Chapter 4 #2
“It’s just two of you inside. I think we can fit, mate.”
From his accent, he clearly wasn’t from America and probably didn’t understand men like Proctor. Proctor is a gangsta, and sometimes gangstas just don’t make logical sense.
“It’s two people in here, but miles of dick with two hands that hit heavy like cement. Wait for another one or feel something mutha fucka.”
He hit the button to close the elevator door, and I laughed out loud at his audacity.
“Did you really just have to do that?”
“I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”
“So, you do everything you want, huh?”
“Yeah, I’m me. I can.” He replied as he adjusted the weight on his feet.
The elevator stopped on the lobby floor with a subtle bounce, and Proctor took off walking fast as hell, but something hit him mid-stride and made him slow down just a bit to wait for me.
When I caught up to him, he didn’t say a word.
He just kept moving, slower this time, intentional because at first, he was leaving me in the dust.
Once we stepped outside, his car was already sitting at the curb, engine running and doors open.
We climbed inside his car, and as soon as the doors shut, Proctor blasted his speakers playing a Bone Thugs-N-Harmony song I hadn’t heard in years.
The bass rattled the doors as he pulled off, driving like he had somewhere to be, like the road owed him space.
We hadn’t even made it half a mile before he turned the music down and looked at me. His eyes had that wicked curiosity in them, the kind that made you feel like he already knew the answer.
“Why the fuck do you want that nasty-ass Joe’s Fish Shack shit?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I saw it on TikTok. It looked good.”
“Looks can be deceiving. I had that fish a couple of years ago. Tasted like it came straight out of the ocean and not in a good way. No seasoning, no salt, no fuckin love at all. I know a much better spot where you can get some grub from. Not as big as Joe’s, but they get busy.”
“I’m down for whatever. I just want some fish and bread. To be honest.”
“Keeps the poor man fed,” he replied, turning the music back up.
He flipped a U-turn right in the middle of the road and headed the other direction. I figured we were going wherever he thought I should eat today.
After about twenty minutes, we pulled up somewhere that barely qualified as a restaurant.
It was more like a shack, if anything. The sign, hand-painted on a wide slab of wood, read "Dianne’s Southern Food.
" And I could smell the food instantly when I stepped out of the car.
It was that strong ass scent that would stick to my clothes way after we left here.
As soon as we stepped out, someone on the corner called his name.
“Proctor! My boy, you free?”
A man in a white button-up that was long, wrinkled, and half-tucked yelled.
He crushed out his cigarette against the wall and pulled Proctor in for a hug that told me they were familiar with each other.
“I’m happy to see you out, man. Swear I ain’t been feeling right with you behind bars.”
“Yeah, well, just imagine how I felt. No pussy, no fried food. Shit was tragic.”
The man laughed, shaking his head.
“I hear that. Miss Diane is in there today; she is going to be happy to see you.”
“Good, we want the best in the kitchen cooking our plates. I've been bragging on this spot. She wanted Joe’s Fish Shack but I brung her here instead.”
“Aww, shit.” The man threw his hand as they made fun of my original choice.
“How are you doing, Miss Lady?” He stuck his hand out to shake mine. The man looked at me, then back at Proctor, smiling widely with that ‘I see you look’ and Proctor laughed it off.
We walked inside the restaurant, and it had that typical down-home feel, with scattered, mismatched tables and chairs of all sizes, like they’d been collected over decades.
There were a few people sitting quietly, eating their food and having low conversations, not making the place too loud but comfortable and quiet.
This was the part of Vegas nobody put in commercials and was the unpolished, untouched side without the neon signs and flashy interiors.
In the corner sat a single, ancient looking slot machine, probably from the ’70s.
The machine had no digital screen, no flashing lights, just metal, levers, and a worn-out ass stool in front.
There was a large television in the dining area, which was the newest thing in this building.
That, along with the new, updated looking menu, which both looked out of place in this setting, to be honest. Maybe they were in the middle of an upgrade.
“Proc! That’s you!”
I heard a lady screech.
“I’m so happy you are home!”
A woman walked from the back, approaching Proctor with her arms out for a hug.
The lady wasn’t old, but I could see that she was older than me.
I expected the cook to have those flaps on her arms like my grandma Yolanda did.
