Dr. Marcus

There was this aura about him. Cocky. It showed in the way he waved me over to his side as I stepped into the fancy restaurant. I hadn't had any trouble locating it, situated right where it was, at the end of Jackson Street, surrounded by honeysuckles in bloom.

Everything about the interior was cream and intimidating. The tiles. The walls. The table tops. The chairs. Even the air smelled fresh, like milk. 

"Have your seat, please" he said, and surprisingly, I wasn't shocked that he didn't get up to pull out a chair like those gentlemen in the movies.

He occupied the seat in an intimidating sort of way. He was neither handsome, nor ugly. He was just in-between, neatly dressed in an evening suit, polished shoes, permed hair...

"Good evening, Marcus" I said, clearing my throat. 

"It's Dr. Marcus," he smiled, "I... have a Ph.D in Business Administration. If I was lecturing, I'd probably be called Professor by now."

  He expected me to be impressed, I could tell. He was young, maybe mid-thirties, just a few years older than I was. I was guessing five years, at most. But the cocky smile he had pasted on his face had the opposite effect on me. 

"Dr. Marcus is fine." I said.

"Remind me your name again? Sarah or Sonia?"

The effrontery.

"It's Sandra." I replied.

"Just Sandra? No title?"

"I don't fancy having titles before my name," I said, "but if you so wish to address me with one, then call me barrister Sandra."

"You're a lawyer?" his eyes widened. Oh. He had underestimated me. The little lady in a plain dress and no make-up on. 

"I am."

"That's impressive. You know, nowadays, it's difficult to come across ladies who have stuff going for themselves, independently, I mean."

I refused to acknowledge his statement. He didn't pursue that line. Instead, he signalled the waiter. Ordered something for himself and said, "the lady will have the same." The effrontery!

Well, it was garnished jollof rice and bottled water. I was okay with it, but he should have allowed me to make the choice myself!

And then, we began to eat. It was silent at first, and of a truth, I was comfortable with the silence. But then, he got really noisy with his spoon. It called my attention to the way he held it - between his index finger and his middle finger. He suddenly launched into a very boring monologue about his lands, his many landed property, businesses, and very very boring friends. I had it up to my neck and coughed, really really hard. He called for the waiter. He was a young boy in his late teens, looking like someone who would rather be elsewhere.

"Who cooked this meal? You?"

"No sir. The cook cooked the meal."

"Of course, the cook. Is the cook male or female?"

"I don't know, sir. We have up to thirty cooks, sir, plus interns. I don't know which one of them cooked this particular meal."

"Tell them they've all failed. The pepper surpassed the food! Just see how bad the lady was coughing!" A few heads turned our way. I was mortified. 

"Sorry about that, sir."

"Now get back to what you were doing."

The waiter bowed quietly and left us. I started to talk about how unnecessary the entire thing was, but it was that moment he chose to talk about how he made a mistake choosing this place. 

"There are other better restaurants scattered around Lagos Island. This place is a disappointment."

It was obvious that he was talking to himself, so I allowed him. When he remembered that he had company, he smiled and asked if I was enjoying the date. The effrontery!

"So, how has the profession been treating you?"

I started to respond when he whipped out his phone, one of those expensive models, from his pocket, and began to scroll through it. I paused, waiting for him to finish, but I soon realised he had forgotten I was there. I reached for my bottled water and took a long gulp. His phone rang in the process. No "excuse me" before he picked the call, and talked at length with the person on the other end, about shares and stocks and the possibility of the Central Bank giving them a loan! How much worse could the evening get? He hung up in the same brisk manner he used in picking the call. No "sorry about that".

He managed to finish up the food on his plate, and called on the waiter to clear the table. He was also harsh about that. The waiter calculated the bill. He paid in cash, but left no tip. My heart went out to the poor boy. 

When at last he was ready to hold a conversation with me, I was drained, and so not ready for it. 

"Dr. Marcus, I'd love to go home now." I said.

"But why? The evening is only just beginning."

"I'm sorry, but I must go now." I stood, "thanks for your time."

He insisted that he would drop me off. Whatever led me to accept. But it was one move I totally regretted. He drove like a bat from hell. Turned the music up so loud, that he had to shout to hear himself. Himself, because I didn't allow myself to be a part of that cacophony.

I stopped ten blocks away from my home. I had my reasons. He had the effrontery to turn down the volume and ask in a calm voice, "so when will I see you again?"

"I doubt if we'll ever see again, Dr. Marcus." I replied. 

I would have given him my business card, but Gold, Felicity and Sandy Chambers selected clients the way mothers picked stones away from beans. 

"And why do you say that, Barrister Susan? Don't you know that I'm already planning our next date?"

"Well you can plan that with another unfortunate being," I shut the passenger door and slung my bag over my right shoulder, "I'm never going out with you again."