Utianle

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

Annoyance filled me as I grabbed the source of the constant noise -my phone- from the ironing board. My fingers were a few inches away from the volume button, ready to put it on silent mode when I sighted the logo on the lock screen.

The cloth I was ironing was soon forgotten as I lowered myself onto the padded stool, letting my curiosity get the best of me. One click and I was on the Instagram app, tapping away on the love icon at the bottom right of the screen that glowed red from numerous notifications.

joachim, selery and 90 others started following you.

silensa liked your post.

A click on that particular post showed King standing alone on the red carpet, hands shoved into the pocket of his senator outfit. One of his eyebrows was slightly raised, a lazy smirk adorned his lips, his jaw filled beards begging to be touched.

It was his idea to upload the picture, to showcase my awesome work with an even more handsome face. Those weren't his exact words but I had to agree, he looked dapper. A memory from that day replayed itself and I smiled, the back and forth texts between us vivid in my mind.

That wasn't the only thing that caught my interest, it was the number of likes and comments on that specific picture. In addition to the surge in followers like someone had paid them to check out the account.  

Giving in to my instincts, I tapped on the first name that breezed through my mind and insanely attractive pictures of King in different cities flooded my vision. I couldn't help smiling at his model-like poses, every outfit looked like it was sewn on his body.

His most recent post confirmed my suspicions - the same picture on my account. Underneath the photo was a caption hyping me, with a request to kindly follow and patronise his favourite fashion designer. If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was a sponsored advert.

I should have stopped there, dropped the phone to resume my ironing but I didn't, still stunned by my newfound fame. I chose instead to go through King's comment section that was littered with a lot of female commenters. Giggles easily slipped from me as I read their comments, they were right to fangirl; he was effortlessly handsome.

Several love and fire emojis, repeated comments from the same women to check his DM had me smiling sheepishly. I didn't stand a chance against them with their colourful wigs, professional makeup and banging body. Yet, I was the bald-headed skinny female with undeniable access to his DM, replying his messages with the same fervour as he did mine. 

My nose picked up on a smell, the distinct smell of burning cloth and I stood up abruptly to remove the iron that had fallen over the high waist trouser. Glaring mournfully at the irregular burnt patches, I knew the style had to be changed.

"What's that smell?" Vincent asked, raising his head from the laptop screen he had been staring at all morning like it held the answer to his fashion problems.

The room was empty save for the other two girls at the front row so his voice reverberated. Their heads turned in my direction and I offered them a forced smile, pushing the trouser down to join the heap of discarded materials at my feet. I owed Faith a very good explanation.

"Nothing." My left eye twitched when I replied and his brows raised in a disbelieving manner. When I noticed him about to stand, I shouted, "it's nothing, just a little burn."

Vincent stalled a little, eyes narrowed to slits and I heaved a sigh in relief when he finally sat down. My apprenticeship was over but he let me come here until I was ready to stand alone in the business world. I couldn't have him worried about me in the first week of our new arrangement. 

A whirring sound quickly filled the air as the girls resumed their sewing. An outsider might have complained about the noise but not us. The buzzing, combined with the overhead lights that shone a hundred times brighter, all thanks to the drawn curtains was often my source of inspiration. Like always, I was struck with a new idea for a design.

I was so engrossed in my sketching that I didn't notice the room was empty, not until Vincent's laughter drew me out of my trance. My eyes caught the clock hanging on the wall and I understood why the girls stepped out: it was time for a break. Also, time for me to pick up Emma and Esther.

Shoving my books and everything I could inside my handbag, I strutted to Vincent to announce my departure. My eyes nearly popped out of its sockets at the sight of the lady seated in front of him.

Cynthia Ubani.

They were conversing like old friends which was no surprise as they have worked together in the past but it was my first time of seeing her here. None of them noticed me standing by the side, quite preoccupied with their chat.

On getting over my surprise, I cleared my throat loudly to call their attention. "Hi."

"Hey." She gave a toothy grin, the same one I remembered then continued her talk with Vincent. This time they spoke in hushed tones like I was interested in their conversation. 

