DOLAPO: The Revelation

My new job had me sitting in a cubicle the size of the biggest cardboard box at the post office. I hate cubicles. I hate not having my own privacy. But more than that, I don’t like colleagues who think it’s their right to poke their heads into my cubicle and ask about things that don’t concern them.

It’s been three weeks since I started this job at McMillan Insurance Company. I had sent an email to Folake Williams asking for permission to take time off from the studio for two months. I told her I needed to regroup from all the events that had unfolded. She granted me only thirty days. I hadn’t seen Kene since that night at his house, and I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him again. I convinced myself that my dream of being on top of the music chart will come later, at the right time. I just needed to take it one step at a time. So I took this temporary job as a call operator instead. The phone rang and interrupted my thoughts.

“Hello, this is McMillan Insurance. How can I help you today?”

“I want my money back. You riff-raffs went overboard this time.”

“Well, I’m sorry sir. Can I please get your last name and date of birth to verify your account, sir?”

“I want to speak to the manager. Who’s in charge?”

“Sir! I need your last name and date of birth for verification.”

“August nineteenth, nineteen forty-nine, and last name Hollister,” he replied. The number of cranky old men that called this number was alarmingly high.

“Okay, if you can please stay on the line I’ll transfer you to the right department.” Beep. The automated song came on.

This job easily ranked as my most horrible job, what with people cussing me out at every chance they got. But what could I do? I had to pay my bills somehow.

The phone rang again, but this time it was my cell phone. I quickly answered. This was an opportunity to get away from the craziness of the cubicle for some minutes.

“Hello?”

“Hi Dolapo,” Kene said. The sound of his voice jolted me forward and made me cringe inside.

“Errm..Kene?”

“Dolapo, we need to talk. You’ve been avoiding my phone calls since that night at my house.”

“I can’t talk right now. I’m at work.”

“Hmm, I see you took some time off the studio.”

“Yes, I did. I have to go now.”

“Wait Dolapo. When can I see you? I need to talk to you.”

I wanted to see him too, I just didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. At least not yet. I didn’t want to make any more mistakes. Maybe if we met at a crowded place…

“Come for the fashion show we’re hosting in Maureen’s honor. Seven on Saturday night. I’ll text the details to you later.”

I hung up the phone. I wondered if it was a good idea.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Temmy, Funmi, Lola, Titi, and I sat in the front row clasping each others’ hands. I was at the left end of the row. There was no going back. No turning the hands of time. No asking God to take it all away. Faced with a harsh reality, we’ve been pushed to look into the eyes of our future. We’ve made it here and we will make it to the end. Hearts beating, thoughts racing, legs shaking, and lips trembling- it did not matter anymore, we were in for the long haul. The day of the fashion show had arrived.

“The moment is finally here,” the announcer said, speaking into the microphone with his deep British accent. He was a chubby man with curly black hair, a moustache, expensive-looking diamond studs in both of his ears, a black tuxedo, and shiny black shoes. He had a way with words.

The hall took my breath away. A triangular-shaped runway had been erected with a water fountain smack in the middle. There was a back splash with palm trees and abstract shapes playing with the primary colors from Maureen’s designer book and sketch pad. The lighting was calming and the atmosphere electrifying. As I looked around, I couldn’t help but wonder where Kene was seated. I knew he was somewhere around the center aisle because he texted me when he was able to find a seat. We had agreed last night to meet when the show was over.

“I am truly honored to introduce to you a rather unique fashion line,” the announcer said. “It was created by the late aspiring fashion designer Maureen, and is now hosted by these five beautiful young women, Maureen’s best friends.” He nodded towards our direction.

We stood up and turned around to face the audience with smiles, and then we took a bow and sat down again. The people in the audience stood up in excitement to see the first model strut her stuff. The applause that erupted in the hall was as though everyone felt the impact of Maureen’s death.

“Boom, Boom, Boom.” 

The music began to fill the room as she cat-walked around the runway. Boom, Boom, Boom. She sashayed to the beats of the music. She had on a white flowing silk blouse with a V-cut in front, a short yellow floral skirt that defined her shape, and black 4-inch stilettos.

“Gosh, I wish Maureen was here to see this,” I whispered into Temmy’s ears. She looked at me and smiled. I squeezed her hand. The second model was now walking towards us in the same flawless execution of intricate design.

One by one they came out, all fifteen of them. At the end, the girls walked out together and we stood up to give them a standing ovation. We hugged each other too. Temmy went up to give a final vote of thanks to the audience. As she spoke, I leaned towards Funmi and told her I had to leave now.

As I walked towards the back of the hall I brought out my phone to text Kene. “Meet me outside.”

Immediately I stepped out of the entrance I saw him leaning on the wall. He smiled at me and I couldn’t resist doing the same.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

“You look good.”

Rather than respond to that comment he just smiled.

“Well, say something,” I urged, after walking closer to where he was standing.

“Dolapo,” he said looking into my eyes. “I’m sorry about the other night at my place.”

I looked away when he said that. I had replayed what I would say to him again and again before today, but everything flew off my memory. I was going to tell him that I won’t be able to see him again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “It was mine.” That was the truth anyway. I was the one who threw all my moral values and beliefs in the dust bin that night.

“Can we start all over again?” He asked me. He held my shoulders. “I want to do it right this time.”

“I…I…errrm…Kene.”

“Think about it Dolapo. You don’t need to give me an answer right now.”

I looked into his eyes and all I could see was his sincerity. Tears threatened to come out but I prevented them.

“Okay I will.”

“Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Goodnight then,” he responded. With that he walked out into the moon light and as I watched him leave I muttered to myself. “God, I hope I’m doing the right thing.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I was all smiles by the time I got back to my apartment. Talking to Kene again after several weeks surprisingly put me at ease. The night was still young so I gave Temmy a phone call to check up on her.

“Hey Tems! Are you back home?”

“Yes, Dolapo. Look how everything turned out!” I imagined that she was grinning.

“Yes, I know. Maureen would have been happy. Thanks to you, Temmy.”

“No, don’t thank me. What could I have done without my girls?”

“You did most of the work dear.”

“Well, Funmi sort of helped me fit the pieces of the puzzle together when I stayed at her place for a while.” And as a last thought she added, “And well, you guys supported financially sha,” she laughed. At least she was happy.

“And what about the hall? The colors were so on point,” I added.

“Yes they were. The back-splash! The runway! The fountain! Everything! I’m very tickled about the turn-out.”

“Are you telling me? I can feel your excitement through the phone. And you know what? During the show I thought about how we’ve all been forced to focus on the future.” I took a deep breath. “There’s no going back Temmy. No turning the hands of time. No asking God to take it all away. I’m beginning to regain my confidence.”

“Dolapo I feel you. And even more than ever before we need each other.”

“Promise me you’ll always stick close Temmy.”

“I promise,” she said laughing. “Okay stop sounding so serious. We need to go to bed.”

“Okay dear. Good night.”

“Sweet dreams!”

“Night night…”

“Drop the phone Dolly.”

When we eventually got off the phone I was happier. I decided to take a shower before I slept so I took off my black tube dress and tied my towel.

As I was walking to the bathroom I saw it. There it was on my bookshelf. Maureen’s diary.

Dolapo, take good care of it. I heard Funmi’s voice echoing in the silence of my room. Take good care of it. I had promised to keep it safe.

I wondered what was inside. I bit my right thumb. I felt like connecting more to Maureen. Maybe she wrote something that would be etched into my memory forever. Maybe I should read it. Maybe I had the book for a reason. After standing there for five minutes in my towel looking like a complete idiot, I finally went to grab the book from the shelf.

I went back to my bed. Think about this Dolapo, do you really want to do this? Yet, despite this plea to reason from the voice in my head I went ahead and opened the pages of the diary, randomly flicking the leaves. I ended up on the fifty-seventh entry.

Entry 57: 

I just finished sketching the twelfth piece. I don’t know how to explain it, this one seems perfect. I did not struggle so much like I did the others. My friends think I’m a natural talent, but I find myself struggling to perfect my designs. I am as human as they come and to get to the top I have to do twice of what Isaac Mizrahi has done. I’m off to Titi’s house now anyhow. I and the girls are sleeping over so we can cook for her birthday party tomorrow. I’m pretty sure they will make me cook gizzard stew, that’s all they ever tell me to make for any shingding. I hope they enjoy it sha. 

I smiled when I read that entry. Maureen’s gizzard stew was truly unbeatable. Hope she knew that.

Entry 58: 

I just got back from Titi’s. So her guy friend is 35 years old. Would I want to date a 35-year old? Well, at this rate I won’t mind. Everyone seems to think I don’t need a man, but it gets pretty lonely sometimes. Age defies time. Age is only a number. If my man comes in the skin of a 40-year old man, he better have some six packs and more. 

I laughed out breaking the silence of my room. “You were such a naughty girl, Maureen,” I said. I took off my towel and wore my pajamas. I’d have to shower tomorrow morning instead. I sat on my bed and propped my pillow against the headboard to lean against it more comfortably.

Entry 123: 

A guy who calls himself “KL” has contacted me again for the umpteenth time now. Every single day this week he sent me an email asking if I would like to design outfits for his skinny models. I asked him for a valid website and he said he didn’t have one. So I rejected his request. He emailed me today saying that he would give me whatever I want if I did this for him, even sex. Who talks like that? Why would I want to do such a thing? Please o, I’m not interested. What kind of lowlife creepy person is this? I have now redirected his messages to my spam folder. Please, let me sleep in peace. I like the way I wrote him off. “If you are not a well renowned Fashion designer who hosts multiple shows in Paris or Italy showing off your designs, don’t bother returning this email.” 

I read that line again one more time. Then I got up from my bed and flung the diary on the floor. I bit my right thumb and put my left hand on my head. Fashion Designer with multiple shows in Paris or Italy. Maureen was very desperate to meet someone big. Someone like Jean-Claude Pierre, the French man they met at the bar. Oh my God, Oh my God! I think someone was stalking Maureen before the night at the bar.

I picked up my phone to call Funmi. She answered on the first ring.

“Funmi, we have a problem.”

“What? Hold on. Let me tell Ebuka I’ll call him right back.”

She switched to Ebuka’s line and relayed the message and then she came back to mine.

“What is it Dolapo? It’s really late.”

“Remember Jean-Claude Pierre?”

“Yes, the French guy from the bar.”

“Funmi, I read Maureen’s diary.”

“What???”

“And she wrote about a guy...KL.”

“What does he have to do with Jean-Claude Pierre?”

“I don’t know Funmi. But I think he was stalking Maureen and he has something to do with the Pierre guy at the bar. Funmi, we have to get into Maureen’s email. Now! We have to find out the truth. You have her password right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“We need to do a conference call. Call Titi and Lola and I’ll call Temmy.”

“Okay, Okay,” Funmi answered. “I’ll call you right back to connect you.”

(c) Jaycee