A Handshake with Rollo (A Short Story) --Part 1

Quick disclaimer: This is a two-parter, as I'm amid a dash to finish up final edits on my Novel. Also an experiment in breaking longer stories into more digestible chunks. Better, Worse? Let me know.

Rollo’s handshake left something moist—thicker than sweat—on my skin after we shook hands. I’d describe him as middle aged, but not in the classic sense. He was maybe twenty-five, thirty at best. The type of man who will quietly leave this world in a substance-enhanced sleep years before his time, likely in some public place—hopefully not too close to any schools. His over-worked body dashing to see its final convulsion as if it mistook the backfiring pickup truck he was born in, for a starter gun.

I winced when his B.O sheened back pressed itself against the living room couch before I had a chance to offer him one of Pru’s fabric protecting pillows. His white singlet didn’t offer much by way of separating his curly back hair from the red suede fabric. Sure, we picked the upholstery up from the Chica-Raindrop outlet at a steal, but we’re talking Chica-Raindrop here. Still not cheap!

I remained standing as I willed Pru’s hatchback to turn into our driveway. Headlights flashing through the kitchen blinds in all their comforting glory.

Rollo wiped his nose with his bare forearm. It came away glistening like a snail had made a fast-tracked journey from his wrist to his elbow.

Rollo had a series of amateur tattoos scrawled up and down his arms. A few fish, even more mammals, the rest consisted of inspiring quotes distastefully modified with slurs I won’t repeat. I’d suspect these were prison issue,  if I could only picture this emaciated creature on my couch generating enough energy to carry out the basic body movements required for any crime. Perhaps mail fraud? The presumably once-black ink on his skin was already fading to a light green.

The only part of his body that didn’t look (and smell) like it was rotting before me, were his eyes. Have you ever seen a photo of Rasputin? That’s the vibe. Haunting. Disarmingly smug, like he’s got a gift for reading not quite every thought you have, just the dirty ones.       

Thin bars of light blinded me. As I blinked away my scolded vision, a moment of comfort plucked me from reality. Pru’s home! Then context returned. Pru’s home….

She came in in her work gear. Beige skirt, beige top. A colour I could never wear for fear of stains. Lilly-Pad label—not supplied by her company, but heavily discounted.

She flashed a smile at Rollo. Eyes running up and down him. Downloading all she needed to know in less time than I could say, “How was work?”

She ignored me. Immediately launching into her sale’s cadence. Work wasn’t over for her. “Hello Mr Rollo. I hope you liked the place!” She batted her hand down, hinging at the wrist. “Sorry I couldn’t be here for the viewing.” Her heels clicked across the floor tiles as she retraced her steps towards the front door and gestured with a sweeping arm. “I’m sure Greg is about to fill me in on what a dream flat mate you’ll be for us!”

Rollo winked from the couch and crossed one leg over the other. “Oh, you betcha sweetie!”

Pru pulled her lips into the shape of a smile and nodded. “It’s my job to reign in Greg’s friendliness you know?”

Rollo’s face fell.

Pru extended a hand. “That’s not a ‘no,’ we’ll let you know if you’ve secured the place, the moment we’ve considered all the other applicants.”

Rollo appealed to me. “But we’ve just spent a good hour chumming it up while we waited for this bird, mate?!”

I would have closed my eyes, if I didn’t think this would make things worse. Pru’s gaze almost had the same intensity as Rollo’s. “An hour?” she asked—possibly the most redundant words I’ve ever heard her say.

I drew in so much air I thought I might faint. Then released it all in a single sigh. “Yea so…” I stabbed my boot at the floor tile, for some reason feeling a strong urge to make my earlobe meet the top of my shoulder as I did so. Then the words came out by themselves. “Rollo and I were just waiting for you to get home so we could sign the tenancy papers tonight.”

Pru walked right up to me, so even my earlobe/shoulder tactic couldn’t keep me from looking at her.

“Tonight?” she asked. In stark contrast to her previous repetition, this mono-word question contained more subtext than a Tarantino film. She stared at me like a woman who’s just found a frightened looking child in the company of a half-clothed, seemingly unrelated man and is asking both how their day is going so far. “Greggy?” she added. “Do you mind if we step into the next room for a quick talk?”

Just as seamlessly, she morphed back into a smile and waved at Rollo. “I hope you don’t mind us leaving you! Feel free to turn on the tellie!”

“Please tell me this is a joke.” No shop-floor sweetness anymore. I worried for Pru’s hips at the sight of how severely her crimson painted nails dug into them.

“We’re out of time Pru. He’s our best option.”

“Shit, I’d love to see what the other candidates were like!”

To be continued…..