by P. R. Paige
Rome examines the kitten with a survey's eye. "Where did you get that?"
"At the mall," Storm says. "Isn't he adorable?"
"He sure is," Rome says, taking the kitten into his hands. "Do the three of you know why he's so adorable, and why you have never seen a kitten like this before?"
"No, why?" I ask.
"Because it's not a kitten, it's a lion cub."
India screams like she's being executed and both Storm and I drop to the floor like dead weight.
Giggling to no end, I say, "You are not serious."
"Oh, yeah," Rome says. "What you have here is a lion cub."
Rome offers Storm and me his hand, and we pick ourselves up from the floor.
"No," Storm says to Rome. "Say it isn't so."
"It's so."
"How can you be so sure," India asks Rome as she checks out the kitten in question from a distance.
"Well, if we wait long enough, he'll grow into a full grown lion, then you'll have all the proof you need," Rome says. "However, the good news is: He's harmless now because he's just a cub."
"Maybe we could keep him until he grows up," India suggests.
"Maybe we can't," Rome says.
"Why not?" India asks.
"Well for starters, it's illegal."
"And?" India questions. "What else?"
"And, most importantly," Rome says. "I'm not ready for you ladies or myself to die just yet."
Though it was fun while it lasted, our time with our fabulous, never-seen-in-person-before lion cub is dramatically short lived.
Rome travels to Los Angeles for a few days leaving us girls to fend for ourselves, and I am not liking it. I have only been living in the House of Rome for a short time, but I already miss him, especially the way that he caters to us.
The cleaning lady who Rome employs works only a few times a month, which means Storm, India and myself are responsible for most of the cleaning, shopping and the laundry. While I clean out the refrigerator, India shops for food and Storm cleans the bathrooms. In the midst of placing the food from the table back into the refrigerator, even under the instrumental new age music playing from the built-in stereo in the front room. I stop and listen. The doorbell is ringing.
When I reach the front door, I peek outside through the curtain and see a dirty, sandy brown Cadillac. I recognize that Cadillac. I'm seen it before. It belongs to Rome's mother.
Before I can alert Storm, she has already joined me at the front door, wearing thick rubber gloves. I place my mouth to Storm's ear and whisper, "It's Momma Nicki."
"Shit," Storm says through clenched teeth. "What should we do?"
I have neutral feelings for Rome's mother, but I'm not about to deal with her without the protection of her son, Rome.
"Maybe she'll go away," I suggest to Storm.
In the midst of making such a suggestion, Momma Nicki rings the doorbell again. This time longer.
I quickly remember that his mother has a key, and if we do not answer the door, she'll probably let herself in. Without giving it anymore thought, I say to Storm in a whisper, "Let's hide."
Storm and I quickly scramble quietly upstairs in search of a place of refuge. All the while, I am tickled to the core by all of this. Rome's mother is harmless, but she's also quite taxing, and I would prefer to only have contact with her in Rome's presence.
Storm and I settle on masking ourselves inside the shower stall in my bedroom, pulling the shower curtain shut. This whole scenario is just ridiculous, and I want to laugh, but I can't.
Both Storm and I smuggle ourselves in the stall like two little girls, not moving and definitely not talking. I listen with a meticulous ear and then it dawns on me: Surely, she will know that someone is at home, otherwise, why would the music be playing.
That's it. We're sunk.
I can't help but wonder what would happen if Rome's mother actually did find us hiding from her?
What would she do?
I cannot answer that question, but what I do know is that I'm not ready to find out.
No one looking at me could tell, but on the inside, I'm experiencing a major belly roll. This whole circumstance is funny, fun, and little scary.
It's situations like this that make it difficult for me to go to the work in the morning. Who knows what I might miss when I am away? It's just such a spectacular place to live.
Fifteen minutes pass, and Storm and I figure that maybe the coast is clear. We are not even sure that Momma Nicki even entered the house. We just know that she has keys.
Storm and I emerge from the shower stall, then the bathroom and down the stairs.
"Do you think she's gone?" Storm asks me.
"I don't hear anything," I say to Storm, "But I'm not completely sure that we fooled her."
"It doesn't matter," Storm says and descends the stairs. "Momma Nicki will have to be Rome's problem. I have my own concerns."
It's just another eventful day in the House of Rome.
Later that evening, I search the house for Storm and India. I need to find out what they plan to do about dinner. With Rome out of town, and Rome usually cooking for us, we decide whether to cook for ourselves or order in.
Approaching the second level, I hear odd noises emanating from Storm's room. First I knock and then let myself in. I am not ready for what I am seeing. Both Storm and India stand topless and braless in front of the full-length mirror in what looks like a breast exam.
"You two never stop, do you?" I say to them.
"I'm giving India her monthly exam," Storm says.
"I thought that was something you were supposed to do on your own," I say.
"You don't have to do it on your own," Storm says, "You can have someone do it for you."
"That's right," India says. "I just think of Storm as my doctor away from the doctor. I examine her breasts and she exams mine."
These two never cease to amaze me.
"Have you examined your breast this month?" Storm asks me.
