Apartment 7 (4)

ARISHA 


The car is silent as Ladi commands the steering wheel with ease. I stifle the urge to steal another look at him as I have been doing since we left the apartment. This morning he was all business in his black shirt and brown pants when he came to knock on the door of the guest room to ask if I was ready to start heading for the newspaper house. I shift in my seat, feeling uncomfortable in the silence. I decide to break it.

“Abuja is a lot different from Lagos.”

Turning his face slightly towards me, Ladi decides to agree with a nod seconds later.

“Yes it is.”

I look sideways at the scant activity and few pedestrians from the rolled up window.

“It is sort of orderly and a little bit slow compared to Lagos.”

Ladi returns his attention to the road, leaning a little towards the wheel so that he is hunched over it as he appears to study the black Prado ahead of us. Done with his scrutiny minutes later, he looks at me.

“That is because Lagos is a commercial city. Abuja is more administrative than commercial, so the hustle and bustle is sort of restricted to Lagos.”

Under the spotlight of his eyes, I can only nod at his words. I start a frantic search for another engaging topic, but I come up empty. My bold quest for a conversation dies a natural death as his eyes continue to blink coolly at me behind the framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

“Okay.”

Nodding again, Ladi goes back to his driving. Feeling an escaped tendril of hair caress my face, I push it back into the loose bun at the nape of my neck and observe the landscape that blurs out as Ladi’s car picks up speed. Five minutes into my reflective mood, I swear I can feel eyes on me. Instinctively I turn towards Ladi, but I find him looking ahead. I berate my over active imagination, turn to the window and try to enjoy the muted sights and sounds of Abuja.

The newspaper house towers over me ten minutes later. Ladi pulls the car to a stop before a security guard in blue uniform standing in the middle of the road and waving a car reversing from the newspaper building towards the road. I press peer closely at the sign on the building. The compatriot.

I turn in my seat and smile at Ladi in gratitude.

“Thanks for the ride.”

Ladi nods slowly, his brows creasing slightly as he studies me. Reaching to unsnap the seatbelt cutting a path between my breasts, I grab my handbag sitting on the floor of the car, thank Ladi again, open the car door and make my way towards the security guard who is now talking to a man holding a brown manila envelop.

“God, I hope he is not watching me,” I say to myself, each self conscious step drawing me closer to the high black gates of the compatriot. Deep in my heart, I know the answer to my divine consultation. Ladi is watching me walk away.



                                          **********************************



LADI



I watch her walk away, feeling very much like a peeping Tom but unable to pull my eyes away from her mesmerizing figure. I knew I was in for a distraction when I knocked on her door this morning to ask if she was ready for our trip to the newspaper house. Her blue check shirt tucked into her blue jeans was open down two buttons, and the advantage of height meant I was treated to the sight of two mounds of soft skin straining tightly against the material of her shirt. It also didn't help that the jeans emphasized the roundness of her backside when she walked. I remember the drive to this place, and the moment I found myself staring at the swell of her chest while she looked outside the passenger window, and then hating myself afterward for it.

“She is just a distraction,” I mutter to myself, still watching her as she stops and talks to the overzealous security guard standing beside the gate while the man in red shirt, navy blue pants and a manila envelop appraises her in a way that stirs my primordial male instinct. I catch myself on time with another reprimand.

“Focus…Ladi…focus. She is not your girlfriend so you don’t care who stares at her body. You don’t want drama in your life again.”

Pushing the gear into drive, I pull the car into the road and speed towards my second destination for the day. The empty roads make my journey to Garki shorter and I spare a sympathetic thought for the hundreds of bus drivers denied a right to ply major roads in the city proper but I can’t help enjoying the freedom of not being caught in traffic.

When I get to the mint company, the fully armed and unsmiling soldiers perform their boot check after running the bomb detector under my car. Raising the barricade, I am waved to pass. The parking lot is a mere five feet and I find an empty space between a metallic gray Toyota Camry and a white Highlander. The security guards in the building give me a pat down and I sign in my entry into the visitor’s book. The lift takes me to the second floor and when I get to Mr. Uchendu’s office, I learn that he is busy with guests in his office.

