Seams: The Next Decade - Episode 10

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• You up?

Chibuzor looked at his phone with bleary eyes and felt his stomach churn. It was a little past 11pm. The lights were off, the blinds closed just how he liked it. His eyes needed the rest after hours he’d spent shooting a new web series under blinding lights where he couldn’t blink. He didn’t need this.

He could hear Gozie moving around somewhere in the house, probably cleaning up behind him. It felt unfair to ask him to run interference with Kike. Reluctantly, he sat up. 

• Yeah, I’m up. What’s happening?

• Have you seen the news? 

It took a few seconds to switch between Whatsapp and Instagram, Instablog specifically. The video was a few rows down but the ‘comment to like’ ratio singled it out as the one Kike was referring to. He watched it for a few seconds, feeling that stomach churn morph into a full body clench. He forwarded the message to Gozie and massaged his temples, already too tired to face the next day. 

• Fucking hell. Do you know where she is?

• I don’t, but at least she’s taking her calls. 

• What now?

• We can still fix it. I’ve called around. Most felt it was too short notice but TVC is giving us a 40 minute slot just before Your View. They’ll spin at as a special segment.

Chibuzor swiped over to his browser and googled the station’s address. He groaned. 

• It’s in fucking Ketu. 

• I know. We all have to be there by 6am at the latest so you both can get into hair and makeup. I know it’s a lot but they’re doing this because I promised them you were doing the interview. 

His phone beeped to notify him about a new email. He downloaded the contents, three high resolution posters with his and Panlam’s faces positioned just so that it looked they were UFC fighters about to face off in the ring. He chuckled in spite of himself at the absurdity of it and forwarded the email to Gozie. 

• For social?

• Yeah. Should I order you an Uber in the morning?

• No, I’ll find my way there tonight. Hate travelling in morning rush hour.

• Thank you, you’re literally saving my life.

Chibuzor didn’t reply. Answering would have telegraphed he was fine with her making decisions without asking him. He wormed his way out of his hammock and went to fish the Jardin De Mamie suit cover in his closet. 

“Are you there?” Gozie asked. 

“For fuck sake, yes I am. We’re literally just driving into the compound.”

Gozie had insisted they stayed on a call as the Uber driver drove him through town and down to the boutique hotel he had found, two streets away from TV Continental’s studio plot. He waited till the driver ended the trip before he got out, and found his way to the reception desk. Gozie was already on the phone with the receptionist at the till and she smiled and handed him a key when he approached, gesturing that his room was upstairs. 

“You know I’m not a baby, yeah?” Chibuzor said, as he unlocked his room. 

Gozie laughed on the other end. “I’ve heard. Text me when you’re checking out, I’ll be at the studio by 7.”

Chibuzor dumped his luggage on the bed and ended the call. He scrolled through his apps, pulling up the familiar yellow tribal mask. He’d downloaded Grindr when he was leaving his house and hadn’t opened it since the call with Gozie started but he already had a dozen messages waiting when he finally checked. His new muscular body was like bloody bait in a sea full of sharks. He opened each one, leaving all unread. Most were in Lekki, of no use to him here. He went back to the homepage, opened his bio and clicked ‘edit profile’. He imported a photo of himself swimming in a speedo from cloud storage, and changed the profile picture. The photo was 6 months old, all the exercise he’d indulged in these last few months had decimated all the plump in his ass, but his new six packs seemed adequate compensation.  

“The circus has arrived in Ketu, come learn a trick or two from the ringmaster, one night only.” He muttered as he typed in a new bio, testing it for cadence. Old tricks die hard. 

• Do you tame lions?

The first message came in almost immediately Grindr approved the new profile photo. The person who’d sent had a photo of the Farnese Hercules as his profile photo with ‘Headless Torso’ as his username, with a bio that quoted Rihanna’s ‘Kiss It Better’. Chibuzor was truly intrigued. 

• Wild animals are my specialty.

• Ohhh, I hope you fuck as good as you banter. 

• I hope you don’t run from dick. 

• And dishonor my family name. God forbid!

He doubled over in laughter. Other messages were coming in, but he had a good feeling about this one so he ignored the rest. 

• I host, and I have a few weird requests, I hope you don’t mind. 

Headless Torso sent a thumbs up emoji. 

• Okay. No drugs, not even weed. I want you to be able to consent to everything we do. 

• No sleeping over. 

• I don’t pay for Ubers. 

• And I’ll ask for your I.D when you get here, security and what not. 

The messages delivered and Headless Torso went offline. 

Chibuzor waited, bouncing between distracting himself with Instagram and mildly entertaining the stream of unclad bodies that tested the waters with a cautious ‘Hey’ and the empty profiles who felt the appropriate way to open a discussion was a grainy dick pic. He felt torn, it was safer to lay all the cards before they got off the app but this wasn’t the first time his wariness had scared people off. 

