Missionary Position (11 page)

Ama’s friend Kai would arrive tonight, and she’d organized a welcome dinner at the restaurant for all of us to meet him. She promised me it wasn’t a set-up, but it smelled like one, walked like one, and quacked like one.

To distract myself, I spent an hour at the bookstore near Makola market, wasting time between work and cocktails at Ama’s. Isaac, who ran the shop, knew me by name and I often chatted with him more than I looked at books. Similar to my friend Abraham Lincoln at the craft center, his knowledge of American history and politics impressed me. He often proudly reminded me how Obama was half African, not caring he was Kenyan and not Ghanaian.

When I arrived at Ama’s, I spotted Ursula at my favorite table. After sitting down, I glanced around the space, not seeing Ama or any other familiar faces. My own gin and tonic joined hers while we chatted and caught up about Ursula’s work with a women’s bead cooperative.

While it grew darker, Nadine and Nathan joined us, adding additional glasses to the cluster on the table. I peered around at the other tables and spied Not Gerhard sitting with another group, engaged in deep conversation with Pudgy. Catching his eye, I raised my glass in greeting. He smiled and mirrored me with his own glass.

“Kai’s plane is delayed,” Ama said, sitting down at our table. “Since he won’t be arriving until nine, it’ll be too late once he clears immigration and customs. Can we reconvene tomorrow night for dinner?”

I nodded along with the others and exhaled loudly in a sigh.

Ama looked at me from the corner of her eye. “It’s not a set-up, Selah.”

Ursula jumped into the conversation. “Set-up? Oh, who are you setting Selah up with?” Her eyes wandered over to the frat club table.

“No one is setting me up with anyone. I’m too old and too set in my ways.”

Ursula laughed. “Hardly. I’m ten years older than you and a widow. If you don’t want the set-up, I’ll take it.” She looked at Ama, who subtly shook her head. With her thick blonde shoulder length hair, Ursula looked more like a lioness than cougar.

“I don’t know why no one believes me when I say I’m not setting Selah up with Kai.” Ama held a straight face for a couple of beats before smiling. “Fine. I enjoy putting interesting people together. Look at this group. Do you think you randomly found each other?”

Nathan coughed. “Now that you mention it.”

Ama straightened her back. “I have a knack for making connections. Set-ups, matchmaking, call it what you want.”

I laughed and sipped my near empty drink. “Quack, quack,” I said softly to myself.

Nadine caught my eye and smiled. “Well, this talk certainly makes me look forward to dinner tomorrow night more than ever.”

“You’re all meddling meddlers,” I growled. “I’m perfectly capable of finding a man. If
and
when I want one.”

“Oh, we believe you. You’ve had the eye of that man across the restaurant most of the evening,” Nathan said.

The other three women at our table turn to look at Not Gerhard.

“Subtle, very subtle,” I groaned.

“He’s coming over,” Nadine happily informed me.

“Great,” I said.

“What’s great?” Not Gerhard asked.

I looked up and smiled at him. “I was saying how great Ama was for bringing me another drink.” I shot Ama a pointed look. “How are you, Matt?”

I introduced him to the rest of the gang, who warmly engaged with him. More than once, I caught Ursula leaning over to check out Matt’s backside.

Basic information exchanged, Matt got to the point. “I wanted to ask Selah if she would join me tomorrow afternoon at a contemporary art gallery. I thought maybe she could explain the art to me.” He rubbed the nape of his neck. “You’re all invited, of course.”

Ama set down my full glass. “That sounds perfect for Selah. Unfortunately, I have to work.” She stared at the others at the table, who suddenly had afternoon plans.

After Nathan’s cough, I realized I hadn’t responded. “Sure. Of course. When?”

We arranged to meet at the gallery before he said goodnight and left.

“Well, look at that. Not a set-up at all and Selah has a date.”

I huffed. “Hold on, it’s not a date. We’re meeting there, and for some reason he thinks I’m an expert on contemporary art.”

“He’s very handsome,” Ursula said, a twinkle in her eye.

“He is,” Nadine concurred. Even Nathan had nice things to say.

I wanted to explain he ran a sad, distant second place to Gerhard, but it would open a whole can of sardines that I didn’t need opening. Real Gerhard hadn’t texted me all day. I sighed. Not Gerhard would have to do for now, however long that now might be.

“He’s here for a week,” I said.

“Even better. No threat of long-term commitment or being tied down. What kind of set-up would it be for a week?”

“I’d let him tie me down,” Ursula spoke quietly.

My mouth gaped, as did the others’.

Kinky German.

“What?” she asked. “There’s nothing wrong with a little light bondage if it’s consensual.”

Ama tapped her fingers on the table, clearly embarrassed by Ursula’s confession. “Okay then.” She cleared her throat. “Let’s eat.”

THE NEXT AFTERNOON I arrived twenty minutes early to meet Matt. Sitting along the beach, the pink building housing the gallery perched next to the busy Tema Road. Kofi dropped me off, but I asked him not to wait.

I walked behind the building to the beach. Western-style beach resorts with scenic palm trees surrounding pools populated the eastern side of Accra. The sand looked much cleaner on this beach, and in the distance awnings and loungers at the resorts created bright spots of color. Sitting on a lounge chair by the pool for a day or weekend would be a nice break.

