Ever since I was branded the newest kid on the block of Kenyan music, I have been making headlines. Fame is like canonisation. I am a saint of sorts. The popes of hip-pop(e) beatified me in front of the crowds of boys who tore their shirts off for me to expose their dad bods and loyal, overly hormonal women who threw their thongs at me on the stage. But before then, there are ups and downs, untold unsuccessful attempts at this noble profession of gangster-wannabes.
Being a hip-hop musician, it’s romantic, brassy, healing and rejuvenating. The rapping, rhythmic and rhyming lyrics endear you to young and older women. You are their fantasies come true, a god they can worship and sacrilege with.
Mira was the best of them all. When she bared her boobs during one of my performances at Carnivore, my mouth went like ‘Whack!’ stopping me mid-lyrics. Her perky breasts pointed to the heavens as though her bust was thanking the gods of beauty for such a blessing. After the show, we went to my crib, where we stood the whole night and the morning after, I told her I wanted her to be mine for keeps. She knew the myriad ways of lovemaking, a woman so true to herself that I was a liar before her eyes. Her beauty was beyond convention, defied description.
However, Mira, the truest free-spirited woman I had ever met, told me in words so plain that we couldn’t be on our fifth date.
“I was hungry for you, but now I think I don’t need you anymore.”
“Why do you say that, Mira?” I asked.
“Because we both have had what we wanted, there’s nothing more left to want.”
“Mira, I am sorry about my impulsiveness and haste. You can forgive that, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can, but what I can’t do is have a boy with me.”
That stung, and I took an exasperated sigh, wiped a thin film of sweat on my upper lip and continued. “I’m afraid I love you. Hell, I love you, Mira.”
Mira’s mirth defied decorum. It was a mockery.
“Come on, Dill, or whatever you call yourself. You are too naïve. That’s why I said I can’t be with a boy.”
“I said I’m sorry for what I did.”
“You are such a drool. I have a family, for f*ck’s sake.”
“You’re a big girl, Mira; smart and intelligent. I am sure you know what to do.”
“And then what? Will you marry me?”
I didn’t reply for a while, then I said, “Look, I….”
Mira stopped me with the wave of her hand like a traffic cop.
“I have a family, Dilman. I wanted a nice time. It’s over. Limp on. In my world, there’s nothing like love.”
“I can’t help what I’m feeling for you. I want more….”
“Listen, my marriage may be on the verge of incinerating itself; I may not get what I want from my husband, but he is still my husband, I’m still married. I love him in my way, and he does love me. We love each other. I can’t just give up all that to be with you. We wanted a good time, we have had it. Now let’s move on.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, but something always comes out of the blue and gets to me.”
“Don’t be stupid, hip-hop boy. I’m not one of your female fans who throw their pants at you on stage….”
“That’s why I’m saying I feel something more for you.”
“I may have cheated on my husband, I may be the cougar all the lot of you are chasing after to further your music career, but I am not that vile. To be precise, I am not the type of woman you shag for her husband’s hard-earned money, celeb boy, all for carnal pleasure.”
“What makes you think I am not any better?”
“You are behaving like a schoolboy who has just had his first kiss.”
“So, what was all this about? We are going to be like it never happened?”
“For Jove’s sake, a woman needs to be safe. I am safe where I am. I can’t just throw away years of marriage for stolen times….”
“I have a family, Dilman. A husband and children I love very much.”
“Look, I love you, and I want to be with you. I give you what your husband doesn’t—”
“Yeah, drugs,” Mira said, snorting. “You turn me to this fantasy girl I barely know. The truth is, I love this girl. That’s what I want, but it’s not what I need.”
I touched her, and she trembled. I wondered whether it was from the cold blowing from her car’s fan or it was desire.
“Stop it! STOP! Nothing more happens. This never happened,” Mira screamed.
“But you just cheated on your husband.” I wet my lips when I said this.
“Don’t you dare blackmail me,” she said, smiling even wider.
She knew something. She had her secret wild card to play. “You, of all people, should not be thinking of playing that game, especially when a career like yours is pegged on business…”
I squinted at her, and then everything tumbled on to me.
“That’s it, celebrity kid. I appreciate you loving me, but boys love their mothers.”
That stung like hell, but she wasn’t supposed to know that much. Whether I had let my guard down or she had spied on me did not matter. Dating a cougar who could further my music career was one thing, but that cougar knowing I was not just a user of the drugs I used to give her to have multiple orgasms, was another thing. She could talk. Women gossip every other day. Who knew whom she could loosely speak to? Someone stumbling on such classified info could ruin political careers. Heck, the government could tumble if it was revealed that a drug baron was running it.
A dirty bomb meant for one of my boss’s rivals was in my bag. It was too bad Mira had to die, but there is collateral damage in war.
“OK, fine,” I told Mira. “If you want it that way, OK. I will go.” But I knew I was not going anywhere she was.
I got out of the car and headed to my house. As the gates closed electronically and her car’s taillights disappeared around the corner, I dialled the number that was to detonate the bomb. Mira’s car exploded. A fireball went airborne. It then plummeted down. I heard a loud crunch, metal against the asphalt.