Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Monica was startled when she went to work the next day and found Philip Boyega standing beside Danny’s blue Mercedes car, with the glare in his eyes, showing he was shocked than surprised at her presence at his workplace.

‘You? What the heck are you doing here?’ she asked him, as they shook hands briskly.

‘I should be asking you that instead,’ Philip said, as their hands unclasped. Monica’s hair was swaying in the soft breeze, and Philip loved the coiffure, the sheen and the shea butter scent of it.

‘Well, I work here. I resumed last week. I am his personal assistant,’ Monica said, pointing at Danny who was dressed in his blue, neat suit and was already strolling into the building.

‘And I am his driver. I was on two weeks’ leave, but now am back,’ Philip said, jangling the keys in his hands, just as the thought of Danny, whom he knew very well as an incorrigible womanizer, flirting with Monica left him green with envy and jealousy.

‘That’s great. Hmm, since I’ll now be seeing you often, would you mind if I call you Boye, instead?’ Monica asked him.

‘I don’t mind at all. A lot of good friends call me that. I will just have to add your name in the list,’ Philip said. Monica stared at him and smiled, as she walked away from him and into her office. While Philip stood there open-mouthed, staring at Monica as she wiggled away in her figure-hugging red gown.

Yesterday, after Philip met and spoke with Monica after Mass, and accompanied her to her house, he returned home furious with himself for being a joker, instead of a wooer. He had watched her all through the Mass, unable to keep his eyes off her. Monica was his spec. She was specced to his liking. She was his kind of woman. She was flawlessly beautiful in his eyes. But after the Mass was ended and he walked up to speak with her on spec, he found out his confidence and guts had melted and frittered away. A strange lump had blocked his throat after Monica’s initial hostile air.

Throughout the night, the thought of Monica filled his mind, clogging his heart, as he stirred from one side of his bed to the other; his eyes far from sleep. The desire to find her, to meet her again, to go over to her house, to be her friend, remained on his mind. Now he was far too grateful she was now in the same workplace with him. His god was alive, he told himself, as he smiled. His eyes shimmering like a shooting star.

Monica on her part did not give much thought to Boye, as she preferred to call him now. But she liked his humour and his beards. She liked witty men, especially the ones with fine beards. She hadn’t thought she would ever see him again, but it was fortuitous they now work for the same boss. She smiled and thought of him as nothing more than another friend and workmate she could call on in times of need.

Work that day in the office was hectic. She had written several letters, prepared tea for Danny, worked on unfinished files and bought his lunch for him. But Danny had asked her to stay back in the office as they were still more work to do.

‘Am I working overtime now?’ she asked him that evening, after other workers started going home.

‘Not overtime, we are just cutting down on backlog,’ he responded, walking away with that swagger of a boss that Monica was all too familiar with.

And so, he worked, while she slaved; the night slowly creeping in, with only Danny, Monica and Philip left in the building. Monica was feeling cooped up and dog-tired when Danny called her into his office to serve him coffee.

‘I need that to stay awake and finish this file. Then I can ask the driver to take you home,’ he said, looking at her; his hand fiddling with the file.

‘That’s okay, sir,’ Monica said languidly. There were traces of languor on her face as she spoke to him slowly. She walked over to the water dispenser and pressed the hot water into the cup and poured in some coffee.

‘Would you mind me adding some sugar?’ she asked him.

‘No, no sugar is just perfect,’ Danny replied sharply, waving his hand dismissively. Monica put the teacup on the saucer and placed it on the table in front of him, with the aroma of the coffee, thick in the air. Danny raised it up and took a slow sip.

‘The file over there; the one in the blue jacket, bring it to me,’ he said, taking another sip. Monica walked up to the shelf and stood on her toes to reach the file. Her hand was on the file when she felt the firm grip of Danny’s hands on her lean waist. His prickly beards touching her face as he made to kiss her.

