CHAPTER SEVEN
A feeling of relief was surging through Adamma as she waltzed down the stairs to the other side of the house as she sought out her daughter for the game she’d promised her husband she was going to play with the girl. She had defied him, had shown him that she was no little girl to be ordered around or a fool to be trifled with as he pleased. She knew he was being unreasonably stubborn and jealous even though he knew it was Dan who was like a brother to her that was going out with.
The simple truth was that she really loved the man Dan, but it was not in the way that Obi thought that she did; she loved Dan as a brother, not as a lover.
She felt heated up, her skin still burning from his sex touch; she had to admit to herself that she wanted no more than to go back to the room she’d just fled from, pull down her skirt, and have him insert his throbbing manhood into her and pound her all day long. But that would be self-contradictory, she thought, sighing to herself. She had to stick to her guns, and she was happy with herself; she had taught him a well-deserved lesson, one he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
Her first act of rebellion that evening was to don on a breathtakingly lovely, low-cut gown that showed off an unholy amount of cleavage at one end and a nice view of her long legs at the other end; it made her look provocative and divine with its white color and the light makeup she applied on her face. Her hair was left free to hang loose around her shoulders, completing the effect she’d intended, and her second act of rebellion against her husband was to go to the dinner party with the man he’d warned her to steer clear from.
‘My dear, you look wonderful!’ Dan breathed when he laid his eyes upon her. His eyes lit up with appreciation, and she couldn’t help flushing with a deep sense of pride which not even the image of her jealous, possessive husband could dampen. Here was a man who appreciated her beauty and took pride in her as a woman, not the hypocrite she’d gotten herself entangled with, who viewed her as nothing more than a trophy on his wall and an object of sexual gratification.
And when they arrived at their destination, she was happy to see a sea of paparazzi and photographers on the premises. Ordinarily, she never took vain glory in their fawning. She had always treated their fawning with quiet, amused indulgence, but today, fuelled on by a deep sense of rebellion against her husband, she decided to pull out all the weapons she had: she knew the allure of her beauty; she knew that she could stop traffic. When Dan came around to pull her door open for her so she could alight out of the car and step into the cold night, she dallied a bit; the paparazzi had seen Dan, and they knew he was her business manager, and that meant that she was with him, so they waited for her to appear.
One long, bare leg which was encased in black, five-inch wedges appeared, and the cameras flashed, and then she showed off the second long limb, her bare skin exposed; the cameras were flashing, missing nothing. She finally stepped out, and she flashed a dazzling smile at them, contriving to look so sexy and seductive as she leaned her body into her surprised companion and posed, and then she turned and walked gracefully up the stairs. Her mission had been accomplished; she had given her jealous husband something new to be jealous of and had given her fans what they wanted and the gossip tabloids new fodder for their columns.
And Obi was indeed jealous when he saw the provocative pictures of his wife being plastered with glee on the internet. The following day, when she returned from one of her studios after a recording session, she found an angry man waiting for her upon her return, waving a Pocket PC in her face the moment she stepped her feet into their room.
‘And what is this?’ he demanded. ‘Since when did you choose to take your whoring expertise out into the timeless pages of the internet? And why were you falling into Dan as if you wanted to devour the poor man? Did you wish to seduce him? And why did you flout my orders? I told you not to leave here with any provocative rubbish on your body!’
She merely smiled at him. ‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous, darling,’ she said dismissively. ‘It was just a dress. And besides that, you’ve always drummed it into my head that I’m a whore, so why are you now angry that I’m playing the part of a whore, and trying to preclude me from doing the one thing I know how to do?’
And she could see his jaw clamp shut with anger, though he said nothing further, and he turned and stomped into the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him with a loud bang that shook the floors. She called out, ‘Darling, please mind how you bang my doors like a mad man. Such unbecoming behavior won’t be tolerated by me. Try it again, and no sex for you for a week.’
In response, a glass shattered inside the bathroom, followed by such vituperative outpourings as would undoubtedly set the ears of a monk ablaze with shock. She laughed softly to herself, though she feigned annoyance and called out in a loud voice, ‘Now, there will be no sex for you for a week.’
That night, when they had retired to their bedroom for the night, she washed up, put on a sheer red nightgown that could barely contain her huge breasts which she had stuffed into it and her long legs which was barely covered, dabbed some perfume which was loaded with aphrodisiac, and then she sashayed her way back into the room. Obi instantly became filled with burning desire the moment he saw her, and he reached out for her, but she raised her hands in mock horror, stalling his movements.
