Otaare

by Alessandra Ebulu

  Sukanmi's mouth quirked into a smile. "Aburo? Oh, boy, this is a serious issue. You only remember I'm younger when you're worked up."

  "I'm not worked up," Bola said.

  "Says the person who just sprayed a two-thousand, three-hundred-and-fifty dollars perfume to go hang with people he's been seeing at the same kind of parties almost all his life," Sukanmi said.

  "So?" Bola said.

  "Well, you're obviously not spraying it for them. And I don't think you're spraying it for Cece," Sukanmi said.

  Bola scowled at the name. Pure instinct.

  "Definitely not Cece, then. Which means, there's only one person you're going all out for," Sukanmi said. He crossed his arms and gave a smug smile. "You have a thing for the writer."

  "No, I don't," Bola snapped. He'd tried to sound as cool with the undertone of you-must-have-smoked-some-good-shit, but he sounded more terse than he'd wanted. Especially when just as he was speaking, his phone vibrated.

  He refused to notice how his breath caught at his suspicions that that was probably Ukeme calling.

  He glanced at the screen, and sure enough, his suspicions were confirmed.

  "Ukeme," he said, and ignored Sukanmi snickering in the corner.

  "Blaze," Ukeme answered, in that low voice of it.

  Bola fought a shiver and closed his eyes, his mind easily bringing up that face: skin a warm golden-brown, a long, lean body, nothing like the dark, stocky farmer he'd conjured up in his head when he'd first heard the name. And his eyes, they were such a pale brown that they danced on the line of being hazel. It was why he'd slipped on the sunglasses the minute he could. Not because he was afraid of being recognized. But because he'd been afraid he'd just blurt out the fact that he wanted nothing better than to spend the afternoon learning every corner and crevice of Ukeme Collins' body.

  "Blaze," Ukeme hissed, and Bola snapped back to himself. He was just about to point out that Blaze' was his stage name and Ukeme could call him 'Bola' when Ukeme continued. "Where did you say the party's taking place? Eze and I are almost at Third Mainland."

  The words had Bola glancing down at his watch—a Rolex his father had given him back when he'd assumed that Bola was going to toe the line and live the life planned for him. They had exactly twenty minutes more, and then he and Sukanmi had to be out of the house. "It's on Banana." He got the sharp gasp, but continued speaking, well aware of the reputation people who lived on Banana Island had gotten due to the astronomical prices of the houses in the estate. "When you get to the gate, just let them know you have an invite for the Lawson's party. They won't keep you waiting."

  He heard a hum, and then Ukeme hung up.

  Bola raised his eyes to meet Sukanmi, who was grinning, although Sukanmi thankfully didn't say anything. Instead, he whistled and walked out of the room, leaving Bola to walk behind him, mind wrapped up in the possibilities of the night.

  *~*~*

  "So, this is how the truly rich live," Eze whispered against Ukeme's ear, moments before Bola wrapped a hand around Ukeme's arm and pulled him away, into the noisy din that was people getting drinks, mingling, and staying on their own.

  A group sat in a corner, making a game of pouring Hennessy bottles down the shirt of a laughing man who laid down on a table and gave the token protests that no one took seriously.

  Another group had some girls wearing strappy heels, long weaves, and expensive-looking dresses hanging on their arms. The women whispered something into their dates' ears and one of the guys laughed and whispered something right back.

  A casual stroke there. A brush against the ears of another. Some would call them roadside sex workers. But each of them girls would probably make in one night his two-year rent.

  One guy slapped a pile of dollar notes on the table. The number of bills made a loud thump and the people around him cheered.

  He took that back. The girl was earning his five-year rent in one night. Utter respect.

  "Do you want something to drink?"

  The tone was pleasant. Nothing like he'd been expecting. But then again, ever since they'd run into Bola and Sukanmi at the main gate leading into the estate, and Bola had offered them a ride to take them the rest of the journey, an offer they'd accepted and so stepped into the car, Bola hadn't said anything to him or Eze. Just kept to his side of the car whilst Sukanmi had yapped on and on, and the driver had driven as fast as he could so he could get them to the party with plenty of time to spare.

