Rose Scented Woman
Continuance
The sturdy teak table looks clean, the aroma around makes every visitor hungry, it seems the cook here is experienced in playing with the tastes and hull of visitors.
A woman raised her hand to order food or drinks, her face looked hungry but her appearance said enough orange juice.
The woman with the hood of her head was sitting alone in the corner of the room, as if she was waiting for someone, perhaps a friend, because from her appearance she could not possibly date. That's obviously haram.
“Have a long wait?” The woman wearing the green flannel shirt who was deliberately unbuttoned, showing her new tengtop, or who was inside, asked and sat next to her.
“But.”
“Your orange juice is almost toilet.” Feeling disbelief with a hooded woman turns out to be able to lie “Why not order food? Not hungry yet?”
There was no reply, the woman simply smiled, as if feeling being praised. I don't know what the smile means, maybe the money in the bag is no longer enough even if only to order a serving of chicken pop.
Mira orders food for her high school friend who comes away from Pontianak, not chicken pop, the food that seems to have the most expensive price at the restaurant.
“I treat, I am also hungry, have not eaten food like this for a long time. Do not hesitate to eat a lot, you need energy to lift your big suitcase.”
The atmosphere was bustling, there was a quarrel of spoons and dishes on the table, the occasional visitor next door laughed loudly, perhaps that was how mentally pleasing he was. He said many Jakarta people who have the disease, whatever the name, they said it was not handled by doctors who usually inject worm medicine during SD. Early treatment is simply by telling a story. The new village people know it turns out that telling stories can be a cure if they arrive in the city.
“Why suddenly to Jakarta?”
“I want to work.”
“Where?”
“If you can where you work.”
“Continue living where?”
“If you can ride first at your house.”
“If can't?”
“We no longer need to be friends.” The woman with the black socks didn't seem to like stale.
She had no purpose, but at least she had a name. His mother gave the name Sulastri, a name that many villagers use for his daughter, at least three owners of the name in one village. Some call him Sulas, Lastri or Sulas above, showing his house which is higher than the other Sulas.
“What do you work for in Jakarta?”
“Servant.”
“In restaurant?”
Mira nodded, that was not the answer.
“In the office?”
Mira shakes her head back.
“Di hotel?”
Mira still shakes.
“Where?”
“Everywhere, depends on customer's order.”
Along the way Lastri thought about where Mira actually worked, from her performance it was clear she knew that her job was very prestigious. From the diamond ring he wore, Lastri knew not the mop cloth that became Mira's working friend, or also a food deliveryman, because his heels look so luxurious if his salary is only an average UMR Jakarta.
“So Jakarta people live here? Is this called rusun?”
“Apartment, that's the name you should call Lastri.”
Lastri looked at the luxury furniture around her, not expecting her high school friends to feel the luxury of living in the capital. He thought, Brokenhome child is not far from loneliness, drugs and life long, but not far away.
“Mira, where is qibla direction?”
“I don't know.”
“You never pray?”
“My religion no worship.”
“You've changed religion?”
“You're not praying? Just search on your phone, wifi password is ROSEMERAH.”
Asked the direction of the Qibla even told wifi password, if Lastri asked the faith, would Mira want to give him an ATM password? I don't know, Jakarta people are very difficult to guess the village.
“Don't come here, we'll meet at hotel.”
“Why?”
“There's my friend from the village.”
“Since you defecated earlier.”
Lastri asks who Mira called, not her business. Lastri forgets that the host is no longer the one he knew a few years ago, don't get too familiar, they are no longer friends.
At 10 p.m., Lastri had not slept, nor had Mira left. The room feels empty, there is no interesting discussion, like the first night the bride is arranged.
Suddenly Lastri ran towards the bathroom, surprising Mira who was applying makeup in front of the mirror. It sounded like Lastri was spewing out his stomach, it was useless to be given a fancy meal but did not become tai, thought Mira.
“You okay Lastri? You catch a cold?”
Lastri nodded, lying back.
Perhaps lying was now halal, he had already removed his hood and revealed his long black crown.
“Have a rest here first, I will leave maybe tomorrow morning or noon just come home. Assume you have your own origin do not sell to go home.” Lastri laughed softly, the simple joke calming her nausea.
“You will go with clothes like that Mira?”
“I take a taxi, won't catch a cold like you.”
Lastri smiled again, he knew what he meant. Maybe the line in his brain that didn't come out was that I looked different from you so don't interfere.
She slept with thousands of questions in her head.
“Evening and returning home in the morning? What Mira works as. ah is impossible, his father is rich, especially since wandering, maybe he should stay at his friend's house.”
The 27-year-old woman tried to think positively, even though it was actually very difficult to do. Seeing the ashtray and nipple that did not end up being smoked in his room made him confused.
“Are there any men who smoke in this room? But she said she hasn't married yet, so feminine girls like Mira smoke?”
To satisfy his sense of penance, he opens the contents of Mira's closet, not to steal, just look.
The clothes are a lot, like the seller of clothes in the market week, the difference there is all complete clothes, not perforated or whining next door like Mira's. Not long after opening the closet, Lastri closed it again.
“Astaghfirullah, I why is it like this anyway? O Allah forgive your sassy servant.”
Humans who themselves will look more original, sins that not many people know can be done alone, usually masturbating while watching porn or cursing people who if met can be friendly like a hotel maid.
Lastri again dropped his body on the mattress, thinking about his fate while stroking his increasingly bulging stomach. Without feeling asleep and snoring, even though he no longer has money.
In a different room, Joko stroked Mira's stomach, initially. Ask a few questions, usually called pillowtalk.
“Who is your friend coming?”
“Lastri”
“Sulastri?”
“Where did you know?”
“The names of the villagers, his father or grandfather transmigrants from Java, trying to survive from the land of others, they call it unity, whereas only thinking about the stomach of his grandchildren.”
“How about my name?”
“You're beautiful.” Touching his chin, a male habit when teasing women.
“Can't you say another sentence?”
“You're sexy.”
Mira glared at the man without a thread in front of her.
“Mira there is no sexy element in the slightest, you made up to make me happy.”
“I really want to make you happy dear Mira.”
“Yang other dong.”
“Mira cle.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your name is magical.”
Mira is confused
“Miracle.” Joko let out her British accent.
“Alright I accept that one.”
That night after getting tired of the rubbing on his stomach, they continued on the next round, for how many times, they were reluctant to count it better to enjoy it.