I made a mental note to look into a weekend at the beach. A trip to Cape Coast topped my list of mini-trips, but Labadi Beach was closer.

Inside the lobby, I didn’t spot Matt. The main galleries filled the upper floors, and I headed there, thinking I’d missed him when I walked to the beach.

I scanned the top floor galleries, but no Matt. Once I found him, we could return and take our time while I confessed I knew nothing about contemporary Ghanaian art.

The second floor held smaller rooms, each dedicated to a single artist, but no Matt.

I entered the stairs to return to the main floor to wait for him in the lobby, feeling ridiculous about not exchanging numbers last night.

I rounded the last flight of stairs and spotted Matt standing near the front of the lobby, the bright light from outside throwing him into silhouette. The distance and light made him look less Not Gerhard than ever. I couldn’t even see the hook in his nose.

My cell phone chirped with a text from Gerhard:

*
What are you wearing?
*

Cheeky Dutchman.

Watching while Matt typed away on his cell phone for another moment, I sighed, promising myself to let Gerhard go. Matt was here now. He was handsome in an Almost Gerhard way and most importantly, interested. I responded to Gerhard’s text.

*Too bad you’re not here to find out.*

Stepping out of the pool of sunlight at the front doors, Matt walked toward me, the sun creating a halo behind his blond hair.

I smiled and waved, resolved. Matt was Matt.

And he wasn’t the man walking straight toward me.

NOT NOT GERHARD stood in the lobby of the art center.

My brain sputtered in its attempt to resolve what was happening.

Gerhard, my Gerhard, stood looking at me where he’d stopped about ten feet away, a safe distance from my brain exploding.

My brow furrowed, my eyes squinted, and my mouth could have caught fish.

“What the hell?” I wasn’t certain if I’d spoken aloud. I looked around the empty space for guilty parties. Or cameras. Surely, someone was filming me as a practical joke.

Gerhard, or maybe his evil, or not evil, twin, slowly approached me. “Selah?”

As if my identity was the one in question.

Greeted with my stunned silence, he tried again. “Selah? Hello?” He waved his hands in front of my face in a kind of wax-on, wax-off manner.

I stood, frozen.

Gerhard.

Not Not Gerhard.

Gerhard.

His laughter broke through my brain’s attempt to rationalize this.

I squinted at him. Maybe I had heat stroke. Or was dehydrated. Clearly, I was hallucinating from not having enough to drink today. I attempted to remember the last liquid I’d consumed. It had been hours. That explained it. When had I last eaten? A mango at breakfast? Some plantain chips?

Maybe I fell down the last flight of stairs and hit my head.

I needed a cigarette. Why did I quit?

“Selah?” Concern tinged his voice.

My mind had snapped.

Poor Matt probably thought I’d lost it as I stood and gaped at him like a mad woman. He was right to be worried. I needed to find Kofi to take me home. Damn it, Kofi had dropped me off and left. Who made that decision? Right. Me.

The man slowly reached out to touch my shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, softly, calmly.

“Hi,” I said.

“Thank God. I thought you were in shock.”

“I think I am. I might be dehydrated, and I only ate a mango this morning. Maybe we should reschedule. I need to lie down somewhere dark.”

He chuckled. “Reschedule what?”

I didn’t dare look straight at Matt. Instead, I stared across the lobby at a large, colorful fish sculpture on the wall. “Our tour of the gallery today. I’m not feeling well.”

“Selah?” another voice called from a few feet away.

Great. My hallucination had doubled the number of imaginary Gerhards. I hoped at least one man stood in front of me or I was talking to myself.

“Selah?” the first Gerhard asked.

I focused my eyes. Two men stood there. One wore khakis and a pink Oxford. My eyes traveled up his chest to a handsome face, with hazel eyes and a hooked nose.

“Hi, Matt,” I said, relieved.

My eyes snuck a glance at the other man, who also wore khakis, but with a white shirt casually untucked and slightly wrinkled. Gerhard wouldn’t wear a wrinkled shirt. If he was a hallucination, my brain would imagine him in a suit. I let my gaze move to his face, a familiar face with a slight layer of scruff. And eyes the color of the North Sea.

I OPENED MY eyes, finding myself on the bottom step. I didn’t recall sitting down.

Matt knelt in front of me, concern furrowing his brow.

“Hi, there you are.” He sighed with relief. “You fainted.”

“I did? I think I was hallucinating or seeing double. Or something. Everything sounded tinny and I felt hot.”

“You did.” He chuckled. “Your friend went to find you something cold to drink.”

“My friend?”

“The man you were talking to when I arrived.”

“You saw him?”

Matt stared at me. “Yes, of course.”

I blinked and took a deep breath.

“Did you catch his name?”

“There wasn’t time between the awkward staring and the fainting. He’s your friend, isn’t he?” His voice changed from worried to defensive.

“I’m not sure.”

“He wasn’t threatening you, was he?”

“No, not threatening.”

The sound of footsteps on the tile echoed across the lobby. Both Matt and I turned our heads.