Chapter Thirty-seven

Henry touched his tie to make sure that the knots were in perfect position as they should be, and he felt Fiona doing the last touches to her looks with a small compact mirror which she had pulled out from her Kate Spade bag. But he felt that it was not necessary as a hair and makeup person had come to the house to do her looks and get her picture-perfect for their night out. Anyhow, she as a woman and women loved touching up their looks, no matter how expensive the makeup artist was, or the surgeon that did the last “job”.

‘Oh dear, I forgot to kiss the kids good night,’ she said as one bejeweled hand flew up to pat her high-piled expensive mass of Brazilian red hair into place to make sure that not a strand was out of place.

Her fashionably thin body was poured into a shimmering Givenchy creation that left her shoulders bare and clung to her body like a second skin. A cloud of Chloe perfume exuded from her in suffocating waves that almost had Henry coughing, though he refrained from saying anything so as not to offend her vanity. He wanted to comment that her Givenchy was so ridiculously expensive, she should not take it off the next three weeks. Get value for the money.  But he could not say all that—that would hurt her feelings, given the time and money she’d poured into looking like for this event.

‘So did I, honey,’ he said instead, his body inching close to hers for reassurance because of the apprehension he was feeling. He knew that Phoenix was coming to the Actors Guild of Nigeria Award Night since he was the one they all were there to honor because of his dazzling performance in the latest movie he’d made: Fatal Attraction. He was terrified of what he’d feel when he saw the other guy, for he was sure he would see him. You couldn’t attend such events and not be seen.

The thought of the guy had his lips curling in amusement as he remembered that his mother had almost expired from apoplexy when the actor had named the hefty salary he’d wanted to be paid. There she was, wailing like a Banshee about how ungrateful and greedy Phoenix was, and he’d merely told her that since she was the one that had wanted to get the guy involved in what she was trying to do, she had to pay his price. She had hemmed and hawed, but in the end, she had given in; and boy, was she glad! Henry hadn’t remarked further, but he was glad too that she’d paid Phoenix his dues.

After the ten-week extensive shooting of the movie to the ridiculous expectations of T. O. Phoenix, Henry had gone for the screening, right before it would go to the Censors Board for final cutting and then it would find its way into the cinemas. And he had to say that Phoenix was a real breath of fresh air, and he knew that the world was waiting with bated breath for the release since it was to coincide with the recent proposal by the National Assembly for the criminalization of all homosexual acts in the country. It had been timed perfectly; the release of the movie to coincide with the heated debates on the floors of the National Assembly. The international community were already up in arms against the proposed Bill to criminalize all same-sex affairs in Nigeria, and Fatal Attraction would be a fascinating piece to be added to the debate. Which meant more publicity, more viewership at the Cinema houses spread across Nigeria, more interviews for the actors, and more money for the Studio. It was a perfect arrangement.

The chauffeur-driven car purred to a stop before the red carpet. Photographers, press secretaries, journalists, and gossip bloggers from the major popular lifestyle blogs in Nigeria waited for each entrant, pens and notepads ready, cameras poised at the ready to capture each titillating moment.

Henry and his wife alighted from the car but not before Fiona had taken ten seconds to get out from the car, flashing the view of her fair, toned legs for the cameras to flash at when she was still inside the sleek car. It was a gesture Henry knew she’d been practicing for ages, and he found it amusing that she was trying to play the sexy starlet of the screens when she was not. She was trying so hard to fit in, and in all fairness to her she was now being noticed by the bloggers and the gossip columns. She now got her face in blog posts, her attire and fashion sense becoming narratives for discourse by Lagos’s Fashion editors and bloggers.

After they’d stepped down and waved, posing for snapshots as their chauffeur eased the car forward and away from the entrance, heading towards the designated car part, a Bentley coupe pulled up and ground to a halt with the screech of tires. T. O. Phoenix alighted from the driver’s seat, letting a uniformed usher take over the wheel.

The actor was dressed in azure blue and with him was a young woman who was as tall as she was thin, her butter-light complexion a testament to spa treatments and body pampering, her erect, hard-looked poise an indicator that she must have walked the catwalks as a model. She seemed to be so perfectly fitted to Phoenix, it was as if they had been created for each other.

