Tastes Like Chicken

by Lolita Files

  They ordered another round of drinks, and Reesy found herself talking to Sleazy as though she had known him for years. He told her how he used to hustle. She told him, without mentioning Dandre’s name, that she had moved to L.A. to get away from someone who had broken her heart. She talked about her drive cross-country. She told him about the dogs.

  “My ex followed me here,” she said.

  “Oh damn. Well, if you need some protection, just holla. I’m a big muthafucka. Folks tend to back off when they see my ass roll up.”

  “Thanks, Sleazy. I appreciate it.” She took a sip of her drink.

  “Let me ask you a question.”

  “Alright.” His two-way beeped again. “Hang on,” he said. He read it, then typed something back in response. “Okay, mami. Shoot.”

  “Rhiannon said you’d probably hit on me. Why didn’t you?”

  He laughed, his big bald head tilting back like a heavy ball that might not rebound. His beard was salt-and-pepper. She didn’t know how old he was. He could be thirty-three or forty-three.

  “I love Rhi to death but she runs her mouth too much. She makes it sound like I holla at everything with a gap in its legs.”

  “She likes you. And from what I can see, you do holla at everything.”

  “Well…yeah. Just as long as it ain’t got a dick.”

  “So?”

  “So what, mami? You had me in the friend zone when I first sat down. I’m not stupid. I know a love-struck bitch when I see one. No offense. Plus this is a bit of a giveaway.”

  He tapped her left hand.

  “That’s a pretty big rock,” he said.

  “Yeah? And?”

  “And, so, why do you still wear it if he broke your heart?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Habit, I guess.”

  “Habit, hell. You’re still hanging on.”

  Reesy stared at him. Sleazy stared back, his expression daring her to refute his words.

  “You’re hilarious,” she said.

  “I’m trying,” replied Sleazy. “It’s how I get paid. So look, mami, we gotta get you out. Get you into the L.A. groove. This is a filthy, rotten city, so brace yourself. But it’s fabulous. The filthy and the rotten never looked so good.”

  “Bring it on,” said Reesy. “I’m ready.”

  He glanced at the ring.

  “You sure?”

  In a grand gesture, she pulled at the thing. It didn’t budge.

  “My finger must be swollen.”

  “Yeah, right. Of course.”

  His two-way went off again. Sleazy checked it again. Reesy played with her finger.

  It was somewhat pudgy. Not much, but enough to make the ring tight. Sleazy didn’t know about her former pregnancy. Reesy tugged at the ring again, but it wouldn’t come off.

  “Forget the ring,” he said. “That nigga’s got you branded. Tell people you wear it to ward muthafuckas off.”

  “That’s a thought.”

  “In the meantime,” he said, “let’s go out tonight. I’m thinkin’ ’bout doing my thing onstage. You down?”

  “Alright.” She reached in her purse for money for the check.

  “I got this,” he said. “Sort of a welcome-to-L.A. treat, on me.”

  “Thank you, Sleazy.”

  “Right,” he said. “Don’t get too comfortable with it, though. I’m still on the incline. You’re gonna have to get a rich dude if you’re looking to get laced on the reg.”

  * * *

  When Reesy opened the door, one of the folding chairs was on the floor and all three dogs were out of the baby pen, nowhere in sight. Newspaper was shredded throughout the living room. There wasn’t a square inch of floor space that didn’t have a piece of the L.A. Times.

  The smell of piss and feces dominated the air.

  Reesy slammed the door. The three dogs emerged from places unknown and charged her like a pack of rats.

  Dante let loose with an anguished sound, as if someone were stabbing him. Reesy jumped back in horror. Harlem and Peanut continued to yip, but Dante warbled and croaked as though he were on the brink of death.

  She picked him up in her arms.

  “Oh my goodness, what’s wrong?”

  He let out a wail that made her run to the phone and dial 911.

  “I think I have a dying dog.”

  Reesy sat in the veterinarian’s office. Barbara had given her the name and address of Meg’s doctor.

