‘Cassie, did you know they’ve opened a new South African bakery near the bridge?’ Kofi burst in, his voice brimming with excitement and his right hand clutching two grease-stained white bags. ‘I picked up this thing called Malva Pudding – it’s like a fancy bread-and-butter pudding. Fucking STUNNING. I got you some to try.’ He set one of the bags on my desk with a grin. Kofi was such a sweetheart, and under different circumstances, I couldn’t help but wonder if we would have been a good match. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be.
‘Aww, thanks, mate, you shouldn’t have!’ I cooed as I placed my phone in my desk drawer and picked at the white bag – the dessert smelled heavenly. ‘It’s about time that Westminster dipped into some flavour; it can’t just be Costa and Pret every day. I’ll be sure to patronise them tomorrow on my break too.’
Kofi leaned slightly against my desk, his body angled towards my chair. ‘Maybe we could go together sometime and grab takeaway, if you’re up for it?’ he suggested, expectantly.
‘Um, sure, that’ll be cool! Any excuse for a pastry, to be honest haha.’ I laughed awkwardly, although his eagerness to hang with me did make me feel a small twinge of warmth inside. I would be lying if I said I didn’t like the attention every now and again.
Kofi continued to linger against my desk for a while before my phone rang; saved by the bell. As I made to pick up the phone, I heard Kofi say under his breath, ‘Great, tomorrow then, but don’t get all excited haha.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Excited’ indeed. So much had happened in the last ninety minutes. I decided to put my head down and just steamroll with work – I needed to zone out to curb theanxiety of tonight’s phone date with the sex worker. Because that’s a totally normal thing to do on a Tuesday night.
Hours had passed, and I was making my way through the dreary, rainy January weather to get to the bus stop. The wind howled like a wild beast, clawing at me as I wrestled with my umbrella, which had already flipped inside out twice and was now little more than a stubborn skeleton in my frozen hands. I cursed under my breath, blinking furiously against the stinging drizzle that sliced sideways through the air. This was the last thing I needed, especially as I had my phone call with this Jericho bloke in a couple of hours. I didn’t want his first impression to be that of a heavily panting, windswept banshee with smeared make-up. I had half a mind to just order an Uber home, as the weather had clearly worsened since winding down at the office, but in the distance I eventually saw the faint glow of the 77 bus and decided to wait it out.
As I struggled to close my wretched mess of an umbrella, I made a mental checklist of all the things I needed to do once I got home, seeing as I would only have around an hour and fifteen minutes to get ready and make myself somewhat presentable. The nerves had started to set in and I could feel my hands shaking, whether from that or from the cold, at this point I couldn’t tell. I got on the bus and sat at the very back, facing away from the rest of the passengers. I was three stops away from getting off when I received a text message from Mum.
Hello my dear. I hope you’ve had a good day! Can you and Steven come round this weekend? Maybe on Saturday? I have some news to share. xx
Ominous. I texted back:You’re not dying, are you? If so, remember to update your will. As the first-born daughter (as per Ghanaian tradition), I inherit everything. Love you xx
She immediately replied.Nkwasiasem. You think you’re so funny lol. No, nothing bad! Come around 1 p.m. I’ve texted Steven too xx
I don’t know why I had this feeling, but I had the sneaking suspicion that Femi had perhaps proposed to my mum. She was never normally this vague and suspicious, especially when it came to regular family news and announcements, which she’d normally always broadcast in our family group chat. Hmm.
No time to think about that now, though; I had to park it and clear my brain for this evening’s events. I got off the bus and walked the short distance up Wandsworth Road to my flat. Through the living-room window, I spotted Toby’s adorable, expectant face watching for me, his excitement unmistakable even from a distance. At least someone (or something?) was excited to see me these days.
I entered my flat, put away my bag, coat and umbrella and got to work. I had an hour to calm my nerves and make sure I looked somewhat decent. I’d already come up with somewhat of a checklist on my Notes app while on the bus:
Feed and give Toby cuddles [5 mins]
Take a quick shower [10 mins]
Light candles [15 secs]
Outfit??????
Skincare routine [10 mins]
Hair????
