RULE NO.25

03.The Job

Ten minutes later,after having paid the cab man,I find myself standing in front a mansion.With a big black gate and barbed wires on the fence.The building was so beautiful,painted a light green with white outlines.It even had two massive pillars.

As I stare at the building,I get a flash from the past,of a place like this.But I shake it off,I had no time to reminisce.

I call the number again and I am told to look into a camera hidden in some shrubs in my left.I do as I am told and a few seconds later the gate slides open with a ping.

All I think at this point is money,so much money.Its apparent in the flooring of the compound,even in the lushness of the Avocado tree growing near the garage where different expensive cars are parked.I feel like a church mouse amidst such wealth.

I walk towards the main building where I see a young man standing.

"The chief will see you now" he says as soon as I approach he turns to lead the way.I can't help but look around,it's been years since I have seen such wealth.

No,I can't think about that now.

The young man directs me to a large receiving area with a 45" flat screen, a set of plush dark coloured leather sofas,a soft fur rug that encompasses the whole living area and a thick glass center table that I am sure cost a lot.

Before I can continue my inspection,A voice intrudes on my thoughts.

"How are you?" Says a soft gravelly voice.

I turn and see a middle aged man walking down a set of stairs,and all I could think of at that point was that he wasn't ugly at all.It was a slight relief.

As soon is he got close enough,I got up to greet him.

"I am fine,thank you" I reply in a meek voice.If you knew me,you'd know it was all a facade,I have no meek bone in my body.

He extends a hand and I take it, shaking it slightly before letting go.

"What's your name?" He asks again.

"Dera"I reply,almost shyly.Praying he doesn't see through my act.

That's another rule of the job,never let a client know your name.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful girl" he says with his eyes on my cleavage.I almost role my eyes.Trust a man not to focus on anything but breasts.

He directs me to sit close to him as he calls for drinks.I almost start to cry from joy.I always need Dutch courage to go ahead with the job.It numbs my feelings.

What do people call jobs?For me it's something that pays my bills,puts food on my table,clothes me,and takes care of other things.

But is what I do technically a job? To me,it is.

I am what Nigerians call a "runs girl",a "call girl" in the western sense.The boss,sends "us",a league of drop dead gorgeous women and men of various sizes and shapes on assignments to please the elite.Rich men and women who would pay anything for pleasure.

I have been judged and insulted for what I do but I don't care anymore.Before now,I had tried everything,I had been a waitress in different places,I had cleaned toilets, kitchens,gutters, anything.I had washed clothes,plates,cars, everything.

No one had the right to judge me,no one knew the pittance they pay people without highschool or college degrees for such horrible jobs.In the real world,life's bloody hard.

Since I lost my family,I had toiled unendingly.If this is what I have to do to get some sort of relief,then I'll do it.

Thankfully,the boss saw to it that we were all trained to hold our own when it comes to alcohol,so no matter how much I drink,I'll do the job and go for the next one.