  Dante was sleeping in her lap. The moans had ceased once they got into the car. Dante had stood on his hind legs, staring out the window during the frantic drive over. He’d panted, looking back over his shoulder at Reesy. She’d kept expecting him to drop dead at any moment, victim to some mysterious newsprint overdose.

  “I’m Dr. Cho,” the Asian woman said to Reesy. She looked at Dante. “Oh, what a cute little shiba.”

  Dante wagged his tail as the vet lifted him from Reesy’s arms.

  “Come on back,” Dr. Cho said. “Let’s go in the examination room.”

  “So what’s the problem?” the doctor asked, looking into the dog’s mouth, then feeling his underside. She checked inside his ears and put a stethoscope against his fur.

  “Well, he was screaming. It was a hideous sound. I thought he was dying. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

  Dr. Cho chuckled. She rubbed Dante’s chin. He appeared quite happy. She scratched Dante behind the ears.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your dog,” she said.

  “Then why was he wailing like that? I’ve never heard an animal make such a god-awful noise.”

  “It’s just something that shibas do,” Dr. Cho replied. “Get used to it. He was probably happy to see you. Had you been away for a while?”

  “Just a few hours.”

  “Then he was just glad that you were back home.”

  Reesy put her head in her hands.

  “You mean to tell me this dog is going to do that every time I come home?”

  “Probably, especially as he grows more attached to you. More than likely he’ll do it every time he’s excited about anything.”

  “Oh my goodness. I have two other shibas. Will they do it too?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  Dr. Cho handed Dante to her.

  “There is one other thing about shibas that you also might not know.”

  “What’s that?” Reesy asked, bracing herself.

  “They can never be walked off the leash. Ever. No matter how well trained they are, there’s always the chance that they’ll dash off or run into the street. They have a very strong hunting instinct, so it’s their nature to race off. You have to be careful with them.”

  “Great,” said Reesy.

  Dr. Cho smiled and put her hand on Reesy’s shoulder.

  “It’s not a big problem. Just don’t be casual about leaving doors open so they can get out.”

  Dante licked Reesy’s face.

  “This visit’s on the house,” the doctor said.

  “I appreciate it.” Reesy stood. “I’m sure you’ll see me again.”

  She dialed Dandre’s cell phone on the drive back home.

  “These dogs you bought me are screaming lunatics.”

  “Whaddya mean?” he asked, surprised by her call. “The woman at the pet store told me they were low-maintenance. They hardly bark or anything.”

  “No, that’s true. And except for the occasional hysterical wail from hell, they’re perfectly fine.”

  “I don’t understand what you…”

  He flashed back to the woman’s comment at the pet store. She’d said something about a curious bark, but insisted it was rare.

  “I’m sorry, Reesy.”

  “Well, I just made an idiot out of myself at the vet,” she said.

  “Thanks for making me look dumb once again.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I saw you with that woman. I can’t believe that after what happened at the church and me losing ou
r child, you were still seeing her. What did you think I was, a fucking fool?”

  “What woman? I don’t understand what you’re talking—”

  “Fuck you, Dandre. What were you thinking? Huh? You think you can just come back into my life like nothing ever happened?”

  “No, Reesy. That’s not what I—”

  “Were these three dogs supposed to take the place of our baby? Because if that’s what you thought—”

  She flipped the phone closed, her emotions snagging on the edge of her words, and flung it onto the passenger seat. Dante was standing at the window. He glanced back at her with a wide-toothed grin.

  * * *

  Reesy was ready for a night out. After cleaning up behind the dogs and putting them and the baby pen in the kitchen, she had taken a long, relaxing shower. She pulled at the ring once more, but it would not be moved. She rubbed butter around her finger and still nothing.

  “This is stupid,” she said.

  She got dressed and headed out to meet Sleazy.

  He was standing in front of the club when she and Black pulled up. She parked the car and came over to him.

  “You clean up nice, mami,” he said, giving her a hug.

  “So do you.”

