Tastes Like Chicken

by Lolita Files

  “I could do with a Coke,” Rick said.

  “Me too,” said Mary.

  “Dandre? You want something?”

  “Nah, Pops,” he said in a sad voice. “I’m straight.”

  “I’ll bring you back something anyhow,” Hill said, giving Dandre a pat on the back. “Relax, son. Cut yourself a break.”

  Hill had just put a dollar in change in the machine. He pressed the button for a Coke, but nothing came out.

  “You’re a son of a bitch,” the voice behind him said. “I rue the day you and your son were ever born.”

  Hill took a deep breath and kept pressing buttons. He’d never even heard the door to the vending room open. Both buttons for Coke proved empty. Sprite was empty too. He pushed the button for Dr Pepper. Nothing.

  “If you think this whole situation is going to go unanswered, you’ve got the wrong person, buddy. You and your son fucked with the wrong woman when you fucked with me.”

  Hill was tired. And thirsty. And, good grief, now his dick was hard. He punched the button for Squirt. Nothing. Dasani. Nothing. Every single button was lit up red.

  “Fuck. The whole damn machine is dry.”

  He hit the lever to get his change back. Nothing.

  “You better face me and answer these charges. I’m thinking of taking this to court. I’m sure there are civil penalties, if not criminal. My daughter almost died today.”

  Hill didn’t want to turn around. He couldn’t. That damn turban. The tight body. Those itty-bitty bony shoes.

  Tyrene snatched at his arm, forcing his hand. He was facing her now. More like looking down at her. Her eyes were elsewhere.

  “What the…? You nasty muthafucka. What is that in the front of your pants?”

  It was obvious what it was. They didn’t make tuxes with enough slack to hide what he had going on. His crotch was tented like a Boy Scout camp.

  To her horror, Tyrene felt her body flush with excitement. Stunned at the reaction, she kept talking in the hopes that it would pass.

  “This is why my daughter’s in this situation now,” Tyrene ranted. “You and your horny son. Just look at you. You’re a fucking disgrace.”

  Hill tried to get past her, but she pinned him in, her thoughts riveted to his battle of the bulge.

  “You’re going to jail for this. I swear to God on my mother’s soul, if I can help it, I’m going to sue you and your son and your practice, and take you for everything—”

  His mouth was on hers before she knew what was happening. Before he knew what was happening, she was kissing him back.

  Hill melted into her, scooping her small frame up in his bigness. She felt just as tight and wiry as she looked. Her heels dangled high off the floor.

  Tyrene rubbed his head with both hands and twisted her face back and forth as their tongues snaked around each other in outrage, lust, desperation, and unabashed curiosity. There was an oak brown regulation table against the wall. He carried her over to it and sat her down. He stood between her legs, pressing against the African gown, holding her face, kissing her hard, running his hands up and down her shoulders and across her breasts. One of her hands was now wrapped around the tent.

  When she followed him into the vending room, it was to do what her husband couldn’t. That was her plan. Her senses were already heightened by the loss of a grandchild, maternal worry, misdirected rage, and temporary spousal abandonment that had resulted in inexpressible exasperation. The wedding she had been looking forward to with such excitement had been foiled by the son of the man in front of her. In her mind, there were only two logical things for her to do, one of which involved hitting him.

  She hadn’t expected to respond to Hill’s kiss, but his mouth was hot, his tongue pushy and probing. His dick in her hand was rigid—a rod of granite that exemplified power, passion, and manhood. It was a flash to the days of thunder she’d first experienced with Tyrone, back when he used to exude so much testosterone it seemed beyond his control.

  Right now, her husband was somewhere outside the hospital taking secondhand cancer sticks from firsthand losers. Hill was in front of her now, helpless, it seemed, to the power of his own volcanic libido. Tyrene realized that she hadn’t chosen the situation. She would never, of her own volition, have initiated an act of infidelity. But she hadn’t initiated this—and now that she was in it, she didn’t want to push it away.

  “Ohmygoh…,” she moaned against his tongue.

