The Renegades

by P. R. Paige

  "We're sorry, India," Rome says. "We'll are all ready to listen now."

  "That's right," I say, "We're all ears."

  "Thank you," India says. "I know Storm has ADD so I'll talk fast".

  Storm smiles and warms up her lips with a coat of lip gloss, obviously not perturbed by India's opinion of her.

  "This lifestyle of ours, which we have all grown to really like," India says, directing her attention to Rome, "what I want to know is, how does it fit in with a real family life? I mean, don't you ever want to have children?"

  From the onset, I knew India had something on her mind. However, I was not expecting it to be this great.

  "Yes, I do," Rome says. "I would like to one day have children."

  "How would that work? I mean you live with three women?" India reminds him.

  It's great to know that I am not the only one wondering how long this radical lifestyle of ours can last.

  "Who says it's going to always be like this?" Rome says to her.

  "What do you mean," I ask Rome, more than curious.

  "Who says I will always have more than one love?" Rome asks and from the look on Storm and India's face, it's safe to say none of us was expecting that response. "I assume that one day, I will settle down like the rest of the world."

  "Are you serious," Storm questions him with a sparkle in her eyes.

  "Yes. Is that so hard to believe?" Rome asks.

  "Yes, it is," India says.

  The room goes silent as we digest everything we just heard.

  "And now for the $1 million question," India says, peering into Rome's dark eyes. "Drum roll, please… If you have to choose between the three of us, who would it be?"

  "Do you really think I would be dumb enough to answer that question?"

  "Are you scared," Storm asks him.

  "Not scared, petrified," Rome says.

  "I think that if Rome were to choose between one of us, it would be me," India says.

  "That's mighty humble of you," Rome says.

  "I think it would be Thursday," Storm suggest.

  "Why do you say that?" Rome questions.

  "I don't exactly know why, but I just feel there is an extra special connection between you and Thursday."

  "I think Rome has a special connection with all of us," I say. "That's why we are all here with him."

  "Thank you, Thursday," Rome says.

  "In fact, I continue. "I think Rome would sooner walk away from all of us before choosing one over the other."

  My own words surprise even me. I have no idea where these rambling beliefs are coming from.

  "That's really heavy," India says.

  "Don't be fooled, India," Storm says. "Thursday only said all of that so Rome might choose her."

  "I don't think so," Rome says. "I think she spoke from the heart."

  And Rome was right on the money. I did speak from the heart. It is my opinion that Rome may not ever choose to settle down with just one of us, and if he does, I doubt it will be me.

  Episode Sixteen

  While sweet potatoes boil on the stove at my employer's penthouse, I compile more notes for my novel in progress. I have only drafted an outline, but I have captured the essence of what it means for three women to share a house and bed with one man. But, I'm worried now. Divorced women are the main audience for this book, and I'm concerned that it may come off as unbelievable.

  But how can that be?

  I'm a divorced woman, and I'm living proof that this story is indeed plausible. After coming to grips with that issue, there's an even bigger problem.

  How will this story end?

  The good news is that I'm the storyteller, which means I have the luxury of carving out any ending of my choosing.

  Then I ask myself: How would I like to see this story end, and without giving it much thought, I make a decision. My story will end when Rome is forced to make a choice, whether on his timetable or someone else's, which leads me to the final question.

  Will it be India?

  Will it be Storm?

  Or?

  Will it be me?

  It's after five o'clock in the evening when I return to the House of Rome, and all I can think about is everything that I possibly missed while I was away. I have grown accustomed to seeing Storm in her yoga poses, India relaxing atop of the kitchen table, reading a mystery novel, and Rome, when he is not traveling, whipping up something spectacular for our taste buds. But today, I see no one, which surprises me until I hear a voice from upstairs, intermittently yelling the word ouch.

  I can only imagine what is transpiring on the upper level.

