The Doctor's Second Love

PROLOGUE.

One thing I had never figured out what best to do with, so far had remained the reason why Pa Koffi woke the neighborhood every morning with his large amp, blaring odd songs in our ears every morning. One such song was the sad piece from the Everly Brothers; Take a Message to Mary, and for lord’s sake, that was big-time sound pollution to our neighborhood, but no one ever spoke of such because Pa Koffi was a pretty old man doing the things he spent his youthful days doing.

I would bet I forever remain one of those who hate the old big amp, and the songs that found their way off it, and sometimes, I’d swear by my cunt to stone that pan, or cut the wires if there were any, at least, that would keep the neighborhood at peace for a while before he would fetch someone to fix it, but something was different tonight.

He seemed to have timed the whole business, and he never let that amp do its job until Alessandro slipped his hand in mine and leaned in to brush his lips around mine. Those cute lips I would have sworn to snatch if they never came to me, those lips that attracted me to him, they met mine and brushed mine open so his tongue would find its way in my mouth, to meet my tongue and count my dentures, while his fingers tightened against mine like we were holding each other from falling from grace.

It was then that the amp gave up what it had been holding down in its thin belly, a song I knew well, from Shirley Bassey. That piece wasn’t a soft piece for a kissing moment, but it somehow found its way into our heads and made us switch from a calm romantic moment to something I must call silly.

First, it started with the rhythm of the song; Kiss Me, Honey, Honey, Kiss Me, then, it went deep into some wild exploration of both fingers, mine digging deep into the lining of his back and his gripping to every bumpy and robust part of my body, till they found their way under my skirt, and the rest of the night’s game was a story I wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

****

SITA.

“I must confess, dear, we’ve been busy with just one thing, asking questions and torturing boys who seem to have nothing to do with what happened last week.”

I pretended not to have heard them from the other room where I was offered a seat by one of the handmaidens who had just a weak smile and the sweet scent of her heavily scented shirt.

“Do you care for a drink, ma’am?” she asked, the handmaiden was looking me in the face like she wanted to figure something out of the way I stared casually at the pendulum of the old grandfather clock in the massive hall.

“Um...” I faked a smile, the prettiest of the sort I have worn so far. “Maybe, a lemonade if you have one.”

“Lemonade?” she raised a brow. “We have cellars, no space for juice and lemonades.”

I chuckled, how brilliant she is to have summoned enough courage to remind me that the rich people in the society have no business keeping lemonade and juice in their homes, many don’t fancy beer, rather, they keep a reserved cellar full of really expensive wines for pretty special visitors like me.

“That damn writer called us bloody swindlers and a party of devils.” The honorable snarled from inside. “We have to find whoever was involved in dishing such silly writeups out in the public and deal with them.”

Maybe he had no idea I was around, and if he does, he is very much aware that as a fellow politician, the issue of scandals on public figures is a common phenomenon. It’s never a big thing to hide from the next victim in line.

“Ma'am,” Came the maid once more, “You seem carried away.”

Was she saying something? Indeed, she was, but I wasn’t listening, and if I did, who knows what horrible words must have left my lips?

I faked one more smile. I did that a lot these days, “Do you have brandy?”

“German brandy, brewed during the Second World War by the best brewers Hitler himself could ever boast of” The maid came in response, causing me to giggle a little.

What a brilliant sweet tooth, she barely knew Hitler—to begin with, and if she did, I don’t think she knew what he boasted of in those days, aside from the army he presented to his role model, Mussolini of Italy, the day the very legend of his life visited Germany.

“Very well.” I merely wanted to dismiss her and keep her little warm conversation at pause for a while, “Get me a glass if your master has any.”

She moved her lips, Who knows what she could have said if not that she simply had to scurry off and do her job. I watched her leave the hall, but before I could position myself to listen to the conversation in the other room, I heard someone clear his throat behind me.

I spurned; it was the honorable I had come to meet. A noble fellow, looking just his best in the best suit the weavers of Paris could ever weave, and the tailors could ever put together.

“I guess the scent of your suit is warmer than your smile, honorable.” I rose to my feet to meet him, but he made for me instead, his lips curled into the best smile I had so far seen on his handsome face.

“Sita.” He came soft. “You are here, wearing your very usual black cloth that gives you this look of a widow, is that the little secret of all you philanthropists?”

He closed in on me and crossed his hand over me as I bent a little to have him greet me the way Africans do. On a normal day, he would ask for my hand, and when I offered him the right one, he would kiss it like a gentleman.

