Bang Bang.
“Who is that?” a soft sonorous voice asked from inside the room.
“Rita open the door! Haba! Which kind sleep you dey sleep sef?” Rukewe chided.
Rita got up sluggishly from the bed. Her flimsy orange night gown stuck to her buttocks and her full, rounded breasts juggled as she moved, as if they wanted to escape from her low-neck nightie that barely covered them. When Rita unlocked the door to let her in, Rukewe pushed past her, cursing and swearing and looking disheveled. She yanked off her wig and flung it on the red plastic chair beside the finely carved wooden bed. The room was dim, and there hadn’t been light for the past one week. The lantern on the plastic red table cast weak, poorly defined shadows on the words of the room. She sat on the bed, panting.
“Rukewe, why you dey do like person wey see ghost, abi person dey pursue you?” Rita asked, concerned. Her friend gulped down saliva, stood up and removed her red leggings and sleeveless shimmering blue top.
“Let me get some sleep, it’s almost morning. Please keep your questions, I will answer them when I wake up.” She yawned, stretched herself and lay on the bed beside the wall adjacent to Rita’s bed. She had stripped naked to enjoy the smooth caress of the cold, early morning air. Some minutes later, she started snoring. Rita, aghast at her friend’s behavior, watched her for a few minutes and lay on her creaking bed in a bid to mind her business. Rukewe must have had a rough night, something that came with their business. Rita closed her eyes to sleep, but sleep was now elusive so she listened to the soft snores of her friend till she could listen no more, and then she dozed off.
Rukewe woke with a headache. She reached to the wardrobe beside her bed and took two tablets of Panadol and gulped it down with the pure water on top of the cupboard. She wore a long gown, and just when she wondered where her friend was, the door opened and Rita entered with a plate of rice and beans.
“Oh, you are already awake?” Rita said. “Come let’s eat, then you can tell me everything.”
Without another thought, Rukewe dashed to Rita’s bed with a spoon from her cupboard. They ate in silence; the food was delicious and well spiced. Rita was a better cook than she was and she didn’t mind cooking for both of them.
“He almost strangled me to death,” Rukewe divulged, breaking the silence.
“Who?” Rita inquired.
“The man that picked me last night.” Tears welled her eyes. “We got to his hotel room last night after we had bargained on my fee. He didn’t tell me he had a fetish and immediately we got to the room he brought out a whip and flogged me while commanding me to remove my clothes. Then he threw me on the bed! I was so shocked, I couldn’t talk, and he was so huge. He pounced on me! You needed to see his pot belly.” She paused for a moment and sobbed, tears streaming down her cheek. Rita, who had stopped eating, patted her gently on the back.
“This was not what we agreed on. I tried to protest and barrages of slaps landed on my face.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her palm and continued. “‘You swine,’ he said, ‘you will do as I say.’ He handcuffed my hands to the edge of the bed, spread my legs like a slaughtered turkey and rode me like a maniac, all the while calling me ‘fool’, ‘slut’, ‘animal’, which he commanded I reply to with, ‘Yes, my lord.’ He bit my nipples so hard I thought I would die then he was still inside me when he brought his whip and started flogging me again urging me to reply every painful cut with, ‘Yes, my lord.’”
She stood up removed her clothes and Rita screamed in fear. “When he was done, he released me from the handcuffs. Then he threw wads of cash at me and ordered me out of his room.”
“What!” Rita exclaimed. “So all these happened to you last night in this Port Harcourt? I never knew such men actually existed.” Her mouth hung open.
“They actually do exist and I had a detailed experience of it,” Rukewe replied. She sat on the washed-out broken tiles and folded her legs, clasping them with her hands.
“So how much did he give you for all the trouble?” Rita asked.
“Initially, before we set off for the hotel, we had agreed on ten thousand naira, but what he actually gave me was a hundred thousand naira,” she replied, looking away.
“I guess he did that to make up for his deceit, knowing he never hinted you on his sexual preference.” Rita concluded.
“Guess what, as I picked the money I saw his complimentary card. He had mistakenly thrown his card with the money. He is actually the captain of an industry,” she said weakly and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower.”
When she left the room, Rita rushed to her bed and rummaged through her bag. She saw the card and rammed it into her brassiere.
Minutes later Rukewe entered the room and went straight to her bag. She searched thoroughly for the card but couldn’t find it. “I thought I left the card in my bag,” she said to her friend.
“Maybe you dropped it in rage unknowingly,” Rita replied.
“Oh, good riddance.”
“To bad rubbish,” Rita replied.
Written by: Nneamaka Onochie