‘I want you, Monica,’ he said, almost in a moan. Monica was astounded by his irresponsible and lecherous action.

‘Please sir, I don’t mean to disrespect you but this is not right. It’s irresponsible of you. It’s a sexual assault on me, you know?’ she said, brushing off his hands casually, and sentient of the fact that his harassment of her, if not treated meticulously, could degenerate into a pitiless and violent rape.

‘Irresponsibility means nothing to a man in love. I have always wanted and desired you. I want you to be my mistress. I will give you all the money you’d ever want,’ Danny said, pressing her soft body tightly to his body, as his breath grew raspier.

‘You insult me. I am not some cheap, hungry whore, sir!’ Monica screeched, her voice raised and irritated. She had not planned to slight or to raise her voice at him, but the grating circumstance made that paramount, inevitable. ‘With all due respect, I will ask you one more time to take your hands off my body.’ She was beginning to feel offended now by him. His derisive and stupid thinking that she was some kind of a cheap slut that could be bought with his money was condescending, disrespectful and offensive to her sensibility.

‘Well… I do not think that’s possible now. No one says no to me. What I want is what I get,’ Danny said pompously, with a diabolical smile; his eyes flashing with lust and violence. Monica felt helpless and trapped and she couldn’t believe her vulnerability in the hands of Danny. She had always heard and read about it, the gross and systemic injustice and the vulnerability of women and the poor in the hands of the rich. Now, she had come face-to-face with that brutal reality.

When Danny turned Monica and faced himself, and pressed his lips hard against hers, brushing aside her pink lipstick, Monica knew she was on the brink of being raped. She slapped him violently on the face and that singular action infuriated Danny the most, hardening his heart and causing the rush of blood in his eyes. His eyes reddened with violence. He slapped Monica hard in retaliation and she screamed in sheer anguish. Then he rippled her gown and pulled hard on her brassiere. Monica’s firm and succulent breasts unfurled and danced deliciously in his face as she yelped and slapped him again on the face. Danny’s grip on her was tenacious and fierce. He slapped Monica back, and her nose spewed with blood and trickled down, blending with the colour of her red gown. She whimpered loudly and helplessly, like a pained dog caught in a deadly trap. When Danny dug his hand underneath Monica’s gown and sprawled her on the table, brushing aside the files on it, as they clattered on the floor, Monica felt like her world had come to an end. The room spun in her head like a carousel. She flailed her hands wearily to fend him off, but her resistance was soft as wool. Exhaustedly, she lay on the table like a lamb on offer, screaming, weeping, with her feeble eyes closed, as she settled for the worst. Danny’s breath was gruffer as he climbed on the table, straddling her. His hands were on Monica’s breasts when the door of his office yanked open.

Philip was wide-eyed when he saw Monica sprawling on the table helplessly. He had heard her screaming from downstairs and had hurried up to see if everything was all right. But now the sight of Danny’s disgusting action filled him with horror and disgust, at how beastly and condescending he could go, just to sleep with a woman. And in that moment of rage, he lost all respect for him and forgot he was his boss. He leapt on him in sheer fury, like a hungry lion on its helpless prey and tore him away from Monica. He clutched him fiercely on the throat and hit him on the face. Danny staggered to a corner, as Philip rushed after him, his sturdy hands clutching his neck.

‘You are a senseless animal! How many more women will you dishonor?! Don’t you have any shame and honor? Is your mother not a woman?’ he asked him, red-eyed, as rage bubbled inside him.

‘You fool! You dare to hit me?!’ Danny screeched, spitting blood on Philip’s face. Philip’s grip on Danny’s neck was firmer as he flung him angrily onto the bookshelf, and the pile of books tumbled down on Danny.

‘You are a beast! You should be ashamed of yourself. You treat a woman like she’s beneath you. You have money, does that make you a god?!’ Philip screamed.

‘You are fired! Both of you are fired!’ Danny screamed, rising from the ground and spitting out the blood in his mouth.

