She tried recalling the events of the previous night – the bonfire, the red-haired girl, the dances and the proposal. In the morning light, the ring gleamed. She considered the decision, and wondered how it could affect the course of her life. What effect might this have on her project, she wondered.
The jarring ring of her phone jerked her out of her thoughts. She clicked the receiver button.
“Good morning, Tima,” Kambi said, with a loud yawn. “I’ve sent the first batch of poems. Did …”
“Yes, I got your e-mail. But what’s this news I’m hearing about you being engaged?”
Kambi stuttered, ran her fingers through her locks of hair. Why am I wearing his shirt?
“Who told you I was engaged?”
Oh shit! And I am lying in his bed. But where is he? I’ve been so high!
“I know people who live and work at Obudu. It’s a small town. Word spreads fast, Kambi.”
“Oh.”
“Surely this wasn’t part of the plan,” she muttered as she checked herself. Bra still hooked. Check. Panties still on. Check. But could she be sure?
“Oh? Should I regard the news as fact or fiction?”
“People talk too much,” Kambi said. A heavy silence hung like the morning fog between them. Tima would be disappointed if she told her the truth. Out of obligation, she added, “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
Kambi heard Tima heave a sigh of relief.
“You mustn’t forget the deadline for the prize,” she said. “You’ll have to send them at the end of each day. I think you should stop seeing that guy. He’s a distraction.”
“But my writing has changed a bit since I met him. You said so yourself.”
“I did? Was I exaggerating? Perhaps. But this project has to be given priority over everything else. Period!”
Kambi pulled at her hair. She wanted to scream insults into the phone. But then she saw Beba and her jaw dropped. Tray in hand, he was walking into the room, grinning.
Putting her index finger across her lips, Kambi urged him to be quiet. She nodded into the phone and said, “Noted. I shall send them as you have requested.” The line went dead.
“Morning, Candy,” Beba said, setting down the tray he was carrying.
So he has returned to calling me Candy. Why is he glowing?
“Good morning, Bee,” Kambi said, smiling. “You’re wearing an apron?”
“I made us breakfast,” he said, gesturing to the tray of tea, sardines, eggs, oats and toast.
He shouldn’t have bothered. But how sweet of him to have made me breakfast. Victor could never make breakfast; only trouble.
Rich as Beba was, Kambi knew that he could easily have got his chef to do the cooking and serving. Or he could have ordered a takeaway from Terrace. Clearly, he was trying to make an impression.
Staring at him intently, she thanked him. “What happened last night?” Worry lines appeared on her forehead as she quizzed him.
I remember the dance, the drop-dead gorgeous red-haired ex-girlfriend, and, vaguely, the ring; but nothing about how I got into your shirt and your bed.
“Last night was beautiful and … eventful,” he crooned, pouring hot milk from the jug.
Then he said, “You capped it by vomiting all over your clothes. They’re in the washing machine right now.” He pointed to the jar of white cubes. “Sugar?” he asked and she shook her head. “I had to bring you here so that I could monitor you all through the night. And I wanted a chance to actually bring you breakfast in bed. Don’t worry about your rules. I will never violate a single one of them. You kept muttering them in your sleep.”
She sipped her glass of warm milk and smiled. “A girl has got to look out for herself. These principles or rules, as you call them, are supposed to help protect my dignity. You men are predators, hunters …”
“I’m not trying to hunt you, am I?”
“Who knows?”
Kambi stared at Beba’s smiling face. He ran his fingers through his hair.
What woman in her right mind would stop seeing such a wonderful man because her bossy agent wants her to complete a project, Kambi wondered. She could feel the tension between them as they looked into each other’s eyes.
“So we have to take you shopping. My father loves clothes made from print material,” he said.
Kambi stared at him; her eyes widened and her head tilted to one side. “Print wax? Like Ankara?”
“Yes,” Beba said.
Kambi wanted to protest, but she had come this far and agreed to help him. She would have loved to wear her own clothes, but she didn’t have any outfits made of African print wax.
Whenever she saw Kaycee’s Woodin and Vlisco designs, she was awestruck by their sheer beauty. Yet she never found the time to shop for the materials and send them to the tailor. Beba’s words broke her train of thought.
