Page 16

T he lead, apparently, had three weeks to study the five-hundred-something-paged Red Tinsel script before the official script reading. Agu wanted the project wrapped up in time for the completion and opening of Oba Hall, a multipurpose magnificent space and the highlight of his studio.

Timi stared in horror at the spiral-bound monstrosity Nejeere dumped into his lap.

Beyond the tall windows, Sulei and Edet bickered like fishwives, Mbappe and sure odds flying around.

And in the kitchen, Esther battled pots and pans.

All unaware their boss was moments away from diving headfirst into the pool.

Five-hundred-something pages of just his scenes. Why did he have to be saddled with a blathering character?

“Thirteen episodes, approximately fifty minutes each,” Nejeere said. “Next time, when I speak, listen.”

When he had Hulk contact Dozie to halt the initial plan, he'd asked for three months.

Going by how particular Agu was with this project, it could take eight months of execution.

How hadn't he checked this aspect before committing?

Could Uncle Jude hold on for that long? What if his name by then was beyond salvageable? What then would be the point?

The script reading was in three weeks. Which meant he had two weeks and a half to absorb a character he had zero interest in and perform a miracle the whole plan banked on.

“I'll call Dozie immediately,” Hulk said, rolling up his red shirt's sleeves and moving towards the library without waiting for a go-ahead.

His mind-reading ability was rocketing towards Uncle Jude's.

Timi didn't think anyone could unseat his father, but working with Hulk, his conviction continued to waver.

Nejeere gave a final shot on her way out. “And get out of that pyjama, will you? It's nearly noon.”

He sat up and took a gulp from his flask while sliding into his favourite fur slippers Hulk had, of course, arranged neatly. Nejeere claimed Hulk did some interesting jobs back in the UK. Caring for an invalid must have been one of them.

Despite being uninterested in Red Tinsel, his heart quickened as it usually did when he was about disappearing into a new world.

He wasn't a method actor, but he loved inhabiting his characters when studying the script.

His crack-high was being whom Timi Lawson could never be and forcing everyone to play along.

However, twenty-minutes later, when he burst through the library doors, fully suited up and brandishing a plastic gun from the pool house, Zik, his new character, vanished like a drop of water on Sokoto soil.

Hulk stood beside a little shelf at the far end of the library. Head buried in a tattered journal Timi hadn't touched in years. One of the artifacts of sentimental value awaiting Dozie's disposal.

“What are you doing?” he choked out.

Hulk raised his face, a frown squinting his eyes. He held the journal up. “This…”

“Put that back,” Timi bit out through the fear crawling up his throat, as a memory whistled through.

A brawny boy smacked the back of the boy's head and thrust a worn diary into his hand.

“Read.”

“Please,” the boy croaked out through a dry throat and papery tongue, shame making his head light. “It's nothing. I was…I just copied it from somewhere.”

Voices rose. “It's a lie. We've seen him writing in it many times and smiling.”

Cutting laughter filled the boy's head as he read his most daring words. Raw and aching as the feelings that had birthed them.

“I'm sorry,” Hulk said. “I wanted to read something and found myself there.”

Timi blinked to find Hulk standing close, hands empty, fresh lemon invading his nostrils.

He should move away, but he couldn't. Did Hulk see those words?

Timi stared at the face before him, expecting skin and bone twisting into something horrifying, but it remained normal, except for the puzzled frown now aimed at him.

“Are you okay?” Hulk asked, then shook his head as if in wonder. “I would never have pegged you for a Santini fan.”

His legs buckled from a punching relief. He must have picked the safe one. Then, Hulk's words sank in, and his head snapped up. “You know Bull Meechum?”

Hulk cleared his throat. “I'm Santini, the great Santini. I come from behind the moon, out of the dark, unannounced…”

“Watch Out,” they said in unison.

Their gazes held for one long exhilarating moment.

A long time ago, there'd been someone who watched raptly as Timi described his favourite scene. Then, had asked to read it despite not being into novels, just so they could fawn over the characters together. He’d been so certain he could never again share the love of his favourite book.

Hulk turned to stare at the shelf. “I never…” he stopped and shook his head. “I didn’t think I'd meet someone else who loved that book. Enough to pen down every insult.”

