10 DAYS - Episode 2

Buchi Agwu

Things are about to get out of hand. I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to Edisemi handling the party this year. I would’ve vetoed it and taken charge just like last year and the year before.

She’s nowhere to be found and the place have taken a chaotic ambience. Life is about order, that’s why the law was established in the first place. Without order, organization, and leadership, we’d be poor animals living our lives as it comes and killing each other at the slightest provocation.

Okay, forget that lecture, it’s me trying to convince you that instead of going in search of Edisemi, I’ll fix the party and see it through. First, there’s the DJ to inform to get about his duties. Music should be the first informant of any celebration. If he doesn’t know this as a DJ, he knows nothing.

The bar has been adapted to the DJ stand for this occasion. There’s musical equipment decorating the place but no DJ to bring them to life. I scan the people in the room for anyone dressed like a DJ.

I see a guy with a headset hung around his neck in a semicircle talking to another guy corporately dressed. The other fellow appears twice his age and is wearing a frown on his face that shows he isn’t buying what the younger, DJ-like guy, is selling to him. On a closer look, I figure they could be father and son. The resemblance is there, but how certain can I be standing this far off?

It’s alarming how I don’t know half of the people who have come to celebrate me. I don’t contemplate walking over to the guy with headset to ask if he’s the DJ. It could turn out embarrassing and it’s certainly not the right time of the year to take an embarrassment.

I sight Captain standing by the kitchen door, his head cocked and ear splayed to the door, listening for conversations of God-knows-who. I pick a tumbler from an idling tray of glasses and walk over to a group of guys with a bottle of Vodka between them.

“Excuse me.” I raise my glass to the guy in the group who’s doing the talking.

He stops talking, squints his eyes and starts to smile. His listeners turn from him to me. I pick up the bottle – it’s almost empty – and pour a little of it’s golden liquid into my tumbler.

“You’re Butch!” He says. It’s more of a statement than a question.

“That’s me.” I say and lift my tumbler with just a little drink sitting at the base. “Cheers.”

They pick up their glasses and clinking follow.

“My bank has at least a frame of your artwork decorating every hall and office.” The fellow says.

“Is that so?” I smile at him. He sure must be a banker, looking all spiffed up in his suit.

“Yes. What was the inspiration behind your painting with black faces in Dollar, Pounds, Yen and Euro bills?”

I notice the others turn serious and pay rapt attention to me.

“That painting was done in the brink of drunkenness like I’m sure I’d be by the end of this party.”

They roar into surprised laughter and new heads turn to us. I could see in their faces, even behind their laughter, that they are disappointed at my answer. It’s not a day to answer to interview questions from bankers, however.

“I’m glad to have you guys.” I say and sneak out of their midst.

Captain sights me before I get to him and straightens from the door, a crooked smile on his lips.

“Hey yo, bro?” He bends for a shoulder hug.

I take the hug and slap his back twice. “I’m fine, man.”

“Still idling the party. Thought you said it wasn’t going to be till mama calls?”

“It’s still not going to be, and that’s why I need you.”

“Huh?”

“What were you doing pressing your ears to the door, by the way?”

“Well…” Captain smiles and I remember the day he invited me to an empty class only to leave me with Juli, my supposed surprise package. It was this same smile on his face when he locked the both of us in the class and ran away with the key.

“Whatever that smile is, it better not be another mischief.”

“Well…”

“Captain, I need you to do DJ for us.”

“Hell no!”

“You know I didn’t ask for much. Please, bro.”

“There’s no way I’ll be mixing songs. My only wish today is to get high as a jay!”

“You can still achieve that mixing tracks and answering to music requests.”

“See, I-”

The door pulls open and Njideka appears with a tray with several plates of small chops and snacks.

“I’ll love you to play me Hola Hola by Sugar Boy.” She says to me, blessing captain with a good view of her backside.

“Yes, baby. Anything for you!” Captain replies.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Njideka spits at him.

“Of course, you are. He’s not the DJ. I am.”

I take a plate of petite puff-puffs and fried meats and smile at Captain.