“You can just wait,” his young secretary tells me, her smile friendly and openly inviting. I walk to the leather sofas facing her semi circular desk and sit down. A perusal of the newspapers on the glass coffee table sitting on sturdy looking wooden legs do little to ignite my interest and I am soon observing the serious face of the president and the central bank governor sitting side by side in framed portraits above the secretary’s desk.

“Err…hi!”

I look down to see the secretary giving me a coy smile and turning side-front-side in her swivel chair.

“Hi.”

Raising her hands, she pretends to sweep back the braids framing her face into a bun, effectively stretching her black silk shirt against her chest. When she thinks I have gotten the message, her arms drop back to the table and the braids fall back in place.

“Rita.”

I nod slowly at her but keep my face devoid of any interest. I am not interested in the heavily made up woman in front of me, “pleased to meet you Rita.”

“Your name?”

God no!

“Ladi.”

“Lah – dee,” she sings happily, giving me another coy smile. “I like the name.”

“Thanks.”

She opens her mouth to say something but she is cut short by Mr. Uchendu’s opening door. Two men in kaftan stroll out, Mr. Uchendu following closely and promising one of them a phone call. As soon as the men step out of the waiting area, Mr. Uchendu turns to me with a smile.

“Good morning.”

I stand up and pick the envelop containing the quotation. “Good morning.”

“Those were the president’s men again….from DPE,” Mr. Uchendu says, giving me a genial smile like an old friend as he holds the door to his office open. I step into the office, but Mr. Uchendu is still talking  “You know how these things work. Once the government controls the bulk share of a company, it wants always wants to be part of every action taken. With the government’s seventy seven percent stake, you would think the DPE would be less aggressive in their checks, but no.”

I don’t know what to do with this information, so I give a small nod as Mr.Uchendu laughs at his own joke. Standing beside one of the chairs at his desk, I wait as my host walks round his desk to claim his seat. My lack of response sends the wrong signal to Mr. Uchendu and the look on his face says he regrets his outburst as he waves me to one of the chairs with a strained smile.

“So the quotation?”

I hand over the envelop to Mr. Uchendu and he receives it from me with quiet thanks. I enjoy the silence as Mr. Uchendu pores over the papers he has pulled from the envelop. The opulent office is inviting with blue carpeting that looks as soft as it feels under my shoes. On the bookshelf behind Mr. Uchendu, several bound books which carry many of the country laws in their green-white-green covers sit in a neat line. The blinds sway slowly as the AC above it blows cool air into the room. The rustle of papers makes me look back to Mr. Uchendu. He is flipping the last sheet of paper back to its position.

“We will be getting back to you about this.”

“Okay.”

“Your uncle has been a good asset to Va Rue and the government.”

“Thank you.”

“The amount for the job is reasonable too. Polymer notes are expensive to produce.”

I smile at Mr. Uchendu but I am really thinking of how pleased Uncle Hassan will be to hear that I pulled this deal off.

“I was a little surprised to learn that your uncle handed over the negotiations to you,” Mr. Uchendu says, a friendly curiousity on his face.

“I work for him.”

“Hmmm, it was nice to meet you though.”

Mr. Uchendu relaxes back in his chair and gives me a rather warm smile.

“There is another party coming up. It will be nice if you come along…you know for business contacts and all.”

It is at the tip of my tongue to turn down this invitation like I turned down the last one, but I decide against it. Mr. Uchendu is integral to the success of my first project with my uncle’s company. There was no point snubbing his attempts at friendship.

“When is this party?”

“This coming Saturday.”

“Cool. Just text the address to me and I will be there.”

“Let me just write it down for you now,” Mr. Uchendu offers, picking a card from the gold plated card holder on the table and writing down on it. When he passes it to me, I look briefly down at it.

24 Haile Selassie street, Asokoro. 6 p.m

I slip the card into my breast pocket and stand up from the chair.

“I will see you then.”

“Yes,” Mr. Uchendu nods, standing up from his chair to walk me to the door. We shake hands and I step out into the reception area, the door closing behind me. His secretary hurriedly approaches me just as I try to make my escape from her office.

“Hey, Lah – dee,” she says, coming to stand before me in a cloud of strong perfume. Up close, I notice that she is quite attractive in her gray pencil skirt and sky high heels. She is holding a card in her hand. “Call me.”

