Tastes Like Chicken Read online

  “Please?”

  She clutched Grandma Tyler and Misty’s hands.

  “You need to rest, Miss Snowden,” the nurse said. She mo tioned toward the door for the two women to go. “You’ve had people with you all day. The sooner you rest, the quicker you’ll be outta here.”

  “Let my grandma and my girlfriend stay,” Reesy said.

  “Please.” She tried to hide her saddened surprise at hearing the woman use her maiden name. She had planned on taking Dandre’s surname, Hilliard, with no hyphenations. She was looking forward to doing everything the traditional way. But she was still Teresa Snowden and—from the looks of all the disaster around her, the stone in her heart, and the void in her womb—she was going to stay that way.

  “They have to leave,” the nurse replied, stoic as she went about escorting the others from the room. “There’s been too much disruption in here already.”

  “Have a heart,” Reesy pleaded. “I just lost my baby.” The nurse stopped what she was doing, turned, and looked at her. Their eyes met. “Today was supposed to be my wedding day.”

  The nurse glanced over at the big, fluffy dress stuffed into the tiny closet.

  “Fine,” she said in a softer tone. “But there better not be any more disturbances in here.”

  “There won’t be,” said Misty.

  The nurse nodded, pursed her lips, and left the room.

  Two hours later, Tyrone and Tyrene were still sitting in the waiting room of the emergency area. Dandre and Rick sat in a far corner, out of harm’s way. Mary, Rick’s administrative assistant, sat with them. She too had been the recipient of an unwarranted dose of Tyrene’s hate-gazes. Her long chestnut brown hair was pulled over her right shoulder and hung way past her elbow. She was a pretty girl with a turned-up nose, a happy face, and a loyal heart. She considered Reesy a dear friend, but Tyrene didn’t seem concerned about that.

  Julian and Tonio were sitting together, also away from every one. Tonio was chastising him about something; it was apparent in their body language. Julian’s arms were folded, his thoughts adrift. He was worried about Reesy, and the intensity of the day—including that eye-popping photo of a naked Dandre, which he found exquisite—had set off within him a series of convoluted, colliding feelings. Tonio leaned forward in his seat, his lips rapid-fire, his finger a pendulum moving in time to his mouth’s beat. Julian rolled his eyes and cocked his legs open so his ubiquitous bulge could breathe. He loved it when they fought. He couldn’t wait to get Tonio out of there so he could work out some of his inner conflict.

  Hill sat two seats down from Reesy’s parents, still struggling with the dregs of his hangover from the bachelor party. The melee at the church had reduced the headache to a dull thump, but it was there nonetheless, threatening to revisit. He was doing his best to avoid Tyrene’s unforgiving glare. Alyssa was awaiting his return back at the Hotel Parker Meridien, where all the out-of-town guests—and some of the in-town ones—were staying, compliments of Hill. He didn’t think it wise for her to remain at the hospital. Tyrene’s venom had proved much too potent for Alyssa to withstand. After an assortment of “white hussy”s and “slutty skank”s had been fired at the girl, Hill had given her cab fare and sent her on her way.

  After her exit, he and Tyrene exchanged another round of words, more than he cared to remember. He wasn’t quite sure why she was so angry at him. He didn’t recall doing anything that would cause her offense, and Reesy’s falling at the church was an accident, everyone could see that.

  Dandre had told him weeks ago that his soon-to-be mother-in-law was a bit contentious. In retrospect, Hill realized his son had been both generous and kind in his description. Tyrene said some pretty foul things to him. Amid the clamor of all the other people with emergencies crowding into the space, fighting for attention, her shrill bitching superseded everything.

  “Your son did this,” she said. “What do you have to say about that?”

  When Hill didn’t respond fast enough, she kept at him.

  “I’m glad the wedding was interrupted,” said Tyrene, shaking her finger in his face. “You and your son have the morals of eels.”

  Hill stepped away from her, confused, making a mental note to look into the lifestyles of the slick and slithery.

