A Love Scene

Hello and a good week to everyone. It’s been a funny past week here in Nigeria, what with the scare of the predicted acid rain that would fall in this region and cause skin cancer to many. It’s been hilarious watching even bus conductors, market women and truck pushers scampering frantically for safety in the nearest shelter. The white patches I have seen on my car after the rain have given me some concern; curiously enough, soon after this discovery, my skin has begun itching ( I’ve been caught out once or twice by the rain too) on my forearm. I’m wondering if the itches are imaginary or real. No one has tested the rain to know if it is acidic or not or is the government stopping scientists’ mouths to prevent a panic as some of us conspiracy theorists are wont to believe? There, just scratched an itch again.

I had a unique experience from a movie set I’d just concluded; I was “fallen” in love with. Is that correct English? Perks or hazards of the business as they say. Anyway, I had this actress who played my love interest in the project where some really intimate scenes came up. We had talked at length about what each person’s boundaries were regarding kissing and touching intimate body parts on set. She was a very good actress who took her work seriously and even though she hadn’t done very much as regards screen work, she showed a remarkable grasp of understanding the tools available to her as an actor – and she used them well. Because she made the character she played so believable, I found my work with her to be a breeze as we meshed in unison.

One of the scenes we played was one where, I, sorry, the character I played, had been an absolute bastard to the woman he loved, denied her a position he was empowered to give her even though she was more than qualified for the position, eventually realised the error of his ways and had crawled back to beg for another chance at love. The scene was a very deep one I had been dreading – I absolutely hate weepy scenes because they force me to go to depths I’m not comfortable with sharing with the outside world. Fortunately the director did what she could to make it as comfortable for us as possible by removing everyone from the room save the camera man, the boom man and the continuity person. The lights were soft, the air conditioning on and the stage set for an evening of romance – just joking! I shuffled towards her with the proud desperation of an egotist who recognises the time when pride has to be swallowed to avert being swallowed up by depression. I went down on my knees and clasped her right leg, saw the full hips at my eye level, felt the soft body beneath the denim fabric I was grasping and remembered why I was begging. Sorry, I went down on my knees and begged her forgiveness having seen the error of my ways, from which I was pulled up and very reluctantly professed my love for her. The character I played did this with his eyes averted, looking everywhere else but her eyes while he made the painful confession and when I finally looked up at her eyes they were flooded with tears as we closed in for the kiss. Everyone applauded.

The next day, she asked if she could have a moment with me. I acquiesced and we went outside. She told me she, for reasons she did not know felt very attracted to me. I smiled, because I remembered the very same thing happening to me some years back when I did a stage play with someone I regarded as a sister who played my love interest. We had this love scene during rehearsals where we had that moment. It was like this weird chemical love spirit that just passed through us at the same time and we both looked into each other’s eyes and knew we were hit without being able to explain why. I couldn’t sleep that night or for rest of the week for that matter. I knew it wasn’t right but I couldn’t explain or ignore its power and I could see my relationship with my then girlfriend, who was very dear to me, being threatened. Funny enough, a few days after the play ended my strong feelings for the lady in question began to dissipate. I realised then that I had temporarily opened up a part of me that was vulnerable but crucial to my craft as a tool for interpretation of my role. I also realised that an actor while delving into his reserves and emotions to do his work, must also have control over them and recognise their use in any project for what they are; transient. I explained as such to her and encouraged her to play around with her emotions without getting too caught up in them, because our job at the end of the day is just what it is, a job.
I haven’t heard from her ever since we wrapped up so my belief is that she’s okay now. Just thought to share that with you guys so amidst everything else, do have a great week everyone! Hi Frieda!

Sarah, The Conclusion

Another good week to all and sundry. Where did I stop last week? Ah yes! Our Sarah. Oh did I also forget to mention that that while we were standing admiring the place we also noticed a few couples seated and talking with one another. Occasionally the lady companions would beckon to the liveried waiters over and make their orders. We thought it rather strange that the men would sit back aloof while the ladies apparently bought the drinks. They also seemed to know one another as they exchanged momentary pleasantries with each other on their way to or from the conveniences. They were all elegantly dressed in evening wear as if en route to some glamourous formal evening cocktail party. All were slim, pretty and groomed. Sarah floated up to us.