They were swamped immediately by the reporters there, and flash went the cameras, hundreds of flashes. A volley of questions came from the reporters, the air thick with cloying perfume and expectations. Questions were hauled from all directions. Phoenix kept up that small smile that was his signature look.

‘Phoenix, now that the anti-gay bill is about to be passed, what will happen to the movie?’

‘Phoenix, is it true that you’re now lovers with your Canadian co-star, Andrew Young?’

Phoenix kept smiling at them all with that look of utter serenity and calm that he always invariably gave off, and then he was talking, telling them to wait for the official statement that would be issued from his publicist. But for now, there was nothing he could say to them that could not wait for later. Then he turned and matched away, his companion in tow, both of them talking and laughing with an intimacy that seriously wounded Henry’s senses.

‘Talk about charisma,’ Fiona said. Her perfectly drawn eyebrows were lifted in an arch while her eyes followed the fast retreating figure of the effeminate actor.

With a snicker, Henry pulled her along, stopping before the press to give the necessary smiles and the waves that was expected of him as the person he was in the society, then he moved into the hall. Fiona’s attention was immediately claimed by Rosalie Johnson who was perfectly turned out in a floor-length creation that was molded to her thin figure, the carefully placed rhinestones that formed flower patterns that intersected through the length of the gown shimmering with each carefully measured step she took. She was the queen of elegance, and she had engaged the forces of that elegance with full force and alacrity tonight. She is a former beauty queen, after all, Henry thought.

Henry got engaged in little conversations here and there, and then after the polite interval of nonsense chitchat had passed and he found he could run away if he chose, he excused himself from the persons that were forming circles around him. He grabbed a flute of Chardonnay from a passing waitress and then repaired to the balcony from where he watched the proceedings and those that had chosen to come in fashionably late so they could be the most noticed.

There were comfortable chairs on the expansive balcony, with lots of heavily scented artificial flowers. He drew in lungfuls of the scented petals, his eyes closed, his mind floating with the weight of his own thoughts.

In his mind, he was thrilled that Phoenix had deigned to come to the place that evening; after all, he was a Bankable star and did not need to come and bow to the directors who were all there prowling for the asses to fuck just so they could hand out very little favors to the starving actors who were desperately in need of their favors because they wanted to do anything that was possible just so they could get into the limelight and become the known faces in the movie business.

It was a dog eat dog world that they lived in, there in Nollywood. You had to eat or be eaten, and the fact that you considered yourself harmless didn’t mean that others would leave you alone. Turn your back, even for an instant, and you were meat for the other starving actors who would do anything to replace you.

Phoenix had explained all these to him, and as head of a reputable movie Studio, he’d seen the cutthroat competition first hand.

Henry let his mind drift back to his secondary school days when he had an effeminate classmate, a beautiful, thin, smiling boy who was “different”. The others always taunted Sochima because they had learnt to fear and hate anything that was different from what they were used to. They were the macho boys with the newly forming muscles, deepening baritones and forming facial hairs while he was the soft, delicate one with the smooth complexion of a blossoming girl. They had a name for the boy then: Homo.

Henry had dished out his own beatings and taunting to him because he happened to be one of the very happening boys in the school, one of those that “belonged”, so that had given him the license to pick on Sochima as if he was a sort of natural aberration. He had been one of those that wanted to “correct” the abnormality in Sochima.

As he thought back to those, long, bygone years, he wondered if really Sochima had been gay. Did being girly as a boy make you gay? What if the boy had been as straight as an arrow in spite of the fact that he was girly? And even if he was gay, so what? Did that make him any less than the person he was meant to be? Wasn’t Henry himself gay? Wasn’t he the same thing he’d fought so hard against? Didn’t his penis prick up and throb with passionate desire whenever he saw a naked male body on the Internet?

Suddenly, Henry’s eyes flew open. He felt a pinprick sensation at the back of his neck; eh felt the presence of someone else with him there, that he was no longer alone. In the shadowy darkness of the balcony, he turned his attention to the right, and Phoenix stood at the other end of the balcony, staring at him.