I smile politely and lie. “I am not sure my fiancee will appreciate that.”

The woman is not deterred. Catching me by surprise, she leans and pushes the card into the breast pocket of my shirt where Mr. Uchendu’s card is resting.

“It is just a harmless call,” she says, standing back. “I am harmless.”



                                                *********************************



ARISHA


I open the apartment door and step inside. The living room is dark, so I reach for the switch beside the door and turn on the lights. Dragging my tired feet to the sofas, I pick one and throw myself on it.

“So tired…”

The memory of my latest acquisition comes to mind and I sit up to pull my bag towards me. Soon I hold up the small black recorder I purchased from the premises of the compatriot earlier this afternoon like a trophy, feeling proud with myself. Mr. Sunday had certainly being fast. Giving me a short test before I could spell out the last two letters of my name, putting me through two hours of discussing investigative journalism and showing me around the building later, he had been an eager teacher.

“You have what it takes to succeed in this field,” he told me this evening, taking my hand in a handshake as I prepared to leave this evening. “I should have an assignment for you in no time.”

I smile and lower the recorder to my side. Things are going better than I planned, and every day holds an adventure I look forward to. I wriggle my way out of my black ballet flats and sit lotus style on the sofa, staring at the blank television as my mind goes to Ladi.

“He is not so bad,” I tell the television with a shrug. “Maybe he is just quiet because he doesn't like me.”

The words leave a sting and I wonder why the fact that Ladi might be immune to my female charms should hurt so much. He is still a stranger.

“He is not entitled to like me,” I confide in the television again. “I am just a temporary flat mate.”

The sound of a key turning in a lock makes me turn to the door. Ladi?

“Hi,” Ladi says cordially, walking into the living room.

“Hello.”

Ladi seems to struggle with himself before asking if I have had dinner. I inform him that I arrived at the apartment a few minutes ago. He looks at my bag beside me and nods.

“I am thinking of going down the road for pizza,” he says, beginning to walk to his room. He stops beside the dining table. “Are you interested?”

I think of my pepper stew which is now frozen to a solid cylindrical block in a bowl in the freezer compartment of the fridge, and decide that pride is no reason to end up in the toilet with stomach ache this evening.

“Yes.”

“Okay, give me some minutes.”

Alone, I untangle my legs from underneath me, and reach for the strap of my bag.

“I better go and change before he returns.”

I push the two fingers of my right hand into the back of the flats and lift them up, but a knock stops me in my tracks. I lower the flats back to the floor as the knocking begins again, impatient this time.



                                            ************************************



LADI



I stand in the middle of the room, feeling renewed anger at my sister’s decision to give my ex girlfriend the address to the apartment.

“I am sorry about this Ladi, but she called me over an hour ago to say that her flight has landed in Abuja,” Halima said when she called a few minutes earlier. “I think she is on her way to the apartment now.”

Reaching for my cuff links, I begin the task of getting out of my clothes. I am at the wardrobe when I hear the living room door open. I tense automatically and listen to what seems to be two female voices talking. I recognize her voice almost immediately. Taking my time to sort through my clothes in the wardrobe, I prepare myself for meeting her face to face for the first time since that night.

The two women stand opposite each other when I walk back to the living room. Much of Arisha’s face is hidden from me, but I can see from her side profile that her usually cheerful face is stony. I know Raina must have said something. I hurry towards them to salvage whatever is left of the situation.

“Ladi.”

I cross my arms against my chest and frown at Raina. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

Her face falling, she begins to approach me, but I need to put some distance between us, so I step back.

“Don’t…” I warn her quietly and she falters in her steps, her eyes glistening with tears.

“I came to work on our relationship Ladi.”

“I told you it was over.”

“It is not for me.”

“Well, it is for me.”

“I still love you.”

I shake my head, more at myself than at Raina. My reaction to her declaration is not comforting. The part of me that yearns to reclaim what we used to have wakes up and demands my patience, but I know how dangerous that is. I am not about to give her a third chance to walk all over my heart. Two times had been enough.

“It won’t change how I feel about you right now.”

Sitting down on one of the sofas and staring at me with her wide doe eyes, Raina is a picture of dejection.

“I will be here for some weeks,” Raina announces in a small voice. “Maybe we can work things out?”