I can tell by the way that Storm is looking at me where this line of questioning in going.
"No," I say to Storm.
"No problem," Storm says. "I'll do it for you."
"You know, she's quite good at it," India says.
I laugh. They are both one-hundred percent serious and that's the part that scares me.
"Thanks," I say, "but I think I'll pass."
Storm completes her exam of India, and they both put their bras and shirts back on.
"Don't be silly," India says. "It'll be fine. I do Storm every month and she does me."
"Take off your shirt," Storm says to me as if the decision has been made.
"And your bra," India adds.
"I told you, I'm fine." I take one step backwards. "It's really not that serious."
"Come on, Thursday," India says. "It's just us girls here."
My hands are tied, and I am not able to worm my way out of this.
Before I can say another word, India pulls my t-shirt over my head and Storm removes my bra.
"Ladies, could you two be any more unusual?" I ask them.
"Are you saying that we're not normal?" India asks me.
"Not exactly," I say with some hesitation.
"Place your hand behind her head," Storm says to me, then gropes my left breast.
I do as I am told and hide my hands behind my head while Storm commences to examine my breasts. I don't know whether I should laugh or just stop her, so I do neither. For a moment, I close my eyes. I'm sure that I am dreaming and will soon wake up and have a good laugh, but guess what? I am not dreaming. I am actually having my breasts examined by one of my roommates. She picks, pulls, grabs and kneads.
All I can say is: This is weird.
After a several minutes, "are you done now?" I ask Storm.
"I'm done," Storm says.
"See, that wasn't so bad was it?" India asks me.
"I don't know yet," I say as I put on my bra and t-shirt. I'm heading out the room when Storm asks m
e, "Have you had your Pap test this year?"
My eyes widen, shoot to Storm and then India. I'm no fool. I know what's coming next, and I dash out the door.
Storm, India and I are in a heated discussion about whether or not The Flintstones wore shoes or not when we receive a call from Rome, informing us that he is on his way home from the airport.
I head into the bathroom, brush my teeth and hair and apply some eyeliner and mascara. I'm not normally big on much makeup, however, since moving into the House of Rome, my looks have become a tad more important these days.
This is the first time Rome has been away from us, and his absence is exceptionally noticeable.
Storm, India and I all wait for Rome in the driveway. I inhale a long breath of the night air. It shouldn't be long now before Rome is home again and in bed with us. Several minutes later, I smile when the taxi driver pulls into the driveway.
God, I missed him.
Storm, India and I approach the taxi driver when it comes to a complete stop and out pops Rome, looking as ravishing as always. He wears his Fedora hat and a blazer and boot-cut jeans. We all push up on him, groping him all at once. We embrace him, clutch him, squeeze him, hold him and smother him with hugs and kisses.
It's a scene straight out of a storybook.
Episode Thirteen
"I missed you, ladies," Rome says, his arms stretched out around all of us. "All of you."
"We missed you too," India says.
In the midst of an immense bear hug, Rome manages to break loose so that he can pay the taxi driver and seize his luggage from the truck. India is quick to take hold of his luggage, but Rome stops her.
"Don't worry, sweetie, he says to India. "I have it."
"No," India insists and partakes his luggage into the house.
As we all sashay our way into the house, Rome sandwiched between Storm and me, Rome asks, "So, did I miss anything interesting while I was away?"
"Where do I start," I say to him as all kinds of craziness has happened in his absence.
In the family sleeping room, on our humongous bed, India sits atop Rome's back massaging his shoulders and arms while I do the same for Storm. We have just finished telling Rome about the unexpected visit from his mother.
"Why does your mother's purse say recovering cat lady?" I ask Rome.
"Because she used to be a cat lady."
"But not anymore?" India asks Rome as she squeezes the skin on his back.
"That's the rumor," Rome says, "but it's my belief that she still has a mess of cats in the basement of her house, but no one is allowed down there so I have no way of knowing for sure." Rome turns to me. "Did she see any of you?"
"No," I say, laughing. "We hid from her."
"That's understandable. She can be a little…" Rome has a problem finishing his sentence, "a little something."
"Any chance you could talk to her about coming over here unannounced?" India asks Rome.
"A lot of good that would do," Rome says. "You've met my mother. You can't tell her what to do."
"So, I guess it's safe to say we can expect more unannounced visits such as that one?" I ask Rome.
"It's very safe to say that, but maybe there is something that I can do," Rome says.
"And what might that be?" Storm asks.
"You let me worry about that," Rome says.
After our massages, we all congregate in the front room and deposit ourselves on the sectional sofa in front of the television. The TV is tuned to HBO, a documentary about the making of the Wizard of Oz while we all enjoy some chilled Pinot Grigio.
India's head rests in Rome's lap while Storm lies on the ledge of the sofa and I crash on the floor, right at Rome's feet.
"Any of you ever think that behind closed doors, Dorothy was fooling around with that tin man?" India asks us all.
"If she were going to do it with anyone, it would have been the lion," Storm says with conviction.
I don't believe what I am witnessing. "Pardon me, you two while I interject, but some things are sacred. Dorothy didn't fool around with either of them. They were her friends, right Rome?"