Eat leftovers [15 mins]
I gave Toby his dinner and petted him for a few minutes to calm my nerves. I could tell he could sense my anxiety, as he snuggled into my arms extra tight, bathing me in a blanket of warmth. I’d probably bring him into the video call – it’d besomething extra to talk about I supposed. Afterwards, I hopped into the shower and used my Sol de Janeiro Beija Flor body wash to give me a little confidence. Jericho wouldn’t be sitting in front of me to smell it, of course, but doing these little rituals in the lead-up to the call would give me the confidence I needed to make it through. As I rinsed the lather off my skin, I suddenly realised that I hadn’t checked theOuiMeetapp since confirming the call. Had he checked out my profile? Had he rejected me? A moment of panic took me as I stepped out of the shower and hotfooted it to my phone to double check. I opened the app to see a message in my inbox. It was from Jericho and I felt my heart skip a beat. I opened it:
Hi Cassie, I hope you’re well and thanks for booking in with me. I must say I found your profile really enchanting, and you’re incredibly beautiful too. I look forward to speaking with your fine self later on. Have a great day. :)
Oh, this guy was a professional, and you could tell he knew how to play the game. Charming. Polite. Succinct. We loved to see it. I ‘liked’ the text.
Noticing that I was standing dripping wet in the middle of my living room (curtains wide open btw), I took my phone and ran back to the bathroom where I carried out the rest of my post-shower skincare regimen. I placed my phone on the toilet, and covered myself in a Shea Butter body cream that my dad had brought back from one of his trips to Ghana, seeing as he owned a Shea Butter farm out there. I then slapped on a thin layer of coconut oil, making sure to pay extra attention to my decolletage area – in fact, I added a few drops of body shimmer for that extra razzle-dazzle. After making sure every inch of my body was moisturised, I headed to my bedroom and spritzed some body spray just to set the mood. I needed a scent to make me feel empowered and the light jasmine andoud fragrance had a subtle masculine note that made me feel quite sexy.
Now, the outfit. Cute or sensual – what vibe did I want to send Jericho? The unanswered message on my phone lingered in the back of my mind, but I still had forty minutes to spare. My ritual couldn’t be disrupted, not now. I’d deal with it once I was fully dressed, the mood set, and everything perfectly in place. After trying out a few cosy, plush night robes and an old Christmas onesie, I settled on a simple black satin robe. I wanted to give off the impression that I hadn’t put too much thought into the call, but still wanted to appear low-key sexy, with a vibe of nonchalance. I then wrapped my twenty-six-inch braids into a high bun to better show off my face, and then warmed up some jollof rice in the microwave while I started on my make-up.
Obviously not wanting to go all in, I decided to settle on a subtle, soft ‘no make-up/make-up’ look. A somewhat dewy look that didn’t look too try-hard. I applied a Laura Mercier tinted moisturiser to my T-zone, making sure not to cake my face too much. I then applied one coat of mascara, added a dab of peach cream blush to the apples of my cheeks and my Huda Beauty peach translucent lip gloss to my lips. I gave myself a final once-over in the mirror; I scrubbed up well, considering how little time I’d had to prepare. I checked my phone for the time again: twenty minutes to go.
I walked back into my living room, drew the curtains and took the steaming jollof out of the microwave. Time to do a little multitasking here.
I took a spoonful of jollof while I rearranged the throw pillows on the sofa. My goal was to position myself in the middle, with a slight view of my candles on the side table in the background. I dug out my tripod and ring light from the ottoman near the dining table and positioned them inthe centre of the living room, closest to the sofa. After five minutes of chopping and changing the positioning, I finally had the setup. I dimmed the main light and walked over to the kitchen to polish off the rest of the jollof rice, burning my tongue in the process. ‘Ow! FUCK!’ I screamed, spitting hot rice over the floor.
Of course, this would happen to me with only five minutes to spare. Toby sauntered over to the spilled rice, eagerly lapping up the spilled grains.Fair enough, I thought. With three minutes left, I poured myself a rum and Coke and settled onto the sofa, making sure to strike just the right balance between casual and composed.
