Getting ready to look sexy for the evening as she browsed through her cloths hanging in the closet, Rolanda could not stop thinking about how handsome Hugh Mungus was. He was a bit on the chunky side, she thought, but she didn’t mind such a physical characteristic in a man. It was the way he carried himself which peeked her interest most, the way he spoke — seeming to not give a shit how he was perceived by others. She especially liked the fact he didn’t seem to fawn for her affection, as if acquiring it from her was the last thing on his mind. She had met plenty of guys in bars and nightclubs who made a beeline for her like a piece of metal to a magnet when she simply said a word to them. A “Yes,” or even a “No,” — or even a general look in their direction — and they would dive in like a hawk to a rat.
After laying her choices of attire for that night on her bed, Rolanda picked up two in each hand, moved over in front of the mirrors of her sliding closet doors, then held each of the outfits over her chest one at a time, comparing them. Two things occurred to her as she was doing this: One, she was doing an interview for a podcast listened to by an audience full of stoners. Why the fuck would she look sexy for that? And two, for some reason she had an inkling Hugh was the type who found it displeasing when a girl tried too hard to win a man’s attention by hyper-sexualizing her looks.
“I want to talk, not fuck,” Rolanda said aloud, tossing the two skanky outfits back onto the bed with the rest.
She stood before the mirror, gazing at her face, then rubbed the surface of her cheeks with the palm of her left hand, thinking about the way Hugh had looked at her earlier that day, and how she wanted him to look at her later on that evening when he came and picked her up. Removing the hair band from behind her head, she undid her ponytail, and let her hair go down to her shoulders.
“He’d like that,” she said. “I’d bet my life on it.”
She then looked down at the rest of herself in the mirror still wearing the tight jogging spandex cloths, and the thought occurred to her that maybe Hugh liked things simple in his life, nothing extravagant, or made to be perfect. So she decided for the rest of the day she would wear a green t-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. Turning away from the mirror, she went to her bed, picked up the sensual assortment of attire, then walked to her closet and simply tossed them back inside. Near a stack of plastic containers full of cloths there was a small pile of casual clothing all mixed together: t-shirts, tank tops, jean pants, jean shorts, sweatshirts, and a few bra and panties. Kneeling beside the messy pile of cloths, Rolanda dug in to find the green shirt, and blue jeans. She found a green shirt with an image of an emoji crying with laughter on the front. She couldn’t decide on what pair of blue jeans to choose from — they were all in different styles — so she compromised by choosing the only gray jeans she had.
After tossing the shirt and jeans she was going to wear for that evening, Rolanda got undressed, and took a shower. As she stood still, eyes closed, hands at her sides, she let the water rain onto her face and run down her body, all the while she pictured Hugh in her mind. She thought about the sound of his voice, the way he talked, the words he used, his desire to refer to Rolanda by her birth name rather than the stage name mostly everyone calls her by, the way he walked so leisurely as if he had no need for things he found useless, and his hands. She wanted his hands to touch her, and she knew that if they did, their intention would be nothing more than to comfort.
Rolanda opened her eyes, reached over for the bar of soap, and as she began rubbing it on her body, she imagined Hugh’s hands touching upon the sides of her neck. Her head moved out of the path of the falling water as one of Hugh’s phantom thumb stroked up the back of her neck to the base of her skull. She took a deep breath, then exhaled as a soothing, calming sensation went down to the base of her spine. The relaxing feeling turned into her imagining the touch of Hugh’s tubby — and most likely — hairy belly going up against her back. His hands then moved along the surface of her skin down to her boobs.
“Do you like them?” she asked aloud as the imaginary hands passed over her chest.
Not as much as I like you, Rolanda Mazed, Hugh whispered into her ear.
Rolanda leaned her head back as the hands moved over her six-pack abs. One went to her inner thigh, rubbing up and down, as the second began slowly rubbing her vagina.
A few minutes later Rolanda came out of her reverie, ceased masturbating, when she realized a man hadn’t made her feel so sensual since the early days of her relationship with Mathew. She didn’t know why all of a sudden she felt the need for intimacy. It must have been the fact she was so busy being a Content Creator for the Social Media scene that she never stopped to ponder who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Rolanda was always on the move everyday, constantly moving, whether it be filming something, creating music, on her bicycle going places before it was stolen, working out in the MMA gym, or jogging, all the while doing Snapchats. She did all those things as if caught in an unfaltering stream, always going in the same direction at the same hastening pace. Until that very day when by chance she ran into Hugh Mungus. It had given her pause for the opportunity to become aware of what was most important: her own private happiness.
As she pondered this self-identity predicament, Rolanda finally realized that she really didn’t know Hugh well enough to be thinking of him the way she was — especially to the point of masturbating in the shower.
Drying herself off after the shower was over, she couldn’t help but laugh at herself as she looked in the mirror at her reflection in the bathroom.
“Come on, Rollie,” she said to the mirror. “Naughty, naughty, you should’ve asked if he had a job before masturbating to him.”
Later in the kitchen as she heated up Harriet’s leftover spaghetti in the microwave, Rolanda realized she had not done a Snapchat since after finding out from Cal her bicycle was stolen.
