The Renegades

by P. R. Paige

It's as if he can read my mind. "Let's just say," I say to him, "too long."

  "What do you think?" He questions me and then gifts the back of my hand with a sweet kiss.

  He sure is ringing in the charm today.

  "Should we be responsible adults and hurry back to the gate so we can make our flight?" he asks me, "or should we do something completely different?"

  "Something completely different."

  I am filled with electrical anticipation rising by the moment when we check into the Sandscapes Hotel at Los Angeles Airport. Our suite is draped in navy blue and charcoal and faces an enormous picture window that overlooks the hotel swimming pool.

  Rome hoists me up on the marble countertop, his hungry mouth on mine. I relish the feel of his tongue inside my mouth. His breath is hot, his breathing intense. He brings his hand up to grasp my chin and holds me in place, continuing to douse me with his fiery kisses. He wants me, and I want him just as much. His warm hands layered against my body reminds me of just how much I have missed him, and I make love to him with everything that I have.

  Rome romances me real good. He is what I like to call, the ultimate aphrodisiac. After my large order of oh so good, I lay curled in Rome's arms, completely wrung out, both of us wide awake. I inhale a state of bliss, blink my eyes, and smile. This is as good as it gets, basking in the arms of the man who charges my battery and curls my toes. I think to myself: Why have we stayed apart for so long?

  Then I remember: Because he chose someone else.

  No man has ever made me feel this good, not even the man who I was married to for two years. This is probably nothing more than an I-just-had-to-have-you-one-more-time encounter, but this is a big deal for me. I have been divorced a year now, and this is my first sexual experience in a long time, and it is a good one.

  My back is to him. He curls his arms around me. "Is this how you remember things?" he asks me.

  "Oh, yes," I say, then rise to a sitting position. "You know, Rome, I always thought of you as the one who got away."

  "Got away from what?"

  "Got away from me. Surely, you always knew how much I wanted you to be mine forever."

  "I assume all women feel that way about me."

  I ignore his arrogance and maneuver my way back into his comfy arms. "But you don't understand, Rome. It was different with me."

  "How so?"

  "Let's just say, I would have given my right arm to have you all to myself."

  "What about your left arm?" he asks me.

  "Are you crazy?" I say to him, laughing. "I need my left arm."

  Rome surprises me by rolling on top of me. We are now face to face. He studies me with his red-carpet smile. He glides his fingers across my cheeks. "You are just as pretty as always."

  "You're just saying that because you want to make love to me again," I say to him trying to disguise just how much he is inflating my ego.

  "That's true, but all the same, you are very pretty. When did you start wearing bangs?"

  "About a month ago," I say to him.

  Am I just a sucker for flattery, or is this man just super talented at making me feel like the Belle of the Ball? I wish they could bottle what Rome does to me. That way, if ever there was a time that he wasn't around to ignite that romantic spark in me, I could just pop a few Romes, and all would be well again.

  Rome and I enjoy breakfast in the hotel restaurant the next morning. It has been several hours since we did the you-know-what, and I am still feeling the tinge of excitement. My body is pleased all over because Rome was all over it, and my mind feels even better because he's still in it. I sip my orange juice while I await my buttermilk pancakes. My eyes stay glued to him. He is just so easy on the eyes. He wears his trademark Fedora hat and looks so juicy. I want to eat him, literally, as if I didn't nibble on him enough the night before.

  "You're not going to get into any trouble at work, are you, for staying over an extra day?" Rome asks me.

  "Oh, no. I have the coolest boss ever."

  "What makes him so cool?" Rome asks me.

  "He's funny. He pays exceptionally well, and most importantly, he lets me do whatever I want."

  "So, you're his secretary?" Rome asks as if he's afraid of offending me.

  "I like to think of myself more as his personal assistant."

  "Same thing."

  I laugh. "Perhaps, but it sounds better."

  Rome adds two creamers to his coconut cream coffee and stirs it, his eyes never leaving me, as if he's about to make a poignant statement. "If I might be so bold as to change the subject."

  "You may," I say to him.

  "How would you like for us to have more nights like the one we had last night?"

  "Are you making me an offer?"

  My buttermilk pancakes and scrambled eggs are soon delivered, and I dig in.

  "Something like that," he says to me.

  "In that case, I would like that."

  "We could, you know," he reminds me.

  "How is that?"

  Rome sips his coffee and shifts his cup to the center of the table. "A couple of years ago, I realized that monogamy was just not realistic or even desired, not for me anyway."

  "Oh, really," I say. "You don't think monogamy is realistic?"

  "Think about it. More than half of all married men--I am thinking seventy to eighty percent of them, have extramarital affairs. That says a lot."

  I'm not sure I'm ready for where this conversation is headed, but at this moment, his ideas grip my attention and do not let go.

  "What exactly are you saying?" I ask him, even though I am fully aware of the point he is making.

  "That monogamy is not only not realistic, but not even wanted by men, anyway."

  I am not as hungry as I was before and release my fork from my hand onto the plate.

  "Okay, Mr. Philosopher, if monogamy is so unrealistic and unnatural, what is the solution?"