Timi coughed to stem the strange quivering that had gripped his chest when they locked gazes. Especially when Hulk’s seemed to have dropped to his lips for the briefest of seconds. “You know someone too?”

Hulk faced Timi. Sadness, rather than dimming his eyes, made them alive. “Yeah, a long time ago.”

He swallowed. How well he understood nostalgia. “Me too. A different world ago.”

“I can only hope he's alright.”

He? Why had he assumed it was a girl?

A peculiar awareness thickened the air. Hulk's face being anything other than expressionless stirred an unwanted mellowing in Timi’s spirit. He needed to lighten the air.

“Well, if your friend's anything like Bull, I'm sure he's thriving.”

Hulk's face did the smiling-yet-not-smiling thing again. “Oh, he was. Strong and mischievous. Like Mary Anne.”

So, nothing like Timi. And unexpectedly, his heart fell. “Awesome, then,” he muttered. “Please stick to this section of the library next time. You won't find the knowledge you're seeking over there.”

“Noted,” Hulk murmured, then his eyes lighted on Timi's attire. “Is there a function we left out of the schedule?”

“What do you know about me during filming?” Timi asked.

Hulk's gaze fell to the water gun Timi still held. “Ah. I see.”

Timi, who had begun heading for the living room, whirled back. “Wait, you really know something?”

Hulk's expression held a hint of long-suffering. “I can't say I'm good at dramatising lines, but I'll give it my all.”

“How did you—” Timi began.

“There's a pdf document.”

Timi gaped. “On me?”

“400 pages of everything about Timi Lawson, your financier for your duration of service. Hard copies come spiral bound. ”

“Four hund—and you read all?”

“You pay well. And you're not very boring.”

He resumed matching down the lit hallway, with Hulk following. “Nejeere must be out of her mind.”

Without reading it, he knew damn well the document was the most carefully compiled lies of the century. Him, with no defined personality, no history, and no agency? Had that been the cause of some workers falling for him, and having to go when he couldn't reciprocate their love? How sad.

At the dining area he'd converted to his office for strategic planning and Agu obliteration, he gathered up papers in a heap. “Don't assume you know anything about me, that would be your first mistake.”

“Does it look like I've been going by the books?” Hulk asked.

Remembering every of their interactions to this very moment, Hulk indeed needed to enrol for comprehension classes.

Timi snorted. “Don't know if I should be relieved or very offended.” He squinted at him. “Do you club?”

Hulk gave him a sceptical look. “I have gone to clubs, yes.”

“They ain't the same.”

Hulk exhaled, looking like he would be anywhere but. “If there's a need to, it's not something I'm entirely adverse to.”

Timi studied him. Did the man ever do anything fun?

Judging from his buttoned-down shirts and closed-up face, he probably frequented bookshops and book readings.

Or toured art galleries, listening to ERA and wrinkling his nose at terrible paintings and unhelpful curators.

Had he learnt to fight by cos-playing Darth Vader and co, or any of the Avengers?

“Nejeere can come too,” he volunteered. Surely, his girlfriend's presence would put him at ease.

“You're inviting us to a club?”

Timi waved a hand. “Charles is the target. Or have you come up with a viable plan to get him to fold?”

Timi had placed Charles under the list of foreseen obstacles but hadn't envisaged the level of attachment to his job. Christ! That man would behead himself before considering anything that could harm Buck .

Hulk sank into a chair opposite him. “I thought about just telling him the truth. He's your friend, he'll—”

A bark of laughter escaped Timi. “Seriously? Have you forgotten Buck has his soul? And what has friendship got to do with anything? Every man for himself. That's how life is.”

Hulk's lips pursed in that stubborn way Timi was getting used to. “I still think you should bring him in. Nejeere too. Have them help, rather than lie to them.”

Guilt coursed through him, but he crushed it immediately.

He was protecting them. What they didn't know, they couldn't suffer for.

He'd chosen to go on this journey with Hulk because he was a temporary acquaintance seemingly spurred by a desperation very similar to Timi's.

For whatever reason, Hulk wanted him to do this, and had shown how much, in his enthusiasm and fast work rate.

And friendship guaranteeing selflessness? What he probably feared more than hurting Charles and Nejeere, was them choosing themselves and their jobs over him. He wasn't ready to lose the illusion of having people in his corner.

“We're sticking to the plan,” he said.