Friday, 3 August 2018

ShortStory I Grace To Grass (II)


GRACE TO GRASS (II)

        At this point, she needed not a prophet to interpret the circumstance to her. She couldn’t believe herself. When she was invited over the previous day, she was totally of the view that she was coming to pick her employment letter unknowingly to her that the reverse was the case.
         Lilian was an ardent practising Christian – owing to her family background – who couldn’t imagine betraying the faith she had nurtured since childhood let alone doing so with a man who was old enough to be her father.
        “Sir, are you actually asking me to have an affair with you?” She verified.
        “The handwriting is bold and clear,” he hinted. “Or, isn’t it?”
        “I am sorry sir,” she said. “I can’t.”
        “Stop being naive, young lady…” He ranted.
           Mr. Martins Adewale was an egoistic man who believed he could get anything he wanted on a platter of gold.
         “I’ve painstakingly gone through your CV,” he continued, frowning. “You have been in the labour market for four years now.” he observed, looking into her eyes seriously. “And, I am sure you wouldn’t wish to continue with the unending job hunt.” He thought aloud, paused.
          Immediately, he appeared to the lady not unlike a monster. The scene occurred to her like a daydream.
         “Besides, do you think you are the only lady among the teeming applicants?” he proceeded. “I chose you because I care so much about you.”
          There was absolute tranquillity.
        “I am sorry sir,” Lilian tendered. “I can’t.” She bluntly disclosed, stood up.
        “Are you sure about this?” he enquired, shocked as he remained in his seat.
         He was apparently yet to encounter such manner of rigidity since he commenced his promiscuous lifestyle.
         Lilian was speechless while standing. She felt like pouring him acid.
        “Well, I will give you some time to think about it.” He added.
        “There is nothing to think about.” She ranted, hurriedly took her handbag which was kept on the table and walked towards the office entrance.
       “Nonsense,” Martins lamented. “Go and remain in the street; I think that’s where you belong.”
         She hastily stopped on hearing the abuse, angrily turned her head to where he was seated, sighed at him and dashed out.
        “Non…sense!” he reiterated disappointedly, stood up. “Look at someone I wanted to help.” He thought aloud.
             * * * * * *
       “Hello,” Mr. Martins said as he answered his phone, which had already rang twice, right in his office. “Who’s this?”
       “Sir, it’s me.”
        It was an unknown feminine voice.
       “Who, please?”
       “Lilian,” the voice answered. “Okoro Lilian.”
         Probably, he didn’t save her number on his phonebook.
         That was the least of the names Mr. Martins expected to hear. It was in the morning on 16th October 2008, exactly one week the caller furiously left his office.
          Lilian thought it wise to resort to his demand after she got a misleading advice from one of her closest friends, Kemi who was also a job hunter. Having shared the ordeal with her (Kemi), Kemi told her that that was the kind of opportunity she had be awaiting, stating she wished she was in her (Lilian’s) shoes; hence, warned her not to forfeit the offer.
         Unfortunately, she never discussed the issue with her mum contrary to her usual attitude. Thus, she decided to keep her parents in the dark.
        “So, what can I do for you?” Martins queried.
        “Please sir,” Lilian submitted. “Can I come and see you in the office tomorrow?”
        “For what?”
        “I will explain when I come, sir.”
        “Young lady, tell me what you are coming to my office to do.” he urged. “The last time you were here, I was like a monster to you.”
         There was silence.
        “Would you speak?” he reiterated. “Or, should I cut this call?”
        “No sir,” she feverishly replied, gushed out tears. “I have accepted.”  She eventually hinted in a low tone.
        “Accepted what…?” He enquired in false pretence.
        “The offer, sir.”
        “Which offer?” Mr. Martins loudly asked, laughed falsely. “You amuse me; do you think we are selling crayfish here?” He added.
        “Please sir.”
      “I am sorry,” he said. “Someone who is more serious has taken the space.”
      “Plea…se sir,” she pleaded. “I am very sorry for all the pains I caused you.”
         He smiled; the plea was so fascinating to him. He was wondering if such statement was coming from a woman who acted exactly like a saint few days ago in his office.
        “So, what do you want me to do now?” he said. “Manufacture a space for you?”
        “Sir, I know you can do something.” she thought aloud. “Please, I am on my knees.”
        “Okay,” he said. “Meet me at same venue at ten O’clock tomorrow morning.”
        “Remind me the name, sir.”
        “New Haven Hotel,” he responded. “Room 235.”
        “Okay sir,” she concurred. “I will be there by ten.”
        “Good luck then.” Martins dished out, quickly cut the call even though he wasn’t the caller.
         Afterwards, in two days’ time, Lilian became a staff of the Marketing Department of Arise Group of Companies Limited. Interestingly, she was issued an official car with a driver on commencement based on the ethics of the reputable firm.
         Intriguingly, Miss Lilian’s romantic affair with Mr. Martins continued to the extent that the silly game was being played even in their respective offices.
          Initially, it remained secret not until one fateful afternoon when they were caught in the act right in Martins’ office. The company’s management couldn’t believe it. Martins’ promiscuous behaviour was undoubtedly hidden to them prior to the emergence of the unthinkable incident.
          Consequently, both of them were outrightly dismissed from the firm. The unforeseen moment of grace to grass came at about four months after Lilian secured the employment, February 2009 specifically.

Comrade FDN Nwaozor
Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub (DRH) - Owerri
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frednwaozor@gmail.com
+2348028608056
Twitter: @mediambassador

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