“How come my little girl left you here without something to sweeten your tongue?” he asked.

“She is on her way to do the pretty bidding she’s being paid for,” I replied, “And she will soon be back with the German brandy I asked for.”

He laughed and made for a seat without asking me to do the same. Of course, I’m meant to feel very much at home at a colleague’s place, even if he is rather a competitor.

“Pardon the delay at my corner, Sita.” He sighed amidst his words. “It’s a big deal to chest the weight of politics this season.”

I smiled, Big deal indeed. Well, I focused more on admiring his choice of words, and following the rhythm his fingers made as they drummed on the arm of the seat he chose in the hall. That should be his favorite, old and costly, something from the pretty shops of Paris, I guess, something that must have been there before the long war of those days.

His name, by the way, was Hon. Yapi, one of the prettiest the ruling party would ever boast of. I liked the fact that he was tall, and such a gentleman, a lovely one.

“You owe me no apology, honorable, your maid was rather too entertaining to keep me bored.” I said in response.

“Very good.” He crossed his legs and cracked his fingers. “I summoned you here because my party wishes…”

The maid walked in with a tray, on which was balanced a glass of brandy, the one I chose myself, while she was bugging me with all the questions on her list.

“Sorry lady, we are into business already, I wouldn’t take brandy while an honorable member of the…”

“You don’t need to worry, Sita.” Yapi did not let me finish, “I understand you want to keep your head clear, but it’s no big deal if you take at least a sip.”

I smiled, but with that drink, I knew I shouldn’t even drag a sip. “Sorry, honorable, I’m not that good with brandy.”

He made faces, maybe that was his way of getting people to do what he wished they would do, even if they weren’t willing, but I ignored that face.

“Return it to the kitchen,” I ordered the maid. “I treat business like business.”

“And you must have heard the shit that was published about me in the papers going round the street by some anonymous author who has eyes that see so clearly and fingers that scribbles lies and hate speech.” He snapped.

I turned to him with a pitiful look, who didn't know he was done dirty by a licensed newspaper with too many anonymous columnists. How those papers manage to get to the public, and how the stuff finds their way online, satisfying both those who have a thing for the online space and those who dwell offline, is just an awe of a thing.

“I was called a political swindler, a liar, a thief” He continued, “And there was this dirty clip they shared online; did you see it?”

I looked at the maid who was still waiting with the platter of brandy. She was probably waiting to grab her cut of the gossip, so I knew I had to choose my words carefully.

“Is this why you asked me to come meet you here?” I asked, “Scandals are a thing of the game.”

He relaxed in his seat and bid the maid off with his fingers. “Sita, we want you to decamp from that weak party of yours and join us.”

That was clean and clear. It didn't sound like he summoned me to make a plea, rather, it seemed he was ready to make me an offer I wouldn’t refuse.

One of such offers I learned was made to a big brother who was asked to sign a contract that demanded he promote a certain political party. I learned he was told that it was either his signature braces on the paper or his brain was spilled on it.

“I’ve been so messed up that I fear setting out to the public.” He continued. “So, a friend of mine suggested we ask you to decamp to our side. At least, your influence as a philanthropist and your experience as a politician will help.”

I swallowed. He already made his point, my influence as a philanthropist would help promote their selfish party interest.

“You called me to ask for my help,” I said; my eyes staring into his eyes as I spoke. “Because they’ve done your name dirty.”

“Excuse me.” He snapped.

SITA.

“We will talk later, honorable.” I rose to my feet, “I have something I must attend to at this moment.”

He scuffed and rose to his feet, then, he strutted towards me. “You know what you will gain if you work hand in hand with us. Money, more connections, great licenses, and mostly…”

“I must leave already, honorable.” I bowed a little. “Thanks for the hospitality.”

I turned away from him and hurried for the door, while he watched me leave like I was startled by the sound of his voice.

Well, I had a pair of stilettos on, and I was being careful as I strutted off from the hall, but that was until I found my way out of his residence. My driver was waiting in the car, so I did the good of hurrying towards the car, and that was how the devil came.

Not a fan of stilettos, but I chose the pair I had on because I wanted to look somewhat different from the usual me that does nothing else but flat shoes.

“Ma’am.” My driver called from the car. “Are you hurt?”

I was on the floor, keeping myself from screaming. The stilettos had somehow managed to shift alongside the joint of my ankle. That was dead painful.

“Come on, hurry, I’m seriously hurt, can’t you see it?”

