Bola was late and she knew it. Hopefully, Nnamdi was late too. But if not, he didn’t like being kept waiting. The fastest way to lose him was to keep him waiting. He would be polite about it – her Nnamdi the gentleman, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he was displeased.
However, nothing short of a miracle could have made it possible for her to get here faster. After a hectic day at the office, she had made for their rendezvous as fast as she could. That meant as fast as rush hour traffic would permit. These days, Lagos was like a locked down city. Endless streams of vehicles everywhere you turned. Bright red taillights ahead taunted you all the way. Sometimes, it took hours to navigate distances that would have ordinarily taken mere minutes.
She had left home dressed for work in a dark grey sleeveless dress, worn with a jacket and neck scarf. Now, the jacket was gone and she looked much more relaxed. The dress was a good fit. She had spent years consciously working at keeping a nice shape, and it had paid off. At first, learning how to dress trendy had seemed so mundane, so unimportant. Fortunately, she had been raised by a father who was not sold on that idea. He had sat her down again and again and taught her that being intelligent wasn’t all there was to life.
She remembered Dad with fondness. He taught her how to study and get good grades, but he also taught her to live life to the full. He had nudged her to take care of her body as much as her mind. It was Dad who taught her to work and play. It was Dad who had been her first boyfriend, critic and cheerleader all rolled into one. All those years of being playfully teased by Dad about everything did eventually pay off.
She stepped into the lounge and located Nnamdi easilly in a far corner. He loved those positions where he could have a good view of the room as much as possible. Where he sat, he was looking at his wristwatch. She was almost sure that wasn’t the first time he was doing that tonight. But it was perfect timing for her. If she knew him well, when he lifted his eyes, his next move would be a reflex scan of the door.
Across the lounge, the fine looking man named Nnamdi sat alone. He was dressed in a simple blue-checked short-sleeved shirt worn over a pair of denims. His slouched posture suggested that he had been there a while and was now a bit weary of the wait. Apparently satisfied of whatever time his wrist watch told him it was, his eyes darted at the door and fell on the slender figure of Bola heading his way.
Tonight, she was turning all her charms on and going in with guns blazing. Nnamdi was a kind, understanding man, but keeping him waiting meant that some ice would have to be thawed.
Bola was determined that no Lagos traffic was going to turn her night out into anything less than a pleasant experience. Life was too short. Locking eyes with him, she put on that bad girl smile that told any informed man that he was in for a good time. Her gait as she headed towards him was brisk and calculated. She didn’t have a lot of equipment in front and behind. She wasn’t exactly a voluptuous lady, but she knew how to work what she had. Again, dad had made sure of that.
“Hi, honey!” She chirped in her sweetest voice when she was within earshot. He already had a weak smile on his face. Good. She had learnt well. Now, for the kill.
Instead of taking the seat across the table, she sidled up to him, threw her arms around him and planted a full kiss on his lips. “I am sorry I am late, honey. Traffic.”
“Someone is working hard at redemption, I see,” he smiled back, pulling her to himself, and letting the embrace linger. She smelt good. She always did. She looked smashing too. She always did. Perhaps smashing was not the right word. Tasteful was more like it. That was the word. “For your sake, I hope that half the guys in here weren’t watching you as you walked in.”
“For you, honey; I will put on a show anyday. You make my world go round. Those men are probably plotting how to kill you right now.” Bola untangled a bit, took a quick look around and noticed a few glances here and there. She turned back to him and smiled sweetly as she looked into his eyes. “See?”
“Baby, I’d be glad to die knowing it was all you. Some deaths are pleasurable, you know.” Nnamdi knew that look in her eyes. Here was one lady in the world who was not afraid to wear her heart on her sleeve. She made him feel like a prince again and again. It wasn’t just the looks. It was also her words and her body language. It was the full package. “You know it is a bad idea when you look at me like that,” he teased her. He was not just smiling now, he was in his full playful element.
“Ha! Coward!!” She smiled back, “Can’t take the heat?”
“Me and the word coward in the same sentence? Oh, baby!” He picked up the full touchscreen slab on the table. It was one of those high-end smartphones. “Seeing as you are looking absolutely smashing tonight, shall I have the honour of being your cameraman?”
Nnamdi was one of those men who appreciated photographs. He loved good photos. As a photography enthusiast, he owned one of those superb dedicated cameras for special occasions, but he also knew that he could not carry that with him everywhere. As such, he ensured that he owned one of the top cameraphones available at any point in time. That way, he always had good shots just moments away. This particular model was superb and had a Xenon flash for night environments like this. Nothing else beats Xenon flash for night shots.
“Baby; I’m all yours!” Bola crooned as she adjusted herself for the photo shoot. It was a nice touch to the beginning of a pleasant night with the one person in the world who could make it especially so.
Mobilista is published on Saturdays and Sundays here on Mobility Nigeria. All rights reserved. Unauthorised reproduction prohibited.
Thanks to The Fairy GodSister for fashion/dress tips!