Unsure if she recognised me without the wig, makeup and body-hugging gown, I just stood there, smiling at no one in particular.

"Are you leaving?" She gestured to my handbag and I nodded vigorously, still shocked by her presence.

My eyes quickly scanned her outfit - the monochrome crop top that was paired with a skirt made from the same material. The skirt came to rest above her knee, the short slit by the side revealing a part of her thigh. Her open-toed sandals balanced her outfit and I mentally awarded myself for my own choice of clothing. 

The jeans I was wearing, though faded and with fashionable cuts exposing my knees made my legs appear longer. The red tank top that was tucked into the jean gave the impression of a slimmer waist and wider hips. On my feet were a pair of old sandals that I redesigned with clients leftover Ankara materials.

"Yes."

"Me too," was her immediate response. A smile still lingered on her lip as she rose up and waved Vincent goodbye. If her smiles were anything to go by, I could easily see both of us becoming friends.

"I actually came to see you," she said when we were outside the building. 

Cars of different models, sizes and colours drove past us, their occupants protected from the afternoon sun that was beating down harshly on us. Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead but Cynthia remained unfazed. People moved past us in a frenzy, most likely in a hurry to take cover from the heat.

"Do you remember me?" I couldn't help but ask. We were walking in the direction she pointed.

She chuckled, switching the position of her bag from one hand to the other. Stylists like herself were always in contact with different clients, I wouldn't blame her if my face already faded from her memory. "Of course I do. You look different."

A smile flitted to my lips, I looked nothing like the woman from that Saturday. Plus, I was trying something new with my hair, that was if getting a curvy line on the right side of my scalp counted.

"Can we talk? Now?"

No.

"Yes," there was that familiar twitch when I responded. 

My lips squeezed as the wheels in my head furiously spun, trying to find a replacement to pick the kids from school. Naturally, Faith was my go-to but she couldn't leave work before four.

Another name flitted into my mind and I knew without yet calling him that his answer would be in the affirmative. It was a bit bothersome how King's name came naturally to me, how confident I was about giving him a call. I shook the worry off, I could sort out my feelings later.

"Are you ready?" She'd stayed mute the entire duration of my call to King and their school's gateman. 

Nodding in approval, I followed in her footsteps as she walked to a black Chevrolet Camaro with a man inside. She didn't greet him so I didn't, instead, we busied ourselves with getting comfortable. 

There was no talking until the car had moved a few metres. "Are you with your portfolio?"  

"Yes," I responded with a pat to my bag. I had no idea where we were going but I didn't care to ask.

The rest of the journey continued in silence except for the songs playing at intervals from the radio. When the driver slowed to a stop, it was at a less busy part of Calabar. The streets were empty as we strolled into a bakery where we were attacked with a delicious aroma that tickled our nostrils. 

I found us a seat by the glass window overlooking the outside world, noting the comeliness of this place. The servers behind the show glass continued pressing their phones, unaware that they were no longer alone.

My phone pinged and I retrieved it from my bag. It was a WhatsApp message from King, no texts just one picture - a picture of Esther and Emma asleep on an unfamiliar sofa. I quickly typed a response to him, eyes widening a little when I noted the time.

3:26.

His response didn't come immediately, causing me to stare quizzically at Cynthia who just pulled out a seat. She had mysteriously disappeared on our arrival. "I went to use the restroom."

"Okay."

"King says you are good at what you do," she started, placing her bag by the window. Her usual smile was gone, her voice had taken on a serious tone.

"Yes." Twiddling my fingers underneath the table, I spoke again but with more conviction. "I do my best."

I only realised this was some sort of interview when she requested for my portfolio. Removing the thick, leather-bound sketchbook from my bag, I pushed it close to her, hoping she was as pleased as I was with the numerous sketches and designs inside. 

Seconds turned into minutes, by the time she was on the middle page, I had come up with my own interpretation of her facial expressions. A narrowing of eyebrows signified interest, no change in countenance showed she was unimpressed and a grim smile meant she was conflicted. 

She must have discussed with the waiter because he walked up to us when she knocked twice on the round table. And a tray of snacks soon replaced the empty space at the centre of the table. 