***

“What happened to her?” the nurse who approached us as my driver helped me into the hospital hall asked. “Was she hit by something?”

“Dislocation, I guess.” Said my driver.

The nurse led us to a room not far from the entrance of the hall and offered me a bed. She helped me lay on the bed, then, she took off without going further with questions and words.

“I guess she knew you.” Said my driver, Benito. “She offered you this special space.”

I smiled. That could be the good thing about being a famous and influential person. Everyone in Abidjan wants to be in my good books, but I still don’t like the room. I’d rather have my doctor take care of me than lodge in the best room in a public hospital in Abidjan.

“Are they getting me a doctor or will it take long before they do what they ought to do?” I asked impatiently. First, I need the stilettos to be taken off my foot by a doctor or one of those nurses because I don’t trust my driver to be careful enough to get the red stilettos out without causing more trouble.

“The nurse wouldn’t like to lose her job either.” My driver said that quietly and casually as though it was good to take a few people more seriously than you do with the masses.

I wanted to shun him, but as though he was right, three nurses entered the room with a white doctor. My eyes met the tag on his chest, Doctor Alessandro Greco, special orthopedist.

For dear heaven’s sake, I was agitated, but my rage sank into my guts and left as a fart the very moment my eyes crept up his face. Yes, we shouldn’t have white men milling around here doing what our doctors should do, but this one, he is not just a white man, he is handsome.

“Good day, ma’am.” He greeted me while examining my injured leg. “And here goes someone who doesn’t wear stilettos the right way.”

I narrowed my eyes in response to his words, his voice was such a fine one, the sort that would make a woman moan if it met her ears in night whispers.

“Don’t worry.” He said to the nurse who wanted to help take off my stilettos. “I’ll take care of the affected leg.”

He looked up at me and broke his face with a weak smile. That could be his way of being nice to patients, but to be honest, that was the sweetest gesture I’ve had so far. I knew that the moment my eyes met his brown eyes—those brown balls trapped in his skull, and his mustache.

Men here in Abidjan barely had such mustaches and goatees. I felt the urge to reach out to him and caress his mustache, but just then, a sharp pain tossed me back to reality.

“Gosh!” I screamed and covered my mouth with both hands, then I laughed. I laughed at the fact that I was so lost in silly thoughts that I had no idea his hands were already at work on my foot, or, was that a trance, or his magic way of dealing with his patients?

“You will be alright” came his soft voice. He knew the worth of human life, I guess. “Just a little more twist and it will be over.”

I waited for the twist but none came. He was already holding my foot together with a white bandage, the very same way the local bone fixers in my childhood neighborhood did.

“Okay, we are good to go.” He freed my leg and turned to one of the nurses. I didn’t hear what he told her because I was rather busy admiring his skin tone, his height, and that black hair of his.

“I guess your injury wasn’t a big deal, ma’am.” My driver whispered right next to me. I had long forgotten he was in the room, if I had, I could have played the hard woman I always played when I was with some of my domestic aids, including him.

“Yes,” I whispered back.

“Um, I forgot to introduce…”

“Doctor Alessandro Greco, a special orthopedist.” I couldn’t wait for him to finish. “It’s on your tag.”

“Very well.” He smiled. “Your injury is not that bad, so, I’m pretty sure you can go ahead with your daily biddings.”

That was so kind of him. Other doctors would let you occupy the bed for a few days even if you claim to be fine, but Alessandro; he is far too different.

“Are you bored of having my leg fixed?” I asked. I can’t scurry off while I have him to admire in this big hospital. I’ve never seen a doctor as interesting as he is.

He raised his shoulders and came close to me. I watched him hold out his hand, with a warm smile on his handsome face, but this time, my eyes made for his body instead of just his hand and face. The white doctor’s cloak couldn’t let me see much, but at least, he doesn’t have a pot belly.

“Come on.” He urged me on and I took his hand in mine. Soft palms and strong fingers. “You don’t have to sit back here. The bed would be nice if someone with something worse than minor dislocation is nestled on it.”

That was meant to sound harsh, but what more can the words of a man you are attracted to sound like in your ears? He was being honest, but I wasn’t willing to leave just like that.

“Ma’am.” My driver shook my arm. “You are holding him longer than a handshake should go.”

I freed the doctor’s hand, and as though he knew he had charmed me, he smiled and left with his retinue of nurses, while my eyes remained glued on him.

“Ma’am.”

“Shut up.