  Not like Ukeme hated the silence. When he'd gotten a good whiff of whatever expensive shit Bola had sprayed on himself and caught a glimpse of the guy, his brain froze. It was still thawing out, but that voice, hearing that voice sent his brain back to freeze.

  Slim fingers snapped together in front of his face. "Hey. Are you okay?"

  Ukeme shook his head.

  "You're not," Bola asked, sounding concerned. His eyes scanned the crowd.

  "I'm fine. Was just thinking of something," Ukeme said. He turned so he could look at the crowd. "What are you looking for?" he asked.

  "I thought something was wrong,” Bola said with a shrug. He still looked half anxious as he continued, "I was looking for your friend and Sukanmi so we can leave."

  Sixteen words and Ukeme felt warmth blossom in his chest. How the hell was he meant to get over his crush on the one person he shouldn't be crushing on if every time Bola showed concern for him, he melted? Especially when a week before, this was the same person who he'd thought plagiarized his work.

  He made to snap, but the words that came out of his mouth were anything but snappish. "Um. Wouldn't that ruin the reason why we're here? You know. That way, people can see that we're friends," Ukeme teased. He found himself smiling as the words left his lips and his smile turned bigger when Bola chuckled.

  The sound rolled over him and pulled an answering chuckle from him. Damn. This was not a good idea.

  "True. But we can always say you ate something bad and had to go home. And I'll get points for being the former enemy-turned-friend who you would have to lean on to get out of the building," Bola said.

  "And you intend to carry me, all by yourself?"

  Bola gave him a long look, and Ukeme wished he could take the words right back. Then Bola grinned and winked. "I might be small, but there's a whole lot of strength in these bones. He flexed his arms and impressive biceps bulged. "My schoolmates used to call me Okirika man."

  Of all the things he'd expected Bola to call himself, calling himself a manly man was not part of it and Ukeme burst out laughing.

  The sound slipped out and must have been loud, because every eye in the room turned to them. He suddenly felt the urge to turn right around and flee before the vultures descended on him. Especially the biracial chick striding towards them, her eyes spitting fire like she wanted him dead. On a slab. Roasted for her enjoyment.

  "Who's she?" he whispered to Bola.

  "Some girl who thinks I'm interested in her," Bola whispered right back.

  He thought he heard a very low 'sorry', but he could have been wrong.

  He watched apprehensively as the girl strutted over to them. She walked with the air of a queen, and the way the room parted for her confirmed that she was used to receiving that deference. Moments later, she stood in front of them, arms akimbo on her hips as she glared at Ukeme. "Weird. I thought I knew everyone who would be coming. But you don't look familiar. Who are you?"

  Her voice was soft. Cultured. With a British accent. Very prim and proper, with just a bit of hidden ice. He was tempted to take a step back, but the challenge in her eyes kept him right there. That, and the look she gave him as she swept her eyes over his clothes. Like he was something that had crawled out from under a rock. Sure, he wasn't looking like money like Bola did—and even in casual clothes, the man wore clothes that he could probably only dream about—but his jeans were new. He'd only worn them twice in the year since he'd gotten them. His shoes had been polished to a shine. And he'd worn a nameless t-shirt that fit h
im like a glove. Plus, he'd gotten a shave. All in all, he didn't look half-bad.

  But still, this self-entitled, didn't-work-a-day-in-her-life-to-earn-her-money brat was glaring at him and sneering at his clothes.

  He threw his shoulders back and held his head high. He might not be rich. He might not be famous. But damn it, he had an invite and he was allowed to be here.

  "Ukeme Collins," he answered. "And you?"

  She raised a manicured nail, the red tip touching the base of her throat. She laughed. "You don't know me?"

  "If I did, would I be asking you?" he tossed back. He heard a sound and glanced at Bola. Yup. Bola found it entertaining and was presently smirking.

  It was so infectious, he felt his own mouth twitch in response, but had to rein it in. The girl still kept quiet, though. And when he turned to look at her, she was staring at him with some surprise, tinged with disdain. The disdain grated.

  "Well," he snapped. "Who are you?"

  "Cecelia James," she sniffed.

  Cecelia James. Cecelia James. Nope. The name didn't ring any bells.

