CHAPTER SIX - A Cocktail of Double Life

The heart is not so smart

Can’t always trust it no, the heart is not so smart

Goes where it should not go

Always seems to find

Its way to trouble but the heart is not so smart oh no

                 DeBarge

It was six PM when Jamba dropped Kamaria at her gate. Had it been up to him, he would have extended their time together. Kamaria had wanted to go home and rest, her excuse being she needed to be fresh for work the following day.

‘I may have to execute my plan B’, Jamba thought, feeling disappointed by Kamaria’s refusal to spend more time with him. The plan B should have been his plan A, but again, for the millionth time in his life, the tribe of Eve had confused him. His phone, one he had deliberately put on silent mode all day, had been ringing nonstop since four PM. Rosa was relentless in calling, would follow up every call with a ‘Do you think you will make it’ text. 

Rosa was what Sudi termed as Jamba’s sporadic girlfriend. ‘What does that even mean?’ Jamba had asked when Sudi first used the phrase. ‘Well, for starters, I think she is the one dating you, but you are not dating her. You only see her when there is nowhere else to direct your lust. You two have nothing in common. What are you doing with her anyway?’ Jamba did not have an answer. He often wondered what he was doing with a woman who did nothing for his senses, except his sexual ones.

Their non-relationship was seven months old, about a month younger than when he first saw Kamaria. By his calculation, he had seen her less than twenty times. She called him a lot; he never called her except when returning her calls.  

It was not that he did not like her, but she was more a source of amusement for him than anything else. For starters, the kind of life Rosa led was totally alien to him. She partied every night of the week. According to his friends on social media, Rosa’s party life was a matter of public interest because she uploaded enough captioned photos for her thousands of followers; followers who liked and commented with both adoration and bile in equal measure. Followers who brought in more followers.  Her life, Jamba often thought, read like a book about a confused princess.
‘She pulls in crowds and companies advertise their products on her pages. She makes money.’ Sudi had explained when Jamba had asked the point of having so many followers on social media.

Once in a while, he felt guilty for turning her down so often, felt horrible on her behalf. Such is the kind of guilt that had made him accept her invitation to accompany her to her friend’s birthday party. As it happened in Rosa’s world, the party had a colour theme; white. He had cringed, wondering what a wedding for such people would look like if they themed birthday parties.

‘It’s my friend’s thirtieth birthday. It’s a big deal…’ Rosa had said, her way of explaining the theme. The party’s venue was one of the high end lounges and it would be streamed live on its social media pages. He had cringed again. First, such venues bored him. He found them too full with people who seemed to live their lives for others, and he certainly did not want his face plastered on some social media page.

He had immediately started thinking up ways of skipping it.

Then Kamaria had accepted to go out with him. The same day Kamaria said yes to the picnic, he had sent a text to Rosa; ‘Hey. Rain check? The grandparents want to see the kids on Saturday. Sorry, will make it up to you soon.’ She had protested, he had told her if he returned home early he would join her.

 After his day with Kamaria, he questioned his own sanity for entertaining Rosa, even just for sex. She and Kamaria were worlds apart, and there was no question in his mind which world between the two he preferred.

Rosa owned a boutique in Nairobi City, strategically located within the Central Business District. It seemed to be doing well,her social media business was supposed to be doing well according to Sudithe very reason it surprised Jamba that she constantly needed money from him. He could afford the money, and often gave it to get her off his back, but he was still curious to know what she did with her own money.

That very boutique was responsible for their first meeting. He had walked in to buy clothes for his children. Rosa, seated behind the counter when Jamba walked in, had spotted him and had quickly dismissed the salesgirl, giving him full attention. By the time he left the shop, they had a date for that evening.

 He had been called boyfriend in a week. She had introduced him to her twin-like friends the same week. He had been dragged to a party on week two. She wanted to hang out with him more often, but by then he had realized her lifestyle was polar opposite of his. He was unwilling to stop going to the local, especially because of the new bartender. Rosa had insisted on seeing his local, she had been mortified – why would he go to a place like that? She had refused to ever go back, which had worked in his favor; he had hated the look on Serah’s face.

