Chapter Three

Around seven post meridiem SonOfMan found himself in a long hall that filled to capacity with trendy carousers; it was a section of casino with rip-roaring revelry. He quickly noticed that more than half of these bustle and hustle people were on suits, but didn’t have to wonder why. Suit was a welcomed modern befitting dressing culture in Africa for marriage ceremony. The entertainment had claimed the room not just for the gay item 7, but for showcasing male and female versions of classy suits.

SonOfMan watched around; the atmosphere was straight out of shindig. Everyone was letting out loud guffaws as if in competition for who would become hysterical with ballyhoo. He took a seat at a table near the exit door; the only vacant place he could scan easily. It was some furniture with ritzy embroidery of shiny filigree; the kind used by avaricious racketeers, as they crossed their legs gazing at their glasses of rich wine. Anyway, this was Akure, the capital city of Ondo state, where commissioners had their occasions and merriment.

SonOfMan was watching admiringly at a young man running his fingers around the rim of his wine glass, playing along while he smiled lustfully into his lady’s face.

No; SonOfMan was rather watching admiringly at the lady, the partner in question, with a very big implacable sense of déjà vu—incomprehensibly. She was so fondly recognizable, as if stirring something inside him. When she tried to smile at him, it was well-disposed, but he didn’t wait to absorb that. He averted his face.

SonOfMan was watching the meritorious merrymaking for another moment, when another sister came up to his table and poured wine into two glasses. She was very beautiful and fair in complexion that he doubted she was a Yoruba too. Yeah, fair and beautiful, pleasing to the eye. She dressed in regalia of a tailored pin-striped shirt that blended decorously with green skirt and tie. If he would just stand up, she would no doubt tower over him.

“You’re our guest, you know,” she said to SonOfMan; “even though you’re a stranger and a tourist.”

“Well, I’m not them; do you see how wrong you are?”

“I see how repellent you look.” She pulled out a chair, losing her tie and smiling at him. “Like a no-hoper, who feels this beautiful lady has just started this awkwardly.” She sat and relaxed, unbuttoning her shirt to reveal her tantalizing pale skin. “Like a sad case, who feels this lady just started this on a very bland platform that’ll leave his fantasies floundering helplessly.”

SonOfMan tipped his glass and let the drink slid down his throat hungrily. “You’re rather theatrical?”

“I wasn’t until you reminded me what I so much love to do. You know, I love to flirt over men that look good… men with this kind of roving eyes you have here.” She smiled flirtatiously.

“I understand,” he said knowledgeably; “men of fancy free.”

“You’re worldly,” the hostess accused. “If you’re kind of lucky about my love… maybe you weren’t paired off already… I’ll be all in for you.”

“Paired off already?” he rather wondered.

“Of course, you know.” she laughed.

“No, I don’t know,” he quickly said; “pairing off already in this kind of atmosphere jeopardize my ethics.”

“Huh?” she dismissed that.

“Now…” he looked up; “watch these snazzy sisters hanging around these men.”

“What’s the big deal about them?”

“They depict prostitutes soliciting openly, with those worldly clothes.”

“Do you mean something like this?” she pointed; “Speechless.”

“Speechless… that’s the name?” he said.

“Fashion statement; this is a gay party, it can’t be all that bad.”

“Let me tell you something; you call it ‘Speechless’ because people are still in shock and ashamed on their behalf; it’s not just the gay party. Of course, they’re caught in public buses wearing open shoulders with visible heads of breasts, and these outfits are quite offensive.”

“Nice man; reminds me of my ex sometime ago,” she said retrospectively. “He was a good decent man. I fell in love with him, but it didn’t bring joy to my life. I actually hated myself, because I fall easily for men with good minds.”

A male attendant was crossing with bottles of chilled beer; SonOfMan waved him. “Even when you have a body as hot as the body of Sharon Stone, it’s still good to keep some part covered in public,” he continued, ignoring her nostalgic retrospection. “Okay… look at this old woman…” he threw his face to a middle aged lady, who was wearing a thin skirt that was cut up the hip, exposing her body pruriently. “This is abomination! Omni Heaven, when they say keep it covered, they’re not saying that it should be kept covered with this short flimsy fabric.” He shook his head with disapproval, and before he could stop himself he had shouted; “Woeful! For crying out loud, her G-string is visible!”

