₦airaland Forum

iamehmakute:
Op i see greatness in you from your write up, you are good.
if i may ask is this fictional or real?

Thanks. It's completely fictional. Thanks again. I will post longer updates today by God's grace.

On my way home, I slipped into the backseat and asked the driver to turn off the AC. I wound down the window to let in some fresh air. I wished for more fresh things: fresh life, fresh job, and a fresh world. Nothing around me made sense. I had played into the hands of an ambitious schemer, boxed myself into a corner. The three options I had played around in my head: resign and go to jail, set up my boss and retain my job or resign and run away. But where would I really run to? There were many places in a country like Nigeria where someone could hide forever, but what about Ify? What about my family? What would they think of me? I thought of my parents, would they survive it? Running away or going to jail was against the ways of my upbringing. It would shatter my family and everything we stood for. I realized the car had stopped.


“Any problem? Why are we stopping?” I leaned towards the driver.


“Sir this is your house na,” he said, turning back briefly. I couldn’t see his face clearly but I was quite sure he must have looked bemused. I apologized briskly and got out of the car. I wasn’t thinking clearly yet. But so far, the safer option would be to do the bidding of my CEO, but that would inflict an eternal injury on my mind; it would fill me with a guilt I may never live with. I needed to talk to someone, in spite of myself; I wanted to involve no one in my mess. It was my cross, and I had to carry it. But on second thought, I decided to call someone. I thought of Bright, who actually set the ball rolling. I forgot about him, he might give me an advice that might make things worse, like killing my boss, the CEO, or both of them. I decided to call the only other person whom I could truly rely on to give me sound advice.


“Hello, Baby,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty for not involving her from the start. Ify had a host of names for me, from the romantic, to the funny and the downright mischievous. This time, she chose, “My Fine Boy, how are you?” I could sense she was in a happy mood, a mood I was about changing. “Well, I’m not fine, babe, I’m not fine. There’s trouble, I need to tell you some things.” I added the last sentence so she could prepare her mind for anything. By default, I guessed she might be thinking I was about to confess of an affair or announce a friendly breakup.


“Hmm…” the happiness in her tone had vanished. “It’s late already. Why not…”


“Please, pick a taxi, take a drop…”


“Alright. I’ll be there.”
As I kept the phone on the table, I imagined how convenient – and how romantic – it would have been to say, "I’ll send my driver to come and pick you”.

State of Wonder by Anne Patchet

Hehe
OK guys. I owe you all an update tonight. Thanks for the comments.

SammieLowkey:
Keep it coming. You're doing great.

nobletitus:
Keep it cuming...........its such an interesting piece.......more mb to ur phone

Ay04z:
Continue

Thanks, guys.

After several occasions of regrettable ambivalence, I learnt to trust my instincts. So when, on a Friday evening, the CEO said he would like to have a word with me on the evening of the next day, I was convinced he has found out and probably wants me to resign – because of our smooth work relationship – instead of suffering the ignominy of being sacked. I managed to look unruffled as I left his office for mine. I was to meet him at a certain restaurant by 6:00pm; his driver would come to pick me. Thankfully the message came towards the close of work because I couldn’t concentrate anymore when I got to my office. I shut down my laptop and left. When I walked past the receptionist, she greeted waved and greeting with the usual beautiful smile. I returned the smile absent-mindedly and walked briskly into the warmth of the evening. She was a beautiful lady and I didn’t doubt that she would go on a date with me if I asked.


Back home, I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I couldn’t eat the fast-food takeaway I grabbed on my way back. I thought about calling Ify and telling her everything. I had always worried that she didn’t know about the lie on my CV, which had got me this job and, in essence, fetched the good life we enjoyed. I pushed the thought out of my mind. What difference would it make when she finally finds out? Even if I get the sack now, at least I’ve saved up something…


By 5:30 pm on Saturday, I was dressed in a blue jeans, red t-shirt and red loafers, waiting for the driver. I looked outside the window quite often in anticipation. I saw him pull up outside the house fifteen minutes later and walked outside. I replied his greetings and slid into the front seat, ignoring the back door he held open.


