Rich & Rare | A Filth Odyssey | Episode 1

Romy woke up in bed upside down. The foot of the bed was without a pillow, but at some point during the middle of the night, she had crafted one out of her discarded yellow sweater. It was a mess of cable knit sleeves and pom-poms, folded three times over into some god-awful pretzel shape. The thing had done the trick though, she slept straight through the night. A full god-blessed eight hours without interruption.

She pressed a finger to her eyelid and pressed into her lashes which were thick and resisted her touch.

“Damnit,” she groaned. Feeling around her front teeth with her tongue, she probed in between her gums at where the grime from last night remained. This would make for the fifth night in a row where she had fallen asleep before making it to the bathroom for her night time routine.

She lay idle on her back in the starfish position for another ten minutes before standing and stretching. The room was warm enough that she could remain topless without catching a chill over her shoulders. Nevertheless, she pulled on a mesh t-shirt that was on the floor and waltzed towards the little red windowsill.

Her silicone teacup ashtray was right where she’d left it the night before, half a joint sat on its edge, undersmoked.

***

On the phone, Rex spoke in his usual calm tone, it was slightly augmented by the weariness, but no hour was too early for him.

He enjoyed checking in on Romy, even if she was a witchy little thing and more than capable of taking care of herself.

For the day, he was behind a bit, in comparison to Romy’s early rising schedule. She’d already showered, shaved, and ran some errands by the time he called. He was still in bed, with the blackout curtains drawn, spread out and naked.

“I said, ‘How did you sleep?’” he yawned.

“Oh. I couldn’t hear you. Sounded like the phone fell or something.”

“It did in fact fall, for just a moment there...it’s so dark in here I almost didn’t find it.”

“Just follow the sound of my voice.” Romy was on her balcony, watering her plants. She’s a plant mother.

“You didn’t answer my question. How did you sleep?”

Romy smiled a little smile. She knew where this was going.

“I slept well.”

“How many hours?” Rex growled.

“8 hours, I slept right through.”

“Did you take your makeup off?” Rex pressed. Romy sighed. “Did you brush your teeth before bed?” There was another sigh on the end of the line. Rebecca rolled her eyes, feeling excitement all the same. She left her balcony, shutting the patio door behind her shut.

Rex released a breath and Romy could tell by the additional sound he made that he’d changed his position in bed to favor him holding the phone in one hand and himself in the other.

“Romy, Romy-Ravioli what am I going to do with you?”

Romy stayed quiet but returned to her bedroom, casting off her thick cable knit sweater and flopped onto bed, rolling to her back. She slid an open palm down her orange leggings and dug her pink toes into the furry throw blanket.

“What are you doing, Romy?” Rex asked as though he didn’t already know. Romy drew in a sharp breath and withdrew her hand.

“Nothing.” she lied.

“Were you starting without me, Lovely?”

“Nope.” she shook her head vigorously. Rex cleared his throat and sat up in bed.

“I’m sending you some money. Take a Lyft and tell me when you’re three minutes away.”

“Yes, sir.” Romy said and hung up the phone.

***

Let’s talk about Romy’s place. It’s a funny little thing. A one bedroom apartment out there near West Hollywood. She lives on the second floor of the building. All the other tenants are old ladies and they never mind hearing Romy’s late night vinyl record sessions, her constant furniture reorganization, or the rhythmic thudding of her headboard against the wall as Rex fucks her from behind every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday night.

In spite of this, Romy always apologizes to Mrs. Cash when she sees her in the hallway the next morning.

“Oh, no worries dear, it makes me feel young again.”

Mrs. Cash is good people.

When Romy moved in, she painted the walls a soft cotton pink. She had a friend with a custom neon sign company rig her a large light blue pentacle to hang on the wall. It’s bright cyan glow radiated on the wall above her green velvet couch. Romy had also laid out two rugs in her living space. The one house in the foyer was a zig-zag black and white pattern which mirrored the floors of the Black Lodge from Twin Peaks. The other which covered the floor of the living room was a large imitation of a traditional turkish rug.

Deep in between the fibers of both lay tiny curls of mistakenly discarded cannabis loose flower.

The fridge was almost always empty, but the freezer compartment was full of high protein ice cream, slabs of fish and red meats, and an assortment of small conspicuous looking jars.

It wasn’t that Romya never ate, she just rarely cooked. Not in her own space anyway. Lany and Danielle, her two witchy pals down the road had a truly “dank” kitchen. One big enough, at least, to experiment in.

The bathroom, while small, was by some miracle built and designed with a tub large enough to fit a human body up to 6ft fall in it. Her shoulders submerged every time, and she propped her neck up in it high enough to be able to smoke her joints without having to strain to sit fully up. Romy soaked there often. Nightly. With hard epsom salt crystals and sprigs of fresh rosemary.

The television was on, but on mute and for background music, waves of ambient techno skated through the speakers of her soundsystem. Sitting on top of the rug and in front of the green sofa was a round plate glass coffee table Romy had purchased from a neighbor who had packed everything up and moved on to Utah. After hanging up the phone, she sat on her green sofa, going through everything she’d stuffed into her duffle.

Two rolls of underwear, a bottle of warming lube, three packs of Skyn Latex condoms, a bottle of sparkling mineral water, a pair of socks with pom-poms at the ankle, whipped shea butter in a small mason jar, and a small carton of bone broth. Rex had been seeing her for a long enough while that she had a special toothbrush at his place, clothes and some prepared meals in the fridge.

She zipped up the bag and took a quick hit from her joint before stubbing it out into the teacup. Her snakeskin western boots sat by the door, waiting for their turn to go out. They were a gift from Rex on their second date and probably Romy’s favorite pair out of dozens. The rest sat organized in her bedroom closet, jealous of the newcomers.

***

It was a little bit after 5pm. She pulled her sweater back on, threw the duffel over her shoulder and shut off all lights save for her blue pentacle. Stepping into her boots, she ordered the Lyft and click-clacked down the hall, waving goodbye to Mrs. Cash who was just coming in.

“Off to see your mystery man tonight?”

“Something like that. Do you need anything from the market for when I come back?”

“You’re such a dear. Sure, you can bring me some fresh basil. And his brother, if he has one.” Mrs. Cash winked.

“I’ll do that.” Romy smiled.