  “Oh…my…God,” Misty cried, the plastic cup dropping to the floor. “What the hell is going on in here?”

  Hill stepped back from Tyrene, embarrassed, emboldened, erect. He stammered something and staggered his way past Misty, out the door.

  Misty glared at Tyrene, then turned to leave. Tyrene raced like a greyhound to the door and blocked it.

  “As God is my witness, Armistice Fine….”

  Misty cut her off.

  “My last name is Hodges, Mrs. Snowden. I’m married now. Like you are—remember?”

  Tyrene pushed her back into the vending room and kicked the door closed with her heel.

  “Just hold on a minute, young lady—”

  “How could you do this?” Misty asked. “How long have you been doing things like this?”

  Tyrene didn’t know which hat to put on, the one for a lawyer or the one that fit the hysterical mother. She was on her own. Asking for Tyrone’s help was not an option in this situation.

  “Oh, what a fix, what a fix, what a fix,” she complained, opting to go the lawyer route. “That young man has gotten us all into quite a quandary today.”

  Misty leaned against the door, annoyed and indignant as she eyed Tyrene. Reesy’s mother had always been the bastion of self-righteousness and judgment. Any hint at scandal, overt sexuality, covert sexuality—sexuality, period—had resulted in lectures and lambastings since time immemorial. Tyrene had scolded Misty for things Misty’s own mother let pass. To catch her now in the act of something as inconceivable as tongue wrestling and groping Dandre’s father was beyond shocking. Misty was uncertain what to do, but she wanted to protect Reesy. The last thing her best friend needed right now was to know that her mother wasn’t the puritanical piece of terror they’d imagined her to be all these years.

  “This isn’t Dandre’s fault, Mrs. Snowden,” she said. “What did he have to do with you being holed up down here in the clinch with his dad? God, I wish I’d hadn’t seen that,” she said, shaking her head as if the action would dislodge the memory.

  “Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse…”

  Misty turned her head in disgust. She didn’t want to even look at Tyrene. She stooped to get the plastic cup.

  “Of course it’s his fault,” Tyrene said. “If it weren’t for him, my daughter wouldn’t be in the hospital. She wouldn’t have lost the baby. She wouldn’t have even been pregnant, if you want to take it to its simplest denominator. That Dandre brought all this on us. I…I…I was hysterical just now.” Her eyes were darting all over the place and her hands were following suit. Misty was surprised that, for all Tyrene’s years as an attorney, she didn’t make a credible defendant.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” she yammered. “I came looking for coffee. I didn’t know he was in here. He grabbed me…I don’t know…like he was trying to console me or something, like I wanted his filthy hands on me. Next thing you know, he copped a feel.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Tyrene,” said Misty, now throwing up her hands.

  “Give me a break. Please. You were the one with his dick in your hand.”

  Tyrene slapped her. Misty’s face stung a vibrant red, as rare as steak tartare.

  “Don’t you ever let me hear you utter those words again, young lady.” Tyrene’s teeth were clenched.

  Misty’s eyes were glazed over when she grabbed the doorknob and snatched it open. She didn’t look back as the door hit the wall with a slam and bounced shut with equal fury. Her stomach did the hula. The thought of everything wa
s making her sick.

  “Fuckfuckfuck,” Tyrene said. “Fuckshitdamn. Fuckfuckfuck.”

  She paced in the vending room, her body riddled with panic. She wanted to cry, but the act had become so foreign to her, she didn’t know how to do it. She kicked the Coke machine. Hill’s change fell out.

  Halfway down the hall, Misty realized she’d forgotten to get the ice again.

  Ho-tel, Mo-tel,

  Parker Meridi-en

  “I hope they let me go home in the morning.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

  Reesy stared at Misty sitting in the chair to her left. Grandma Tyler was asleep in the chair to her right, mouth open, her delicate yellow head tipped back against the cushion like an old canary waiting for its ration of worms.

  Misty was staring off into nothing. Reesy ended up asking the nurse for the ice chips after Misty returned with just a stupefied expression and collapsed in the chair.

  “So everybody’s still in the waiting room?”

