AMID SECRETS - CHAPTER 24
*Nwanyieze’s POV*
I can’t go home without Adanna’s ice cream, and so I take a taxi to Ikeja City Mall, which is not far from Maduka’s place. My eyes are still releasing stupid tears, which I angrily wipe away with the back of my hands every few minutes.
Well, you asked for it, my beloved inner voice mocks. Angel Maduka is no angel, after all.
My fingers touch my lips, the lips he’d kissed so passionately, sending me to cloud nine.
He’s been finessing you. All along, he’s been playing.
I try to imagine this Tasha, what she looks like. Her name alone, it sounds exotic and I tell myself that she must be one tall, curvy, light skinned girl who probably wears heels even to take her baths, and wears expensive wigs with full lace closures all the time that no one knows what her natural hair looks like. Yes, she must be privileged, intelligent and successful to keep a man like Maduka. Maybe she travelled for business, and Maduka and I met, and he decided to use me to keep himself busy.
“Madam, we don reach Shoprite,” the taxi driver, a small, thin man dressed in a flowing white gown nearly yells, snapping me out of my thoughts. I realise he has been trying to alert me, but to no avail. I apologise, pay him the fare and leave the car, assuring him that I’m fine after he asks.
Ikeja City Mall, dubbed ICM or Shoprite by most people (Shoprite is just a part of ICM though) is a huge complex along Obafemi Awolowo Way, housing stores, most of which are popular, expensive brands. Brightly lit and well-maintained, it is a hotspot for almost everyone from all walks of life. The Bheerhugz is said to be frequented by the ‘big boys’ of Lagos, Chicken Republic and KFC for teenage lovers, Casa Bella, Black-Up and the likes by the ‘big girls’, and Shoprite itself is the neutral zone, for everyone, whether they want to buy only a roll of tissue paper or one pouch of Capri-Sonne, a cheap birthday cake (accompanied by a complimentary photo$h00t because the lighting is so bright and probably a filter on its own) or a trolley full of Hennessy and Dom Perignon.
I spend half an hour walking around and people-watching, trying to lighten up my mood before getting Adanna’s ice cream and going home. At ColdStone creamery, there is about a score of people waiting on their orders to be taken. I patiently wait my turn while watching the staff expertly throw up balls of ice cream and catch them with their scoops. Customers cheer and clap, some whip out their phones to record.
I order for a medium cup of vanilla and cheesecake- flavoured ice cream topped with Smarties and a crushed waffle for Adanna, and then a medium cup of chocolate and strawberry-flavoured ice cream with no toppings for myself on second thought. I really want to go back home now, because my tears are thr_@tening to spill again and the dull ache in my chest has refused to fade.
When I’m about to hand over my card, a voice beside me says, “I’ll take care of that, don’t bother yourself.”
I look up to see a young man, standing a few inches taller than me. He has a haircut that reminds me of one of Tupac’s popular styles, with a curving parting and the hair at the top of his head standing higher than the sides. He smiles, revealing a beautiful set of teeth and a gap between his upper incisors. His brows are so thick and bushy, but that seems to add to his allure.
“I can do it myself,” I reply, stretching my hand towards the staff.
“Please, let me.” His voice is smooth, his tone friendly. I nod, say thank you, and allow him to pay.
He leaves the counter with me, he abandoned his own order. “I saw you trying not to cry,” he muses beside me when I stop to face him. “You were blinking so furiously.”
I’m at a loss for words. Was I really that obvious?
“I’ve had a rough day.”
He nods. He is dressed in vintage fashion, a colourful silk shirt with long sleeves and undone top buttons to expose a single gold chain around his neck. His trousers are loose as well, dark brown over maroon loafers with tassels.
“My name is Kester,” he says, stretching out a hand.
“I’m Nwanyieze. Nice to meet you. I really appreciate you paying for my ice cream; I didn’t want to seem rude.”
“I know you’re capable of doing that yourself. You just looked so sad, I had to find a way to talk to you.”
Kester turns out to be funny. He seems laid back in nature, easy going in his speech. We sit at one of the tables and I get to know that he works with the Society for Family Health at Opebi.
“The condom sharers,” I say with a laugh. The SFH plays a significant role in segzual health education, often visiting brothels and offering free STD screening and counselling.
“We try our best.”
Kester and I exchange numbers, and when I tell him that my phone is ruined and I currently can’t receive or make calls, he sympathises and shows no hint of mockery, taking my word.
“I don’t expect anything from you for paying. I only wanted to cheer you up ok? Take care of yourself,” he tells me, smiling to reveal his gapped teeth. I smile back, feeling slightly better, tell him goodbye, and leave the mall.
______
*Maduka’s POV*
I’m surprised to see Tasha at my front door the following morning.
“Good morning.” She breezes in and I get a whiff of her perfume: expensive with something that smells like berries.
“Come to get what you forgot?” I ask her, folding my arms across my chest.