She wore a pale coloured figure length evening gown that looked oriental; it covered her shoulders and her neck giving her that understated sexiness that at the same time awoke every nerve in me that is usually reserved for the fairer sex. It was perfectly seamless, having none of those irritating telltale jutting of lurking underwear beneath. She had the perfect poise: shoulders unaffectedly straight, her undulating provocative hips swaying almost imperceptibly as their mistress glided towards us with short but graceful strides, sidestepping this way and that, owing to the economy of space in the bar, offering courteous pacifying smiles to the male customers around her who seemed to want her immediate attention. She came up to our table at last and perched on the edge of a couch beside ours – mine actually, and introduced herself in flawless French – not that I could tell one way or the other, I was more interested in the movement of her lips – as Sarah, pronounced “Sar – harh” with the typical French guttural “r” rolling ever so gently at the back of her lovely throat. Begging her pardon, I leaned towards her to catch her name again, and to attach the voice to the vision beside me. She breathed it again, in a light tinkling note buttressed by the deep womanly resonance that comes with the full awareness of one’s femininity. She arched her eyebrows appreciatively when I pronounced it correctly, making me wonder if I’d get a kiss on the cheek for my efforts. I, in the broken French I could muster, asked her if she spoke any English at all as my French was very bad. She shook her head smiling apologetically but assured us that we would be well looked after, I believe that’s what she said. At that moment I wasn’t sure if I wanted to understand what she was saying; it just sounded so wonderful more so in its mystery. There is a sexiness in listening to a beautiful woman with a lovely voice speaking or singing in an unintelligible tongue. There was no limit to my listening to her but alas the reason for our presence there had to be attended to and so after a lengthy enquiry into what drinks they had, we finally settled on a bottle of Jack Daniels and its accompanying coke. She beckoned to one of the waiters standing alert unobtrusively in the corners who immediately came forward. She gave him our orders and when he left, turned back to us.

She had a small round face, with smiling cheeks one could playfully pinch or kiss. Her eyes were large, liquid and intelligent yet unfathomable apart from the smile she allowed to pass through, giving me the impression that her private life was to be kept just that. Her nose was pert and perched at the right spot allowing other features on her face to be admired. Her lips were full and looked soft with an ever ready smile lurking in the corners of her mouth. One got the impression that they rarely said anything out of turn. She was still perched on the edge of her couch, elegant long legs crossed at the ankles. The slit that ran down her gown, or is it dress, from her mid thigh, revealed smooth flawless skin and a perfectly shaped leg that was accentuated by a slender silvery anklet just above her heeled slippers. She tried to answer our questions as best as she could and from it all we gathered that she was a third year student at the local university. She augmented her income needed for her studies with her job as a hostess at the bar. Each one of the hostess’ job was to be companions to the customers, the apparent implication being to encourage them to buy as many drinks as possible. She must have caught the questioning looks on our faces because she hastily added that soliciting was strictly forbidden on the premises and her job and that of the other hostesses present was just that and nothing else.

The waiter came back with our drinks and a bucket of ice. He opened them and made to pour them for us when she stopped him. She meticulously poured and mixed our drinks for us and asked if we cared to smoke. JB said yes and she got up to get them. We weren’t sure which one to appreciate more, her approaching or retreating figure; both were sublime. She came back with the cigarettes, one of which she lit for him before lighting one for herself, and smoking it with the aid of a slender bone cigarette holder. I don’t know how long we were inside there chatting in the wonderfully relaxing atmosphere, in the company of our wonderful hostess, the stresses of the day melted from our system, but I do know we finished our bottle – Sarah allowed herself only a drink. We paid for our drinks, thanked Sarah for a wonderful evening and plastered two big ones on each of her cheeks after she saw us to the door and left happy.

I never saw her again after that night. I sometimes wondered what lay underneath that elegant inscrutable façade Sarah presented the world with. She possibly could very different in the stark daylight and could well be a slovenly cantankerous nag constantly fighting neighbours over the communal clothes line in her ‘face me, I face you’ tenancy quarters in her private life but I will always remember her as that elegant lady with wonderful poise and a very gifted panache for handling men; making them feel like kings and yet not giving anything away and not making them feel cheated or manipulated in the process. This one’s for you Sarah and for the rest of you, well, have a wonderful week ahead.