Ifeoma sighed. “No, you’re misunderstanding me. I’d feel far better in something African.”
“I couldn’t agree more with that,” Mira muttered.
The two women turned to her. “Excuse me?” Lauren asked incredulously.
Mira jerked her head up, realising her mistake. They were looking at her, Ifeoma with a hint of interest and Lauren with an icy stare. “I …” she blinked, then coughed nervously. “I’m sorry … please pay no attention to me, Mrs Ifeoma. I didn’t mean to say anything.”
But Ifeoma was already seated beside her, clearly interested in what she had to say. “No, don’t apologise. You seem to understand, so let’s hear your opinion. What do you think, Mirabel?”
“Mira,” she corrected sweetly.
“Yes, yes … go ahead?”
Mira turned to her boss for approval. The latter rolled her eyes and waved her on. Mira smiled. “Well, like you said … you need something African, and if I was in your shoes I’d get an Ankara material and create my own style, a beautiful dress that would rival any designer’s in the world! We’ve got so many choices in the markets, and the great thing is you can team local and foreign fabrics and produce fantastic results.”
Ifeoma gasped with delight. “That is a good idea!”
“What did she say that is so important?” Lauren wanted to know.
“She’s right! I want to be dressed in native dresses, Lauren! I want to send a message to people out there, and what better way to connect with our people than looking like them? Look outside your window now, into the streets of Lagos – how many women do you see wearing a Dolce and Gabbana gown or a Vera Wang dress? A handful, that’s all you’ll see! But thousands are wearing adire and Ankara.
Those are the women like us, Lauren … those are the women who will pick up Black Sparkle next month with my face on it and want to read about me,” Ifeoma said with spirit. She looked at the clothes rail. “I appreciate all these clothes, but it’s time to get them out of here. Bring on the Ankara, abeg.” She winked at Mira and looked at Lauren. “What do you say, Lauren?”
Silence reigned for a minute. The only sounds were the dull hum of the air conditioner on the silver-white walls and the ringing phone outside the door. Finally, Lauren nodded. “OK then, we can arrange that. Thankfully we are on contract with some of the best African designers. And, they only use original Vlisco fabric. I’ll call Deola Sagoe or Jewel by Lisa to send one of their staff to come and measure you.”
“Um … I could draw you a design if you want,” Mira suggested tentatively.
“Oh my goodness,” Ifeoma said, her hand splayed on her chest. “You design too?”
Mira shrugged, enjoying the moment. “And I sew.”
Lauren looked puzzled. “I didn’t know about that, Mira.”
“I don’t really talk about it.” She opened her bag and pulled out a crocodile-skin portfolio. “These are my sketches.” She handed it over to Ifeoma. “Pick whichever you like, and if you don’t see anything you like in there,” she tore out a page from her jotting pad, “then I’ll just make one … from scratch. What do you say?”
Ifeoma looked at the first sketch, her eyes wide with delight. Then she shut the folio and looked up. “Lauren, could you please explain to me why this lady is your P.A.?”
Three
On an 8am-to-4pm timeline, Mira had the privilege of leaving work before the traffic peaked. But, today, she packed up early and headed home. Luckily, traffic was light on the island, and within minutes she arrived at the duplex flat she shared with her friends Sade and Teju. She bounded up the steps and burst through the front door, yelling, “I just got promoted!”
They were in the living room; Sade was at the dining table frosting a large cake while Teju was sprawled across the sofa, watching TV. They gasped, excited looks on their faces. “To assistant editor?” they asked in unison.
“Yes!” she squealed as the girls laughed wildly, rushing forward to hug her.
“Oh my goodness, you’re lying!” Sade screeched. She was fair, sinewy and athletic, her hair in tight, waist-long braids. She was clad in denim dungarees and a tank top, with a soiled oversized apron over them and a cake-frosting decorator in her hand.
Mira slumped into the coffee-brown sofa with a grin. “I’m not. You are looking at the new assistant editor of Black Sparkle magazine!”