“Why don’t you go and play her the song already?”

He begins to say something, but neither of us cares to listen. NJideka moves on to discharge her duty and I proceed to the door where someone is knocking. From the side of my eyes, I watch Captain empty his glass in one swallow and resigns to the bar where the DJ equipment awaits him. Captain is actually an excellent DJ, only he’s refused to take it up as a profession. He’d rather manage his father’s chain of Eateries and receive insults when the man gets into his bitching mode.

I open the door to two ladies carrying packaged cakes.

“These are for Mrs Edisemi.” The lady by the right announces. “This is the location she asked they be delivered.”

“It’s the right location.” I say. “But did she tell you she’s a Mrs?”

The lady by the left gives the one by the right an accusatory glance then brings her eyes to her feet. I understand the message: The lady by the right – Chief Spokesperson – is used to assuming things.

“It’s alright. What do we have here?”

“Two hexagonal, 65kg, butter icing, chocolate cakes.” Chief Spokesperson says and I marvel at the recitation.

“Why should the two cakes be the same?”

“That was what Mrs… Sorry, Ms Edisemi ordered. But I advised that one…” She stops short at a kick from the second lady.

“Okay. How much?” I’m smiling.

“Seven-five each.”

“Okay. POS?”

“Well…” They both look down at their hands and back at me.

I pull the door wide. “Take the cakes inside then.”

I direct them to leave the cakes on the dinning table, not certain if the time is right to display the cake at the centre of the sitting room. Just as the girls leave to get their POS, I catch Edisemi leaving the room for the flight of stairs. She’s been there all along and I never noticed. She takes the stairs elegantly in measured steps.

I should rush to her, call her back to listen to what I have as excuse or apology, or just scream my explanations right away. It’s the right thing to do. It’s what she expects. But I’m glued to the spot, looking at her and hoping time eases our differences. She looks back once and in her eyes, I see a defiant plea for me to break my paralysis and act.

“Sir, the POS.” Chief Spokesperson announces her presence.

I sigh and hand her my ATM card. She slots it in, asks for my pin, hands me my receipt, says her thanks and leave. I idle there few minutes after the cake delivery girl has left, contemplating whether to head to the sitting room and get this event done once and for all and call it a day or go begging Edisemi for forgiveness.

For what exactly?

“For smoking.” I mutter.

I shake my head and move on to the sitting room to join Captain. Together, we could make the party a success. I look at my watch and am amazed to discover two hours have gone since the doors of the house opened for guests to stream in.

Captain Attah

I shouldn’t be doing this. I really shouldn’t be changing tracks for some strangers to either bump their heads and grind their waists or scorn and bawl for a different track. That someone would challenge my choice of music for an occasion or a particular mood is outrageous. People would always come to me after serving in my DJ capacity in specific events to commend me for the job. They’d ask if I made a living from it and frown or go shell shocked when I tell them I do it only for the fun of it. Most of these people won’t remember how difficult they’d made the job of pleasing them for me at one point or the other.

I tell myself I’m doing this for Butch. He’s no stranger. That, however, is a lie. The centre of the sitting room, which has somehow been inaudibly voted as the dancefloor, is packing with people swaying their hips and moving their body to the sound of Tekno’s voice coming from huge speakers. All of them are strangers.

I search with my eyes for Njideka, holding a fresh glass of whiskey to my lips. With huge breasts and big round ass, you can always pick her out from a crowd. However, I don’t see her anywhere in the siting room. I don’t see her in the adjoining lounge. I don’t see her anywhere my eyes can reach. I surmise she’s gone back into the kitchen.

I wonder if she’s alone in there. In fact, I wish that is the case. I see myself sneaking in and grabbing her by the waist and telling her how much I want her; how much I can pay to spend just ten minutes with her.

I give the current track an effect and select the next track to go in. I feel my ears go hot and my nostrils flare. Thoughts of Njideka leaves me feeling this way. If only I can figure out the exceptional thing about her that draws me to her, maybe I’ll be able to control my emotions. But the very fact that I don’t know that distinguishing feature about her makes her more alluring.

