Women

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CHAPTER ONE

Stella awoke abruptly, the way she always did. The only sign that she had woken up was in her eyes: they flew open, going round and taking stock of her surroundings. It was something that had become a habit.

Today, the mirrored ceiling was the first thing she recognized. She smiled. Oh yes. She was in Tony’s place. And what a place! Tony had MOOOOOOOOONEY! He wasn’t so well-educated, not particularly good-looking either, but forget, de man get moni, and knew how to have a good time with it too. She reached across him for her wristwatch , uncaring that, as she did so, the duvet slipped, leaving her naked from the waist up. Almost 5 a.m. She lay back down. She rarely ever slept beyond 5 a.m. anyway, not because she was necessarily a morning person, but simply because, living in Surulere and working in Victoria Island, one had to shoot out of the house by 6.20 tops to make it to work by 8. And she hated being rushed. But Tony lived on the island. Which meant she didn’t have to rush. Well, not much. She could still take a few minutes off to laze around.

Suddenly a loud snore rent the air. She pursed her lips in distaste. To make matters worse, the man let out a loud fart. Grief! What a stench! Weren’t the loud ones supposed to be odourless? Crikes! Well, enough of that. She was getting out.

She bounded out of bed, picked up her overnight bag from the vanity where she’d left it last night (she still preferred to bring her stuff each time, rather than leaving them there in his house for whoever to mess around with) and vanished into the adjoining bathroom to start her daily routine.

She was out forty five minutes later, and dressed in the wrinkle-free suit she’d brought along (wrinkle free suits were an absolute “must have” for spending the night with a man). Another 15 minutes with her hair and make-up, perfume at her ankles (she’d read in a mag that the smell of perfume actually rose), and she was ready.

“Tony, darling” she cooed.

No response.

She sighed, and walked over to his side. “Darling”, she said again.

Still no response.

She was not a very patient woman. She shook him roughly, and he awoke with a start. She smiled a super sweet smile. “Darling, I’m off to work. I had a wonderful time last night. Call me, ok?”

“Baby, how are you going? Let one of the boys drop you off”.

She laughed gaily. “No need darling. I came in my car, remember? Don’t trouble yourself. I’m off. Be good……….” And she sauntered to the door. One of the boys to drive her indeed! A girl had to be independent. It was the only thing that could distinguish her from his other women. Otherwise, he’d lump her with all the rest of them, and what would she gain by that? She wanted to be special to him.

At the door leading out of his bedroom to the mezzanine floor, she turned one last time, and blew him a soft kiss. She was looking good and she knew it. Let him know it too. She walked out the door with a little wriggle. Just a little something to keep his mind on her a bit longer…………

He was too busy flipping through his appointments for that morning to notice though. But she didn’t know that.

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On her way to her maroon-coloured Nissan Primera, she stopped as she heard her name being called. Looking over her shoulder, she spotted Brother Tunde hurrying towards her and turned to him with a polite smile.

“Sister Bellema, I’m glad I caught up with you. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now. How’ve you been?”
“I’m fine, Bro Tunde. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“You know what? I’m hungry. Join me for lunch and we’ll talk, ok? Besides, this place is kind of noisy, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yeah, but I really can’t spare the time for lunch right now. I’m off to a friend’s place to help with the arrangements for a little party”, Bellema responded with a suitable amount of polite regret in her voice and expression.
“Invite me for your party, then, and we can talk there”, Tunde countered, seemingly very sure of himself.
Bellema looked at him for a long moment before answering, “It’s a bridal shower, Bro Tunde.” At his blank look, she continued “Men are not allowed……….?”
“Oh”. He looked embarrassed, and as much as she wanted to laugh at him, she felt she’d just embarrass him the more, so she smiled sweetly instead, and said “But look, it’s quieter here already. Can’t we talk now? Or is it a state secret you want to divulge?” she teased.
“Like I have access to state secrets”, he answered. But he had relaxed visibly. A cursory look around confirmed that most people had indeed left the previously crammed parking lot.
“Well, it’s rather personal”, he began hesitantly, and she quipped with a quick grin:
“To you or to me?”
“To both of us, I guess”.
“I’m listening”.
“Are you engaged, Sister Bellema, or is that too personal a question?”
“Not at all”.
“Not at all, you’re not engaged, or not at all, it’s not too personal a question?”
“Not at all, it’s not too personal a question”.
“So?”
“So, what?”
“So, are you engaged?”
“No”.
He heaved a sigh of relief.
“Well, the thing is, I’ve been praying for a while now for a soulmate………………”.

Bellema appeared to be listening patiently while he went on and on about how he felt led by the Spirit to ask her hand in marriage. In truth, her mind was actually elsewhere. What he was saying wasn’t new to her. In fact, she’d stopped counting how many brothers had said the same thing, in more or less the same way. She supposed that being a choir leader had a lot to do with it; in fact, she’d listened to a particular message on her car stereo where this
pastor had jokingly said that half the single brothers in his church had claimed at one time or the other to have been led by God to seek the hand of a certain sister in the choir in marriage.

When he had finished, she smiled what she hoped was a gentle smile, and gave him what she felt was the appropriate response: “You know brothers are not allowed to meet directly with sisters in that context, Bro Tunde. If you are indeed sincere, you’ll have to go and see the Pastor. As for me, I’ll just put it in prayers, and be sure to let you know if I get any leading in line with yours”. Again, she smiled gently “Will that do?”