“Details, I want details,” T.J. ordered, snapping her fingers. Teju, or T.J. as her friends called her, was ebony-skinned, tomboyish and the tallest and oldest amongst her friends – at 5’11 she towered over Mira’s 5’6 ½ and Sade’s petite 5’4, and at 30 years old she was a self-proclaimed ‘mother’ figure to Mira’s 26 and Sade’s 28.
She told them what had transpired at Lauren’s office and about the conversation with Ifeoma. “You should have seen the woman’s face when she saw my designs … pure heaven!” she beamed. “Lauren promoted me an hour after she left.”
Sade hugged her warmly. “I’m so proud of you, Mira. You’ve always wanted that position, and I’m glad you got it, girl! OK, I have to check on the second cake in the oven … I have a wedding to plan.” Sade was a wedding planner and certified confectioner.
“Wait, we need to celebrate!” T.J. exclaimed. “Wine, vodka or whisky … take your pick.”
“Wine,” Mira said.
T.J. rubbed her hands together, sniggering as she hurried to the kitchen. Soon she reappeared, a sheepish grin on her face. “Sorry, no wine. I finished the last bottle last night. But check this out.” She held up three plastic wine coolers. “I sneaked them off the flight after my last duty.” T.J. was a flight attendant.
Sade groaned. “T.J., you have to stop stealing stuff while on the job. They will soon fire your ass.”
“I said I sneaked them, not stole. Wetin dey do you sef? Abeg o.”
Mira laughed. “It’s fine.” She raised her drink in the air. “To more promotions!” she said and they banged their bottles together, giggling uncontrollably.
T.J. snapped her fingers. “You know what you need now to make this perfect? A date! You need to go on another date … clearly they are your good-luck charm.”
Mira nearly choked on her drink. “What?” she spluttered.
“Yes!” Sade clapped her hands. “And I know the perfect guy! Remember Kayode … one of the groomsmen at my last wedding? Well, he’s single and still searching!” she giggled as she pulled out her iPhone. “I remember he gave me his number, let’s see—”
Mira snatched the phone away from her. “No!” she shouted. “Are you insane? I haven’t got over the last date and you want to set me up on another? Nope, no way.”
Sade let out an irritated sigh. “Come on, Mira … you have to meet someone.”
For a second her mind flashed back to the stranger in the parking lot, and Mira’s heart fluttered as she recalled his inquisitive hazel eyes. Why in the world was she still thinking about him? She tried to focus on the present. “No, I don’t.”
Sade rolled her eyes. “Come on! You need to start dating again.” She looked at T.J. “T.J., when was the last time Mira was in a relationship?”
“If we’re not counting that time she had drinks with Moses or the hook-up with that creepy Tunde at Moyo’s birthday party, then it’s been three years,” T.J. said. She ticked off her fingers. “One, two, three solid years of no bed action, phew! Kind of explains why you can be so uptight sometimes.”
“I’m not uptight!” Mira protested.
T.J. shrugged. “Well, prove it by going on a date. Loosen up. It will do you good.”
“No!” she retorted. “What is this – Millionaire Matchmaker? Please.” She grabbed her bag and folders and headed for the stairs. “I’m going to my room. Sorry, but I’m not interested. This conversation is over.” On her way up she spotted T.J.’s phone on a stool and grabbed that too.
T.J. snorted. “You do realise we can still use the landline?”
“Be my guest. Remember, you forgot to pay the phone bill last month.�
�� She waved at them. “Goodnight!”
She could hear their sighs as she got to the landing. “Will she ever change?” T.J. wondered aloud. Mira gave a shrewd smile.
She doubted she would.
***
“Wow, Mira, you look like death warmed up.”
Mira rolled her eyes behind her jewel-encrusted glasses as she typed into her laptop computer. “Good morning to you too, Adeleye,” she said without looking up. “On a different note, you’re running late with the design samples. Where are they?”
He placed a black folder on her desk. “There they are, finished and ready for inspection.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “Why do you suddenly look like my great-great-aunt Bosede?”
She glanced at him. “Why do I have a feeling I don’t like where this conversation is going?” she asked.
Adeleye shrugged with a lopsided grin. “Because my great-great-aunt is 105 years old, lives in our museum family home in my village and is very ill-tempered. And you have the same look as her in your eyes right now—”
“Fine,” she leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes. “I was working all night.”