“You are not staying here for some weeks Raina…not even for tonight.”

“What?!”

“I wasn’t informed of your intention to visit.”

Raina seems to remember Arisha who is now trying to steal away from the living room, shoe and bag in hand.

“Is it because of her?”



                                                  ***********************************



ARISHA



I turn slowly to the beautiful and obviously heartbroken woman in a floor length maxi dress, hair that falls past her shoulders and designer travelling bags that are propped against the wall beside the door. Now she is looking at me, her eyes icy and lips curled in contempt.

“Tell me Ladi,” she says, approaching me slowly, her eyes on me even though she is addressing Ladi. “Is she your new girlfriend?”

I shake my head. “No. I am…” I look to Ladi for help, but Ladi is looking at the woman who is slowly stalking me, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. “I am just staying here for a while.”

“You are not staying here,” the woman says, almost snarling at me.

“Raina!”

The woman stops and looks back at Ladi, a pout on her well shaped lips.

“You already found someone to sleep with,” she says, her voice breaking.

Ladi marches towards us, and clamps a determined hand over her arm.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

His hand still on her arm, Ladi picks her bags effortlessly with his free hand, stopping briefly to work the door open. The woman says something in Hausa and Ladi gives a terse reply in English, but they step out into the stairwell before I get a chance to hear what he said.

I am still standing rooted to the spot and still trying to understand how I managed to get caught up in Ladi’s love story when the door opens and Ladi returns and walks straight to his room. He is back in no time, car key in hand as he strolls out again, without looking in my direction.

As soon as the shock wears off, my legs begin to work again and I let them carry me to the guest room. I think I am going to have an early night.



                                          ***********************************



LADI



The living room is in darkness when I return. I balance the carton in the palm of my right hand and reach with my left hand to shut the door.

“Probably asleep,” I whisper to myself, making out the door of the guest room in the dark. I knock gently on the door when I reach it. No answer. I try again, and this time I can hear some faint shuffling from the other end of the door. Arisha is bright eyed when she peers at me through the small crack of the door she has opened.

I extend the carton towards her, “pizza.”

She looks from me to the carton, wariness in her eyes. At last she sighs and opens the door a little wider for me to see that the rest of the room is in darkness and she is wearing an oversized T-shirt is big enough to cover the curves under it.

“You should not have bothered.”

“I am hungry too.”

“Okay.”

I take one step forward. “Can I come in?”

Arisha looks down at herself and an excuse begins to form on her lips but I don’t give her time.

“You have nothing to fear Arisha.”

Arisha holds the door completely open for me to walk through. Apart from the creased sheets on the bed, everything else is in well arranged and neat. Holding her shirt awkwardly, Arisha sits cross legged on the bed and watches me. I lower the carton to the bed and sit down.

“I want to apologize for what happened back there.

Arisha nods and says,

“Is she the reason you don’t smile so much?”



                                                 **************************************



ARISHA



The guarded look is back in his eyes and I know I have struck a nerve.

“Sorry.”

He shrugs and picks a slice of pizza. “You did not do anything wrong.”

I tug a hot piece of pizza loose from the sliced circle in the carton and lift it to my mouth. I begin to chew, my eyes on him.

“Where is she…your girlfriend?”

“My ex,” Ladi corrects firmly. “And she is in hotel now.”

We sit and eat in companionable silence and after the third slice, I give up on the pizza. Standing up from the bed and holding the edges of the T-shirt away from my body, I tell Ladi I want to get water from the kitchen. He covers the rest of the pizza and follows after me. In the kitchen we work side by side each other, and sometimes I steal glances at him. His face is still contemplative as he arranges the carton of pizza into the fridge.

“Goodnight,” I tell him with a smile. “And thank you for dinner.”

Ladi moves his lips half way as if in a smile and then turns to the door.

“And…”

He steps out into the dark living room before turning to face me.

“You are…cute too.”

Did I just say that?

Apparently I did because Ladi stands there watching me before slowly turning on his heel and melting into the darkness.



                                            *****************************************



LADI



I lie back on my bed and watch the ceiling. I can still hear her voice in my head.

You are cute. You are cute. You are cute.

I close my eyes and try to sleep. It is too early to like her. I am still not over Raina yet. I think.