About to press his point, Bro Tunde sighted a female deacon walking towards the car park, and decided to give it a rest. For now. He fished out his call card from his wallet and gave it to Bellema. “Call me, ok?”. “Ok. Now, I’ve really got to go. Later……….”. She walked away. He walked slowly behind her, appreciating the sway of her flared hips and the tiny waist that seemed to exaggerate the movement, the flash of long spotless legs, and when she turned to her car to fit in the ignition, the jut of firm, full breasts that extended at least a good six inches from slim torso. No doubt about it, this was the woman for him!

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“Koko, have you finished your breakfast?”
“Yes, Mummy”.

She left her room to peer into her daughter’s plate on her special dining table. Sure enough, there was half a sausage left, and only about 20% of the cornflakes seemed to have made it to her daughter’s mouth.
“Young lady, I thought you said you’d finished”.
“But Mummy, I don’t want anymore food”.
“Oh yes, you do. Unless you want to stay at home with Auntie Peace instead of going out with me”.
“No, I want to go out with you”.
“Then I suggest you finish every bit of your breakfast”.

Koko looked at the food again, and resumed eating, pushing great big spoonsful of the cornflakes into her mouth. She finished the cornflakes, then picked up her breakfast tray and took it into the kitchen placing it carefully on the kitchen sink. She didn’t want to break anything today. She picked up her half-eaten sausage and nibbled on it on her way to the bedroom.

“Mummy, I’ve finished”.

Her mother turned around and gave her a quick once over, noting that Koko’s t-shirt already had some stains on it. She sighed. “You’ll have to change your t-shirt, but please finish your sausage first, ok? Then you can wash your hands and change”.

Off came the shocking pink T-shirt, and on went yet another shocking pink T-shirt. Koko loved shocking pink. She dropped the soiled T-shirt in the laundry basket and turned to her mother again.

“Finished”.

“Now go wash your hands, while I tidy up in here”. Koko went into the adjoining bathroom to wash her hands, Kate closed the drawers that Koko had pulled out in her haste to get dressed. The entire room reflected the individual tastes of the occupants – mother and daughter. There was a big bed – 7 by 7 (Koko did a lot of gymnastics in her sleep), with numerous teddy bears and soft dolls in various colours mounted against the headrest. The doors of the built-in wardrobe were the same magsonia as the bed, one desk, a small bookcase, hat stand and shoe rack. Even tzhe TV stand was in the same magsonia.

Koko’s stuff was mostly in baby pink: two narrow wardrobes for hanging party dresses and school uniforms, with a chest of drawers attached to the middle and an oval vanity mirror, all in baby pink. There was also a miniature desk with a matching chair, and a small bookcase, still in the same baby pink.
The carpet was however navy blue (Koko had wanted baby pink, of course, but puhleease……), and the curtains and duvet on the huge bed were the same material of multicoloured triangles over a navy blue background.

Surprisingly enough, the two styles merged quite beautifully, and Kate had always felt that the room was a safe haven from the outside world; a world where Kate’s impending wedding to Chuks had mysteriously been cancelled by Chuks, despite knowing that Kate was already expecting a baby. A world where Koko only saw her father on rare weekends, where Kate alone attended Koko’s open days and special functions, where men viewed her as promiscuous on discovering that she’d had a child out of wedlock.
Life was just so funny. Chuks was the only man she’d ever loved. He was the only man she’d ever slept with. And even then the sleeping together had started when they had started making plans to get married. If only she’d known…………

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Bisola was running late for her appointment. Which was really not a big deal, if you considered the fact that this was Lagos, wasn’t it, a city notorious for the unpredictability of its roads and traffic. But this was really not an appointment she could afford to be late for. It had taken her so long to secure it. And she was going to need every single advantage she could get.

She checked her watch. She was due there in a little less than an hour, and she was yet to get dressed. Why did it have to be today of all days that her oven would decide to mess up?

Well, no time to dwell on that now; at least, the first batch of pastries had come out alright. She opened the front window of her room and instructed Audu to get her a taxi to Victoria Island. Audu was the megida. He wasn’t particularly sharp, but the way she saw it, there wasn’t much that even Audu could mess up about such a simple errand.

She was wrong. By the time she’d been in the taxi for about 20 minutes in her smart black skirt suit (her only one) with black shoes and her sister’s Burberry bag, her goodies and documents stuffed into an oversize carrier bag by her side, she realized that something was definitely wrong.

Offering up a silent prayer for God to take control, she asked the cab driver hesitantly, “Er oga, why are you taking Ikorodu road?”

The cab driver was a generally mild-mannered man. He responded quizzically, “Na de best way to take”.

“How can? From Surulere to Victoria Island?”

“No, from Surulere to Maryland”.

So great was Bisola’s shock that she just sat there with her mouth in big “O”.

“Na Maryland wey your Megida bin say you wan go na”.

No wonder the charge had been so low, Bisola thought. “Oga, abeg, I’m going to Victoria Island, not Maryland. Abeg, just find a way to take me to V/I, I take God beg you”.

“Sister, you get to top de money o”.

She rubbed her forehead wearily and agreed to top the charge with an additional N200. Would she ever make this appointment?

By the time she got down at the gate of the bank and paid off the cab driver, she was a good thirty minutes late. But she’d taken the time to freshen her make up and she felt pretty good about herself right then. Maybe she’d be able to charm her banker into overlooking her lateness and just going along with her plans. Anyway, she intended to sweeten him a bit with some of her pastries, which she’d been told were “to die for”.

She glided as gracefully as she could manage into the reception hall of the premises and made her enquiries, only to be told very coolly that “Sam is out at the moment, but you may wish to see someone else in his department”. Funnily enough, despite her lateness, she’d never considered the possibility that the man would not even be in the office. How very stupid of her! Now, what to do…………?

The receptionist then gave her the option of meeting with another member of Sam’s team, and Bisola thought, well, it couldn’t hurt, could it?

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