Behind Closed Doors

Chapter Twenty-six

Over the next few weeks, the anxiety and frustration over the affair with Phoenix in the papers mounted because there was no way he could get in touch with the guy either on phone or in person. Even when he’d asked Lawrence, the man had claimed he had no idea where the actor had vanished into. Henry then left several messages in Phoenix’s voicemail, but he received no return calls from the guy. It was as if the actor had vanished into thin air.

Henry felt the frustration settle on him like a heavy, crushing weight, weighing down his mind. He felt betrayed by a lover who did not care enough to at least tell him that he was going to be unavailable. And if what Phoenix was scared of was the public opinion that Ali Hassan was turning against him, all the guy had to do was to say the words and the tall, no-good scoundrel would be taken very good care of so that he would never disturb Phoenix again.

Henry wanted to be the source that would protect Phoenix, and be the one to do anything that would be necessary to be done to stop the press from harassing him. And there were the people who were really out for his blood, who were saying all sorts of terrible things about him, though of course there were those that were sympathetic to the actor and would not let their opinion of him be muddled by the accusations of one man. These were the group that asked why the actor should be crucified for something nobody was sure about; they demanded to know why the people were just kicking up a storm for something that was irrelevant. Why not turn the attention to the politicians that stole billions of Naira from the Nigerian economy and laundered these monies abroad to banks in Switzerland while the masses suffered? Why not worry about the fact that the existing health infrastructure was crumbling and people were dying because there was lack of adequate health care?

The roads were in a deplorable state, and there were people dying because of that. The health care in the country was a joke, with the persons who are the powers that be flying themselves and their children outside the country for even the most inconsequential illnesses while the masses had to make do with what the hospitals had to offer. The power supply was abominable, with there being a resultant inflation in the prices of goods and services because of the fact that the manufacturers were using fuel and so had to recoup their costs. And yet, they had to focus on Phoenix only and the gay question, leaving out the really important stuff.

By the middle of March, Henry had gotten frantic, and the media had gotten whipped up into frenzy. The guy was nowhere to be found, and there was speculation that he could be dead or that he had left the country. And all these drove Henry wild with anger and fear. He must be really obsessed, for he found out that he was thinking about the guy all the time, and perhaps, he was also calling the guy’s name in his sleep, for one day, Fiona came up into their room where he was staring at the screen of the TV in which played the 1961 Hollywood oldie, Whatever happened to Baby Jane? She snapped the TV off and turned to stare at him, and there was an icy coldness etched into the lines of her face.

‘We have to talk, Henry,’ she said in a cold, flat voice, a tone that had Henry’s alarm system turning on full alert mode. ‘For several nights in a row, you’ve kept me awake with your incessant babbling about that stupid homo actor.’

Henry feigned nonchalance and a deep concentration in his thoughts but his mind had turned to overdrive mode with fear and worry. ‘What actor?’

‘Do not ask me what actor because you know what I am talking about!’ Fiona snapped. ‘I had always wondered where you get that strange exotic perfume that cling to your clothes when you come back from work, and now you’re babbling about the guy－’

Henry sat up with a look of shock and rage at her tones, and she shut up instantly. ‘What bloody nonsense are you talking about?’ he hissed.

‘I now remember why you looked so guilty when the guy walked up to us that evening at the Blue Hyena,’ Fiona continued icily as if she’d not heard him speak. ‘There was that scent on him, and all the time it kept on nagging at me until just recently. Then it struck me: his perfume－ that’s what’s been clinging to you all the time. You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?’