"I don't know, Thursday," Rome says. "Didn't you see the way the scarecrow used to look at Dorothy and the way he was always falling down? He wasn't fooling anyone. It was all so he could get a peak up Dorothy's dress."
"Surely, you jest," I say to them all, my eyes squinting in disbelief. "Something is wrong with all of you."
"And that's a good thing," India says, "right Rome?"
"Absolutely, anything is better than being normal or, God forbid, ordinary."
"That's right," Storm says, finishing off the rest of her Pinot Grigio. "Ordinary is out."
I shake my head while listening to their strange philosophies, but in all honesty, a part of me feels exactly as they do. Ordinary is definitely out.
Rome manages to break free of India's clutches and rises to a standing position. "Can I get you ladies some more Pinot?"
"Do you have to ask," Storm says to him.
"Where am I supposed to lie my head with you gone?" India asks Rome as her comfortable position in Rome's lap has now been interrupted.
Rome grabs a pillow from the floor and tucks it underneath India's head. "Is that better," he asks India.
"It'll do until you come back," India says.
Rome exits the room and returns soon after, refilling our glasses with Pinot. I watch him resume his position on the sectional sofa, India's head snug in his lap, and I realize something:
I want that spot.
I want my head in Rome's lap, and more importantly, I want Rome's head in my lap. India has cornered the market on Rome's attention, and what I want to know is why.
Does he like her more than Storm and me? Or does Rome and India have a very unique type of relationship?
Then again, maybe it's India who is first to make her move. It didn't escape my attention that as soon as we appeared in the front room to watch TV, India was on his heels big time. So, it should not surprise me that she was first to grab the coveted seat next to him.
If I want more intimate time with Rome, I might have to assert myself. I'm not exactly sure it's a good idea to compete with India when it comes to Rome, but then again, what the hell. I can be a risk taker when I want to be.
I am in the midst of contemplating how I might garner more of Rome's love, and he surprises me when he stretches his hand down to my shoulder and caresses my forearm.
"Are you okay down there, Beautiful?" he asks me.
"I'm fine," I say.
How does he always know when my spirit is crying out for his affections?
After half-watching the HBO documentary, we blast the stereo with salsa music, gush down another bottle of Pinot Grigio and dance the evening away.
Other than Rome, the best part about living in the House of Rome is the constant companionship.
It is unquestionably untouchable.
It's now time for bed. I planned to only spend one night in the family sleeping room, but I have since then changed my mind. For some reason, I am compelled to do it again.
Maybe it's because I enjoyed myself so much the first night;
Maybe it's because I don't feel like sleeping alone tonight; or
Maybe it's because I'm hoping to seize that coveted spot next to Rome, if only for one night.
Exhausted from all the dancing and white wine, I brush my teeth, remove the makeup and change into my signature nightwear.
Tonight I am determined.
I must steal a place next to Rome. My plan is to be first in bed so that both India and Storm will have to join me on each side. Since Rome is usually the last to join us, he will be faced with two options. He will either squeeze in between India and me or Storm and me. Either way, I will have a place next to him, which is what I want so badly.
As planned, I am first in bed, and India and Storm soon follow. As usual, Rome does his 100 pushups before making his way into bed. He squeezes himself in betwe
en India and me. At last, Storm is odd-girl out, but surprisingly not bothered. Surely if India had been odd-girl out, there would have been a major fuss. Just thinking about it summons a migraine. But I digress. What's important now is that I have landed a warm, cozy spot next to Rome Nicki. Of course, we're in the family sleeping room where sleeping is the main attraction. But so what? For the first time since moving in, I'm shoulder to shoulder with Rome, and it feels so freaking spectacular.
Rome turns to his side and wraps his arm around me.
Now, he was done it.
What I am supposed to do now?
Do I hug him back or do I just ignore it?
While I contemplate how to deal with Rome's affections, he pulls my hair, but in a feel-so-good sort of way.
"Ouch," I say.
"What's wrong?" Storm says.
"Rome is pulling my hair," I reveal.
Storm sits up fast. "Would you like to switch places?"
"No, that's okay," I say. I'm no fool. I just landed this spot. I'm not about to surrender it up that easily. Yes, it feels great being this close to him, but I am frustrated as well, and I don't know if I will make it through the night. I want to turn around and lick his face, but I don't do it. I can't do it. After all, this is the family sleeping room, with the operative word being sleeping. I instead close my eyes and inch my way down underneath the covers. It is my intention to make light of Rome's seductive powers when I realize that I have to pee.
What do I do now?
If I abandon my coveted spot in bed, it will be my lost for the night. So, I do what any irrational woman would do. I hold it until the next morning.
The next morning before heading to my employer's place, Rome schedules an appointment for all of us to be photographed in all-white bathrobes at a private studio lab. This photograph, it seems, will solidify my acceptance into his family.
Since moving in with Rome and the ladies, I have called off work more than once, leaving my employer Perrin on his own. It's just that when I am away from the House of Rome, I always feel as if I'm missing out on something.