A/N: It's a beautiful day outside today and I have the house to myself. Instead of being outside like a normal person I decided to write. I wanted to tackle another less covered Hey Arnold couple: Rhonda and Curly. This is initially a one shot but I have yet to decide if I wanted to extend it into a story so thoughts are much appreciated. Hope you enjoy. Suggestive Themes ensue.
Chapter Theme Song: 'If You're Not The One' by: Daniel Bedingfield
Rhonda
"Now you know we do not tolerate scavengers, my darling." My father's voice rang throughout the parlor. He smoked his Cuban cigar, blowing a grey cloud against the crystal chandelier hanging from a steel web. I groaned, rubbing my hand against my face. "We don't like unexceptional well-bred men."
"Father, dearest, Rubio is a fellow classmate that was kind enough to escort me to the Debutante ball. I insist he stays."
"Listen to your father, Rhonda." My mother's kitten heels clacked loudly against the freshly waxed floor. Her martini glass was half-full, her feathered robe partially sheathing her nudity. My father stood to embrace her, kissing her neck. "We don't tolerate anything less than the best."
"How do you suppose I find another date on short notice, mumsy?" I tried my best to hide my frustration. "The debutante ball is a month away and, might I add, I did not want to attend the damn thing anyway."
My father whisked my displeasure away with a flick of his wrist, nibbling on my mother's gold hoops. He whispered something in his ear before he gave her a light tap on her backside. I wanted to gag. Here I was, practically begging my parents for some sort of sign and they were practically ready to make another damn child. It was surprising to say the least. To be honest, I would have expected my mother file for divorce once she discovered that my father was having a scandalous affair with a twenty year old. Apparently rumor got out that the woman became with child and threatened to tell my mother if my father did not divorce her in time. Needless to say the trollop didn't follow through with her threats and still remains his 'mistress'. I don't know what would have been worse to be honest; seeing my parents divorced or watching his mistress prance in and out of our home as she pleased because she was sleeping with my father.
I snapped my fingers. "Hello, can we not do that in front of me? Jeez."
"Rhonda darling, find a more suitable date than some filthy, unexceptional Italian."
My father nodded in agreement, taking my mother's hand as he led her up the stairs towards their shared bedroom. It should be called the community brothel since his mistress and her friends sleep there as well. "No Blacks, Jews, Germans, or Irishmen either darling; this is a classy affair, not some immigration office."
I sucked in my teeth, rolling my eyes. "You just ruled out everyone I knew."
"No Hispanics either." My mother called from atop of the staircase. "They are more than likely illegal."
I groaned, wanting to shoot myself in the foot. I flipped through my phone in search of Rubio's number, texting him that our date to my debutante ball has been canceled and the reasons why. He texted me back shortly after but I ignored it and threw my phone on the nearest sofa on my way to the living room. A few of the maids offered to make me a snack but I silently dismissed them. I did not even want to be in the house, but I was 'grounded' for being with him again. It wasn't the fact that I was caught giving him oral sex that sent my parents off, but that he was not a pure-bred like me. Ugh.
I leaned back against the sofa, watching cars roam the streets through the Victorian style window of my living room. My house was eerily quiet- minus the sudden creaking from the second floor courtesy of my parents. I keep thinking back to the upcoming debutante ball that was approaching. Normally it is for younger women in their early to late teen years, but because my parents were going through a rough patch in their marriage during the time I was supposed to have one they opted out of it and just sent me to Rodeo Drive with an American Express. Now, three years later, they magically resolve their issues and decide that I was robbed of priceless experience of transitioning into womanhood.
I grabbed my phone again, this time calling him back after he had called for what seemed like the umpteenth time today. He was annoying, irritating, and downright God awful but it was something about him that intrigued me the most about him; and no…it was not the sex, though that was a bonus.
"Well hello, beautiful." He finally answered. I was just about to hang up and find someone else to entertain myself with. "Lovely day is it not?"
"Curly, stop being overly creepy and come over to keep me company."
He chuckled over the phone in his usual sadistic, repulsing way. I rolled my eyes waiting in response. "What if I had a lovely chicka-dee over, hm? I may have had plans with her."
"She isn't me so why does it matter?"
"But she is as gorgeous as you, my dear." He quipped. I doubted that…highly. "She is waiting for me in my bedroom as we speak. You called just as I was putting on my good friend here."
I scoffed, not needing the imagery. I did not care if Curly slept with other women, we were by no means a couple and even being called friends was pushing it. But it was something that bothered me about him being with some mutt slut and not me. "So you rather waste it on her? Come over and meet me in the hot tub for a few drinks and a good time."
I heard him cackle, the idea growing fonder. "Hot tub you say?" I nodded. "Will you wear that bikini I like you in so much, Rhonda darling?"
"If it'll get you over to my house in a half hour, I may consider it. Don't waste my time."
I ended to call, getting up to change into something more nautical. I instructed Maria and the other Mexican woman whose name I did not bother to remember to prepare some cucumber sandwiches in the shape of triangles, a strawberry yogurt fruit salad, blueberry lemonade, and two filet mignons. I could barely think over the loud moaning of my mother's faux love for my father. It sickened me at how brainless she truly could be. I passed by Trisha, she waving at me as her swollen belly protruded from underneath her much too small polo and asked if I wanted to play a round of tennis with her. I shot her a slide glare in response, telling her I don't associate with second-class mistresses on Saturdays.