He could not remember a single stimulating conversation with Rosa. He had never spent a whole night with her, just stolen moments that had to end before dawn, always having to go back home before the children woke up. He had never considered inviting her to his house.

Rosa was big, very big, on social media – he did not exist as far as social media was concerned. His friends, among them Sudi, were on all social media platforms and they reported to him, in total amusement how he was trending as Rosa’s bae. That was after he had allowed himself to smile in a photo they took together. Since then, he had learned to look out for phone camera photographers and pull down his cap. 

Jamba felt Serah was just what the doctor ordered. A waitress, in his opinion, who possessed more class than all of Rosa’s friends combined. Hearty laugh. Sense of humour. She was an enigma too, something that only added to her allure. She was not like any woman he had ever met. According to Malik, she was supposed to be struggling financially, something that begged the question why her whole demeanour was so relaxed.

How did she manage to present herself as a woman in total peace with how her life was going? Malik had told him about her university degree and as much as he was aware that available jobs were less than graduates available, he could not understand how being a waitress had been her only option.

He didn’t buy her explanation to Malik that she could not find a job, but he could not begin to guess why she would lie about that. He could easily get her a job, but she had not asked, which was a new one for him because every jobless person he met gave him their CVs. He kept his silence on the matter, unwilling to let her know that he had been digging about her.

A struggling waitress did not use a phone worth half her year’s salary. If it was a gift like she claimed, the sensible thing to do would have been to sell it and use the money to off-set some financial issues. Then buy a cheaper phone. A struggling waitress did not wear sneakers worth close to ten thousand Kenya shillings, and they had been too new to be second hand.

Or perhaps, he was over thinking because she was all so mysterious. He, however, doubted he was over thinking about her private education, sponsorship notwithstanding. Who were these crazy sponsors who took her to an expensive international school?

Who was she?  

Two things needed to happen in his life as soon as possible. One, he needed to get rid of Rosa, permanently, somehow. Two, he needed to get to the bottom of Serah, literally and otherwise.

In the end, he did not execute his plan B. The thought of ending the day with Rosa, the day he had spent with Serah, made him miss his bed. For the first time in a very long time, he was home early on a Saturday and was in bed before eleven PM.

____________

On a good day, Kamaria's bedroom was a source of peace. If she came from work feeling exhausted, all she needed was to lie on her purple duvet, rest her head on two of her six pillows, stare at the lilac ceiling that was held up by two opposite walls of purple and two opposite walls of light grey.

None of the colours in her house were the original ones. The owner had played safe with blue and cream. Kamaria had hated the colours and had them painted over two days before she moved in. Each of her three rooms, the bedroom, the living room and the kitchen had its own colour theme. So did the toilet and the bathroom.

Today, her bedroom failed to offer the usual solace. It felt cold and lonely. Absent mindedly, she undressed, slowly, dropping her clothes randomly on the floor. She entered the bathroom and spent twenty minutes with water running down her body, head to toe.

She wore her night clothes and against her better judgment poured herself half a glass of Amarula. The three glasses of wine she had had with Jamba should have been enough, but her nerves were on edge, and she needed something to calm them down.

She switched on the TV. Not to watch, but for background noise as she thought about the day. She could not remember having such a day with any man. She may have cried much more than she had ever cried in her life, but the crying had turned out to be therapeutic. And they had talked, a lot. Just about anything. Severally she changed topics when things got too personal, and when he got too inquisitive.

There had been butterflies everywhere. On trees, and especially in her stomach. She had wanted to kiss him. Touch him. Hug him. Feel his comfort without inhibition. Enough times she had come close to doing just that, but whenever it was about to happen, a squirrel, an antelope or a porcupine would rustle the bush. They would laugh and get back to general talk. They had held hands as they walked to the car, and they had hugged when he dropped her home.

