Rosalyn

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Stranger knocks on the door; innuendo ensues.
959 words
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Rosalyn,

To summarize, my end of it at least:

- No, sorry, I am not Marcus.

- Sure you can come in and see if you can call Marcus. I'm not really sure why you need to come in if you have a cell phone though.

- No, your outfit is not too slutty, especially for this time of night and this neighborhood. You know, earlier in the day, when the sun was nice and warm on the sidewalks, there was a dyky-looking girl in a bikini who carried above her head a sign that said "Topless Car Wash: $5". Two blocks away. So no, your outfit was not too slutty, not in this neighborhood.

- Oh, thanks a lot. You're making me blush. Yes, I am my own home decorator.

- Yes, my spice rack really is a thing to behold.

- Mmhmm, yeah, I do my own cooking.

- Did I know that? No. How would I just know that you're an interior designer on the side?

- Really? Decorating a restaurant! That's really great.

- Fascinating. Lots of textures, yes. Good idea.

- Fascinating.

- Yes, the fabric overhang concept of yours sounds like a very elegant way to cover up the exposed water pipe you refer to. You're very innovative, if I do say so myself. That Marcus is still not picking up, huh?

- My bedroom is not as nice as my living room I'm afraid. I wouldn't want you to downgrade your impression of my taste.

- Wow, really? Well, you certainly are very tall. I don't know if it shows necessarily, but now that you tell me that you're a model, I certainly have no reason to doubt you.

- London, even? Fantastic. Yes for sure I can see the catwalk in you. Pantheresque. Very glamorous.

- Oh I am absolutely aware that Brazilian girls can be as dark-skinned as you are. I can see how some guys don't believe it though--most people are so provincial. Well, sucks to be them. As far as I'm concerned, you're as Brazilian as you want to be.

- And then you're off to study law at Stanford right after that European gig! On a basketball scholarship! What don't you have going for you?

- Ah, I have my answer: Discreetness. Just barge through any old closed door, will you.

- Listen, I just made that bed up this morning. It took me half an hour to put it back in the shape Valerie leaves it. You will want to be careful not to disturb it with those long, pantheresque limbs of yours. Plus, I really can't see why you need to call Marcus from my bed? Wouldn't the living room be more comfortable? Or perhaps the hallway right outside my front door?

- Yes, yes, everyone says I'm a riot.

- Sorry, I never asked... you are? Rosalyn. Nice to meet you.

- I know it's a nice bedside lamp. I got it for $5 at a contents sale.

- No, you cannot buy it for 20.

- I guess I can lie on my own bed next to you, sure.

- Incidentally, your clothes? They are on the floor. Why is that?

- Do I think you lick my ear like a hooker? What a question.

- If you give me his telephone, I will call Marcus for you, since your hands seem otherwise occupied. Where's that Comfort Inn notepaper you were holding with his number on it?

- Nice. What a swivel that was.

- You've got a rugged turf leading up to your pussy. Your hair there is like a broken-in loofa.

- Do I mind? No, I don't mind, but I feel since you're in the business of taking liberties, I may do so as well. My arena is your ass button. Yours, evidently, is my dick.

- ...

- Okay, uh, thanks very much.

- No, Rosalyn. No way. $30 will not do it. I really like that lamp.

- No, I only chose the paint colors and gave them to the superintendent. He bought them and painted them for me.

- Go ahead. The bathroom is on your lefthand side out this bedroom door.

- A party on the 12th? Hm. Perhaps.

- No, at this point I have no idea what I have going on then. I might be able to make it. I don't really plan day-to-day items more than a week in advance.

- Well sure. Who wouldn't want to meet new really great designer friends.

- Oh, you don't have to. Oh... okay. Do you need a paper to write it down? No, you've got one?

- Okay, thanks. Looks good. Oh a hug. Oh wow. You are slutty. We met less than 45 minutes ago and now you're hugging and kissing me goodnight?

- No you're right. I am a total riot.

- Have a good night. Yes for sure I'll email. Okay, not the Queen_Bee address, the other one. Okay, great. Sure thing.

- Night!

That's when I shut the door and looked at the paper you had just given me. In bubble script: your name, Rosalyn Mayne, your phone number, your cell number, your home address and two email addresses.

I was still mystified.

A half hour later, around 1am, as I was about to chuck your address in the wastebasket (it's nothing personal: there's not enough colour contrast in your body for me), I flipped the paper over. There was that Comfort Inn logo, along with my own full name, address, phone number, cell phone number and even the buzz code. A mention of Marcus? Not a scrap.

So Ros, as they say in the movies: what the fuck?

Sincerely,

S.

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