“You’re shouting,” the fair girl cautioned him strangely.

“What’s that desperate act about?”

“Uh-oh! Do you worry in the world we are now, what people do with their clothe line in some hedonistic mirth like this?” she was, of course, shocked. “She’s simply a sex bomb with her trend-setting outfit.”

“Gawd! She just assaulted the spirit of my Jury; it couldn’t help feeling pity,” he besmirched that opinion. “Is it actually imaginable that a woman of her age is wearing this in a public gathering? Of course, this is contrary to some section of dress code of my jury style edict. She’s to be sentenced thereby to life strictly in Sharia community. Tout court!”

“Tout court?” she inquired.

“Shikinah,” he answered.

“Well, I don’t care where you think she’d be sentenced to; all I know, she’s one real chic fetching lady. What she needs is some good booze, a virile lover… or both. That’s what I think. You know, good fuck is better when you’re a bit drunk. She’s going to drive men crazy with that smashing dressing style. It’s hot, mark my word.”

“Yeah, hot and sleazy.” He mimicked her in a seeming manner.

“Look at him! Pot calling kettle black.” She turned her head, but then faced him again. “Now take a big slug of that drink and feel horny.” She pouted invitingly, but whispered; “Your Lady, Miss Togbe, will be available soon.”

“My lady, Miss Togbe?” he said incredibly; it was over seven years now he had last heard of any Ms Togbe.

‘Kemi’, he heard a woman’s voice calling the lady, and she stood rather.

The hall was obstreperous and bustling, but he tried to adjust his ears to the rummage of that voice or the owner. He followed the lady attendant with his eyes, but another tempting lady hostess tried to stop her.

‘Bee ni, I’ve welcomed him as an honoured guest’ he heard the first hostess shout to this another lady.

They could be referring him, but he was scanning the hall for the first voice. He was almost sure it belonged to the first sister that tried to lure his attention with some warm-hearted smiles. Maybe she was this lady that wanted him honoured guest. But for what benevolence? From the look of things, the entire classy hussies and half the rakes in this town were here. He rarely visited this kind of resort, or this kind of all night long party. There wasn’t in all his life he could remember, enough time for his writing; and if not his niggle doubts at hand, socializing with such level of liberated people wasn’t his strong suit.

Meanwhile, the Ms Togbe he knew was a damsel in distress her motorcycle conked out under a terrible heat of the sun; a stranded NYSC copper he met years back as he rounded a traffic circle. He was actually trekking down town on a deserted road to thumb a car. She was voluptuously robust, and had a beautiful face that prompted him to help her clean her oil-soaked plug under the sun. She had promised him some kindness, however, in a special way.

Presently, that another lady attendant came up to his table. “Hey, sir, you’re one of the guests of honour tonight; what’s your pleasure?” She started hoisting a brand of beer from the serving basket; “I guess Gulder is okay?”

“Yeah… thanks.” Gulder was the brand he just took.

“And um… sir, some food?”

“No, Sweetheart… thanks.” He didn’t feel like eating.

“You’re welcome.” She exhibited some warm smiles.

She was moving away when he flagged her and added impulsively; “Maybe some more bottles of beer would be exactly good.” …Yeah, might as well do it right, he thought. That was precisely what guys would usually do when they had a bad time—come over some place like this and get smashed. It had appeared not to work for him, but this time it had to offer the presence of mind needed.

Today was a rough one to his trained mind, and the dirty trick—the questionable bun in the oven—was weighing heavily on it.

“Whoa, I’m impressed!” The first fair skinned waitress returned, and was all smiles. “Maybe…” she continued, as what she was getting from SonOfMan was a level stare; “I’m not really. I and Miss Togbe were just talking about you.”

“Miss Togbe?” he intoned. So Ms Togbe was really that first lady sitting with that man?

