Page 45 of You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty
“It’s just for a week. We can hang out after I come back, I was thinking maybe another week or two before New York? Not sure if that’s enough time for you to finish the commission.”
“I could make it work.” Three more weeks on the island, away from home and Joy. Three more weeks near Alim, before she never saw him again. Three more weeks pretending to Nasir that everything was the same as it’d been in Brooklyn. “Let me think about it?”
“No problem.” He stretched his arms out along the back of the divan, and Feyi looked around the rest of the room. The music changed to a kompa and Rebecca whooped, getting up from her seat. She’d been drinking red wine steadily all evening, never spilling a drop on her white suit, and her purple mouth was wide and beautiful as she danced over to Feyi.
“Come, Feyi,” she sang. “Do you know how to dance this?” She grabbed Feyi’s hands, pulling her off the divan.
Feyi laughed. “Okay, show me,” she said, smoothing down the skirt of her dress.
“Here.” Rebecca slid her hand to the middle of Feyi’s back, and as the beat pulsated, she spun Feyi out to the middle of the floor. Feyi stifled a gasp—Rebecca might have been tipsy, but even so, she was dead steady on her feet and an excellent dancer. Feyi matched her two-step, their palms pressed against each other’s, arms extended. It was strange to be this close to Rebecca, feel her hand strong and sure against her spine, guiding Feyi’s movements.
As Feyi sank into the music, she let her eyes flutter half-shut, just enough to see her feet and make sure she didn’t step on Rebecca while filtering out the rest of the room. She’d almost forgotten how much she loved this; it felt like ages since she and Joy had been out on a dance floor. There was something that settled in Feyi’s chest when she reduced the world to just her body following Rebecca’s, the drums and electric guitar, the song’s vocals, the tingle in her veins from the alcohol. Rebecca was softly singing along in Creole, and Feyi made a mental note to ask her later how she’d gotten into kompa in the first place; it was a side to the curator she hadn’t expected to see.
As the song wound down, Feyi extricated herself with an apologetic smile. “I’m going to grab a drink,” she said, even though she very much didn’t need one. Rebecca patted her hand and spun around, pointing to Nasir.
“You! Come, dance with me.”
Feyi winked at Nasir as she slipped out of the living room and back into the courtyard. She sank down on a bench, and the waiter from before slipped her a glass of water with a knowing smile. “You dance well,” he said.
Feyi blushed. She’d forgotten people were watching. “Thanks.”
He nodded and walked off as Pooja came into the courtyard, exclaiming in delight when she saw Feyi. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you.” She sat at the other end of the bench, the fabric from her sari pooling like a galaxy over the wood. “What have you decided about my proposition?”
Feyi tilted her head, her work mask clicking into place. “You know, I’m inclined to accept it, but I have to ask—what’s your budget for the commission?” She wasn’t sure if it was proper etiquette to discuss money so bluntly, but fuck it. It was a party, and she was drunk and alive.
Pooja tucked a piece of her dark hair behind her ear, revealing her lovely neck. “Well, as far as I know, no piece in any show Rebecca curates goes for under ten thousand, so why don’t we say that?”
Feyi bit the inside of her cheek to stop her jaw from dropping open. If she had been sober, she probably wouldn’t have said what she said next, but this whole world wasn’t real anyway, so what did it matter?
“How about fifteen?” she countered, and Pooja clapped her hands, laughing out loud.
“I do love you Nigerians,” she said, then held out a hand. “Fifteen it is.”
Feyi shook her hand, and Pooja kept laughing as she stood up to return to the house. “I’ll have my people be in touch. We’ll have lunch and talk details soon. It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Adekola.”
“Likewise, Mrs. Chatterjee.”
Feyi waited till she was out of the courtyard before kicking her feet and squealing in excitement. Fifteen fucking thousand dollars?! Was this all it took? To just be around the right people and they threw money at you? She patted her pockets looking for her phone so she could text Joy but came up empty. She must have left it on the divan with Nasir. Feyi chugged the rest of her water and skipped back to the house, forcing herself into a calm walk once she was inside.
As she walked through the living room, the kompa music was still playing. Feyi stopped in her tracks when she saw Rebecca and Alim locked together on the dance floor. Both of them had their eyes closed and their bodies flush against each other, hips circling slowly, with Alim’s knee thrust between Rebecca’s thighs. It was almost unbearably sensual, the way his temple rested on her forehead, his long fingers pressed between her shoulder blades, her arms wrapped around his neck. It made Feyi nauseous.
No one else seemed to notice. They were all chatting and drinking, a few nodding in time to the music. The painter Katherine was sitting cross-legged on a rug with a spread of tarot cards in front of her, dark hair tumbling across her face and Nasir watching intently as she spoke to him.
Feyi felt like she was the only one watching Alim and the curator sway together, as if they were alone in the dark. It didn’t even look out of place; it just made sense. Alim with Rebecca, two people who matched, who had a real chance. Feyi took a deep breath and made her way around them. It was fine. She would have lunch with Pooja while Nasir was away and be set up in the Hilton by the time he got back. She could fly Joy down and they’d be together, and Feyi would make sense to herself again. Alim would be out of the way, and Feyi would tell Nasir to go back to New York, to not wait for her. Maybe she’d even tell him the truth, that she was dealing with irrational feelings for his father. That would be a surefire way to kill whatever he felt for her, end any chance of him trying to keep their friendship. A clean break.
Feyi dug down in the cushions of the divan and fished out her phone, then snuck out of the party and upstairs to her room. She’d meant to call Joy, but once the door was closed and she slipped out of the chiffon dress, Feyi found that what she really wanted to do was curl up in bed and cry. She wasn’t sure what she was crying about: the sight of Alim wrapped up in Rebecca, the way everything had shifted so wonderfully when it came to the work but so horribly when it came to Nasir in just a few weeks, being away from Joy, hiding out upstairs while a party in her honor carried on downstairs, feeling so fucking alone. Feyi muffled her sobs in a pillow and fell into a haze, emerging only at the sound of someone knocking at her door.
The air felt quieter, the night heavier, like hours had passed. She wasn’t sure if she’d fallen asleep. The knocking continued, and Feyi climbed out of bed.
“Who is it?” she called, swallowing back a yawn.
“Hey, it’s Nasir. You awake?”
Feyi opened the door and gave him a look, her head throbbing. “No, I’m sleep-talking.”
Nasir stumbled past her and flopped down on her bed. “You missed half your own party,” he complained. “Come hang out with me.”
Feyi got back into bed, and Nasir pulled himself up till his head was on the pillow next to hers. They lay on their sides, looking at each other, and Feyi giggled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually drunk,” she said.