She’s not the first girl I’ve seen with enticing boobs and ass and curves. I’ve fucked several girls with bigger and better commodities. With money, there’s hardly a thing you can’t get. I’ve gotten all shapes and sizes of women with my money, and I think I’ll get Njideka too. All it requires is time and good planning.

“Good planning.” I echo.

“Yes, bro.” Butch says in agreement and I jump.

See what thoughts of Njideka could do to a man? It could lead him to his fucking death. I sigh and wipe sweat from my face with the towel hanging from my neck.

“The plan is still on.” Butch says.

I look at him thoughtfully for a long time. Long enough for the current music to finish playing and the guests to start yelling their curses.

I get back to my job, cursing back at the strangers who’ll probably come thanking me later in private for making their night. I’ve seen it before.

“Bro, you don’t need to follow this course. It could ruin everything you’ve struggled to build.” I tell Butch.

He fixes me a steady gaze and says, “Building is one of the constant things in life.”

I agree with him but say nothing. If I finally get Njideka and fuck her senseless and dump her, I’m pretty sure I won’t pick her back up and start over again. That’s what building is about, right? I’m no fucking builder. I’m a wrecker.

“You know it’s not good for the party. Hell, it’s not even good for the day. Why didn’t you pick some neutral day to kickstart this reckless plan of yours?” I ask.

“It’s an error to think some days are special and some days aren’t. It’s someone’s birthday everyday in this world. Every day is special.”

“Ride on, Philosopher.”

Butch laughs and claps me on the shoulder. I feel good about it. It’s a sign that my friend really is in control of the situation.

“You’ll play double role today, bro. You’ll be DJ and MC. It’s not something you’ve not done before.”

“Oh, no, Butch. This is not good.”

“I know. You always negate before you take on responsibilities. It’s fine.”

“Jesus, bro. You’re insinuating that I host a birthday party without the celebrant. Isn’t that what this responsibility is about?”

“I’m only saying that you keep these guests engaged. Give them a night they won’t forget.”

“No, bro. This is too much to ask.”

“You’re already on your way to achieving it.” He says and borrows my glass of whiskey for a sip. “Look at how much energy that guy is expending on the dancehall.”

As much as I’m not happy with the turn of events, I smile. The guy on the dancefloor is achieving a dance move that should be impossible for his size and build.

“I’ll send someone to bring in the cakes in the next thirty minutes.”

Whether I agree or not isn’t material to the action, Butch turns and leave, as silently as he’d come. I add an effect to the current song and the energetic dancer achieves a front flip. There is a roar of applause from his won spectators. NJideka is one of them. She has her tray trapped in her armpit so she can free her palms to clap.

Too much talk and I didn’t see her enter.

I do a backspin on the track and play Hola Hola. I watch in delight as Njideka slides away her tray and runs into the dancefloor. She begins to dance to the tune. She dances well.

I drop my glass of whiskey and leave my stand to the dancehall. It’s already getting crowdy. I have to weave to avoid smearing my shirt with sweat. I reach Njideka in no time and wrap a secured arm around her waist. I feel her body stiffen. I wear a charming smile in wait for her turn. She turns slowly and faces me, fire flaring in her eyes.

Her next action takes less than a second. Later I’d wish she took enough time for the next action like she took turning. The next action is a hard slap on my face that rocks my head to one side and stops the world from spinning on its globe. My take my arm away from her waist and trail it to my flaring cheek.

The music is still playing, but Njideka isn’t. The dancers and spectators too aren’t playing anymore. They’ve stopped to watch.

Would I slap her back? Would I turn my other cheek for a follow up slap to prove I’m a Christian gentleman? Would I just smile and say it’s alright? Their eyes seem to speak aloud.

I grab Njideka so suddenly she screams and kiss her.

Another round of applause rings through the spectators and even before Njideka starts chucking punches at me and the music ends, I know I’ve done Butch a favour. I’ve given his guests a birthday party they wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

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