Beyoncé slid into the limousine after Solange. The bodyguard slammed the door shut, banged on the roof, and the car pulled smoothly out into traffic, away from the Met Gala ball.
Jay could find his own damn way home.
The two sisters sat in the back of the car in icy silence as the city lights floated away behind them. They could hear the radio soft and low in the front seat, the driver listening to Drake.
Beyoncé reached over and pushed the button that slid the partition up, blocking them off from the driver.
Knowing they were thinking the same thing, Beyoncé looked over at her sister and made a weird face. Even despite the adrenaline and waves of anger coursing through her veins, Solange couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. That damn line. Every single time. They could not ride in a limo without laughing about it now. But the moment quickly passed and her outrage returned.
“You just stood there. I was defending you.”
“Do I need defending?”
“That’s not the point. He is a monster.”
“He is my husband.”
Beyoncé looked away, out the window at the people and the buildings, as they sped across 59th St. “I know who I married. That was my decision and I’ll live with it.”
“Of course you take his side.”
“Excuse me?” Beyoncé turned to face her sister. “Beyoncé is on Beyoncé’s side. Always. Trust that.”
Solange said nothing. Now it was her turn to look away.
They rode for a few more minutes in silence, across the bridge. Solange’s negative energy radiated through the car.
“Look,” Beyoncé said, gently. “I love you and I appreciate you. I know what you were trying to do. I appreciate that you were trying to defend me. I’m not mad at you for tearing into him.”
“Oh you’re not mad?”
“—Let me finish, Solange. I’m not mad at you for tearing into him. I am mad at you for not sticking to the plan.”
The words were a heavy blanket on Solange’s mood.
They passed the next few blocks in silence. Just the wheels and the muffled sounds of the city around them.
After a few minutes Beyoncé pressed the intercom button.
“Are we near a Chipotle?” she asked.
“At all times, my queen,” came the reply.
“Leggo,” she said, sitting back in the seat.
Solange was staring at her.
“What,” Beyoncé said. I’m hungry. You’re not hungry?”
“No I am not hungry.”
“We have to get all dressed up and they ain’t even pass around hor d’oeuvres? Fuck those people, I can eat.”
“I just want to go home,” Solange said. “I just want this night to be over.”
“Well you can watch me eat and be sad you don’t have any. Then we can go home.”
They arrived at the nearest Chipotle 20 minutes before closing time. It was quiet in the restaurant, the lights low and glinting off the immaculately shiny steel tables. The few other patrons in the restaurant were too busy enjoying their meals to even notice the famous sisters’ entrance.
Solange sat at a table to wait while Beyoncé ordered a sofritas bowl for here with green, corn, lettuce, and guacamole. The Chipotle staff member helping Beyonce did not remind her that guacamole is extra, because everyone knows this, and Chipotle employees are kind and thoughtful people who understand that their customers don’t want to be reminded about pricing, they simply want to enjoy some delicious, locally-sourced and well-prepared food, in a relaxed and clean environment.
Beyoncé joined her sister and slid an Izze Sparkling Grapefruit soda over to her while opening her Sparkling Blackberry. She put her fork into her sofritas bowl and lifted up a perfect bite, equal parts lime rice, sofritas and guacamole. “Our team of women scientists say they’ve almost figured out the protein thing.”
Beyoncé and Solange, in conjunction with Nicki Minaj and Rihanna, had been planning for a while now on enslaving all men and forcing them to live in a remote penal colony. They’d been working on the various logistics as their busy schedules allowed, but it wasn’t until Chipotle revealed their new sofritas that the last piece of the puzzle finally fell into place.
Chipotle’s dedication to local farmers and organic meats notwithstanding, raising chickens and beef for meat requires a lot of water. 2,500 gallons of water to produce each pound of meat, in fact. It simply isn’t sustainable in the long term, given growing populations and global warming’s affect on the Earth’s supply of fresh water. But their new sofritas, a soy-based protein mixed with roasted poblanos and a secret blend of aromatic spices, represented a much more sustainable and Earth-friendly protein. You could feed the world while preserving the planet. Or, in Beyoncé’s case, maintain a low-cost prison facility for the few men who remained after a richly-deserved campaign of terror and slaughter.
“Whoa we’re not going to feed the men sofritas?” Solange asked, incredulous.
Beyoncé gave her a look. “Hell no. Subsistence-level protein only. No flavor. Only women deserve something this delicious.” She took a bite and savored it. “But the science is the same.”
Solange twisted the cap off her Izze and took a sip. “Can I have the Blackberry instead?”
Beyoncé took a quick sip before sliding it across the table to her sister.
“I’m sorry I got heated,” Solange said. “I saw him disrespecting you, and you just standing there and I thought I’d lost you. I thought, I don’t know. I thought you might still be in love with him.”
Beyoncé put down her fork and leaned over the table, staring intently at her sister. “What did I tell you. What did I tell you on the day he recorded his verse for ‘Drunk In Love’.”
“That it was terrible, that Jay was terrible, that Jay had to die, and that all men had to die, save Idris Elba and a few others who would be enslaved for breeding purposes.”
“Has that changed?” Beyoncé asked.
“Has that changed?”
“Are we sisters?”
“In the darkest night hour.”
Beyoncé nodded, satisfied, then pushed her sofritas bowl and an extra fork across the table. “Now shut up and help me eat some of this. I can’t believe the portions they give you here!”
Solange smiled, picked up her fork, and stabbed it deep into the heart of the sofritas bowl. She was suddenly ravenous.