The Renegades

by P. R. Paige

  As usual Storm places two square pizza slices on her plate while the rest of us chow down like there is no tomorrow.

  "I was watching the Chicago Sky basketball team yesterday and came up with a great movie idea for you, Rome," Storm says.

  "Everybody wants to be in the movie business," Rome says.

  "Can you blame them?" I say. "What's your idea, Storm?"

  "What if you were to produce a movie about the WNBA competing against the NBA for the first time in history?"

  Storm looks at Rome, eager eyes, awaiting for his grand approval, but instead Rome continues eating his pizza, not saying a word.

  "Well?" Storm says to Rome.

  "I'm thinking about it," Rome says. "It's not a bad idea, but it's not a good idea either."

  "Why not?"

  "For starters, it would be totally unbelievable," Rome says.

  "Well, I like the idea," I say to Storm.

  "And I like it, too," India says. "It looks like you're outnumbered, Rome. So, you're going to have to produce that movie."

  "Really?" Rome says. "So, I'll just grab the money from my ass and produce it?"

  "Pretty much," India says.

  "Sounds right to me," I say.

  "That's right," India says. "You call your boss in Los Angeles tomorrow and tell him that you are producing this movie."

  "Who's going to write it?" Rome asks India.

  "Thursday will write it," Storm says. "Right, Thursday?"

  "Absolutely," I say.

  I stare across the table at Rome, just finishing off my second piece of pizza, chewing the last bite, when the pizza is somehow causing a stir of arousal inside me.

  But how can that be?

  Pizza doesn't ordinarily have this effect on me. It isn't the pizza at all. It's me, thinking about sex as I do often, wanting to blame my lust on something other than my thoughts.

  In an effort to calm the burning desire inside me, I gulp down my lemonade and don't stop until I've drained the glass.

  My behavior does not go unnoticed and Rome asked me, "are you alright, Thursday?"

  "I'm fine," I say. I'm a master at hiding my emotions or so I think.

  "I bet I know what's going on with Thursday," India says, smiling.

  "Why don't you tell us?" Rome says.

  "She's thinking about stuff, naughty stuff," India says.

  Just as soon as the words come from India's mouth, I look to her and scratch my head. "How do you know what I am thinking," I ask India.

  "Because I'm thinking those same thoughts myself," India says.

  Is India for real?

  How exactly does she know these things? Is there a sign on my forehead that reads: I'm ready for sex? If that's the situation, I should probably remove it fast.

  Luckily for me, Rome changes the subject. "I forgot to tell you, ladies. A new ice cream parlor opened up this week that is so much of a hit that the media is covering the story. I saw it on my way in."

  "This isn't the shop where a scoop cost $50, is it?" Storm asks.

  "That's the one," Rome says.

  "Come again, I say, "$50 a scoop?

  "You heard right," Rome says.

  "Make sure you tell the owner to kiss all of our asses," India says. "Who's going to pay $50 for a scoop of ice cream?"

  "We are," Rome says, "They say it's like no other ice cream in the world."

  "I don't care if I were as rich as Bill Gates," I say, "There is no way in hell, I would ever pay $50 for a scoop of ice cream."

  "Rumor has it that…," Rome says, hesitating.

  "Rumor has it, what?" Storm asks.

  Rome smiles, teasing us with silence.

  "It's what?" Storm says.

  I pour myself more lemonade while I wait for Rome to fill us in on the details of this new ice cream parlor.

  Rome spills it. "Rumor has it that it's laced with some kind of drug that people seem to go nuts for."

  "Really?" I ask, even more curious that ever.

  "That would explain why the media is covering the story," Storm says.

  "Laced with some kind of drug," India says, "but is that legal?"

  "No, it's not legal, but that is the rumor," Rome confirms.

  "So, when are we going to check it out?" Storm asks.

  Storm and I are very much attuned to one another because I am dead set on going to this ice cream parlor as well.

  Rome wipes his mouth with the napkin. "Well, that's where it gets a little tricky."

