The Sweet Revenge………….Part 4

It was a slaughter. I played worse than I had in years, and my obvious emotions affected Kike as well. Dele, by contrast, was really on his game, and his big, booming ground strokes were scorching over the net like rounds from a machine gun. To make things worse, he was constantly taunting me throughout the match. "Come on, Femi, you can hit it harder than that," he yelled after I floated a weak shot that he smashed for a winner. Another time he yelled, "Your wife can hit it harder than that. Oh, wait, my bad: you don't have a wife." I just fumed.


To add insult to injury, our little match had drawn a crowd, and I looked up to see Fidelia standing by the fence. To her credit, she did wince at some of Dele's comments, but she never looked in my direction.

At one point, I floated a weak second serve over the net, and Dele ripped it straight at Kike. It bounced off her shoulder and nearly knocked her down. I rushed to the net with my racket cocked, ready to decapitate the bastard, but Kike grabbed my arm and pleaded with me not to go over the net after him. "It was fair shot," she said. "I'm okay, I'm not hurt. It's just part of the game."

I stared at him with venom in my eyes as he pretended to tie his shoelace. Finally, I walked back to my position in angry frustration.

The final score was 6-2, 6-1, a humiliating defeat. Gritting my teeth, I went to the net to shake hands with our opponents. Dele's partner seemed embarrassed by his display and mouthed an apology to me when she shook my hand. Dele, however, simply walked up to us and, without bothering to extend his hand, said, "That was a lot of fun. Let's do it again the next time you feel like taking a beating." Then he pointedly turned, walked over to Fidelia and gave her a big kiss over the waist-high fence.

I don't know what Kike saw in my face, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me off the court. "He's trying to provoke you, Femi. He'd love for you to start a fight with him. Don't let him get to you. Please, for my sake."

I sat down on the bleachers and somebody handed me a cup of ice water. I took a few sips and then dumped the remainder on my head. I couldn't have felt much worse than I did that afternoon. I apologized to Kike for playing so poorly, and although she protested, I got in my car and headed home.

Throwing my clothes in the hamper, I dragged myself into the shower and proceeded to let the water cascade off of me for half an hour. When the water finally turned cold, I got out, dried myself off and then plopped down on the bed, angry and disgusted.

I knew why I had lost: I  had let Dele get to me. That knowledge only made me feel worse. He got to me and he got to Fidelia too, though obviously in a different way. Nevertheless, the outcome was the same: to turn a loser like Dele into the big winner. I swore to myself that I wasn't going to take any more of Dele's abuse, or Fidelia's either. I was going to find a way to turn the tables on them both. Now all I had to do was come up with a way to accomplish that.

I lay back on the bed and thought about what my old tennis coach used to tell me: "Play to your opponent's weakness." It sounded good in theory, but how could I apply that in this situation?

I know myself. Once I start working on a problem, my brain will keep attacking it even when my conscious mind turns to other tasks. In fact I've often found that if I leave a problem alone for a while, when I come back to it the solution is easy to see. And that's what happened in this case. I chewed on the challenge for a while and then set it aside to spend most of Sunday catching up on the yard work that I neglected. By that night I was tired enough that falling asleep was no problem. When I got into work the next day, I realized I had a possible solution. "It's probably going to be expensive," I thought to myself, "but if it works, it'll be worth it."

About mid-morning I gave a call to one of our top sales guys. "Hey, Aliu," I said when I reached him, "any chance you could have lunch with me today? My treat."

"Sure, Femi, especially if you're buying."

We met at a bar  I know that's a little run-down but has great food. After we'd ordered, Aliu looked over at me. "Hey, Femi, I was real sorry to hear about you and Fidelia. I thought you guys had everything going for you."

"Yeah, me too, Aliu, me too. But actually, that's sort of why I wanted to talk to you."

"Sure, Femi, I  would be glad to help any way I can."

"OK, Aliu, so here's my question: when you're entertaining your best clients, have you ever had occasion to use an escort service?"

He looked at me oddly. "No, Femi, absolutely not. That's against company policy, and I would never do that."

I leaned over the table toward him. "Aliu, this is not a company issue, and we're not on business here. This is strictly personal, if you know what I mean."

He looked at me for a few seconds, and then light dawned in his eyes. "Oh, I get it," he said. "I guess it's been a long dry spell for you, what with the wife splitting and you being out of the dating game and all."

He paused and then leaned closer to me. "Sure, I know one of the top services in the city. But listen, Femi, they cater only to the biggest hitters, understand? Their girls are unbelievable, but I think they may be way out of your price range."

I smiled at him. "You let me worry about that. Just tell me how to get in touch with them and what to expect."

And over brews, he did exactly that.

I was nervous that afternoon as I went over the notes I made during lunch. I hoped I was doing the right thing. Then I remembered Dele taunting me and Fidelia's cold-eyed announcement that she was leaving, and I decided to go for it.

I called the number Aliu had given me, and a pleasant male voice answered. "Hello. May I help you?"

