Chapter 44
44
Wale_Memoir_Draft1.doc
Target word count: 50,000
Current word count: 45,062
New deadline: One week to go …
Vaseline. Earpods. Water.
As though I’m getting ready to live in a bunker, I gather all the things I need to write. My bum is going to be glued to my chair for a very long time. I put on one of DJ Raphael’s neo-soul mixes, put my phone on ‘Do not disturb’ and set a timer for two hours. When I get there I’ll give myself a fifteen-minute break before going at it again. Finally, I open my laptop, locate the document and begin to write.
Whether it’s the motivation to do right by Wale or the need to escape into a different world, I write with fearless gusto. I’m like an over-zealous student determined to crack the piano. I now have to cram what I planned to write in two weeks into one. The sooner I can gift Wale his memoir, the better.
So, I write from morning until evening, and quickly the days and nights blur into each other. Although I try not to get into the habit of looking at WhatsApp – each minute is too precious – when I do, I only check one thing – but my messages to Wale have remained unread.
It’s been a week and I’m editing the section on Wale’s home life. I’ve titled it:
People assume that I’m emotionally detached
The truth is I have unresolved childhood trauma
It’s been the hardest section to write, the memory of how vulnerable he was that evening too raw. And yet, I write. Even though it hurts and even though it’s now the day of the gala. Earlier today, I had a quick look at Wale’s Insta Stories. He has been posting behind-the-scenes pictures and videos all day. It looks amazing. I’m glad he’s not hiding away despite what’s happened.
I’m in the process of reading the manuscript – surely , I can’t be finished? – when there is a knock. I open my front door.
It’s Shona and Fonzo.
‘Girl, what’s wrong with your phone?’ Shona says as she hoists the sides of her mermaid dress, wafting designer perfume as she bustles inside. She looks like African royalty: full-on glam, oversized brass jewellery, her fresh box braids tied into several Bantu knots.
Fonzo, who looks equally dapper in his teal Ozwald Boateng-esque suit, wipes his suede loafers on my doormat.
‘Err, aren’t you supposed to be at the gala?’ I call after them as they pile into my room.
‘I’ve been calling you!’ Shona cries.
‘Sorry. I’ve been busy writing.’ Truthfully, I’ve also been dodging her. All week she’s been trying to get me to go to the gala.
Shona places her hands on her hips. ‘Get changed. You’re coming with us.’
‘But I’ve nearly finished Wale’s memoir.’ I gesture at my laptop. ‘Besides, I don’t have anything to wear.’
On cue, Fonzo hangs a suit carrier on my door frame. I was so stunned to see them, I didn’t even notice he was carrying it. He zips it open and, lo and behold, there’s my dress.
Oh, it’s beautiful.
‘You’re welcome,’ says Shona. ‘Now, chop, chop.’ She claps.
With a groan, I slump in my chair. It swivels and rolls backwards. ‘He doesn’t want me there, Shona.’
‘I told him that you’re on the guest list. He didn’t object.’
Well, that is surprising, but it doesn’t change anything.
I fold my arms. ‘I’m not going.’
Shona and Fonzo turn to one another.
‘Plan B?’ Shona says.
‘Plan B,’ agrees Fonzo.
Shona crosses her arms. ‘What if I told you we know who tipped off The Tea Lounge?’
This is unexpected … ‘I’m listening.’
‘It was Kojo!’ they cry at the same time.
Kojo had crossed my mind – after all, he was at the house party – but so were a lot of people.
‘First of all, Kojo was at the house party,’ says Shona, reading my mind. ‘And if you look at the angle from which the video was taken, it’s from above, so the person who was recording must have been standing in the curve of the stairwell.’
‘Unlike me, Kojo didn’t run after Wale,’ Fonzo chips in. ‘He stayed behind.’
‘Second of all, if you watch the video until the end, you can hear him laughing.’ Shona opens her clutch and pulls out her phone.
I raise my hand to stop her. ‘I’d rather not watch it again.’
‘We also did some digging.’ Fonzo picks up where Shona left off. ‘We think the person who exposed the press release must be following you on Twitter. So, we went through your followers – it didn’t take long ’cause you only have about two hundred or so – and guess who’s following your account?’
My eyes widen. ‘Nooo.’
Fonzo nods repeatedly. ‘Yup. He uses the name @thereal estalpha. I recognized it instantly as it’s the same name he uses for his Instagram account. Kojo was trying to get back at you.’
My skin turns scorching hot. I’m livid. This guy is out for blood.
‘Kojo also knew about The Ultimate Payback ,’ I murmur, thinking aloud. I turn to Fonzo. ‘We bumped into each other at Starbucks about two months ago. He had a snoop on my laptop while I was in the toilet.’
‘All signs point to Kojo,’ Shona says, putting her hands on her hips. ‘He sounds guilty as F to me. Anyway, get dressed, Temi. We have to go. Like now.’
‘Sorry, but if your plan B was to get me to change my mind, I haven’t; I’m still not going. And even if Kojo is behind the post, it doesn’t change anything. At the end of the day, I lied. I don’t want to ruin Wale’s night by showing up. You guys shouldn’t even be here – Wale needs you. Now if you’ll excuse me –’ I swivel around and tuck myself under my desk – ‘I’ve got some editing to do.’
Shona breathes out a resigned sigh and says, ‘C’mon, Fonzo. Let’s go.’ She stoops over to hug me from behind.
‘I appreciate you, though,’ I whisper and I think I hear her say, ‘Plan C.’
‘Huh?’ I say with a frown.
Then I realize what plan C is. While Shona is holding me from behind, Fonzo snatches my laptop.
‘Oi! Come back here!’
He makes a mad dash out of the door.
Shona continues to hold me down. Gosh, she’s a lot stronger than she looks.
Finally, she lets me go. ‘You have twenty minutes. Chop, chop.’