I had my hopes set on a restful evening, but it was not to be. I spent hours preparing fried chicken, not the battered kind but a skinless, golden brown, southern-fried recipe. My clothes and hair, covered in spattered grease, smelled like the back room at KFC on a Saturday night. Angelica and her friend Devera were very specific about how the chicken should be prepared, and their appetites were insatiable. I’m certain they were not up to any particular mischief, but whatever it was they were doing it completely nude and oblivious to my presence, at least until they required more chicken. They continuously beckoned to me for more, devouring the greasy thighs, breasts, and legs of the fried chicken with no regard for the effect their own complimentary parts might have on me. If the point of their nakedness was intimidation they did not seem to be doing it with animosity, and both were quite attractive. My feelings were mixed, since Angelica was often presented as my sister, and tonight the two ladies were hinting at a possible lesbian relationship.
About the time I was delivering them their third enormous fried-chicken platter, Robert, Devera’s sometimes-boyfriend arrived with his contribution to the culinary delights, a massive prime rib of beef he handed to me without a word. Robert was a “businessman”, his word for the thug-type activities he participated in as a member of the local bunch of hoods running scams on the legitimate businessmen in the area. The beef had no doubt been part of a payment for some dubious activity he just completed. There was no need for instructions; he knew me as well as I knew him and could communicate more effectively with a glance than with an entire paragraph of dialog. I had put Robert in a few pretty desperate situations and even caused him fatal injuries once or twice, so we had what he called an “understanding”. He joined the two girls who were lounging on pillows on the floor, taking a prone position with his head in Devera’s lap and munching on a chicken leg.
None of the three meant me any real harm, but they made it clear that my only role this evening was to keep cooking and serving the chicken, and whatever spare time I could find should be used for preparation of the prime rib. It was enough that they were in control. They knew that when morning arrived I would again take charge and command them to perform for my reader’s amusement. They would once again be subject to my whims, making them good or evil, male or female, dim-witted or Mensa material as needed. But for now, in my dreams, they controlled the electrical impulses of my brain, compelling me to endlessly fry chicken or carry out any other mundane or ridiculous tasks they chose. Their only opportunity to have any power over their own destinies is while I am helpless with sleep, and each night they take full advantage of the situation. I hoped that some night they might provide me with inspiration to further develop their characters, but so far they seem content to just be the ones in charge for a change.
Dear Diary: Today I finished the chapter where Angelica, Devera, and Robert got together for a dinner meeting. I changed the location from a five-star gourmet restaurant to Robert’s grimy kitchen where they enjoyed some leftover fried chicken. Not the batter-dipped kind, the skinless, southern-fried kind.