Song: Lagos to Kampala by Runtown ft. Wizkid. It's up there. ;)
Nwanyieze's POV:
Two days later, Saheed calls and invites me out to lunch with him.
"I'm sorry, Saheed. I'm currently very busy this week and I don't want to make promises only to disappoint you," I say over the phone while working on a crossword puzzle at the back of an old newspaper.
"Can't you spare me even an hour?" he pleads.
"I can't," I say bluntly.
"Aw, girl. Don't play hard to get."
Why would a Minister's son be into me? Is he just wooing me to sleep with me and then dump me? If he wants me in his bed, why can't he just come out straight and say his mind, knowing fully well who and what I am?
Some men are truly mysterious.
"I'm not playing hard to get, Saheed. I'm really busy."
"Are you still mad about that night?"
"I'm so over it," I say with a laugh, remembering how I'd screamed before hitting the water.
"Thank Allah," he breathes. "Look, I must see you before I go back to the States next week. Won't you do me this favour?"
I mentally say, good riddance with my eyes looking up at the ceiling.
"Fine, then. I'll be free on Friday."
"Wonderful, Queen. Just wonderful.
***
Friday afternoon, I'm ready for Saheed to pick me up. I'm a bit nervous because I've never been on dates with guys before. All I used to do was book appointments, go to the designated hotels, and then give my clients the satisfaction they paid for.
I've chosen a simple black and brown Ankara gown that I had made for myself and loved so much because it's free and has deep pockets as a bonus. With minimal make up, brown leather strappy heels and a matching clutch, I complete my outfit. Mama Uju has been out since morning, and so I have to drop Adanna with our neighbours who live on the floor below our apartment.
Someone knocks on the door and Adanna looks up from her colourful building blocks and asks, "Mama?"
"No, love," I say, walking towards the door. I open it to see Saheed, dressed in a dark navy suit, his easy smile on his face.
"Hey, gorgeous. You look so stunning," he says, putting an arm around me.
"Thank you," I reply. I lead him into the living room and he sees Adanna, who is staring up at him curiously, eyes wide with her rosebud lips in a pout.
"And who is this beautiful little one?" Saheed gushes, bending down to scoop Adanna up. "How are you, darling?"
"Hello," she slowly says, not entirely trusting him.
This seems to amuse Saheed, who bursts into laughter. "She's so cute, Queen."
She's eager to get back to her toys, and so she begins to squirm restlessly in his arms, making him gently place her on the floor.
"I'll have to drop her at a neighbour's before we leave," I explain to him. Picking up Adanna's little Indomitables school bag packed with snacks, I take her hand and lead her out the front door. After dropping her off, Saheed takes my hand, gives me a bright smile, and asks, "Shall we, then?"
***
Saheed drives to Oriental Hotel in a sleek grey Porsche, blasting Wizkid and Runtown's Lagos to Kampala.
I'm waiting for him to state his intentions, to tell me that he knows what I am and so he would like the pleasure of my services.
Isn't it obvious? You're Temi's friend and your photo was sent to him as a 'party girl'. It was your job to have sex with whoever was ready to pay that night, wasn't it? Who're you kidding? I chide myself.
When he parks his car, he acts like the perfect gentleman, firmly holding my hand and helping me out of the car. With an arm hooked with mine, Saheed leads me into the massive Oriental Hotel building, one of the most splendid man-made structures I've ever had the chance to walk into. It was here that Olamide, aka Badoo, shot his video for Bobo, creating a popular dance move known as 'Shakiti'.
Saheed seats me in the waiting area and walks up up the reception counter, his steps brisk, back straight. After a few minutes he returns and says, "We're moving up."
I feel a momentary pang of alarm. By going up does he mean a room?
Anyway, I follow him across the lobby into an elevator.
"You look nervous," he says with a chuckle.
"I'm not," I lie through my teeth.
The elevator ride is silent, with Saheed not taking his eyes off me. It opens onto a beautiful terrace with a big, blue swimming pool surrounded by chairs and tables. What catches my eyes is the large expanse of sea water beyond the terrace, a dull blue glistening in the lazy sunlight and rippling in the slight breeze.
Forgetting my fear, I let the sight draw me away from Saheed and towards the railing, where I stand and stare at such beauty.
Who said Nigeria isn't a beautiful, blessed country?
My heart swells with pride at this endless stretch of water, lined by trees and skyscrapers, a mixture of nature and modern architecture which blends so perfectly that you'd think the structures just grew out from the soil.
Saheed comes to stand beside me.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" I ask him, turning to smile up at him. He is almost as tall as Maduka, but leaner. Light skinned, with a shadow over his square jaw and a cleft in his chin.
"Not as beautiful as the woman beside me," he says quietly, his light brown eyes boring into mine.
Lunch is served five minutes after we are seated.
"You should try the snail sauce, Queen," he says excitedly. "It's like nothing I've ever tasted."
I'm about to tell him I dislike snails, but he's already ordering for it, along with some red wine and jollof rice with a side dish of salad, then some diced pineapples.
Saheed talks on and on about his life in the United States, university life, and how he's going to get a PhD next year hopefully. I'm content listening to him, watching him gesticulate, and laughing along with him.
"You're not eating your snails," he observes.
The rice is exquisitely garnished and so tasty that I eat it slowly, savouring every spoonful (I had requested for a spoon).
"I wanted to tell you I hate snails," I say.
"I'll eat it all, don't worry."
I'm still waiting for him to drop the bombshell, to tell me that after this meal, we would go up to the special room he had booked for the both of us.
I'm waiting for him to talk so I can tell him no, pick up my purse, pay my own part of the bill, and then stalk out and go home in a taxi.
But again, Saheed surprises me and pleasantly asks, "Are you single?"
What game is this one playing, now? I think baffled.
"You know what I am, Saheed."
"What are you?" he asks, tilting his head to one side and regarding me.
"Temi sent you my picture. For your party. What exactly are you playing at?"
I'm tense, just like the strings on a guitar, waiting to vibrate at the slightest touch.
He chuckles, dabs at his mouth with a napkin and pushes his empty plate aside.
"Isn't it obvious, Queen?" he asks with a grin.
"What?"
"I want you to be my girl."
A/N: I never hexperreddit.