Amaka placed her knife and fork on the empty plate, stained red from the rare steak she’d just finished. She drank the remainder of her Coke, picked the napkin from her lap and dabbed her lips. Her date, the Lagos State gubernatorial candidate, was standing by her side in white agbada and blue hat. He held her purse. She looked up and smiled. He offered his hand and she let him help her up and he waited as she straightened her blouse. Then as she reached for her purse, he slid a hand round her back and pulled her close to his body. Her hands went up around his neck and she closed her eyes as his lips touched hers. She slid one hand down his back and pushed the fingers of her other hand into his hair beneath his hat. Their heads alternated directions as their lips remained locked and their tongues entwined.
They kept kissing, their hands exploring each other’s bodies, until someone started clapping and all the other diners in the restaurant joined in, clapping and cheering. Still in Babalola’s embrace, Amaka looked about. Children, parents, couples, waiters and waitresses, were beaming at them; some were taking pictures and recording the little tryst on their mobile phones. She sank her face into his neck and he patted the back of her head.
Babalola waved as they left the restaurant, his right hand over Amaka’s shoulder, her left hand on his back, a 24-carat Tiffany diamond sparkling from her ring finger.
Ambrose looked at the pictures on a tablet. Amaka sat beside him on the sofa.
‘You did your part of the deal,’ he said. ‘Now I’ll do mine. I just don’t understand why it is so important for you to still do this. You have already done more than enough to earn my trust.’
‘Because I cannot afford for Ojo to become Governor of Lagos State,’ Amaka said.
Ambrose nodded. ‘And you do not trust us to carry out our own rigging?’
‘A wise man once told me that rigging is a leaky business. Every naira spent must count. All I’m asking is that I be a part of it. Call it monitoring. To make sure Ojo doesn’t win.’
‘And to make sure you know our secrets and you can use them against us. Or if we do win, to play the ‘I did my part to win this election’ card and demand favours from us.’
‘I don’t want any favours, and I’m not gathering secrets to use against you or Babalola. I’ll be complicit in whatever criminal activities I witness. You said it was important for me to compromise myself to gain your trust. Well, I will be doing just that.’
‘I know, and that is what bothers me. You are assured of our protection, you have already done us a great service, you can ask for anything, but you ask for this, why?’
‘Oga Ambrose, you just have to trust me.’
‘Me myself, I trust you, but it is my mind that does not trust you. Don’t take it personally, but I do not trust anyone; even the people I trust.’
Ambrose placed the tablet on the cushion between them and lay back on the sofa.
‘There are many ways to rig an election,’ he said.