I had not seen Fey (short for Feyikemi) in a while, a year and some weeks, I think. Until that bright afternoon last week. I was getting out of my car in the parking lot of my favourite spa in Victoria Island, Lagos. I had finally decided that I was ripe and ready for some head-to-toe professional pampering to take out the crinks and deep massage for the bunched-up muscles. I deserve a treat after all those tension-soaked months, even if I say so myself.
As I stepped out of my car, right beside me was this sleek Range Rover, white too. I’m a sucker for white automobiles, I confess. Still admiring the nice ride and Fey stepped out. We screamed, hugged and screamed some more. Fey, my Fey was looking totally luxe in a simple sky blue kaftan.
‘Babe. This Range na new one o.’ I winked. The Benz and Lexus I know, but not this Range.
‘Yes o, it’s a gift from me to myself to console me.’ Fey and her lively sentences, I’d missed them but I didn’t miss the import of that particular statement. Why did my friend need consolation? Who died? Nobody really, just her five-year relationship with B.J. Now, that was a truly sad one and a great affair must be mourned properly when it dies. Fey and B.J were a discreet item and we all thought they were going to live happily the rest of their days, one way or the other, somehow. I’ll explain.
Fey is a big Lagos babe, a successful importer, a contractor who also plays in the real estate sector. B.J owns one of the thriving real estate companies building estates left, right and centre of Nigeria. He has his fingers in other pies too. He will be 60 later this year and he is married. He and Fey met at one of the real estate industry events and hit it off from the get-go. Fey’s two sons are in Canada and she was a searching, single mother. Fey and B.J were a couple to behold. They made time for each other within and outside the country, bae-cation and weekend getaways. Don’t ask me for details. The long and short of it all was B.J. was, is, a married man, which made my friend a side-chick. Hard, sad reality. But Fey hoped for and wanted more. Months turned into years and B.J continued to spoil her, spending time, quality time with her.
So, what went wrong? The two of us went to the pool side, took up a table-for-two and ordered drinks. According to Fey, she was about to board her flight back to Nigeria in Qatar when she saw what she described as the most shocking story of her life on one of the online platforms. Real Estate Big Boy Takes Second Wife in Quiet Ceremony!!! B.J.’s photo accompanied the story.
‘Babe, my world went into a spin. My emotions went into a riot. First it was unbelief, then anger, denial and then shame, followed by more angry thoughts. Not my B.J. Then I told myself I was a fool anyway, foolish enough to have thought I was anything more than a warm body to him. I felt used and ashamed, wondering even if B.J. had me under a spell. My eyes misted over and I still don’t know how I didn’t stumble or fall between the lounge and the aircraft. I sank into my seat and did my best not to put my two hands on my head and bawl like a child. Thank God for the Business Class cabin. I had the privacy to sniff and cry into my handkerchief.
Fey had a dozen and one dozen questions for herself and tons for B.J. whose phones were switched off, including the one that was known only to the two of them. Yes, they were that close. Or so Fey thought. Reminds one of Atlantic Star’s Secret Lovers’ lyrics. That was what dawned on Fey. She was just his secret.
‘I felt like a fool, used, discarded and left to figure things out. I mean, B.J.’s phones were actually switched off and he took a second wife and left me to find out on social media! I was faithful to him for five whole years, only he saw my nakedness. I cooked and shopped for him. I cancelled business meetings, rescheduled appointments to be available for him. I allowed him to act out his fantasies. His clothes, shirts, agbada, socks, and boxers were in my house. And in all those years he didn’t think I was good enough for a second wife. He wanted a second wife and he went shopping elsewhere. Can you beat that, Funke?
Fey felt like a slut, a regular runs-girl. Runs-girls, however, know the ‘score’ and don’t bother with expectations and loyalty.
B.J didn’t call to explain for a whole week. I guess he was waiting for the inferno to become a controllable fire. When bad B.J eventually called, his explanation was really no explanation. But my friend was a fool in love, I think. You know how it is with a man you have loved deeply. Cutting them off is usually hard grind.
‘His familiar scent, charming sexy voice and smile did me in, I must confess. But my head was clearer and I told myself from there on I was putting my heart on vacation. I told myself I was no longer the exclusive preserve of B.J. ‘ That’s how a smart mature babe should roll.
Fey nicely, smartly, of course, painfully stepped away from B.J who somehow thought he could warm his way back into my friend’s heart and panties. He didn’t see my friend coming. When he called that he was coming over for dinner (dinners are dangerous with a man you are breaking off with), she sweetly told him lunch the following week would be a better idea. But B.J still felt he owned Fey lock, stock and barrel. Until that day in September at the Murtala Mohammed International Airport, Lagos.
‘I was going to South Africa with the new man in my life. We were getting our drinks at the lounge when B.J walked in with his pregnant new wife. Imagine if I was there alone to witness that! I’d have been miserable. Trust me, I milked the situation to the brim. I put my head on Emma’s shoulder, looked in his eyes constantly, dusted imaginary specks from his designer shirt. I got up twice to show off my cute arsenal and nicely wrapped Man-U. When B.J is upset, he chews on his lower lip. That day, he chewed it raw and it was a pleasant sight.’
So, guys, tell me, what was B.J expecting? Perhaps the more appropriate question is why do married men expect their side chicks to be faithful and exclusive to them? Isn’t the side chic game built on unfaithfulness? Mr Married Man wants one on the side, why should Miss Side Chick be kept on ice when a marriage proposal is not on the cards? Men, they are interestingly selfish all the time, but what can we do without them? They are fun and cool but certainly need to kick the cocky selfishness. Why would B.J. who had a wife and all the fun with a side chick who he ignored, passed over, dumped, to get a second wife to chew his lips in anger until they bled, just because he saw her with another man? I don’t understand why a side chick can’t have a side guy. What is sauce for the goose should be sauce for the gander.
The side chick’s duties are clear. She’s the one you go to when you want. She is the one who does not have a headache when you want her. She wears sexy lingerie to serve her man red wine after a hard day’s work. She fixes her nails and hair the way he wants it. She is his personal masseuse. She allows him as many missionary journeys as he wants as often as he wants. She does not just say sorry when he’s unhappy or loses a business deal. She puts his head in between her breasts and rocks him to sleep. And if she’s a big girl side-chick, she comes through with soft loans and useful business contacts. She is his go-to-girl, the one who does all the things Madam no longer has time for. Of course, she gets generous pampering for being sweet and warm. But side chicks are not forever. I mean, it’s not a status most women want to keep or be kept in forever. However when they are loyal, they can be totally loyal, totally devoted. And when they feel used and are tired of playing second fiddle, that’s when they start considering alternatives such as a side guy. Me, I think every woman should look out for herself and not allow her supple years to be sucked dry by a man who is not giving her something tangible in return. Oga, if you are not going to give your side chick the ‘more’ she wants, brace up, she just might get herself a side guy soon. That’s how a deregulated market works.
I’ll leave it here, for now.
•Written by Funke Egbemode
