Open Writing

Chapter 12
Crash (continued|)

The Maroon Commandos were a six piece band whose talents included
keyboards, trumpet and saxophone. There was a time when
they could be hired on a whim. After success in London however,
they had gone ‘international’ and that was why negotiations with
their agent were not straight forward. I wanted them to play on Jamila’s
actual birthday but their agent told me on the phone that the
band had planned to fly to Kinshasa that day. I pressed hard so the
agent agreed to meet at the Norfolk Hotel to discuss the matter further.

The agent’s name was Shani Shabani. When she made her appearance
in the foyer all eyes turned towards her. She wore a full
length, light brown halter neck dress pulled in at the waist by a wide
glossy black belt, cut and angled upwards to add emphasis to her undoubted
femininity. The dress material spelled expensive. Her hair
which was straightened and had extensions, was tied back in a bunch
but trained over her left shoulder. The woman looked magnificent.

‘How do you do Stewart.’ As I had thought earlier, there was no
trace of an African accent. This lady had been schooled in England,
I felt sure.

‘Hello Shani. I’m very pleased to meet you. Would you like coffee
or something a little stronger?’

‘Tea would be fine for now,’ she smiled with just a hint of contrariness.

At her suggestion we retreated to the peacefulness of the hotel’s
shaded gardens. We sat together on a bench, next to which was a little
fountain which fed water into a bird bath enjoyed by several
glossy starlings. Tea arrived courtesy of a waiter who was thoughtful
enough to bring in advance a little folding table, assembled in front
of our seat, and covered in a white cloth, trimmed with lace.

‘Isn’t this a delight,’ Shani offered. ‘So tranquil. There aren’t many
havens like this left in Nairobi.’

‘True enough. Life has become so frenetic, even in Kenya.’

She looked at me with a hint of surprise, as if she thought a night
club owner would revel in noise and disturbance.

‘It has. I think it’s because we all want what we want, now. We
must get something because our peers have it, or because we’ve been
duped by some ridiculous advertisement. Our parents were prepared
to wait, to save. These days, most of us are caught up in a nasty cycle
of accumulation without much regard for the consequences.’

She said that while gazing at the trickling fountain of water. Then
she turned to me, focused, switched into business mode.

‘Why is it so important that the Maroons play on the specific
night you have requested?’

‘It’s my partner’s birthday. Jamila loves them. I just wanted to do
something special for her. There are a dozen other bands I could get
at short notice, but the Maroon Commandos would be a coup.’

‘Of course. They’re not that brilliant though,’ she said, laughing at
the betrayal of her own clients. ‘Orchestre Virunga and Les Wanyika are
classier acts and more representative of the true Congolese vibe.
They have you dancing in a heartbeat.’

‘I want the Maroons.’

‘There you go. Want, want. I’ve just told you they are not that
good.’ She paused before continuing her argument. ‘The Americans
make shit cars, right?’

‘Right,’ I agreed, without hesitation.

‘Yet idiots still buy them. It’s that power of advertising I was referring
to. I’m telling you, no bull, that I can get you Les Wanyika for
half the price of the Maroons, and they’ll give you twice the entertainment
value.’

I pondered this for a moment while we sipped our tea. If what
she said was true, I could enhance my club’s reputation further with
a fresh act, and put on a good night for Jamila.

‘Well, if they’re that good I’ll sign them, but on one condition.’

‘Which is, cheeky?’

‘We have them for two nights. There’s no point getting a brilliant
band on board if it’s only for a private party. I need a second night
to keep the watu happy.’

‘Deal.’

We spent a few more minutes discussing advance payment, what
time the band would turn up, how long they’d play, that sort of
thing. I threw in free Whitecap for the band on both evenings. An
added inducement for them to show up on time.

‘Well Stewart my dear. That didn’t take long, did it. I’ve got time
on my hands now. What do you suppose we do with it?’

‘I could show you the club.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she replied sultrily. ‘I was thinking of something a
little more intimate.’

Bold as brass, she leaned across and gave me a luscious lingering
kiss. Clearly she meant business of a different sort. I confess a de-
gree of surprise but was instantly on sentry duty. She knew it, snuggling
up close, slowly moving her hands closer to the target. In turn
my fingertips shifted to auto and moved to caress her breasts, so
prominently displayed through that fabulous dress. My god, what a
woman. But those hotel gardens were no place to continue such
playfulness. Shani opened her handbag and pulled from it a room
key, the number thrust before my eyes. She stood and looked down
at me alluringly.

‘Give me five minutes and then come.’ It wasn’t so much an invitation
as an instruction. She walked confidently away. I watched the
rear view of her gorgeous figure disappear back into the hotel lobby.

There was no getting away from a sudden return to an old weakness.
I knew that I couldn’t resist what she was apparently prepared to offer.

What had happened to my promise to God that I’d be a better
person? I waited a while and then followed her in.

When she opened the room door her dress had already been idly
discarded over a leather couch. I had little time to take in her beauty.

She was onto me like a limpet and was quick to reinitiate the
smooching and petting. Now there was greater urgency in both of
us. Yet I felt a sudden pang of guilt thinking of Jamila in Mombasa.

Shani detected it right away.

‘Don’t worry about her. It’s you and me now. We are going to
make love. She needn’t know anything. And if we both like it, we can
enjoy each other again, secretly. Do you want that, lovely man?’

‘Yes, yes I want it,’ I heard myself murmuring, quite lost in the
strength of her allure.

‘So to hell with her, hmm, my sweet.’ Her tongue was busy now,
working its way south. ‘You’re mine, aren’t you Stewart. Mine!’

And I was. She was irresistible. I was entirely under her considerable
spell. We were soon romping in bed and I’d broken my ‘safety
first’ policy by dispensing with a rubber. With every thrust I felt an
orgy of pleasure and a twisted sense of joy in my evil betrayal of
Jamila. There was a wicked mischievousness in Shani too as she all
but ate me up.

‘Compare me!’ she gasped, her cries no longer suppressed and
loud enough for passing hotel guests to imagine that a murder was
being committed.

‘Compare what, you beautiful, crazy girl?’ I wasn’t sure if she had
wanted to hear baser language.

‘My boobs. Are they better than hers?’

‘Much firmer. And those nipples ......’ as I latched my mouth onto
each of them in turn. ‘They are just perfect. Erect and delicious.’

‘Are my boobs bigger than hers? Tell me,’ she persisted.

‘Yes. Bigger, better. And you’re tighter on me too. Everything
about you is better. You’re fabulous.’

I can say unequivocally that Shani was Amazonian not only in her
ample proportions but also in her mastery of the bed chamber.
Never had I been so fully satisfied, nor wanted more. Was it really
only twenty four hours earlier I’d reasoned that I should put a ring
on Jamila’s finger? Now I was in a quandary. Clearly I had responsibilities.

But Shani was going to prove a powerful magnet.