“Yes, I missed my favourite P@?tî??. I got you this, by the way,” she says in her soft voice while rummaging in her MK handbag. She hands me a small package, which I politely thank her for and drop on one of the sofas.
“Sit down, Natasha. We need to talk.”
This seems to catch her by surprise. Her eyes widen, and she nods. We sit on opposite ends of the sofa and I lean back, narrow my eyes, and watch her.
“We’re not getting back together, Natasha. I want to make that clear to you.”
“Mads, do you have to be so blunt?”
“The same way you were blunt when you told me you’d fallen in love with someone else.” Or his pockets.
She looks so contrite, and starts wringing her fingers together. “I was young, and stupid, Mads. My boyfriend- he… I found out he is sleeping with another woman.”
At that she bursts into tears. They run down her cheeks in dark streams, carrying along her mascara and foundation. I’m surprised, but she looks so helpless, I pull her into a hug. Some men are undeserving of a woman’s attention, if you ask me.
“I have no one to tell, and everyone is going to laugh at me because they warned me,” she chokes. ” That night, when I came here, I had gone through his phone and seen the text messages between him and the girl… I couldn’t confront him and so I ran away to the club, I got drunk, I didn’t want to go back to him.”
“Why telling me and not him?”
“You were a very good friend even before we started dating, Mads. I have no one to confide in but you.”
“And you’re just going to let this go on without confronting him?”
“Seun has warned me not to go through his phone but that night he was in the shower and I’ve peeped at his password before… I was curious. If I confront him, he’ll know I disobeyed…”
“Are you serious, Tasha? You’re going to suffer in silence?”
It annoys me to hear of people cheating in relationships. I see it as one of the highest forms of disrespect; I don’t understand why a person would have someone and still want to go behind with another person.
She takes a deep breath. “I’m still looking for courage.”
“And you found courage to leave your underwear underneath my pillow?”
Nwanyieze has been on my mind since last night. I can’t evade the image of her with those tears on her cheeks.
“I’m really sorry about that, I really am. That was stupid of me; I wanted to seduce you but now I know it’s a bad idea.”
“Natasha, I have someone. I’m just letting you know, so there will be no future problems. I’m happy with my life, not angry with you about our split, and wish you the best,” I tell her frankly. “Society says exes can’t be friends, and I know exes being friends can be complicated.”
” I understand.”
“Now, as someone who cares about you, I’d say you confront him as soon as possible.”
The tears come back.
“No one can do it for you,” I state in a serious tone. Tasha has always been some sort of big baby, and most times one has to be firm to get her to do things for herself.
I look at my wristwatch. I’m already running late for the family gathering my parents are hosting at home. It’s like an outdoor barbecue, with my siblings and their own families in attendance. I’d been planning to take Nwanyieze along, but now that she most definitely does not want to look at me for the mean time, I have to go alone.
“I have to leave now. Where are you going to? Did you drive over? I could drop you on my way.”
“I drove myself. Thanks for the offer, Mads. And thanks for the advice and for being a good friend.”
“By the way, here’s your underwear.” I hand her the offending garment in a small red paper bag; quite fitting if you asked me. She takes it with her eyes on the floor.
“Thank you.”
I almost say, “Anytime,” but instead change it to “That’s alright.”
Exes and friendship. A complicated duo.
I watch her get into her car, a flashy, bright red Hyundai she parked outside my gates. She waves at me, I wave back, and she drives off.
That’s settled, then, I think.
_______
*Saheed’s POV*
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bello. How may I be of service today?”
Oh, in so many ways.
I smile, slowly taking my gaze up from her straight, coffee-coloured long legs, to her slim waist, and then to her face. It is spotless, oval-shaped and sporting red lipstick on full lips, like the cherry topping on a caramel and chocolate Sundae.
She saunters towards me. The French doors are open, and the breeze, cool and soothing in this hot weather, tickles the skin of my upper torso. Her scent reaches my nostrils, a seductive mixture of coconut and pineapple. The way she walks in those glossy black stilettos with her eyes fixed on mine makes me chuckle.
“I’ve waited for you, Mr. Bello,” she says in a throaty voice as she twirls one of her thick braids. “I’ve waited for so long.”
“You don’t say?” I murmur when she brings her face close to mine.
She raises a leg and places it on the chair, right between my legs, all the while never breaking eye contact. The bold move makes me raise a brow and chuckle. She was trained well, props to her teacher.
“What took you so long?” she purrs, with a hint of demand in her tone.
I like this; I like how she seems to be in control at the moment because it heightens the anticipation towards asserting my control.
Saheed Bello is always in control of everything. Always. People have described me as a laid-back sort of person, but it is their surprise that pleasures me the most.
I raise a hand and touch her stocking-clad leg, trail my fingers up, up past the strap of her garter belt, up to her inner thigh and chuckle again when she trembles.
The Midas touch, only better.
“What do you want?” I whispered.
“You.” Her dark eyes have never left mine through all this.”All of you.”
“What is your name?”
Say it. Say it.
“Queen.”
That is all I need to get started, to take control.
.
.