by P. R. Paige
"And you, India?" Rome asks.
"I always sleep well when I'm next to you."
I release the pen in my hand. I can't write anymore.
Am I really sitting at a breakfast table having breakfast with a man I just made love to while another woman flirts with him?
This is too weird.
Now I understand why India threatens to move out on a regular basis.
This is a bizarre arrangement that I'm not totally convinced that I'm qualified for.
Rome fixes a plate of scrambled eggs and toast for both India and myself, then joins us at the table.
Minutes later, Storm hustles into the kitchen in a frenzy and approaches Rome with her nightshirt pulled up, exposing her back.
"Look at this," she says to him as her back is covered in large scratches.
"What's with all of the scratches?" Rome asks her.
"That's what I'm trying to find out," Storm says.
"Let me see," I say to Storm, then stand and take a look for myself.
Her back is covered in large and small scratch marks that covers the full extent of her back.
"Where did those come from?" I ask her.
"I have no idea," Storm says.
"Maybe our room is haunted," India suggests.
"Haunted," I question with a chuckle.
"It's definitely possible," India says. "Maybe some entity is attacking you at night?"
"So why isn't it attacking all of us?" Storm asks. "We all sleep in the same bed."
I shake my head and scratch my scalp, trying to wrap my brain around all of this.
Are we really having a conversation about entities visiting us at night?
"Maybe you're rubbing up against something at night or something," Rome says.
"I don't think so," Storm says, lowering her shirt over her back.
Storm washes her hands at the kitchen sink and then seats herself at the table. In front of her is a plate already prepared with one scrambled egg and a piece of unbuttered toast.
"Thursday, I have been thinking about you and your writing career," India says to me, smiling heavily.
"Oh," I respond and then wipe my mouth, eager to hear her thoughts.
"Some of the top selling books of our time were written by authors who devoted themselves to their craft full time," India says.
"And?" I question, wondering what any of that has to do with me.
"And," India continues. "I was thinking. Maybe you should quit your job and write full time."
"That's sound peachy, but what would I do about money?"
"I guess that could pose a problem, but maybe that is where Rome could come in. You could make an arrangement with Rome to finance your writing career and once you make it big, you can pay him back."
Amused, Rome sips his coffee while India speaks about him as if he's not in the room.
"Make it big?" I question her.
"What? You don't think you'll make it big?" India questions me right back.
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not."
"You need to build up your confidence," India says to me. "Tell her, Storm."
Storm's eyes shift to me. "She's right, Thursday. You have to build up your confidence."
"If that's something you might want to do," Rome says, "I'd totally be into it."
"Really?" I question. "You would pay all of my expenses while I work on this book?"
"Absolutely, I would," Rome says.
The word wow has somehow come to mind.
It sounds promising, but I doubt I could abandon my job, especially for a book with no promise of success. Besides, Perrin would miss me too much anyway.
"You think about it, Thursday," Rome says to me, "and let me know what you might want to do."
"I wish I could write," Storm says to me. "I have this great idea for a movie. It's about a woman who dreams of killing her ex-boyfriend and the next morning he's already dead."
"Not bad," Rome says, "except, Hollywood isn't making movies like that those these days, just comedies, fantasy, and science fiction."
"That's too bad," Storm says. "It would have been a great movie."
"Why don't you write it," I suggest to Storm. "Do it as a book."
Storm shakes her head. "No, I can't do that."
"Why not?" I ask her.
"Because I have a secret," Storm says to us. "As quiet as it is kept, I really don't want to work for a living."
Rome pours himself another cup of coffee and adds two creamers. "It's not a secret, and it's not that quiet," Rome says. "Everyone here knows that you don't want to work. Well, maybe Thursday doesn't know, but she knows now."
"Storm, you don't want to work?" I ask her as this is the first I am learning of this.
"Do you want the short answer or the long answer?" Storm asks me.
"The long answer," I answer her.
Storm finishes off her orange juice and empties the contents from her plate into the garbage. "Working cuts into my leisure time."
It's statements like this that make it difficult for me to leave this house and go to work. I just never know what nuggets will be lost in my absence.
"But I thought you were in nursing school?" I ask Storm.
"Hence the words was in nursing school," India says. "Storm is a nursing school dropout."
"I just wasn't feeling it at the time," Storm says. "I'm a very feelings kind of person."
"Storm is not a dropout, India," Rome says. "She's just taking a break. She's going back, right Storm?"
"I prefer to think of myself as a retired nursing student, and as much as I might like the color white or any color for that matter, I'm not sure I'm cut out to wear any one color every day," Storm says, "I mean, look at my hair," referencing her ocean blue hair.
"What do you mean retired nursing student?" Rome asks Storm.
"I'm going back. Okay," Storm says, "just not anytime soon."
"Wrong," Rome insists. "You're going back this fall."
It seems Rome encourages his ladyloves to be more than just his ladyloves and for that reason alone, I like him even more.
The Blue Diamond Cove is one of Rome's latest business ventures outside of producing movies. He's the silent partner in a new Seafood restaurant. It's designed to recreate the scenario of attending the Oscars, where the guests strut the red carpet and have their pictures taken upon their arrival.
