WHORE Of BABYLON (Episode 2)

“Kamsi!” I scream my sister’s name with no small amount of exasperation.

I am looking for something and she’s usually the culprit for missing items from my room. At just eight years of age, the girl keeps making me wish Senator Yerima will come and marry her off our hands.

“Kamsi!”

“Yes,” she hollers back from somewhere in the house. “I heard you the first time!”

I just know she rolled her eyes as she said that.

Kamsi and I are very much alike despite the twelve years difference and two siblings between us. She has my quick temper, sharp mouth, and is very well a bitch in the works. And because two bitches can’t exist successfully in one family, I am pretty sure she has a diary where she pens down the days and number of slaps she has received from me for being catty.

“Where’s my make-up kit?” I snap at her as she emerges into the corridor. I plant my hands akimbo, a stern ‘tell-a-lie-and-die’ expression on my face.

“I don’t know.”

“Kamsi –”

“I don’t know joor. How am I sup –”

“Just hush it abeg. You can go.” I wave my hand dismissively at her. No need to give her the opportunity to rile me up further.

Grumpily, I stalk over to my siblings’ room and pick up the powder bottle. I pat a modicum of the powder on my face, still smarting that it isn’t my IMAN brown talc that I’m applying. Then I apply a generous amount of lip balm, slip on my alligator sandals, pick up my cross-bag and leave for my appointment, making a mental note to turn down the house in search of my kit when I return.

Who knows? Sage may just like you better this way.

I cringe at the repulsive thought. God forbid that I do anything to please that asshole.

It is 4:58 pm when I walk across the tarred compound upon which Celebrities is built. I get in and look around, searching for the familiar rugged face. The place is scanty except for an elderly couple playing lovey-dovey in one corner. I roll my eyes heavenward at the sight of that. Can’t you two just die and finish up the romance in heaven?

I am about to get out my phone to call Sage when I spot him waving his hands in my direction, a drink in the other hand. A quick onceover show him looking nice in a body-hugging black polo and denim trousers.

Then again, don’t they sell this kind of polo shirts at Okrika stores? And that had better be juice he is drinking and not soft drink.

I get to his table and pull out a chair. I get seated and then look hard at him to find something remotely expensive that he has on.

Nothing!

Oh church!

And to worsen the situation, he finally speaks. “You are looking really good. Less is more.”

The compliment is arch and I look a thunder at him. It just had to be today that I really wanted to go all Caitlyn Jenner on this femmephobic retard that my make-up bag decided to get lost, okwaya?

“Ah-ah, smile na, I was just complimenting you” he says with a grin.

I smile mechanically at him, and then look away from him and around the room to see if there is any better market seated nearby.

The resentment I feel for this boy is too much biko.

A few moments of awkward silence pass before I turn my wooden face to him. “Couldn’t you at least order something for me? Or is that much to ask for?” Disdain drips from my voice as I speak.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and gestures for a waiter. “You seriously need to chill with me,” he adds.

When hell freezes over!

The waiter gets a Malt for me, and a few more moments of silence elapse. As I sip my drink, I observe him from under my lashes. He looks a bit uncomfortable, that cross between the uneasiness of being seen with me in a public place and the yearning of someone who just can’t help it.

I chuckle at the thought.

He hears the sound and turns to look at me, his brows raised, as though encouraging me to say what’s on my mind.

Yea, sure, be there waiting for me to start a conversation. Mumu!

He clearly looks like he doesn’t know what to say to me. Conversations are never a problem with me, but I’m not about to help him out.

So we sit there, sipping our drinks and saying nothing. Finally, I get bored with the atmosphere and break the silence that is starting to eat into my soul. “So where are we doing it – Presidential Hotel or…?”

He gives a start in his seat, clearly incredulous at my bluntness. His mouth opens and his Adam’s apple bobs as his vocal chords struggle to formulate his response.

“Um…uh –”

“I know you didn’t call me here to come and buy me Maltina. So are you going to talk or do I have to get up and leave?”

He guffaws, and then leans forward in his seat. “I have always liked your boldness.”

You don’t say.

“Pity, I’ve never liked anything about you,” I retort.

He laughs again. Clearly, he finds my insolence amusing. “Ah, nawa to you o, Sizikora.”

Just then, my phone rings. I answer the call at once. “Hello?”

“Hey baby, remember me?” a heavily-Igbo-accented voice reaches me from the other end.

“I’m sorry, who am I speaking with?” I query even though I recognize the voice.

I turn slightly away from Sage, my body language a total disregard of his presence.

He gets up and I hear him mutter something about going to pee. But I pay no attention to him as my caller says, “Is me na, Ferdinand. We meet together at Loban stores the previous day.”

Jesus! No, this is bad. How can he say a period of almost two months is ‘the previous day’?

I sigh as I settle into market selling mode. “Oh, Ferdie baby! You decided to remember me today, abi?”

“No na, baby, not like that. Appointments everywhere. Travel up and down. I just come back to Nigeria sef.”

Ah! Mogbe! A traveler? Woh, Sage, bye-bye!

“Hmm, that’s really good,” I say coolly, ever the classy lady.

“So where are you now – school?” Ferdinand asks.

“No, my school is on strike.”

“Okay. I want to see you.”

“No problem. When?”

“This evening – like around 7 or 8.”

“Where?”

“Universal Hotel.”

Oshey!

“I’ll be there.”

“Thank you, baby.”

I disconnect the call just as Sage returns to the table. Oddly, he looks different. Happier.

“Who was that?” he says as he sits down.

See question o!

“Please, don’t be stupid,” I reply with a sardonic chuckle.

“Huh?”

“You heard me. You have no business with the calls I receive or make.”

He shakes his head and gives a short mirthless laugh.

I get up to leave and he shoots out his hand to hold me. I recoil from him.

“We’re not done, Sizikora,” he says.

“Yes, we are, Sage.”

I turn, flip my imaginary weave, and saunter out of the eatery, making sure to give my hips an extra swivel, just in case he’s watching.

On my way out of the eatery, I walk past a soldier who I fucked with one time when I went to my uncle’s house in Abakpa. Strong man, large dick, and no cash. I feel his steady stare on me as I walk on, not even acknowledging his presence. One shag and I tossed him into my bin. Cashless policy has no hold in my life.

I cross to the other side of the road and flag down a cab. Destination: Universal Hotel.

Written by Delle