Chapter 6: Missing Heroines and Lucky Draws

Maybe that person talk wrong, or the beads for him hand no be the one I give am.

I dey try calm myself. Fit be say e get other padi. Maybe the thing na trend now.

I sit for the party, vex, chop ten strawberry cupcakes as I dey think.

Strawberry dey sweet, but wahala dey bitter like bitterleaf. I dey munch like person wey dey count sorrow.

After I finish, I catch one worker, ask:

I pull am for sleeve, lower voice, form like person wey dey do inside gist.

“Una get Simi Adeola for your company?”

I use soft voice. My eye dey scan for gist.

The person face change.

I notice the way him brow raise. E look me, hiss small.

“I never see her before.”

Na only three words, but the coldness dey like Harmattan breeze. The guy waka sharp, like say I ask for jazz seller.

He drop three words, waka go.

My mind dey drum like masquerade for village square. Something dey fishy.

I catch another, ask the same thing: “You see Simi Adeola?”

I dey follow anybody wey pass. This time na lady wey carry file, but she pause, look up.

The person think small, shake head: “No, never.”

She waka go sharp sharp, dey avoid wahala.

I ask five people—nobody know her.

At this point, my worry don turn real fear. How heroine go disappear for story?

Strange.

Na wah. E resemble film trick. For Naija, if story no straight, e mean say person dey hide something.

Simi Adeola na heroine—future Mrs. Nwachukwu.

The babe suppose dey hot for city now, dey shine for TV, dey ball for Instagram.

She suppose meet Jide Nwachukwu and fall for am three years ago.

That na the way story suppose go. Why e come bend like this?

How come nobody know her?

For this Abuja, if person dey trend, even cleaner go sabi. But today, everywhere dry.

Na so confusion dey start for African movie. My spirit dey shake.

I dey reason, dey chop my eleventh cupcake.

My belle dey shout, but my brain no gree stop. Strawberry dey sweet but this kind trouble no get sugar.

Suddenly, lights go dim.

I look up, dey hope say e no be NEPA wahala. But I see MC for stage, dey shine teeth.

MC climb stage, dey smile:

E resemble all those wedding MC wey dey crack joke anyhow. Him cloth na agbada, cap big.

“Tonight, Chairman Jide dey happy, say make we play game.”

The whole hall dey buzz. People dey cheer, some dey look with one eye. Na so Naija party dey go.

“Everybody, close your eyes.”

“I go count to fifteen, then una fit open eyes. Okay?”

Na so dem talk. Party people dey play, dey laugh. But I know say something dey behind.

Lights low; I no know wetin dey happen.

I dey shine eye for inside darkness. If wahala start, who I go call?

But all the babes close eye. I join close mine.

Peer pressure dey real. If you no follow, dem go mark you.

Next thing, I feel one familiar strong presence stop near me.

The air just shift. My skin dey rise. I fit swear say I know the scent—pine, soap, and small danger.

Big hand hold my wrist tight.

My heart jump. The grip no be joke. E tight, e warm.

“Mimi.”

That voice. As if him dey call my soul back from market.

Jide Nwachukwu call my name slow, him breath dey hot for my ear, voice rough:

For that moment, I forget say people dey watch. My heart just dey skip.

“Na really you? You come back?”

I open eye small. Na him face. Dark, deep, like night for Lagos without light.

My heart jump. My palm dey sweat, back dey touch cold wall. My body know am before my brain.

Na so Naija body dey recognize danger and love together.

I try run.

No be—” I no fit break free.

E hold me like say if I move, earth go open. My legs dey weak.

Next, Jide Nwachukwu wrap hand for my waist, lock me.

No escape. The kind hug wey dey swallow breath. My back fit feel him chest strong.

Clean, pine scent just surround me.

Na the same way he smell three years ago. I close my eyes, my mind dey race.

Him chin rest for my shoulder, warm.

If not for public, I for shout. But my voice lost.

“Mimi.”

E repeat am, voice low, soft. Like say e dey beg spirit to calm down.

The place dark.

Nobody fit see us well. But my own mind dey bright with fear.

Him voice low, dey shake small: “No move. Allow me hold you small.”

I freeze, mind blank, panic dey catch me.

I feel sweat for my palm, but I no fit struggle. Him voice get power.

I try push am:

I dey struggle small, but my body betray me.

“No... Jide Nwachukwu, behave. Your babe dey look.”

I try use joke run. E dey work for Lagos, maybe here too.

Even though I no even know where that Simi Adeola dey.

But my heart dey pound, like generator wey wan spoil.

Next, I feel him hot, wet lips for my neck.

Omo! My spirit nearly commot from body. Na real temptation.

He pull my collar, kiss my neck.

His lips dey hot, but gentle. Na wahala dey hide under the calm.

Then, like vampire, he bite me soft.

E shock me. Small pain, but the heat dey scatter my head.

“Mimi.” All that gentle voice disappear.

His voice cold, serious. No more play.

“Now, nobody for Nwachukwu Group fit mention ‘girlfriend’ near me. Everybody know—I get only one wife, and she miss.”

My chest tight. E dey talk as if na decree. My mind dey shake.

Him finger dey move down, voice low and dangerous: “You bring her up—na die you wan die tonight?”

The way him hand dey press my waist, e get as e be. If person see us now, dem go think say na movie shoot.