‘What exactly do you think you’re doing?’ she asked, one arched brow tilting up, her lips curling with annoyance and feigned distaste. She knew the effect she had on him, but she wanted to punish him for trapping her in a loveless marriage and rubbing her past life in her face, so she wanted to tantalize him and then leave him frustrated, and then she’d make it up to him another day when they weren’t fighting each other. But the point remained that they were always fighting like cat and mouse.
‘I am about to make love to my wife, that’s what,’ he replied.
‘And why would you do that?’ she asked, curious to know the real reason why he wanted to ravish her body. Was it because he wanted another child, other children from her? Well, that would certainly never happen. At least not until he told her that their marriage of convenience meant more to him than nights of unbridled passion and the chance to be with their children whom he adored and pried with ridiculous amounts of gifts even when they did not need them.
‘I find your body adorable, my dear,’ he said, licking his lips in invitation. He pulled her into his arms, his manner brooking no arguments, and his lips nibbled at her throat, his fingers caressing her breasts through the flimsy nothing thing she wore. And he was already growing hard through his boxer shorts; he hadn’t changed into his pajamas yet because he was working on a report in his laptop. ‘You are so soft, so yielding when you choose to be. But you always fight me and ridicule me when all I want is for you to obey me and have fun with me. You are my wife.’ He gently eased the nightgown away from her shoulder, and one breast swung free, and he put his mouth to the raspberry nipple, drawing it into his mouth and sucking it, eliciting a gasp of rapturous pleasure from her.
She held his head and caressed his smooth back, and her fingers were tracing a line down his abdomen towards his crotch. She let her fingers slip past the waistband of the shorts, and then her fingers were closing around the tumescent cock, and she was stroking him. She pulled the throbbing organ free from within the confines of the material he wore, and she rubbed her hips against it, knowing how well it excited Obi. She said, ‘I know our marriage is a sham, but we respond so well to each other in bed. Can you imagine what it would be like if we were in love with each other?’
‘Well, we’re not, so quit talking and let me focus on what I’m doing to you,’ he said impatiently, his fingers seeking, and finding the wet opening in-between her legs. He kissed her lips, her neck, her throat, and then he was fondling her breasts and touching her most private, most erogenous zone. Something in her moans of response made him pause. He looked into her eyes and she looked back at him, though her fingers continued to play with his cock and she continued to rub and purr against him luxuriously like a cat. He moaned in response.
‘Why are you giving me that look?’ she demanded.
He smiled mockingly at her, sucked a taut nipple into his mouth, and bit it before he looked at her again and answered. ‘You said there’d no more sex for me for a week, but here you are, panting like a bitch in heat, responding to my kisses and my touch. You contradict yourself too much, my dear, so I wonder: once a liar, always a liar.’ He watched with satisfaction as her face fell.
Adamma was furious with him for daring to dredge up their earlier quarrel, but she refrained from lashing out verbally at him. She wanted to lash out at him like a tigress for his cruelty to her; did he always have to rub it in her face that she had been a sex worker in order to survive? But she was a gutter fighter with a tough backbone, and she could take his insults and relegation of her status to the dregs of the society; however, she had her own ways of dealing with him.
She smiled. ‘I know what I said, darling, and I meant it. There will be no sex for you for a week.’ She looked up in concentration and then pointed at her own ear. Impatiently, she signaled for her husband to listen too. ‘Four, three, two, one_’ she said, and then she broke off and flew to her feet. A knock sounded on the door. Perfect. ‘Honey, you better get dressed and cover that thing up; we’re having some late-night guests.’ She quickly pulled up the dress to cover up her exposed breasts, slipping into a robe as she called out cheerily, ‘I am coming, my darlings!’
‘What the fuck_’ Obi snarled in fury as he flew under the covers, his hands flying to his waist to pull up his shorts and cover up as his wife flew to the door happily, throwing it open and moving aside as their twin kids, both scrubbed and ready for bed, dashed into the room.
‘Dad, mummy said we’re going to sleep in here with you tonight,’ Ian said, smiling at him and hurrying forwards towards the monstrous bed that could easily contain seven adults simultaneously. He jumped into the bed and bounced about merrily. ‘This is going to be so cool! Helen, come on and join me.’
Helen, the older and more mature of the pair, walked slowly towards the bed and then climbed up, a smile on her lips. ‘This bed sure is huge,’ she said. ‘I’ll be sleeping snuggled close to mummy, and, Ian, you have dad all to yourself.’
Adamma was smiling in triumph at her husband as she beheld the fury that clouded his eyes. ‘Darling, the kids wanted to sleep in here tonight,’ she drawled in the sweetest tones she could muster. ‘I hope that’s all right with you.’
