The
next weekend, after dropping me off, she drove home first and then to one of
the hotels/motels in outskirt of London. She was there all weekend.
I called the lover’s home. His wife picked. I asked her about
safety precautions on oil rigs. She got excited and pressed me for
details. I told her there was an explosion somewhere towards the
end. Temporarily sated, she explained a few things to me. Just
before I dropped I sent the lover my regards, she mentioned that he had to
travel for business. I just smiled.
Every
time I ‘went to Scotland’ after that, she went to East London. Sometimes,
she went straight from the airport. I let it continue uninterrupted,
occasionally making early returns so they never got comfortable with using the
house for their weekend trysts. Sometimes I would go to their hotel and
get the room next to theirs. They always got the same room. They
were loud, always. She would scream obscenities and he would grunt like a
beast. I would sit in my room with the lights off, listening to them and
periodically send her pictures of scotland.
Then
6 months ago, I told her I wanted us to move to Ireland for a year. She
was completely against it but I explained that the second part of the book was set
in Ireland and flying back and forth to Ireland was tedious enough. There
was nothing tying us to London, nothing she could mention.
I
asked her not to worry. I would take care of everything. For the
next month, I stayed home every day, and didn’t go to Scotland. I could
sense her desperation. I let it grow as the date we set for our
relocation drew closer. She sighed audibly when I told her I would be
going to Lagos one last time, to return the morning of our trip. We had
sold the cars already so I took a taxi straight to Sheraton.
She
was in Manchester city in under an hour after I left. I made a few phone
calls, confirmed the flight booking, cab booking and room booking and faxed
over the final documents and awaited the signed copies. Then I called the
lover’s wife. I told her I was in a bit of a rut on that explosion and I
needed her expertise. I offered to let her read my drafts so she could
get a feel of the plot. She offered to come over to the house. I
told her I was in Scotland. She was sad, so sad. I told her it was
all handwritten so I couldn’t mail it. She apologized for not being able
to help, I told her I appreciated her willingness.
The
next morning I called her again. I was coming back to London so she could
read my manuscript. I really needed her help. She was
flattered. I told her I wasn’t going home just yet, I can’t work at
home. I was going to check into a small hotel on the outskirts of town, I
asked her to hand the phone to her husband so I could explain. He had travelled
on business, of course. I asked her to come anyway. I would get her
an adjoining room but since her husband wasn’t home, he didn’t need to know, he
would tell my wife and she’d be hurt that I came to london and didn’t sleep at
home. But I had to work, I needed to get past this explosion. She
understood.
She
wanted to drive over but I was already in a cab. I picked her up.
We checked into our rooms. They were separated only by thin walls, all
three rooms. She had the one in the middle. We stepped in her room
and I handed her the handwritten manuscript of my unpublished first
novel. I wrote it when I was 17 and it showed. Every chapter had a
sex scene. She was barely through with the first chapter when the lovers
started. They were loud and she blushed. I pretended not to notice.
Between
the obscene manuscript and what sounded like honeymooners next door she got
aroused in a few minutes. She paused periodically to ask questions and
make recommendations. Sometimes just to lick her lips. I lay on the
bed, waiting for her to get to my little alteration, the noise of lovemaking
next door had subsided.
I
knew when she found it. She started breathing hard, she licked her lips a
few times. I half expected her to put the manuscript down out of
embarrassment but she kept on reading. When I leaned down to whisper in
her ear, the words ‘kiss me’ weren’t out of my mouth before she had me pinned
to the bed. I put in everything I had, every trick I knew but she wasn’t
a squealer. She purred. …
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