By BODE ODESEYE

Tony Adams sauntered into Club 49 in Greek Street, Soho, west London. It was Friday night and it was just a few minutes past midnight, but the club was already filled to the brim with revelers. People jostled for space, while the deejay played a rave music that got them excited.
Tall, well-built, dark and handsome, Tony, at 32, was a ladies’ man. He was born in London by Nigerian migrants. He stood 6’ 2 inches in his socks, with a finely-chiseled face, brown intelligent eyes, close-cropped hair and toned body.
He was fashionably dressed in navy blue Gucci pants, white Polo T-shirt and black Armani shoes. On his wrist was a gold-plated watch he had paid for with his life’s savings.
Tony loved the good life. He was up to his eyeballs in debts due to his high taste for designer wears and accessories. What kept him going was the fact that he had a university degree, having graduated with honours from the University of East London in pharmaceutical science eight years ago, which got him a good job as a pharmacist, fetching him a nice monthly salary and giving him a credit worthy status.
He however met his match in his fiancée of two years, Rose Arnold, a white British 23-year-old beauty with the right curves in the right places. Rose lived in a perpetual fantasy land and had the irresistible urge to possess the world. She was always dreaming of schemes to drain his purse: Eating dinner at highbrow restaurants and going on holiday to exotic places. He often found himself going out of his way to buy her expensive jewelries he couldn’t afford as presents. In two years, he was already drained. But the funny thing was, in spite of her perchance for incessantly making his bank account deplete, he was in love with her.
She was a final year accounting student at the University of London and Tony couldn’t wait for her to graduate and tie the knots. He would have gotten married to her, but she had insisted on completing her studies, getting a job and then deciding on when to get married. With hindsight, it was a good decision because right now, he had no hope of springing for the wedding Rose had in mind.
While his own idea of a wedding was having a small ceremony in the registry, with reception for a few people in a classy restaurant and a two-week honeymoon in Cambridge, Rose wanted an elaborate wedding in the church, with 15 bride maids; family and friends travelling from different parts of the world lodged in fancy hotels, a grand reception with a band playing live music, and two weeks’ honeymoon apiece in France and Netherlands.
To her, getting married is a one-in-a-lifetime and she wanted to do it right.
Do it right? In that fashion?! Who would pay the bills? That was the one million dollar question.
He had tried to convince her this idea was a pipe-dream, all to no avail. She insisted it was what she wanted. And what Rose wanted, she always got. Arguing with her was like hitting one’s head on a brick wall.
Finally, he sat her down for a lengthy discussion which lasted for hours and they decided the wedding had to wait. Right now, it wasn’t as if she had any hope of chipping in a lump sum. She was still a student, for crying out loud. Not much support would come from her unless she started earning a living after graduation.
Even with her working and what he earned from his job, they may have a long wait to put together the kind of money for such a lavish wedding. He would have to take care of his other obligations.
He pushed his way to the bar and beamed at Mike, the barman, a fleshy-faced, pudgy man with thick black moustache, in his late 30s, who grinned back at him.
Tony was a regular and Mike, after confirming his order, placed a martini in front of him on the counter.
He paid him with a ten-pound bill, giving him a generous tip and Mike beamed happily.
Seeping his drink, he took a sweeping gaze round the club.
He was restless. After finishing for the day at the pharmacy where he had a full-time job, he felt in need of some excitement. He had driven his three-year-old Lexus to his two-bedroom flat in Old Kent Road, South East London, changed his clothes and placed a call to Rose, trying to persuade her to come to the club with him-a thing she had refused to do lately.
She had refused to budge, citing the fact that she had to be more serious than ever in her studies.
He had driven to the club alone, feeling dejected. The sight of the people having a nice time cheered him up.
He took another sip of his drink and glancing around once again, his eyes caught a very attractive blonde woman looking directly at him. She was sitting on a stool about eight feet away, holding a drink in her right hand, while clutching a leopard skin purse in her left hand. She looked gorgeous in a black dress with a diamond necklace round her neck and matching earrings.
He did a double take, wondering how much her jewelry would cost, if it wasn’t a fake copy.
She smiled at him, and it was a dazzling smile.
He guessed she would be in her early 30s. She had a tanned skin and her black glistening hair was packed in a bun.
Instinctively, he smiled back at her, and seeing her smile unwavering, he moved close to her.
“Hi,” he said. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all,” she said in an American-accented voice.
“I’m Tony,” he said.
“Helen,” she replied, while offering her right hand for a handshake.
Tony checked her left fingers. She was not wearing a wedding ring and it was obvious she was unaccompanied.
“American?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “I’m here on vacation.”
It was summer and the city was crawling with tourists.
He could see she was studying him in close scrutiny; her green-colored eyes giving his gold wrist watch and taut body a swift sweep, missing nothing.
Keeping his charming smile on his face, he asked if she would like a dance, and without hesitation, she finished her drink in a gulp, set the glass cup on the counter and followed him to the dance floor.