‘You were lost in thought when I came in here so I had to stay still and not disturb you,’ Phoenix said as he fixed Henry with those intense brown eyes of his.

‘I was thinking about you,’ Henry admitted with all the levels of truth he felt he could muster, walking to the other guy and leaning against the railing beside him so they could both stare into the night. It was a comforting feeling, him standing here with this guy, his first love.

‘You had better stop this because you’re not doing yourself any good by continuing to think of me because the thing you want to continue will never happen again. Not in this life or in the next life, as they say.’ Phoenix laughed and threw his head back, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Henry swallowed as the pain that came with what the one beside him had said hit him like a hammer in the chest. ‘Did you think I chose this life for myself?’ he demanded. ‘Why would I－or any other person for that matter－choose this kind of life for themselves when they know the full implications of what the society thinks of them?’

‘But still, you are one,’ Phoenix said with the cold, ruthless logic he was known for. ‘Do not try to make it worse than it already is for you. You are one of the very lucky ones; no one in this earth is going to believe the fact that you get off on having sex with other men other than women. You are lucky; others aren’t.’

Henry ignored the rebuke that was hidden in the words. ‘Do you remember that you had said to me that you could hook guys up with other guys who wanted to be hooked up with potential lovers there? I think I may be interested now, since you have no wish to have me again. Or do you intend to change your mind?’ He had said those words to elicit some kind of reaction—he had hoped for jealousy and possessiveness.

Phoenix looked at him and smiled, saying nothing as he was often fond of doing to people; he loved to keep them waiting so that they were forever left in suspense with him, never knowing what to expect.

At that instant, the young woman Phoenix had come with entered into the balcony and greeted Phoenix in a low voice. Henry got a good look at her, this young woman who had taken away the affections of his lover from him. She had natural good looks, he’d give her that, even through those layers of makeup she wore, and he found that he hated her for what she was, for the fact that she was free to love this guy in the open and even receive the blessings of the public for that fact while he could not dare profess the same love to Phoenix.

He was unaware when the two of them left him there and turned away to go and join in the party with the others. He should be joining them, he knew, but he wanted to stay here and enjoy the sorrow that had engulfed him. He felt the sorrow at the fact that the guy he loved was now forever away from his reach, and he understood it, though he did not forgive it. He understood the actor and also other countless, faceless, non-existent guys like him who were hiding in their love for what they wanted, and there was the fact that they could not be given any recognitions whatsoever by the people because they were considered to be taboo.

Tossing back the remnant of his drink down his throat, he dumped the flute down to the nearest receptacle and then he turned to go in. The attendees were on the expansive dance floor, the movers and the shakers of the Nollywood industry, all of them dancing away the night as if they had no sorrows, their perfumed bodies pressing against each other, laughter suffusing the place. He caught sight of several faces he knew; Onwenu was speaking to the busty Cossy; Dominic was laughing with Ramsey, their light complexions so alike that they looked meant for each other; he saw Charlie Boy baying at the top of his voice.

The desperate wanna-be actors and actresses were there too, all of them left there on the fringes to mingle with each other and hope for the best; they had to hope to catch the eyes of one or more of the shakers, and Henry knew they were all willing to do whatever it took to get to where they wanted to be. Ah, dog eat dog world.

Henry saw his mother Rosalie off to one side of the vast room, talking to a young man, and he thought that maybe she wanted to help him out, if he had talent, that is, but it had to be a scenario of quid pro quo between them. Rosalie was not a stupid woman, and he knew that this stunning man may well pass the bedroom test－ didn’t they all? － but if he failed to pass the screen talent test that would be the ultimate determining factor if he was to get his hot ass into the screens, then she would toss him out and hunt for the next guy.

And she had what it took to get her clutches into any guy she wanted to. She was a ravishing beauty even in her fifties, more toned and willowy and well maintained than even those who were three decades younger than she was.

Phoenix was dancing and talking to his companion, and when he saw Henry, he smiled; Henry smiled back. It was their way of saying that they had been lovers, but that now they could also be friends. That was what Phoenix wanted, but that was not what Henry wanted with the guy. Their sexual relationship had formed the basis of whatever it was that had existed between them, and now that it was finally officially over, they had to go their own separate ways.

