Scars (Romola 2)

9: Meeting Olumide

Romola opened her eyes as the door opened. The notebook on her lap slipped to the floor. She bent over to pick it up while she struggled to banish sleep from her eyes. A heady spicy scent filled her nostrils as her fingers touched the notebook. The evocative smell reminded her of something or someone. But what?

Sleep had fogged her mind. Instead of preparing for the interview, she'd dozed off. She'd read one line over and over again but it wasn't making any sense. Besides, the stronghold of sleep was much too strong. She picked her notebook and shook her head to clear her sleepy mind.

There were new people in the room- a man and two women- walking into the inner room that held the transparent glass. A feminine perfume blended into the smells in the room but the thick evocative male perfume remained dominant.

"These rich people and perfume ehn." Demola said.

Romola rubbed sleep from her eyes and tried to peer at her notebook. Nothing. Not a single thing was clear.

"If you haven't written your name, please come and do so now." One of the women came to them with a notepad and a pen.

Romola rose, forgetting that her bag sat on her lap. It fell to the floor but her tablet landed first. Her eyes widened as she crouched to the floor to scoop everything back into the bag. She reached for the tablet, praying that by some miracle, it would not be damaged. A large crack covered the screen. She pushed the power button. The screen flashed before powering on. Under the crack, a large dark ink blot formed.

"Sorry oh."

"Be careful."

The other candidates shared their sympathy.

She packed her belongings into her bag and dropped it on her seat and waited until the orange-haired woman was done with the notepad before she took the pen and scribbled her name across the paper. Her shoe heel lagged behind as she walked to her seat. The accident on the staircase had surely broken something. Someone must have cursed the day.

"Come on Kehinde. We don;t have all day."

It was not the force of his voice that caught her interest. Her mind raced.

The sound of his voice.

That texture.

Olumide.

She raised her head but the man beyond the transparent glass hid his face behind a file jacket. She cocked her head but Kehind walked past her with Demola in tow. Demola entered the room and his lanky frame blocked her view of the man with Olumide's voice.

Was that Olumide? No, he was out of the country. But that information was at least two years old.

All thought of preparing for the interview fled from her mind. She strained her ears to catch a snippet of the conversation and stretched her neck to catch a glimpse of his face. She could neither neither see his face, because he kept staring into the file, nor hear his voice because the sounds from the other room were muted.

Worry overwhelmed her and chewed her over before spitting her into the waiting arms of paranoia. Each candidate that entered the room and left fuelled her fear. When the orange haired woman shot her another weird look before leaving, Romola nearly peed on herself.

"Miss Ibikunle, you may come in."

Her heart hammered in her chest as she gathered her belongings and marched into the room. The man still had his head buried behind his file jacket but the other women had friendly smiles.

"Take your seat."

She pushed the chair backwards and it's metal legs scraped the tiled floor. She squeezed her eyes as she put the chair in a proper position before sitting down. "I'm sorry."

"Five people sat on that chair before you. Why do you have a problem with sitting?" He asked.

There was no mistaking the voice. Her heart was in her throat before he dropped the file jacket. Their eyes met and everything in her stopped. Including her heart.

"Miss, are you alright?" The woman to his right asked.

She forced herself to stop staring and nod. Even though she was falling apart inside. Olumide sat in front of her with a fuller and boulder face. The sharp black suit on his body filled him better than anything she had remembered him wearing. It had to be a look alike. An older, slightly fairer and bulkier look alike.

"Miss?" The woman said.

"Yes?" Romola felt like she had been raised to the heights of heaven and then flung down to earth.

"Are you ready for the interview?"

"Does she look like she's ready for anything?" Olumide's look alike continued. The voice filled with the same venom as it had been the last time she heard him speak.

Hadn't she suffered enough? Why did he have to be here? Her reply was snappy. "I am very ready. Are you?"

He snorted. "Why are you here?"

"For an interview." She cocked her head at him, unable to hide her disgust. "And you? What are you doing here?"

He threw his head back and laughed, before raising the file jacket. He picked a paper off the table and placed it in front of the jacket. "This should certainly be interesting. Please, try to answer the questions honestly."

Romola's chest rose with anger as her eyes narrowed at him. Who was he to talk to her like that? He had no ounce of respect. The other two women shared a strange look. She shut her eyes briefly before inhaling. Lord, of all the people she had to meet here. This man.

She spoke in a quiet voice. "I'm sorry. Please, can I use the ladies room?"

"Sure. Just try to return as the same person leaving this room."

She wasn't supposed to be affected by Olumide's words since she had sealed off her heart but the words pierced through the wall she had built and punctured a new hole in a hardened heart. She held her bag to her chest. There was no point staying here. She could not and she would not work with someone who was determined to see the worst in her.

"The hypocrite is always worse than the open sinner, Mr. Makinde."