A Sorority of Angels (18 page)

“Mm. You smell good,” he said.

She turned to face him. “I don’t make love to rich men.”

“I’m a pauper at your feet.”

“My goodness, you’re getting romantic. If you’re hot and bothered remove that hot uniform.”

Hell, Shaba reasoned, she chastised Alise for her financially poor sexual encounters. This was three million. And if he wanted her body, it was worth three million plus interest. She had planned to make love to him the first day to determine if any feelings for him remained. The millions made it an afternoon experiment as opposed to an evening.

She undid his buttons as his hands roamed her body. She undressed him slow. By the time she led him to the bed, he was ready to burst. She got into bed. When she looked up, her image in the mirror startled. Her legs looked stiff. She relaxed and widened them. Neither spoke. Kintubi concentrated on taking all he could gather with hands and mouth. Shaba felt mechanical lacking magic excitement although she tried to find it. Shaba moaned at the right moments without feeling. Her eyes glued to the mirror as she watched his movement. She never experienced making love with mirrors. Watching being ravaged turned erotic, excited as a spectator.

When he again rolled on top, and felt his entry, he and the mirror excited and stimulated her to match his excitement. She never felt such passion during lovemaking. She knew it wasn’t Kintubi but the mirror.

Kintubi thrust gently a few times, the sting, gone. She watched in the mirror as he lay on her. He kissed her as he stood and headed for the bathroom.

Shaba stretched and admired her body. She promised that from here on she would always own a ceiling mirror. He came out and started to dress. She watched him then left for the bathroom, cleansed, returned, and lay in bed nude.

“How about another one?” she asked with a grin knowing he needed at least another half-hour to get ready unless he ate some miracle food or taken erectile drugs. He looked at her and smiled.

“Are you kidding? You just wiped me out. You turned into a tiger.”

“You see, I did miss you. How about you?” She never expected him to remain faithful to their marriage.

He put his shirt on and sat on the bed.

“Shaba, I want you to know I care very much for you.”

“I got that impression.”

“Let me ask you. Do you love me – to the point that you couldn’t live without me?”

Shaba hesitated to avoid hurting him.

“If you must know…I’m not sure. I proved I could live without you. I wanted to find out if our marriage had any meaning left.”

“Does it?”

Shaba hesitated, thinking about the money. She made the hard decision.

“I don’t think so.”

“I thought so. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t remain friends.”

“We can be friends forever.”

“And we can still trust one another?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Good. I feel better.”

She cupped his face with compassion.

“I’m sorry, Kintubi. Maybe with time I’ll feel different. But we can still make love from time to time if you want.”

“I never deserved you. I had a rare pink diamond and never knew it. I treated you like a cheap piece of glass. Forgive me.”

Shaba smiled. “I forgive you. Heavens, you have changed. You’re improving with age. I hope I haven’t hurt you.”

He walked around to the other side, leaned over, and kissed her navel.

“Shaba, something important I must tell you. Before I do, yes, let us always remain friends, occasional lovers, and have eternal trust in each other. I was afraid I was going to hurt you. It’s better now.”

“It is?” She was confused, in shadows.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I resolved that before this day ended, I would ask you for something you may be unwilling to give.”

“What is that?”

“My freedom. That I want a divorce.”

His words stunned; a spear.

“Is there someone else?” she managed to say, her tone trying to hide the surprising effect.

“To tell the truth, there are several. My whole lifestyle changed. I enjoy the carefree irresponsible social life I lead. Not knowing how you felt about me, I thought it best to tell you right away because a few girls live here.”

“Here?” She laughed. “You’re impossible. I used to hate your compassion for sex. How many?”

“Five.”

“Good heavens! Will wonders never cease? Do you keep them all satisfied?”

“It’s not easy.”

“How do they get along?”

“We have a gathering here about two times a week with the President and other VIP’s. Having them out here in private and in seclusion avoids embarrassments. The next party is in two days. You’ll enjoy it.”

“Are you kidding?” She was aghast. “Am I to be another one of the toys? Are you out of your mind?”

“They all know you’re my wife. If you see someone you like, go ahead. You won’t offend me if you have an affair with someone else.”

