“Machi,” she said.
“How old are you?”
“I said nineteen na!” Aunty Promise interjected.
“Promise.” Ahmed didn’t look at her. The air cringed around her head. “I’m speaking to the girl.” Machi looked over at the vanilla woman, nervous now. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen,” she mumbled. All right, he thought. Leave some lies alone.
“Do you know you smell?”
She winced. “No, sah.”
“Well, you do. My clients won’t like that.”
“We can handle that, oga. No wahala.” Aunty Promise was radiating assurance.
Ahmed cocked his head and looked her over. “Have her show up ahead of time,” he said to the madam.
“No problem, Alhaji.”
He waved a hand. “That’s all for now, Promise. We’ll talk later.”
She rose up from her seat in a cloud of fragrance and smiled again, then gestured for the girl to follow her as she left.
“No, leave the girl. I want to talk to her.”
Aunty Promise was instantly wary. “Ah-ahn, Alhaji. Why now? You fit talk to me about anything wey concern her.”
“Promise, unless you’re the one planning to take off your clothes, you really don’t need to be a part of this conversation.”
A quick fury flared briefly through the madam’s yellowed and powdered skin, but she left and closed the door behind her. Ahmed turned back to the girl, who was standing motionless except for her twisting fingers.
“You can sit down,” he said. She shook her head, a tiny arc. He leaned back and took a good look at her from the fluffed cornrows to the dusty feet and the rubber slippers. “How old are you? And don’t lie again, I don’t have the energy.”
Her hands stopped moving. “Seventeen next month.”
“All right. I won’t tell your aunty that you told me that.”
She mumbled something under her breath.
“Speak up!”
“She’s not my aunty.” He got another sharp glance from her.
“Well,” he said slowly. “I guess she’s not, is she?” The girl didn’t say anything, fingers working again at each other.
“How long have you been working for her?”
A shrug. “Since last year.”
“And you know what this job is about?”
She nodded.
“You’re all right with that?”
The look she gave him was sudden, scorching, contemptuous. As quickly as it blazed, she killed it and dropped her head.
“Yes, sah.” Her voice was taut, and Ahmed knew it had been a stupid question. This was her job. It wasn’t her first time, and even when the party was over and the men drained, it wouldn’t be her last. He had let her go shortly after that; there wasn’t much more to say. Now she was standing in this other office, her face tired and clean. He was grateful; he didn’t know what state the men had left her in, and it was easier not to think of what she’d probably looked like by the time they were done, thick gobs of white congealing like cooling pap over her eyes and nose and mouth and cheeks and—
“Alhaji?”
Ahmed started at her voice.
“Are you all right?”
You know what? he thought. Fuck you, Kalu.
“I’m fine. How are you?” Clumsy. She looked at him like he was confused. Ahmed sat on the desk and took off his mask, staring back at her.
“Erm…” She seemed uncertain and he almost felt bad. Aunty Promise probably never asked her anything so foolish afterward. How are you, now that those old men have finished filling you up, now that you’ve completed the task your body was rented out for? The girl wrapped her thin arms around her torso and shifted on her feet before looking up at him.
“I’m tired.”
“Of course. Where do you live? One of the drivers can drop you.”
“Fishing Bay. It’s better if I take a water taxi.”