“… The driver will take us to Tinapa to buy print cloths,” he said. “Then, a tailor in Calabar will sew them as soon as possible. We have only a few days.”
“My old friend Kaycee lives in Calabar. She makes lovely clothes. We could check out her designs online. I’d like her to make the clothes,” Kambi said, reaching for her handbag, which was lying across the room. She whipped out the small notepad and pen she always carried around. She tore out a page and wrote down Kaycee’s website address.
“Kaycee’s fashion website,” she said, as she handed the paper to Beba. Standing up, she breathed out deeply. He ironed her half-dry clothes while she cleared away their breakfast table.
He dropped her off at her chalet.
***
Back in her room, she felt unfathomably light-hearted, but she didn’t rationalise it too much. She unpacked her handbag and found six missed calls on her phone – all from Diana. She wondered why she hadn’t heard the phone ringing in her bag. Kambi hadn’t spoken to her sister in a while, but she couldn’t return her calls just yet. She wasn’t in the mood for a long conversation, so she sent a text message and switched off the phone.
She spent most of the day writing long poems. She didn’t notice the hours passing.
During brief breaks, she uploaded short prose poems not meant for the collection onto her blog – poems about the bonfire party and the engagement proposal. The characters were fictional and quite enigmatic. She didn’t want to reveal crucial details of the plan. While she would have liked to tell it all to her readers, she didn’t want to be judged for her unconventional ways.
Who knew what harm it could do to Beba’s chances of finding his mother?
***
The sun was high up in the sky when Kambi and Beba arrived in Tinapa to select suitable print wax materials. After an hour of arguing on which they should buy, Kambi phoned Kaycee. But, by the time Kaycee arrived, Beba had paid for five different patterns, and so they continued their arguments at her fashion studio in Calabar town.
Kambi was enjoying every part of their bickering. She found that she was drawn to men who encouraged her openness; men who allowed her to express herself. Talking to Beba was even more exciting because he was a good listener. And when he fought, he fought fair; he never resorted to name-calling.
But Kaycee didn’t impose her ideas on them. She was adept in marketing her designs and services. Having ensured her guests were comfortably seated, she allowed them to talk about their expectations. Occasionally, she intervened and suggested the most suitable designs for Kambi’s figure. Kambi was impressed by her friend’s business skills.
At 28, Kaycee ran her own fashion business. And, in spite of all the stiff competition, she still managed to do well.
“I’m proud of your accomplishments,” said Kambi. They both laughed.
Kaycee couldn’t give her a high five, because she didn’t want to disturb the apprentice who was taking Kambi’s measurements. Instead, they made small talk. Kaycee oohed and aahed at the beauty of the engagement ring.
“You’re really engaged to that gorgeous man? How come?” Kaycee whispered, cupping her chubby face in her palms. Her fair-complexioned face contrasted with Kambi’s dark-brown skin.
“I heard he has an interesting track record. I heard …” Kaycee said.
“You’re always hearing rumours. I like him. Keep your rumours to yourself,” Kambi replied, smiling politely.
“What has Diana said about it?” Kaycee asked.
“I haven’t told her yet. It isn’t what you think. Please keep it to yourself,” Kambi said. She knew Kaycee’s strengths, but keeping secrets wasn’t one of them.
“I don’t understand you,” she replied. “But he looks …” Kambi tuned her out. Briefly, she craned her neck.
Beba was standing outside the shop, speaking into his phone.
The apprentice got all the measurements. Kaycee showed Kambi and Beba the design they had agreed on.
“But I could change it slightly, if I think up a better design,” Kaycee said as she wrote down the prices.
Beba collected the bill. And Kaycee promised that the outfits would be ready in a matter of days.
Before they left Calabar for the mountain resort, Kaycee whispered into Kambi’s ear, “Better hold on to this one.” She gestured towards Beba with her nose. “Hold on – either by hook or by crook.”
Kambi laughed. It was the kind of thing Diana would have said. “I thought you said he was a philanderer,” said Kambi.
“Having observed him for a few hours, I’d say he’s not as bad as I heard he was. And he seems to adore you. Just feels right, that’s all.”
Kambi laughed and climbed into the car.