  It took tremendous effort from Tyrone, three hospital administrators, and a threat from security to bar her from the premises to tone her down. Hill was astonished at so much ferocity coming from such a small package. All that volatility, the fireworks. She was a rocket, but nice and compact. Like a little Cocola bottle about to go off.

  Too bad she’s so evil, he thought. He considered her quite attractive and spunky, for an older bird. She had to be in her late fifties or so, but she was sexy. She was petite with a tight body. A real spinner. And with the way she’d cursed at him, he figured she must be hellfire once you got her in the sack. Hill glanced at her sidelong and found Tyrene still staring at him, her mouth twisted like that of a viper about to spit acid.

  He cleared his throat and looked away. Whatever. He could show her some tricks that he bet Big Man sitting next to her didn’t know, but oh well. He liked his meat young and tender anyway. Pullets, not hens. They had to be robust, the flush of life and excitement still fresh in their skin, at the peak of health and sexual pliability.

  With the exception of one person, Hill had never been with what he considered an older broad, which meant anyone above the age of thirty. He had been thirty-three when his wife died in childbirth. It took him five years to recover from her loss. He’d felt such an overwhelming sense of guilt, as if he had somehow failed her and his son. She had been the love of his life. No one else had come close since, and he knew, at sixty-six, no one else ever would.

  They’d been together for twelve years, since his junior year in college, when she died. He married Eileen Merrill—a tall, elegant, pretty brown girl with dimples and a delicate bone structure—a week after they both graduated. They agreed to wait for him to complete medical school and his internship before they had children. Eileen was patient, loving, supportive, the perfect doctor’s wife. Hill doted on her, supplying every creature comfort that was within, and sometimes beyond, his means. He insisted that she not work. It wasn’t right, he said, for a doctor to have a wife who took care of anything but her family’s needs.

  Everything in their lives went according to plan, except for one slipup when he was thirty. Eileen became pregnant while he was still an intern. She miscarried. The pregnancy had been ectopic, the egg lodged and grew in Eileen’s fallopian tube instead of her uterus. The tube ruptured, sending her to the emergency room in excruciating pain. Her then-doctor said it was a miracle the damage hadn’t resulted in the need for a full hysterectomy. There was a great deal of scarring, and since she was left with just one fallopian tube, he doubted she would ever get pregnant again; and if she did, it wouldn’t be easy. His prognosis for her ability to carry a child to term was even bleaker.

  Three years later, Hill had his own practice and was doctor to his wife. Despite the earlier prediction, she was pregnant again, and they were being careful about everything. He was the attending obstetrician. Eileen had experienced many complications, but she and the baby were fine. Hill had seen her through what he thought was the hump—a rough nine months that included a lot of hand-holding, morning, noon, and night sickness, a battery of rashes, unidentified aches and pains, and an underwhelming appetite. But there in the hospital, his wife yielding before him with their entire future in his hands, he had failed her.

  For starters, the cord was wrapped around the baby’s throat. Tiny Dandre emerged blue and asphyxiated, and had to be resus citated back to life. Then Eileen began hemorrhaging, and all the blood-clotting medicines, textbook solutions, and expert assists of Hill’s short-lived career couldn’t save her. Eileen’s death on the birthing bed was as shocking to him as the sight of the newborn in his hands that he’d help bring into the world.

  Hill had since committed himself
to a lifetime of saving mothers and babies, and making sure his son wanted for nothing. Beyond that he liked two other things: acquiring things and girls, girls, girls. Nothing younger than nineteen, and, for certain, nothing older than thirty. He liked his chicken hot out the grease.

  Nope, he hadn’t been with another woman anywhere close to Eileen’s age since her death. She’d become iconic to him. But just as he had canonized her in memory, her age had become his greatest taboo. Something about her being older than thirty had planted the subtle seed in Hill’s mind that she hadn’t been sturdy enough. That, past the age of twenty-nine, she couldn’t take what nature had to dish out.