She was scared. Scared because there was no element of doubt in her mind that she was falling hard for Jamba. She could feel and smell his desire for her, what she could not tell was his intention towards her. What if he was after cheap and easy fun? Even worse, what if he actually did want her? What if the woman he had brought to the pub was still in the picture, what would happen to both of them?

She stirred from her thoughts when she remembered she needed to call Shani and explain herself. 

***

Jamba stayed away for a week. That confused her because as far as she was concerned, the date had been perfect. His absence and silence made her wonder if she had misread the mood. Over and over, she went through the day in her mind, looking for clues that could explain his behavior.

When he walked in on the following Friday, with the biggest smile on his face, she was glad there were only a few customers scattered around the pub, minding their own business. A couple of waitresses who were hovering about raised their eyebrows at the cross the counter hug. 

“What happened to you?” She demanded as she opened a beer for him.

“Work happened. I had to travel impromptu. I was in Uganda to sort something…”

It hit her that she had no idea what he did for a living.

“What do you do?”

He laughed. “She finally asks me! Well, my dear lady, I am a partner in a law firm…”

“So, you are a lawyer, like, a real lawyer?” She demanded, impressed.

He laughed. “I would hope so. I have been asked several times if I really am a lawyer, sometimes I start doubting myself…”

They both laughed. “Why, for losing cases?”

“Yep. Sucks to lose cases, dents your ego, but such is life…how have you been? I wanted to call you…”

“Why didn’t you?” She asked softly. She had asked herself the whole week why he hadn’t called her. She had wanted to call him, but according to Shani’s fifth law of pre-dating, ladies didn’t call first.

He studied her for a while, holding her gaze. “Does that mean I am allowed to call you, even at ungodly hours?”

She laughed shyly. “Ungodly hours may be pushing it, but yeah, you can call me. You are the only man I have gone out with in two years, I would say you have earned the ticket.” Now why had she said that?

“I am?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she moved to the corner to serve a customer, glad for the distraction. When she returned, the moment had passed, and customers provided the block she needed not to discuss anything personal. In between customers, she talked to him. Once in a while, she would turn to see his seat empty, she knew he had gone outside to smoke. The last customer left at two AM. He was the last customer.

She was about to enter the taxi that usually dropped night staff home when she saw his car still at the parking lot. He was calling her name. He dropped her home.

He was back the following day.

“If I didn’t know your drinking habits, I would think you were a right drunk…” She joked as he took his seat. Jamba was one of the most regular, likely the most regular customer, they had. But she knew he only had three beers in a night. “Unlike most people, I do not trust my car enough to take me home – I prefer to take it home instead.” He had told her when she had asked why he drank so little.

“What can I say? I like to see my favorite waitress. What time does your shift end?”

“Why?” She asked him suspiciously. She did not want him to think he was obliged to take her home every day.

“Because I want to take you home, obviously…”

“You don’t have to…”

“I know. I want to, though. Is that a problem?”

She looked around.

“Uh…you are afraid of what people might say? Well, let me tell you something about eighty percent of your female workmates; they would like me to take them home, and they wouldn’t care if anyone found out or not! Kind of marking their territory.”

She laughed. “You make it sound so bad when you say territory…we are not animals.”

“Darling, it’s a jungle out here. I don’t mean to sound condescending to waitresses, but many are here to catch some big fish in human form …”

“I am not!” She protested with some anger. “You sound so patronizing!”

“I am not. I am telling you how it is. I am not saying you are that, I should know. I am not suggesting all of them are, many are not, but many are. If only you knew how many of them have tried to pick me up here….”

“What? When?”

He laughed. “You are so innocent, or ignorant on these matters. When you are not here, I get offers…some of them have even said they can offer much more than you do…”

She gasped as she let her eyes roam around the bar, trying to guess who the culprits were. They all looked so innocent. She looked at the amused Jamba. “Really? That happens?”

He nodded. “More than you would believe. Not just with me, but every male customer here, the ones who look like they have money.”

