Adamma strode purposefully towards the hotel manager of the Palace Hotel, the venue where she was going to perform for the hotel's rich, glamorous patrons and patronesses. The frown marring her stunning features, and the fire in her eyes were enough evidence of the fiery outrage and blazing anger she felt towards the simpering man who'd dared to publicize the performance without first seeking her consent. Now, the throng of screaming fans in the hotel lobby that had been demanding for autographs was more than enough for her to manage.
'You stupid sod!' she exploded at him, indignation flaring through her the moment she was standing before the pot-bellied man. 'How dare you announce everything to everybody? You even had to involve the press! Now, the massive turnout of people is more than enough for my peace of mind. It was supposed to be a private concert!'
'Calm down, madam,' Mr. Adebayo tried to pacify her, smiling with reassurance. 'It's nobody's fault that it leaked out. I tried to stop it from leaking out, but somehow, it did manage to slip through. And even at that, you're supposed to be happy about it because it somehow serves as free publicity for you.'
Looking at the face that was smiling at her with such charmed arrogance and smug pleasure at her discomfort, Adamma lost her temper which she'd firmly clamped down. Her mind awhirl with sheer anger, her senses burning with venomous fury, she exploded and aimed a stinging slap at the smiling face. But in the back of her mind, she knew that she would stop before her hand got to his face or she would face the full fury of the press.
However, the thought never formed fully and her hand never found its mark. Her soft hand was imprisoned in mid-air in an iron grip that made her gasp, and then drawn down to her side.
'I am so deeply sorry, my dear girl, but I will not allow you to slap my manager in full glare of the public. That would undoubtedly make me lose face in this Lagos, yes?'
Her body rigid with shock, Adamma whirled around and faced her unwelcome assailant. It was a totally unexpected shock that she would hear that voice again. It had been so long but yet . . . it was a totally unexpected shock that she would hear that low, drawling voice again. Even after more than a decade, her mind had frog-jumped with dizziness at the prospect of seeing him again. This man, here, right before her vision . . . Her thoughts had flowed across her face, a clear procession from initial bewilderment, through dawning realization, to scandalized horror. Jesus, it was him.
Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest, but, recalling her scattered wits, she let a mask of impassivity mask her face as she asked, in the sweetest tones she could muster, 'Oh, does this hotel belong to you? Or do you work here?'
'It is mine, my dear girl; it most certainly belongs to me,' the lean man replied, his eyes glued to hers in challenge. At thirty-four years of age, Obi Obiekwe was a highly successful businessman who was constantly hailed as the youngest, most eligible businessman in the Lagos fashionable society. He was stinking wealthy, a ruthless man who cut down whatever adversaries that dared to stand in his way. That he was looking into the eyes of this woman, the one who had occupied his nightly fantasies for well over a decade, was impossible. He had searched for her unendingly but had always met with a brick wall of failure that promised no success.
Recognition flared in her luminous eyes which widened dramatically, but she immediately extinguished it. Her face became an inscrutable mask. 'And to think that I've been reading about you for all these years and yet never knew that I was in a place that bore the stamp of your credentials! It was nice meeting you, but you must excuse me; I've got an appointment with my manicurist and my hairdresser. But before that, I have an audience waiting for me. So, if you'll excuse me. . .'
Turning round, she sashayed her way out of his presence, and the manager did strain his neck to watch her departure. Obi watched her retreating figure appreciatively, his eyes gleaming with mischief and unbridled joy and wonder. She certainly hadn't changed in any way or become different from the young flame he still carried a torch for even after ten years.
She was still absolutely stunning; she still had the same luminous eyes that transfixed him with desire and totally mesmerized him; her breasts were full and ripe, and swelled seductively, straining against the fabric she wore; she had obviously maintained her body with diets and strenuous exercise because she still looked sculpted to perfection; her deliciously long legs were amazing, a sight that would have a model frowning with envy. Her attire was definitely haute couture; her sea-green, lime satin blouse was cut very low, revealing an unholy amount of cleavage, and the skirt she wore set off her long legs to advantage. She was every man's dream and every woman's nightmare, a sculpted Venus, a creature with a hot body made for the sin of sex.
Turning to the simpering fool who was still gawking after the departing woman, a questioning frown on his face, Obi demanded, 'And what was she talking about? A concert is taking place here? And what audience was she babbling about?'