When Philip reached out and helped the shattered and shamefaced Monica from the table, her eyes were half-closed and only the blurred image of Philip was spinning in her bleary eyes. Blood was spewing from Monica’s mouth and head; she was concussed.

‘Is that you, Boye?’ she asked him faintly and frailly.

‘Yes, it’s me. Boye,’ Philip replied; tears welling up in his eyes.

‘Thank you for saving me and for being here at the nick of time. You’re my knight in shining armour,’ she mumbled to him, clasping him. Philip fondled her back fleetingly, as Monica sobbed and then unclasped her.

‘I need to take you away from here. I need to take you home,’ he said finally. When he removed his shirt and covered Monica and carried her in his arms and into the car, Monica’s heart filled with a sweet-bitter feeling. The thought of Philip’s care, kindness and well-timed intervention warmed her wounded and heavy heart.

When Philip took her home, he made sure Monica was safe and all right in her room before he made to leave.

‘No. Don’t go away! Stay with me!’ Monica cried out to him, terrified, and clutching his arm. She was scared like a little child, crouching and hiding at the back of her mother from the barking of a mad and rabid dog. ‘I won’t be safe here without you.’ She sobbed and clasped onto him as she spoke. Philip sensed the psychological trauma of Monica’s experience and the fear lodging in her inner soul. He could discern there was something deeper and underlying wrapped in her shawl of pain and disillusionment. There was hurt, pain, fear and a sense of deep longing hidden in Monica’s bleary eyes and shrill voice.

‘All right, I’ll stay here with you. I won’t go anywhere,’ he said to her reassuringly, as they lay on the bed. Monica clutched Philip’s arm and he fought hard to arrest the swirling emotion and yearning to reach out and cuddle her in his warm and soothing arms.

When it was morning, the yellow sun sliced through the dim room as they sat on the bed. Monica was still ashamed to speak about the unfortunate incident of the previous night. Philip remained silent too, staring at her and wondering if he should ever bring up the subject. He was afraid of the pain and shame such a nasty and disgusting incident would bring to Monica. His eyes glued disinterestedly on the television as he watched the programme, Cockcrow at Dawn, and the man and woman chattering indistinctly, just as the windows of Monica’s room clattered in the wind. Philip lay flat on his back on the bed, his hand running slowly on the soft pillow.

‘I am very sorry you’ve to lose your job because of me,’ Monica said finally, breaking the silence; her reddish eyes staring at the carpeted floor, just as Funke and a neighbour exchanged greeting in the yard.

‘It’s not your fault it happened. You don’t need to say that to me,’ Philip said, rising from the bed and staring at the black patches on Monica’s face. ‘It was a shitty-ass job anyways. I would still do what I did, if it were to happen again.’ Philip’s voice was peppered with soreness and Monica could feel the weight of it. ‘It’s the way of the rich; they treat the poor like they are less human. That they give us jobs do not mean we are different from them. It’s not the reason to abuse, to rape, to insult and reave us!’ This time, it was unmistakable. Monica could feel the intensity, the graveness of Philip’s pain and anger clearly in his sullen voice. It was rattling and resonating like the rumbling of thunder.

‘It’s always been so from time immemorial. It will never end. From the time of slave trade to the feudal lords and the bourgeoisies; it’s always being man using the helpless man as a means and tool for his own selfish ends and survival,’ Monica said, studying his reaction.

‘That isn’t right or just. It’s wicked. We must rise up to such inhumanity and injustice. Look at the squalor and life we live. Is it not the handiwork of our elites and the rich? It’s a deliberate plan to keep us powerless and use us as tools for their political and economic gains and superiority. Why is there a persistent rise in goods and services and in the cost of living?’ Philip asked Monica, as a sudden hush descended on the room. ‘It’s because the rich control the resources. They jack-up prices at will and become richer, and take more money from the poor, who become poorer and struggle to survive. It’s why many are dying of starvation in the world. It’s the world where the rich control the destiny of the poor. It should not be so!’ Philip’s face was red and patched with light sweats.