  Sleazy was in a well-tailored suit and sporting a pair of gators. It made him appear even more imposing. The unlit cigar was in its usual place.

  “You sure you’re not cold?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

  He guided her toward the entrance.

  “She’s with me,” Sleazy said to Derrick, the tall, fresh-faced, could-be-Latin-could-be-black ethnic crapshoot of a cutie collecting money from behind the Plexiglas.

  “Yeah, I’m with the moulie,” she said.

  Derrick flashed an instant grin that lit up his questionable-heritage face.

  “She got jokes.”

  “Yeah, man…she got mad jokes.”

  “Yum,” Reesy mumbled, staring into Derrick’s face.

  “Stop it,” Sleazy said through closed lips. “No fucking my friends.”

  “I don’t know you well enough to know who’s your friend.”

  “Then no fucking the help.”

  “So why am I here? And why is your mouth closed? What you are now, a ventriloquist? Are you about to ram your hand up my ass?”

  Sleazy laughed as he pressed his palm into the small of Reesy’s back, guiding her into the club.

  “You’re way too rowdy to be a girl, you know. And that pretty face is a straight-up lie. You’re the devil, and I’m gonna find those sixes. I know they’re on you somewhere. They’re probably tattooed inside your—”

  “Whatup, nukka,” came a shout from the sidewalk. The two of them turned in the voice’s direction.

  Sleazy’s buddies—an assortment of popular, unpopular, and waiting-to-become-one-or-the-other comedians—stood outside the club, checking out the newest sexy broad he was sporting at the spot.

  L.A. weather was flaky as hell. Even though it was chilly, it

  was warmer that night than it had been during the day. Reesy had a wrap draped over a backless halter top—a series of strings fashioned after a cat’s-in-the-cradle. She wore a pair of low-rider jeans that looked like she was poured into them. They showcased the beginnings of the dimples on her high yellow bubble. Her feet were nestled in a pair of Manolos pointy enough to caulk a tub. It was later than they had agreed to meet, ten-thirty, the witching hour for the acts on stage. The nips of Reesy’s tits were bullets, colder than Hecate’s. A few gasps escaped as she weaved her way inside. None of the men even noticed her face.

  “That nukka gets more pussy than the Crenshaw Clinic,” one of the wannabes mumbled in awe.

  “That’s Sleaze for ya,” came the drone of one of the famous.

  “I don’t know why he still even bothers with comedy. He needs to just go get him one of them regulation caddies, set these hoes out, and go ahead get his paper on the level.”

  Still within earshot, Sleazy shot them a glance and flashed a quick wink, all over Reesy’s shoulder.

  “I hope they don’t think we’re kicking it,” she said, breaking his rhythm.

  He laughed. “I hope that big-ass rock doesn’t make them think we’re engaged.”

  “Please. You wish.”

  “These fools know better. Me and marriage? That’s like pigs eating pork rinds. Ain’t hapn’n. Just let a player roll. This is a win-win thang. Niggas see you with me and that raises your stock.”

  “My stock is doing just fine, thank you. I just hiked your portfolio, if you wanna be real.”

  “My nukka.”

  “Shaddup.”

  They disappeared inside the club.

  Sleazy was funny. Reesy sat in the audience and watched him on-stage. He was wry, deadpan, brooding, and dark. The women seemed to love it and the men found it cool. Much of his act centered on subduing women for sex and complaints against babies’ mamas.

  A lot of the other comics discussed the same thing. Reesy didn’t realize there were so many hilarious variations on the same commonplace theme.

  A man sitting alone at a table across the room caught her attention during Sleazy’s act. She could tell he was tall, although he was sitting. He was bald and fair-skinned, with penetrating black eyes that twinkled, even though his expression was firm. His mustache and beard were trimmed low and neat. He was a stunner, so handsome she tried to downplay it, as though he were the most nondescript presence in the room.

  She could see him watching her. It gave her a warm sensation, as if the hairs on her skin were being singed.

  Sleazy came over and sat next to her after finishing his set.