She was a very good dancer and after dancing for about half an hour, he led her back to the bar and ordered their drinks.
He kept looking at her admiringly and he could see she was enjoying his company.
He kept his compliments flowing, saying little things that would make her laugh and make her feel at ease with him, and soon, they were both laughing gaily.
It was after 2am when she glanced at her diamond-studded wristwatch, which Tony had also noticed, and told him she would like to leave. He paid the bill and left with her to the front door, thinking he would have to give her a lift.
A black and gold Rolls Royce suddenly appeared out of the blues.
“This is my ride,” she said, as the chauffeur sprang out of the car and opened the back door for her.
Tony gaped at the Rolls, lost for words.
As she was getting in, he desperately put his wits together.
“Can I see you again?” he asked.
She looked at him for what seemed to be an eternity, but was actually less than a minute.
“Get in,” she said.
Tony hurriedly jumped in beside her and the chauffeur drove away from the kerb.
Minding that the chauffeur was within earshot, Tony kept him mouth shut, sensing Helen was not willing to talk in the car. She was leaning her head on the upholstery, with her eyes tightly shut.
He eyed the glittering diamond jewelry and wrist watch again and told himself she must indeed be worth a bundle.
Soon, the car came to a stop at the Dorchester Hotel on Park Lane.
It was a 5-star hotel and she got a 5-star treatment. The doorman ran to the car, opened the door and took off his cap in courtesy, grinning from ear to ear, while the manager escorted them to the elevator from the lobby and rode with them to her floor.
With elaborate courtesy, the manager unlocked the door of her suite and bending almost double. He retreated from the room after seeing her safely inside and firmly closed the door.
Tony looked around at the plush setting, pursing his lips.
Helen flung her purse on the sofa, putting her hands on her hair and loosening it. She went to the mini-bar and poured drinks into two glass cups from a bottle of Champagne.
“This is where I have been staying for the past three weeks,” she said, looking at Tony who was trying hard to hide his bewilderment without much success. “I’m on a two-month vacation and I’ll be going to France, Italy and Spain before I go back home in New York.”
Tony slumped on the sofa, knowing he was definitely out of his league.
This lady must be made of money! He thought. Staying in a suite in Dorchester Hotel for three weeks! He did a rough calculation, thinking the cost of the suite alone would take care of his rent for two years.
“Who are you?” he asked incredulously.
He could not even recognize his own voice. It was as if he was coming down with a cold, his voice sounding like a croak.
Helen crossed over and gave him a drink, sitting beside him on the sofa.
“Suppose you tell me about yourself first?” she asked pointedly.
Tony nursed his drink, while his brains worked feverishly. This could be his opportunity to join the big league, he mustn’t mess things up.
He told her he was 32 years old, a qualified pharmacist, making an honest living in London; single, never married; omitting the fact that he was engaged. He made it look as if he cared less for women and was not in any relationship.
He told her he had been holding down his current job for five years and he was due for promotion. He could see a bright future ahead of him and he wasn’t complaining.
He talked fully for five minutes and Helen did not interrupt him.
While talking, he put his charm on full display. She was looking intently at him and he could see she was impressed.
When he finished, she smiled and said, “I’m Helen Vassander. I’m 30. My husband was the American steel magnate, Steve Vassander, who died in a mountain climbing expedition in Mexico two years ago. He was 36 years old. I’m running his steel company in New York after his demise. He left it for me in his will. We were childless.”
Tony put on a mournful look.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said.
“It’s alright,” she said gaily. “I’ve put it behind me. Do you love children?”
This question took Tony by surprise.
“Yes, I do. They are the world,” he answered crisply, hiding his surprise.
Secretly, he thought children were distractions. He had never broached the subject with Rose. If she wanted children, it would have to be years after their marriage. He always thought children took the centre-stage in marriage, always needing attention and devotion and he couldn’t bear sharing Rose with anyone. Not even children.
“I would like to have a couple of children: A boy and a girl,” Helen said dreamily.
He grinned at her, seeing she meant every word of it, but not venturing a comment until she asked, “Would you like to have children?”
“Yes, sure,” he said promptly, without batting an eyelid.
“You seem to be a nice man,” Helen said after a pause. “Would you like to live in America; in New York to be precise?”
Tony stared at her, wondering what was going on in her head.
“Live in America? I would love that,” he said, after pretending to think about it for a few seconds, aware that he had not even tasted his drink. Helen sighed, as if relieved by this response, and smilingly said, “We will talk about it later. We could have a future together.”
Tony stared at her, his heart doing a summersault.
He had always heard you could meet anybody in a London club and get propositioned. He never knew it could happen to him. Talk of luck!
Obviously, she had marriage in mind, and his mind started wondering how he should deal with what she wanted in the long run.

SOURCE-https://excelintercontinental.com/2020/11/25/the-london-diary-2/:

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