Storymoja

Celebrating East African Writing!

The Reunion Date by Boniface Gachugu

It all started with that one tentative evening date one Furahi day (Friday). Irene had finally agreed to have dinner with Peter in one of the major hotel-cum-bar in the heart of the city. The evening was just right; the time correct, atmosphere just the recommended one, cool and a little breezy. 

Irene had dressed the part, subconsciously signaling to Peter that she took that initial first date very seriously. Usually, her career was the type that hardly has any defined dressing code. Casual jeans, tights, windcheaters, track suits, jerseys, trendy spaghetti tops, peddle-pushers and company-branded T-shirts all fitted in. 

That particular Friday however, she had rushed to her place after work and arrived at their planned meeting point looking extremely sensational in a full swing evening dress, covertly suggestive but not overly revealing. Her face was the works, glossed lips, toned face, luminous eye liner, seductive scent and…

The dress enhanced her nubile shape and the curves at the right places though not entirely scandalous, allowing a generous cleavage that would put a man in the right mood for the evening.

She had done her hair differently, beautifully, worn twinkling and dangling earrings, trendy pumps and…. was it a Gucci hand bag that would hardly learn to crawl out from under her armpit? She was simply lovely and desirable as a woman can be. 

She got to the meeting point first. Peter showed up moments later and was presently amazed.

“Irene, you look extremely sensational.”

“Thank you Peter”

“I could go round the world for you like Christopher Columbus.”

Oh come on Peter, stop making fun of this.” She was enjoying every minute of it.

“Am as truthful as a…a virgin.”

Irene looked away with a grin.

They ordered their meals and ate with conversation in between. Then they headed onto the terrace section over-looking the city. Most comfort dens are hardly going to miss this, an upstairs’ partition where people feel part of the outside world while they enjoy their drinks.

Some soccer game was going on at a Super screen behind them while some low quality music sizzled from several speakers strategically positioned at each end. They selected a favorable position overlooking the street below.

On the colorfully donned round table between them were two tall glasses of soft drinks, their cell phones, Irene’s hand bag and Peter’s bunch of keys. A vase of fresh flowers was placed in the middle of the table. There was a clear feel of romance and easy-headedness. The lights were soft and suggestive. Even the liquids inside their glasses seemed to glitter with some romantic pulse that was thrumming and humming with the music. 

“Boy, can’t let my eyes off you, they are all looking at you extremely greedily.” Peter whispered.

“Who are?”

“All the likes of Adam.”

She tentatively looked around and smiled. Her eyes ran the entire length of tables festering with fellow patrons before faithfully swiveling back to him. Her eye make up was picked by the halogen lights and made to twinkle and glitter.

She smiled again, sexily.

“It makes me feel great but you know you are the major stake holder here.” She murmured and winked.

“Then this major stake holder wants to take all controlling interests and buy all liquid shares of the whole premises.” 

She smiled sweetly.

“There is a high price, you know. The highest bidder takes home the cake. What’s the initial offer?” She measured him up and down with her eyes. 

In addition to colored and shaded lights, the place had low strung U.V fluorescent tubes that splashed a brilliant dream-ish sparkle to bright and especially white garments. Peter’s tie was glowering white. Irene’s eyes followed the tie down to the tip that was flopped on his laps.

“The bidder must have…” Her eyes rested on his fly, briefly though. She sipped her drink unhurriedly.

She looked up. He was all cool and collected, waiting for her answer with a ‘you looked at my fly…why?

 Irene felt some cool remote sophistication only a woman can achieve.

“Stop looking at me like that.” She said slowly.

“Like how?” he asked her

“Like you want us to crawl right underneath this tablecloth….. like we did those years ago”

“You were always good at crawling and slithering, it would hardly be a taxing task now.”

“And you were good at?” she interjected.

“Many good things.”

“Like what?” She hedged. 

Peter extended his foot and nudged her shoe with the tip of his.

“What?” She looked at him questioningly, her brows tantalizingly arched.

“I am mesmerized by whatever sugar and spice you are made off.” Peter said in a romantic whisper. They looked at each other and smiled.

Sitting up there on the terrace nursing goblets of drinks felt a little a bit of heaven. Around them, similar couples were seated across the hall talking, drinking, smoking, meditating or just watching football. 

On one end, several folks were busy and noisily shooting ball on several pool tables illuminated by low-strung lights. Tobacco smell and roast meat fought to dominate the night breeze.

This was another piece of fun and luxury in one single swift stroke, the kind that most Kenyans and especially Nairobians have swiftly adapted to.

Other patrons, some with bottles and glasses in front of them or plates of Nyama choma na Kachumbari were seated on strategic venues where they could have a panoramic three-dimensional view of the city while occasionally getting amused by the activities going on in the streets below. 

Most tables had one or two patrons nursing a glowering cigarette. 

In the far end corner, a disjointed parade of glasses, empty bottles and ash trays made a drunken platoon. Several quite sloshed folks were making the usual drunken noise, songs and loud declarations of owning the world. Bartenders and barmaids would weave among the clothed tables serving drinks, foods, nyama-chomas and packets of cigarettes.

But Peter and Irene hardly noticed the others or the scenic view of the colourful city streets below them under glowering street and neon lights as they took their time in a world of their own.

Somehow, they were eased enough to talk of their earlier life and those funny and intimate memories they once shared.   They were into the business of listening to  each other and feeling each other.

Peter felt alive and happy.

They spent several hours talking and generally savoring the cozy social razzmatazz before finally leaving and Peter driving her home. As they bade each other goodnight, they unanimously agreed that it was a splendid evening.

That about ushered a whole new chapter in their lives. 

©Boniface Gachugu

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