Saheed:
I watch her pace the width of my suite, a palm on her cheek and a frown on her face. The stiletto heels of her bright red shoes click on the marble tiles, drawing my attention from my laptop every now and then.
Click, click, click.
How she has managed to have them on up till this moment baffles me.
"Would you please sit down already?" I ask, annoyed.
She stops her movements and turns to face me, her eyes narrowed at me like I'm the cause of her problems. "Oh, that's right. You don't have to be bothered about this because it's none of your concern."
"Why don't you just stop over thinking instead? Be like me."
"If I were like you, this whole scam would have been blown in the first moment."
I shrug. " Who remembered that you lied about going home and came back here over an hour later?"
Ola turns away from me and asks, "Where is your fridge? I'm thirsty."
I direct her and return my attention to my laptop, pleased to hear her click away from me. She returns a few minutes later, this time holding her shoes in her hands. "This is going to be a disaster."
"Only if you let it."
She sighs and settles on the cushioned seat opposite me. I pause my work and balance my chin on my palms. Ola pushes back her hair, which has been released from her bun. It is a mass of springy curls, matching the colour of her eyes and complimenting her skin, which is the colour of caramel.
"Tell me, how old are you?" I ask, to ease the tension.
"Twenty-four."
"I'm twenty-eight."
"Perfect age gap," she muses.
"I think we should use this time to know some basic facts about each other. Nonye seems like the probing type."
"There's nothing interesting to know. I live at Ikeja GRA, I just started a menswear fashion brand, and I don't seem to get along with men who are too fine."
I laugh at her remark. "You don't get along with men who are too fine? What on earth is that supposed to mean?"
She shrugs. "They know they're fine, and so they use it to misbehave. Sound familiar?"
"Oh, shade," I laugh some more. "And you have a sense of humour. The type I like."
"Your turn."
"I live at Lekki, I'm an architect, and I know I'm a very fine man." At that, I give her a very slow, deliberate smile. "Let's see how you'll get along with me."
"A bit too cocky, aren't you?"
"Just a dash of confidence."
"I don't have your strength," she sighs.
Honestly, does she have to make a fuss out of this? All we have to do is show up a few times, pretend, and go home. Doesn't she trust herself that much? How difficult could this be? I get this urge to distract her from her worries.
"What's your favourite song?"
She gives me a 'Are you serious?' look before replying, "I have like, a million favourite songs."
"Just tell me off the top of your head."
"Asa's Bed of Stones. Adekunle Gold's Ire and Damn You Delilah. Celine Dion's Where Does My Heart Beat. Michael Jackson's Blood on the Dance floor."
With a few clicks on my keypad, Celine Dion's song starts to play on my laptop. Surprised, Ola laughs, a hand over her mouth.
"You are actually corny, you know?" She says, but I can see her relaxing visibly.
"I play my cards well. Would you like to dance?"
"I don't-" she falters, but finally says, "No, thank you."
"You have lovely hair, Ola."
She raises her hand to pat her curls. "I used to hate it."
"Why?"
"I was told it was ugly."
"Who would dare commit such an atrocity?" I want to reach over and touch her hair, to feel it's texture.
She shakes her head and laughs again, dismissing my question. "Really, it's nothing serious. I'm over it. Look, I have to get moving to my side. I'll add you up on Telegram, is that okay with you?"
"Of course," I reply. "If you've got any more questions for me, please ask me there. And if there's any information about you that's important for me to have-"
"Yeah, I know."
She gets to her feet and I notice that she's wearing nude stockings, the delicate material clinging to her legs and feet like a second skin. I walk behind her towards the elevator, my mind swirling with formless thoughts.
"Ola?"
"Yes?" She turns to face me. Without the high heels, she is a few inches shorter than I am, maybe three. Quite above average height for a woman.
My eyes roam over her face, taking in signs of exhaustion that I hadn't noticed before. Her eyes give the most obvious signs. "Make sure you take your medications. And rest well. If you're not up to this double date, you could always call in sick."
"Oh, it's nothing. I'll be fine," she reassures me.
The elevator arrives with a ding before the doors slide open. She steps in, pauses, and steps out to stand a in front of me.
"Look, I know I seem crazy asking you to do all this for me. We are total strangers and this is probably the wildest thing I've ever done and the farthest I've ever gone to please anyone. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Saheed. If you ever drop out any time, I promise I won't be angry with you. You don't owe me anything, really."
The words come out in a rush, leaving her breathless after speaking but she stares up at me with her wide eyes, waiting for me to reply.