“Gosh…”

“You really don’t know what happens?” If her reaction had not looked so genuinely real, he would have found it hard to believe her claim on not knowing how things worked at the pub. 

She did not. She did get involved in small talk with many of the waitresses, but she could not remember ever discussing which customer was game or not. She would have to ask Wanjala about it – she needed to stop feeling like she was the only one still living in a cave.

“I didn’t know that happens…”

“Now that we are talking about it, let me just tell you that people think you and I are having an affair…”

She was mortified. Not because of the information, but because he had the information. So mortified she almost dropped a full bottle of beer. “What!? Who saw us?”

“You look embarrassed. Is the idea so bad?” He was slightly hurt.

“It’s not that. It’s the fact that someone saw us…”

“No one needs to have seen us for tongues to wag, Serah. They only need to observe how we relate, here. Nowhere else…”

“Who told you?”

“Malik!”

“Gosh! He thinks we are having an affair? Am I in trouble?” She had her hands on her chest, eyes open wide. Jamba laughed in disbelief.

“You are a strange girl, you know. Where did you grow up? You do realize that you are an adult and you can see anyone you want to see, date anyone you want to date…”

“But you are a customer…”

“And a human with feelings, feelings you are hurting right now…”

“Why?”

“Well, because you seem to be ashamed of people thinking we are having an affair…”

“We are not though…”

“But we could…”

Saved by the bell. A customer called for her attention. 

“What did Malik say?” She whispered after the customer left. Even though there was loud music playing in the pub, there no chance of anyone else hearing her.

“Not much. He doesn’t care really – wait, he actually does care. He asked me if we are having an affair, I said no, but I would like to.” He smiled when he saw her swallow hard. “He said he would punch my teeth out if I hurt you…”

They both laughed. “He really said that?”

“He did. If I didn’t know him well, I would say he fancied you, but I think he just has some fatherly love for you…does he know you lost your parents?”

She shook her head.

“Well, he likes you and even if I was planning to take advantage of you, he would kick me out of the pub. You are an easy girl to get protective about – I don’t want to be fatherly though…”

“Are you drunk?” She asked with a smile.

“Yeah, but not with alcohol. Look, would you like to come to my daughter’s birthday party?”

“When?” What she had meant to say was ‘no’.

“Next Sunday…” The lighting in the pub, like many pubs, was not the best to study emotions. He kept his eyes on her, squinting  and hoping her face would betray her feelings.

“Who is going to be there?”

“Both sets of my kids’ grandparents. A couple of my friends and likely their spouses. A million of Christine’s friends. About half a million of Christian’s friends…”

She laughed. “Sounds like fun.  I will be there. Gives me enough time to look for a birthday present…”

“Oh no! You don’t have to buy a present…”

“Why not?”

He wanted to tell her that her salary was not enough to go dishing out presents to little girls turning nine, but he also knew that would hurt her pride. “Because she is not your friend…”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What does she like? Don’t lie to me or I will get angry. If I cannot afford it, I will not buy it, or I will buy a Chinese version of it…”

He laughed. She didn’t. “Okay. She loves dolls. She loves shoes. The other day she told me she wants a handbag…” He didn’t tell her that he had asked Rosa to get the stuff for Christine. He also did not tell her that he had invited Rosa.

He had a feeling that he would regret this omission.

Monday was her day off. She took a taxi from Ruaka to her house in Kileleshwa. She had instructed Mariam to roast goat ribs, ugali and kachumbari with a lot of pepper, enough for her and Shani.

Once in a while she missed her Kileleshwa apartment. It was spacious. Three large bedrooms, all en-suite, and because she had the penthouse, she had access to the rooftop where she could watch the concrete jungle from.  Everything in it was so big, from the kitchen equipment to the queen size bed. But as much as she missed it, she often asked herself what it was for, except vanity. She only used twenty percent of her bed. She only used one seat. She only used one toilet and bathroom. She hardly ever went into the kitchen except to get something to eat or when she was in the mood to learn how to make something from Mariam. She hardly ever watched the TV that took the center of her living room. Such vanity. Again, as much as she sometimes missed Kileleshwa, she knew she was happier in Ruaka. It was perfect for a lazy day, with everything was within reach, within ten steps of anywhere, and there were no echoes from disused space.

