Tastes Like Chicken

by Lolita Files

  As he drove to his house now, he pictured her straddling him with those agile yellow limbs.

  “This is awful,” he said. “It’s driving me mad.”

  She hadn’t given him much to go on. No words of encouragement, no hints at any real fracture in her current state of nuptial affairs. But what about her actions? he thought. They seemed to say everything. The way she was on him and over him and into him had to mean something. When she kissed him good-bye in the lobby, he hadn’t considered it a permanent separation. There was something in the way her tongue met his that didn’t speak of finality.

  “Good grief,” he lamented. “What am I going to do about this tricky situation?”

  Four days later, Reesy felt an irresistible urge for some answers. She had tossed the whole night, tormented by a replay of the events at the church. The sound of envelopes ripping open raced in her head, as did the image of herself tumbling down the stairs at the front of the church.

  She threw on some sweats and sneakers, snatched her parka from the hook by the door, stuffed herself into it, and made for her car.

  Dandre was standing in the doorway of his brownstone. Despite the bitter winter wind, he was engaged in what looked like active conversation with an attractive woman standing on his front steps. She looked familiar. Her fleshy round ass was what gave her away.

  Reesy sat in the car, staring at what was taking place. She had come to talk to him, but now that was moot. She had her answer. He’d been playing her all along, just as she’d suspected.

  She pulled out of the parking space she had maneuvered into a few doors down from Dandre’s house.

  “Fine,” she said to herself, her eyes flushed and stinging with tears. “Fuck him. He can have that woman. He can have whoever he wants.”

  Sicker Than Your Average

  “What happened to your hair?”

  It was six days later and Misty was standing at Reesy’s front door.

  “I cut it.”

  She let Misty in.

  “I see that. That’s what I’m talking about. You didn’t say anything to me about this.”

  She watched Reesy walk ahead of her, examining the back of her new pixie cut. They both sat on the couch.

  “So do you like it?”

  Misty reached over and touched it.

  “It’s fabulous. It suits your face. So when did you do this?”

  “Yesterday. I figured I needed a wholesale change.”

  “What do you mean by ‘wholesale’?” She noticed that Reesy was still wearing her ring.

  Reesy didn’t answer. She glanced around the apartment. Misty’s eyes followed hers.

  Boxes were everywhere, secured with packing tape, labeled in black Magic Marker.

  “Uh, what’s going on here?” asked Misty with unmasked surprise. “Are we moving?” She wondered how she had missed all the boxes. Reesy’s new haircut was a vortex that had sucked up all her attention.

  “We are.”

  Reesy got up and went into the kitchen. She opened a cabinet, reached in, and grabbed a box of apple cider mix and two mugs.

  “And just where are we moving to?” Misty asked.

  Reesy turned on the faucet and filled the kettle. She put it on the stove and turned up the fire.

  “Reesy.”

  “What’s that?” she said, turning around.

  “Where and when are you moving?”

  “Oh.”

  She tore open the packets and poured them into the mugs.

  Misty knew this drill. It was the old I’m-going-to-tell-you-onmy-own-terms game. No sweat, she thought. They’d been playing it for years.

  The kettle whistled. Reesy filled the mugs and stirred the drinks, dropping cinnamon sticks into each. She carried them into the living room.

  Misty was sitting back on the gold couch, flipping through the current issue of Vibe.

  “Would you do Jay-Z?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” Reesy said, sitting the mugs on coasters. “There’s something kinda street cuddly about him.”

  “Street cuddly. That’s a new one.”

  Reesy leaned back into the cushions.

  “Yeah, you know. Like maybe he spoons you when you sleep and gives you back rubs and shit, but he can still lay a muthafucka out if he steps to you wrong.”

  “Right,” Misty said, putting down the magazine. “Hey, didn’t you say once that you were going to stop cursing?”

  “I said a buncha things once.” She sipped her hot cider.

  Misty checked her out, waiting, watching the mist from the mug steam her face a little. She picked up her own mug of cider.

  “That look really does suit you. You have such a pretty face.”

  Reesy smiled, still sipping.

  Misty was playing the game well. The rules were, no pressure. The informing party would tell when she felt like it. Reesy appreciated the fact that Misty was such an intimate friend. Misty knew most of her moves without having to be checked.

  “What’d you do with the braids?” Misty asked.

  “I burned them.”

  “Damn.”

  Misty put down her cider and sauntered around the apartment. She ignored the boxes, which were underfoot at every turn. She walked over to the window.

  “We had snow in Connecticut the other day. It was beautiful.”

  “Yeah. We had some too, but it didn’t stick.”

  “Neither did ours.”

  She kept looking out the window at the people walking by on the street below. They were bundled in thick coats and scarves, leaning their knit-cap- and hat-clad heads forward to cut the wind. She watched a mother go by with her four little ones. They all held hands like one big daisy chain.

  Her stomach made a gurgling noise. She walked back to the couch and sat down. She picked up the mug and took another sip of cider.

  “I’m moving to California,” Reesy said.

  “Oh really?” Misty said in a calm voice, still going along with things.

  “Yup. I’m leaving tomorrow on a cross-country drive.”