After 45 minutes he circled back to the profile and checked to see if his message had delivered. It hadn’t. So he double texted. 

• You don’t have to do any of it if you don’t want to, we could just talk here. 

The black bulb that indicated online status switched from black to green. A timed photo followed, and Chibuzor felt his body surge with endorphins. He opened it, and tried to cram as much as he could once he realised it was a photo of a driver’s license. Yakub, 29, 187cm, a widow’s peak on low cut hair. 

• Seen it? Don’t like to take any important documents with me on a hook up. 

• Yeah. You have Telegram? I can send my location there. 

• Yeah, try YakubLovesU.

Chibuzor copied the name and switched to his Telegram. Yakub’s profile came up seconds after he put the username in and Chibuzor push messaged him a live location. He tapped the location tag Yakub sent in response and Telegram redirected him to Google Maps. The map it brought up didn’t offer any insight so Chibuzor requested for a trip distance estimate. They came up to forty minutes if he was walking, twenty-two if he was driving. He went to his overnight bag and pulled out condoms, lubricant and a packet of Ciafil. He went to the en-suite bathroom, filled his palm with water and swallowed. Ciafil always gave him a headache after it wore off but with these kinds of trysts, he tried to leave nothing to chance. 

The television cast a ghostly glow on the room as he waited, scrolling on his phone. His pulse hammered like crazy and he felt a little light headed as the drug worked its way through him, but he was used to it at this point. He heard a knock and went to check through the peephole. Yakub stood on the other end, distorted by the fisheye lens.

“Ringmaster?” He said, and held up his driver’s license. It was impossible to read through the peephole so Chibuzor took a leap of faith and opened the door. 

“You’re taller than I expected…” Yakub said as Chibuzor locked the door behind him, his black briefs the only clothing he had on, “and hot.”

Chibuzor didn’t mind that he was femme, but felt a little slighted that he hadn’t mentioned it. Yakub’s eyes were heavy-lidded and he wore black nail polish on his fingers. His shorts were short enough that there was no way the receptionist didn’t clock him. But he was here now, and it was too late to think of all of that. 

Chibuzor wriggled out of his briefs, his penis erect in spite of the mild annoyance he felt about Yakub’s overtness. Yakub made eye contact, a tiny bit of defiance before he dropped to his knees and took Chibuzor in his mouth. 

The light-headedness worked well with this new sensation and they quickly found a rhythm, Yakub pliant as his hips moved. Sufficiently aroused, Chibuzor deftly undressed him, pleasantly surprised to find he hadn’t worn underwear. He smacked him, guiding him by the hips to the bed where he’d laid out the night’s paraphernalia. 

Back to chest, Chibuzor worked him, spreading slick fingers between his thighs and up his perineum. Yakub thankfully wasn’t one to gasp theatrically, even though there was no resistance when Chibuzor’s fingers went up, two at a time.  He tore at a condom, slid it on himself. 

“You want me to fuck you?” Chibuzor whispered, desire gravelling his voice. 

Yakub’s body bucked, tensing at initial contact. Then, all of him seemed to give, sinking into Chibuzor’s cradling arms as he thrust. He listened to the music on loop, syncopating his hips with its drum loops as some rudimentary measure of time. Yakub was on an entirely other plane, he whimpered and mewled, incoherent as he tried to articulate what Chibuzor was doing to him. They switched positions so he could watch as Yakub lost his shit, ankles to his ears. The end came like a shockwave, rocking through both their bodies, leaving a ghostly ringing in Chibuzor’s ears. He rolled off Yakub and glanced at the time. A little after 2am. Completely exhausted, Chibuzor didn’t protest as Yakub crawled off the bed and dragged himself to the bathroom. When he came out, Chibuzor was waiting by the edge of the bed, Yakub’s clothes neatly arranged beside him. 

“I’d have called an Uber, but I’m not sure where you want him to take you to.”

Yakub’s face fell, but only for a moment. He seemed to reconstitute himself, the playfulness hardening into something else.

“Don’t worry, I can find my way home myself.”

He pulled on his clothes as Chibuzor watched quietly and made for the door. Chibuzor waited till the door closed before he followed to lock it. His phone dinged and though he had an idea of what it would be, he still checked. 

• Small confession, Ringmaster. Recognized you the minute I entered the room.

•  I guess that’s why you have so many rules. 

• Still, I had a good time and I think we really have good chemistry. 

• Let’s do this next time you’re in my area. 

He contemplated it for a second, then hit the block button. 

