<Today's mood: bitchy with a chance of sarcasm>

|Jadesola|

Tuesday, June 8th, 2021

"HOW DOES it feel being poor now, Ma'am?"

A click.

"Can you still afford your apartment?"

A whirr.

"Ma'am, have you always had boyfriends that ran off with your money?"

A flash.

And my track suit clad form was caught on camera the moment I stepped my sneakers out of the walls of my soon-to-be-bankrupt casino.

Incensed, I curved my fingers tighter around the Starbucks I clutched. If one more idiot was to ask about my moronic ex-fiance then I was sure to bath that person in a scalding shower of hot coffee.

Unfortunately, not only are reporters hounds, they're also a fascinating breed of asses---they don't have an astute sense of knowing when to withdraw. Putting it aptly, they were foolish.

I was caged, hemmed in by mic-gripping-reporters and snap-shot-crazy photographers shadowing my every brisk move. I was quite aware that they were just doing their job---being relentless pursers but couldn't they give me some breathing space?!

Amebos.

A thick set journalist, scribbling fast on his notepad was quick to ask without glancing up, "A few months ago you told the Love Show that your fiancé is the best person ever. How do you feel now, that the best person ever has robbed you?"

Despite living in Chicago for five years, my Nigerian accent was still present and it clearly showed now in my agitated tone. "No comment."

My lips stretched into a sickly sweet smile while I chewed the insides of my cheek, ire surging furiously in my veins.

Tagged as one of Chicago's best couples, Amir and I had been invited, three months ago, for an interview in the Love Show, a channel featuring couples and relationships. We had held hands, our fingers clasped jointly in the fierce grasp of love, laughing and looking into each other's eyes as we conversed with the host.

But it had all been a façade. The adoring expression on his face, a farce. The affectionate glint in my eyes, a ruse. Every-fucking-thing, from the tender looks we'd shared to the peck he'd placed on my cheek while onscreen was false. We had just been spitting lies, bullshitting ourselves.

Amir and I had never been in a love match. An arranged union to bring two powerful families together, we'd dated for a year, our marriage set to happen in the next two months.

In spite of not being in love with each other, we'd clicked, frequenting on the same wavelength. He was fun to be with, an infectious grin always present on his charming facial features and an easygoing camaraderie within us. Back then, I might have been slightly smitten by his sweet charisma but right now, with all the rage vested in me, I ached to use an axe to hack off that sugary smile on his deceiving face.

Oloshi.

One reporter, out of the writhing throngs of dogged hunters who called themselves the press, shoved the microphone in my face, a rude startling gesture that had me gnashing my teeth.

"Is it also true that you weren't satisfying him sexually and if that's true, do you think that it was among the reasons why he made off with the casino's earnings?"

As much as I want to take the dark sunglasses off my eyes and stare icily at that reporter, throwing her a well-deserved withering look, I couldn't for two good reasons. First, I didn't desire an extra helping of bad publicity. Amir had already wrecked my notable image and I was loath to add more salt to injury. Second, the whites of my eyes were tinged in red.

I had worn black shades to conceal the redness of my puffy eyes. The pinkish hues of my eyes weren't the dire consequences of crying for Amir---he could rot in hell for all I cared--- rather, from being awake and pondering hard all night long.

"No comment." That same smile was still plastered on my face, my frontal muscles protesting the rigid fixation I'd subjected them to.

But the pesky reporter was determined, unwavering. She tagged along, latching onto me like a goddamn leech.

E be like say na my village people send am to torment me.

Her red hair was packed in a tight ponytail, pulling the contours of her face taut, her eyeballs bulging out. These odd features made her appear like all those low-budget ojuju calabar apparitions Nollywood used in 2000's movies.

"Come on Ma'am, you've got to give us something. How will your life be now? Hopefully, you don't get to walk around, begging for alms."

And that was when I flared up, the thread twined around my patience snapping apart. My fingers clamped further, applying more pressure on the Starbucks container and leaving behind deep indentations when I flexed them, their tips white with anger and indignation. How dare she insinuate that I was about to be a fucking begger?

Fuck this shit, I fumed. I was past reining in my displeasure and if my reply was to ruin my reputation, fine and good. After all, my business was already on the verge of collapsing.

I spoke rapidly, still on the move and the reporter dara iberibe on my heels, my words clipped. Like gunshots being fired. Hard. Biting. Penetrating. "Gbogbo yin ti ya were. Ewo ni kin ma toro lori titi?! Ati iwo na! To pe'ra e ni onirohin. Abi o fe gbo'ro? Wa gbo na. Awon were!"

As I addressed them, I beamed brightly, like what I was saying wasn't an insult.

"But Ma'am, that's not English. Which language is that? Could you please transla---"

And I tuned all of them out, striding forward. I'd already commented, wasn't that what they wanted? A comment was a comment and it just wasn't my fault the fools weren't fluent in Yoruba. And for me to translate those sentences? Lie, lie.

"Make way," Musa my bouncer growled, his stance rigid and reeking of resentment. He speared through the sea of hawks that were the reporters, glaring down on them, his huge physique, intimidating.

Almost on the verge of freedom, two newsmen materialized in front of me but I sidestepped them, maneuvering my way into the car Musa held open for me.

"Thank you, Musa," I said as I bent to enter into the white Hyundai Elantra.

He nodded, a slight movement of his head to show he'd acknowledged my gratitude.

Swarms of those nosy beings flew to the back window, trying to elicit one more comment from me but I sat upright, ignoring them, my gaze straight ahead.