  “For real,” said Misty, her voice empty.

  Reesy squinted her eyes. Something was not right with her friend.

  “I think I just shat on myself,” she said.

  “Most definitely,” Misty answered, still gazing at the air. “I can do that. No problem.”

  Reesy leaned forward a little so she could see her face. When she moved, it didn’t hurt as bad as it had when she’d first awakened. The last set of painkillers had kicked in, and she was feel ing more like a somewhat tired version of her former self than anything else.

  Misty’s cheek was flushed red. Just one cheek. Like she was breaking out in some sort of asymmetrical rash.

  Grandma Tyler snorted and shifted her head. She didn’t wake up. She cleared her throat and, within seconds, she was snoring.

  “Sure,” Misty said in response to the rumbles.

  Now Reesy knew something was wrong.

  Grandma Tyler snored louder. Misty looked up at Reesy.

  “Why are you sitting like that?” she scolded. “Lean back before you hurt yourself.” She stood and tried to get Reesy to settle back into the pillows.

  “I’m fine,” Reesy said, pushing her hands away. “I need to try to sit up instead of laying down. If they let me out tomorrow, I’ll be moving around more anyway.”

  “They’re letting you out tomorrow?”

  Reesy eyed her friend. Misty’s thick hair had been pulled back into a sleek bun, but now the bun was sprouting weeds. It could use a good brushing. She was still in her wedding attire, as was Grandma Tyler and everyone else out in the waiting room. There were a few spots of dried blood on the front of her dress. Most of her makeup was askew. What was left of her mascara was smudged raccoon-style. Her blush was splotchy and there was a hint of rose where her lipstick had once been. The natural beauty mark on her left cheek was the only thing that was still intact. She seemed exhausted and perplexed.

  “You need to go home,” Reesy said.

  “What?”

  The nurse came in. It wasn’t their Jersey buxom buddy, but a pretty, middle-aged black woman with narrow eyes and a face that meant business. Chez Rattagan, R.N., her badge read.

  “Visiting hours are almost over,” she said with a distinct West Indian accent. “Your guests are going to have to leave by nine o’clock.”

  “But the other nurse told me these two could stay.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” said the woman. “Your visitors have to go. The doctor says he plans to release you in the morning, first thing.”

  “Then why won’t he just release me now?”

  “You need to get more antibiotics into you to make sure you’re well enough to be checked out.”

  Grandma Tyler snorted herself out of sleep.

  “Go where?” she grumbled, adjusting herself.

  “Visiting hours are over, Grandma,” Misty said. “You and I are gonna have to leave.”

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes,” Nurse Rattagan said in her sharp voice. Grandma Tyler mumbled something under her breath as the nurse walked away.

  “What’d you say?” Nurse Rattagan asked, whipping around. Grandma Tyler was silent. Nurse Rattagan made a sucking noise as she talked to herself. “Ev’ry night me haffe deal wit’ dis nonsense. Chuh.”

  A new nurse came in and reminded them that visiting hours were over.

  “I’ll be okay,” Reesy assured them. “Really. The two of you need to get some rest.” She turned to Misty, her eyes penetrating. “Especially you. You look like you’re the one that should be laying in this bed. You didn’t seem this tired earlier. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Misty said, avoiding her gaze. “I guess everything’s just catching up with me. It was a lot today. Too much. I still think I should ask the doctor if he’ll let me stay here tonight with you. I don’t feel right leaving you alone.”

  “Me neither,” said Grandma Tyler.

  “Both of you, go,” Reesy said. “You’re both staying at the hotel, right? Misty, you and Rick aren’t driving all the way back to Connecticut tonight, are you?”

  Misty rubbed the back of her neck, looking off at anything but her friend.

  “No. We figured it would be a pretty full day, so we have a room at the Parker Meridien, just like everybody else. Dre’s dad…”

  As she said the words, a vision of Tyrene with her hand around Hill’s dick flashed through her head. Her mouth grew salty and began to water. She coughed, tried to clear her throat, then rushed into the bathroom.

