DAYO - In-Between and In Control

From the bathroom, I could hear my phone ringing. Whoever it was that was calling wasn’t letting up at all. One call was immediately followed up by another! Even though I couldn’t make out the ringtone, the sounds being distorted by the shower, I just knew it was Folake. It was her style, if she thought she wasn't getting enough of my attention. Also, she always called around this time. Folake wasn’t much of a spontaneous person, which was fine with me. I have dated women of varying degrees of spontaneity and after a while such things start wearing thin. Maybe one could just simply say that there are a few things in this world that doesn't wear thin for a man of 35 years old who had gotten tired of feeling like being the only one not speaking in terms of fiancés, wives, and kids.

So, how did I get around to marrying Folake? The first time we met was in Nigeria two Christmases ago when she accompanied my cousin Tumi (her best friend) to our village. It was our Granddad’s memorial, a major family gathering and we were having maximum fun. That was how Folake and I got thrown in together. Don’t get me wrong, Folake is certainly no ugly work. Well, to be quite honest, her face was passable. But, from the neck down, her body is whoa. Hour glass shape, with big ol’ hips and ass! And she was tall, almost my height! But the most impressive factor of all was that she could hold an intelligent conversation for hours and hours. I thought “Do they still make them like this?” We spent many evenings talking throughout that holiday, which gave Tumi ideas for some crazy reasons. She knew too well that I was seeing someone at the time – a colleague of mine. No sensible black man in London messes with office romance if he didn't have his eyes set on the altar. Not unless he was courting getting slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit and having everything he'd worked for, flushed down the drain. Still Tumi thought I was intentionally spoofing her friend, and got herself worked into a frenzy berating me for it. Seriously, can’t girls tell between a little friendliness and a ‘come on’? I thought maybe if I had a tête-à-tête with Folake, to explain that I had no grand designs on her, it would clarify things. That should have made Tumi happy, you’d think. But oh no, I got tongue-lashed for being an insensitive jerk. Women! You can never win with them!

Holiday over, Folake and I left Nigeria for our different countries of residence and contacts were promptly lost. Until when I became suddenly unattached again (i.e. sleeping with a twenty-year old undergraduate who was good enough for the laughs and drinks, but unsuitable for wife-making thanks to her childishness and ‘give-me’ philosophies. I doubt she would have had me either. She said I was the stingiest man she had ever dated. Go figure!) I decided I'd marry this year come what may. You won’t believe the number of recommendations that poured in the minute I made that revelation. It seemed everybody had someone they thought would make a good wife. Problem was, the girls wanted to be wooed, and I wasn’t having any of that rubbish. ‘Look, I am a man looking to get married soonest. If you are interested in being the woman I’d marry, let’s talk business. If you require convincing, let’s just cut to the chase right now and not waste any more of our time!’ I won’t say the ladies appreciated my approach all that much. But, that only made elimination easier, because they were just too many of them to begin with.

Folake entered the race quite late, but I suspect it was her strategy. Tumi, true to her blabbermouth nature, must have kept her updated on all the drama. I guess she was bidding her time, so she could make a grand entrance. Indeed she did. She was the only woman of the lot that called me up herself, which was a pretty brave thing to do considering our history. I have to say I was mightily impressed. Seriously, they don’t make them like her anymore! So, we chatted on the phone for about an hour the first day she called, and more than two hours the second day. The third day, I did the ‘man-thing’ and called her back. We talked for five straight hours. At the end of it all, I asked her if she would mind marriage with me, she replied ‘not at all’, and the deal was sealed. Not your classic romantic Romeo meets Juliet. But then, unlike most of my friends, I wasn’t interested in the usual ‘a woman who can cook, clean and be a freak in bed’. Even when Folake started to fret about quitting her job in Atlanta just as she was about to make partner and moving to London, I told her not to. What I sought for was a companion, and Folake could be that whether or not we lived in the same house. Besides, I was home only a total of few months in a year, globe trotting frequently on Ericsson’s business. Truth is, when it came down to it, marriage is really what both couples make of it. Folake and I were pretty much making a good deal of ours. Well, except for one hitch.

Done with my twenty minutes luxury shower, I found 37 missed calls on my phone. Not even in her most agitated state would Folake assault my phone with such insane number of calls in so short a time. I must then be the office, I concluded before opening the phone. But, it wasn’t the office at all. Three of the calls were from Folake, not entirely unexpected. Incredibly, the other thirty-three calls were from Titi! Plus a text message: hpe u r hme cos i’l b ova n 20. The text was sent ten minutes ago – before she followed it up with twelve calls – which meant she must have already been on her way, as her apartment was an hour bus-drive from mine. If she was taking the train, or was most likely driving herself here, she’d be at my door in much less than ten minutes. Bottom line, it didn’t leave me with enough time to talk with Folake. Not good, not good at all.