I walked into the VIP section of the restaurant which was empty except for the smallish frame of the CEO at the far corner, a bottle of red wine on the table before him. My first thought was whether he paid for this privacy or it was a fortunate coincidence. We exchanged stilted greetings, and then I pulled out a chair and sat across him. He offered me the wine, I declined. The bar was washed with pale blue light.


“How has working with us been, so far?” he asked.


“It’s been fine,” I said, a little nervous, more convinced that this was only the preamble and it was only a matter of time before he laid my sins before me.


“How’s your relationship with your boss?”


“Fine.” I hadn’t expected a question like that. “We get along very well.”


“She’s a beautiful lady,” he said, sipping from the tumbler before hm. It wasn’t a question, but it was said in that way that suggests you are expected to say something, so I quickly offered, “Yes, she is.” I wasn’t still sure where this was headed, but I was convinced that the purpose and outcome of this particular meeting would certainly be different from the others before it. When I thought about that statement again, it struck me that there might be something going on between them. I felt jealous for a moment.


The silence that followed was quite unusual. It was almost as though he had forgotten I was there, or he was in a trance. I regretted not accepting the wine he offered earlier; at least it would have provided a welcome diversion from this awkward moment.


“How well do you know her?” he suddenly asked. Then, perhaps sensing that his question didn’t make complete sense, added, “Your boss. Do you guys chat about other things than work?”


“I don’t know much about her, sir, and we mostly discuss work.” I was becoming uncomfortable and angry with this line of questioning. What does he really want? What was all this beating about the bush for? He suddenly looked at his watch and gulped down the drink in the tumbler. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. “Leticia is sitting between me and something I’ve always wanted to have, somewhere I’ve always wanted to be…” his voice trailed off. “I want her out of the way, and I want you to make that happen.”


“Why…how…” He raised his right hand, signaling that I wait.


“I will explain everything to you, but just know that you must help me get rid of Leticia or I make sure you serve the full time for forgery.” I looked down in shame. So he knew all this while. “And don’t think of resigning,” he continued. “It won’t help.”

Things were different in the office. I had gotten a pay rise to two-fifty. Everyone seemed to like me. I had worked hard, learnt fast and became quite good and successful, so much that I think less of the forgery and more about going places with the company and even assuming its leadership someday. Presently, I became quite close with the CEO. He invited me to his house for dinner and took me to expensive hotels and bars for business meetings. He was one of those men whose faces betrayed little emotions, so you really had a hard time figuring out what he might be thinking at any given time. In some of our meetings, I wondered whether he knew, and what his reaction might be when he does. He always looked serious; it was difficult to tell how much he knew. I wouldn’t doubt that he knew about me but decided to hire me anyway, for reasons best known to him.


My relationship with my direct boss was even better. Since I worked directly under her, we had reasons to spend time together. We visited big pharmacies and hospitals together and sometimes worked together after normal office hours. I’ve even had to go over to her house on a public holiday to go over the details of a contract. Ify hadn’t taken it lightly, given that my boss was single and rich. And it didn’t help that, at forty-six, my boss had the lithe body of a yoga instructor. Now and then I caught myself imagining things with her; I imagined what it would be like, doing it with her; it would be an ethereal experience. I understood Ify’s worries, but assured her that nothing would happen, at least not until my boss made the move – I thought to myself – which seemed highly unlikely, or so I thought. I had always strived to maintain a strictly business relationship with my boss, not that I could really cross the line without risking everything.
One hectic day, we had cause to stay back after office hours. It was just both of us on the entire third floor, then the driver and the security guys downstairs. She suddenly looked at her watch. “We’re not going to finish this anytime soon,” she said. I said nothing, I was entering figures on Microsoft excel. After a short while I said, by way of a reply, “I don’t mind going home a bit late today, it doesn’t happen all the time.”
“I’m worried for Azeez. His wife put to bed a couple of days ago, so he should be around.” Azeez was her driver, and I agreed with her. But I felt a fleeting wave of disappointment and anger because there was, in her words, a suggestion that she didn’t care that I was also late.