I had my lady in waiting lay out that polka dotted bikini Curly loved so much. He said it made my breasts look a cup-size bigger and the g-string bottom made my ass look rounder. I shed my sundress and undergarments to dust a thin layer of vanilla-scented sparkled powder on my skin. I decided to put on a layer of innocent pink lip gloss I had purchased from the CHANEL counter last weekend too for kissable lips. I did not want to do too much since I was not planning to stay dry, literally and figuratively, for long. I gave myself a look in my vanity mirror, getting up to put on my bathing suit and floppy straw hat. I reached for my beach purse and sunglasses to complete the look and headed downstairs to the hot tub.
Curly arrived in less than fifteen minutes after we got off the phone, parking that hideous station wagon in the driveway to be a neighborhood eyesore. His arrival was announced by Perla…or Penny…or Patricia- I just call her the new girl my father hired- and he was escorted to the backyard of my estate by Thomas, our butler. As usual, Curly stuck to his signature neon green t-shirt, khaki brown shorts with white tube socks and sandals. I have tried on numerous occasions to give that poor boy a well-deserved makeover but he insists he enjoys consistency. Whatever that means.
"Took you long enough." I mumbled, grabbing a glass of freshly made blueberry lemonade. I took a sip. "I was getting ready to call someone else to occupy my time with."
He sucked in a hard breath, grinning as he shed his clothes to nothing but his blue trunks he had underneath his shorts. "Sorry to keep you waiting, my queen, it will never happen again."
"Better not." I retorted, handing him his glass. He thanked Maria before finding a spot next to me in the hot tub. He reached out a lone hand, caressing my taut stomach before slinking it downwards between my thighs. I pushed him away lightly. "Uh…what are you doing? We have not even had lunch first; don't be so barbaric."
"Oh, Rhonda, sweetie, don't be like that my love. You know you had your mind on this all day."
And I have to be honest. Curly is the only man I could ever allow to touch me so holistically since the evening we went all the way at his eighteenth birthday party. I was sexually active before that night and even had decent partners; but it was Curly that threw me the curveball I was forced to catch. We dated briefly on the down low for about a year, but broke up because he grew tired of me being so emotionally distant. Many were surprised of our hidden romance, but it was somewhat to be expected. In middle-school, Curly disgusted me with his antics and stalker-like behavior. As time went on, he matured-somewhat- and I began to find his newfound personality and body much more appealing. He still had terrible fashion sense, but had a toned from joining our old high-school's track team, got rid of those atrocious circular glasses to trade them in for a more chic, rectangular pair, developed a deep, smooth baritone voice, grew facial hair, and even got taller over the years. It was no mistaking that Curly was now a man in his own right.
He placed a small kiss on my lips, smudging my gloss gently. He smiled, rubbing his small chin beard. I let out a low laugh, kissing his nose. "Thaddeus, you are so damn creepy."
"You know I hate it when you use my real name, Rhonda." He huffed, inching towards my neck. I reached beside me and turned on the jets of the hot tub. He leaned in for another kiss. "You know, my offer still stands on the table, Rhonda."
"And what offer was that, Curly?"
"Asking you to marry me…" he trailed off, nipping at my neck as his hands outlined my flawless figure. He settled again against the valley of my thighs, effortlessly prying my legs open before using his spare hand to untie the strings of my top. Another kiss, a light moan as he pressed himself against me.
"Why would you want to marry me, Curly?"
"Because I know you and now the façade you put up daily." He answered matter-of-factly. I set down my lemonade to wrap my arms around his neck, hiding us from the rays of the summer sun with the brim of my large hat. "I still have your engagement ring and everything."
"We are still young, Thaddeus. You are only a junior in your university and I am still at a junior college. We are nowhere close to being stable to have a home of our own."
"Don't feed me that, Rhonda." He whispered, finally removing my bikini top before tossing it into the garden. "You know money is no issue, especially for you. I already have several job offers lined up once I graduate."
How could I possibly forget. Curly was one of those hidden nerds that enjoyed trivial subjects such as mathematics and science. He took up biochemical engineering as a major at Hillwood University and had offers to travel and work for prestigious firms such as NASA and in acclaimed destinations such as Silicon Valley. Considering Curly's psychological background, I questioned if it was the most appropriate major for him. His bipolar disorder and playing with possible nuclear weapons was not exactly a smart idea.
"Curly…"
He cut me off with a kiss, this time shedding his swimming trunks before he picked me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist, watching him place me further against the brick of the tub. "It's alright, Rhonda. I understand I am not 'pure-bred- enough for your family."
I sighed. "It's not me, Thaddeus. It's my father. If he would just…"
"Like I said," he interrupted. "It's ok."
The conversation dropped after that and Curly and I made love for what seemed like eternity. We were in the hot tub until our entire bodies were pruned and once the sun had set and the temperatures had dropped to near chilly, we went inside to have our forgotten steaks, cucumber sandwiches, and fruit salad. I could tell Curly was bothered that we were not together due to petty circumstances like eugenics and my desire to believe true love is a fabrication of the imagination, but he never said it to me personally. He often grew quiet when he was deep in thought and today was no exception. As we cuddled by the fireplace to champagne and pound cake, he never once muttered a word. The silence was much welcomed but a rarity amongst him.
It was not my fault that after several cheating scandals, being cheated on personally, and being raised in an environment where I am taught being Peruvian means I am at the peak of the racial hierarchy I am a stranger to love. I knew though I hated to admit it, I did have deep feelings for Curly, but it would never go beyond sex because I was not going to allow myself to be hurt again…let alone him. My father is the greatest man a woman could ask for and if he succumbs to the temptation of lust, what is stopping a John Smith like Curly? Aside from the obvious, I wanted beautiful, Peruvian children with tremendous physical assets. Curly is unexceptional in almost every aspect, but is an exceptional lover.