  Reesy was thirty-two, and she’d fallen down the stairs at church and lost the baby. But he’d seen twenty-somethings take similar falls and lose babies too. In fact, he had tons of statistical data and firsthand experience that proved his over-thirty theory wrong on many counts. But there was that perpetual image of the delicate Eileen, thirty-three, bloody, and dying right in front of him. That vision influenced his thoughts more than any rational statistics could ever hope to. It was the thing that always prevailed.

  But this little hen in the bone-colored turban was triggering something randy in him. Made his old woody want to peck her. Perhaps it’s the Courvoisier talking, he wondered, or perhaps his white-girl phase was passing. In a fleeting moment of panic, he prayed he wasn’t entering an old-broad stage.

  Hill could hear her yammering in Dandre’s direction now, but he was too exhausted to go to his son’s aid. Rick was there.

  He’d run interference. Hill checked out the cutie sitting with them, but his loins were not stirred. He smirked. The white-girl phase must be passing indeed.

  No old broads, no old broads, he chanted in silence. He cut his eyes at Tyrene and felt his manhood swell.

  But she’s old, he lamented. And she’s evil.

  “Pipe down, Tyrene,” Tyrone said in a booming voice. “This is a hospital, for God’s sake. Screaming at everybody won’t solve anything.”

  And she’s married, Hill noted. She’s old, she’s mean, and she’s married.

  I See London,

  I See France

  Reesy needed some ice chips.

  “I’ll go get it,” Misty said.

  “Thanks, Miss Divine.”

  Misty smiled. Reesy hadn’t called her that in a while. That playground nickname had survived many moments. Just hearing her say it spoke volumes of trust.

  Reesy watched Misty take a big plastic cup from the table beside the bed. She was used to being Misty’s anchor in times of emotional crisis. It felt strange being on the receiving end.

  “Be right back, sweetie,” Misty said as she pushed the door open and disappeared down the hall.

  “You okay?”

  Misty slid into the chair beside her husband. She had just given Tyrone and Tyrene an update.

  “Yeah, baby, I’m fine,” Rick said, kissing her on the forehead.

  “How’s Reesy?” Dandre asked, his eyes red, his face desperate. She could tell he was torn up about what had happened, but she didn’t know how to help him. Fate had played itself out and his past had caught up with him in the most horrid way.

  “She’s alright. You know. About as alright as a person can be in the face of something like this.”

  Dandre dropped his head and began to sob into his hands.

  “You need to cry,” Tyrene yelled.

  Mary rubbed his back.

  “It’s okay, Dandre,” Misty said. “She’s alright, really. I came out to get her some ice chips. Her mouth’s a little dry.”

  “Can I take it to her?” he asked, looking up with wet lashes. A five o’clock shadow was beginning a slow crawl across his face.

  “No, that won’t fly right about now,” Misty said. “She doesn’t want to see you. You have to understand that. This day was a lot for anybody to swallow. It was extremely hard on her.”

  He looked like a man who’d just been given a death sentence.

  “But I lost a child too,” he said. “No one seems to get that. I love Reesy so much. I was looking forward to our life together. I slept with my hand on her stomach every night. Did she tell you that? We made life together. And just like that, it got taken away.”

  Dandre’s sobs were so heavy, Misty got up and went over to him and held him as he cried. Hill watched them from across the room, remembering his own awful moments in the hospital with Eileen. It dawned on him that his son was the same age he had been when she died.

  He went over to them. Tyrene watched him as he strode across the room.

  “That’s his role model,” she said to Tyrone. “That’s where he learned everything he knows. From Pervert Senior.”

  “Just stop it, would you?” he said. “Everybody’s hurting here. There’s no need to point fingers.”

  “So you’re saying those pictures didn’t bother you?” she asked. “You’re saying it’s okay that our daughter marry a man who has orgies with women with red hair and black privates?”

  The inside of Tyrone’s head felt like it was roaring with the waves of a violent ocean. Tyrene’s natter had taken its toll. He stood, planning to stretch his legs and body in an effort to clear his mind.

  “What are you doing?” Tyrene asked. “Sit back down here, Tyrone. I’m talking to you.”

  She yanked at his hand and Tyrone felt something inside himself snap. He pulled away, his eyes stern.