'Well, she first appeared on the screens ten years ago, with her bestselling debut album Promiscuous which subsequently sold more than ten million copies worldwide. People loved her immensely for it, and since then, she's never looked back, and has remained the hottest in-demand female singer in the country till date. She's released several singles, and then albums, and she works for charity. She was hailed as the most charitable young celebrity in the country by the president himself.'
His mind reeling with disbelief, his brain awash with the memories of past years, Obi recalled, with total clarity, that his mother had yapped incessantly about the singer and her songs for a very long time. Hope had been filled with nothing but adoration and love for the singer who she claimed was well-loved by adoring fans all over the continent. Hope, with her youthful good looks and energy which rendered her age indeterminate, had tried to coax him into attending one of the singer's concerts and nationwide tours six years ago, shortly after his return from overseas. However, his response had a polite and chilly refusal.
The tenacious woman, never easily daunted, had gone ahead to procure numerous albums of the well-known singer, and he had invariably listened to them, and had been forced to acknowledge the singer's irrefutable genius with the microphone.
Turning a frozen look on the manager, Obi embarked on an inquisition as to the time of the performance. 'And when, if I may be so bold as to ask, is this all-important performance taking place?'
'Everything will take place right away. The audience is ready for her.'
Waving the man away so he could have time to think, Obi cleared his suddenly agitated mind of the myriad of thoughts that had swept into it, totally unchecked. And he asked himself a searching question: was he still infatuated with the whore? And even if he was, would she give him the light of day now that she was a famous woman who was no longer in need of his petty cash? And, did she remember him even though their affair had been a one-night tryst?
Whether or not she still remembered him was a nagging question he couldn't get rid of from his mind. He fervently hoped to himself that there was a trace of memory remaining in her mind pertaining to who he was and about the night they had shared together. The reason was because he wanted her once again, yearned for her body passionately. He was attracted to her_ he had been from the first moment he set his eyes on her at that club where she was feeding the fantasies of the men who were there, gawping at her body.
Right now, he wanted to date her and have her back in his arms, but that was highly unlikely, he reasoned to himself. She had to be attached to a man, or she could even be married to another man. No one who was stunningly beautiful like she was could remain single. It was impossible!
Thirty minutes later, Obi walked out of the concert hall, looking dazed and shell-shocked. His mind was reeling from the effects of Adamma's laudable performance. The sonorous voice, the lithe, flexible body that moved with such grace and power, the agile, seductive steps, and her entire choreography was superb and totally captivating. He had no choice but to dredge up images of that woman, that body which had moved with such captivating grace and sensuality_ the body he had fucked and enjoyed years ago and had asked for more, but she had disappointed him and failed to turn up_ and he was lusting after a taste of her body once again.
This time, the force with which he desired her was stronger and more pronounced than before.
He found her to be irresistible, and, like a dismembered ghost, he materialized at her side when the last throng of her adoring, screaming fans had vanished from her side after she had attended to their requests for photographs and autographs. He was smiling radiantly as he approached her side.
'My dear girl,' he drawled, giving her a lopsided grin that he hoped would charm her. 'I must apologize for my rude manners some time ago. I was only protecting my business interests. And I hope you still remember me. You've not forgotten me, yes? '
Infusing a look of doubt on her face as if he had appeared from the moon, she replied, with the barest hint of civility, 'I'm sorry, my dear sir, but I have absolutely no inkling of who you are or where you might think we met. As for your arrogance and lack of manners, I'd already forgotten about it, and so, no need to apologize to me. Now, if you'll be kind enough as to excuse me, I have an appointment with my dance choreographer, so. . .'
Accustomed to such resistance from the members of the opposite sex, Obi spared her a smile, one he reserved for spoilt women who believed so much in the power of their looks and their sex, and he spoke, his voice a throaty murmur that had many a woman panting for sex. 'If you'll spare me just a minute of your time, then I'll enlighten you as to the circumstances surrounding our brief acquaintance.'
'Oh no, I'm in a hurry and I don't have the time to waste in idle conversation,' she snapped, and there was an edge of steel in the well-modulated tones. She flashed an impatient look on her Cartier Tank watch. 'Surely, you can state your business here?'
Her repressive tones and icy glare stung his sensibilities like a legion of vengeful bees, he noted dispiritedly to himself. And from the look in those mesmerizing luminous eyes, he was sure she would undoubtedly denounce his existence if he were to prod her mind. Hunting around for a way to upset her equilibrium or even floor her from her vantage point on her high pedestal, he arrived at the conclusion that using a more indirect mode of questioning would yield more positive results.