  “Tomorrow?” Misty shrieked. Game over. She felt like Reesy’s behavior was absurd. “You can’t leave town tomorrow.”

  Reesy’s legs were tucked beneath her. Her favorite afghan was pulled over them.

  “Why can’t I? There’s nothing here to stop me.”

  Reesy hadn’t told her about the incident she’d witnessed at Dandre’s house between him and the woman. That had been the deciding factor. Her dignity had taken enough blows. Too many for her to want to talk about it anymore.

  She stared at Misty, waiting for her to give an adequate reason why she should stay.

  Misty’s chin dropped. She felt limp, helpless in the face of everything happening around her. She ran her hand across her face, absently tracing the beauty mark on her cheek. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but it felt tight, like she needed to loosen the elastic that was holding it together.

  Reesy could almost see the thoughts turning over in her friend’s head. Misty glanced up. Her almond-shaped eyes were absent of their usual sparkle.

  “So what about me?” she asked. “You can’t just leave me here. We’ve never lived apart before.”

  “You were in Atlanta for a while before I moved there.”

  “But you did ultimately move there, and we talked on the phone every day.”

  Misty’s stomach was doing the bump.

  “You have a husband now,” Reesy said. “You need to focus on him and your new life. And last time I knew, they had phones in California, so I don’t see it being a problem for us to still talk.”

  Misty stood again and wandered around the room.

  “This is so ridiculous, Reesy,” she said. “You can’t just keep running from things.”

  Reesy seemed relaxed as she fingered her hair. It was apparent that she was at peace with her decision.

  “I’m not running from anything. It’s called getting a fresh start. I’ve done my time in New
York. Like Julian always used to say, gotta make moves.”

  This is too much for me, Misty thought. Reesy and her mother were making her life way too complicated.

  “I’ve been talking to Rowena,” Reesy said. “She’s gonna introduce me to some casting people and maybe try to hook me up with her agent.”

  Rowena had been the lead in Black Barry’s Pie. After a grueling audition for the part, Reesy had taken over the role of Mimosa Jones when Rowena moved to California after she’d booked a part in a Hughes brothers film.

  It had been a big transition for Reesy, considering she’d started in the play as a background dancer. Even though Reesy had a master’s degree, for most of her adult life she had chosen jobs that didn’t challenge her so that Tyrone and Tyrene wouldn’t have any expectations. The first few years after she graduated from college they gave her daily lectures on why she should attend law school. She was heir to the Snowden & Snowden legal empire, they reminded her. It was pointless, and in time, her parents saw the futility of their pressure. Black Barry’s Pie had been the first job she’d ever had in the theater. After years of drifting from job to job and a fleeting fling with stripping, Reesy had found her fit.

  “But L.A. isn’t really known for having a great theater market,” Misty said. “New York is the center of the universe when it comes to that.”

  “Dreams change. I’ll network with people in the film industry. And maybe I can book some work on TV.”

  Misty’s stomach was on fire. Gas was bubbling up and now hovered at the edge of her throat, threatening to erupt. She swallowed a gulp of air to press the gas down.

  “Don’t you have to be in the unions for that?” she said as she swallowed. “You can’t just go there and jump into—”

  Reesy laughed.

  “Same ol’ Misty, always of little faith. You said something to me along the same lines as that when I told you I was gonna try out for the theater. If I believed everything you said to me, I’d never leave my house.”

  Misty sat on the arm of the chair.

  “That’s a terrible thing to say. I’ve always been so supportive of you.”

  The gas was burning her palate. The bubbling in her stomach could be heard in the room.

  “What’s wrong with you?” asked Reesy.

  “I don’t want you to leave, yet you make it sound like I don’t believe in you. I’ve always believed in you.”

  Her midsection roared. The gas liquefied and bubbled up, racing to the inner edges of her mouth.

  “Fuck that,” Reesy said. “I’m talking about all those squirting noises and shit that are coming out of you.”

  A final noxious bubble burst upward, forcing Misty to rush from the arm of the chair to the bathroom. She bent over the toilet, opened her mouth, and, as if on cue, the contents fell out, hitting the water with a splash. Reesy was at her heels, worried. She hadn’t anticipated her leaving town to have such a dramatic effect.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “Is it the cider? Is it my going away?”

  Misty was crying hysterical tears against the bowl. She sat on the floor, exhausted, sick, her head buried in the crook of her elbow.

  “Misty? Misty?”

  Reesy sat on the floor next to her. Misty kept crying.

  “Girl, stop being so silly and tell me what’s wrong. I know you love me and all and we’ve been partners forever, but I didn’t expect you to throw a fit like this.” She put her arm around her.

  “C’mon, tell me. Is it me leaving? What’s the matter?”

  Misty realized she didn’t know how to explain. The burden—the stress—it was all too much for her, along with everything else. This was the last thing Reesy needed to hear on the eve of a life change. Misty had been debating the how and when of telling her, in addition to the if, but she wasn’t sure if her friend had even dealt with what had happened with her and Dandre yet. Their relationship had unraveled and they’d lost a child. Reesy hadn’t addressed the issue since her parents left. Misty knew it was still troubling her; it had to be. There’s no way, she thought, that Reesy can handle this other thing. It was just as sensitive and explosive, in the wake of all that had happened.