#

Gozie was waiting outside when his Uber pulled up to the TVC compound. Together they filled a visitor’s log and walked up the building itself, where they registered a second time and waited in plush chairs. It was a little past seven but the entire place was alive with activity. Interns swarmed like worker bees, chaperoning makeup artists and hair stylists to attend to the guests for the day’s taping of Your View, an actress promoting a new movie and a health official who kept fiddling with his notes as he tried to discuss the spreading Lassa Fever epidemic with the clearly disinterested actress. Kike arrived in sweat pants a few minutes later, dragging a huge carry on behind her. Adeola followed, dressed for school. Chibuzor lit up when he saw the boy and swept him into a hug. 

“Hey Angelbaby, I’ve missed you.” He cooed, tugging at Adeola’s cheeks. 

Kike rolled her eyes and hugged Gozie, handing off her bag to him. 

“Trust that I will not hesitate to ship him to your house, if you people baby him into becoming a spoilt teenager.”  she said, eyeing Chibuzor. 

“Hahaha! Is that your idea of a threat?”

“Of course. Wait until you have to feed him three times a day.” 

Kike looked around as Chibuzor made Adeola sit on the arm of his chair and quizzed him about school. 

“She told me she was already here. Have you seen her?” She asked Gozie, whispering so Chibuzor wouldn’t hear. 

“I texted, she’s already in makeup.” Gozie replied, gesturing in the direction of the expansive multi-stage set behind them.  

“Okay, at least she’s committed to do this. She hates makeup. Let’s get Chibuzor in.”

Kike excused herself and went to speak to the duo at the reception desk. She waited as they made some calls and an intern came to get Chibuzor and Gozie and take them to the green room for the morning show. 

“Just go, I need to sort out Adeola, will join you guys before 8.”

Panlam was seated waiting for the makeup team when they got into the green room. She was wearing a severe bob wig, her nails were acrylic and short, coated with clear nail polish. Chibuzor took her in as he entered, surprised at how much she’d altered her appearance for this interview at short notice.

“His arrest, was that you?” He asked as he sat. 

Gozie had followed the intern to find a steamer for Chibuzor’s suit which he had somehow managed to crumple on the drive down. 

“Yeah.” Panlam replied noncommittally. It was very convincing, but he had done enough interviews to know she was as nervous as he was. 

“Why?” He pressed. “I know you won’t talk to Kike, but you need to tell me what I need to know so we don’t end up looking foolish out there.”

“He finally slipped up and played into the trap of the detective investigating his case. The whole thing happened in Ghana so it’s an interpol matter. The police will give a statement today or tomorrow. He’s secured bail.”

In spite of himself, Chibuzor was impressed. Panlam was ruthless when she needed to be, it was what had drawn him to her in the first place. But he’d underestimated the scope of her entanglement with Basim Adiemen and how far she’d go to get hers. 

“Does Farhad know?” 

Panlam made a face. Even though they all knew she and Farhad were together, she always acted slighted when anyone brought it up. “What does have to do with anything?”

“Farhad and I hung out recently.” Chibuzor offered, “Still don’t know how you 

managed to rope him into a relationship for this long. He’s a good guy but you treat him like shit. He deserves better.”

Panlam bit her lip from responding. She’d have to face him in front of thousands of viewers and there was no point let him work her up now. 

“I know you’re like a gossip blogger so certain concepts are hard for you to understand but our relationship is no one’s business.” 

“Hahahahaha! Pretty rich for you to talk about people disrespecting other people’s boundaries. There are videos of me on Pornhub that I can never get off the internet because of…”

Just then an intern peeked into the green room and nodded in greeting. 

“The makeup team is ready for you both now.”

Panlam rose, brushing brusquely past Chibuzor as they filed out of the room. Gozie and Kike watched from the other end of the set where he was steaming Chibuzor’s suit. 

“Was this a bad idea?” Kike asked. She seemed more tired than he had ever seen her. 

“I don’t think so,” he said, “They’re both professionals, they know not to let their personal issues cloud their work, especially on national television. Where’s your son?”

Kike glanced at her phone. The Uber app was open and a miniature car blipped across a crude map on the screen. 

“Put him in an Uber. He has a mobile phone now, so he will call when the Uber gets to his school.”

“Is that safe?”

“No, but his father has been shuttling around the country sorting out some inheritance nonsense. Sometimes I’m so grateful my father grew up poor. It’s almost not worth the trouble of having money if they’ll make you suffer to use it.”

Gozie shrugged. He didn’t agree with her about growing up lower middle class, but he understood her frustrations. Growing up around friends with the money to make problems go away had made Chibuzor reckless as a teenager. It had almost ruined his brother’s life and now that it wasn’t something they worried about anymore, it bothered him that Chibuzor didn’t see how he was starting to abuse the privileges money gave him. 