  "How so?" I ask.

  "The place is twenty-four hours so we have a couple of options," Rome says. We can go right after dinner and wait in a long, long line, or we can go between two and five, supposedly when the wait time is a little more bearable."

  "Come again," I say.

  "This must be the best ice cream ever," India says.

  "I know one thing," Storm says, "We sure as hell are going to find out."

  It's a little before eleven that evening when we all ride in Rome's Jeep Renegade. Our placement in the Jeep is always the same. India up front with Rome, and Storm and myself in the back. We head over to the Stoney Brook Mall and sure enough we see the people in line minutes before we even see the ice cream parlor. But it's not just a long line, the police are everywhere and of course, the media also.

  At the parking entrance, a huge traffic jam has ensued, and all vehicles come to a complete stop. The overcrowded parking lot makes it impossible for us to proceed any further.

  Rome rolls down his window and asks a gentleman standing outside his car about the commotion. The ice cream parlor, in its first week of business, has been robbed twice in one night. The funny thing is, no money was taken, only the ice cream.

  If hearing about such an unusual robbery as this one is not the most hilarious thing I have ever heard, it's definitely the second.

  Episode Seventeen

  I am in the bathroom, preparing to wash my face when Rome slinks in and positions his body directly behind me. He wears that new Clive Christian No. 1 cologne that India purchased for him, and it fascinates my senses.

  In the reflection of the mirror, we both exchange smiles.

  He places his hands on my shoulders, his eyes never leaving mine. "I thought about you earlier in an extremely forbidden way," he says to me.

  "Oh, yeah? What were you thinking?"

  "I'd tell you," he says, "but it might embarrass you."

  I swing around, and we are now face to face. "That's okay. Embarrass me."

  He presses into me and gently pulls my hair, turning my face up to him. I feel woozy again, aroused and wanting him to kiss me, but as the seconds pass, nothing is happening. His hot breath caresses my face, and he asks me, "Did you enjoy our game earlier?"

  "I did, and you want to know why?" I say to him.

  "Why?"

  "Because you make such an awesome mask-wearing kisser."

  "And you make a sensational woman in distress."

  "Next time, you three will be hitchhikers, and I can be a dirty and perverted man."

  "You're already dirty and perverted," I remind him.

  "Well, even dirtier and more perverted."

  Rome releases my hair and the kiss that I have been waiting for never comes.

  "Tell the girls I'll be into bed in about thirty minutes," he says to me. "I have a few calls to make."

  I grab a washcloth and hold it underneath the faucet, drenching it in hot water. "I'll tell them," I say, trying not to let on just how disappointed I am that he did not make a play for me.

  Rome is almost out the door when he backtracks, pulls me close and kisses me… kisses me… kisses me.

  What is this man doing to me?

  I want to scream.

  He's either reeling me in or pushing me away.

  "I'm really glad that you're here with us," he says to me.

  "And you are the biggest tease EVER."

  "I get that a lot," he says to me.

  And Rome is gone.

  I c
an't help but wonder. What's with the periodic unannounced visits to my room?

  Is Rome trying to communicate some secret message to me?

  Is he ready to settle down with just one woman?

  Or is he just a big tease?

  My vote: He's just a big tease.

  Rome is quite talented at not just keeping me hooked into his clutches, but at the same time, keeping me suckered into participating in this lifestyle. I am helpless. I'm just so into him.

  I think I may be losing my mind.

  Then again, maybe I already have.

  In the family sleeping room, India is giving Storm some type of massage, but instead of massaging Storm's skin like normal folk, India scratches Storm's body with her long nails. It looks so painful, I turn away.

  "Doesn't that hurt," I ask Storm.

  "No, not at all. I love it."

  I scratch my head for the 58th time since moving into the House of Rome. I will never understand all of this.

  "Rome told me to tell you that he would be in to bed in about 30 minutes," I say to them.

  "I know," Storm says. "He told us."

  Rome is just weird. Why does he tell me to tell them and yet tell them the same thing himself?