  Misty kept crying, her hysterical sobs alternating with fits of retching. Reesy grabbed her shoulders with both hands and made Misty face her.

  “Stop it,” she demanded. “Stop it right now. Tell me what’s wrong with you. Does this have something to do with that situation at the hospital and why Tyrene slapped you? You were never really straight with me about that whole affair anyway.”

  Misty leaned over the toilet and vomited again.

  “Nah, see. This is crazy. Something is definitely up.” Reesy hovered over her. “Something else went down that I don’t know about, didn’t it? C’mon. Stop fucking around. Tell me what happened Misty, or I’m gonna pick up the phone and call Tyrene myself. She might have smacked the fear of something into you, but I’m not scared of her. I never have been and I never will be.”

  She lifted Misty’s chin. Misty stared at the floor, which was littered with stray tears.

  “Look at me and tell me the truth, or I’m calling Tyrene. I swear I will.”

  Misty’s sobs subsided somewhat, but she still didn’t open her mouth to speak.

  “Fine,” Reesy said, getting up. “I’m gonna settle this shit once and for all. I’m tired of people walking around me with secrets and having them blow up in my face later. This has got to stop.”

  She made a move for the door. Misty knew she couldn’t let her call Tyrene.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Reesy stopped in the doorway. She was facing the living room.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I misheard you.”

  Misty sobs began anew.

  “I’m pregnant,” she screamed. “And I don’t want to have this fucking baby. The last thing I need is a baby right now.”

  The two women were sitting on the couch.

  Misty was wrapped in Reesy’s afghan, drinking the reheated cider. Reesy stared at the hardwood floor.

  “I don’t understand how it is you’re not happy about this,” she said. “You have a man who loves you. Everybody can see that. This was all you’ve ever talked about for years—having a husband and a family. I don’t get you, I swear. I don’t get anybody anymore.”

  Misty sipped her cider. She didn’t get herself either. She didn’t get Tyrene, she didn’t get Hill, she didn’t get Dandre. She didn’t get why Reesy had to pull up roots, although it made more sense than everything else that was happening.

  What bothered her most was Rick. She hadn’t told him about the baby yet because she knew that, once she did, it was going to be on. He would flip into Daddy mode with a superhuman quickness. This was a role he’d looked forward to for most of his adult life. It was something he talked about at least once a day, and always at night. Before sex, after sex, during sex.

  “I can’t wait to see you barefoot with my seed in your belly,” he would say once he was inside her. “What would you do if I knocked you up right now?”

  He would talk about it over breakfast.

  “How do you feel?” he’d ask.

  “Fine. Quit drilling me,” she’d say.

  “No queasiness, no morning sickness?”

  “Rick, we used a rubber. I’m not ovulating. Stop wishing that upon me. Watching what Reesy’s going through with her pregnancy is enough.”

  “Just think—if the two of you were pregnant at the same time—that would be sick, wouldn’t it?” His grin would border on diabolical glee. “Really. That would be some cool-ass shit.”

  “Eat your bacon.”

  “Yeah,” he’d say with a dreamy gaze. “That would be cooler than a muthafucka.”

  She imagined him around the house, prepping for the new arrival. Everything would change.

  Rick wanted several kids, so this would be the first of a series he would expect her to pop in rapid succession. That’s why she wanted to wait
. She didn’t mind having them, but she did mind when. Misty still had career goals she wanted to meet. Her boss, Rich Landey, had hinted at the possibility of another merger—this time with a company in the Netherlands—which would catapult her into international terrain and a six-figure salary with a compensation package and stock options that had the potential to move her into the seven-figure zone. She was excited by what that would mean for her and Rick and their future security. She was also pleased about the European travel and the prospect of her employee/husband being able to accompany her. It would be like honeymooning, compliments of Burch Financial, over and over again.

  All she needed was two years of this, she figured, and then they could talk about making babies. Besides, she liked the tradition of the bride and groom having the first two years of marriage to themselves, free to be with each other without the demands and encumbrances of children. Once little ones arrived, they would never have this kind of time to themselves again. She wanted to cherish it, not give it away just months after they’d said their vows.

  Although they hadn’t made a formal edict about their family plan, Misty believed her husband understood her position. And although she wasn’t taking birth control pills, they had been using condoms coupled with the rhythm method and it seemed to be working. At least she thought so. It wasn’t until the scene at the hospital made her sick and the nauseating feeling just wouldn’t go away that she began to worry. It got between her and her morning grits. It kept her from the dinner roast. Some times just the sight of food was enough to trigger an episode of dry heaves. She hadn’t eaten a whole meal in days because everything she tried to consume defied the laws of gravity.

  Perhaps it’s stress, she thought, but when her period didn’t show up, she knew Tyrene and Hill were not to blame.

  “So when are you going to tell him?”

  “I don’t know,” Misty said.

  “You are going to tell him, though…right?” Reesy searched her friend’s face for a sign of something. Misty was always so transparent. For once, Reesy had no clue what was going on in her head.

  Misty pulled the afghan tighter around her.