My granny could cook, so I hope this young looking grandma could do the same.
I grew up close to my family, but Grandma made me feel like a baby no matter how old I got.
She cooked for me, cleaned up after me, and never complained about my mess or my mouth because she said I got that from my mother, and I couldn’t help myself.
She even knew about me getting pregnant that summer, and she told me, Tania, your baby is a blessing.
Have her and love her just like I did your mama, and your mama did you.
Grandma, however, didn’t get to see my child born. She passed away two weeks before I had my baby, and that’s why I had no one around to convince me to keep her.
“And who is this pretty lady you have here with you?”
Proctor looked over at me.
“A friend, who is ready to eat some of this good ass food.”
“I hear that, baby. Well, go ahead up to the window and order with Gracie. I’ll get to the back and start on whatever you want. My treat.”
“I appreciate you, but you know I’m going to hit that tip jar anyway.”
“That is why I love you, handsome.”
She did a little dance and walked back through the side door she’d come out of.
We stepped up to the small window, and I looked up at the menu, overwhelmed by all the fried foods and sides they had. That was a list as long as my arm, and I’ve never seen a menu that had me stuck like this, but in a good way.
“What can I get for y'all today?”
“Well, you already know what I want. No question about that, unless you forgot about me?”
“Oh, you know I could never forget about you now, Mr. Proctor.”
Proctor had her smiling hard just from their interaction.
I’m sure this man could get grandmas wet just by how he talked, dipping his shoulders and squinting those dark bedroom eyes at people.
Here I was with him right now, knowing that he slept with my friend, but still anticipating a turn with him and I shouldn’t be.
“So, for you, I know we got the fried fish. French fries and a side of our famous greens with two slices of cornbread. Oh, and extra hot sauce.”
“You got it.” She smirked at him and then looked towards me.
“And for you?”
“Umm, I think I’ll have the fried fish combo too, with fries, and are those greens you ordered good too?”
“Is water wet?”
He asked, making the lady behind the counter laugh at his sarcasm.
“Well, if that's the case, then I'll have the greens and cornbread too, please.”
She scribbled my order onto one of those old school ordering notebooks.
I felt like I was about to get some good down home cooking just by the smell radiating up from the kitchen, and that made me excited.
Since my grandma died, and I don’t see my mother or my aunt often, it’s rare that I get a good meal.
Most of the time, I’m eating at Wingstop or McDonald's any time I get hungry.
“Let’s take a seat over here. The food may take a while since everything is made fresh here.”
“That’s no problem with me; I have nothing but time.”
We walked over to a small table tucked against the wall. I sat down first, then Proctor folded himself into a chair that was honestly way too small for him. Still, he leaned back, calm, cool, and collected.
“You must eat here a lot. They seem really familiar with you.”
“Yeah. I eat here all the time. It’s one of the few spots in Vegas that ain’t all commercial and shit. The food is actually seasoned and not made just to look pretty.”
“That’s how it is in D.C., too. Most of the good food comes from the down home places like this.”
“Oh yeah? I haven’t been there in forever. Probably since I got arrested back in the early 2000’s for slapping a police officer.”
“Yeah, D.C. police sometimes deserve to be slapped.”
“And I’ll always be the one to give a mutha fucka what they deserve.”
I laughed at him.
Proctor got lost in his phone, scrolling and typing whatever needed his attention.
I didn’t bother him. Sitting next to him like this felt good enough.
I couldn’t understand how anybody played hard to get with this man.
He could’ve had me right here on this raggedy ass table if he wanted to.
Good God, that flawless skin. The way he licked his lips without thinking twice.
I had never been with a man twice my size, but Proctor was a tree I wanted to climb.
Hell, I wish I could sit on his dick like a couch in his treehouse.
About fifteen minutes passed, with him on his phone, me half scrolling through mine, before the food finally came out.
Proctor wasted no time, cracking into his plate and going to work on his fish and greens.
I followed suit, immediately impressed by the crunch of the fish and the flavor of the greens.
“You weren’t lying. This is really good.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“That’s good to know.” I took a big ass helping of greens into my mouth. I’ve never been afraid to get down in front of a man.
“So, did you think about partying to celebrate your release?”