Cynthia picked her up at a little before 10 pm on Saturday night, and straight they drove to Chief Waju’s house at highbrow Victoria garden, the venue of the bash. “Remember not to push him too far,” she said, changing gear. The car leaped forward and the cold, misty air rushed in. “He is loaded, and if you impress him, he wouldn’t mind spending a fortune on you.” She nodded and shifted uncomfortably. “Tell him you need money for your school fees and that you don’t want to stay in the hostel anymore and would like to have a place of your own off campus.” She nodded, not feeling too comfortable with the idea or in the borrowed dress. The gown was too short and the top too revealing and it made her feel like a prostitute. They drove on in silence, and soon they were at the venue. “Here we are,” Cynthia said, pulling up and killed the engine. From the car park, a bone-juddering and soul-shattering blast of music hit her eardrums and she began to fidget. “It looks like the party has already started,” Cynthia observed. “Come.” She fell into step with her. As they walked down the drive, she noticed skimpily dressed girls in see-through gowns and heavily painted faces lurkingin the dark, smoking weed and shisha. She shivered as she realized coming to the party was a big mistake.  “Maybe we should grab a bite first.” Cynthia never misses an opportunity to maximize her chances and one of the types that never leaves a party or wedding without stealing something. It may be a spoon, glass, or wine. She must steal something, no matter how inconsequential the thing is. Following her gaze, she saw the food stand with every manner of food on display and a cold van, dispensing drinks. “I don’t know. What do you think?” Before Cynthia could decide, someone interrupted them. “Hi Cynthia.”  “Oh, Dave,” she cried and jumped into his arms. “Glad you are here.” “Me too. Now the party has really started,” he tweaked her cheeks and turned his attention to Maya. “Your friend, right?”  “Yeah. Maya, meet Dave. Dave, Maya.” He thrust out his hand for a handshake. “It’s my pleasure meeting you.” She grabbed it. “Same here.” “Oh, there goes Senator Lawal,” Cynthia cried and grabbed Maya’s hand. “Come let’s say hi to Senator Lawal,” she excused Dave and dragged her away. Cynthia was as excited as a lark and could hardly wait to show her off. She seemed to be well known too and felt quite at home as she pecked and hugged the guests and introduced her to a handful of men as well. When the necking, pecking, and introductions died down a little, they found a seat by the poolside and sat down.  A waiter approached them. “Care for anything?” “Yes, Can I have a Hennessey?” Cynthia said. She turned to Maya. “Do you have anything non-alcoholic, orange juice or yogurt preferably?” A few minutes later, the waiter returned with their request. Cynthia opened the Hennessey, poured a generous amount, and took a sip. “Tastes good,” she grimaced and took another sip. “Care for some?” She shook her head. “No, I’m okay with this.” “My sister, grab whatever you can now. Parties like this don’t come every day.” “What did you say he’s celebrating?” “I don’t know,” she said and took a sip. “People like chief don’t need an excuse to celebrate. It’s their lifestyle.” “Really?” “Yes. Every opportunity is an opportunity to celebrate, and you know,” she trailed off as she spotted chief and her eyes light up. “Oh, there he comes.” She followed her gaze and saw Chief in his traditional white agbada, greeting and hugging his guests.  Cynthia strengthened her dress and surveyed herself. “I hope what I have on is okay?” She did not say anything. She could not understand why she was nervous. Chief Waju’s face brightened when he saw her. “Oh, there you are?” he cried. “Cynthia, how are you?” “Good evening, chief. I am fine.” “Glad you honored my invitation.” “Oh, it’s my pleasure, chief.” He turned his attention to Maya. “Maya, I’m glad you could make it.” “Good … good evening, chief,” she stuttered. “Evening. I hope we are treating you fine?” She smiled. “Yes, Chief.” “I don’t think so. You come with me.” She shot a quick look at Cynthia and she gave her the ‘go ahead’ nod. She stood up too andChief threw his arms around her waist and maneuvered her to the VIP lounge, stopping occasionally to introduce her to a couple of friends. He almost overdid everything in his desire to please her and his constant use of ‘dear’ almost choked her. He was like ‘dear, do you want this or that?’ ‘What will you take, dear?’ In fact, he was behaving in the funniest way and making her look stupid by attracting so much attention to her. Occasionally, he picked an imaginary piece of dirt or dust off her hair or dress. “This is paradise on earth,” Cynthia cried, admiring the décor. She was hanging on the arms of Senator Lawal. “I think so,” she muttered in want of what to say. She felt uncomfortable, although she must admit it was beautiful. It was fully air-conditioned and the floor and wallcovered with marble. Victorian paintings hung on the wall and a giant chandelier dazzled in the middle of the hall, giving ambience to the slightly darkened room. It was one of the largest rooms she had ever seen, and could contain at least 70 people without breathing down on each other’s neck. Everyone in the room puffed away as if cigarettes were going out of vogue and cracked dirty jokes in loud voices. The strong smell of alcohol mixed with cigarettes filled the room and she felt nauseous, but she didn’t complain. She knew she wouldn’t have been at the party if not because Cynthia thought it was the best place to meet those in the industry, and she had thought so too and fell for the trap. The party, largely, was a success. The food was excellent, and the wine was from the best collectors. Service was buffet style; all you had to do was go ahead and serve yourself or dance it off and come back again. The music was good, the mood right and everything was tailor-made for fun and for sin. She would have enjoyed the party if not for the horrible guilt complex at the pit of her stomach and Chief Waju’s hands roaming her. Cynthia was leaning onto one big shot, doing what she knew how to do best - seduction. A mere look at the man’s attire tells you he was another ‘money miss road. The Disc Jockey began to play ‘old school’ and he jerked her to her feet and dragged her to the dance floor. Once on the floor, his hands began to roam over her body again. They were everywhere- caressing, probing, exploring, and choking her. She felt nauseated and almost passed out, but she held on and clung to him nervously, careful not to put a foot wrong or betray her emotions. Soon, the music psyched her up and she loosened up. “Do you know you are a pretty girl?” he whispered into her ears as he rocked her back and forth. “I hope you are not flattering me?” her heart was pounding riotously and his closeness was driving her insane. He laughed. “Oh not at all,” he laughed loudly.“You are the best I’ve ever seen.” She snuggled closer. “I …I saw the present you sent to me through Cynthia.” He raised his brow. “Oh, you did? Hope you like it?” “Yes. Thank you.” “Don’t mention it,” he touched her nose.“There is more where that is coming from.” She gave him a knowing smile. “Would you accompany me to America for the summer?” “You can’t be serious, Chief?” “Dead serious, my dear. Come with me let me spoil you a little.” “Oh! That would be a pleasure.” “Consider it done then.” Meanwhile, his hands were still probing and perusing her body. His touch felt like the cold caress of a ghost on her conscience.She felt trapped and wanted to cry out. Luckily, the music ended and she was glad to go back to her seat. The waiter came over and refilled their drinks. “Have you sampled the champagne yet?” “No.” He raised the glass to her. “Try it. It’s the best I ever tested.”  “No, thanks. I’m not a champagne girl. I’m okay with this.” “Nonsense,” he laughed loud, attracting almost everyone’s attention. “That thing is poison. It causes diabetes or don’t you know that? Try this.” he pushed the champagne to her. Everybody at the table stared at her curiouslyandlaughed. She felt belittled, but not belittled enough to taste alcohol. She had vowed, or rather made herself a promise, that she was going to be sober and not do anything foolish and she was not going to break that vow now. “No, Chief, I don’t take alcohol.” “This is not alcohol. It is a beverage. It is called champagne. Try it and I’m sure you will like it.” She pushed it away. “I know, but I don’t feel comfortable with it.” “Okay,’ he shrugged.“If you say so. So, tell me, why do you prefer to stay in the hostel?” She blushed. “I … actually, I like it.” “Nonsense,” he cried and picked an imaginary dust on her hair before. “That place is shit. I’ll get you something befitting.” “Oh, thank you.” “You’re welcome, dear,”his hands were exploring differentparts of her body again, and she did not know how to stop him. His left hand in particular was now touring parts of her legs, traveling from her knees up towards the upper parts of her thighs, up and above and deeper and she felt like throwing up. Unable to take it any longer, she jerked violently, sending the table and drinks crashing. “Oops!” she jumped to her feet.  Fear mixed with anger jumped into the Chief’s eyes. “Are you okay?” “Yes, I …I mean, no,” she clutched her belly and staggered unsteadily. “My…my stomach.” The lines around his eyes narrowed. “Your stomach, what’s the problem?” “I …I …excuse me. I think I…I need to use the ladies’ room.”