SNIPPETS: ON A RAINY DAY

CHAPTER ONE

Constance Ngozi Nwachukwu is crazy about me and I know it, so does every other person in the world! Unfortunately she seemed to be the only one oblivious of this blatant fact.  She is a slave driver, mean, and very bossy, the truth is she derives immeasurable and almost orgy like pleasure in ‘working and driving me crazy. My friends told me I am paying the penalties for the sins I committed against the women race, but of course, I know it is just the trouble of having a woman for a boss. Without being vulgar and being very literary, I think she likes the idea of ‘women superior’.

It is 8 o’clock on the dot, may be give or take some few seconds, that is the exact time Constance arrives office every day. I just saw her new Model Toyota Camry driving in through the gate and passing behind my office, my heart gave a violent tug. Not that I am frightened one bit, but she would come into my office any minute now, demanding for this and that, and why XYZ and every other thing in the world has not been done. Even the fully turned on air conditioner could not stop me from sweating profusely, tiny droplets of sweat form on my forehead. I heaved a sigh and steel myself for her barrages of heavy dose questions. Practically, Constance Nwanchukwu is a pain in my neck.

As the head of marketing of an Independent television production company,(I was given the big title of General manager marketing), the successes of the company hugely rest on the performance of my team, and rightly on my shoulders too. If I don’t get advert placements for our many programmes showing on televisions stations across Nigeria,  and ‘money’ does not come in, then there is no need for me coming to the office. The company will simply fold up. Now even when I am successful in getting adverts, collecting our cheques from the clients, especially the shylock advertising agencies is an Herculean task. Palms have to be greased, ego messaged, and smiles flashed every where. The folding up reason explains why every second literarily speaking, Constance is on top of me, of course there is more to it. The major problem is she neither understands how that section of the industry

works, nor its politics. It’s an ocean with many sharks.

From the long well lighted corridor leading to my office, which also host the stair case leading to our production department at the second floor and the general office of the marketing department, series of ‘good morning madam’ greeted Constance. I could picture her walking briskly, nodding at the subordinates greeting her, and flashing her ‘PR’ smile, with a file probably in her hand and her personal assistant running breathlessly behind her to keep pace. She had definitely studied the file en-route the office, and her ‘PR’ smile would suddenly disappear once she gets to the door of my office. Here she comes.

Knock, knock, she comes in frowning.

‘Good morning Mr. Achebe, what is the meaning of this?’ she did not disappoint me, it is her usual opening sentence. She dropped the file I had envision she must be carrying. Her well sculptured face was a mask of anger, but she still looks very sensational. Today she is wearing a beige pin stripe trouser suit, which complemented her light complexion smooth supple skin. Unarguably, she has one of the best curves you could ever see in a woman, the shape Kunle my ribald deputy named the ‘hi-tech shape’ and I think she knows it. Her beauty and brilliance totaled to self confidence, and a drive you hardly see in women. She is both Macavellic and angelic in that order.

‘Mr. Achebe, can you explain the meaning of this?’ She stood akimbo in front of my desk giving me a portrait view I so much love. Her silver bracelet dangles on her wrist and her palms rests on her curvy hips. The finger nails are painted brown and I notice she has on a light brown lipsticks, I felt like kissing her pouted lips.

She deserves a kiss for running an efficient organisation.