"You're absolutely right; I owe you nothing."
With a nod, she steps into the elevator and pushes a few buttons. While the doors slowly shut, we engage in a stare down of sorts, and I see a steely resolve in her eyes.
***
For most of the next day, we make efforts to avoid Nonye- and each other- at the hotel. Ola, with foresight, drops a few of her belongings in my suite to make her stay obvious. I, on the other hand, attend to various matters: a visit to my permanent address at Lekki, dropping by at my sister's Lagos home and patiently listening to her reasons on why I should give my mother a visit, an enjoyable visit to an art gallery in Surulere, and some shopping at the mall there.
I don't know what Ola has been up to, and I don't bother to ask- not that it's my business. Surely, Nonye does not expect us to be joined at the hip. The outing also gives me time to flirt with ladies.
I have a soft spot for women. I enjoy making them smile. They are paradoxical creatures, durable and fragile at the same time. And beautifully made. So beautifully made.
While sitting in front if a popular ice cream joint, it doesn't take me long to have the seats at my table filled with young women. A few orders for ice cream, and we're all jolly, joking and laughing.
"Is vanilla your favourite flavour, Mr. Saheed?" asks one of the four ladies, an ebony beauty with sleek, long braids in dark blue.
"I'm into a vast array of flavours, sweetheart. They say, variety is the spice of life," I reply, fixing my eyes on her before running them over the different ladies seated, taking in their flirtatious smiles. I don't mean to sound narcissistic, but I can effortlessly capture attention. I remember growing up, Baba used to pat my face in admiration and chuckle, his eyes full of pride. "You will break hearts one day," he used to say.
"You must be quite an experienced man," the fair girl with the blonde low-cut and long, artificial lashes says in a slow voice. "Enjoying so much variety."
My mouth curves into a smile as I lower my eyes, knowing theirs will also follow my direction. "Would you like to confirm that statement?"
A roar of laughter from everyone follows, including myself. After our ice cream is all gone, I settle the bills and regretfully excuse myself. It is time to return to the hotel. The ladies are quite disappointed that I did not initiate more means of contact.
On a normal day, I would have exchanged numbers, but I'm currently occupied. It unsettles me that I am truly curious about Ola and how tomorrow night will play out. Is she going to fall apart? Will I stay and laugh at the absurdity or the situation, or lie again and again for her? What is she doing now?
I push the thoughts away. I shouldn't be bothered, after all, I'm just a pawn in whatever plan she has. I'm just an actor.
While I'm walking away, one of the girls, the ebony one with the blue braids, pushes a card into the front pocket of my shirt and pats my chest slowly, a smile on her face.
"Chinelo," she whispers. "Call me."
"A go-getter," I reply. "I like."
"That's a start."
The drive to the island is a slow crawl, caused by the influx of drivers onto the third mainland bridge. I enjoy the evening breeze, the salty taste of the air, and the noise emanating from the drivers and their vehicles- profanities yelled, horns blared, greetings exchanged.
My car earns me stares of appreciation from the ladies and envy from the men.
"Bros this your car, e fine oh," greets the driver currently beside me, a dark skinned man with bloodshot eyes, sitting in an old Toyota on my right.
"Thank you bros," I reply.
"Imagine say I just use this my kpako motor kiss am, shebi the paint go scratch like paper?"
Werey.
I laugh at his question and ask, good-naturedly,
"You sabi swim? Because na for lagoon you go see yourself be dat oh."
He seems more surprised at my mastery of the Pidgin language than the threat I just sounded. It surprises me when he throws back his head and laughs, then stretched out his fist towards me. I do the same, and we share an air fist-bump, we chop knuckle.
Nigerians? Another breed of Homo Sapiens, I tell you.
My looks can be deceiving. My parents are of mixed descent. Throw in some Arab, Caucasian, African, and even Indian. How my family tree had gotten so mixed up, I don't know, but this cocktail of genes had produced me.
Because I am light skinned with the 'eyes of a lion'- as my sister used to say- in a population of majorly dark or brown-eyed people, the average person sees me as a tourist or an ajebo, a rich, pampered, person. But I can switch languages and my accent so effortlessly, it tends to surprise them. I can haggle for food stuff in the market like any other Nigerian, something I take delight in doing once in a while. I am also fluent in Arabic, Yoruba and Nigerian Pidgin.
And eba with efo riro is one of my favourite meals.
I take pride in being a Nigerian, though it is clear that I belong to the minority upper class and will possibly never relate to the average Nigerian who has to slave hard for less than two dollars a day. It is not a thing of pride for me.