The doorbell rang when she was playing the guitar. “Hi fake waitress…” That had become Shani’s greeting to her. Kamaria had stopped noticing it.

“Hey Shan. Come in…”

The two friends hugged. “Damn, I miss you. I miss our impromptu crazy outings – now I have to book an appointment to see my best friend.” Shani said with a glint of sadness.

Kamaria understood. Shani, she could declare with no doubt, was the only person who knew her in and out. The only person she held no secrets from. The only person who could tell her the truth even when the truth was too rough. Shani was far from perfect, her all-important persona could be annoying, but Shani loved her, expected nothing from her but friendship loyalty.

Kamaria heat up the food, put it all on a silver tray, poured them drinks and they both carried them to the roof top.

“So, what’s been happening in your undercover life?” Shani asked as they dug into their food.

“A lot. I am in love…”

“No kidding!” Shani slapped her slightly on the back. “With whom?”

“Jamba…”

“Jamba is the guy you went to some forest with?”

“Karura Forest.”

“Yeah, whatever. Enhe…why do you think you are in love?”

And Kamaria told all.

“Wow. Sounds like a fairy tale. Only that he doesn’t really know who you are…remember that? Perhaps he just wants to take a waitress to bed, and here you are, owner of a blue chip company…”

“Don’t spoil it…”

Shani licked her fingers off the food as she lifted her free hand in surrender. “Sorry. I just want you to remember not to set yourself up for a heart break. May be he doesn’t like rich women. Perhaps when he eventually knows your true identity, and it is just a matter of time, he will think you are a total fake, and he will not believe anything you tell him…think about that as you go getting swept off your feet… I love you too much to see you get hurt…”

“I know, and thank you. I have thought about all that, and I guess that is what is giving me the little power I have not to jump on him…” She sipped her drink thoughtfully. “I am going to his daughter’s birthday party…”

“Blimey…”

“It’s on Sunday. His family and friends invited…I am scared.”

“Of what?”

She shrugged. “What if somebody recognizes me? How will he introduce me? I don’t know anyone but him, and he will be too busy to pay any attention to me.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“Hell no!”

“Why not?”

“Because, my dear friend, you will have me sassed out. I don’t see you playing poor… I cannot be having friends who look like you and who drive Range Rovers…”

“Why not? Stranger things have happened in friendships…”

“True. But I don’t trust your mouth. You will blubber…”

“Thanks for your faith in me. Okay, you are on your own…”

“There is another problem…”

“What now?” They were not standing at the edge of the roof, looking down on the flickering lights, holding their drinks.

“He once brought a woman to the pub. What if she is there?”

“What if? Just knock her out, or poison her drink…”

“I am serious…”

“So am I.” But she was laughing. “I don’t know him well enough to make judgment, but if he invites her, he is either trying to make you jealous – you know, gauge your feelings towards him, or he is going to be trying to pass a message, that he is not interested in you like that…”

“Surely, why go through all the trouble…”

“Who knows. Men are a strange lot…”

“Mh…I am going there with an open mind.”

“Good luck, but remember the heart is not so smart.”

She was ready to change the topic. Thinking about Jamba was too exhausting.

“My AGM is on Friday. Friday I am on pub duty at six PM and those meetings go on up to eight PM. By the time everybody is satisfied that the free alcohol is finished, it will be too late to report for my shift at work.”

“Surely you are not thinking of jumping your AGM for a pub job…”

“No, no. I am just thinking it is time to get sick again…”

She was taking over Wednesday shift from Wanjala, but she needed to talk to him first.

“I need a favour…” She whispered.

“What…”

“I need you to change my Friday shift. I can work Saturday all day, but I also need the Sunday off…”

He smiled conspiringly. “Do you need to get drunk again?”