“I could tell,” Adeleye said sympathetically. “Chill, girl. Bodi no be firewood.”
“Tell me about it,” she sighed. It was a week after her promotion and the confrontation with the stranger in the parking lot. Although Mira still felt bad about the latter, she decided to put it behind her and move on. And she did – by diving neck-deep into work. With her new job as assistant editor and the upcoming month’s edition, the workload was rigorous, but she wasn’t complaining. In fact, she loved it. She loved the opportunity her job gave her to focus her attention. She would leave for the office before dawn and return late at night, to the chagrin of T.J. and Sade who were concerned that she may be working herself to death.
Adeleye lowered himself into a chair. “You’ve got to tone it down, Mira; you’re burning yourself out. We’re on schedule for the next edition: I hear that columnists are already sending their copy in and letters from our readers are also coming in. And on the design front, yours truly is on top of it. So, chill! The puffy eyes and the sudden caffeine dependency isn’t really appealing either … and the girls said you’re starting to look skeletal. Sad to say but they’re kind of right.”
She laughed. “They’re just annoyed because I always mess up the blind-date plans they make for me.” She stood up. “OK, enough chitchat … time to get these write-ups to—”
The door opened and Lade, Lauren’s secretary, popped her head in. She was chocolate-complexioned with a round face, pouty lips and full eyebrows. She had an undying love for contact lenses that matched her dresses; today she had on hazel-green ones that went with her beige-green military jacket. “Mira,” she began in her cheery, talkative voice, “Lauren wants to—” Then she spotted Adeleye and stopped short of speaking. “I’ll just come back later.”
“No it’s OK, Lade … I’m listening.”
Lade looked down. “Lauren w-wants … to … to see you n-now,” she stammered, sounding nothing like her usual chatterbox self. Mira raised an eyebrow, but then noticed how Lade avoided looking at Adeleye. She grinned.
“OK, thanks, I’ll be right there.”
Lade nodded and turned around. Adeleye, oblivious, said. “Morning Lade! How are you this beautiful morning?”
The girl mumbled an incoherent word and bolted. Adeleye stared at the closed door, puzzled. “Was it me or did Lade just ignore me?”
Mira chuckled. “Yes, she did, and as your buddy I suggest you do something about it.”
He raised his hands. “Like what? I just said hello … was that a crime? Besides, Lade and I used to be great pals, you know. We used to have lunch in the canteen and joke together. Now she barely looks at me.” He shook his head. “You women are a complicated bunch, you know that?”
She laughed as she headed to the door. “And, sometimes, you men ignore the little details that matter!”
***
When she walked into Lauren’s office and saw who was sitting there Mira was tempted to step right back out again.
It was the stranger from the parking lot.
Most times, Mira knew how to maintain her professional composure in difficult circumstances. It could be an unsuccessful attempt to book an interview for the magazine or getting on Lauren’s nerves on one of those days. However, when she saw the stranger, her ability to remain professional toppled like a stack of dominoes. She froze, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. A ring of heat wrapped around her abdomen, and her feet felt like gelatine. Confusion swirled around her brain and, as she gawked at him, one question flashed like a neon signs in her head: What the hell is he doing here?
Lauren looked up. “Oh good, Mira, you’re here,” she said. “Get me a glass of water, and please shut your mouth before you suck up all the oxygen in my office,” she added.
“Sorry,” Mira mumbled.
The stranger was grinning; he recognised her. Tearing her gaze away, she closed the door and walked unsteadily towards the water dispenser, her hands shaky and her palms sweating. Oh God, what the hell is he doing here? How did he find me? He hadn’t taken her card, had he? What does he want? The thoughts filled her with confusion, but she managed to fill the glass up without spilling any water and placed it on the table.
Lauren smiled broadly at her. “Thank you, dear. You are efficient as always!”
“Hmm,” Mira gulped. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her eyes anywhere but on the visitor. “You sent for me?” she asked.
