Diary of the Crazy Shaniqua Bello

Log Fifty-six: HOTEL

FIFTY-SIX
HOTEL

Wednesday

5:55 am

Dear, Diary

"Shaniqua!," Shantel barged into my room right after I slipped my panties on and I sighed in frustration.

"What do you want?!" I pulled my towel around my body. "When will you learn how to knock eh, Shantel?"

"Kini? What are you hiding that I don't have?...rubbish! I just wanted to tell you that he's here."

"Who?"

"Your boss."

"What?"

"Check." She gestured at my window and I obeyed her order, pulling the curtain slightly and gasping at the sight of Elvis's Benz.

What's he doing here?

"I should be asking you!" Shantel responded and I realized that I'd thought out loud.

I threw an oversized hoodie on and snatched one of my "grandmother skirts" or whatever Shantel liked to call my maxi skirts which I thought very fashionable by the way.

"I'm coming, " I said to her but I could have said "rat juice" for all she cared; I knew she was steady going to be behind me.

"Please, Shantel." I blocked her from stepping out of the door, eyeing her revealing cheap lingerie. Wait, did she quickly slip that on before coming to call me because I saw her wearing one of her usual oversized T-shirts—when did she?

"Whatever," She finally said and backed out but I heard her say something like, she couldn't keep herself away from the window anyway and I just sighed in frustration—I had better fishes to fry anyway.

Elvis was putting on a white hoodie and he had a disposable cup of Nescafé in his hands and a frown on his face: I hoped it wasn't the grandmother's skirt.

"What are you wearing?"

"Good morning sir." I pretended not to have heard his question and he let it slide.

"Good morning, Shaniqua are you ready for work?"

"Almost ready sir but..."

"Why am I here right?"

"Yes sir."

"I'm filming around this area and the location is crowded—I hoped to...well, hang here at your place since it's closer to the location plus we can easily work from here today. I can get a hotel room though if you don't mind?" He immediately added with a suggestive tone that passed a message we both weirdly understood but was rather too unprofessional to utter as words.

"Uh..."

"I'll just leave if it's going to be a—,"

"IS THAT THE ELVIS BANKOLE?!" I froze when I heard the familiar voice of my mum ask behind me and that, Dear Bebi is why I'm reporting from my room because my Boss is in my living room.

I'll be right back.

Shaniqua

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