‘That’s fine, I guess,’ he answered gruffly. To the exuberant twins, he said, ‘Welcome aboard the ship.’
Adamma moved forward, clapping her hands with happiness. ‘Actually, there’s one more thing. They will be sleeping here for the rest of the week.’
‘What!’ Obi exploded, but immediately, the faces of Adamma and the twins fell. And then he relented instantly, knowing when he was bested. His wife had won this particular battle, and he couldn’t just turn his adorable twins out of the room without appearing bad to their eyes and their estimation of him as the perfect father might diminish. ‘Ok, kids; you’re in. Now climb in and let’s sleep. You are tired, no?’
‘Yes!’ the twins chorused, and their mother silently sent a message of thanks to her daughter; if Helen hadn’t been exact in appearing at the door with her brother, then, she would undoubtedly be on the floor, moaning in ecstasy as Obi fucked her all night. And then her plans to seduce him and leave him in the lurch would have backfired at her because he would undoubtedly force himself on her if she refused to let him have access to her body. One thing she had learnt about him was that he was not a man who took no for an answer, and if she flashed her body at him and then withdrew, he would leave no stone unturned to make sure that she was in his bed that night.
He didn’t deserve to come to her bed. It was true that he had a body every woman alive would die for; it was true that he could make love with a wild passion, and could incite her to become a screaming, wanton sex maniac in his arms. But one thing was missing: he did not love her or care about her in any way; he merely saw her as a cheap fuck whenever he needed to quench the hunger of his ravenous libido. He often made it plain clear to her that she was nothing but a cheap whore, and there was no way she could make him see her for the true woman she really was. He considered her to be a dangerous woman, a femme fatale who he had to be extremely wary of; his wariness often showed plainly in his eyes and in the way he treated her.
And she knew that she was barely tolerating him because she wanted to make an attempt at setting things right between them; she wanted to make the marriage to work out so that she could have that love Amanda had told her to reach for. And she didn’t want to be like the other celebrities she knew who jumped into the marriage fray on a sunny day and dashed out on the next day. And she also wanted her children to have a complete family, something she’d never had; she wanted them to have a chance at having a normal life.
So, it was obvious she had a mission; she had to make Obi like her, and if possibly, fall in love with her.
ADAMMA WENT TO SEE AMANDA when she had the chance to so. She was shooting one music video at Victoria Island, and Amanda was spending the weekend there with her mother-in-law who was recuperating from a minor operation to remove a cyst from her body. The two women met at Tetrazzini for lunch after Adamma walked out from her interview with a reporter from Alive magazine who wanted the details to the new pop album she was working her bones off to release and putting in hours of work at the studio to see that it took shape. There were numerous prospective female dancers to interview, watch them perform, and then make a decision as to whether the person was bold enough, and hard enough to bare some flesh and undergo a rigorous dance training session. It was all so exhaustive.
The two friends met at the fashionable Bella restaurant on the ground floor of the sprawling rich man’s playground, which was away from the main bar and from the prying eyes of those that bugged the singer, and Adamma was fashionably late in keeping to the appointment. As she walked towards the table Amanda had reserved for their meeting, she was halted by some of the patrons who knew her; she stopped for a minute to talk to a fashionably dressed couple who were having a quiet lunch at a corner table. And then she was walking towards her friend, and the seated woman stood up to hug Adamma and admire her ensemble.
‘You’re looking nice,’ Amanda said as they sank gracefully into the green chairs. ‘But you look a bit thinner. Do you rest at all?’
Adamma laughed, grabbing up a piece of doughnut and taking a huge bite out of it. She said, ‘Well, you know how it is in our business. There’s no rest for the wicked. What about Claudia?’
Amanda shrugged. ‘Fine, I guess. But that is not why I was so anxious to talk to you. I wanted to know about your husband. I disliked him from the first day I met him, but I guess that’s because I was playing the loyal friend to you and allowed that to cloud my judgment. Does he treat you nicely? Are you hopelessly in love with him?’
Adamma laughed so hard, crumbs of the bread she was feasting on flew out of her mouth, and some of the diners turned to smile at her; she looked so transparently happy. ‘Well, my dear, I got myself married to a machine,’ she said, finally sobering up after she’d enjoyed her laughter. ‘He loves sex so much, and can really use his thing, and so I have nothing to complain about.’
Amanda looked horrified, and she said severely, ‘You know I am jolly well not interested in your sex life, so please cut straight to the chase and answer my question about him. Does he love you?’