“She’s the younger sister to the celebrant.”

“Yeahhh,” he intoned, still in daze.

“Yes, she just told me how warm-hearted she was about having your friendship; but guess what, you walked away,” she chortled.

Aye, she laughed but it wasn’t really funny. Ms Togbe resurfacing like this was an adverse emergency, and presented another problem SonOfMan had to slug out—a new breakneck problem brought on again by the creepy fate. Now he had to face the salacious brazen attraction he had been dazzled with—some warmth of her friendship with far more palpable sexuality, and much formidable driving force. It wasn’t going to be easy. Yeah, this kind of dangerous temptation had become his immutable phenomenon.

Ms Togbe had wanted him to believe one true fact about the double-life of Mabel, his then girlfriend—it was true he said he met her an NYSC copper on the way and had helped her, but at the end of the day she didn’t take him along, as she had heavy luggage riding together with her. Then she knew she owed him some favour in a special way—Aye, if they met again.

And of course they met in a school she was doing her primary assignment as a teacher, and which he had come to re-sit for his O’level examination. Now to give this substantive information about Mabel, she had called him in her room as a temptress with high sense of seduction; because she had let him visit her when she had just taken her bath and was massaging her nude body in some slow romantic pace. Strewth! It was a provocative situation that instantly turned on his voyeuristic interest, making him a poor Peeping Tom. Sensual confusion had clouded his system that he had wondered what he had fatefully walked into. But it was so disappointing when he finally understood that it was all a crafty trick to seduce him to suffocation without substantive motive.

Presently, SonOfMan lifted his face; unbelievably Ms Togbe was standing over there, only a few tables away from him, discussing with an attendant. Bossy. Then she sashayed to the table just behind the sister sitting with him. She was greeting the couple of that table with every sensational smile. She had that air that carried excitement enticement. A trait that was beguilingly visible in her ever-present sexuality theme. Ms Togbe remained a sex bomb to his senses no doubt.

SonOfMan tried to look back into the servile eyes of the sister sitting there with him; “I guess, I rather played hard-to-get; I was eventually sexually hard-boiled.” His eyes were supposed to burn into the sister’s lustre, but they were willing him to turn them up again. Instead of succumbing to that cheap failing, he took the sister’s hand. “But at least you were impressed by that bottled-up sexual repertoire, huh?”

“For your mind,” she smiled mildly, then added; “do you think so?”

Now SonOfMan heard a sensational high laugh of a sister, who he was certain was Ms Togbe, and automatic pause was felt along his sensuality. But then the laughter was lost in the hysteria background, and he didn’t lift his eyes.

“She’s trying your cool,” the sister said, knowing SonOfMan was feeling nervous as Miss Togbe made most of her moment. “But she’s just coming to meet you.”

That last sentence hoisted SonOfMan’s face to the trapping of glamour. Ms Togbe’s cream colour suit was special designer, and her plated pair of shoes too. She had expensive looking pieces of jewellery around her necklines and wrists. The set of clothes was an open top that was complimented with open neck black tight underwear, gypsy skirt, and long hosiery of net black sucks that started from the loin and trailed down the lovely legs.

“I guess you call me crazy!” Miss Togbe said at last, placing her glass on the table.

Her words once again turned his thoughts to the danger she posed. For the past two years he was sober to trade with caution in the tiger’s lair, couching his mind, not just it, his wayward limber system, to uphold the obligation of having regard to the pre-nuptial vow he took. There was no need to join the fire brigade to put out fire, since he was wearing grasses around his waist. MyAngel was all a man, particularly he, would want in a woman. Splendour. She was fair in completion, to start with, having the colour proximate to the American white, which was his madcap choice. She again flaunted a height that was most commensurate with his average height of five feet five. She was voluptuous, which complimented his trim pale body. Her dressing line wasn’t just elegant, but had the touch of panache. Her walk was queenly—as if she knew that only her for him deserved that air of confidence of perfection.