“Yes. Sit down,” Lauren said, and for a second Mira was undecided whether to sit on the leather chair beside the stranger or on the visitors’ couch. Gaining courage, she decided on the former. Lauren turned to the stranger. “This is—” Her phone suddenly rang and she stood up. “I’m sorry … I have to take this. Give me a minute.” She walked out to the balcony and shut the soundproof glass door behind her.
An awkward silence settled over the office, and Mira felt trapped. The hum of the air conditioner was deafening, the tick-tock of the clock on the wall annoyingly loud, like the chirp of a canary. Even the sweet smell of hydrangeas on Lauren’s desk transformed into a pungent odour, and bile rose to Mira’s mouth. Holy cow, what is happening to me? Shifting slightly, she turned to find the stranger’s eyes glued to her. He’s still staring! “Do you mind?” she blurted out, and then wished she hadn’t – her voice sounded pathetic.
He grinned again, his hazel eyes wrinkling at the sides. “Don’t blame me. I’m just amazed—”
She rolled her eyes; was that the sorry line he used on ladies? Boooring!!
“… I mean, seeing you again, the lady who totalled my car a week ago, in a city of over fifteen million people,” he whistled. “God works in mysterious ways.”
She stared at him. “Excuse me?” she snapped. “I didn’t ‘total’ your car, Mister … it was a tiny dent! Please don’t blow things out of proportion here!”
“‘Tiny dent’ isn’t exactly the expression I’d use; I remember my headlight was smashed—”
“And I also remember you rejecting my offer to pay for the damage!” The last sentence came out as a shout. Glancing at the balcony and satisfied that Lauren couldn’t hear her, she hissed, “Why are you here? Did you come to report me to my boss? And how did you get my office address?” Her eyes widened. “Wait … did you Google me to find where I work?”
He laughed, but still kept the mysterious smirk. “Maybe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He flashed a playful smile and her nerves trembled. “Like I said, God works in mysterious ways.”
She stood up. “You know what? This is ridiculous – I’m out of here. I don’t care if you tell my boss; you can tell her I drove your car off the Third Mainland Bridge—”
“Who drove off Third Mainland Bridge?” Lauren had come back into the room and was standing beside her mahogany desk, surprise etched on her face.
They both turned to her. The stranger stood up and leaned against the desk, and Mira noticed again how tall he was. “Yeah, who drove off Third Mainland?” he asked, hands deep in his pockets, his eyes focused on her. He stood a good four inches above Lauren’s six feet, and the air was heavy with his Hugo Boss aftershave. He was dressed casually in iron-grey jeans with a blue shirt and a black suede blazer, and she noticed one new thing: there was no wedding band on his finger. You shouldn’t be thinking about that! her Rational Mind yelled at her. Snap out of it and focus … what is wrong with you?
Backed into a corner, she relayed the parking lot incident to Lauren, and watched as her boss’s curiosity transformed into an amused grin. “Well!” she said. “You’ve saved me the trouble of introductions – you already know each other!”
“No I don’t know him—”
“Well, not technically—”
They stopped and looked at each other, waiting for the other to continue. He didn’t, so Mira went on. “I don’t know him. I just dented his car, which I offered to—repair,” he finished for her. He smiled at Lauren. “She never forgets to add that detail.”
Mira pressed her lips together, her fists tightening into knots. Lauren laughed. “Anyway, Mira, this is Dominic Odogwu, my nephew. He is a high-profile photographer who has done a lot of work for many top magazines … Genevieve, True Love, TW … you name it. He took that memorable picture called ‘Eko My Love’ … you know, that popular picture of Victoria Island’s metropolis, Bar Beach, with sailing boats and a setting sun on the horizon? It won the state prize at last year’s art gala show … have you heard about it?”
“No,” Mira said. She had heard about it alright, but she lied to spite him.
“Ah, you should see it … it is magical. He also took a three-dimensional picture of Surulere, Ikorodu and Lekki Peninsula, and the effect was amazing!” She jabbed a finger towards him. “He’s the best, I tell you.”
He sighed, embarrassed by the flattery. “Please. I am far from high-profile. I do this because I love doing it, nothing more.”
Black Sparkle Romance Page 2