Olukorede Williams

THE SIGHTING Soprialla Dakoko noticed him first when he strode through the door, an aura of palpable power seemed to swirl around him. Half the women in the room were stealing furtive glances at him as he made his way to the bar, oblivious to their lascivious stares. A few men acknowledged him like he were royalty as he passed by their tables and when he finally arrived the bar counter, the bartender, a seasoned, respectable geezer shook his hand in deference and called out his name like they were old friends. The mysterious stranger responded heartily and they bantered back and forth. By this time the room was just beginning to recover from the effect the mystery stranger had emitted when he’d first appeared. The bartender then finished wiping the counter and proceeded to fix him a drink; that was when he first noticed her sitting two stools away from him pensively enjoying her margarita. There was something instantaneously alluring about her and he couldn’t help but wonder why. Maybe it was the way she didn’t seem to regard him in the worn-out manner every other woman did or maybe it was her unconventional attractiveness. The only other people at the bar counter were a couple of suits prattling on about investment matters at the far end and he’d caught one of them already ogle her twice in quick succession. As the bartender brought his drink – an apple martini and placed it in front of him, the mystery stranger leaned in toward him over the counter and whispered to the bartender, “Three o’ clock, the bombshell what’s her story?” The bartender darted his eyes at where she sat and smiled knowingly at the mystery stranger. The bartender was the go-to guy over matters like this. He’d tipped the mystery stranger off on countless attractive women he’d fancied over the years at this very same bar, and virtually all of them resulted in successful “kills”. His insight was that dependable and foolproof. Even now as the bartender regarded Soprialla, he knew better than to presume she was like the rest of them; because she wasn’t. Ever since he’d noticed her start to frequent the restaurant a few months ago, he’d seen different strings of men try to hit on her; banker-types, business executives, bad boys, artists, athletes, recording artists and even a generous dose of disillusioned ‘regular Joes’. The tactics deployed on her ranged from innocuous flirting to assertive accost but the outcome was always homogeneous. She’d act civil and sociable enough with them, smile and laugh appreciatively but there was never any doubt that they were going to ‘breach her.’ At the end of the evening they’d leave with their tails between their legs – dejected and spurned and in utter befuddlement as to the kind of beautiful conundrum she was. The likes of which they had never seen. The bartender now weighed his response presently. He didn’t want to seem like he’d let his wellconnected acquaintance down, as he prided himself on being the most reliable bloke when it came to women affairs but at the same time even he couldn’t say for sure what made Soprialla tick so he casually replied “Depressed!.” His friend the mystery stranger shot him a disbelieving look “If she looks this amazing in depression, her sprightly moments must be a blessing.” “Seen her sit here night after night nursing that margarita alone and unconcerned for anything. She’s a time-bomb waiting to go off!” The bartender whispered. “But since you’re looking for a good time tonight there’s a real looker at the far end of the restaurant one o’ clock to your left.” The bartender’s friend slowly and casually turned to observe and spotted another attractive woman sitting alone at a table – her gaze permanently fixed on him in a suggestive manner. She was thin like a runway model and had the qualities of a superficial vixen. Even though her looks could turn a few heads as well, overall her sex appeal seemed puny compared to Soprialla Dakoko’s. The new woman smiled cloyingly at him. He reverted to the bartender and scoffed. “Well what d’you think? The bartender offered. She sure could have you for breakfast, lunch and desert” As their conversation was afoot, barely five feet away, it was all Soprialla could do from laughing out loud. Men! What hopelessly pathetic species. She didn’t need to make out coherence from their dialogue – because they talked in safe hushed tones – to know she was the main feature. It was written all over them. The same tell-tale signs in their mannerisms. If only men knew women know! Men naturally boisterous and assertive by nature never whispered over anything to themselves; business, achievements, plans, sexual conquests – except when it was about women targets close by. She figured the good-looking, mystery stranger had been inquiring about her from the bartender who served as his ‘lady-killing’ informant. She also sensed that one of the schmucks in a gray business suit on her right had been contemplating with his friend whether she would “play hard to get or just cut right to the chase.” Momentarily she would be approached by one or both factions from both sides of the counter under the pretext of sampling a new drink blend or getting better phone reception or being a concerned observer and then she would have to politely chat with them before devising a clever plan of escape; another tranquil night ruined by wanton, pig-headed egomaniacs. She wasn’t going to make it easy for them all. She drained the last of her drink in one gulp, tucked a couple of N1000 bills as payment for her drink, inclusive of a generous tip underneath the wineglass, snatched her purse from the counter, got off the stool, acknowledged the bartender with a curt nod and sashayed out of the premises without a word - leaving a reeling roomful of admirers and jealous cats, a confused investment banker half-way on his feet, a bemused bartender and an intrigued “good-looking” mystery stranger in her wake. Korede Williams