  India finishes giving Storm a scratch massage, and they both slip into bed. I am then quick to follow suit. With the television tuned to CNN, we all gather with our backs against the headboards.

  Whenever I am alone with the girls, I always have so many questions, and today is no different. If love is my middle name, then curiosity is definitely my second.

  "You ladies ever think about how we all came to be here in this unique situation?" I ask them.

  "All the time," Storm says.

  "When I reconnected with Rome," India says, "my sex drive was null and void, which was very strange for me. Maybe it was the passing of my mother or the death of my best friend, but I was just not interested in sex."

  "I can't imagine what's that's like," Storm says.

  "Not interested in sex? What's that?" I say. "Who's not interested in sex?"

  "I wasn't at the time," India reminds us both.

  "But Rome fixed you up?" I ask India.

  "He fixed me up real good," India says, blinking her eyes.

  "I hope you didn't tell Rome that," I say to India. "His head is big enough."

  "Too late," India says. "I already told him."

  In the midst of our intimate girl talk, Rome steps through the door. He wears his white Calvin Klein pajamas pants and white t-shirt. "So, my head is big enough, huh. Better big enough than not big enough."

  Storm winks her eye at Rome. "Here. Here."

  India raises her hand like she's in school. She obviously has something to say. "May I change the subject, please?"

  "In case you haven't noticed," Storm says, "We're not exactly in school."

  "You leave India alone," Rome says to Storm as he squeezes in between Storm and India. "If she wants to raise her hand, let her."

  "Thank you," India says, bursting with enthusiasm. "I was thinking about all the fun we had when you showed up at our door wearing a ski mask, and now I have a few ideas of my own."

  "Let's hear it," I say.

  "How about we girls dress up as doctors and you come to see us for erectile dysfunction?"

  "That scenario is older than dirt," I say.

  "I kind of like that idea," Rome says, "Then again, maybe not."

  "I like it," Storm says. "And here's another one. How about Rome is an instructor at a university and us girls are his very naughty students."

  "How naughty?" Rome asks Storm.

  "Very, very naughty," Storm says.

  Rome thinks about her statement and smiles. "Why don't you give me an idea of what I might expect from three naughty students?"

  "Well, first off," Storm says. "We will refuse to wear panties."

  "That's not naughty," Rome says. "You never wears panties anyway or India for that matter."

  "Okay," Storm continues. "We will never do anything that you tell us and you will have to spank us."

  "Sorry to burst your bubble," India says, "but that game has been played to death. Spanking is yesterday's fantasy."

  "India is probably right on that one," I say to Storm.

  "I kind of favor India's original idea," Rome says. "There's a lot we can do with that."

  Storm turns her nose up at Rome. "Is it because India is your favorite?"

  "No, it's not," Rome says, making eye contact with all of us. "I told you before. I don't have a favorite."

  I have not lived in the House of Rome for long, and I have not been on this earth for long, but here is what I know for sure:

  Everyone has a favorite. It's the secret that everyone knows is no secret.

  So the question remains: Who is Rome's favorite?

  Is it Storm?

  Is it India?

  Or is it me?

  Two hours after we have all gone to sleep, I stare up at the ceiling, still very much awake. I cannot be certain if I can't sleep, or if I just don't want to sleep.

  I glance over at Storm, India and Rome, and I'm having thoughts again about Rome committing himself solely to me. I have to stop it, but I don't stop. I can't. The fantasies feel too good.

  I toss and turn and turn and toss. It must be that time of the month. My hormones are all over the place. Overheated and resentful, I fling the covers off of me.

  Frustrated to the nth degree, I throw myself into a sitting position. My eyes circle towards Storm, then India. When my eyes reach Rome, I know exactly what I want: Rome.

  But how do I ask him for sex with two women sleeping on his side. Staring straight ahead and using every muscle in my brain, the wheels turn and turn and turn some more, and an idea comes to me. Slowly and meticulously, I erupt out of bed and head to the bottom of the stairs. For two minutes, I stand there in the dark and wait before returning to the family sleeping room.

