The Nigerian princess. That’s what I called her. Not to her face, of course. She would have liked that too much and insist that I always use it. She stood, Katie did, six-foot-one. She wore a hair extension that dropped like a waterfall over her left eye before splashing onto her shoulders. That eye had been blinded by emergency brain surgery. She favored twin-sets. Her father had four wives. If she liked a song that was playing, she’d stop everything, close her eyes and sway. I didn’t know how to handle her, frankly.
David gets shaken down by a hot Nigerian.
We had hit an unexpected number of places on our first date. Katie was a partier. She hated quiet. I managed to make it home without something terrible happening. The next morning she left a message.
“You know, I’m just calling to tell you, David, that I had a beautiful time last night. It was a beautiful time.” Her voice had a bit of, I guess, African and a bit of London, the latter because that’s where she went to school. “He’s a wanker,” she’d say about some poor schmuck. Continue reading