Titi was the hitch in my marriage, and a big ol’ hitch she was becoming. We met shortly before my wedding, at the conference Ericsson had slipped me into at the eleventh hour. Titi was in my group practice, and she was absolutely a sight to behold. It wasn’t so much how she looked, but the aura about her that said PEACE. Her eyes beckoned where her smiles calmed. Her beauty was ethereal, and her movement graceful. And she didn’t talk smart; she just was - with her eyes, her smiles and her shrugs. After months on end of doing nothing other than plan the wedding, Titi was the freshest breath of air, and I was all too willing to drink in as much of her as I could. I glued myself to her side, following her around like a besotted puppy. However, I still left the conference two days early for Atlanta. I am a man who does what he has to, and I had a promise to keep with Folake.

But I had also made Titi a promise too, that I would be in touch. I kept that too. In the month I was away on my honeymoon, I managed to put through two brief calls to her. They were modest yet somewhat flirty; nothing committal. Then I returned to the UK, and we met up for drinks. We had drinks the next Friday, and the next, and the next after it. Now, weekdays we would call and text each other a dozen times a day, IMing countlessly in-between. And if I was in town during the weekends, we’d club on Fridays. After dancing, we’d come back to my place and sleep through Saturday. Sunday mornings, she’d go back to her place to prepare for church and the cycle continued. That’s how it’s been for the past two months. I wouldn’t really say we were dating, not like I had officially asked her out or she’d ever referred to me as her boyfriend in my presence. I suppose you could say we were simply ‘hanging out’. Hence, technically, I wasn’t cheating on Folake. However, when I opened the door to a very distraught Titi, something told me that this evening wouldn't bode too well for my marriage, or my non-relationship with Titi for that matter.

“Hi beautiful,” I kissed her on the cheeks, testing out my cheeriest facade.

“Hello Dayo.” She responded coldly, brushing me aside to walk into the room.

“Hope all is well?” I asked, following her inside.

“Yes, of course.” She was intently surveying the room, looking for something.

My sitting room was sparse. It was a bachelor’s pad, with only functional things: a TV, CD player, couch and centre table. She could sweep through every corner in three minutes and find nothing incriminating. Which must be why she proceeded to my bedroom, still searching for whatever it was that had brought her here.

Again, my bedroom had nothing interesting to offer. My bed was plain and hid no secret compartments. The closet was in bare view too, its doors perpetually open.

“Wow. Do you know this will be the first time we are seeing each other on a weekday?” I joked, right on her heel, in an attempt to break the ice.

“Yes, it is indeed.” But she was not amused. “Any particular reason why that is?”

“I thought that’s how you wanted it. You know, with your work and all.”

That was the best I could come up with. Surprisingly, it was good enough.

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” She was still looking around, pensive.

“Sweetheart, is something wrong?” I was getting really worried.

“No. You don’t mind if I stayed the night, right?”

I was taken aback. I hadn’t called Folake yet. She would be calling any minute, and there was only so long as I could stall picking the phone. Moreover, something wasn’t right with Titi. Why worsen it by deliberately ignoring a call in her presence – again?

“That’s sudden.”

“Does that alter your plans?” Titi attacked, gearing up for a fight.

I laughed, “My house is your house, sweetheart.”

“Is it really?” Her eyes said: I don’t believe a word you’ve just uttered.

Now I was seriously on my guard. “Sweetheart, you know it is.”

“So, I can come here at anytime? Whenever I choose?”

I laughed again, easing my nerves. “You want a spare key?”

BIG MISTAKE!

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, I don’t mind at all.” She came off like she was daring me.

And I am a sucker for a challenge. “Just a second then.”

I went into wardrobe to get out a set of spare keys, fighting the sense of false relief that there wasn’t more to all the strangeness of the evening. A girl didn’t show up at your place after flooding your phone with calls and accepts the offer of a spare key just for the heck of it. Something was up.

“Here you go. Do cheer up, please.” All the time asking myself if I was nuts to be giving her the key.

“Thank you. Thank you very much.” Then she came to embrace me.

“Is something the matter, dear?”

“No. I just feel like I’m your booty call,” she cooed, appealing to my sensitive side.

“Sweetheart, how can you be my booty call when we are not even doing the deed? Silly girl.” I kissed her on the forehead. Titi and I haven't slept together, though there had been several close calls. Titi was being a good girl and I wasn’t pressing her to give it up either. “You want reassurance?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

“Of any particular sort?” My heart was beating wildly as I uttered those words.

Lord please, let her not want a ring.

She giggled. “No, love. Just to know that I matter to you. That I am the only woman in your life.”

(c) Flourishing Florida


In My Dreams It Was Simpler