Stepping away, Musa rounded the car and rapped quickly on the driver's window. "Take her to her destination. Right now."

With a subtle incline of my driver's head, he made a fast getaway off the casino's premises. As we zoomed past, I hoped that those irksome reporters would choke on the thick exhaust fumes the Hyundai gave off.

Ndi ara.

Sipping my hot coffee slowly---the bitter drink recharging the dead battery of my fatigued body cells, I gazed out of the window as we whizzed across the busy roads of a bustling Chicago. The tall high-rise buildings manning the streets. People carrying suitcases, handbags, trudging on, everyone intent on reaching wherever they had in mind. A hubbub of activities.

Even though it was already afternoon, the day was overcast, gray clouds casting a dark shade onto the earth. Dull. Gloomy. The same way I was feeling.

Not only was Pepper Dem on the highway to ruin, so was I. Debtors---banks who'd loaned me money, some equipment that'd been recently added to the interior of the gaming halls and other numerous expenditures--- were sticking their slimy heads in the matter, demanding for their payment. And I would have settled them, if not for Amir!

Anger pressed my lips into a thin line, my palms trembling with rage, as I thought of how much I wanted to flay the skin off that hypocritical bastard.

Done drinking the energizing mixture, I muttered, frustration glazing my enraged tone, "Amir, na correct thunder go fire you!"

We came to a stop in front of a three storey building overlaid with burnt red bricks, big rectangular windows on the ground floor flanking a revolving glass door.

Bracing myself---for whatever news that would be relayed to me---I alighted from the car and breezed in, climbing up the stairs that led to her office on the third floor. I preferred not using the elevator. It would get me to Chloe's floor before I could finish creating my shock-absorbing shield.

I knocked on the door on which a metal plate with the engraving, Chloe's Law Office was depicted.

"Come in," a femine voice ushered.

"So hit me, how deep in trouble am I?" that was the first sentence I uttered before sinking down into one of the office chairs behind Chloe's desk. The next action I took was to remove my shades.

Blinking, to adjust my pupils to the bright lighting of the spacious room, I observed Chloe's suit clad form.

She backed me, sitting on the left edge of her shiny desk, her gaze focused on the view the open glass window displayed.

"Very deep. Extra debts are piling up and your debtors aren't having any of it. If something isn't done in the space of one month, your casino might be out of business."

Great. More 'joyful' news. I whooshed out a miserable breath.

Abruptly, she straightened up and sat in her chair, her stare meeting mine. Her pretty features---impeccable curved brows, dark brown eyes, pointed nose, unsmiling lips set in a round face the warm colour of mocha---were grave.

"Can't we trace him? I thought the police were looking into the matter."

Chloe tapped her fingers on the desk, a slight frown morphed on her face. A ring glimmered on the fourth finger, catching the rays of the streaming sunlight filtering into the room. Then she clasped her hands together. "Yes, they are but he's gone underground, like he disappeared from the face of the earth. The police force is doing their very best, even combing through Nigeria as we speak. But, we can't keep on waiting till he's caught. Amir might have squandered all the money already."

I looked away, downcast. My eyes ran across the shelves flaunting countless books, a globe by the corner, certificates and laurels decorating the yellow painted walls. Except that my stare was unseeing.

God please help your child.

Chloe's next question brought me back from the land of the lost. "Before Amir ran off, did you notice anything weird about him or the casino?"

I replayed the week before in my head. The gamblers playing. The dealers dealing. Amir overseeing that things were going well. The despicable white man who'd insulted my race. Biting down the rage that surged afresh at the thought of him, I shook my head no.

Chloe heaved out a long sigh. The first crack in her serious demeanor. "I was thinking that perhaps there was a clue. Something that he must have mentioned to you. Oh well."

"So, what do we do then?" I asked, anxious.

She shifted a document towards me, past piles of paperwork, a bunch of pens inside a pink mug and a framed picture of her and a white man, who was probably her husband, smiling so widely, straight teeth glinting white.

I stared down at the tiny prints on the paper as Chloe informed me, "I've compiled a list of renowned business moguls who might be able to help you out, by loaning you some money. You'll have to call each of them and implore for financial aid. When your casino's revenue is more than it's expenditure, then you'll pay back. But, Jade, don't get your hopes high. More than half of these people are self-centered and won't give two fucks."

Man, this load was fucking overwhelming and heavy. Nodding, I closed my eyes briefly then blinked them open again, dejection flooding me.

I was in premium wahala.

A/N: How far na?! So what dyu think of Jadesola? Oh and she can speak Yoruba and Igbo. You'll get to know why and how in the following chapters!

*Amebos: Gossips. *Oloshi: Idiot.
*E be like say na my village people send am to torment me: It's like they were sent from my townspeople to torment me.
*Ojuju calabar: Ghosts/masquerades.
*Dara iberibe: Stupid.
*Gbogbo yin ti ya were. Ewo ni kin ma toro lori titi? Ati iwo na! To pe'ra e ni onirohin. Abi o fe gbo'ro? Wa gbo na. Awon were!: You all are mad. Which one is I'll start begging on the street?! Especially you! You idiot that calls herself a reporter. Abi you want to hear comment? Come and hear na. Fools.
*Lie, lie: Never. *Ndi ara: Mad people.
*Na correct thunder go fire you: Something very bad will happen to you.
*Wahala: problem/trouble.

Quick question: Do you like Jadesola?!

Nita :-)