  "I'm happy to tell you. When I turned in my marriage license, I traded it in for something completely different."

  Engrossed in our conversation, I hold on to his every word. "And what's that?" I ask him.

  "At the present time, I live with two wonderful women, and we are seriously committed to one another."

  My eyes widen. It will be several seconds before I speak. I collect my thoughts, and meditate on his last statement. "Come again? Did you just say that you live with two women?"

  "And sleep with them, too," he adds. "Does that sound strange to you?"

  "Yes, it does. How many men do you know who live with two women?"

  "That's not the point," he says to me.

  "And these women are okay with this arrangement?"

  "They wouldn't have it any other way," he says.

  "But why?" I ask. "Why would these women choose to share a man?"

  "Women share men all the time," Rome says.

  The bells in my head are dinging and donging. "Yesterday, you mentioned something to me about recruiting me," I say.

  "That's right," Rome says.

  The bells in my head continue dinging and donging, and one question comes to mind.

  He couldn't possibly be thinking of asking me to join his lifestyle?

  Or could he?

  Episode Three

  "I want you to join me, India and Storm in our home." He is so calm in his delivery. It's as if he's asking me to attend a dinner party or a play.

  My mouth falls open, but I can't speak, at least not yet anyway.

  Is he for real?

  "That's mighty Tiger Woods of you," I say to him.

  "Not really."

  "Rome, I have no interest in becoming a part of your harem, and frankly, I don't understand why any woman would."

  "How can you reject the idea before you have even tried it?"

  I'm not even touching what he just said. Instead, I say, "I would love to continue this conversation with you." I stand to leave, "but we both have a plane to catch."

  "Will you at least m
eet with Storm and India?" he asks me.

  I grimace and stuff my clutch purse underneath my arm. "No," I say to him as I head out. "I'm not interested."

  He rises to his feet and slaps a $100 bill on the table. "Can we at least talk about it on the plane?" he asks me, traveling right behind me.

  "No, we cannot."

  Rome is still on my trail, but I am one step ahead of him. "Will we see each other again?" he asks me.

  I stop in my tracks, and turn to face him.

  Silence.

  "I don't know, will we?"

  "If I have anything to do with it, we will," he says to me.

  Of course, I wish to see him again, but, how can I?

  He has made it abundantly clear that he is very much into this new lifestyle, which conflicts with every fiber of my being.

  On the Boeing 777, Rome abandons the comforts of his first-class accommodations and joins me in coach. This unusual gesture of his surprises me. Rome has always been a first-class-all-the-way-kind-of-person, and traveling in coach cannot be easy for him.

  During the entire flight, he is determined to have me join him in his house of shame. The type of lifestyle he is proposing is simply outrageous. It is not how I see myself or anyone I wish to become in the future. But Rome is not giving up. He continues to make his case, seemingly believing that he might change my mind. But he is wrong. They say you should never say never. However, I feel very confident saying that never in a million years will I agree to that type of lifestyle.

  Full stop.

  Period.

  After several hours of travel, I finally breeze into my apartment in Water's Edge after saying my goodbyes to Rome at the airport. Of all the trips to Los Angeles, this one is the best. Not only did I have a chummy time with my sister, but aside from Rome's strange proposal, my encounter with him was simply unforgettable, and I have a permanent smile on my face to prove it. I click on the TV, which is embedded in the living room wall, fill the tea kettle with water, and set it on the stove.

  My eighteenth floor apartment is outfitted in black. Black sofa, black book case and black floors. Purchasing flowers on a weekly basis has become my new ritual, and my coffee table is never void of a vase of either fresh daisies, carnations or tulips. This week, it's lavender tulips.

  I head into my bedroom, slip out of my flip-flops and begin unpacking when there is a knock on the door. The sound jolts me. I don't recall my doorman calling to inform me of any guests. I step over to the door in my bare feet and look through the peephole. It's Rome.

  I am all smiles and swing the door open. "What did you do? Follow me home?"

  "I did."

  Not sure what to make of this unannounced visit to my home, I ask him, "How did you get up here?"

  "I took the elevator."

  "I know that, but how did you get past the doorman?"

  "What doorman?"

  "The doorman who works in the lobby."

  "I didn't see any doorman. Anyway, are you going to invite me in or are we going to share our business with your neighbors?"

  I step aside so that he can enter, and then close the door behind him.

  I head back into my bedroom to finish unpacking, and Rome trails behind me.

  Because I hate clutter, my bedroom consists of only three items: a Full-size bed with no headboard, a 40-inch television built into the wall and a white-wooded chest of drawers.

  Rome lounges on the edge of my bed, his leg crossed as if he owns my room and everything in it, including me. He exudes confidence and a sense of calm, but he says nothing. I think he's waiting for me to speak first.

  "So?" I say. "What brings you over?"

  "You. I wanted to see you, maybe get into your panties again."

  Never passing up an opportunity to humor him, I say, "You have been in there already. What do you want to go back for?"

  "I like it in there."

  "I know you do," I say smiling.

  I remove my black patent leather flats from the plastic bag and set them upon the closet shelf. I pretend that I have no idea why he's here, but that's not the case at all. Deep inside, or maybe even not so deep, I know why he's here: To change my mind.