  Drenched in curiosity, I ascend the stairs and follow the sound as far as it will take me. Though intrigued, I am also a little on edge as this lifestyle, which I have succumbed to, is in the vein of the ancient TV sitcom The Monsters. That alone is cause for concern.

  I reach the family sleeping room to which the sounds are emanating and to my utter amazement, India is stretched out on the bed, lying on her back while Storm gives her a bikini wax. There's no question that Storm, India and I have created a dynamic girl-bonding experience, but the bikini waxing has taken it to a whole another level.

  But why does any of this surprise me? After all, this is what goes on in the House of Rome. Surely, I should know this by now.

  I stand in the doorway, my hand covering my eyes, "Sorry to interrupt, ladies."

  "Hey, Thursday," both Storm and India say to me.

  "Why are you covering your eyes," Storm asks me.

  "Because I'm not sure I should see this."

  "Don't be silly," Storm says. "I'm happy to do you as well."

  "Don't do it, Thursday," India says to me. "Storm is good, but she's not very gentle."

  "A little pain is good for you sometimes," Storm says. "Wouldn't you agree, Thursday?"

  I'm not about to be a part of a philosophical conversation with Storm about such matters, so I quickly agree with her and remove my hand from my eyes.

  "A little pain is good," I say.

  "So, what's up?" Storm says to me.

  "Nothing, just wondering what we were eating tonight with Rome out on business?" I ask.

  "What about pizza?" India suggests.

  "Fine by me," Storm says.

  "And me, too," I say. "I have never met a slice of pizza that I didn't like."

  I head out when I stop myself and make a U-turn in their direction. I have something on my mind, something that I have been wanting to ask the girls for some time now, but never felt comfortable enough doing so.

  "Can I ask you ladies something?"

  "Is there any way to stop you?" India asks me.

  "I doubt it," I say and then continue. "I hope this doesn't sound strange, but I have always been curious about something."

  Both Storm and India look towards me and bestow me their full attention.

  "As far as sex goes," I say, hesitantly, "I have never been actually sure how that works. I mean do you ladies let Rome know when you want sex or..."

  Before I can finish my thought, Storm interjects, sits on the edge of the bed. "Say no more. Although there are no hard rules, Rome pretty much likes to be the one who initiates sex. That's not to say that you can't initiate it, but my experience has been that he prefers to decide most of the time."

  "And that's okay with you?" I ask, confused.

  Storm opens her mouth to answer, but India beats her to it.

  "For the most part," India says, rising to a sitting position. "Sure, there are times that I might want to make love to him, but I know he likes to do the choosing, and I just go with it."

  "So, what would happen if you did try and initiate it?" I ask them both.

  "He would more than likely accommodate you," India says.

  "But you choose not to?" I ask.

  "Pretty much," Storm says.

  In the middle of one of the many strange conversations, Storm's cell phone rings, and that completes today's lesson on the initi
ation of sex in the House of Rome.

  Team Nicki is what I like to call us girls when we work harmoniously together for a common cause: Dinner. Awaiting our pizza delivery, Storm prepares a dinner salad, while India and I savor a rich glass of Chardonnay at the kitchen table. India is convinced that Matt Damon is more handsome than Ben Affleck, but I assure her that it's an argument that she will never win.

  The doorbell rings, and I grab Rome's American Express credit card from the counter and head for the front door. Standing on my tiptoes, I peek through the peephole and witness a man, wearing a baby blue ski mask, military jacket, khaki pants and a rifle wrapped around his shoulder. Since I have never seen him before in this neighborhood, I assume he must be lost and open the door. Perhaps, I might offer my assistance.

  "Good evening, sir," I say, "Are you lost?"

  He eyes me from top to bottom. "No. I'm not."

  My eyes are drawn to the ski mask that covers his face. I don't understand why he's wearing it. It's the middle of the summer.

  "Surely, this is none of my business, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to," I say, "but why are you wearing that ski mask? Are you cold?"

