Escapades of Toun: Part III

Escapades of Toun:
Part III – Love in a time of policies

“Toun! You be ashewo!” Nike cried.

               Toun laughed, giddy. “Why are you shouting?”

               “Confess. You guys had sex that night.”

               “I swear, we didn’t. We just kissed.”

               “How are his lips? Wrinkled?”

               Toun reached for a shoe and threw it at Nike, who dodged, fell on the bed and laughed hysterically.

               They were in their bedroom, a few minutes past eight in the evening on a Tuesday night, Toun freshly bloated from dinner.

               She and Marques hadn’t yet defined their relationship but it was clear things were getting pretty serious. Meetings in the kitchen had evolved to include not just lunch but tea breaks, pre-lunch breaks, post-lunch breaks and pre-closing breaks. Toun was excited; it was Folarin all over again, but this time with an older, mature man (who just happened to be richer and live in a very nice apartment). Aunty Rachel was becoming increasingly suspicious and when Marques brought Toun some jerk chicken he had made, Aunty Rachel joked, “Hope say he no wan winch you so?”

               “I can’t believe you’re actually serious about this,” Nike was saying.

               “What’s there not to be serious about?” Toun asked. “He’s a great guy.”

               “How do you think you’re going to tell daddy that you want to marry a man his age?”

               “Who is talking about marriage here?”

               Nike shrugged. “He’s what? Forty-six? And you think he doesn’t want to get married?”

               Toun spoke carefully. “He’s been married before.”

               Nike’s eyes bulged. “You say?”

               Toun adjusted her head on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling, not responding.

               Nike pinched her toe. “What did you say there?”

               “He’s divorced, jo.”

               “Father God!” Nike exclaimed. “Toun has finished me.”

               “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you would react this way.”

               “How else do you want me to react?”

               “First, stop shouting.”

               Nike put her head on the bed and rolled it from side to side. “Father. God. Toun ti pa mi.”

---

When Mrs. Yerima called Toun on her desk phone and asked to see her immediately, Toun thought it had to do with an email she had sent earlier. She was a little apprehensive, but when she got into Mrs. Yerima’s office and saw another woman sitting at the round table by the window, Toun’s breath caught in her throat.

               “Toun.” Mrs. Yerima rose, big and slow from behind her desk, and joined the other woman at the desk. She pointed to the third chair. “Sit down.”

               Hands shaky, Toun pulled the chair out and sat down.

               “This is Mrs. Ogbete,” Mrs. Yerima said. “She’s with HR.”

               Mrs. Ogbete smiled a brief smile and then her face was solemn and she cast a piercing glare at Toun over the rim of her glasses. “I’ll make this quick. Are you aware of our policies here at Phillips and Chain regarding workplace romance?”

               Toun felt heat rush to her face, her heart beating loud in her ears. “Ma?”

               “Work. Place. Ro. Mance.” Mrs. Ogbete’s mouth formed oblong shapes as she spoke. “Are you aware of our policies?”

               “No, ma.”

               “Good. So you can say that you did not know. So let me tell you. You, as a contract staff leased to us by a secondary company, are strongly discouraged from engaging in romantic relationships with other staff, contract or otherwise. Do you understand?”

               Toun nodded. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

               “Good. I know you’re new, so perhaps you’ve forgotten the briefing you received just a few months ago when you resumed with us, so consider this a reminder.”

               Mrs. Yerima shifted in her seat, interlinked her fingers and shook her head. “Toun, I must say, I’m quite disappointed to hear this…”

               To hear what? Toun wanted to ask.

               “…I wouldn’t have placed you as… the gold-digging type.”

               Toun’s eyes widened. “Ma?”

               “That man is old enough to be your father, don’t you think so?”

               Toun exhaled. “I don’t know what you’ve heard—”

               “We’ve heard enough, Toun.” Mrs. Yerima said. “I’m sure Mr. Price is a married man with family back home. There are plenty of young men around here you can spend your lunch breaks with. Don’t you think?”

               Toun felt humiliated.

               “Don’t you think?” The question came again.

               Toun nodded. “Yes, ma.”

               “Consider this a reminder,” Mrs. Ogbete said. “We will be lenient. This time.” With that, she stood, thanked Mrs. Yerima for her time and left.

               Toun looked down at her feet. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Whole.

---

Aunty Rachel wasn’t in the kitchen during lunch and Toun so badly needed someone to talk to. She hadn’t bought lunch because she had no appetite.

After that distasteful meeting she had been unable to continue with work. Her mind reeling, she had sat down at her desk and tried to figure out what Mrs. Ogbete and Mrs. Yerima had heard, if they were the only ones who had heard it and, most importantly, who had told them?

               Marques walked into the kitchen with a wide smile, a newspaper and his lunch in hand.

               “Hello, beautiful,” he sang. When he didn’t get the desired response, his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s… wrong?”

               Toun’s heart began to pound again, blood rushing to her ears. “Did you tell anybody about… us?” A near whisper.

               Marques put his lunch and newspaper down and walked closer.

               Toun threw her hands up. “Don’t.”

               He froze. “What’s the matter?”

               “Someone knows about us and I got called into Yerima’s office and this HR woman came and told me not to have romantic relationships with other staff.”

               Marques’ mouth opened. “What in hell?”

               “Did you tell any—”

               “No. I did not. I would not.”

               “Do you know about the company’s policies?”

               “What policies?”

               “About romantic—”

               “Yes, yes. But all companies have those. They’re just clauses. Nothing more.”

               Toun put her hands down. She was uncomfortable, she felt as though someone was watching them. She was tempted to look around for a camera plugged in somewhere.

               Marques sat down opposite her.

               “What else did they say?” He asked.

               “Yerima… said I was a gold digger.” She laughed abruptly and then fell silent. “She said you have a family at home.”

               Marques nodded. He watched her, but his eyes looked vacant, as though he was miles away.

               He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

               “I don’t think we should… be meeting like this anymore. Obviously someone has been watching us and reported.”

               “Who would do that?”

               “I don’t know.”

               Marques looked at his lunch pack, said nothing. They sat like that, quiet, as though mourning their secret that had escaped into the open.

               “Aren’t you going to eat?” Toun asked after a while.

               “I’m not hungry.”

               “Me neither.”

               “I should go.” Marques stood up, picked up his newspaper and his lunch. “I’ll… see you.”

               Toun watched him leave. She put her head on the table, their table, and cried.