  Reesy and Grandma Tyler stared in her direction as they listened to her heaving what sounded like thick spurts of water and foam.

  “Get her out of here,” Reesy said to Grandma Tyler. “She needs to rest as much as I do.”

  “This hospital is making all-a us sick,” kvetched Grandma Tyler. “Who knows what she done caught walking round up in here. That might be that Ebola. They never did cure that, you know. They just stopped talkin’ ’bout it, like folks’ll forget. Next thing you know, your arm falls off. All them germs colliding up in here, no tellin’ what’s wrong with that gal.”

  “She ain’t got no Ebola, lady,” Reesy said with a laugh. She couldn’t believe her grandmother was able to bring that out of her on such a tragic day. “We’d hear her heaving up organs if that was the case. She just needs to go home.”

  Misty wandered out of the bathroom, too embarrassed to make eye contact with either of them.

  “Let’s go, Grandma Tyler,” Misty said. “Before that woman comes back in here.”

  “Gimme tum tugar, Tweety,” the old lady said, hugging Reesy close and kissing her on the cheek. “This gon’ all get better. God’ll fix it, fo’ sho’. It’ll be all over in the morning.”

  Misty grabbed the old bird’s arm and pulled her toward the door.

  “You wash your hands?” Grandma Tyler said to Misty, looking sidelong at the fingers that were touching her arm.

  “G’night, Reesy,” Misty said over her shoulder. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  Reesy was silent, watching Misty guide Grandma Tyler away. She waited until they were almost out of the room before she spoke again.

  “Miss Divine…aren’t you gonna hug me good-bye?”

  Misty’s eyes dropped in despair as she stared at the hallway beckoning in front of her.

  “Of course.”

  She put on the best face she could muster as she walked back across the room, the poor facsimile of a smile giving her away.

  “G’night, girl,” she said, hugging Reesy tight. “This is all gonna pass. We’re gonna get through this together, just like we’ve done with everything else in our lives.”

  “I know,” said Reesy. She kissed Misty on the cheek that was flushed. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Misty said with a slight flinch.

  Reesy’s lips moved over to Misty’s hostage ear. This time her words came as a whisper.

  “I know there’s something else wrong, and yo
u’re gonna tell me soon enough. If I find out on my own and it’s something really bad that you were tryna keep from me, there’s gonna be hell to pay, Miss Divine. I swear to God. I’m not playing.”

  The nurse’s eyes were razor thin as she stood beside Grandma Tyler at the door. Misty darted past them so fast, all they saw was the blur of her eggshell dress.

  Hill sat on the edge of his bed at the Parker Meridien, his head in his hands, wondering why Alyssa’s fourth attempt at a blow job was still not working.

  “I think I’m going downstairs for a drink.”

  “Would you like me to come with?” asked a naked Alyssa, getting up from the floor.

  Hill considered the young woman in front of him. That lilt in her voice seemed annoying now. And her nose. He wanted to flatten it into something more Bantu.

  The white-girl phase was over without question. Squashed. Finis. He didn’t even get the chance to give it a proper swan song.

  “No,” he said, standing, reaching for his leather coat. He had traded the monkey suit for some slacks and a sweater once he got to the room. That’s when Alyssa began her attack. He was glad she stopped. His dick was linguini. He feared any more attempts might have twisted his cap altogether, given his inexplicable encounter with Tyrene.

  “So what am I supposed to do?” she asked, climbing into the bed. “I’ve been up here by myself for hours.”

  “Watch a movie,” he said, slipping on the coat, grabbing the key, and heading for the door. “Order room service. Raid the minibar.”

  “I did that already.” She wasn’t lying. There were scads of empty miniature bottles of Tanqueray, VSOP, and assorted bubbly on the floor. A tray with five drained martini glasses, a half-eaten rack of lamb, and a ramekin with the remains of crème brûlée was on the table by the window.

  “Then I don’t know what to tell you,” he said.

  She flip-flopped around as if she was unsure what would happen if she didn’t do something with all that energy.

  “I took some X,” she giggled, rolling onto her back, her perfect, prefab tits aimed skyward.