Perfection? Spotless then? He wasn’t so sure now. The fact that she might have violated the sacred regard, which was attached to the dignity of vows of their betrothal. And maybe this was what sent him to neurosis, that he wouldn’t possibly tolerate any misconduct on the ground of infidelity, and with such magnitude of flippancy. That was the ugly part of a woman a man, particularly he, wouldn’t want.

Ms Togbe moved to sit where the other sister was sitting, and she unseated her. “She’s a friend; a good friend,” she said to that dramatic obeisance.

SonOfMan saw the sister heading in her way and fading in the jolly party. Another one approached with a bottle of wine, lifted new glasses and looked at Ms Togbe; she nodded a go-ahead order. Then he saw Ms Togbe lifting two glasses for him to take one. He was better confused.

“Yours for blissful cheers,” she said. “For our reunion, right?”

“No… yeah, I mean… no…” he felt embarrassed; he was puttering like a coward. Ms Togbe was doing him this. But he had never been cowardly in her face. “I was actually saying,” he continued; “it’s been like those days I had the effrontery to walk away.” Aye, like the fair skinned sister said, he had actually walked out on her. He had done that nobly. “Arrogant; isn’t it?” He lifted a corner of his mouth, which produced a likable slight grin. “Was it really presumptuous?”

“No, you were inimitable cracker jack,” she giggled. “It was inviolate rather.”

“Well, I don’t have to take this wine; I was taking beer already.”

“I understand…” she smiled; “the fine boy wouldn’t look like he drinks gluttonously.”

“That’s the problem,” he conceded, suspecting her a bit drunk than he himself was now.

“No problem,” she laughed; it was the same hysterical giggles. “Take your cup of beer, it’s allowed. I know that my goodness and love will be with you all your life, and my house will be your home as long as you live.” She raised her cup.

SonOfMan didn’t raise his cup, but said, prevaricating; “Nice recitation there.” He clapped lightly. “You read psalms, amazed; you and holy bible!”

“You, nicely parried.” She raised her cup again, urging him to do the same. “Now, are we good to go?”

“No.” He still didn’t fall in with the idea. “The fact that you desired to lure your student, and was actually out in that room to seduce him into having affair with you, makes me sick to think what you’re capable of doing now it seems somewhat right under the influence of gay party. Such cheers of reunion are just something I don’t get used to.”

She hunched forward over the table, making their faces touch. She felt SonOfMan swallow nervously, but didn’t see him backing out like she was a snake, she said; “You actually remember the last time we were both in my room? I do myself.” She allowed a little space between them in case he would belch. “You were watching my breasts hungrily; you couldn’t withdraw your gaze. You know, your eyes were lustful and full of that particular emotion. You know, all the way down your loin was fire. You wanted it… you watched my body hungrily. I caught you, remember!”

“My last time in your room was actually designed for your convenience… to get me fallen in with your enchantment… and was over six years ago. Miss Togbe, if my memory serves us well, you were like a shameless she-goat on heat, and you were deceitful. You were all this just to your student.”

“At least I wasn’t an opportunist, you know, Mister Jamike. Though you were my student, we were at the same age bracket.” She moved close again, looking into his eyes.

SonOfMan refused to look away. He saw that she wasn’t even hurt, as she was there prying where she didn’t really belong. And she might even try to kiss his lips.

Any animal with a long tail should never attempt to jump over a bonfire, he quickly stood up; this was too daring. It wasn’t a friendly situation to brave his self-restraint. “I need to go outside, God knows.” He turned to head for the exit door, then shouted over his shoulder; “And I never in my life, as those days lasted, had sexual urge as part of my repertoire, with any sister aside my girlfriend… not even that Mabel you know, but franz, the one you didn’t know!”

There were a lot of things that SonOfMan had never wished he would ever stop to do; things far more sterling and commendable than having controllable sexual urge for his teacher. One of them was having inspiring resolution against having indulgence outside his fiancée. Although he was accusing MyAngel of cheating behind him, he had remained faithful and chaste despite the sexless months of unavoidable respite caused by the distance of their stations.

Moving away from that section, he knew he had nowhere to rest his head. And some noises from another casino were only inviting jollity.