Read Also: Wholly Matrimoney #4
All my rage disappeared as I opened the door to face the woman of my dreams. I had studied the figure standing in front of my door through the keyhole, just to make sure I was not entertaining youths exploring the unmentionable and well, illicit part of their ASUU prompted redundancy. Thankfully, it wasn’t them.
Nike stood there wearing a lachrymose look that no amount of rage could force me to turn my back on. Her teary eyes, disheveled hair and marred make-up made me wonder if she was attacked by a twelve-foot monster with daggers for claws. Okay, so maybe I exaggerated a little bit… but then this the same jacket she used to look so good in…so what happened to the lapels?
“What happened to you?”, I inquired in a placid tone which surprised even myself.
“Are you going to let me into my husband’s house?” She had reminded me to be courteous again, as was her style. Sometimes I think she was a nanny sent to me by God to polish and clean up my ghetto dogma…and well, to be honest, I hated it. Nike had a sarcasm whose effects equaled that of a knife stab in the eye. Coupled with a look that makes the words more venomous, I was reluctant on most days to accept her corrections.
“Alright, come in”, I added quickly. I watched her walk or rather limp into the house barefoot.
“Nike, was it robbers?” I suggested noting that an explanation from Nike was not forthcoming.
“Okomi, can you get me something hot to drink first” she had said in a tone that suggested that she was definitely stone deaf when I asked that question.
She finally told me after as she sipped the tea that I hurriedly put together and likewise made for myself. Nike’s story didn’t help matters…I know it buttresses my point and helps my argument that the president’s security policy was a hoax and cities like Lagos were still a Shangri-La for hoodlums, but then something about Nike’s tale didn’t quite sit well on my mind.
How could a full-grown woman be kidnapped in broad day light in a street as crowded as Balogun Avenue?
Okay, let’s even assume it happened, in Lagos with nosy media people daily scavenging for ‘amebo gist’ everywhere. This sort of news should have been somewhere on the Internet or television. Who would want to even kidnap Nike sef? Why the heck will kidnappers stop to take a pee? And then leave their abductee alone in the car, watching her scream for help and then scamper for their lives?
This was the fable Nike felt was sound enough to bamboozle her very gullible husband.
“Ah Nike?” I folded my arms across my chest and shot her the ‘daddy-you-can-lie-o’ look.
“Jide, what is it?? why are screaming my name like I’m in Somalia?”
And so I watched my wife storm into the bathroom in feigned anger.
I smiled and shook my head… I knew Nike well. This was exactly how she would come around and say “Darling, I’m sorry” in situations like this. I liked to think I understood her, given that she’s not had the best of in-laws. I must confess here that my family is responsible for the unmasking of Nike’s bad blood. The jaundice evident in her eyes whenever my relatives come to harangue about children could kill a live cow. All this rancor was expected from a woman who just discovered that being a complete woman was more than her beauty, brains, boobs and a well blessed behind. According to my family she also needed babies. I felt her pain.
To be honest, I wasn’t satisfied with her answer. I decided to check her phone and scan her call log (call me paranoid, but this is my wife and kidnappers we are talking about). True to my suspicion, her last dialed call was from a contact stored as Chief…Chief? We have never discussed any chief, at least not lately and by her phone’s records the chief called her at around the same time she was escaping from her abductors. Talk about being fishy. I proceeded to search her bag and this time found nothing irregular except of course a business card belonging to the popular Chief Olumide Lawson, a man popular not only for his wealth but his repute as a chronic philanderer.
I matched both phone numbers and they corresponded…
“Jide what did you keep in my bag?”
I raised my head to find a very unusual kind of Nike, she had come out with the most suggestive piece of clothing she could find… my mind raced. I swallowed saliva.
“Well… nothing… just some casual rummaging for gum or candy or maybe even chocolate” I said half eyeing her frame and contours. My heart had started beating faster and I began to experience some biological and physiological changes. I think Nike noticed my unease. If not why was she be brandishing that wry, kinky smirk? The one she reserves only for special moments…
“Mr Kayode, gum? Seriously? Wouldn’t you rather join me in bed?”
I knew what that meant and yes, I was game. Nike’s sudden libido only made me suspect her the more. I felt like she was trying to bribe me and ease my mind… but my mind was far from being eased. I kept thinking of the chief and why I needed to come up with a plan. I mean, ordinarily Nike wasn’t that much of a sex person, talk less of on a day when she had gone through a lot of stress and an almost kidnapping. There just had to be something, something I had to decipher. Maybe she needed to distract her thoughts, maybe she needed to feel safe from whatever it was that chased her home, or maybe…well, I had a lot of maybes.
My absent-mindedness during the whole exercise made it last longer than usual. After we had burned a considerable amount of steam, we went to bed or rather, she went to bed. I kept thinking until at last I came up with a plan, I couldn’t wait for daylight. Nike looked so peaceful in her sleep-still every inch the woman I love… but by tomorrow I hope to find out if she feels the same way for me.
Just as I was about to fall asleep, PHCN struck and we were blessed with darkness…. what a day!
I love all the series on this site, this one especially is very well scripted. Great work Matthew
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