For those who have not read The Lady Part 1 you can click here.
Otherwise do enjoy.
Have you ever made out with a glass of red wine. A rosé to be exact. It’s beautiful really. You put your lips on the rim and you kiss it while you take its life fluid out if it. Sip by sip. Being celibate sucks. Okay almost celibate. I’m trying. Everything I do is sexual now. I can’t wear heels without imagining what type of man will take them off. Take for example my animal print with a touch of blue at the top heels, I imagine the man to take them off to be a tall, dark, smart mouth type of man. But that’s just me. And those aren’t the heels I have on tonight. Nah tonight I’m not trying to get the eye of any man, so it’s pretty heels rock.
I need to work work work work work this.
Is she dancing for a drink? Oh. She’s trying too hard. Take it easy ladies.
Gosh why is dancing for alcohol so hard.
Don’t get me wrong I’m the lady sitting at the back of the club near the exit watching random chicks dance for a drink while trying to kiss a glass of wine to destruction. Are the ladies that broke? Why am I still kissing this glass in my hand. What happened to independent women? You know, the ones Beyoncé and her two followers sang about. Gone in the wind that is. Shit, I should watch my thoughts. I’m one of the “independent women” in this club; to be honest I am truly independent with a touch of pretense. A glass of wine in my over ringed hand as I just enjoy the music. Why the hell am I sitting? I should be dancing or at least kissing a random dude. Okay that’s too much. Not in a town I know nothing about. Though believe me the temptation is great but not that great. I can do this. Sit my ass down on the red chair and simply sip my drink on a track “in da club.” A night out on the town is exactly what I needed. Away from stress of life and work. The hustle. More like the bustle of realising adulthood is not all they tell us to be. Shit, I should stop saying shit. I am after all a lady first then a freak second. Who doesn’t love that? A lady to show off to the world who makes you happy. Mr I-know-how-to-make-you-smile certainly loves it. A little bit too much. That’s why he keeps texting me. And he’s been going on for hours now. Is a man supposed to be clingy? Check this out.
19:30 Are you safe? Are you in your hotel room? Call me when you read this. I miss you.
(I know you miss me. You say it all the time)
20:00 Babe, your last seen on whatsapp says you were online two minutes ago. Are you receiving my messages?
(Whatsapp last seen deserves to burn in hell forever)
20:30 Okay. You’re plain rude. Are you ignoring me? Is this because I didn’t send you money?
(Well, no but now that you’ve brought it up, let’s use that. How much did I even ask for?)
21:00 Babe pick up. Come on. I miss you. Don’t do this to a brother.
(Do what? A brother? I don’t care about you)
21:30 Fine. You wanna play this game? Cool. I’m going out. It’s a Friday. I’ll be with the guys. Enjoy yourself.
(I literally rolled my eyes at this message)
22:00 If you had been here we could have been chilling at home. A bottle of red wine, dinner and desert. Think about it.
(What a joke. Chilling at whose home dude? You live with your parents and if you mean my home then no way. I’m an independent lady)
22:30 We need to talk.
Pretty much blocked the rest of the incoming messages. I’ll call him tomorrow and be nice and sweet about everything and claim I was tired and asleep. That usually works with Mr KHTMYS. I’m in a different town for a week, tonight is my last night and I don’t need men from my home town cramping my style with an over ringing phone. But of course for others I have to make an exception. Take for instance Mr Old. The man has class and style. We talking about a sixty something year old with money to spend. The wanna be young again man who thinks Polo shirts and chinos are his right to youth. But I respect him so I usually respond to him. Why? Because he’s a gentleman worth respecting. Mama always told me to respect a man, no matter who he is he deserves respect, even if it means faking it then so be it. Mr Old is sweet. Never fussing about my whereabouts, he understands I am a woman of many traits who deserves to be let free. Granted he is a clingy old bee but he still lets me be. He calls at particular times like clockwork – four times a day at eight, twelve, sixteen and twenty hours just to make sure I am fine. Of course we talk about stuff and other things like work and how the sky is so blue today than it ever was in President Kaunda’s era – whatever that’s about. Normally it’s random general topics which are to be honest too boring for someone my age. So you get the drift. After the calls I get three messages just for fun sake. I should be expecting one soon with a bank balance in tow. I’m generous and generous people deserve gifts.
