“I said, not now!” His voice raised to a snarl and Thursday glanced over, his blind eye rolling unsteadily. Ahmed caught his other eye and Thursday dropped his stare, turning away. Saidat’s silence was choked. Ahmed turned around as she closed the door and dropped the veil back over her face. Usually, he would play the part of caring; he’d hold her, kiss her, make her feel better. But this was not a good night for him.
“Leave me alone tonight,” he said. “You hear?”
Saidat nodded, her shoulders small and scared. He couldn’t decide if that made him want to hold her or shake her until her head snapped off.
“Good,” he said instead, slipping off his shoes and entering the parlor. Saidat would probably avoid him for a week or two as she sulked until the fright wore off. It was better like that; they both needed the space.
Once inside, Ahmed stood and looked over the scene sprawling before his eyes, breathing in the soaked air pungent with sweat and fluids. Every time, every party, this centered him. Distill people down to their basic needs and desires, and it would smell like this—salty and ripe. Most of the time, in other spaces, Ahmed could feel how false they were, with all their layers, masks, pretenses. But not at his parties. Here, he never had to wonder if the world he was seeing was real. It was always true; it was the one truth he could be sure of.
A loud groan cut over the writhing mass of sound that filled the room, moans mixed with music. Ahmed looked over to see the senator shudder as he emptied himself into the boy he’d brought with him, the dancer folded over and holding his ankles. It was interesting that he’d stayed out in the main room. Ahmed watched the man pull out, gasping for air, the boy twirling quickly to his knees to clean him off, his head bobbing dutifully. What a picture that would make if anyone’s phone was allowed into the space. The gossip blogs would go wild over it, and that was why it couldn’t ever happen, why these parties were designed to protect the guests no matter who they were or what they did. Ahmed was their guardian for as long as they were in his world.
He leaned against the wall and watched the party rut its way deeper into the night. The Balogun sisters were at the bar, arguing softly, dressed as usual in matching lingerie from their line. The younger one, Timi, broke away from her sister and walked up to him with two glasses of wine, pearls clutching her breasts, all thin arms and sharp collarbone.
“Hello, stranger,” she said, offering one of the glasses.
Ahmed took it and bent to kiss her cheek. “Enjoying the party? I haven’t seen you and Bola here in a while.”
She shrugged. “Traveling. Busy with our line. The autumn collection needs to be ready soon.”
He nodded and sipped the wine, staring at her breasts. It was amazing how full they were even though the girls kept their bodies as hungry as if they still worked on runways.
“It’s lovely, though,” Timi noted, looking around. “The place looks beautiful.”
He scoffed. “You should see it in the morning.”
She tilted her head. “Don’t kill the mood. Aren’t you having fun?”
Ahmed touched his thumb to the edge of her mouth and dropped his voice. “I’d like to.” He was bored, antsy, looking for trouble. He almost didn’t mean it.
Timi’s eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. On instinct, Ahmed slid his thumb into her mouth and over her lower teeth, tugging slightly, just to see how she’d react. She inhaled sharply and didn’t look away.
He smiled. This was going to be fun.
Timi didn’t resist when he took her hand and led her out of the main room, the sound of her heels drowning in the carpets. When they passed her sister at the bar, Bola hissed and Ahmed winked at her. He’d taken her to Cape Town the year before for a weekend away. It felt like a slight accomplishment, to check her sister off the list of people he’d wanted and hadn’t got. On another night, maybe he wouldn’t have been so blatant, but there was an anger still inside him and Ahmed felt like making a small destruction. One of his guards stepped up to him as he was walking past with Timi.
“What is it?” said Ahmed. The guard cleared his throat and glanced at Timi, reluctant to speak. Ahmed turned to her and kissed her hand. “Give me a moment, love.”
Timi smiled and sauntered off to the side.
“Sorry to disturb you, oga. They are finished in the other room.”
“And?”
“The girl is waiting in the office, sah.” He jerked his head toward the door behind him. Ahmed’s irritation spiked at the thought of the girl. It wasn’t her fault Kalu had reacted the way he did, but still. He blew air out of his nostrils sharply.
“All right. I’m coming.” Turning to Timi, he smiled and spread his palms open. “Business is calling, darling.”
She pouted and jutted out a hip. “How long is it going to take?”
Eager. She was so eager. Ahmed almost wanted to push her down to the carpets right then and there, but he chained the impulse. “Shouldn’t be too long,” he said. “Would you like to wait for me?”
Her face brightened and she nodded. Ahmed snapped his fingers at the guard.
“Sah,” the man responded, almost at attention.
“Escort her to the spare room.” As Timi walked off down the corridor, Ahmed stared at her ass curving out from all the pearl. That Balogun body, he thought. Fuck.
He had to take a deep breath before opening the office door, refusing to think about Kalu, his friend’s saliva wet on his face, the anger Kalu’s sobs had built in him. The room was fully lit this time, and the girl was standing by the bookcase, running her fingers over the spines of the books. She was wearing a T-shirt that was slightly too big and hung off her shoulders, dark skinny jeans, and open yellow sandals. Her hair was short and she’d twisted it out, but the past few hours of getting fucked had messed it up. Small beads of water clung to the nape of her neck.
“You took a shower,” Ahmed said, unthinking. She turned around, startled. Her eyes were liquid, her lashes heavy and thick. She lifted a hand to the dampness of her neck and lowered her eyes.
“I remembered,” she said softly. She spoke with a slight Igbo accent, a low voice, weighted like a handful of ripe udara. Ahmed could hear hard seeds inside, black and shiny under her tongue. She remembered? He was blank for a moment, then it came back, the first time he’d met her, when Aunty Promise introduced her at his office in Section One. The girl had come by keke and the sun had been oppressive, the traffic mutinous. By the time she entered the room, she smelled sour and rank. Aunty Promise didn’t seem to even notice although she had come by driver in an air-conditioned car and reeked of strong vanilla, from the pearls wound around her neck to the lace wrapped around her body. Perhaps that blocked her to every other scent. Ahmed had been pissed.
“This is the girl you have for me?” He was annoyed that she was late, that she smelled, that this preening woman trying to market her hadn’t thought of even handing her a stick of deodorant. He was irritated by her thinness, her long fingers, her lost eyes, that she looked like exactly what his clients wanted, small and defenseless and like his little nieces. Surrounded by the glass and metal of his office, the wide white monied spaces, the girl’s presence was a distortion in the air.
“Stand up well!” Aunty Promise snapped at her before smiling widely at Ahmed. “Is she not okay? She resembles a small girl, ba?” The girl straightened her back and twisted her hands in front of the worn dress she was wearing. She looked maybe fifteen but could pass for younger by her height, barely breasted and clear skinned, all good things. Pimples were too old. “I can get someone younger if you want, but that one will be proper small girl—”
“I don’t want that,” Ahmed interrupted. He was irritated to be dealing with her in the first place, but there had been a last-minute request and all his other suppliers were booked in advance.
Aunty Promise spread her palms. “Eh hehn. That is what I am saying. This one is perfect.”
“How old is she?”
“Nineteen.”
He swiveled in his chair and looked at the girl full on. Nineteen, like hell. She flicked a glance up at him and her eyes were briefly sharp, no longer lost.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