He fastened a basilisk stare to her face so as not to miss the emotion she would emit when he unloaded his bomb on her. He asked coldly, 'Have you ever been to a club called the Happy Day club? Do you know that it exists?'
Seemingly unperturbed by his icy glare at her face, she contrived to exude an attitude of polite surprise as she proffered a question of her own in answer to his. 'And where would such a club be? Is it an exclusive club? Is it famous?'
'On the contrary, it is an unknown club, but is known for its special pleasures. It's located at Ajegunle.'
She smiled ruefully. 'I'm sorry, but I have absolutely no inkling about the existence of such a club. Well, you've had your shot, so I have to go.'
She had lied with a fluency that stunned Obi to shocked silence, and, as she was quite sure of the reins of power and victory being in her hands, she turned and, with a curt nod at him, she walked out of his presence, her long hair flying. She gave the doorman a curt nod, and then she was walking towards the sleek white Mercedes she had arrived in.
Thunderstruck, Obi watched her slide in behind the wheel after a handsome young dude had opened the door for her, and then the engine kicked to life, and she was driving out of the surroundings of the hotel at great speed. He marveled at her lying expertise, the audacity she had mustered up and walked out on him as if he was nothing to her, and the bleakness and total blankness with which she had answered his questions. She was the most convincing and talented actress he had ever encountered, and it would be to his benefit to go and regroup before he went again to take on an adversary of her caliber.
His mind was definitely made up, and he was going to continue hunting her until he had her firmly in his trap and in his arms. His mind definitely made up, he spent the next six weeks reading about her, looking for insights as to who she really was. But the chit was more elusive than the famous Siberian Tigers; there was absolutely nothing personal about her that found its way into the papers. Her personal life was shrouded in mystery, and there was no way he could hunt her down. Obviously, she was one of the rare breed of female celebs who valued their privacy more than anything else. Even his frequent trips to the information superhighway_ the Internet_ yielded no positive results. All he could get was an avalanche of her pictures, news about her career and upcoming performances.
He reviewed all he'd found, a rubbish heap of useless information that led him nowhere, and he realized now that tracking down the singer was now becoming an obsession with him. He had to find her soon, otherwise he'd go crazy.
And then, one bright morning, he went to see his dentist for a ten o'clock appointment so he'd get his teeth cleaned by a professional. He flipped disinterestedly through the pages of the magazine the receptionist had proffered to him fifteen minutes ago after he had walked into the reception area, pretending to be totally engrossed in the glossy pages that depicted the tell-it-all lives and love affairs of the rich and famous of Lagos society.
The plain truth was that he was bored out of his skin; his supreme impatience had taken hold of his senses, and he was itching to enter Dr. Wright's office for his ten o'clock appointment with the gorgeous mouth doctor who would brandish his magic wand and his mouth would be as good as that of a new-born baby.
'Mr. Obi,' he heard the dark receptionist say in her slightly accented, though flawless English. He looked up from the pages of the shitty tabloid and looked towards the reception desk. 'You may go in now, please. The doctor is ready for you right now.'
He heaved a sigh of heartfelt relief and then turned to the door of the office where his doctor waited for him. What prompted him at that moment to turn to the centre pages of the magazine, he would never know, but when his eyes fell on the photo of the stunning woman that graced the page, a smile lit up his countenance.
There, in the middle of the page, was a photo of the elusive singer he had been trying unsuccessfully to track down. She was standing in front of a beautiful bungalow, and two little kids, who appeared no more than ten, were flanking her; they were all smiling into the camera, their faces lit up with joy.
He paused, and his sharp eyes flashed through the picture appraisingly, and then he frowned, a wave of anger swamping his mind. His smile vanished, and murderous rage swept through him, making him to clutch at the wall for support before he flipped completely. Damn you to hell! That was the thought he wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, but he refrained from doing so.
He would murder that cold, lying, murderous bitch who had dared to fling it to his face that she didn't know who he was whereas she kept such a big secret locked away. She was cold-hearted, cruel, an angel-faced evil spawn of the devil, a smutty, useless, impassive-faced witch who had dared to deny knowing him.
He shouted at the befuddled secretary to reschedule the appointment, and then he was hurrying to his car, oaths pouring from his mouth venomously as he looked up her address in the pages of the magazine. And boy, did he have issues with her! No woman ever dared to lie to him. None had ever dared to try, and now that she was the first, she would feel the brunt of his rage!
Jesus! Such a huge secret!