And it was all because of what Nigeria had made of them. It was over, so he now had only his wife to cling to; there was no lover to go to during the weekends when he wanted to unwind. He had nothing more to look forward to, no secret liaisons to prepare for. It had been like that for a long time, and how could he think that he could just change the way it was?

He turned away from the people dancing, threading his way through the throng of richly dressed bodies to the door, and laughter rang out behind him; they were having fun. He felt the gentle but firm pressure of a hand on his shoulder.

He turned, his eyes taking in the figure of the young man standing before him. The young man was simply but elegantly dressed, the cut of his clothes accentuating the lean, trim figure under it. He noted the taut, hard nipples through the shirt the guy wore as well. He was a very handsome young man, with his chiseled face smooth without being feminine, his eyebrows full and arched above a pair of almond-shaped eyes that held a hungry sexual look.

Remember the eyes, Henry. It always shows in the eyes of the person, so that gives them away always. Never forget that.

It was as if Phoenix was there with him, his voice whispering the secret language that only the homosexuals could understand. It was the look of pure invitation, and it was one Henry could tell for what it was.

It was as if Phoenix was there with him, his voice whispering the secret language that only the homosexuals could understand. It was the look of pure invitation, and it was one Henry could tell for what it was.

‘My name is Anthony Achike,’ the guy said, and there was this smile on his face, one that said that he was in the game, ready to be played. . .hard. ‘I heard that you’re currently looking for those to help promote the new products you’re now importing for Lagos women so they can look younger. I can help with the TV advert; I am a model. I want your help, and I know you want mine. I’m willing to do anything to show I am worthy.’

He might as well be saying: ‘I want you to fuck me senseless,’ Henry thought.

He looked at this guy and the guy looked back at him with boldness and a directness that was daunting, and inviting. Henry felt his mouth already dry. He was lost.

I love you, Phoenix, but I think I have to have this.

Henry smiled back at the guy in invitation. He could already imagine fucking this guy and getting it on with him, but he knew that it would be all about the sex and nothing more; he could never love this guy. He could like the guy, perhaps, but it would never get down to the level of love. And perhaps that was what this young man wanted as well: to either spread his legs for a good fuck or have Henry spread his for a good fuck. Either way, mere sex didn’t make a man gay. But Henry knew that for him it was more than sex.

There was no way in the world that he could love another guy the way he had loved Phoenix; the actor had sucked away everything he had in him for that. But he could surely get down, sweaty and dirty with this guy. Nothing stopped him. Not Fiona—he was ­sorry for what he was doing to her! But he couldn’t help it!

He heard the sound of his phone chime in his pocket, and he extracted the thing to see a white envelope flashing on the screen, signaling that he had a new message. He clicked on the message, and the words filled the screen, all in block capitals.

“I MAY HAVE LOVED YOU, OR THINK THAT I DID. BUT WE GOT TOGETHER BECAUSE YOU WANTED SOMETHING FROM ME AND I FROM YOU. LET US LEAVE IT AT THAT. YOU ARE A HOMO, AND I FEEL SORRY FOR YOU, FOR YOU ARE TRAPPED IN A LOVELESS MARRIAGE. ME—I AM FREE. YOU CAN LEAVE YOUR MARRIAGE AND LIVE YOUR LIFE.”

He did not have the number saved in his contact lists, but he knew it was T. O. Phoenix. Only Phoenix knew who he really was, that the outward sexuality he presented was a scam. This message—was that a joke? But one thing he had to admit was that Phoenix was right: he was gay, and he was trapped in a loveless marriage he would love to get out of. Imagine being married to someone you have zero sexual attraction for.

God! He was well and truly trapped, and Phoenix knew it. The bastard was also right; they had gotten together in the first place because they had wanted something from each other—Phoenix had wanted money and had wanted to rise to the stars; Henry had wanted to know what it felt like to touch another male body, to kiss another male body, to inhale the musky scent that was all-man, to taste the dick of another man, to insert a finger into another man’s puckered hole.

However, it had gone beyond that. He had fallen in love with this Phoenix. He had loved the actor and had been willing to do anything for him, and now it was over? Just like that, it was over? He had to now focus on Fiona, a young woman who had done nothing wrong to him but who he didn’t want to be with?

