29 May 2018

the arrival of Mme Romela

Dear Alice

The saga continues...

* * *

Whether BryEnn had even bothered getting in touch with me, or whether I'd just missed his messages, I'm not sure, though I strongly suspect the former. So when the doorbell rang yesterday evening at 7.30pm, I was not at all prepared for company. I'd settled in for the evening in my comfiest pyjamas, a cup of tea, and a box set waiting on TV (Orphan Black Season 3). I ignored the doorbell, suspecting that it was yet another cold caller wanting 'not to sell' anything, but just to inform(!) me of something or other I really, really couldn't live without. When the ringing started to be accompanied by loud knocking, I resignedly got up to open the door.

'Well, good evening!', said the very tall, dark-haired woman standing outside. 'I expect BryEnn told you I was coming?'. 'Uh, no.. ', said I, 'but please, do come in' – by this time, though, she had already swept past me in her long purple velvet coat and was making her way to the lounge. Removing her coat and smoothing the skirt of her green shift dress, she took a seat on the sofa, next to the cat. 'Can I get you a drink or something, Ms...?' 'My name is Carmen Amanita Zoya Chimamanda Romela', she said, 'but you can just call me Rommy.' The way she pronounced 'Rommy' sounded like 'Rhommy' – she had a lovely husky voice, with an accent that seemed to change with every word. 'And a cup of tea would be lovely, thank you'. I trundled off to the kitchen to procure said cup of tea. When I returned, Rhommy was in deep conversation with the cat (I'm sure you know that cats are very good conversationists, if you know how to listen properly). 

'So', she said, 'you've not had a lot of luck with your muses? But I think I know your problem: too much introspection! A little is good, but too much examining of the belly-button fluff doesn't work, does it? It stops being interesting after a very short time' 'I guess so', I replied hesitantly. It was, after all, quite a long-standing habit. She pulled out an e-cigarette from her voluminous handbag, and started vaping. 'You'll see', she smiled, wreathed in vapours. 'I'm sure we will get on the right track together.'  Which sounded wonderful, and I returned her smile, hopeful for the first time in a long while that my creative mojo would return. We chatted for a while about books and films, before Rhommy stretched her slender arms and announced that she was getting tired, and when I looked on the clock, I realised that it was well past midnight. I jumped up: 'Let me show you to your room – I hope you like it!' 

She followed me through the hall to the spare bedroom, which I had re-decorated after Bianca's departure – I didn't think everybody would appreciate hot pink walls and shagpile carpet. It was now simply painted in a pale warm grey, with plain wooden floors. I put her battered travel case on the floor, and told her that I would organise anything else she needed for the room, which was empty apart from the wardrobe, bed and armchair. 'This is just fine for now, cara mia', she said, and plumped herself down onto the bed, arms outstretched. 'I will have some things delivered in the next couple of days.' 'Okay, great! Let me get you some water, and I'll let you settle down.' When I returned with the water, she was already asleep, curled up beneath a huge trapunto quilt she must have brought herself. I turned off the light, and left her to it. I was too excited to go to sleep myself, so did a quick sketch of Rhommy, which you can see below. I'm so happy she's here, and have the distinct impression we are going to get on very well. I shall let you know how!


© charlotte kristensen 2006


  1. I am sure R(h)ommy IS THE PERFECT MUSE! HAVE FUN WITH HER AND i AM LOOKING FORWARD TO YOUR ART inspired by her. The portrait of her already looks superb!
    Hugs Susi

  2. I love how this saga is continuing. I believe Rhommy is going to be the perfect muse to take Biana's place.


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