The car door opens, and a feminine foot steps out. It is wrapped in a very expensive Stella McCartney stiletto heel.
The owner adds the second foot and steps out of the car. Its Temiloluwa.
Photographers go mad, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl fortunate enough to be together with Gbenga, the popular musician.
Ahmed, the club owner meets them at the door. He smiles and shakes Gbenga’s hand, then looks Temiloluwa from top to bottom.
She’s wearing a tight shape-showing mini dress by Pucci. It’s as black as sin and leaves nothing to the imagination. Combined with the heel, she looks like the kind of woman her mother always warned her about. But dear old mom isn’t here.
He nods. She has passed the test, she can come in.
Together they step into Cougar, a nightclub with a juicy reputation for hosting the wildest parties. All sorts of glamorous people, high society chicks and big wigs frequent Cougar. In the club, Gbenga pulls her off to the VIP section. Twenty minutes later, he’s so drunk he can’t see straight. As the music blares around them, he brings out a little packet, and pours the powder on the table. He produces a razor blade from his wallet and quickly mixes it, seperating it into three lines. Taking a crisp naira note, he rolls it into a straw and sniffs two lines. He passes the rolled note to Temiloluwa who sniffs the last line and they both sink lower on the comfortable velvet couch. He gropes her for a bit and she rubs her body on him in a very suggestive manner. He smiles and then the cocktail of alcohol and various hard drugs catch up with him. Gbenga blacks out.
This is her life now. Night parties with men, hard drugs and alcohol by the bushel, money everywhere. After getting back to her job at Madam K’s Swantha made sure to teach her the tricks of the trade. She also introduced her to some of the big men she “worked”with. But Temiloluwa took things a step further. She went to the brothel down the street from her little apartment and soon became friendly with the girls there. They taught her so much. She quickly became a favorite. Then she took her skills to the big men. They were stunned. She became a hot cake. Even Swantha couldn’t keep up with her. She kept moving up on the social ladder and now is in demand among the top politicians in the country. She orders clothes, shoes and accessories from stores like Prada, Jimmy Choo, Dior, Pucci to mention but a few. Gone is the wide eyed village girl. Temiloluwa is a socialite now. Vacations in Paris, Cyprus and Switzerland when she wanted them. She knows Heathrow like the back of her hand. No idea how much currently sat in her obscenely fat bank account except that it was a lot.
She has paid off Dr. Quadri for mum’s treatment and operations. She can still remember the surprise in his eyes. He had suspicions as to how she got her wealth but kept them to himself. He was just a doctor, after all. She took Mama home and built her a big mansion. Stocked it with food and all anyone would need to stay comfortable. Mama only asked to see her more. But she couldn’t let her come to Lagos, couldn’t let her mother know what she had become. So she gave an excuse of the oil company she was working with having a policy against staff bringing family to stay. But she goes home regularly and also visits Dr. Quadri once in a while for medical checkups.
During her last visit, he certified her okay, but every time begged her to quit the drugs and alcohol. “It’s killing you slowly,” he’d say. “Please stop your current lifestyle.”
But how can she? She finally has it all.
She rubs her eyes as a waiter taps her arm. She’s still in the nightclub. As she rouses herself he presses a piece of paper firmly into her palm. In the dim lighting she can barely make out the words.
Men’s bathroom, last stall, now.
After checking to make sure Gbenga is still sleeping, she makes her way across the dance floor to the bathrooms. She checks, sees the sign for male and goes in. No body around. Good. She quickly makes her way to the last stall. Cigarette smoke wafts from the spaces above and below the door. She opens it and steps in. Ahmed taps out the cigarette. He pushes her against the wall and reaches down, grabbing her mini dress and lifting it to her waist. She quickly removes her panties and keeps them in her clutch purse. There’s the sound of a fly unzipping behind her and without preamble he forces his way in.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER.
He pulls out having spilled his seed in her. He drops a little package, zips up and leaves. She opens her purse and brings out tissue paper to clean herself up. She also retrieves her panties, wears them and adjusts her dress. Checking her makeup in the mirror, she adjusts her dress some and opens the package. There’s a thick wad of naira notes and a small pack of white powder. She smiles and puts both in her clutch purse, discarding the pretty little cloth bag. Before she steps out, she picks one little pill from a special compartment in her purse, swallows it and snaps it shut. Then she walks back to meet Gbenga, to wake him up so they can go home.
The post Interim is a continuation of the story Submission. If you missed Submission, read it here
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