Three

The music changed.

Kambi closed her eyes, and swayed her head to the soft tunes of the Soweto String Quartet. The jazz music led her to imagine a waltz with Beba to the smooth melody. While they waltzed, she pictured Beba supporting her chin and kissing her. How fatal would such an adventure be? What if Beba kissed her, with his pink, sensuous lips? It would be sweet, warm and so … Don’t even dream about doing something so silly. Kambi smiled and shook her head and snapped out of her daydreaming.

No room for love until the poetry collection had been completed. She had to get her priorities right. Fulfilling her book contract was more important to her. Only a handful of poets would be remembered after they passed on and she wanted to be one of them. Again, the text from her agent had informed her of the $100,000 NLNG literary awards coming up the next year for the poetry category. The deadline was in just a few weeks’ time. Much as she would have liked a brief romance in this haven, she reminded herself – as she’d taken to doing lately – of how much her dreams and hard work might be jeopardised.

Again, she shook her head. Pride wouldn’t let her throw herself at a man whose advances she’d once turned down. But now she felt a stronger attraction to him. They could remain close friends, but how close was too close for comfort?

He might be a distraction, but I can balance work and love, she thought. And who’s talking about love? Good God!

The voice in her head won the argument. She couldn’t handle a dalliance!

She smoothed out the creases of her dress. Murmurs floated round the restaurant. Her heart swelled with a strange sense of joy, of hopefulness. It was unlike all the despair that had enveloped her in the past eight months, when bile and sadness had threatened to choke the life out of her.

Beba returned and handed her a brown jacket. Kambi looked into his face and admired its sheen. His big blue eyes stared back with their usual charm. She took the jacket from him. Their hands brushed. She closed her eyes for a few precious seconds in order to preserve the moment.

“Here’s a torch. I brought you an umbrella, but I must warn you: it will be of little use to you.” He dangled his keys. “Let me drop you off. Where are you staying?”

“In one of the new chalets,” Kambi said, turning away to heave a sigh of relief.

“Nice place,” he said. He was grinning now. “I’ll drop you. I’ve closed for the day. My cousin’s assistant will take over from where I’ve left off.”

Kambi nodded.

A lady squealed somewhere in the restaurant. Startled, they looked up and saw a young man leaning over to slip a ring on the lady’s finger. The stone in the ring caught a glint of light and glimmered. Kambi smiled when the newly engaged couple kissed.

“Good for them,” Beba said. Then he snapped his fingers as though he had only just remembered. “I saw your wedding invitation on Facebook, about 11 months ago. Broke my heart.” He let out a nervous chuckle.

Kambi frowned as she felt a knot of panic in her stomach. Memories of her engagement flooded her mind.

“Well, congrats.” Beba squeezed her hand as they walked to the door. Kambi shuddered. Lines appeared on Beba’s forehead. Had he got so carried away that he hadn’t noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring?

In anger, her mouth twisted and barked, “For what?”

“I meant, ugh,” he stuttered, “congrats on the announced engagement.”

Kambi paused. “The wedding, the engagement,” she said, “it didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry. I should have looked at your finger.” He frowned again, and shook his head.

Kambi studied his new demeanour with keen interest. There was a hint of relief, a latent excitement about his reaction to her misfortune. What could that mean? Did Beba plan to make a move?

“It doesn’t matter any more. I’m over it.” She waved a hand to dismiss his assumption that she needed his pity. She hated to be pitied; she was a survivor. That was a better way to see it.

When she discovered that Victor had eloped with her maid of honour, she had felt weak and worthless. With time, her loss of self-esteem affected her productivity. Now, she was becoming a pain in her agent’s neck (she reminded herself to send a text message with the new SIM number). Her manager at the radio station was also getting concerned. Once, he had invited her into his office to tell her how many of their listeners had complained that she was losing her confident panache for broadcasting. And so, her boss had been happy to let her go on the much-needed holiday. Kambi hoped the process of completing the book would rebuild her confidence.

“How could he not have fought for your love? I would hold on tight, if I had you in my life. I can’t imagine anyone letting you go,” Beba said.

Kambi smiled and exhaled. If he knew how complicated that relationship was … If he learned about how her groom had taken off with her maid of honour … If only Beba knew that the runaway groom was trying to make a legendary comeback …

Kambi pushed aside all thoughts of her past love life. She wanted so much to move on.

Huddled under the large umbrella, they strode towards Beba’s car. The wind howled. She apologised and clutched his arm for support. He brushed off her apologies with a cursory ‘no problem’ and held her hunched shoulder. She tensed and relaxed after two steps. With each stride they took, Kambi became more convinced he was right about the near-uselessness of an umbrella. The wind blew raindrops in their faces regardless. Like drunkards, they tottered in the rain and fog.

As Kambi got into the car, the synthetic aroma of lavender air freshener struck her. “Thank you,” she said.

“Mention it, please,” he joked.

“What?” she asked, a little shocked and amused at his show of immodesty.