The statement ruffled her traditional thinking although tempered by the liberal thinking of New York City.

“That won’t happen.”

“Tonight, I’m taking you out. After today, we can throw our cares to the wind and remain legal for mutual benefit – money. Okay?”

“I’ll come down in a half-hour, and look nice for you.”

“That should be easy.”

Shaba kissed him and he left. Her marriage ended, unexpected by his initiative leaving her unbalanced.

All of a sudden, ten years of marriage died. She wondered – would he still let her use the money in the Bahamas? With second thoughts, she believed him.

She preferred the abrupt ending, grinned at the thought that he had to get his sex before the axe dropped. No, he hadn’t changed and for that, she was glad. He made choices easier.

Shaba felt an exciting new sense of freedom. The lock to her commitment opened and she threw the key away. She phoned Alise to tell her she arrived safely and give her Kintubi’s phone number. Alise didn’t answer. Shaba left a message and number. She showered, dressed, and made up the new Shaba. Although legally married, she had mental freedom feeling comforting and enlightening, and lighter. Her feet hardly touched steps as she came down the marble stairway for dinner.

Growth and progress continued in Kinshasa. New buildings and buildings under construction bore evidence of growth, the long necked cranes signaling a new birth. The city teemed with traffic, people, and neon signs as they drove through the capital.

“Where are we going?” asked Shaba.

“To the country club, the one we couldn’t get into.” He laughed. “We’ll have a quiet dinner.”

“Forget that country club for a night club with entertainment. I don’t want to be among snobs tonight. I want to order moamba and pili-pili, and dance.”

“You shall have it.”

They chose the Club Kinshasa near the Presidential Gardens. The red carpet came out for Kintubi. The band played soft western world music in the crowded club. They ordered drinks, moamba and pili-pili, the country’s national dish; chicken cooked in palm oil with a sauce of hot peppers on rice. The band played local music with flutes, whistles, and the likembe an instrument with metal spokes plucked by the thumb. Two dancers jumped out on the stage and performed the ancient hip dance. The drum rhythm stimulated Shaba.

“Feels good to be home and feels strange with you tonight. Different.”

“In what way?”

“I feel like I’m on a date. I never dated you. I feel unmarried. It’s wonderful. You see…if you treated me like your mistress during our marriage things might have been different, very different.”

“I’ll make it up to you with wealth and respect to the end of my days.”

“I’ll drink to that. Did you ever hear of Tiffany & Company?”

“No. What’s that?”

“A store in New York with a few small things I wanted but could never afford.”

“I’ll buy the place for you.” He grinned.

“Silly boy. There isn’t enough money in Congo to buy the place.”

The dancers ended their act and vibrant music began.

“How about a dance, Kintubi or do you still dance like an elephant?”

“Isn’t the man supposed to ask first?”

“I’m getting out from under. Tonight, I’m a liberated woman.”

“I improved.”

They danced. Kintubi had improved.

“President Busambi should be impeached if he turns away from democracy,” Shaba said at the table.

“Who’s to impeach him?”

“The Transitional Constituent Assembly.”

“I don’t think so. He controls the majority. He’s bought them off like he bought me.”

“What will happen if Busambi died?”

“There’s a good chance of that.”

“Somebody planning an assassination?”

“No. He has a weak heart – overweight and on medication. Should he die, a member of the National Executive Council, Malanza Kandolo will assume power, the heir apparent.”

“Is he a decent person?”

“An excellent man, pro-democratic and pro-western. The Republic has an opportunity to grow strong economically. Large companies like Goodyear, Citibank, Gulf Oil, General Motors and Ford are here. So are Unilever, Renault and others. These companies mean jobs and prosperity.”

“Do you know Kandolo?”

“Yes.”

“Does he like you?”

“I think so.”

“Can you persuade him you’re a patriot though you serve Busambi?”

“In his eyes, the two are no longer compatible.”

“Let’s say Busambi dies. Has a heart attack, or assassinated. What’s the first thing you would do?”

“I will offer my support to Kandolo as a general of the Army. After all, he’ll need skilled military leaders. And I’m skilled in jungle warfare.” His thoughts were positive about the arrangement. “Yes, it should be fine.”