Henry sighed, unsure of what to do this time around. He could feel the eyes of the young man he’d seen still fixed on him very expectantly, and he was torn between what he had received and the fact that his flesh was pulling him.

With a shake of his head, he turned away from the young man, knowing that he could never get through with it. Everything had started with Phoenix, and everything would also end with the guy, not with someone else. He was a believer that a person had only one true love, that there can never be two loves for a man. But what if—?

He turned back to the young man. He pulled out a translucent blue business card from his pocked and extended it to the young man.

‘Call me next week,’ he ordered. ‘Evening. Around 6 PM. I will be expecting your call.’

He turned and walked away.

For him, Phoenix was it. After him, there could never be any other person in this life for him to love. But what if? What if something good could come out of this meeting with this Achike guy? What if he would get to kiss a man again? Touch hard, erect nipples and lick at rippling muscles? Inhale the musky scent of a man’s groin again while caressing buttock muscles that were hard and firm, not soft and full?

But even as he mulled that thought over in his mind, he had a nagging, sneaking feeling that this was just the beginning of his woes. He was trapped in a marriage with a nice woman he didn’t want to be married to. He had loved a guy who had murdered someone in the past. He was still gay, and no amount of gym workouts, drinks with other guys, macho talks or prayers could wish it all away.

Something dark lay ahead, something nasty and sneaky, something that would rear its head and bite him in the face when he least expected it.

Henry went around to the car park and got the car keys from his driver. The man wanted to know if there was anything he could to assist him further, but Henry waved him away. He unlocked the car and got into the back seat. The leather seat felt cool and comforting, but Henry felt the riotous swirl of angry churning emotions weave through him. He balled his fists and clenched his teeth.

In this life, there are no happy endings, Henry. Especially for a homosexual in this useless country. You will never get a happy ending.

That bitch Phoenix had said that to him once. Oh yeah, Phoenix was the regular Bishop, filled with cold, hard facts and brutal rationalization that had often left Henry’s head spinning.

And in spite of how he wanted to disbelieve the actor, he couldn’t disagree with Phoenix. There were no happy endings for men like him in Nigeria. He knew that many homosexuals had fled the country for ‘saner climes’ where they could live and love in peace, but he couldn’t just up and run. He had his family’s empire to run, and he was married.

Jesus! Married! The thought churned and roiled in his head like burning acid. Bile rose to his throat as the tears he’d tamped down finally flowed. He bit down hard on his right hand to make sure he didn’t give in to a full-scale wail, one that would draw attention. The pain that accompanied the tears was so strong and so profound, he thought he would die. Die from a harmful brand of love that he could not get. And it was all because he could not be with this one person he wanted to be with.

As he cried, he thought: Hello Phoenix. Goodbye Phoenix. The thought repeated itself in his head over and over, in a continuous loop.

I love you, Phoenix.

But that love was useless. Phoenix would agree with him on that, he was sure. Phoenix was a practical person, and he would waste no time in echoing Henry’s thoughts that his declaration of love was useless if there was nothing either of them could about that love.

‘God, save me,’ he said, broken, his tears flowing. But he suspected that God had turned His face away from him. How can He love you when Nigeria says you are a freak? he wondered. How can He love you when your pastors say that you will burn in the flames of eternal damnation?

Even as those thoughts flowed through his mind, he was steeling his resolve. He was not a freak! He was a man, and he had achieved a lot more than many of the simpletons that sat in their decrepit-looking apartments with their sanctimonious noses in the air could have ever achieved. He had made some of the best movies in Nigeria, and he would make more. If being wired to love other men was what made him different, then so be it. So be it!

He had a phone call to look forward to, and perhaps a day of passion; perhaps a new beginning. Or it could be the beginning of the end for him. Either way, he was a man who loved other men, and Phoenix had been a drug to him. He couldn’t give that up now. He was addicted. His body screamed for it. His soul yearned for it. And he intended to give in. But his heart yearned for one person, and one person only, and that person had walked away simply because of the chasm that separated them. Phoenix.

THE END.