‘Well… it’s a dog eat dog world!’ Monica said, in a raised voice. ‘You think you can change the world? Are you the messiah or the revolutionist that’s trying to entrench or restate the equality of man? Nothing will ever change. It’s always been about competition and survival. It’s the world where the fittest survive, and the weak suffer or die.’ The argument was making Monica remember Melvin. The way Philip was making her feel at the moment was not déjà vu but reality. In every manner, he was sounding like Melvin. The impression he was creating before her and the things he was saying was not different from the things Melvin were saying, which was the gambit he used cleverly to fool her. So she reminded herself she needed to watch Philip closely. As the age-long saying goes: ‘Once beaten, twice shy.’ ‘Do you not see that what you feel is a farce and wishful thinking? Do I need to remind you what they say that all animals are equal, but some are more equal than others?’ she continued after a light pause.

‘That was George Orwell fighting social injustice. We know he was only being sarcastic. No one should really believe that statement. It’s sold by the elites and the government that want to subjugate and continue to rob us of equality,’ Philip said; his angry voice ringing through the room as Monica sat still and watched him grate his teeth and burn inside. Inasmuch as she was wary of Philip and his seeming resemblance with Melvin; he however, was really beginning to impress her with the way he reasoned, talked and spoke English effortlessly. He sounded too educated and reasonable for the chauffeur he was.

‘Was that writer you mentioned George Orwell or Eric Arthur Blair?’ Monica asked him knowingly, testing his intelligence.

‘It’s the same person. The former is just a pen name,’ Philip replied confidently. There was a fleeting silence. Then a long and awkward one lingered.

‘Why did you do it? Why did you help me?’ Monica asked him after the stretch of silence. Philip exhaled and Monica watched the Adam’s apple in his throat as it bobbed up and down, as he swallowed spittle. A big fly swooped down and perched on the bed and Philip reached out and shooed it away.

‘I did it because it’s the right thing to do, and because it’s squeaky clean,’ he replied softly.

‘You mean to say you can punch your boss in the face and loss your job for anyone?’ she asked him.

‘No. It’s not like that,’ he said, a bit confusedly.

‘Then it’s what?’ Monica asked him, seeing his uneasiness.

‘If I couldn’t do it for you, then I couldn’t have done it for anyone else. I couldn’t stand the sight of him hurting you; laying a finger on you, raping you and smacking you like that. I couldn’t stand the sight of your blood!’ Philip said.

Monica cringed and felt squeamish at the mention of blood. Then she smiled quietly and stared unflinchingly at Philip’s face. In his green eyes, she could see a man that was in love, and a one that could put his life on the line for her. She could see and feel the pureness of the love in his heart. How unselfish, unstained, strong and jealous it really was. The sight and the conviction of it, made Monica bubble with glee. It warmed her cold heart. And for a thin slice of time, she thought of how their hearts have been united and gripped by a single, potent force: love. After the barbaric, disgraceful and cold-hearted encounter with Danny, where she was almost raped, mistreated and battered in his hands, she had almost come to feel like her endless search for true love and her pursuit of happiness was the most elusive, the thorniest ever, and like the Pandora’s box. And so, this faint ray of hope, of light at the end of the tunnel made her pray this time that Philip would not be the poisoned chalice like that rapist, Danny, or the heartless conman, Melvin, and his companion, the perfidious Richard. Yet she craved for that conviction. That glaring and absolute truth that would solidify her feeling about Philip and offer her the irrefutable proof that would make her feel safe in the knowledge that Philip’s unselfish and unblemished love was absolute, pure and true.

Now at least, she could see there was a silver lining in the dark cloud. Yet she felt and knew that this singular kind act of his was not enough. How could it be, when Philip was sounding like Melvin? It was merely a step, down the long and crooked road of proof of his sincere and untarnished love for her.