The club is getting old. I need to leave. Where the hell are my colleagues? Seriously you come with people to the club and they disappear on you like thieves in the night. Banditory style. I don’t have the energy to look for them in the crowd of sweaty humans. Half empty glasses still on the table, and me as protector of said glasses I turn and look around for my missing colleagues. I see one of them on the dance floor. Hmmm… Tall, dark skin, dark eyes, gosh dark everything – I’ve been staring for days and yes I know it’s him on the dance floor – dimple cheek, blessing on the eyes, ovary controlling Zambian man – fine I’ll just call him Mr Kill; and what is Mr Kill doing? Mr Kill is dancing with some lady on the dance floor. Maybe I should have taken him up on his offer and danced my way down to his feet so that he can carry me into the sunset or whatever romantics do. He holds her waist and her tiny bums sway with him as she grinds on his member, oh my she might as well open her legs and let him in. I swear Mr Kill is getting laid. Tonight.
Maybe I should have stayed in my hotel room. I hate travelling for conferences because in a different town you never know what to do except sleep it off and believe me Livingstone is no exception.
I stand up from my seat – to hell with these glasses – grab my purse and walk towards the exit. I’m so done here. I feel my phone vibrate in my purse and I quickly walk out of the club and into some quieter lounge area of what makes up Club Fairmount. I get my phone from my bag as I walk outside the club and the name Mr Workaholic flashes on my screen. I smile before I answer the call. His deep voice never fails to get me. It is deep.
“Hey.” I say.
“Hi. You’ve been silent. You okay?”
“Yea. Just tired. Conference stuff got to me earlier. Plus I had a few meetings. The usual stuff.”
“Are you in a bar?”
Of course that’s all he heard. The background noise. Men typical.
“Club Fairmount actually. Some of the ladies decided to go out tonight. And apparently I’ve been a bad colleague staying in my hotel room every night.”
He laughs. He loves to laugh. I know that after he laughs a smile comes up and it stays on for hours. The potential. I swear one should always have one friend that makes you laugh no matter what. It’s good for the soul. And I’m this guy’s make you laugh girl.
“Well I hope you’re enjoying yourself. Don’t drink too much.”
Huh? Okay. He does know I love the bottle a lot.
“Hmmm.” I respond.
“What time is your flight tomorrow?” He asks.
So that’s what he called for. Hmmm I like where this is going.
“Early morning. I’ll be in Lusaka at twelve or so.”
“Who will pick you up?”
Well that I’m not sure about to be honest. Mr Old can do it if he is free or he will send his driver if he’s busy. But I don’t need the stress of drivers seeing me and judging me for being with an old man even though I’m not sleeping with him. But who ever asks those questions, like “Hey beautiful are you sleeping with him or just using for his money?” No. They just judge you like they know better. Anyway so Mr Old is out for now. Mr KHTMYS is a no go area so I’ll pass. Mr Workaholic is a busy one too. Let’s leave it at he never makes the time for pickups. Wow. I’m alone. Oh my word, I’ve lost my touch. I need new friends. Male friends to be exact. Shit. I need to stop saying that.
“I don’t know. I can use a cab.” I say
“Aren’t they expensive?”
“Yes they are but who else will pick me up?”
“Okay I’ll pick you up.” He says
“Huh? Are you serious?”
“You sound shocked.”
“I am. You are willing to leave the office for me?”
“Girl I’m willing to do alot of things for you. If you let me.”
“Boy I’ve been letting you but you been busy with paperwork.”
He laughs again.
“I’m making time for you. I’ve been a bad guy. Working on that.”
Wow. I might need to find a new name for him even though his work does pay the rentals for my new flat.
“Well thank you.” I say happily.
“You welcome. And if I wanna make it there tomorrow, I better finish my work tonight.”
Nope. No need to change his name. It still suits him.
“Fine. Get back to work. Thank you for calling.”
“Uh huh. I love you.”
“Bye.” I say
I don’t want know what right answer to give to the words “I love you.” He knows I “might” never say the words. Okay I’ll never say them. To him. No need to force them out. I swear love is now just a word like “Hi.” No meaning. I hate the words. My phone vibrates again. What now!!
Hello. Hope you resting now. Do call me tomorrow if you need the driver to pick you up from the airport. I’ll be out of town for two days. Don’t worry I’ve left something in your account for fun. Love you.
