2008
RULE ONE
Family is the original secret society
Tell anyone and die
The bystander
March
Saluchi Itamuno was in the middle of it. In the middle of her parents’ cocktail hall. In the middle of the gathering of Lagos society all dressed in their Sunday best to eat and drink in her parents’ Ikoyi home. She drifted around the room, past ivory paneling, and chattering people. The soles of her nude Saint Laurent Bianca shoes touched subtle waterjet patterns on the marble floor, heading in no particular direction, ignoring the conversation around her, and the music, some new singer doing her best Fela impression.
All day yesterday, her mother had overseen the decorating to make sure it was done to her grandmother’s tastes. Lilies, peonies, and hydrangeas on every surface, filtered through the room to clash with the spicy food. Ivory, navy, wine and sky streamers, hung down light holders and Doric pillars. Ivory blackout curtains hid the daylight, chandeliers hid the difference.
The walls had carvings of the family shield and tribal soldiers. Gilded statues stood around the open space, eleven of them, her mother hated those. Saluchi scrunched her face at the strange figures, agreeing with her. They were a little tacky.
The ceiling was high above them all, a giant dome with a giant chandelier right in the middle. It dropped, plummeting, rattling its noisy chains and bulbs. She jerked her head up to watch it evaporate right over her, letting out a sharp breath. She always saw the particular chandelier crashing down on her.
Something about white walls reminded Saluchi of home. But when she opened her eyes for the first time that morning, the walls weren’t white. It was a normal day—once she ignored the things that weren’t normal about it—the last day of March, a cloudy Sunday. They were at the Lugard house. Her whole family was present at the same time—rare—and they were hosting the Lagos Brunch for the first time since she was six.
Her brother, TJ, stood with his friends by the buffet table across the room. She couldn’t spot the rest of her family in the almost crowded space, but she knew they were there, and their distant presence tethered her. She wanted to leave, to walk down the street till she reached Alfred Rewane, the wind in her face. Maybe she would run, so the wind could hit her hard, make her struggle to breathe.
Her own friends surrounded her, giggling, sipping apple juice when they’d rather have cocktails, talking about how nice her taffeta dress and platinum jewelry were when she wasn’t better dressed than any of them. But it was Sunday brunch, and she’d dressed better than usual. Last night, at the Governor’s daughter’s wedding dinner, she’d worn a denim dress and slip-ons. She hated drawing attention to herself. Her tangerine skin sought enough of it.
Ikena walked to her from across the room. They’d been together a month. She forced the widest smile. He reached her, took her hand in his, and leaned close to whisper in her ear. He didn’t need to. The playing jazz wasn’t loud enough to drown words.
“My parents want to talk to you,” he said. The rasp of his deepening voice should’ve excited her. It didn’t. He nudged her toward the north of the room. She sighed, allowing herself to be led while she looked around. Space and countless strangers buzzing like bees, fluttering like butterflies, and vast space between and around them all.
They walked past Tara standing with their father and men like him. In her little Ankara dress she’d brought with her from New York, she was a vision, something to stare at and wish upon. Time stood still for a moment, and Saluchi watched her sister talk, tipping her head back when she laughed, her deep laughter echoing, her hair extensions bouncing around her face. She wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, but Tara looked like she was speaking with her peers. Saluchi saw herself in her sister’s place, shaking, stammering when someone asked about the global political climate, or how the stocks of major companies were doing this week, or even the weather today. Tara turned, and their eyes met. Tara puckered her lips, air-kissing Saluchi from afar.
Just say whatever pops in your head, one of Tara’s famous sayings. She smiled at Tara and faced forward again. The problem was nothing ever popped in her head in those situations.
Saluchi is one of my most favorite characters I have ever made up. What do you think of her so far?
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