She giggled. “Something like that…”

“Okay. But you owe me, again…” He said with a wink. One day, she decided, this man will be happy that he was good to her.

__________________

When Jamba called her on Thursday night for a random chat, when he told her see you tomorrow, she did not tell him she would not be at work on Friday.

Friday, as Kamaria was busy charming shareholders and fighting off boredom by stifling yawns, as she listened to her directors and managers talking big money and big plans of expansion and the profit and loss account, as she comfortably transformed into a power woman in knee length skirt and heels and subtle expensive jewellery and make up, Jamba was redialling her number, worried about her.

When he had found another bartender on duty, he had dialed her number. It was off. He had gone to Malik’s office to ask her whereabouts. ‘Oh, she took an emergency day off…’ Malik had said without looking up from his papers. Jamba had decided not to press Malik for information especially because he did not look worried about the emergency. He should have been relieved that it meant there was nothing wrong, but it just made him obsess about what the emergency could possibly be.

At nine PM, he was too edgy to stay a moment longer at R&R. He downed his beer, paid for it and stormed out, almost bumping into a waiter. He drove straight to her gate and parked, then redialled her number. It was still off. He wanted to ask the gate man, but he did not trust him to not tell her he had asked about her. He wasn’t ready to admit his desperation. And so he sat in the car, engine off, staring at the gate, hardly blinking, looking up at balconies even though he had no  idea which one was hers.

He felt stupid for behaving that desperately, for a moment wondering if Rosa did the same thing with him when he ignored her calls. Then he realized it was more than the desire to know where she was. At the back of his mind, especially recently, something nagged him over and over. Kamaria, he could swear, was not who she said she was, but who was she, and why would she lie? What was she lying about? Why?

At nine forty five PM, a dark coloured four by four, one he later worked out was a Mobius, stopped at the gate. A girl, who was definitely Serah, or so he thought, got out and waved off the driver. Serah? What was she wearing? She was in a suit, heels and a huge hand bag. Was that a Zanta Adeyde?  It didn’t make sense. Or perhaps it was someone who looked like her? No. It was her. His crazy gene urged him to follow the Mobius and demand to know the identity of the driver, luckily the common sense gene took control. His crazy gene suggested he follow her, bless the common sense that ordered him to drive home, confused and deflated.

Who was she?

____________________

At nine PM, his phone flashed with a call. He let it ring for as long as possible – truth was, he was trying to control his breathing. He didn’t know how he was supposed to sound. Should he pretend he didn’t see her last night? Should he confront her?

“Hello…”

“Hi Jamba.” She sounded…normal? “So sorry. I found a million missed calls.”

Okay, he was going to pretend he hadn’t see her. “What happened to you? I was worried…”

“I am sorry. My aunt asked me to do something for her, something that took all day. Then I had forgotten to charge my phone. I am so sorry…”

She really did sound like she was telling the truth. Perhaps he was seeing things. Or thinking things.

“As long as you are okay…what time did you get home?”

Slight hesitation. “About midnight.”

So she was either lying, or it wasn’t her he had seen. This was so confusing and he hated it.

“I hope you didn’t walk home?”

“No. I took a cab home.”

“Awesome… I hope you are still coming over tomorrow?”

“Yes I am. I got a couple of nice gifts for Christine. I got one for Christian too so he doesn’t feel left out…”

“How thoughtful… Thank you very much.”

“I suppose we are not seeing you today?”

“Nah. Too much preparation. Who thought it would take so much time and energy and money for a kid’s birthday…”

“Who thought? Remember to give me directions to your house…”

“That’s not necessary. I will have one of my friends pick you up, if that’s alright with you?”

“That’s fine. Okay, see you tomorrow. I need to get ready for work.”

“See you tomorrow.” Why was his heart beating so hard?

___________________________________

Story by Ciku Kimani-Mwaniki
Personal guinea pigs: Nyambura Michuki, Rachel Gathoni, Carole Shiku, Ceh Gichimu
Nip and tuck dude: Anthony Luvinzu