Like clockwork. I said it. He is leaving for two days. Thank God I don’t have to deal with him and his greedy hands. I can actually enjoy my time with Mr Workaholic then. I’m trying out something new, juggling a few men at a time. A few being three. After the crap that happened with Mr Family man and his weird wife, I just want sensible men in my life this time around. Mr family man, whenever I think about him, I feel nothing to be honest. The man was an idiot really. It wasnt his wife’s fault that she got pregnant again when he’s the one that opened her legs; he claimed he was keeping up appearances and that he was going to leave her, but then his wife mysteriously gave birth to his newborn son. The Lord works in mysterious ways I tell you. To add shit to crap, the man had the audacity to tell me I was ruining his marriage. Excuse me, did I force him to stay with me? No. These men lie to themselves when I have been nothing but honest with them. I don’t sleep with them, I simply talk to them and make them feel like they are the only ones and they pay for it. For every service there is a charge. I always say know when to dangle a cookie, and know when to add in the promise of cream and milk maybe with a little honey for the lick off. Anyway I blocked his ass after he tried a baby come back I’ll leave my wife this time. So done with that. And in keeping with my I-need-sensible-men-in-my-life motto I let go of Mr Always-Busy-Never-Carry-My-Mobile-Phone; I heard he has a new lady in his life. Good for him. Hopefully he realised a mobile phone is to carried everywhere.
So I’m a different woman now. A better more focused woman. I like this version of me. I am a happier person. I swear I am. Maybe I should be happier than this. Like maybe I should actually have a man I care about and claim the “I love you too.” Out of the three I have, Mr Workaholic is the one I can see an almost-maybe-I-am-pushing-it future. So basically I don’t like the man enough either but I’m trying though. I make more time for him than the other two. Why? Well because he sort of understands me and he is a nice person I suppose. Plus he’s young enough. I should be decided and not playing around like a girl in university. But then again what is love supposed to be like when the role models I have are getting divorced every year. Marriage has gone to the bandits. Why am I thinking about this in a car park. I’m so pathetic. I wish I smoked because then I would look so normal outside standing alone.
My phone vibrates again. Will this end?
No response. You must be asleep. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you.
(See never fussy)
Babe. I miss you. I promise I’ll behave. Just don’t leave me. Call me or pick up. I’ll call you in five minutes.
(See fussing. Block)
Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Night cap and everything nice? Goodnight. I love you
(Yep. A man who plans it all.)
“A ngwee for your thoughts.”
Cheap sweet talk. I smile. I know that voice. I’ve heard it everyday for the past six days. It’s the voice of a man who knows how to make a business deal and get the most out of it.
“You’re gonna have to up that price Sir.” I say as I turn around to face Mr Kill.
Gosh it’s like the man just whispered to my ovaries that he wants to be their daddy. My mind is starting to lose it too. Must be the cold.
“It’s cold. You’re alone.” He says
“Well I saw how lady grinding on your D was about to show us some hardcore stuff, I had to leave.”
“You were watching.”
“The whole club was watching that pornographic scene.”
He smiles at me. Those perfect teeth. All aligned. Those dimples. Oh my gosh. I think my ovaries are crying. Okay I need to sleep. Why I never met this man in Lusaka is a mystery to me. Is Lusaka that big a city because I thought it was small with everyone in everyone’s business one way or another. What’s so funny is Lusaka has men who come out to play at weird times and in weird places. Take for example Mr Kill, the man obviously loves a good drink and probably goes out to drink alot but I never met him before this trip. Why? He probably goes to dingy clubs. I’m judging. No more. Okay either way it’s about how I know people but how I also don’t know people because we choose different venues for chills. I need to see more of him when I get home. He has my card. Maybe he will call. Maybe he won’t. I hope I made a lasting impression.
“Where are the others?” I ask
“No idea. But I’m sure they will be alright. I saw you leave and I got worried. You didn’t dance. You just sat there alone.”
Wait did he say our colleagues will be okay, but he came to find me? He was worried? Wait. Oh my gosh. No. I’m losing it. Lasting impression?
“Shouldn’t you be heading back in there to find lady grinder?”
“Really? I think she’s found someone else by now.” He says.
“I’m sorry. You can go back though. I’ll just head to the hotel and sleep.”
“You wanna go to the hotel? Or maybe somewhere quiet? For drink that is.” He asks
That’s what they all say.
That was definitely fast. Is he drunk? Because I’m not. Far from it in fact. I could do with another kissing session – with a glass of wine that is. I look at him and the man is smiling at me. Is he playing with me, because my ovaries are not. What do I say now? Okay all to hell. I’m gonna break a rule. This is Livingstone and I’m supposed to have fun on trips because they don’t happen often. So fun must be had with no regrets. Right?
“What’s more quiet than a hotel room?” I respond.
I watch his face as he thinks about my answer and he laughs
“Okay. Madam. Hotel it is.”
I smile at him and he reaches out for my hand and places it in the crook of his arm and he signals to a man who must be a cab driver.
“Yours or mine.” I ask
“Does it matter?”
Maybe. I do have OCD.
He smiles at me and I smile back.
Did I tell you my smiles say a lot of things?
Tonight’s just said “What happens in Stone stays in Stone.”
And then they were four.