The club hadn’t ended just yet at 2:35a.m. It was Addie’s second day at work, and she wondered how humans in America survived in that cold, yet still partied all night.

She exhaled deeply as she sipped Hennessy from a small cup. She was tired in her high heel shoes; she wasn’t used to them. It was her first time of doing a job that required her wearing heels all through her shift.

When she was a manager at Westminster mall, she was always in sneakers or boots.

Her best friend Ida convinced her to submit her CV for the Grand Night Club interview. The pay was good enough to cater for her bills.

As she stepped into the club auditorium, the liquid notes soared through the balmy California night. They sprang from the golden slide of two trombones in perfect unison. The reedy seduction of an alto sax. The swish of a steel brush against cymbals. Addie walked around elegantly in her pink sweater and a black jean on her black high heel shoes, asking the waiters if everyone was okay and if their customers were treated well.

Everyone was lost to the dreamy ballad as they swayed cheek to cheek on the parquet floor of the famous Grand Night Club.

The singer waited for the clarinet to sweep out the final bars of the bridge before stepping up to the mic.
Her gold coloured hair glittered in the light from the chandeliers.
Addie paused and watched her, then smiled, “Americans and their boring parties”. She thought.

“Your hair is gorgeous!” A Caucasian lady whispered in Addie’s ears.

“Thank you!” She exclaimed as she put her hands on her natural kinky Afro hair as if she had just realized that she owned it.

When the female singer at the stage cradled the mic and poured out her talent to the crowd who were already standing on their feet. She put her heart into each note, her earthy, provocative signature on each phrase. She was good at making every male in the audience think she was singing to him alone.

Donald Ette was here, Addie had seen him walk in a few moments ago, tall, and achingly handsome as usual. He’d come to see what her new work place looks like for the first time. He never wanted Addie to work, he sent her to America so she can be hidden from his wife Hannah for a while. It’s been two years already, and she had refused to go back to Nigeria, afraid that Hannah still had her at heart and might send her thugs at her again, this time she might never survive it.

Donald Ette was the governor of her state, the most handsome governor in Nigeria that almost all Cross River women had a crush on.
His wife fought tooth and nail to make sure her husband wasn’t taken by any woman who seemed way ward.

Now, Addie had lost Donald in the throng of dancers jamming in the club house.

Her impatience mounting as she walked into the crowd of people, running her eyes everywhere and searching for him.
When the music faded, everyone clapped thunderously. Then she saw him sitting by a corner, and talking to one of the waitresses.

“He wants me Celine, don’t worry you can leave us now.” Addie said, waving at the Caucasian waitress in a red sassy hair.

She kissed him on the lips so passionately.

“I missed you.” She said.

Donald looked at her like she’d lost her mind. She had never kissed him in public when she was in Nigeria. But of course, nobody knew her in America and she could do whatever she wanted with him.

“I came in yesterday, needed to rest.” Donald said huskily.

“Where are you lodging?” Addie asked.

“The Ritz-Carlton Rancho Mirage. I hope you’re going with me tonight?”

“Why not?” She asked excitedly and kissed him on the lips again. “Ida won’t love to have a married man in the house again.”

“But it was just once I visited. And don’t forget I pay the rent for that house.”

“Buy me the house Don, buy it for me. You can afford it.” Addie said girlishly in Nigerian Accent.

Donald gave a soft husky laugh. “Donald buy me a car, buy me a house...” He mimicked her.
“You said you needed a car first before a house. That’s why I had to buy a car. Now you want a house so soon.”

“Not like I want it so soon. I just want you to put it in your budget. In the next one year, you won’t be governor anymore, and you might not be able to afford a house.”

“Says who?

“Says me baby.” She replied nastily.

“Don’t worry, I will buy you a house at Los Angeles when the money I am expecting comes in, okay?”

She nodded nicely. “Let me get to work. Drink all you want; I am riding you all through this night nonstop!” She winked at him and stood to walk away.

READ MORE: https://africanfictions.com/the-bride-chapter-1/