  “You’re funny, for a big nigga,” she said. “Very funny.”

  Sleazy laughed.

  “Thank you. I think.” He took a sip from the glass of Hennessy he had left on the table. “Meanwhile, all my boys are sweating me about you.”

  “Really?” she said, her eyes on the man at the other table.

  Sleazy followed her gaze.

  “You want me to check this cat?” he asked in a harsh tone.

  “No,” she said, laughing. “Stop tripping. You’re messing up my flow.”

  “Alright,” he said. “But I suggest you let me clear these punks before you start kicking stank at ’em.”

  “Be quiet, Sleazy. I’m just having fun.”

  The man took a sip of his drink. She could still see the twinkle in his eye.

  “Alright, mami,” Sleazy said, “listen to me. Here’s how this works: I’ll introduce you to someone that’s a friend of one of my friends, but again, no fucking my friends.”

  “Why is that?” asked Reesy.

  “Because, if the fool tries to do you dirt, I don’t want to have to beat down somebody I’m cool with. I’d rather squash a muthafucka I don’t know. That way there’s no complications. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  His two-way chimed. Sleazy read it and typed back a response, talking as he typed.

  “If the guy’s a friend of a friend, well, my friend can vouch for him without me knowing the cat directly.”

  “I see you’ve got this whole thing worked out.”

  Sleazy laughed as he drank his Hennessy.

  “You don’t understand, mami. With me, broads are either for bedding or bidding bye-bye. Anybody else is either my mom, sister, aunt, cousin, or grandma. I’m not used to having chicks as friends. This might be a real first for me.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Every guy I’ve been friends with ended up in my bed. Except for one, but he was gay. My choreographer back in New York.”

  “Then this is a monumental moment for both of us,” Sleazy said. “Let’s toast to the trying of new things.”

  “That’s for real,” she replied. “Those three balls of fur at my house are proof of that.”

  He held his glass aloft. Reesy raised hers. The two of them clinked.

  “You need to let me train ’em,” Sleazy s
aid around his drink.

  “Ha,” she laughed. “When can you start?”

  “We can do it tomorrow. I’m a dog man. I know all the tricks of the canine trade.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Reesy leaned back in her seat and sipped her drink. This big dapper monster of a man had her back. It was almost funny. She glanced around the club at all the different men, then gazed over at him. It felt good not to have the pressure of a romantic relationship.

  This was cool, she thought, giving the sexy brother across the room another peep. Perhaps the wedding disaster wasn’t the end of the world after all. It seemed like L.A. might have a few surprises up its sleeve.

  Sleazy came over the next morning to help Reesy with the dogs. His claims about being an expert dog trainer turned out to be true. In less than two hours he had taught them all how to sit using both spoken and nonspoken commands. They lined up in perfect unison, like miniature members of the Nation of Islam. All they were missing were the little bow ties and the FOI hats.

  “The one thing you have to remember is that you’re the alpha dog.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “It means a pack of dogs always has to have a leader. Three dogs qualifies as a pack.” He laughed. “I still can’t believe you have three dogs,” he said. “Just add water in this bitch and you’ve got a kennel.”

  “Alright, alright, so I have three dogs. So let’s get past that already. How do I make them know I’m the alpha?”

  “They already know it. You’re bigger than them. You give them food. You control the environment. You just have to know it. When they get out of hand, talk to them like there’ll be repercussions. If you’re good, you won’t even have to yell. They’ll know you mean business even if you speak in a whisper.”

  She watched the dogs as they sat like little soldiers.

  “Okay. I got it,” she said as she looked at them. “From now on I’m the alpha dog.”

  The dogs gazed up at her, ready to do her bidding.

  Sleazy had brought over wee-wee pads to help housebreak them. He installed a doggie door so they could go out whenever they needed to use the bathroom. It took him ten minutes to coax them through the hole, past the plastic flap. After that, the puppies couldn’t seem to get enough of coming in and going out. As long as the garden gate that gave her access from the backyard to her car was locked, the dogs were free to run and play.