PART I
PATRICIA
I’m not beautiful. Never will be. I know that. And anyone who ever tries to tell me otherwise is a liar. Either trying to be emotionally supportive or (which is more often the case) trying to fuck me. And so when Ben told me that he thought that I was beautiful I scoffed and told him that no, I wasn’t and would he please stop trying to flatter me? It wasn’t going to work. Instead of answering though, Ben lifted his camera and took my picture.
Click.
He carried that thing around everywhere. Took pictures of absolutely everything. Believed that life was too precious not to try and capture every moment possible.
“But if you’re so busy trying to capture every moment of life possible, wont you miss out on actually living it?” I had asked him once. But instead of answering my question, Ben had simply raised his camera and taken another picture.
Click.
The camera was a Nikon D1500. His pride and joy. He always bragged about how it was the single most expensive thing he owned. And at 2.3 million shillings that seemed kind of sad. Why? Because that meant no car, no house, no…well, you get what I’m getting at. He didn’t have that much money. And although I wouldn’t say that I’m a gold digger per se, the fact is, I don’t have the patience, the financial freedom or the goodwill to be messin’ around wit’ no broke nigga…
But by God was he cute. Ben, I mean. And charming. And not in the, “I want to turn you into my human pretzel” kind of way either. There was something different about him. Something different about the way he looked at me. Said my name. Took me by the hand and led me through a crowd of people. Placed his hand on the small of my back and pulled me closer to him as we walked down the street in search of a boda-boda back to my place. He was not at all like the other guys. When he looked at me it felt as if he saw me. Really saw me. I was not an object to him. An opportunity to stay up all night trying out all the things he had always wanted to do but no other girl would let him do. I was not the three drinks past drunk girl in the scuffed and muddy heels and slutty dress who was always looking for the next drink and/or the next fuck. To him I was special. To him I was one of a kind. To him I was what he called “A good person”. And to be quite honest; I didn’t get it.
Click.
“Ben, stop it.”
He lowered the camera.
“Stop what?”
“You know I don’t like having my picture taken.”
“Well that’s just too bad,” Ben said raising the camera again. “Because Jimmy loves taking it.”
Click.
Jimmy is what he calls his camera. Yes, he named his camera. And yes, I know- a total geek, right?
Now, I know God may not have blessed me with the most angelic of faces but he did bless me with a lot of style, a whole lot of charm and one hell of a body.
“All curves, thick thighs and things poking out in all the right places.” As Roland had once put it; one hand on my ass while the other was busy trying to find its way up under my blouse.
Roland is my ex-boyfriend by the way. He was Italian. Well, I guess he still is considering he’s not pushing up daisies in some Italian cemetery somewhere but still alive and fucking.
Roland liked putting it in my ass. Yup, you heard right. And before you think me out of my mind for letting him, know that I thought the fucker was out of his mind the first time he asked me for it. But you know some things...you get used to. Some things you have to. I wouldn’t have been able to make rent other wise. And so at least the chicken skin was good for something. He kept my wardrobe fresh, my fridge stocked, my bills paid and in return…I let him fuck me in the ass. I would laugh if it wasn’t so sad that it made me want to cry.
He dumped me the day he left for the airport. Said it was for the best. Said that such a relationship was just not sustainable.
Well, it would be if he took me with him, I had argued. The expression that had flashed across his face as I said this made it pretty clear that the idea had not once crossed his mind.
Fucker.
Did I mention that he banged my best friend? Yes, my best friend. Although, to be fair, Claudia was not my best friend because we were particularly close but rather because she lived right next door.
The night before he left too. Slipped out of bed with me and crawled into bed with that bitch. And was still back in time to get some of that good morning sex he was so fucking fond of.
How did I find out? Claudia. She rubbed my nose in it too. This, of course, was after she found out that she was preggers with Roland’s baby. Now, although Roland was a lot of things including an ass fucker and a cheat he, oddly enough, was not one to abandon his seed. He flew Claudia out to Italy virtually days after he found out…
I hope you enjoy your ass pounding as best you can you back stabbing bitch.
Click.
It was getting late. The sun already beginning its descent towards a shimmering and pastel powdered horizon.
There was another click. And then another. Each one now accompanied by a bright flash. Ben, thank God, was not taking pictures of me but of the various canvases that hung on the walls around the gallery.
We were at an art exhibition. “From Fusion 2 Forever” or some shit like that. It was mostly amateurish canvases and lame catch phrase t-shirts. A 3 out of 10 if you asked me. Yup, that bad. To be quite honest, I had only gone because the exhibiting artist was a friend of mine. Well, more of an acquaintance really. Dashiki Jones. Duh-Shee-Kee Jooones. That’s what he called himself anyway. I’m not even sure he if knew what a dashiki was.
In any case, his real name was Semanda Tony. And like me, Dashiki Jones had made a career out of exploiting who we liked to call the chicken skins. Dashiki did it with horrible oil canvases, sloppily done t-shirts and a mop of dirty dreadlocks while I did it with very high heels, an abundance of cocktail dresses and a passing knowledge of the German language. As far as teams go, we were second to none. We had been at it for years. Way before Roland. Even before Stefan. Stefan was Austrian. The reason I had gone out of my way to learn German in the first place. Lots to say there but not much I really want to.
The exhibition had attracted quite a few of our friends of the Caucasian persuasion. But then again, that was kind of the point. I even knew some of them. A few of them had even seen me naked. That, however, did not stop me from introducing Ben to each and every one of them as my boyfriend. Why? Well, why not? I mean the guy is tall, dark and handsome. Plus he has an accent. Who says only men are entitled to having a little arm candy?
As Ben took snapshots of the paintings (I’m guessing more for documentations sake than for any real love of the pieces themselves) I poked through a pile of t-shirts looking for at least one that looked half way decent. It took me a while but I finally found one. It was a black tank top that had the phrase “I Ride Boda-Boda” stenciled across it with a rudimentary picture of a boda-boda rider next to it. Taking the tank top out of the pile I unfolded it and threw it over my head and on top of the tank I was already wearing. I walked over to Ben, tapped him on the shoulder and when he turned struck a pose.
“So what do you think?”
Click.
A moment later Ben handed me the camera.
“I think you look great but don’t take my word for it, take a look for yourself.”
I did. Shrugged. It actually didn’t look that bad. Fit pretty well too. And coupled with the bra I was wearing, made my boobs look especially big. I wanted it. Screw the fact that each shirt was going for at least 20k and that I had less than half of that jingling around the bottom of my purse.
“So?” Ben asked, waiting for my verdict.
I smiled up at him.
“I like it.”
I took his hand. Ran my thumb over his knuckles and then the back of his hand.
“Please get it for me?”
Queue eyelash bat.
”I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
The look that Ben gave me told me that we both knew that was a lie but that he liked me enough to let the little fib slide.
I grabbed his other hand and wrapped both of his arms around my waist. I moved closer to him until our fronts were touching.
“Please?”
I knew that if he opened his wallet for this, he would probably open it for something else. And chances are I wouldn’t have to open my legs either.
“You really want it don’t you?”
I nodded.
“I really do.”
Ben held me at arms length.
“Well it does look really good on you.”
I did a little curtsey, “Danke.”, and threw Ben a cheeky grin.
Ben cupped the side of my face with one of his hands. Smiled down at me.
“Alright.”
I studied his face.
“You mean I can get it?”
Ben nodded. His smile seemed a little forced and his eyes a little sad but still he said, “You can get it.”
As I jumped into his arms and thanked him with a peck on the cheek, I couldn’t stop from thinking that I had Ben right where I wanted him.