“Any advantage to letting Kandolo know it in advance before Busambi dies?”

“I can’t risk playing both ends. If discovered then I’m useless to everyone. Busambi will throw me in prison, or send me to a forsaken village in the interior with the Ebola virus. Then if Busambi, dies where am I?”

“Has anyone ever attempted to kill Busambi?”

“No one. He’s protected and guarded.”

“You say he has a weak heart? How weak?”

“He already had a mild seizure.”

“Does he participate in your sex orgies?”

“He does sometimes. The girls say he’s a soft lover. He doesn’t exert himself hard.”

“Why don’t you stimulate the girls to turn him on? Maybe he’ll die on the upstroke.”

Kintubi grinned. “That would be incredible. I can see the headlines. President Succumbs in Upstroke. Thrusts Life Away.” He found it funny.

Shaba thought money. “Six million dollars. I still can’t believe it.”

“Believe it because legally, half belongs to you.”

She wanted reassurance for that life changing amount.

“Confirm that half is mine.”

“Of course, you’re still my wife. We agreed to separate. Call it a divorce settlement.”

“Maybe I should leave tomorrow,” she kidded.

“Relax. There’s a small chance that I may deposit another two million within the next thirty days. By year’s end there could be more.”

Her mouth dropped. “Kintubi, where is this money coming from?”

“Military aid from China. The President turns around and sells much of it elsewhere.”

“I fear one thing. The way you love sex may cause you to have the heart attack first.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Can you persuade Busambi to help eliminate hunger and poverty?”

“He’ll think I’m naive. Bad image.”

Shaba looked about the dimly lit club for a better perspective of her surroundings. Animal skins: leopards, tigers, lions, zebras, and giraffes covered the walls. Decor was contemporary. An intricate lighting arrangement hovered over the stage. A group with white shirts, light blue pants, and native headdress played loud music: part rock, part African rhythm.

The upcoming party concerned Shaba.

“Kintubi, you accept your new lifestyle and those in it. You all think alike where partying is concerned. Therefore, I think it’s best I move from your house to a hotel.”

“I won’t agree. That’s ridiculous.”

“Unlike you, when in New York I remained loyal to you and the traditions about marriage. I’m not a voyeur or a swinger for open and group sex. Sex is personal to me. As long as I’m married to you, I don’t intend to bed down with anyone else.”

“Don’t be bothered. We
are
married but I freely admit no longer a one woman man.”

“Were you ever?” She knew he cheated.

“No.”

“You’re the only man I ever slept with. It would’ve been easy to explore in New York, but I remained true to my standards. I won’t mix well with your crowd.”

“It’s a social gathering. Nobody has sex in front of others. Whoever feels like turning on goes to a bed room.”

“You mean like a brothel. Are you going to stay by my side all night?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. What will happen if the President became over friendly?”

“He’ll respect you’re my wife. He won’t expect you to participate. I’ll tell them I expect they’ll treat you like a lady.”

“The President, too?”

“Yes.”

“I want to make another deal with you. After tonight, we no longer sleep together.”

“I wasn’t aware we were sleeping together tonight.”

“Tonight is for the past, for the few good times. While I’m here, I want to sleep in your bedroom alone. Since you made love to me in it, it’s mine.”

“What psychology. The room is yours.”

“We are getting along well.”

“Of course we are. You’re making all the terms.”

The more Shaba talked and thought about independence the more it tantalized her, stimulating beyond experience. The three million dollars, possibly four eliminated financial insecurity, and Kintubi was a new relationship no longer master of her house or her life, all a beautiful part of independence.

She felt gratified their marriage wouldn’t end on bitterness and hate as many marriages, a clean dissolution.

The reality of all that money drew her from her confined and restricted upbringing. The horse blinders disappeared and the horizon looked broader, crisscrossed with rainbow colors. Never being in need or working again changed to a pillow of joy to massage her mind. Definitely, she would leave in three weeks to spend the final week in the Bahamas.

What a wonderful way to live free.

Rich!

Back in the bedroom, Shaba had a question that needed answering, lurking in the background and incessantly pricked until sore. She undressed to her bra and panties. Kintubi, still wearing his shirt and pants headed for the bathroom saying, “I’ll be right out.”