  I lean over and touch Rome's shoulder and whisper in his ear. "Rome, your mother is on the phone."

  Rome awakens fast and I remind him that his mother is on the phone in the next room. I lead the way and he follows. I take hold of his hand and escort him into my bedroom. Once inside, I smile, step to him and octopussy my arms around him.

  Rome is quick on his feet and figures it out right away. "My mother isn't on the phone, is she?"

  "I'm sorry, but I didn't know what else to do to get you out of there and in here."

  "So, this is all about sex, huh?" he asks me, seeming unquestionably flattered.

  "Of course, it's about sex." I slither my hands up his shoulders and douse him with short kisses, again and again. "Do you want to?" I ask him.

  "Want to what?" he asks me, knowing full well what I am talking about.

  "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

  "Of course, I am."

  I exhale a deep breath. Obtaining sex from a man is not supposed to be this damn hard.

  "I want to be with you tonight." I squish his hand tightly. "In this room… in my bed… right now."

  Rome stares at me, romancing me with his pretty brown eyes. "Why don't you tell me what you really want?"

  I slip off my pajama shorts and toss them to the floor. "I want you to sex me up like you did the other night."

  Just hearing myself utter those words causes a fire to erupt inside me and if he doesn't take me right now, I don't know what I might do.

  "Now, see how easy that was," he says to me.

  I have one thing in mind and one thing only. "Will you do it?" I ask him.

  Rome studies me, glides his fingers across my cheeks and over my lips, then says, "No. I won't."

  "No?" I question him, eyes widened. "No? Did you just say no?"

  "That's right. Do you remember what happened the last time we did that, you wanted to marry me."

  "Come on, Rome. That is an overt exaggeration."

  "Not necessarily."

  I never thought the day would come
when I would be pleading for sex like an obsessed woman. "So what? I wanted you to myself. That's not the worst thing that a girl can ask of a guy."

  "The answer is still no," he says. His voice is soft but stern.

  "Are you saying that you and I will never have sex again?"

  "Of course, we will, when I think you're ready, but not now." He plucks my pajama shorts from the floor and hands them to me. "Put these back on."

  I stand before him, my eyes glistening, my heart pounding and my thoughts racing.

  How can this man just out and out reject me like this?

  He kisses me on the forehead twice and says, "Good night, Thursday."

  And Rome is gone.

  Wearing only my panties and a t-shirt, I stand with my back against the door, my eyes closed, head down and my heart singing the jilted woman's blues.

  This man has denied me like I have never been denied before, and I don't like it.

  How can he treat me this way?

  I am no dragon, but I am certain that there is smoke coming from my nose and ears. I flop down on my bed and drop my head into my lap, and I don't move for a long time.

  Who does he think he is anyway?

  I never wanted to be a part of his harem anyway.

  Then it hits me.

  I'll leave.

  That's what I'll do.

  I'll leave him and this house and be gone forever. Feeling someone in control of my fate, I lift my hand from my lap and my eyes glance upward as I ponder the question:

  Can I really give him up?

  Do I really want to give him up?

  A few seconds pass before the lightbulb goes off in my head and it says: Yes, I can.

  It's one thing for me not to be able to have him to myself. It's another thing for him to refuse me sex.

  I look at the clock on my night table, and I am reminded that we have plans to check out the ice cream parlor at 2:00 o'clock this morning.

  Now, I have to decide.

  Do I pack my things and leave now?

  Or, do I go ahead as planned to the ice cream parlor and vacate the premises upon my return?

  It takes me just a few seconds to ponder my options, and in the end, I forge ahead as planned and decide to ditch this pop stand immediately afterwards.

  I prefer to sleep in my own bed, but not wanting the girls to know how or why I am so disenchanted with Rome, I return to the family sleeping room and slip into bed next to Storm. My eyes scroll over to the position where Rome would be if he were in bed, but lucky for me, he is not. No doubt he's on the phone rejecting somebody.