Stepping into the hotel lobby about an hour later, I once again appreciate the work of art my father had created. The beautiful sunset, a swirl of bold orange, pink and gold, is captured in long, wide windows of clear glass. A few people watch, entranced. But I move directly towards Claudia at her counter.
"Aren't you looking lovely today, Claudia," I greet her.
She smiles at me, revealing the gap between her upper front incisors. "Welcome back, Sir. Miss Matthews picked your key card and she is currently in your suites."
I feel a sudden excitement I can't explain. Claudia activates a new key card for me, which I collect with a few words of thanks before making my way to the private elevator, wary of running into Nonye. In the elevator, my mind flashed back to vague memories of two nights ago, when I had been in this confined space with Ola.
I must have smelled so bad, I think uneasily. She probably thought I was some crazy jilted ex. Which isn't quite far from the truth.
The elevator leads directly into the master bedroom, which has been cleaned and arranged for the afternoon. I step in, greeted by a feminine scent.
"Saheed?" Ola's voice calls from the adjoining room. She steps in, wearing a short, silk robe in light blue with the sash tied tightly around her waist. Her hair is loose, the honey brown curls bouncing with her every move, some of it falling over her forehead. Her feet are bare, toenails painted with a deep red lacquer.
I swallow, surprised. Ola shocks me by launching herself towards me and wrapping her arms around my neck, pressing her body against mine, assaulting my senses and leaving me speechless.
"Oh," I manage to say, standing there, confused.
"I missed you, Zaddy," she says.
Zaddy? What on earth? I wonder, even though the endearment sends a zing through my body.
It is when I see Nonye stepping into the master bedroom that I understand. My arms move to circle Ola's waist, and automatically, like it's the most natural thing in the world, I kiss her soft hair, close my eyes, and breathe in her scent.
"I missed you, baby," I reply. "And I love what you're wearing."
She giggles at my reply, and I hear the honest amusement in that sound. She knows she has surprised me, and she is enjoying the pleasure.
I'll have get even with you.
"Come to admire the penthouse I took from you?" I ask Nonye with a smile.
"Don't even remind me," she says in mock-annoyance.
"I suppose you've both been doing a lot of catching up. Do you want anything brought up from the kitchen?"
"We just had some tiger nut milk and coconut cake," Ola replies, still standing beside me, still enveloping me with her scent, her warmth. My arm is still around her waist, and it registers in my mind that it is quite small.
"Did you know tiger nut milk is said to be an aphrodisiac? It fires up your sex drive." Nonye says, her brows raised.
"No," Ola answers.
"And you drank two bottles."
Ola looks up at me, blinking rapidly, embarrassment evident on her face. Laughter threatens to burst from my lips, but I keep a straight face and lean towards her. "You'll be fine," I reassure her.
Nonye, mistaking my move for something else, decides it's time for her to leave. "Oh, my boyfriend just called me," she states before moving towards the elevator.
Of course, no one called her. She reminds us of our plans for tomorrow night, hugs her friend, pats my shoulder, and steps into the elevator.
"Your friend is something else," I say when we are alone.
"You don't even need to tell me. I've had to deal with her since nursery school."
"I can't imagine what she was like as a child." I shudder at the thought.
"Quite a handful, got us into a lot of trouble, and cried the most."
"Not surprising."
We both realise that we are standing so close to each other and quickly start looking for other things to do. Ola walks into the adjoining room while I move towards my bathroom for a quick cold shower. When I emerge in a freshly laundered white terrycloth robe, I notice that she is dressed in a pair of jeans, a black camisole, and brown leather sandals. Her hair is arranged into two large cornrows.
"I'll be heading out. If you meet Nonye, please tell her that I went over to my place.
"Where is your place?" I ask.
"Ikeja GRA."
I sigh. "Do I go to Ikeja GRA with a public address system and say, 'Good afternoon! Where does Ola Matthews live?' I am your boyfriend, and so I need to know where you live."
"You won't ever visit, so what's the point?"
"This is getting tiring. What boyfriend does not know where his baby girl lives?"
"Fake boyfriend."
"Still?" I shrug.
"You won't need it."
With a clipped goodbye, she summons the elevator and leaves my penthouse suites.
"Brat," I murmur to myself. But, deep down, I muse over an observation: I might have met my match.
The universe must be playing some sort of game with me.
A/N: Thank you everyone for remaining patient with my late-updating a**.
Them talk say tiger nut na aphrodisiac, say e dey work. Me I never confirm. DM me and gist me if it is real 😂