“You said ‘thank you’ and I begged you to mention it,” he said, laughing.

“Oh.” The car whined to life. His headlights bounced back the fog ineffectually. Kambi gasped, frightened by the poor level of visibility.

“I can’t even see the back of my hand.” She lifted her hand to her face. Turning to stare at him, she frowned in a genuine show of concern.

“It’s not so bad. It’s the road back home,” he said, driving slowly. “I’ll stick to my lane. People are civil here. No-one parks their vehicles on the side of the road.”

Kambi relaxed and closed her eyes. The car rolled to a stop. He hissed and tried the ignition. The car groaned and groaned but didn’t start. He kicked the brakes and apologised.

“Good God!” he said. “Must be the battery.”

He opened the bonnet and bent over. Kambi looked about and remembered that night in Owerri town, how the cult boys had accosted her on that lonely lane, how she screamed herself hoarse as they dragged her down a bush path. It was almost a night like this, only not as cold. Back then, Beba had taken charge. Now, she was prepared. She felt the can of pepper spray in her bag beside the pocketknife she usually carried around with her.

Kambi got out of the car and joined him. Only the hazy headlights and the streetlamps were providing any light, so she was surprised to find him tinkering with the engine in the dimly lit street.

She fished the torch he’d given her out of her bag and switched on the light.

“Thanks for the light,” he said. She nodded. Because of the cold, she had to clench her teeth to keep from chattering.

Behind the wheel again, he tried to start the engine. It whined and whined and stopped. After three tries, he gave up.

“Sorry. But we’re really close. We can walk.”

Kambi thought that he sounded disappointed. He muttered something that sounded like, “I should have driven the new sports car.”

Kambi nodded, picked up her bag, and shut the door.

They walked along the quiet streets and listened to the cacophony of sounds from the rainforest. She was unhappy that the cold had reduced her to a mere agama lizard who could only nod. She wanted to chat but her teeth wouldn’t part. It would be too embarrassing to gnash her teeth or chatter uncontrollably. She hoped he wouldn’t think that she hadn’t changed, that she didn’t want anything more than just friendship.

They walked side by side – almost huddling together like teenage lovers – her steps falling in line with his. Kambi was uncomfortable with this arrangement because she kept stepping on his shoes. Although she apologised each time this happened, she felt annoyed with her feet. Then she realised that she was worrying too much about the thought of him judging her.

Although cold, she decided to start a conversation to take the edge off the effects of her awkward feet.

“This plateau,” she said, and paused because their shoulders had brushed and he grunted something that sounded like “hmm”.

“Obudu is really far from every major city in the country.” She raised her voice a notch because he had slowed down and moved his head towards her.

“It’s five hours from Calabar,” he replied.

“More like five hours, forty-five minutes from Calabar.”

“Bad roads?”

She shook her head and stepped on his shoes again. This time, Kambi patted him lightly on his back to apologise. Then, she skipped to his side.

“Actually, when we were coming, the cab driver veered off a tarred road at Ikom. Before we knew it, we were in Cameroon. Without visas or passports.”

Kambi laughed, looked up, and caught his lips turning upwards into a smile. She enjoyed looking at his profile. His chiselled chin jutted out below his smooth pink lips as they pressed together and stretched up towards his dimpled cheek.

“Didn’t you get stopped by the immigration officers?” he asked.

“Trust me, we just drove through the border. There was not even a single person there to stop us. I was surprised to receive a text from MTN Cameroon, welcoming me and wishing me a productive stay.”

“Really?” He stretched his hands for a second.

“Yes. And even the driver got the message. So, we parked the car and asked a farmer where we were.” Kambi paused and twitched her nose to suppress a sneeze.

“And the farmer said?” he prodded impatiently. Kambi imagined he was trying to picture a tall middle-aged man striding along the roads with his soiled clothes and a hoe hanging from his shoulder.

“You’re in Cameroon!” Kambi said, mimicking the farmer’s gruff voice. “That’s what the farmer told us.”

“Interesting adventure. But it’s unlikely that you could have slipped into Yaounde.”

“Oh well … But what if we’d got to Yaounde unnoticed?” Kambi said.

They had arrived at Kambi’s door. She clutched her bag of food and shivered as she fiddled with the keys.

“May I?” he asked as she passed him the takeaway bag.

She unlocked the door, turned, and thanked him for offering to help. Smiling, she stepped into the dimly lit living room.

“Come in, please,” she said in a bid to be courteous.

***

He drew closer and put one foot in the door. Then he stopped and looked up.

“Thank you for walking me,” she said.

He watched her bend over a table as she unpacked her takeaway.

“I like this place already. I wish there was a radio station here so I could live here and continue my broadcasting and spoken-word poetry.” She looked up. Their eyes met. A shiver ran down her spine and she looked away.

“A transmitting station would be nice. It’d be soothing to hear your voice, every day. On the radio, I mean.”

Kambi smiled.

“I should get going,” he said.

“Can you find your way through this thick fog?”