He looked at the suit he was steaming and at the intern who’d been assigned to assist them hovering nervously, worried that he would somehow put her in trouble for letting him do grunt work. The relief on her face saddened him as he turned off the machine and replaced its nozzle. 

“We should get them ready.”

#

The anxiety in the room was palpable as the producer counted down to start the segment. Chibuzor’s taupe suit sat like second-skin on his shoulders and Panlam looked nothing like herself, her jeans and hoodie uniform replaced with a svelte dress and black court shoes. She even wore costume jewellery.  

Chibuzor had chosen chairs instead of a circular couch at the last minute, insisting it would be better for optics. The producers indulged and moved them to an empty soundstage, borrowing high backed chairs from a nearby office. By the time they were set up, it was mere seconds to air. Gozie and Kike tried to keep their faces neutral as Panlam and Chibuzor breezed through preliminaries, but they were both wound up. It was live television, and Panlam had hedged till the very last minute. Everything was up in the air from here on. 

Chibuzor seemed to morph in the limelight, his attention microfocused on Panlam. 

“The question everyone wants to know, why would you do this now, when you are literally a week from what is potentially a career defining win at the Movie Awards next weekend and you’re about to announce a global partnership?”

Panlam was still as a lake, emoting only with her eyes. “Which one, the arrest or the announcement?”

“Both?”

“I felt it was time. Interpol had sufficient evidence to prove he had contravened international law and there was no need for me to remain silent.”

“What international laws?”

“Child pornography, soliciting a minor, sex trafficking.”

A chill went through all of them. Chibuzor barely managed to keep a straight face.

“Those are very strong accusations, Panlam.”

Panlam gave a thin smile. “That is why Interpol is making those accusations not me. I have only spoken up about Adiemen’s plagiarism because I felt ashamed that I allowed him to take advantage of me, and kept quiet when I found out he was taking advantage of minors as well.”

“Take advantage of you?” 

Panlam hid her clenched fist in her lap. When she spoke her voice trembled slightly. 

“Yes. I entered a physical relationship with him. He was aware I was already partnered and convinced me to perform certain acts which he recorded without my consent. He used his recordings to force me to renounce my intellectual property rights on the projects we had collaborated on. I let shame keep me from holding him accountable for this long. But no more.”

“That sounds horrible. You are so very brave.” Chibuzor said, meaning every word. 

“It is. Especially because I have been the person who didn’t respect other people’s physical and emotional boundaries, and I understand now how damaging that can be to a person’s psyche, to be violated like that. Speaking up is the only way to break the cycle.”

They shared a glance that ran deeper than the interview. 

Chibuzor looked away first, feeling himself get overwhelmed. He took a drink of the water set beside him and tried to focus on the sensation of the water travelling down his throat. His therapist had taught him that, and it served him here, grounding him in the present. 

“You are a filmmaker on the rise. Subversive but talented. Are you afraid the blowback from this will somehow harm your career?”

Panlam scoffed, as though mocking the absurdity of Chibuzor’s question. 

“My talent is immutable and it will outlive the people who try to stifle it or corrupt it. My work will work the change it’s meant to, where I do it in my 20’s or in my 50’s. I’m content to wait.”

The producer signed to Chibuzor that they were down to the 3 minute mark. Even the way he did this was reverent, as though he would have let the interview continue if he could. Chibuzor breathed deeply to clear the dourness that seemed to have enveloped them and took on a cheerful affect, steering the interview back into shallow waters. They ended with a question about what she hoped would happen if she won the best director and best documentary awards she was nominated for. As the lights dimmed and the cameras cut to commercial, Kike’s phone began to ring. She excused herself and drifted away, Gozie close behind her. 

Chibuzor and Panlam sat in awkward silence, unsure of how to process the interview that had just happened. The film crew dispersed to the other set where Your View was starting, soundlessly disappearing into the dark. The performance was over and now they were left with each other. 

“I know I never said it, and I know we can never go back to being the people we were in 2015, but I’m sorry for what I did. It was a fucked up thing to do. I know better now.”

The symbolism of her apology happening now wasn’t lost on him, here they were on another stage, roles reversed, her future in his hands. He’d done the right thing, when he had every right not to. He knew she knew now what it meant to have been violated in that way, and that she knew it was cruel to ask him to forgive her even as she sought vengeance on someone else who did something similar to her. They surveyed each other with filmy eyes, both fully understanding he wouldn’t forgive her. There simply wasn’t space for forgiveness between them, not the kind that mattered, but he appreciated that she tried anyway. 

Panlam stood first, took something out of the pocket of her dress. It was a coin token made with some kind of mold. It was for the awards ceremony; ‘Admits One’ stood in relief on the plastic. 

She placed it gingerly on her chair. 

“It would mean a lot to me if you came.”