At Rebecca’s Feet - Episode 2 - - Naija News, Jobs, Universities, Scholarships

Sep 22, 2018

At Rebecca’s Feet - Episode 2

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Goodnews! At Rebecca’s Feet - Episode 2 is out. Here is the continuation of episode 1. Do not forget to read and share.

At Rebeccas Feet Episode 2


‘Mister,’ One of the bouncers, whose biceps looked like my whole trunk, groaned with a voice that nearly activated my default settings, ‘This side of the club is for VIPs, Mister.

He moved his beefy chest and crossed his intimidating muscular arms. I nearly turned back, but I snapped another glance at the girl and my courage skyrocketed. She was like a human-magnet and her flux was too strong to be avoided. The smile on her face, which was kept intentionally for me, was irresistible.

‘Don’t I look good enough to contribute to your salary?’ I asked the beef with the courage of a riff raff in the slum.

The big man did not like my wits, but who cares? My whole concentration was on the girl.

‘Don’t talk to me like that, Mister.’

‘Or what?’ I fired back in a loud enough voice to impress the girl. ‘Can’t I spend my money anyhow I want in this lounge or do you want me to call the manager?’

With this scary threat, the King-Kong maintained a steady gaze at me. However, there was something about him that revealed he care a lot about his job: maybe, he made extra money as a pimp or gigolo, or maybe, his only talent was to intimidate people with his muscles.

I reminded him that with his your chimpanzee-stature, he would find it difficult to survive out there in the real street - which was true.

He felt so bad. I could see it in his countenance. My courageous affront, like a slap, hit his little ego. But it was not my fault; he asked for the wet wits. How did he think he could be an obstacle preventing me from meeting God’s most gracious creature?
He shrunk and stepped aside.

At Rebecca's Feet [Humor and Crime] Episode 1

‘Thank you,’ I sarcastically added ‘And from now on, don’t allow any other person to step into this place.’

He gave me a cold stare that showed that my joke was not appreciated. If he was not paid to maintain orders, he would have grabbed me and extinguished everything called breath in me. But he wouldn’t try that. He was paid to serve us, the loungers. I took few courageous strides and found myself in front of the girl.

‘Hello,’ with a lovely smile on her face, she said in a low, angelic voice.

The smile stuck to her face like a sticker on a windscreen of a taxi. I reciprocated with a chivalrous bow. From where I stood, I took a better look at her dress. Although the silky pink blouse was tight, it was cut too low. The benevolent designer gave a lot of room for plenty of cleavages to be displayed. As I looked, I saw the lump on her chest and concentration became an act of self-control. My heart hit my chest with uncoordinated strokes, and my mouth dried up. Instantly, I felt physically sick.

I introduced myself as Darlington Itolo, a business man in the Federal Capital Territory of Nigeria. ‘Can I know your beautiful name, angel?

Her name was Eno Attah, as she told me. She lived in an area called Lokogoma in the down town of Abuja. She was a business woman, though the nature of her business was not disclosed, I laughed internally, knowing Abuja babes could claim to be anything, anybody.

‘You are too breathtaking to be without a company. Are you waiting for anybody?’

‘Not really, I came to cool off after a rough day at work.’

Because there was nothing on her face to show she worked hard, I knew she was lying. In fact, there was nothing about her to prove that she could work. She looked too fragile for the stress of business dealings. Nevertheless, an hour or two in my room will find her a more lucrative job. A good one, which I know will suit her status and looks.

‘Permit me to share the table with you.’ I requested. Lowering my voice, I added: ‘I want just to scare the womanizers.’

She grinned and I took that for a graceful consent. I slid my body beside hers and pulled her into a bland converse. Because of the noise in the lounge, talking to her was rewardingly romantic. She had to come very close to me, and I would place my cheek on hers, and talk directly into her ears.

Soft cheeks: a reminder of how close we had gotten in few minutes. She bent to ask me about myself, naughtily I pecked the cheeks. She giggled and my heart decided to pay back the favor.

‘I will tell you, but first let me buy you a drink,’ I told her. ‘What’s your flavor?’

She winked and said, ‘I do white wines.’

At the sound of her tall demand, I adjusted. If she wanted a wine, then it must be a bottle. I was not poor, but taking a bottle of wine in a VIP of Cubana lounge could put a hole underneath the account. As a positive thinker, I plotted a way out.

‘Don’t you think a bottle of wine is too big in this cold weather?’

She smiled, shook her head and signaled the waiter. As I saw the approaching waiter, my heart lost his rhythm and my head turned into a scientific calculator:

A bottle of wine may cost around fifteen thousand naira - says the panicky voice in my head, ‘Gosh! That’s a lot.’

Fifteen thousand will be enough to fix the shock absorbers of my car which had stayed over three weeks begging for new springs. And there I was, about to burn the same amount over a few words with a stranger. Stupid me. My mistakes became visible and my ears readjusted to reality. At that juncture, the loudness of the environment became disturbing and I noticed other people inside the club. I compared the rest of the loungers to the few that were in the VIP wing. It seemed as if the happy people were on the other side, and in the little space called the VIP, only the girl in front of me – who planned to dry up all I had – looked genuinely happy.

I saw the waiter with a tray and became genuinely pressed. An escape was badly needed.

‘Permit me to ease myself,’ I softly muttered to the lady that wanted to send me to an early grave. She smiled and nodded. Slowly, I stood up and moved towards the transparent door of the VIP.

Watch out for episode 3 of At Rebecca’s Feet soon.

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