  "Well, I don't know you, either," he said. "Plus, your name doesn't ring any bells."

  You would have thought he'd told her that her parents were market sellers or something, what with the way she puffed up in indignation. "My name doesn't ring a bell. You haven't heard the name Cecelia James?"

  She was getting loud. So loud that Ukeme noticed that the conversation had started to wind down and everyone was looking at them. Sukanmi looked delighted. And Bola? Bola looked… amused.

  "Sorry. Like I said. The name doesn't ring a bell," Ukeme said. "What exactly do you do? Maybe it will strike a chord."

  She harrumphed, "I'm Cece. The OAP," she growled.

  "Really? Never heard of you," Ukeme asked.

  She gave a loud hissing sound, like a kettle on boil and stalked off, nose up in the air.

  Someone spluttered and she was barely out of sight before Bola went down on his knees and started laughing hard. He laughed even harder when Sukanmi joined him and the two of them held onto each other as they laughed like complete idiots.

  "What's happening?" Ukeme asked as he stared at the two cousins who were laughing like total loons. He felt a presence brush against his back: probably Eze. The one person he was more concerned about, though, still didn't answer him. “Why are you laughing?” he finally snapped.

  "Because that was the fastest and best way we've been able to get rid of Cece," Bola gasped. "You pulled off in ten minutes what I've been trying to accomplish in the last year, and it was fantastic! Thank you."

  Ukeme rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Blaze. You want me to believe that in the past year, you've not been able to push away Miss Wannabe?"

  Bola smirked. "She can be very persistent." He moved forward and leaned into Ukeme. The move was so slow and deliberate, that Ukeme stood his ground, waiting for what the man would to do. "Also, the name's Bola. Actual friends don't call me Blaze."

  The words brushed against his ears, making Ukeme shiver. He fought the urge to moan or pull away and Blaze—Bola pulled back. His lips were twisted into a smile and there was a light in his eyes that made Ukeme consider running far, far away. Nothing good could ever come from that look. Or those eyes. Or those lips. Or that ass that gave a little wiggle as it walked off.

  Bolarinwa Johnson was trouble with a capital T.

  chapter eight

  "Your ticket."

  The bouncer crossed his arms and glared, unwilling to budge even an inch. Ukeme stared up at the man, half wondering if he should feel insulted—he'd seen quite a number of people walk through without getting stopped—or laugh when the bouncer straightened as Sukanmi stepped up behind him.

  "He's with me. Blaze's plus-one," Sukanmi said and pulled Ukeme through the door.

  Ukeme chanced a backwards glance and smirked at the bouncer's affronted expression, that then turned into a glare when he caught Ukeme smirking.

  His smirk turned into a laugh. He was still chuckling when Sukanmi pushed him into a seat and then disappeared with murmured words that he had to find Bola.

  It was as Sukanmi scurried off that Ukeme got a good look at the hall. Large and cavernous, filled to the brim with all the bigshots in music and bigwigs in society. Hell, he could spot Wizkid sitting a couple of seats away, surrounded by seven bodyguards—what else was new?—and an extreme bored expression on his face.

  It took a while for Ukeme to register that not only had Bola gotten him into the AMA's, but he'd gotten him front seats as well.

  He heard static and his eyes swung to the stage and to Sadiq Hassan, comedian extraordinaire, smiling at the audience.

  "The next performer is someone we all know very well. I still remember five years ago when Segun, my paddie of life," Sadiq raised his index and middle finger to his head and pushed them out in a salute, "told me about a young man taking Naija by storm. I listened to him then and I wasn't disappointed. Blaze is one of the realest musicians out there, a man who makes music based on what he's feeling in here." Two rapid taps of a closed fist on his chest. "Which is why one minute he's singing a song praising the god of his forefathers, and the next album, he has a club banger that all the DJs are raving about, and in the next, he's singing about enemies-turned-allies. He is just that good and whether you've interacted with him as a fan, a peer, or even someone who hated his guts, we can all agree on one thing. That Blaze is rare talent and Otaares one of his best songs to date. Ladies and gentlemen, please, a round of applause for Blaze as he performs Otaare."