She took her phone out of the jean’s front pocket, and said to her followers, “Hey, everyone. No need to worry about how I’m doing since my bike was stolen. I’ve gradually gotten over it. I’d just like to say, never assume a complete stranger won’t help you in a time of need. And I want to remind all you guys at six tonight I’m being interviewed on Stoner Class podcast, so take the time out of your evening and listen in.” End of Snap.
The microwave beeped, and she smelled Harriet’s spaghetti in the air. She took out the bowl of the hot Italian food, and carrying it to the dining table, she couldn’t help but hold the spaghetti close up to her face and smell its fragrance.
“Hugh, Hugh,” she said aloud, sitting at the table. “What would I do without you, Hugh?”
Before Rolanda could take the first bite, the front door basically burst open; she didn’t even hear it being unlocked. Harriet came rushing in, nearly out of breath, panting a little bit, and slammed the door shut behind her. She looked right at Rolanda with wide, worried eyes.
“How are you, Rolanda?” she asked, hands going to her hips. “You doing good? Feeling all right? What’s up?”
Rolanda was holding the fork wrapped with spaghetti halfway from her open mouth, looking up at her roommate. She didn’t know what to say, being weirded out by the way Harriet came in, asking her a series of questions, and standing there the way she did with her hands on her hips like a worried parent.
“Damn, Harriet,” Rolanda finally said, “what the Hell happened to you?”
“Oh, nothing,” Harriet replied, swatting her hand in front of her, “same old shit day at the office. A bunch of ‘do this, do that,’ with innuendo I’m a worthless pencil pusher, and all that stuff. I wanna know how things with you are? The show last night, how was it?”
“Well, it began on a high note,” Rolanda said, placing the fork back into the bowl of spaghetti. “The crowd clapped and cheered at the end. But after the show the night ended on a bit of a downer.”
“How?” Harriet asked, taking a step closer to the dining table.
“I, uh, kicked Max out of the band,” Rolanda said, nonchalant, and then proceeded to eat a mouthful of spaghetti.
“Oh,” Harriet uttered with a sigh. “Anything else?”
As Rolanda chewed, she thought for a moment if there was anything worth mentioning, then she remembered about her bicycle.
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “My bike was stolen because that dumbass Cal left his garage door open last night while he was taking a shit.”
Harriet giggled, saying, “Maybe you should kick him out of the band too.”
“No, no,” Rolanda said. “I wouldn’t do that. That’s one of the last things I’d ever do. Cal’s too much of a good friend, and he does what I say. Mostly.”
There was a moment of silence between the two roommates until Rolanda spoke.
She said, “You know, I had almost completely forgotten about my bike until just before I did my recent Snapchat a few minutes ago. I must’ve got so distracted by him I —.”
“Him?” Harriet interrupted. “Him who? Max?”
“No, not Max,” Rolanda informed. “Never mind.”
She didn’t want Harriet to know about Hugh until there was a better reason to talk to her about him. In all the time she had lived with Harriet, never once did they have a “girl talk” conversation about the other sex.
Harriet crossed her arms, taking another step closer to the table — so close, both her thighs were up against its edge.
“Why are you being so coy?” she asked.
“I’m not being coy,” Rolanda said. “It’s just weird having this kind of conversation with you, especially after bursting in through the door like that as if you were Swat. And you’re talking to me like my damn mother.”
“Okay, sorry. So, what’s his name?”
“Dammit, Harriet,” Rolanda said, dropping the fork in the bowl with a loud clank. “Fine, you win. Hugh, his name’s Hugh. I met him right after Max stormed out of the Band Wagon last night, and today when I went jogging — as luck would have it — I ran into him on the trail. And since you’re being nosey all of a sudden, he’s been on my mind the last couple of hours.”
Harriet broke out laughing so hard her head went back, hands dropping to her sides as she backed away from the table, spinning around, turning her back to Rolanda.
“What the fuck’s the matter with you?” Rolanda asked. “You come bursting through the door, panting, and ask me twenty questions about my day. Now you’re laughing like a fucking clown. What’s up with you? Did you get a promotion at work that involved free cocaine?”
“His name’s Hugh,” Harriet managed to say through all her laughter.
“What’s so funny about that?”
Harriet then gradually regained control of her composure, as if willing herself to cease laughing any longer with some struggle. She turned back to Rolanda, wiping away tears of laughter.
“I never expected you to hook up with a guy who had a name like that,” she said. “Point in fact, I never expected you to find a man for yourself like…at all.”
“What’s wrong with the name ‘Hugh?’” Rolanda inquired. “And what makes you think there’s gonna be any kind of hook up? I just met him yesterday.”
“Okay, okay,” Harriet said, waving both her hands, “I’m sorry. Made an ass of me. Assumed too much.”
“By the way, where’s your portfolio, and your purse?”
“Holy shit,” Harriet said, her hands going to the sides of her face. “I left my shit back at the office. Fuck. I gotta go back.”
Harriet turned to leave. After opening the front door, she stopped in the threshold, and turned back to Rolanda.
She said, “Before I forget to mention, my cousin is going to come and visit for a few days. He’s crashing on the couch. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not,” Rolanda said. “When’s he going to be here?”
“Between now, and whenever he shows up. We haven’t seen each other in years, so he wants his visit to be as close to a surprise for me as possible.”