“Can you drive?” she asked. I replied that I can. She picked up her phone. “Hello Azeez, sorry for keeping you this long. You may go home now, just leave the key in the ignition, OK?” She kept the phone on the table.

“You’re driving us home tonight,” she said to me. I thought of the possible meanings of what she has said. Driving us home tonight. I wondered whether she meant I would be spending the night in her beautiful duplex. My hormones reacted quickly at the thought and I was grateful that I was sitting across the table and my hardness was completely hidden. “Now come over and check these papers again,” she said suddenly, “right away, there should be no mistakes.” I panicked. There was no way I could go over there without her seeing the unusual protrusion around my crotch. “Just a minute,” I said, standing up slowly, a hand on the laptop, entering a useless figure while I prayed for the normalcy of my body. “And it’s about time you got yourself a car,” she said, swiftly standing up and heading to the toilet. I thanked my stars and quickly scrambled over to her side of the table.

Everything moved smoothly. Before ten in the morning, my appointment was confirmed and I was shown around the place and introduced to other staff. Finally I sat before the CEO, a man who looked rather smallish for his position. He removed his glasses and said, “You may sit.” When I did, he congratulated me once more and gave me a brief history of the company, how they strive for excellence and all that. I would be assisting the marketing manager who would be leaving to head their new branch in Lagos in a few months and I’m expected to be a fast learner so I can effectively step into her big shoes. My salary would be one hundred and eighty thousand naira for a start, and I would have forty thousand naira transferred to my account that day for wardrobe allowance. I suppressed a grin, merely nodding as though it’s not such a big deal. The CEO dismissed me and faced his laptop. I was to resume officially the next day.


On my way home, I got an alert from my bank for forty thousand naira. I smiled. As the taxi passed a fast-food restaurant, the aroma of whatever they were preparing wafted into the car. I decided I wanted some of it, whatever it was. I told the driver to stop. Over the next few days, I ate more from fast-food than I had done in my twenty-eight years. I called my aunty to tell her the good news, pleading that she shouldn’t tell the people back in the village before they besiege me with request, but that I would be sending money back home and would inform them about the job when I’m a bit more comfortable. She thanked God for me, told me she was expecting a baby, and cautioned me about extravagance. “You’re not getting any younger, you know, so start planning for your future,” she concluded. I knew what she meant. Getting married was still further down the list of things I planned to do.


Three months on the job, my life gradually changed in a way that could only be made possible by money. I became more aware of things I initially didn’t care about. I stopped eating at bukkas, drank bottled water outside and sachet water at home and generally became more self-aware. I bought shoes of different colours (instead of the default black) which I normally wouldn’t have bought because they would select clothes. Ify rarely asked for money, but I made sure I spent a good amount on her. Being independent-minded, she almost never accepted cash gifts from me, so I bought her fashion items now and then.


Even so, in the midst of my new life, I often thought about the forged CV – backed with a signed letter of recommendation from ‘my former employers’ – and how everything could fall apart on a bad day. I hadn’t thought it a big deal (just a harmless tweaking of CV), but as my profile rose in the company, as I slowly adapted into my new life, reality struck me every so often. I often imagined being summoned by the manager to listen to how disappointed he was that a young man like me would take to forgery, and being handed over to the police, or more shamefully, being escorted out of the building by the same security guys who envied me and benefited from my generous tips! I shuddered at the thought. I thought to pray about it, but what would I ask God to do? Uphold my forgery? Postpone the evil day or strike it out completely? I thought about resigning and starting up something, but I hadn’t really saved up enough, so it could be back to square one in little time.

simonhabby:
And I've got a beautiful story dedicated to me.

Thanks for making it possible.