  The applause that rose in response was thunderous. Even though Ukeme was well aware of how popular Blaze was, it still surprised him, took him aback that all the people around him seemed to hold Blaze in high esteem.

  Although knowing what he'd seen in the past week since he and Bola had claimed to be friends at the Lawson's party, seeing that Bola that few people had gotten the chance to meet, helped him acclimate to the idea.

  The Blaze they cheered for was the Bola who had called him the minute he reached home to confirm that he and Eze had gotten in safe. The Bola who had then invited him for the LBS dinner two nights after, and this time around, had not only come to pick him up at Ogudu, but had insisted they stop at a buka on their way, so they could have some amala and abula soup. The Bola who had caught the little boy who was separating dried yam slices so his mother could blend them into the elubo that she would then use to make the amala humming, and then started mouthing words that would go with the tune. After they'd eaten, Bola had walked up to the boy, smile in place. The smile had widened when the boy had recognized him though, and he'd looked almost playful as he'd hushed the boy and told him to keep meeting Blaze a secret, at least until they left. He'd asked the boy if he could buy the tune the boy had been humming. And even though the little boy had said there wasn't a need to, Blaze had dropped about one-hundred thousand—that bundle of one-thousand naira notes had to be one hundred thousand easy—for the boy's mother, slipped some more notes into the boy's palm and then drawn Ukeme out, so they could continue their journey to the LBS dinner. That was the Bola he was getting to know, the Bola who had found his way into the story that Ukeme was currently writing.

  It was the same Bola who had taken him to Beerhugz during their karaoke night, and the two of them had spent the night belting out their hearts to tunes from the eighties: from Madonna to Cyndi Lauper to Whitney Houston, to Michael, both Bolton and Jackson, and then they'd ended the night grabbing ice-cream sundaes at the Johnny Rockets in VI.

  He hadn't had that much fun in a long while, and had almost forgotten for a brief moment that it wasn't a date, but instead a way to get everyone in the city buzzing about their newly-found ' friendship'.

  But what if…

  He squashed the thought the minute it rose, and seconds later, Bola stepped onto the stage. He held a guitar in one hand—interesting—and his eyes scanned the crowd, before they lighted on him and then brightened in a smile.

>   Ukeme smiled right back: an automatic pull that was as natural as breathing.

  Bola took his seat, adjusted the mic, and set his fingers on the strings. Just as Ukeme leaned back, ready for the performance of the song that now brought with it a bittersweet feeling, Bola paused. "I find it ironic, really, that I'll be performing this song when my very own Otaare's sitting right here in the audience." He smiled and then winked at Ukeme, which caused every head in the auditorium to turn to look at Ukeme. "But it is especially fitting, because he had the original idea for Otaare that inspired this song. Yes, for those of you who have just pieced it together, that right there is Ukeme Collins, my Otaare, an enemy-turned-friend." Ukeme shifted in his seat, as he silently reminded himself not to buy into it. This was all for show, all to get the tongues stop wagging. But then Bola continued, his voice turning serious. "And I really do hope we get that chance to remain friends. Thank you for inspiring this."

  And with that said, he played the opening strings and then that voice, like palm wine after a long week poured out of that frame, filled his head, made everything just a bit hazy as Bola pulled power and passion from cut-and-dry words, combined it with a Fuji kick and turned it into the song that shot to the number-one spot in the first week he released it.

  The song and the words all hit him in the gut, and as his eyes tracked the man, watching Bola, whose eyes were closed as he sang the song, he wondered if something had shifted, if they were still faking it or if it was all real.

  But after the performance, Bola said nothing. Just dropped him off at his house and poked his head out the window to call out "Next Sunday. The Hennessey party. Eight o'clock. Think smart-casual," just seconds before his driver pulled out and drove them to the bridge on their way back home.

  *~*~*

  "How much longer am I meant to do this for?" Ukeme hissed, just before Bola pulled him into a side hug, seconds before a camera flashed.

  "Just smile and bear it," Bola told him.

  Ukeme gave a huff and tried to take a step back. Bola knew that look. They'd stepped out every night for the last three weeks. That was the look Ukeme gave him just before he threw a hissy fit. And not just any type of hissy fit. This was the type that had Ukeme sticking that gorgeous nose up in the air and walking off.