Bimpe saw Femi walking up the driveway, she was surprised. Did he have plans to go out again? Is that the reason he didn't park his car inside the compound? Well, no matter what his plans were, they are about to change once he took a peek at her awesomeness. Walking over to the full mirror installed on the landing, Bimpe assessed her appearance again.
The panicked call to her friend Ifeoma indeed yielded great results. Ifeoma had told her that getting her man back was up to Bimpe. When Bimpe tearfully replied that she had tried all she could, Ifeoma's jeering laughter had been long and grating on the nerves.
''Tried your best, kwa?'' she asked, her laughter making the words sound funny ''You are not trying at all. You only dress well when you are going out. What about when you are in the house?''
''What do you mean by when I'm in the house?'' Bimpe replied, perplexed ''Why would I dress up when I'm not going out?''
''I'm not asking you to dress up, I'm asking you to dress down. The less you wear at home, the better for you and your marriage.''
''But…''
Ifeoma cut in ''No buts, abeg. I know you won't understand so I'd rather show you than tell. I'm coming to your place in 30 minutes. Dress up and let your ATM card be ready.''
True to her word, Ifeoma arrived thirty-two minutes later and took Bimpe to a lingerie store. Bimpe's eyes had bulged when she saw all the things on display: crotchless panties, edible bras, and pants, feather boa underwears, so many things she could not have imagined that Nigerians buy and use.
''How did you get to know of this place?'' she asked Ifeoma.
''Please, I don't have time for JAMB questions right now. If you think that my husband finds it difficult to keep his hands off me just because I'm fair-skinned, well, you are wrong. This shop is a part of my ammunition.'' Ifeoma replied.
After that, Bimpe had kept quiet. Even when she had reservations about the things Ify kept pilling for her, she didn't say anything. If wearing trashy underwear will bring her man to her and stop all the beatings, then she was willing to try it.
Satisfied with her appraisal in the mirror, she ran downstairs again to open the door. Her husband was now inspecting the flowers that bordered the veranda. Their gateman, who doubled as the gardener, had been lazy of late and only watered them whenever he felt like. But Femi had warned her never to correct any domestic staff again as it was not her place to do so. With her own husband undermining her in front of the help, it was no wonder that her self-esteem had taken a nosedive.
But that is about to change tonight, Bimpe said to herself. After today, their love will get better and better and they would all be happy again. Quickly, she ran upstairs and proceeded to light the candles she had earlier positioned all over the bedroom.
As Femi climbed up, he saw the candles first, even before he perceived the fragrance. Femi is a sucker for nice smells and would spend any amount of money to get exotic scents that titillate the senses. He was therefore surprised that he couldn't place what he was perceiving, in fact, he was sure he had never smelled it before. He was wondering where Bimpe got a new blend from when he pulled open the door of the bedroom and received a shock.
He saw a vision in a purple negligee that was barely there. She was standing, no lounging by the window with one hip daintily placed on the window seat and legs crossed demurely. If the crossed legs were meant to be a symbol of modesty, it was not working. What had gotten to Bimpe? How did she transform herself into this? What was she trying to do? Seduce him? Make him mad?
As he stared at her and she starred back, eyes heavy-lidded with glittering eye-shadow, Femi knew he had never seen his wife more beautiful. She had managed to look both innocent and worldly at the same time and he was, against his will, completely turned on.
Bimpe's imagination took a wild ride. She had known that her husband would be impressed, she just never considered that he would get tongue-tied too. That's good, she thought to herself. Tonight, instead of beating out percussion strings on her body, they were going to make music together—a song of their own. She wanted him so badly. She has missed him, she wanted to have her man back, to have his heart belong to her again.
While Bimpe was imagining all that, Femi moved towards her and still without a word, enfolded her in an embrace. Then he started fiddling with her brassiere. She wanted to laugh, the bra had been connected to the negligee in such a way that would make a man crazy but take time and care to get off. It was the perfect recipe to get a man dancing to your tune. Bimpe's plans are playing out well and she made a mental note to give Ifeoma a gift certificate for hairstyling and manicures that will last six months.
Femi was now done with the brassiere, he pulled one of her breasts and drew her close again when he gave Bimpe a resounding slap on the face. Bimpe's head snapped back, more out of shock than the slap itself. It didn't end there, Femi pushed her to the floor and started hitting her. Bimpe couldn't fight back, all of her strength was gone. She laid there and let the man she loved love her the only way he had been for the past one year: with his belt—the metal buckle cutting the flesh on her arms, with his fist—her hands snapping up in time to protect her face from the worst of the blows, with his feet—his dress shoes catching her in the jaw while still reeling from a blow to her stomach.
She was almost lifeless, she couldn't even cry. As Femi adjusted his clothes and walked out of the house, Bimpe couldn't help but agree that at least one of the plans had come to fruition. She had determined that tonight was going to be a night to remember. Indeed, it was a night to remember.