She looked at me. Her face, contorted. Her right hand covered her mouth in disgust. The other hand dropped the plate on the bed. The movement of her head signalled an urge to throw up. I didn’t know what to do. Why did I agree to it? Why didn’t I say I couldn’t, in the first place? She dashed to the bathroom almost tripping on a shoe that lay aimlessly on the floor. “Baaaaaah!” She threw up.
————————- Two days ago ————————
“Pick that one,” I said. She looked at me inquisitively and muttered something. She wasn’t audible. I signalled the movie shop attendant to lower the volume. “I suggest you pick that one,” I told her after the volume was lowered.
“Why?” she asked with an inquisitive look.
“It’s the best comedy movie I have ever watched,” I replied.
“The Hangover?” she asked with a look that suggested disbelief. “But it’s a very old movie, produced in 2009.”
“Yes, that’s true. It is part 1 and it’s incredible.” I told her. “Oh, my name is Brian by the way,” I said extending my hand for a handshake.
“Why should I believe you, Brian?” she asked with her judging eyes staring up at me and shaking my hand.
“If you won’t find it funny, I will have to take you out on a movie date at Imax,” I replied with a smile plastered on my face.
Smiling, “and what if I will?” she asked.
“You tell me what you want if that happens?” I said winking at her.
“You cook lunch for me,” she said.
“I don’t cook lunch for random strangers dear,” I told her.
A look that screamed disappointment spread on her face, “so I’m a stranger huh?”
“Not after you tell me your name,” I told her. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Ivy,” she replied with a blushing smile on her face.
“Well, Ivy. Give me your number in case I have to cook,” I said.
I unlocked my phone, hit the dial pad icon on the screen and handed my phone to her to type in her number.
She typed. Her stewed-cherry dress brought out her amazing figure. “Here,” she interrupted my sea of thoughts. “I’ve sent myself a message to get your number.”
“Well then have a good afternoon,” I said bidding her buy.
—————– Yesterday at around 7 pm———
I received a text message.
Ivy: Looks like someone owes me lunch.
Me: And who might that someone be? (wink)
Ivy: The one replying this message.
Me: I don’t recall owing lunch to anybody.
Ivy: That movie was hilarious.
Me: Ooow, that makes me your chef for a few hours?
Ivy: Absolutely. I’m to pick the dish you’ll cook.
Me: That’s unfair considering I will be doing all the cooking.
Ivy: If you impress me with your cooking skills, I’ll have to take you out.
Me: That’s intriguing. So what’s the dish?
Ivy: Pilau na beef stew.
Me: Well, then drop by my place at 1 pm tomorrow.
Ivy: Where do you live?
Me: Brookville, straight along Comfort Avenue. Call me I’ll come to pick you up when you’re there.
Ivy: But you’ll have to cook in my presence.
Me: I wasn’t planning on buying food.
Ivy: I’m not taking any chances. Have a good day.
Me: Have a good day too.
I had never cooked pilau in my life. I googled recipes. Each was different from the other. In fact, some required spices whose names I had never heard of. “Why couldn’t I have said no?” I asked myself. “Why did I want to impress this girl so much?”
———————–Today at noon———————–
The call came in.
Ivy: I’m at the gate of Brookville Apartments
Me: Give me a minute. I’ll be there
Ivy: Okay, I’ll be waiting. (Hangs up)
I locked the door to my apartment. I walked up to the gate. There she was. Her hair gracefully ran over her shoulders. He blue dress revealed her curvaceous body with her blue heels complementing her look. Her white handbag hung on the inside of her left hand. I tried not to look long at her, as if she was the sun, yet I saw her, like the sun, even without looking. We hugged. “You look stunning,” I told her. She blushed. “Thank you,” she replied. “This way,” I said leading the way to my apartment.
“Come in,” I said, ushering her into my apartment. She took off her shoes. I signalled her to sit on my bed. I wished I had a couch instead, but the bed would do. She took the time to scan the room. A bed with a reading table and a plastic seat next to it. My laptop laid on the table. My drawings hung on the wall. She kept her eyes fixated at them. “Did you draw these?” She asked me. “Yes, I draw as a hobby,” I replied. “I love them,” she said with a smile.
It was time for me to cook. The kitchen is in the same room as the bedroom and the table room. I had to do my cooking while discreetly following the menu from my phone. The last thing I wanted was to disappoint her. I gave her my laptop for her to watch a movie as I got to cook. It served as a good distractor to avoid her knowing I relied on Google to cook pilau.
An hour later, I served her the meal. “Welcome for lunch,” I said passing her a plate with her food. She smiled. I could tell that her taste buds were getting impatient. She took a large bite of the pilau. Hardly had she chewed when she held her mouth. She was going to puke. She dashed to the bathroom and threw up in the sink. “How terrible was it?” I asked myself. “What will she say? I wondered.
TO BE CONTINUED
(Part II next Wednesday)