  "Where are those pink panties that you wore yesterday?" he asks me.

  "The last time I checked, they were in your shirt pocket."

  "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that," he says.

  I laugh. He never misses an opportunity to make me smile.

  "Anyway, to cut to the chase, your chase, I know why you're here, and the answer is still no."

  Rome uncrosses his legs, moves back on the bed, his hands at his sides. "You know what amazes me," he asks me. "That you think that you can say whatever you want to me and I will just believe it."

  I pull my hair away from my face and twist it into a knot. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means that just because you tell me you don't like something or won't do something, doesn't mean I am going to believe you."

  "I'm not going to even dignify that statement with a response. Besides, I don't know what the heck you are talking about."

  "Yes, you do," he insists.

  "No, I don't."

  "Yes, you do."

  I exhale a long frustrated breath, finish my unpacking, zip my suitcase and deposit it into the closet. "Shouldn't you be on your way home to your two pretend wives?"

  "At the moment, I'm more interested in my wife to be."

  "I hate to break it to you," I say to him, "but that is never going to happen."

  "You don't think so?"

  "I know so." I lean against the chest of drawers, my arms folded. "You are a handsome and rich man. I'm sure you can get hundreds of women to be a part of this kinky lifestyle. Why burden me with it?"

  "Because I want you," he says to me.

  "You can't have me."

  Rome is obviously not listening to a word that I am saying because he is now removing his shoes. He rolls onto my bed, his elbow propped up underneath his head.

  "And exactly what are you doing?" I ask him.

  "I'm checking out this marvelous view."

  "Oh, you are just so charming," I say to him.

  "I know, and then some."

  He lays on my bed wearing his Fedora hat, looking just as appetizing as ever, and I can't help but remember our recent time together in Los Angeles. What a great memory it is.

  Only two words come to mind: Yum and Me. But I am in complete control of my senses and most importantly, my behavior. Knowing what I know about his untraditional lifestyle, I am not interested in what he's selling. I don't care how good the sex was in Los Angeles, or would continue to be in Chicago, whatever we had up until this moment is O-V-E-R.

  "I want us to be friends, Rome, and that is all."

  Totally ignoring my statement, he asks me, "Are you coming over here to join me, or do I have to come over there and get you?"

  "Did you hear what I just said?" I ask him.

  "Did you hear what I just said?" he asks me. "Am I going to have to come over there and retrieve you?"

  "I guess you're going to have to come get me because I'm not coming over there," I say, my hands on my hips.

  I watch him slowly slide off the bed and step to me. He scales up on me, curling his arms around me. With my heart racing and temperature rising, I'm weakening, but I fight it and remain strong.

  "Why are you doing this?" I ask him, "I'm not going to change my mind."

  "Sure you will," he says to me.

  "I am N-O-T going to be a part of this harem of yours. Why can't you just accept that?"

  After a short silence, Rome releases his arms from around me and resumes a sitting position on my bed. "Okay, here's what we'll do. You do this and I'll accept your decision. I'll never bring it up again, and you and I can just be friends."

  "What is it?" I ask him, afraid of what I will hear.

  "I want you to meet India and Storm."

  "Storm? Is that really her name?" I ask him as I tuck
a strand of hair behind my ear.

  "Actually, it's Satara, but she likes to be called Storm."

  "Forget it, but I do like the idea of you and I having a nice cozy friendship."

  "You and I have always been intimate since we first met," Rome reminds me. "What makes you think it will work?"

  "There's a first time for everything, Rome."

  When I hear my tea kettle whistling, I scurry into the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea. Rome beelines right behind me.

  While I grab the black loose Argo tea from the cupboard, Rome positions himself directly behind me.

  I stop and listen. What is he up to now?

  "I'm noticing that a cute spot on your neck is looking a little neglected. Maybe I could kiss it for you."

  His hot breath cascades down my back. "You would do that for me?" I ask with a hint of sarcasm.

  "For you, I would."

  Out of nowhere, the debate between us stops and Rome says, "I'm going to leave you alone now to enjoy your tea, but this conversation is to be continued at a later time."

  "No, it's not either."

  "If you say so," he says.

  And remarkably, Rome has left the building.

  I find his abruptness strange but still very welcomed.

  To my utter amazement, I overcame the temptation to sleep with him again. I don't know how I did it, but I did. I have to say, though, I look forward to a possible friendship with Rome as we have never had just that before. Then again, maybe Rome is right. Maybe it's not possible for us to be just friends. Regardless of whether it is possible or not, I'm definitely willing to give it a try.

  It is only when I'm in bed this evening, trying to sleep that I allow my thoughts to drift back to my strange encounter with Rome in Los Angeles. I keep coming back to the I want to recruit you statement, and I just can't shake it.

  If I weren't so amused by the whole thing, I just might be offended. The whole scenario has the feel of a Hollywood movie, but it's not a Hollywood movie, it's my life. But then again, maybe it could be a Hollywood movie. In this moment, I am magically inspired to write a story about what is happening with Rome and me. This could be the story that I am meant to tell. It sure beats my failed memoir about the day I had my wisdom teeth removed.