The Girl with the Louding Voice(78)

“It is not my fault that he is always offshore,” she says as she pulls out the fabric and spreads it out, the lace pouring to the floor like a giant red wave, the stones in the material blinking under the bright lights. “Today he is in Saudi, tomorrow he is in Kuwait, chasing dollars. A woman needs a man to warm her bed.”

“I hear you,” Big Madam say. “Who is making your dress?”

“House of Funke,” Caroline say. “Florence, ah, this guipure is fantastic. The burgundy is just alive! Look at the pattern on the edges, my goodness. How much for me?”

“One hundred and fifty thousand,” Big Madam say, picking the magazine on the table and fanning herself with it. “For you and for everybody. Do you need all the five yards?”

“I am thinking of making a midi-dress,” Caroline say, talking to the fabric. “So three yards should do. I can’t wait to see what magic Funke will work on the neckline. I may add more stones in it because I want it blinged to death!”

“This new man must be special,” Big Madam say, yawning. “See how you are smiling.”

Caroline say, “Florence, 150K is too much. Knock 50K off for me, abeg. I will send Adunni to my car to go and bring the money now.”

“Knock off what?” Big Madam slap the magazine down, sit up straight. “We are talking about Swiss lace here, Caro. Isn’t your new man worth it? In fact, there is a new brocade that just landed. Luxury embroidered. You will love it. I can imagine you making a jumpsuit with it, maybe for another date with this your new man. It is a lovely champagne-gold, and I have the perfect velvet turban to go with it. The governor’s wife just got off the phone with me. She wants three yards of it for a special lunch at the US embassy. Shall I get it for you?”

I look Big Madam, wondering when she ever talk to any governor’s wife just now, but she keep a straight face.

“Florence!” Caroline shake her head with a laugh. “You will make me bankrupt, I swear. How much for the two, three yards each? Do you have the turban in store?” She turn to me. “Adunni, run downstairs. My car is in the parking lot. My house girl is sitting in the front seat. Her name is Chisom, tell her to give you my handbag and bring it up for me.”

As I turn around and leave them, Big Madam is saying, “Before I forget, there is one turquoise tulle fabric I think you would love . . .”



* * *





The four doors to Caroline’s black Jeep are wide-open.

A girl is sitting in the front seat, talking on a mobile phone that is pressed between her ear and her shoulder. She is nodding to the phone, laughing too, as she pick up a spoon full of jollof rice from a bowl in her lap and eat it.

The driver, a man with a black cap covering his face, is sleeping in the driver’s seat, which he push all the way down. His two legs are up, in the space between the wheel-steering and the open car door. The man doesn’t even move as I go near the car.

“Hello,” I say, looking the girl, pressing a hand to silent the hungry noise in my stomach. “Are you Aunty Caroline’s housemaid?”

She look nothing like a housemaid. Her hair is full of thick, neat plaiting all the way down to her back. Her dress, bright yellow and pink with patterns of a bird in a tree, look nothing like my own. I don’t see her feet, but her fingers, which she is using to hold the spoon, is having nails the same pink color of her dress.

“Let me call you back,” she say to her phone.

“Or are you her daughter?” I ask. Maybe she is Caroline’s daughter. She look like a daughter, dress like a daughter. Speak like a daughter too.

“Hello,” she say to me.

“I am looking for Chisom,” I say. “Aunty Caroline’s housemaid. She said I should bring her bag up to the shop.”

“I am Chisom,” she say, eyeing me from up to down. “You are Big Madam’s maid?”

“Yes,” I say. “She say I should bring her bag.”

“Sure,” the girl say, then turn to the back seat, pick up a black leather bag with big letters L and V stamping everywhere on it, and give me. “What is your name?” she ask as I collect the bag.

“Adunni.” I swallow the hot spit in my mouth as I watch her. She pick up the plastic cover of the jollof rice bowl and put it on the bowl, covering the rice and fried meat.

“Bia, Adunni, why are you so skinny like this?” She look at me a moment, then at the bowl, then she laugh. “Do you want my remaining rice?”

I drag my eyes away from the bowl. I cannot collect the rice because Big Madam will beat me. But maybe I can find a corner to eat it quick?

“Rebecca was always hungry,” Chisom say. She slap her hand on the cover to lock the rice well, then hold up the bowl to my face. “Take my food. My madam will buy me another one.”

“You know Rebecca?” I wide my eyes, forgetting all my hunger, the rice. “How? Do you know what happened to her? Was she from Agan village?”

Chisom shrug. “She used to talk about Agan,” she say. “Me and her were not too close, so I don’t know if she was from there, but whenever I see her here, I will give her food. Then one day, she didn’t come again.”

“When did she stop coming to the shop?” I ask.

Chisom think a moment. “Maybe around the time she was starting to get big. Before then, she was skinny. Like you.”