And the singer answered with gay cheerfulness, her arms waving expansively, ‘No, he does not love me. We fight all the time and we absolutely hate each other; we’re the perfect specimen of the perfect couple.’ And it was true. In public, they were the models of what married couples should look like and act like; they went everywhere together, and he bought her expensive jewelry and took her to exclusive hotels and clubs to dine out. They went to the beaches of Lagos, and the people they encountered, the people who admired her for her boldness and sensuality, often commented favorably on their union. To the media, their marriage match had been made and ordained in heaven. But the reality was a far cry from the perfection outsiders had painted of the marriage, she thought wryly to herself in amusement.
‘He does not love you,’ Amanda said in a low voice, her spoon hovering halfway in the air, her eyes narrowed in concentration. ‘And you do not love him in any way. So, what do you two have in common_ hatred?’
‘Yeah, you got that right,’ the singer replied cheerfully. She raised her cup of decaffeinated coffee to her lips and toasted, ‘To me and my husband; to our union which was ordained in heaven by the media.’
Amanda shook her head in sorrow. ‘And couldn’t you try to love him? And can’t he also make that effort? Must you two be so terribly pitted against each other?’
‘Yes, dear, we can,’ Adamma replied, but this time, the cheerfulness had gone out of her voice and she looked dead serious. She smiled ruefully at her friend who was staring at her with such love and commiseration in her eyes. ‘The man says I’m a whore; he makes me feel so unloved, so bad, as if I was some kind of monster. Sometimes when I look at myself in the mirror, I almost believe him; I remember the time I had spent in that seedy club; I remember the men who cluster around the hundreds of tables, staring at me while I perform my act which they elevated to some kind of art form. There they were, leering at me with that look in their eyes that told me plainly that they all wanted to have my ass for a nice fuck. And my husband makes me remember everything so vividly, and whenever he’s annoyed with me_ which is quite often_ he would tell me that I was a whore; that I’m still a whore, and so had no right to refuse him whenever he wanted me. That is the classic couple, yes?’ and she laughed at her own bitter joke.
Amanda looked stricken, and she said, leaning forward towards her friend so she could say quietly, ‘I am very sorry about it. I never knew that it was that bad.’
Adamma nodded, and the cheerfulness had returned to her countenance. ‘I never knew too, so there it is. But at least I really get to enjoy his money_ I have unlimited access to his debit cards, and he pays what could be called a hefty salary into my account every month. I also get to be envied by those women who love him so much and wish to be in my shoes.’
‘That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard you say. It is so terrible that he treats you so poorly and you see nothing wrong with it. And he calls you a whore!’ Amanda actually shuddered at the horrific thought. She frowned, and then she gulped down her glass of sherry to wash down her vegetable salad before she plunged back into the conversation. ‘So, what do you intend to do if he continues to treat you in that way? What if he gets worse?’
Adamma waved one hand in utter dismissal; it was almost as if she hadn’t a care in the world. ‘Then I’ll look for ways to get rid of him. I’ll try and divorce him on the grounds that the marriage has broken down irretrievably but I think that would hurt my image very much, so who knows? I may even dispatch him to the next world and inherit his wealth.’ She laughed to reassure her friend that she’d meant it as a joke_ the last part. But she hadn’t been joking when she’d talked about divorcing her husband and gaining her freedom from him. If he continued to goad her on and taunt her, showing her how he regarded her with derision, then she would have to do something about him.
Amanda’s smart phone dinged and the woman looked at the screen of the phone, groaning out loud as she flipped locks of hair from her face with an impatient gesture. ‘I have to go,’ she apologized, smiling ruefully and lifting her shoulders in a shrug. ‘I have to take Claudia to the doctor’s for her appointment with him. Well, we’ll see each other very soon, next week at the latest.’ She kissed the singer on the cheeks. ‘I love you, and I am truly sorry about the way that animal treats you. How I wish you had listened to me and not gotten yourself entangled in a union of convenience, then you wouldn’t be in this mess.’
‘I was acting for the interest of my children,’ Adamma replied dryly. She looked up at her friend, seeking desperately for her friend to understand her plight. ‘At that particular time, I’d had no choice but to marry him and it had seemed the easy thing for me to do. It was my only option, and he would have hounded me to my death if I had stuck to my refusal to become his wife.’ She leaned back in her chair and looked into the eyes of her closest friend, her luminous eyes burning with emotion. ‘And do you know what really made me to agree to his marriage proposal?’
Amanda smiled ruefully, and it was obvious to Adamma that her friend knew why; Amanda was no fool. Amanda said, ‘He forced you, my dear. He used his wealth and influence and browbeat you into getting his wedding band around your finger. That was why I had been against the union from the very beginning, but what could I do? And what’s more, what could you do? There was nothing you could do back then, but there is something you can do now. Make him fall in love with you, or at least you can die trying.’