"Help yourself," she muttered without looking up. I already told myself I wasn't going to touch the snacks until she did but when my insides squeezed terribly, my hands found a way to the plate of meat pie.

She was still not finished by the time I was done eating and slowly sipping on the bottle of 5Alive. When she finally raised her head up and sighed, I found myself sighing too but in disappointment. That grim smile was back on her face.

"The drawings, have you used them yet?"

"Not all of them." Some were recent and others were designs of my favourite older clients.

"How many?"

"Fifteen? Twenty? I'm not sure."

She pursued her lips then closed the book. "Can you bring them to life before Saturday?"

What?

I didn't realise I spoke out loud until she said, "not this Saturday, next week Saturday." She must have seen the panic written all over my face, "not all of them, maybe ten."

"I'm hosting the Calabar Fashion Show next week."

The Calabar Fashion Show was a 2day weekend event that happened once in two years. Since the cancellation of Lagos Fashion Week, the only shot I had at exhibiting my design there was if I got an invitation, a slot Vincent couldn't even get for himself.

"I have a slot."

Okay?

"King already vouched for you but I don't trust the judgements of a man in love." She smiled softly, the first one since we stepped into this bakery and I reciprocated the smile. "I also spoke to Vincent, his response was similar."

I could tell from her smile that wherever this conversation was going, it would favour me. "So, I saved you the slot." Then, her voice decreased to a whisper, "don't mess it up."

Since my mouth refused to form the right words to express my gratitude, I settled with a nod, smiling like a lottery winner. It was that same smile that graced my lips when she offered to drop me off.

"Where to?" She asked when we were safely seated at the back of the car. The air inside was cooler and her driver was as usual, very quiet.

I recited the address I had come to know offhand, eager to share the good news with King. I didn't mind the darkness that surrounded us or the time on the dashboard that read 6:43. I was happy.

"Funny, King stays in this same estate."

Shifting uncomfortably in my seat at her scrutiny, I focused on my polish-free nails. "I'm actually going to his house."

Silence overtook us again, broken by her voice that had gone a few octaves lower in that eerily familiar tone Faith and I always used to gossip. 

"Are you two dating now?" She asked with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

"No."

"No?" She sounded even more disappointed than Faith did. "No drinking for me then."

"No drinking?" I was finding it hard to follow the conversation now.

"Yeah. Uche is convinced that pregnant women shouldn't be having any alcohol, even if it's just a little so we made a bet on both of you." Her statement took a few seconds to sink in, then it clicked. Now I understood why he didn't want her to have any wine that night. 

She pursued her lips, then glanced at me, trying to gauge my reaction. I shrugged, encouraging her to go on. "It's a simple bet, really. I get access to a bottle of wine if King asks you out in a week, otherwise," her shoulders sagged and she pouted. Her action reminded me so much of Emma. 

"I still have two days, so there's hope?" Her eyes lighted up, making her statement sound more like a question.

"Alcohol isn't the best for pregnant women."

"I'm stressed and I can always mix it with orange juice," she muttered with a wink like we just shared a private joke. Propping her chin on her palms, "I don't get it though, you two were so ... he couldn't get his eyes off you."

Her gaze pierced through me, pleading with me to say something. "I have a boyfriend."

"How?" She must have realised the absurdness of her question, "I mean, does King know?"

"Yes."

"How did your boyfriend feel about you going to the premiere with another man?"

Silence.

"You are the first woman King has introduced to any of his friends for as long as I can remember," she murmured with a sad smile. Her voice took on a milder version of that sharp tone she used when we were still at the bakery, "that dude is smitten by you."

"If he's happy, his friends are happy and so am I," her hands were now on her laps. "I don't think he cares that you have a boyfriend but if you don't intend to reciprocate his affections, then it's unfair of you to lead him on."

*****

Media: Cynthia's outfit. My sister was the one who made it.

I don't know what it is about this chapter but it was very difficult to write. I didn't feel it but here we are. Do enjoy and share your thoughts.

I'm thinking of creating a chapter for the cast, what do you think? You could suggest your favourite stars for other characters except for King and Uti.

Random questions: Cats or dogs?