  The mask-wearing man doesn't speak right away. He's thinking about it, then, "why, yes, I am. That's it. I'm cold."

  "That's what I thought," I say.

  Enough with the small talk now. He has knocked on our door for a reason, and it's about time I find out why. "How may I be of service to you?" I ask him.

  "Are you here alone on this fine evening?" he asks me, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

  "Tonight is rather a fine evening, isn't it? And no, I am not here alone. My two good friends are here with me."

  "And there's no one else?" he asks me.

  "No one. Just us women."

  The mask-wearing man investigates his surroundings then takes in a wide view of the house. "Can you go get your friends for me?" he asks me.

  "Why?"

  "I want to see if they're as pretty as you are."

  I smile, flattered to the 10th degree. "I can tell you know how to get what you want, don't you?" I laugh, throwing my head back, still savoring his compliment. "Unfortunately though, we were about to sit down for dinner."

  "Really?" he asks. "What's on the menu?"

  "Pizza, just as soon as it gets here. In fact, when the doorbell rang, I thought you were the pizza delivery man."

  "Where did you order it from?" he asks me.

  "Santiago's."

  "That's okay, but if you really want the best pizza in the state, try Diego's."

  "Really, I'll have to remember that." I have no idea why this mask-wearing man has stopped at our doorstep, and most of all, why I'm still talking to him.

  "Can you tell me again why you rang my doorbell?" I ask him.

  "No reason. Are you sure I can't take a gander at your friends before you sit down to eat?" he asks me. "I can assure you. I'm completely harmless. I promise not to rape or kill either of you."

  I laugh. "Well, as long as you promise."

  "And I do," he says.

  "Wait right here. I'll be right back."

  I depart from the presence of the mask-wearing man and go and find Storm and India.

  A minute later, I return with Storm and India at my side.

  "Storm, India, this is the man I told you about."

  "Hello, India says, stretching out her hand to him. "It's nice to meet you."

  Storm inspects him with a piercing eye. "Why are you carrying a rifle? I mean if I didn't know any better, I might think that you were some sort of mass murderer."

  I shush Storm. "Storm, how can you say that to a complete stranger? He's given you no reason to believe that he's a killer."

  "It's okay," the mask-wearing man says. "She's right. To some people I might appear armed and dangerous."

  "Well, not to me," I say to him, giving him the I-kind-of-like-you look.

  "Me either," India says. "Anyway, nice man with the rifle, we were just about to sit down and eat."

  "Yeah, about that. Mind if I join you?" His voice is sweet and innocent.

  "I guess it would be okay. You seem harmless enough," I say. I look to Storm and India for their approval, and they both grant me the it's-okay look.

  We invite the mask-wearing man inside, and he unzips his military jacket. Standing in the foyer, we are all about to head towards the kitchen when the mask-wearing man says, "Since the pizza hasn't arrived just yet, I thought I might take a look at the house, perhaps get a glimpse of where you ladies sleep at night."

  "Why?" I ask him as his request troubles me.

  "I just want to see if where you sleep is as darling as all of you are."

  "Stop," India says, blushing, smiling and lowering her head.

  "No, you stop," he says to India.

  "You are just too kind," I say to him.

  "I guess it will be all right," Storm stays.

  We escort the mask-wearing man up the stairs and into the family sleeping room.

  "Are you ladies sure you're here alone?" he asks us. That's the second time he has asked me that question, and I'm now starting to worry. However, I answer his question anyhow.

  "Yes, it's just us," I say. "The way you keep asking me makes me think that you have something planned for us. I mean… you're not going to try anything, are you?"

  "No," he says. "Do I look like someone who would try something?"

  I study him for all of twenty minutes, taking in his ski mask, the military jacket and the rifle on his shoulder. "Not really."

  We all file into the family sleeping room, granting the mask-wearing man total access.

  "Okay," Storm says, stretching out her arms, highlighting our master bed. "This is where we sleep."

  "You like it," India asks him.

