By Rosemary Okafor
Paul
Calling the lady beautiful was a joke. A Nubian goddess suits her better. She had on her a dress made with African print. The rich blond curls she wore yesterday was gone. Today, she had her kinky hair wrapped with the same African print material.
“Can I sit with you?” He said for the second time, restraining himself from dipping his fingers into her rich hair. “Please?”
“It’s a pub, isn’t it?” She looked uncomfortable, her gaze shifting from the half-empty beer before her to her handbag. If he didn’t meet her last night, he would have concluded that his presence made her nervous. But the idea that a woman like her would be nervous was amusing, even though he wouldn’t deny his own uneasiness.
“My name is…” Skin-stretched-and-prickling aware he was sitting knee-touching close to her, Paul felt the thrilling sensation of their nearness vibrating his core.
“I know who you are.”
“Oh,” was all he could say in response. “And you shouldn’t be here.” She lifted head and stared out of the window. “With me… You shouldn’t be seen with me.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Turning her head towards him, her eyes, like polished amber in the first rays of dawn, met his. “Trust me, pretty face, I am everything you don’t want to hang around with.” He didn’t know if it was the beauty of her lips or the subtle husk in her voice that sent sexual neurons fired as warmth down his groin. That’s shocking. He’d never felt this instant arousal at the sight of a woman in a very long while.
Thank God he looked normal! God, he hoped he looked normal.
Running his fingers through his hair as though to shake off every immoral thought, he blamed his sudden sinful desire on his not being able to pray before leaving his hotel room that morning. Forgive me, God. He was supposed to just come say hi, not lust after her.
“The lady that just left,” Her eyes widened in shock, mouth agape. “I’m sorry…” he quickly added, sure that he’d triggered something. “It’s just that… the way she… you weren’t looking so good when she left.” He didn’t notice it was her seated a few tables away from theirs. Then he heard voices and recognized hers from— the subtle husk now coated with sadness. He couldn’t help but turn his head. Though he wasn’t too sure it was her until she turned too and their gaze met.
Then he froze. Jesus! he had literally stilled for some unbelievable seconds. Because… because he hadn’t expected to meet her here. Hadn’t thought he would ever meet her again.
“The other lady, is she a friend?”
“It’s none of your business,” she blurted.
He could swear there was an imperceptible fear in her voice, reminding him of what he saw in her eyes when he collided with her last night. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She was struggling with tears? Oh, holy spirit. If those tears clouding in her eyes roll down, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself as he’d love to pull her into his arms but it didn’t seem like she would welcome that. The tightening of her face, the anger and pain warring in her eyes… she’s a scared tigress that would rather claw to death a rescuer instead of allowing herself to be rescued.
“I can help you…”
“Leave me the hell alone.”
Maybe it was her eyes that were saying something different from what her lips were letting out, or the refreshing scents of jasmine, heliotropes, and roses emanating from her. But Paul realized he didn’t want to leave her alone.
Maybe you like her.
Yes, God Yes! He liked her and that was weird. He’d only picked interest in three women throughout his life; Florenci, his childhood crush, now married to the son of the Mayor of Armstrong. Sugar, a lady he met in high school— his mother never like her. And Matilda, one of his backup singers, it simply didn’t work out between them.
“Go, please,” she pleaded, her eyes softened now.
Yes, he should get up and leave. But why was he feeling he would be leaving a part of himself in darkness and gloom if he does that? What was it about this wild lady that intrigued him to the point of wanting to stay with her even when everything about her screamed danger?
If anyone had told him yesterday, that every nerve in him would be screaming for this strange woman, he would have laughed it off.
The old man at the elevator told you.
And he had laughed at him.
“Hey, Paul!” George called. “Come over here, boy.”
Running his hand through his hair again, he turned to the lady to excuse himself but his words caught in his throat as he stared directly into her eyes. There was something in them. Something that wasn’t there before.
“I watched you last night,”
For no tangible reason, his gazed paced from her eyes to her lips. Lingering on the succulent pair, causing him to swallow hard.
“I saw what you did with your voice.” Shaking her head, she looked away. “Trust me, pretty face, you and I are in two different worlds.” Picking a napkin, she began to fumble with it. “Up that stage, with lights all over you. Your voice enchanting… hypnotizing… calling on people to see your God the way you see him.” She ran her tongue across her lips while discarding the napkin to pick up her half-filled glass of beer.
“Did I enchant you?” He asked as she sipped her drink.
“Mh?” Swallowing the liquor in a rush, almost choking on it, she turned to gaze at him, her eyes watery either from the harshness of the drink on her throat or the pain that seared her heart. “What?”
“When you watched me, were you enchanted?”
She continued staring at him. For a moment, he thought she would get up, pick up her bag and leave, but then…
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to see you again,”
She shook her head.
“Please, let me see you again.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I am not…” She swallowed hard. “You can’t…”
“Come over here, Paul!” George was getting impatient now.
Getting up, he made to leave and then remembered. Slipping his hand inside the pocket of his shirt, he came out with the rosary, walked back to her, and took her hand. Goodness, how does a hand live after its first brush with another that made it tingle?
“What are you…” The rest of her protest sank back into her stomach as he flipped her hand over and placed the beads on her palm.
Gasping, she looked from the object to his face, “You— You—”
“I didn’t know I kept it. I’m really sorry.” Then he started walking away.
“Scarlett,” she said. “My name is Scarlett.”
Oh, George you have to wait for a few more minutes
Turning, he came back to her table. “Scarlett,” he said. “I want to see you again.”
“Where?” A rush of excitement must have sent color to his cheeks as a slow smile worked its way across her face, and into her eyes. “You are blushing.”
And George must be fuming fire and brimstone.
“I’ll be singing at the St Patrick’s Basilica tonight,” he said. Every word was rushed. “Please, come.”
He didn’t know what this was, but he hoped he wouldn’t get burned.
****
Scarlett
You are a whore, undeserving of men like this one…
I advise you let this one go, he looks too decent for you…
Don’t shed a tear, Scarlett. Crying is for weak women and you are not weak. But the tears were rolling down and she hated it. Hated that her heart was aching not just because she felt her heart melting like a snow cone in Phoenix the moment she set her eyes on him again, but also because of the fear of what would happen if she gave in to this emotion.
Unfolding her palm, she stared at the rosary he placed there and her inside shivered at the thought of his hand on her skin. His fingers, tender and warm had stroked her palm, stoking the fire inside her.
Damn, she should forget him. Not just to save herself but to also protect him from getting hurt.
She had been in this mess before and it didn’t end well. Adam, the first man and only man she had truly fallen for, woke up after a year to announce he was breaking up with her as he wasn’t sure he would want to settle down with a whore. Since then, she had tried not to get emotionally attached to anyone. Sex was business and should be left so.
A burst of hearty laughter filtered into her ears from behind. A sound so free and pure, so childish despite his adult years. It came to her ears as a tickle and bounce, forcing her head to turn.
Then, as if he felt her eyes on him, he glanced back. That impeccable smile still on his lips
He was reluctant to look away so she did first.
Finally deciding it would be seen as outright flirting if she continued to cast glances at him, she downed the remainder of her beer, grabbed her bag, and left the pub.
To be continued
