her nipples harden. He kissed the nape of her neck and massaged her breasts again.

  “Baby,” she said. “You know I can’t resist you.”

  “I know.”

  “But I’m tired.”

  “Me too,” he said, “but I can’t help myself.”

  Misty turned toward him, giving in to his touch. He reached for the nightstand drawer and pulled out a condom. He tore off the wrapper with one hand and pulled the rubber on.

  He pushed her back with a gentle nudge and leaned over her, kissing her neck.

  “I love you baby,” he said.

  “I know, honey. I love you too.”

  “I need to tap a phone.”

  “Of course,” said the olive-skinned man behind the counter.

  “Just tell me what you want specifically. We’ve got it. It’s all a matter of what you’re looking to spend.”

  The Spy Stop on Commercial Boulevard sold all manner of tricky gadgetry, from Israeli pepper spray to Tasers to a black box that, when hooked up to the TV, would render everyone onscreen naked. At least, that’s what the owner said. Given the $2,000 plus price tag, Tyrone was inclined to believe him.

  The man showed him a series of devices—some simple, some complex—that hooked up to a standard household phone line.

  “I need something for her phone at work as well.”

  The man scratched his chin, somewhat uncomfortable.

  “Well, sir…I don’t know. That’s different. It’s a place of business and it can get a little—”

  “Trini told me I could trust you. He says he’s come to you before and you always deliver.”

  Tyrone’s dinner meeting with Trini the other day had been for the purpose of discussing this very thing.

  “You know Trini?” the man said, his trepidation lifting.

  “Miami Dolphins Trini?”

  “Yes, I do. He’s a very good friend.”

  “And an excellent customer.”

  Tyrone examined the items the man had on the counter.

  “I want the best, most nondetectable equipment you have. Price isn’t an issue.”

  “Well,” the man said, “if you really want to track her beyond just using the phone, I have GPS equipment.”

  Tyrone’s brow raised.

  “Like what I’ve got in my car?”

  “Yes. A global positioning system.”

  “Good Lord. Is it detectable?”

  “Not if you put it in the right place. The only thing better is putting a chip in her neck.” The man glanced around. “Of course, you know—”

  “It’s illegal,” Tyrone said. “As is ninety percent of what’s in this store, I’m sure.”

  The olive-skinned man smiled.

  “We prefer not to use that word, per se.”

  “I’m not worried about that. I can handle that part,” said Tyrone. “I just need to make sure everything’s installed before she gets home tonight.”

  “If she’s not home, how can you put the equipment on her car?”

  “She’ll be in after ten. Can you have someone help me do it after that? Maybe around midnight?”

  “Of course. But that’ll cost you extra.”

  Tyrone rubbed his beard. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a stack of money.

  “I see Trini told you the smartest way to pay,” the man said as he eyed the cash.

  “Give me the best of everything you got,” said Tyrone. “The phone stuff and the GPS. I’m going to need you to show me how everything works so I can track everything without her being suspicious. You think you can do that?”

  “Absolutely, sir. Of course.” The man hesitated. “I’m assuming the woman you’re talking about is your wife.”

  “You assumed right,” Tyrone said.

  It was after 3 A.M. when Tyrone got into bed. Tyrene had been asleep for hours, full of lobster and Dom. She and her friends had celebrated a birthday at Tyrene’s favorite hideaway restaurant, Fifteen Street Fisheries, just off the causeway.

  She stuck her head in Tyrone’s home office when she got in. There was a stack of legal briefs on the desk before him.

  “You get rid of all those cigarettes?” she asked.

  Tyrone glanced up, away from the manual for the phone-tapping equipment. It had already been installed in the house and on Tyrene’s phone at the office. Now he was studying the instructions, which he had buried between the covers of the legal brief he was holding.

  He figured he’d give her time—a couple of hours—to get showered and in bed. He could tell by the way she was leaning on the door frame that she would be out even sooner.

  “The cigarettes are gone,” he said.

  “Good. I don’t expect to see them again.” She rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know what possessed you to start up that vulgar habit again anyway.” She yawned. “So nasty. So unbecoming.”

  “Really?” His tone was dry.

  “Really,” she said in response. She blinked at him, clearing her eyes. “Whose case is that?”

  “It’s the Hernandez appeal.”

  “Oh.”

  Tyrone sat the file in his lap. His wife stood in the doorway, watching him.

  “I’m going to bed,” she said after a moment. “You coming up soon?”

  “Not for a while,” he said. “There’s a loophole in this thing somewhere, and I’m going to do my best to find it.”

  “Well, you do that, Superman,” said Tyrene. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Hill was at home, packing a bag.

  Bridgette had given him the information for his e-ticket and the reservations for his hotel had been made. He would be stay ing at Pier 66 in Fort Lauderdale. It was a beautiful hotel just off the Seventeenth Street Causeway, which sat right on the intracoastal. He had stayed there many years before and loved the place, in particular the revolving restaurant at the top of the hotel.

  He wondered how Tyrene would react once she learned he was there.

  He wondered how he would react when he saw her again.

  Hill sat on the edge of the bed. His dick grew hard just thinking about it.

  It didn’t take long for Hill’s bag to come around on the baggage carousel. He grabbed it and walked over to the Avis counter. He wouldn’t call her until he got to the hotel, he decided.

  It was raining as he maneuvered his way from the airport to U.S. 1. The air was humid and warm. The sound of thunder crackled in the distance.

  Hill smiled. He loved making love when it rained. He’d get Tyrene to the room, order up room service, and the two of them would while away the afternoon under electric gray skies.

  He couldn’t wait. He picked up his cell phone and dialed.

  “You’re where?” she said.

  “Driving to Pier 66. Meet me there in forty-five minutes. I should be checked in by then.”

  Tyrene was in her office, pacing.

  “How dare you come
here,” she said. “I didn’t tell you that you could come here.”

  “Do you want me to go?” Hill asked. “I can just turn the car around right now and go straight to the airport. I’ll be on the next flight out if that’s what you really want.”

  Tyrene stopped in front of the office window, tapping her right foot as she looked out over the rain-splattered downtown area below. She gazed in the direction of the beach. She imagined Hill as he drove toward the hotel.

  “Hello?” he said. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “So do you want me to go back home?”

  “No,” she said, her voice low.

  “I didn’t think so,” said Hill. “Now, have that tight ass in my hotel room in forty-five minutes. I got something for you.”

  “Oh yeah?” Tyrene said with a seductive grin. “Is it as big as a bread box?”

  “Bigger,” he said. “And if you give it a good polish, I just might let it bust in your eye.”

  “You’re disgusting,” she said with a laugh.

  “You love it.”

  “I’ll leave here in ten minutes.”

  “Whatever,” Hill said. “Just make sure you bring that ass over here before I have to come get it.”

  Tyrene hung up the phone.

  “Fuckfuckfuck,” she said. “Fuckshitdamn. Fuckfuckfuck.”

  Tyrone had broken the crystal water pitcher.

  He’d thrown it across the room in a Brett Favre move that smashed the thing to bejeezus and sent three paralegals flying into his office.

  “Mr. Snowden,” said one of them as she stood in the doorway.

  “Is everything okay? What’s going on in here?”

  Legendary accounts of Tyrone’s temper had lingered over the years, of isolated incidents that included him ripping a door off a hinge bare-handed and busting up an expensive mahogany credenza with a baseball bat. But those things were history. Aside from the occasional harried tone, he was even-tempered, in particular with his staff.

  “Shut my fucking door,” he barked.