CANDY FLOSS BOUDIOR 3

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Temporary reprieve came by way of her new neighbors.

A sour looking widow and her two pretty daughters, Chinelo and Ify.

Chinelo and Ify were just a couple of years younger than she was.

They’d come to live in Lagos after the old man died on top of his mistress.

They'd left Enugu to run away from the gossip.

Mother disapproved of Opeyemi and made no bones about it.

Chinelo adored Opeyemi and she sneaked over whenever mother wasn’t home.

Opeyemi tremendously enjoyed the company of this thoroughbred “aje butter” girl.

Chinelo spent hours trying on Opeyemi’s clothes and regaling her of her exploits in Enugu.

"You know I like boys" Chinelo would say giggling happily.

“Mummy doesn’t want me hanging with you, you know?”

“That’s no news but the question is why?”

Opeyemi asks voice coated in hurt.

“What have I ever done to her?”

Chinelo grinned impishly and twirled around in front of the mirror in a pair of Manolo Blanhik thigh high boots.

“You are a kept woman, a woman of ill repute. Little does she know that her own baby will soon be one too, I gotta live like this babe!”

She made Opeyemi laugh and that was her major attraction. She was a fun person.

Opeyemi doubted that if she had her pedigree, she’d have gotten involved in this mess though.

The honeymoon didn’t last long. A Swatch timepiece bought for Chinelo on one of Opeyemi’s shopping sprees ended it all.

Mother returned it or rather; flung it in her face, having seized it from Chinelo.

“Please keep your gifts of sin to yourself oh, don’t try to come and corrupt my daughters for me. Ashewo, useless girl, where are your parents? A small girl like you, if I ever see you so much as smile at my children, huh, you will know the wrath of a mother”. She screeched on as Opeyemi shut the door, mortified, to her soul.

Poverty had robbed her own mother of the voice of morality, which was a motherhood prerogative.

“Auntie” Seki calls “Your phone dey sing for parlor”.

“Bring it for me.” Opeyemi responds as she turns off the shower and wraps her almost painless body in a sinfully fluffy pink designer terry robe.

She takes a call from her mother, whose voice has taken on a permanent whiny timbre.

“Money, money, money” she’d whine.

Opeyemi promises to send some the next day.

She ends the call and starts to elaborately slather on Estee Lauder moisturizing body milk.

She squirts on Giorgio Armani’s Sensi from the array of artfully arranged bottles of designer fragrances on her dressing table.

She pulls on matching Victoria’s secret underwear and slips into a simple brown, silk Prada mini dress.

Slips her feet into tan Giuseppe Zanotti mules and applies light makeup.

In the living room, Seki is setting the table. She eyes Opeyemi with thinly veiled contempt.

“Auntie you too fine oh”.

Opeyemi just stares absent mindedly at her.

“Today na my off oh aunty”

“Yes Seki you can go, see you tomorrow”.

Opeyemi responds envying Seki even more.

Seki gone, she drapes herself on the chaise lounge to wait for Waziri.

He’d normally come in about seven thirty to eight, like clockwork and leave whenever it suited him. He was the boss.

Their time together used to be fun, lively conversation, playful teasing.

The sex wasn’t fantastic, but that wasn’t all that counted after all.

With nothing to do all day but await Waziri’s nightly visits, boring weeks dragged into dreary months.

She rearranged the gym, practiced preparing gourmet meals, worked out with the female instructor twice a week, anything to be active.

Waziri had flown off the handle when he’d paid an unexpected daytime visit and met a male instructor.

Her cheeks had stung for two days as a lesson.

She’d become an avid reader, an apt pupil of philosophy, and she loved to seek out like minds to chat with on the internet.

Still she couldn’t get rid of the cloying embrace of loneliness.

It was just her and hideous Seki.

Then she met Laja

She’d been on one of her window-shopping outings when they met.

He helped her try on shoes and they got talking.

He was working off the ASSU strike at his Aunts boutique.

“For such a tall chick you have exquisite feet”, rumbled Laja, in his Barry White voice.

Laja was refreshingly young.

His standard uniform was jeans encasing whipcord thighs, body tee shirt clinging adoringly to his six-pack and biceps and “Tims” as he called his Timberlands.

Laja brought sunshine into her life.

He reminded her of her youth and made her feel even younger.

They played cards and danced to rap music.

She’d giggle and hide her face in his brick wall chest as he whispered into her ears.

On the rare occasion when Waziri went out off town without her, they’d go to a karaoke bar or night clubbing.

The thought of Laja always gave her a rush, a giddy feeling of sinking too fast,

Exquisite joy filled with intense fear.

At this time, Waziri was sponsoring both her brothers through school. He’d also established a super market for mama.

When Laja wrapped his manly arms around her, she threw fear to the dogs.

She bought him a BlackBerry Torch 9800, he’d just lost his phone.

A pair of Tom Ford aviators, he needed sunglasses.

They went clothes shopping; she loved to see him look good.

Seki watched in suspicion as she danced home every evening to prepare for Waziri.

“You’re different these days”.

Waziri mumbled into her neck while struggling with her zipper, which he eventually ripped in impatience.

“I’m happy”.

Opeyemi replied forcing Laja out of her mind.

“What’s the secret?”

He mumbled as his hands moved “police frisk down style” over her body.

“Don’t you want me happy?”

…he was past caring.
TO BE CONTINUED......