"Yes, I  would like to speak to Mr. Madu Nkpa," I said as I had been instructed.

"This is Mr. Nkpa," the voice responded. "What are you looking for?"

"Something from the Grove Press," was my response.

"Please give me your name, sir."

I thought about using a pseudonym, but Aliu had been very explicit about the need to identify myself accurately. "They're always worried about the NAPTIF squad," he told me. "They'll go to great lengths to make sure you're not a cop trying to set them up."

I gave him my real name.

"Are you calling from your office?" Mr. Nkpa asked.

"Yes," I replied, "but this is a personal matter. It has nothing to do with my company."

"I quite understand, sir. Now would you give me the switchboard number where you work?"

"Sure," I said, "but wouldn't you rather have my direct line instead?"

No," he replied. "I will call the main number and ask for you; then we'll be able to attend to your business."

"Pretty clever," I thought to myself. "If he calls and the operator answers, he knows he's calling a real company, not the police station. And if she transfers his call to me, he'll know I'm really an employee of the company. It's not foolproof, but it's pretty darn good."

I gave him the main switchboard number and he hung up immediately. A couple of minutes later, my phone rang and the operator transferred a call to me. It was "Mr. Nkpa."

Next he asked me for my phone number. "This will allow us to contact you outside working hours, if that is required," he explained.

After I  gave it to him, he went on. "Now that we've dispensed with the identification process," he said smoothly, "please tell me how our service may help you."

"I'm looking for a very special companion who can be available for a series of occasions that may stretch over a month or more."

"Hmm," the voice said, "that's a bit out of the ordinary. We don't usually make commitments for such an extended period of time. We may be able to help you, but it will be expensive." He quoted me a price that made my eyes water.

I gulped. "That will be fine, Mr. Nkpa."

"Very well, do you have any special requirements?"

"Yes," I said, "she has to look like a goddess."

He chuckled. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, sir. But I think you'll be able to find a companion suitable for your needs."

He paused. "Do you have a pen handy?"

When I assured him that I did, he proceeded to give me the address for their website. I noted that the URL began with HTTPS, indicating a secure server. When I had it down, he told me to my amusement that when I was prompted for a user name to enter "Anais Nin." Then he gave me a numerical password.

"Please understand, sir, that both the user name and password will change after your selection has been made. This is for your security as well as our own."

When I acknowledged my understanding, he went on. "Now about the matter of payment, sir, once you have made your selection and she is scheduled for a session, your credit card will be charged in the amount to which you have just agreed. In addition, our clients are expected to show their appreciation directly to our companions. If everything is satisfactory, we recommend a gratuity of 25%."

I did some quick mental mathematics. "This had better work," I thought, "or I'm going to be broke as well as humiliated."

"Very well, sir. Whenever you are ready to make your selection, please proceed to our website. You will be able to make all other arrangements there. Good day, sir." With that, the line went dead.

I waited till I got home that night to access the website "Madu" had given me. The main screen identified itself as only as "Match Services" with the tagline "Catering to the needs of the most discerning clients." The user name and password "Madu" had provided got me into the site, and a window opened up that could have come straight from the pages of a Victoria's Secret catalog.

The women pictured there were all so gorgeous that I wondered why they weren't in modeling rather than the escort business. In fact, I even wondered if the pictures could have been copied from some modeling site as part of some kind of bait-and-switch con. But my buddy Aliu had insisted that Match was for real, so I decided to take my chances.

The photo of a woman with dark shoulder-length hair caught my attention, and I impulsively clicked on "Latifah." The confirmation that appeared on my screen assured me that Latifah would contact me within twenty-four hours to arrange our meeting. Next I was prompted for my credit card information. Once the card number and expiration date had been verified, the screen went dark and I was suddenly kicked out of the site.

Out of curiosity, I tried to go back to the Match website, but the welcome screen wouldn't recognize the username and password this time, and after a second try I was kicked back to my home page. I was pretty impressed by the security their system used, and decided that was a hopeful sign. If they went to that much trouble, maybe their service was as good as Aliu had indicated.

I was on pins and needles the next day waiting for Latifah to call. At one point I even considered backing out of the deal. My little plan was going to be very expensive to implement, and there was no guarantee of success. But when I went to the break room to get myself  snacks, two secretaries who had been speaking when I walked in immediately fell silent and looked away from me. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was the subject of their conversation. The pain of being the subject of office gossip strengthened my resolve. No matter what, I wasn't going to continue to be the helpless victim if I could do anything about it.

It wasn't until after dinner that my phone rang, and when I answered, a melodious voice said, "Hi, Femi, this is Latifah calling. I'm looking forward to meeting you."

I gulped and then responded, suggesting that we meet for dinner to discuss my request. When she agreed, I suggested the same bar and restaurant where Aliu and I had eaten. It was small, dark and far enough away from Victory Estate that I was unlikely to run into one of my neighbors. She laughed. "How interesting! I don't believe I've had the pleasure of eating there before. I'll look forward to seeing you there." With that she hung up.

To be continued……………