  “No, you didn’t just snatch your hand from me,” she said through gritted teeth, as though reprimanding a child.

  “Fuck you, Tyrene,” he replied, his voice a loud boom that caught the attention of everyone.

  Tyrene uttered a small, strangled cry of surprise. Her mouth remained open as she watched her husband walk away over to the automatic doors and out of the building. He stood a few feet from the doors with his eyes closed, breathing in the chill evening air.

  Tyrene couldn’t believe he’d left her there. It shut her down cold. It had always been the two of them against everything. Her mouth clamped shut as she tapped her foot against the worn linoleum.

  “I need to get back to the room,” Misty said. “Dandre, everything’s gonna be alright, okay? Just give this some time. Let God work it out.”

  Dandre nodded as his father stood in front of him. Hill had given him a handkerchief and Dandre was dabbing at fresh tears. Misty watched the two of them, wondering why something like this had to happen. They were both good-looking, compassionate black men. Both had chased way too much tail in their day. Heck, she thought, Dr. Hilliard was still doing it. As for Dandre, Misty knew he loved Reesy with everything in him and that his bed-hopping days were long over.

  What she knew more than anything, though, was that as fucked up as karma could be, karma was real. It always collected, and it didn’t give a rat’s ass how much you’d cleaned up your act and become a better person.

  Tyrone was still outside. Tyrene watched him through the windows as he leaned against the building, frost coming from his lips. He didn’t look like he had any plans to come in soon. It offended her to think that he’d rather weather the cold than be inside with her. She’d expected him to be angrier about what had happened to Reesy. This was all Dandre’s fault. She figured Tyrone would have cracked his skull open by now, and his irresponsible father’s. Instead, he had directed his anger at her.

  “It’s gonna be okay, son,” Hill assured Dandre. “All we can do is just make sure she gets better, and then, if you really love this woman—”

  “I do,” Dandre said. “I love her more than I ever thought I could love somebody.”

  “—then if you really love her, you do everything in your power to get her back. You bend over backwards and forwards and upside down. I’d do anything to have your mother back. I lost her because I didn’t know enough. I lost her because I thought I knew everything.”

  “Pops, that was out of your hands.”

  Hill held his palm up.

  “We don’t know
that. I was green. I had no business being her doctor. But you have a chance to do things different. Fight for Reesy. Don’t pressure her. Just bide your time. You can get her back. If she really loves you, you can get her back.”

  Rick and Mary watched the two of them. Mary leaned her head on Rick’s shoulder and began to cry. He patted her head, thanking God that this was not his and Misty’s situation.

  Tyrene watched Tyrone bum a cigarette from a scurvy-looking woman outside. He hadn’t smoked in fifteen years. Her nerves were fraying. Her foot was tapping in double time.

  “Where’s my ice?”

  “Oh shit,” Misty said. “I forgot it. I stopped on my way to check on everybody. Dandre’s so torn up, it threw me off. I feel so bad for him.”

  “Is he more torn up than me?” Reesy asked, her expression cold. “Is his womb ravaged? Was he humiliated? Did he fall down a flight of concrete stairs?”

  “Stop it, Reesy. His head is fucked up. Sorry, Grandma Tyler.”

  “That’s okay, baby,” Grandma Tyler said. “If I was him, I’d be fucked up too.”

  Reesy laughed in spite of herself.

  “Let me go get your ice,” Misty said.

  “Do me a favor first.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Could you mash that dress into the closet and pull it closed so that I don’t have to see it?”

  “Sure,” said Misty.

  Reesy glanced at the ring on her left finger. It sparkled.

  This has to come off, she thought. As soon as she got her energy up, the awful reminder had to go.

  Tyrene was standing at the window now, rapping at the glass, trying to get Tyrone’s attention. He ignored her and bummed another cigarette. No one was talking to her, not even her own husband. She was the pariah while Dandre had a huddle of friends and family around him. She was frightened, although she disguised it with rage.

  “I’m going to the vending machine,” Hill said. “Anybody want anything? A soda, bottled water, some chips, maybe?”