That evening, dressed in formal attire, Rome, Storm, India and I are on our way home from the fabulous experience. Except for Storm, we all have full bellies, and except for Rome, we have all had too much to drink. The Moscato from the restaurant is sizzling in my blood stream, and I'm feeling energetic and wild. Needing to go to the bathroom, I stare out the window, counting the minutes until we are home. As we pull into the driveway, I inch forward when I see a sandy brown Cadillac in the driveway. I grimace.
I've seen that car before.
It's Rome's mother. Again.
Episode Fifteen
Rome cruises to a full stop directly behind his mother's Cadillac. Momma Nicki exits the car and approaches the driver's side of Rome's Jeep Renegade. Rome is quick to lower the window and hang his head outside.
"Hello, mother," Rome says then plants a kiss on her cheek. "Ladies, say hello to mother."
"Hello, Momma Nicki," we all say to her in unison.
"Hello, pretty girls," Momma Nicki says to us. "What's wrong with your door, Son? I tried my key, but it wasn't working."
Storm, India and I exit the Jeep. Attuned to the conversation between Rome and his mother, I try my best to keep a straight face.
"I had a break-in recently and was forced to change the locks as a precaution."
As soon as I hear the lie disperse from Rome's lips, I know I am in for a treat with Momma Nicki's response.
"You had a break-in. When?"
"Sometime last week," Rome says.
I shake my head. Rome is shameless in his tales to his mother. I breathe in the night air, and here is what
I know for sure: Living in this house is fun.
Momma Nicki doesn't speak right away. She stares Rome down and is silent, perhaps sizing him up.
"You're not making this up, are you, Son?" she asks Rome. "I don't want you making this up to keep Momma out of the house."
"Of course, not," he says. He looks to us, perhaps hoping that we might confirm his half-truths.
Momma Nicki unlatches the Jeep door and swings it open. "Get out of the car, Son."
Rome exits the Jeep. Storm, India and I move in his direction and stand at his side.
Momma Nicki places her hands on her hips and steps back. "Son, you know what I think? There's something funny going on around here, and I doubt I will find out otherwise until I stay here overnight and see for myself."
Momma Nicki's declaration causes my head to spin and I forget to breath. I hold my breath waiting for Momma Nicki to clarify what she just suggested, but she doesn't. Instead, she adds, "Did the pretty girls tell you that I was over here a few days ago and that they hid from me? Did they tell you that?"
Momma Nicki studies me with a glare of disapproval, then turns her attention to Storm, then India. "That's right, I saw you! I saw you! I saw you!"
My mouth falls open. How does she know this?
"Mother, in all fairness to the ladies," Rome says, "they probably just thought that you were the Avon lady."
"And the Avon lady has keys to your house?" Momma Nicki asks Rome.
"Of course, she does. That's how I get the best deals," Rome says with a straight face.
"In all fairness to myself," India announces, raising her hand. "I was not even in the house on the day when this supposedly happened."
"Well, aren't you the lucky one," Momma Nicki says to India. "You know what Momma thinks?" Momma Nicks backs away from Rome, her eyes taking him in. "Momma thinks that her son is living with three women. That's what Momma thinks."
Rome opens his mouth to speak, but before a word can be released, Momma Nicki jumps in. "In fact, Momma is so sure that there are strange goings-on in this house that Momma is going to stay here tonight to see for herself."
Momma Nicki then strides towards the entrance of the house and turns to me and says, "One of you pretty girls is going to have to fix up the guestroom for Momma."
My stomach sinks and I am no longer breathing.
I watch Rome, his eyes darting back and forth between his mother and us. He's thinking fast and stops his mother in her tracks.
"Momma, that's not necessary, but if that's what you want to do, I have no problem with that. However, there is something that I should tell you."
Rome steps to his mother and places his hands on her shoulders. "As painful as it is for me to say this to you, I absolutely must." Rome takes a deep breath, looks over at me, then, Storm and India. "It's very possible that my house may be haunted."
"Haunted?" Momma Nicki questions, her eyes bulging, highlighting the dark curly wig, which is too big for her head.
I'm chuckling underneath my breath, hoping that no one hears me.
Rome's eyes circle to Storm. "Storm, tell my mother about the scratches on your back."
Storm presents to me one of those is-he-kidding-type of looks, then she plays along. "He's right, Momma Nicki. There is some kind of entity sharing space with us in the house, which may be responsible for the scratches on my back."
"Haunted? Entities?" Momma Nicki questions.
"Storm, show her your back," Rome says.
Storm removes her blazer and shirt and exposes her back to Momma Nicki.
"Oh my goodness," Momma Nicki says, examining the scratches on Storm's back. "And this happened when?"
"Sometime last night," Storm says.
"Last night?" Momma Nicki questions. "Were you sleeping here last night?"
Before Storm can answer, Rome interjects. "No. No. We all watched a movie last night and Storm may have fallen asleep on the sofa. We believe that is when it happened."
Rome is, I dare say, gifted in his outlandish tales. There are no bounds he won't travel to keep his mother in the dark about his lifestyle.