“My instincts will guide me. They’ve never failed me.”

***

A moment later, from the corner of her eye, she saw him walk back from the door into the living room and stride towards her. Her eyes widened and shut again. He held her shoulders and pressed his lips to hers in a deep, warm, lingering kiss.

Shocked into stillness, she parted her lips and opened her eyes. It was real: Beba was kissing her in her living room. A soft moan escaped from her throat. There was nothing brash or annoying about the way his lips pleasured hers. His kiss was more tantalising than it had been that one time they’d kissed in his car and she’d pushed him away. But she couldn’t stop him now … No, stop him. Stop him! What are you doing? the soft voice in her head cried.

She lifted up her hands in protest and then dropped them.

With both her arms resting on his broad chest, her fingers inched up slowly and locked behind his neck. The tempo rose and her body shivered. Lost in the throes of wild kisses, her mind stopped working. She didn’t notice when his hands slid down her waist, didn’t notice as they caressed her back.

Her hands pawed down at his muscular chest, and she leaned closer. She moved her hands up to his neck and stroked his chin. She moaned again and her hands pulled his face closer. I’m losing myself in this … wonderful kiss. Kambi stop, stop … why?

She knew that she would regret this when the kiss ended. Oh, how she wanted this kiss to never end …

She liked the way he propped her up, the way he pulled her body closer to him as his soft lips brushed and teased hers, inviting her to savour him. It’s only a kiss, she told herself. Must it mean something? But, this would definitely be memorable. More memorable than any kiss she’d ever had. Her knees grew weaker and she almost felt them buckling. What a sweet, tingling sensation, she thought as she pulled her head away.

He smiled at her, exhaled in her face and she shuddered. A magnetic force locked them together again.

Diana had to be wrong. Or had there really always been a sexual attraction between them?

Lost in her thoughts, she pinched his left ear.

“Ouch!” he groaned, stepping back.

She felt her creative muse rejuvenate. A poem could be born from this kiss.

“I’m sorry, but you have to leave,” she said as she rummaged through her bag for a pen and a notepad. She felt the poem passing through her. She stamped her feet in impatience, aware of Beba’s eyes on her.

Beba chuckled, “Too soon for you? Sorry, Kambi,” he said.

She searched her mind for polite words to dismiss him, but she couldn’t find any. They had both participated in the kiss. Hadn’t they both moaned in excitement? Her jaw dropped; her eyebrows arched. The notepad was open now and she was wielding the pen in her hand.

What were the first words?

“Kambi, is everything fine? Can we sit and discuss something?”

Does he want to make a sexual proposition? Men always did that.

Her right hand waved him away. He would learn that she was a different kind of woman. And why the hell was he standing there, staring as though he was on a mission to stop her?

She sat at the table and wrote down the first two lines.

Beba walked towards her. She panicked and shut the book. Had she lost the rest of the poem?

“Ugh,” Kambi’s shoulders dropped in exhaustion. If the poem whizzed through her, up the mountain and down the valley, then she’d lose it.

Her creative process wasn’t always like this. Sometimes she had to work doggedly to write her poems. But there were times when she had whole poems dropped into her consciousness. Those poems usually tugged at the strings of her heart.

“Am I interrupting?” Beba asked, taking her hand in his.

“Yes. Yes. Please …” Kambi put up her hands and covered her face. “How do I explain this?”

She couldn’t tell him about her book deal, nor could she tell him about her deadlines. Didn’t discussing a work-in-progress bring bad luck? And what if she didn’t succeed? Then, she would probably feel obliged to discuss her failure.

“You can always talk to me,” Beba said. “If you ever need a patient ear, a shoulder to cry on …”

“That’s the problem!” she shouted, stamping her feet as she charged towards the door. The poem seemed to be receding and returning. She grabbed the notepad and rushed into the bedroom. As she wrote, she heard Beba asking if she was alright. She ignored him.

Five minutes later, she came out heaving a sigh of relief that the poem had come out intact.

“Are you alright now?” He smoothed her hair. She nodded slightly.

“Good! I assumed it was the food at Terrace,” Beba said, holding her hand and walking to the couch.

“No. No. It’s not the food. I only had a few spoons of rice. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“Alright, then. Here’s my number.” He handed her a business card. “Keep in touch, please.” He felt her temperature with the back of his hand. “You need to rest. Good night.”

He thrust his hands in his pockets and left the house. She locked the door behind him.

She leaned on the door and listened to his footsteps dissolving into the quiet, foggy night.

She bit her lip and reflected on the kiss they had just shared and the poem she had written. Then she noticed he’d left his jacket resting on the back of a chair. She looked at the business card he’d pressed into her palm.

Kambi liked the way he made her feel. But she hadn’t forgotten how much it hurt to open up oneself to a rush of pleasurable emotions. Hadn’t she decided she wouldn’t get involved with any man just yet?

Kambi wondered if she could have her cake and eat it too? Just a holiday treat, which would end soon?

No, she wouldn’t be swayed by the irresistible Beba.