Gina Kola still had moments of disbelief and downright awe when she would catch herself staring at her gigantic ring. Anticipation was natural she guessed. Sure nerves were to be expected following official pronouncements of commitment. At least that’s what she was telling herself as she made her way into Kiza Lounge.
As the sun was setting outside, the ambience inside was already abuzz. Courtesy of Happy Hour, ties were loosening and skirts were hiked higher and higher. The clink of toasting glasses from the bar reminded her that she needed a stiff drink.
She made her way to a secluded and dark corner table. No need to attract any unwarranted attention, what with the kind of meeting she had set up. She quickly ordered her margaritas. She needed a little buzz to get through.
Her thoughts drifted back to Dru. Sure, she counted herself lucky, one in a million even, to be with him. He was everything a girl could dream off. Plus he checked all the right boxes. Tall, handsome, security, a good job, good background and he doted on her. She was the envy of her friends, with whom she shared everything. Well, almost everything.
‘You bagged a good one woman,’ Juliet would always tell her.
Jane would mischievously taunt her, ‘Anytime you are down for a threesome…’ Gina made no doubt that the proposition was serious as a heart attack.
What she kept strictly to herself was Dru’s multifaceted shifts in mood and energy behind closed doors. He could swing from emotional highs to depressive lows. Even his sleeping habits were affected. He would sit on his laptop until 3 in the morning and be up by 5 am to kick-start his day. The one time she had tried to suggest seeking professional aid, he had struck her smack across her cheek.
‘Babe, baby, I am so sorry,’ he had cried in agony while grovelling on his knees. ‘Hit me back. You can even bite me. I love you so much! What can I do to make this better?’
The next day he bought her a brand new sleek Toyota Premio and a pair of red bottom Louboutins. That was the last they had spoken of the incident.
Post that, she decided to take the bull by the horns. How? She would meditate him, without his knowledge. She started dosing his food with some Mary Jane. His long office hours allowed for her to get to work in her kitchen, measuring grams, cooking and baking. There was no playing Russian Roulette to determine safe edible doses.
And that was where Chris came in. He supplied and advised her on just the right amounts, just about 5 milligrams infused into her cooking oil and voila! Dru’s pensive mood would be no more, and in its stead would be a cheery and carefree Dru.
She and Jane had known Chris since their wild university heydays. He stayed in Ruai and had a small garden in his back yard where he grew the plant in hiding amidst his Sukuma-Wiki and Spinach. She had stopped partaking of the herb herself, but had to reconnect with him, years later, in order to set her plan in motion.
With every tick of her Rolex, she was getting antsier. She was already halfway done with her first glass. Seated alone in the lounge, she painted the picturesque of anything but a happily engaged woman to her lover of 10 years.
In truth and she would never admit it to Jane, she envied her freedom. How she stayed in control of her own life. Never apologetic for owning her sensuality. And she relished in it so.
Gina took yet another deep sip of her margarita – her third. She could not even recall the last time she had intercourse, and actually enjoyed it. They even had a calendar to help regulate their innate moments. Like clockwork. Exciting, not so much.
He was a geek, sure. And a little socially awkward sometimes. But a little too pragmatic and reined in. He was always drumming on her ‘better to base a relationship on more solid long-lasting emotions. Like similar interests. Sharing the same values and goals matters more than a few paltry orgasms.’
Well sure if they were paltry, she could see his point. Who needed that? She thought dumbfounded. Her nerves were getting the better of her.
Sure she had a man who wanted her in his life. A nice sweet man, half the time, who she could talk to through the night and who in turn never ran out of things to say. Yet she wanted more.
10 years was a long time to be a prude. She wanted, expected, a man instead who would keep her up all night screaming with pleasure. Who’d drive her wild and wanton. She wanted lots of orgasms. Even if it was only for one night. Surely she deserved to have her back blown out just once? She sighed loudly.
She drained her margarita, the bitter tang of the cocktail matching the taste on her tongue. Was she the kind of woman who would settle for measured practicality? In bed? There was only one thing she wanted to be measuring in bed.
The bartender served her another cocktail even as Chris finally showed his yellow face.
‘Your bill has been taken care off,’ the stewardess waiting on her had said, pointing to some random posturing gentleman. No, not gentleman. There was nothing gentle about him. He was short and looked like he reeked of foul smells. She rolled her eyes. His loss.
‘May I?’ Chris said as he reached for the chair after exchanging greetings. ‘The men can’t seem to take their eyes off you’ he gestured to a table of hyena-looking probes at a near table salivating openly.
‘Don’t sweet talk your way. You’re late!’ Gina spat out, paying them no mind.
‘Traffic msupa, kwanza Waiyaki Way imefungana. Next round is on me.’ So much for his apology. Sike!
‘Nkt,’ she clicked loud enough. She knew she was being unnecessarily catty but she just couldn’t help it. Blame it on the liquor
He raised one eyebrow in amusement which just served to raise her already flaring temper.
Another waiter approached again and served on them both
‘You know I don’t really know much about you,’ he started by way of conversation once the waiter was out of earshot. ‘Na tumejuana miaka.’
She had gotten inebriated enough to bite. ‘What do you wanna know?’
‘Where are you from?’ he inquired.
‘Seriously? Can’t you tell from my accent?’
‘I meet a lot of people from a lot of places…,’
He ignored her little jab. ‘Most are easy to place by their accents. You don’t have one though.’
‘Seriously? I don’t have an accent?’
He grinned at her affronted tone.
‘My mother’s Tanzanian and my father’s Kenyan.’
‘What do you do?’ What was this, 21 questions?
‘Until recently I worked at a private lab as a physicist. Now, I’m a bank teller’
‘Seriously?’ Throwing her word back at her, earning a stifled giggle from her.
He was mesmerized. A science geek?
‘Yes seriously,’ she chided with a laugh. ‘I specialized in psycho-acoustics.’
‘What is that? Crazy talk?’ he wondered out loud. ‘And psycho-acoustics is…?’ he asked tentatively.
‘The technical definition is the study of sound perfection, measuring the psychological and physiological response to sounds,’ she summarized.
‘So you love your job. What else are you passionate about?’
Before she could stop herself she muttered, ‘You know I don’t think I have been passionate about anything except work for a long time. My passionate exuberance has been problematic.’ Her words were matter-of-fact. But so sad.
‘All work and no play. You should share that passion, spread it to other things,’ he countered.
She had clearly had more than enough to drink to even be engaging in the conversation with her dealer. They were bordering on something dangerous. She could feel it, could see it in the way his eyes were dancing. She had never noticed how sculpted and masculine his features were. His body seemed to promise sexual nirvana…
She put a halt to her thoughts. What was she thinking? ‘Look at the time, gimme my bag. Here’s your cash.‘ She was stumbling over her words as she moved to quickly hide the bag in her purse and put the money on his stretched hands.
He ensnared her hands in his, toying with her ring finger, and gazed directly at her. ‘Come to my place and we can put that passion to good use.’ He winked at her even as she shoved her hand back and practically ran out of Kiza.