  "Nice," he says.

  The mask-wearing man steps towards the bed, studying it, then says, 'I was just thinking. Why don't you ladies climb up on the bed and show me what you look like when you sleep at night."

  Storm doesn't even question his request. Instead, she slips out of her thong sandals, crawls up on the bed and lies on her back.

  "Nice," he says eying Storm like she's a bowl of Easter candy, "Very nice."

  His eyes quickly roll over to India and me. "Now, you two," he says, directing us towards the bed, "Climb up on the bed with your friend."

  I squint my eyes and scratch my head. This unusual request concerns me more than his request to see where we sleep. "You want all us to climb up on the bed?" I ask him.

  "That's right," he says, removing his rifle from his shoulder and setting it aside the bed.

  I am about to crawl up on the bed when India asks, "Can't we do this later? I'd much rather head downstairs and wait for our pizza."

  His eyes shift to India, intense. "No, we can't do this later. We'll eat when I say it's time to eat."

  The mask-wearing man doesn't seem as nice as he did when we first met, but I oblige his request. After all, he did promise not to rape or kill us.

  India and I both ease our way upon the bed and stretch out next to Storm while he pivots around the bed. His eyes pore over us like he's a tiger and we are his dinner. "You three… are the most… magnificent… women that I have ever laid eyes on."

  I blush. "That's so nice of you to say." I soak up the excitement of having a complete stranger come into our home and inflict on us God knows what. It just doesn't get any scarier than that.

  The mask-wearing man undresses. Off comes his combat boots, socks, and plaid shirt. "It's a shame that you three are all here alone tonight."

  India, Storm and I all exchange one of those I-think-we-made-a-mistake-letting-this-ski-mask-wearing -man-into-our-home look.

  Now that he has disrobed, he wears only a ski mask and Khaki pants. He inches his way onto the bed.

  "Excuse me, mister," I say to him, "but whatever are you doing?"

  "In case you haven't figured it out by now, I'm no mister. I'm a kisser. That'
s right. I kiss women." He tickles Storm's feet and she laughs.

  I knew there was something fishy about that mask-wearing man, but I just didn't want to admit it. Now it may be too late.

  "I can't believe I didn't see this coming," I say. "You seemed so nice."

  "Well, guess what? I'm not nice. It was all a trick from the moment I rang your doorbell."

  "I have never met a kisser before," India says to him.

  He squeezes himself between Storm and me, then combs his fingers through my hair, while staring at Storm. "So, who wants to go first?"

  Silence.

  Storm doesn't respond. India doesn't respond, and I don't respond.

  "So, it's like that, huh? You're going to make me choose," he says. "I can deal with that."

  Just as the mask-wearing man is about to straddle himself on top of India, his cell phone rings.

  He plucks the phone from his pants and then snatches the ski mask from his face. "This is Rome." Moments later, he rolls off the bed and finishes the call.

  "Oh, fudge," Storm says. "And just when it was just about to get interesting too."

  A minute later the mask-wearing man also known as Rome Nicki rejoins us on the bed, gathering his belongings from the floor.

  "What do we do now?" I ask Rome as this game is not completely over for me.

  "What do you want to do?" he asks me.

  "You promised to… you know," India says to him.

  "I did not promise. It was only implied what I was to do to you."

  I rise to a sitting position. "So, how does it end?" I ask Rome.

  Before Rome can answer, Storm crawls off the bed and slips into her sandals. "It just ended."

  "But why?"

  "Because it's all about foreplay," India says, "and nothing else.

  This is the first time that I have participated in the family's role-playing stunt, and I like it. However, I wasn't expecting the game to end right before the real action began, but apparently, according to India, it's all about foreplay and nothing else.

  It's a beautiful summer night. The air is fresh and warm, and the sky is delectable. When our sausage and mushroom pizza from Santiago's Pizzeria is finally delivered, Rome, Storm, India and I enjoy our dinner on the patio.