Momma Nicki investigates the house with a fine eye, taking several steps backwards, apprehension in her eyes.
"Son, if this is true, how can you continue to live here?"
I can't wait to hear Rome smooth talk his way out of this one.
"Well, we're not exactly sure that the house is haunted," Rome confesses. "We're having some house hunters come in this week to investigate. But, if you want to stay here with us to tonight and make sure that nothing is going on between us, you are most welcome."
Momma Nicki steps towards Rome, step by step, inch by inch. She then raises her hand to Rome, but she stops herself. "If I were not a bible woman, I would put my hand to your face, but Momma is not going to do that. You know I can't stay in a house that is haunted. What is the matter with you?"
"But, we're not for certain that it's haunted," I say to his mother, wanting to insert myself into the game.
"Oh, so the pretty girl is not for certain," Momma Nicki says, pivoting over to me. "I am a bible woman and I cannot under any circumstances say in a house that could be haunted. Do you understand that, Pretty Girl?"
"Yes, ma'am," I say.
"Mother, her name is Thursday," Rome reminds her.
"Well, she's pretty girl No. 1 to me, or is it pretty girl No. 2?" Momma directs her attention back to the house. "And I know why this house is haunted too, all these women you have living with you. You think I don't know what you're doing. I know you're doing that sick stuff again. Ladies, you do know that my son is a heathen, don't you?"
"No, I didn't," India says. "Is he?"
"You ladies didn't know that?" she questions us. "Tell them, Rome. Tell them what you are."
"I'm not going to admit to that because it is not true," Rome says.
"Momma is about to leave now before something gets on me that's not supposed to be on me." Momma Nicki scrambles to her car then looks back at Rome, squinted eyes. "I'll deal with you later. Much later."
And Momma Nicki is gone.
Storm, India and I all share a good laugh as we set foot in the house.
We all had more than our fair share of white wine at the Blue Diamond Restaurant, but it does not stop us from going at it again at the minibar. In good spirits and wanting the feel-good to continue a little longer, I fire up the built-in surround-sound stereo with some salsa music, and all four of us dance until the point of exhaustion.
Chilled alcoholic beverages and dancing to salsa music has become our weekly ritual, and frankly something I can't ever see myself not partaking in.
What is it about salsa music that makes me just want to let loose and fly?
It just makes me feel so good and feeling good, is what living in the House of Rome is all about.
It's time for bed, and we girls are all dressed in our standard House of Rome attire. As usual, Rome is snuggled between India and Storm and as for me, as always, I am odd one out. The television is tuned to Comedy Central's South Park with the sound muted. On this particular episode, there is a snake talking to the Governor of California, which causes me to question the Governor of California's choice of friends.
"Would you be friends with a snake?" I ask anyone in bed foolish enough to answer my question.
"Not me," India says.
"What about you Storm?" I ask Storm.
"If it was a nice snake, I might consider it." Storm grabs her vitamins from the night table and pops a couple down with some water.
"And you, Rome?" I ask Rome.
"It all depends," Rome says. "What kind of snake is it and can it talk like the one talking to the Governor?"
Since Rome is humoring me, I humor him right back. "It's a rattlesnake," I say to Rome, "And of course, it can talk. Why wouldn't it talk?"
"Well, in that case, I would definitely be friends with it," Rome says.
"You would literally be friends with a snake," I question
Rome in disbelief.
"Yes, I would."
"Something is wrong with you," I say to Rome.
"I'm not the one asking the question."
I laugh. "Point well taken."
India pushes the covers off her and rises to a standing position on top of the bed. "Since we're feeling all warm and fuzzy right now," India says.
"I'm not feeling warm and fuzzy," Storm corrects her. "Actually, I'm feeling a little tipsy and tired."
"So what else is new?" Rome asks Storm with a soft smile.
"I resent that," Storm says to Rome, smiling.
"No, you don't," Rome says.
"May I finish," please?" India asks, her voice elevated.
"Who's stopping you?" Storm asks.
With India standing on top of the bed, hovering over us, speaking in a deliberate tone, something tells me the tide in this house is about to be radically changed.
"This question is for Rome," India says.
"I hope it's sexually explicit," I say, having a freakish time annoying India.
"Me, too," Storm says.
"What is the matter with you people," India says. "I'm trying to be serious here."
"You can't be too serious with all of that bush you are carrying around," Storm says, looking up India's shorts.
"Who says?" India asks, her mouth twisted.
"I say," Storm says.
"Really? Let me take a look," Rome says while looking up India's pajamas shorts. "It is getting a little busy down there," Rome concludes.
"You didn't seem to mind the other night," India reminds him.
"The other night was the other night," Rome says.
"You water heads all get on my nerves. All of you," India says to us.
"But I didn't do anything," I say in my protest.
"Sure you did. You moved into this house and befriended those two water heads." India drops down and resumes her position in the bed next to Rome and Storm and pulls the covers up over her.
"With all due respect," Rome says, sitting forward. "What exactly is a water head anyway?"
"It's something bad," India says. "That's what it is. I had something really important to talk to you about, and you water heads want to talk about my bush."
