“We’re closed!” Rhoda yelled when she heard the doorbell ring again. Didn’t people know how to read signs anymore? It was almost 9:00 p.m. Who would be knocking on the doors of an art gallery at this hour when there was a giant sign right in front of the door that said “WE’RE CLOSED” in big red capital letters? Whoever it was, they would get a piece of her mind if they didn’t quit pounding on the door like they owned the place. Or maybe they did. Could it be her landlord?
Mr. Jegede never came by at night. Then again, up until a week ago, she’d never been at the gallery at night before. But how did he find out that she was living here now? Life was surely against her!
Already in her nightgown, Rhoda quickly threw on a sweater, took off her bonnet, and headed to the door. When she reached it, she put on her most childlike smile and unlocked the padlock. As the coiling door rolled up, she noticed that the man’s shoes weren’t the sandals Mr. Jegede always wore. Instead, they were sneakers whose price could probably save her from the quagmire she was in—or at least treat her to a nice weekend at a resort where she could forget about her problems.
It wasn’t until the man cleared his throat that Rhoda realized the door was fully open. Lifting her eyes, they rested upon a face that could only be described as Hollywood standard. Neat cornrows and beautiful eyes stared back at Rhoda. Her mouth went dry immediately. Not quite because he was handsome, but because she knew what those eyes were staring at: a horrible mess in flip-flops.
“Pardon me, did I… wake you?” the man asked, the last two words coming tentatively. Of course they would! Why would anyone be sleeping in an art gallery?
Rhoda blinked several times, struggling to find an answer.
“No,” she said with a stutter and that awkward nervous chuckle she’d never grown out of—the one that sounded like she was gasping for air. “You didn’t wake me! Why would you think you woke me? It’s not like this is even my house! So why would I be sleeping here?”
“I see,” the man said, nodding slowly.
Rhoda began nodding too. Why on earth was she doing that? Well, she’d done it now! She’d made a handsome man think she was crazy.
“I want to buy a painting,” the man announced. “I saw it when I drove by earlier today. I noticed the sign, but I saw the lights on and thought to try my luck.”
“You couldn’t wait till tomorrow?” Rhoda asked, her initial astonishment wearing off.
“I never put off till tomorrow something I can do today,” he replied frankly, offering a smile. “Would you be kind enough to let me in?”
And risk him seeing the makeshift mattress she had dropped in the middle of the exhibition room? No way!
“I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible,” Rhoda said. “If you would describe the painting, I can bring it out here for you.”
He took a moment to respond, looking a little skeptical. Rhoda was getting tired. The giant Christmas tree at the mall across from her gallery, with its extra bright lights, was disturbing her eyes. She needed her glasses.
“Alright,” the man finally said. “It’s the one that shows a dove on a tree with no leaves.”
“I’ll be right back,” Rhoda said and dashed into the gallery. She knew exactly what painting he was referring to. Stepping over her mattress, she removed the painting from the easel and returned to the door. The man was still standing there, looking toward the road. His back was turned to her.
“Here it is,” Rhoda said, holding up the painting.
He smiled as soon as he laid eyes on it. Taking it from her, he studied it keenly, a smile creeping in.
“How much is it?” he asked.
“₦90,000,” she replied.
“I’ll take it!”
By the time he’d made the payment and she’d packed the painting for him, she was already yawning.
“Forgive me for any inconvenience,” the man said, gearing up to leave.
“No problem at all,” Rhoda said, forcing a smile.
Offering a goodbye, the man turned and walked away. Jeremy Malcolm. That was the name on the credit alert. Quite a name, Rhoda thought. Retreating into the gallery, she shut the doors once again, hoping it would be the last time that night.
***
This was it. Rhoda’s last chance to convince Mr Chidi not to sell the house she’d lived in her whole life. Yes, she’d been evicted already. Yes, she had no money to buy the building herself. Yes, someone else had already made an offer for the house, but she believed in miracles. It was Christmas, after all. And according to all those corny American movies, Christmas always birthed miracles. Would God grant her one today?
If she had her facts right, Mr. Chidi was meeting with the potential buyer today to show him the house and close the deal. Rumour had it the man was renowned for having a keen eye for profitable properties. He bought and sold them. If that was true, then the house would mean nothing to him. No sentimental value whatsoever. Just another business deal. But this house meant the world to Rhoda. She’d been raised here.
Getting out of the taxi that brought her to the front of her former home, she looked around at the duplexes that lined both sides of the street before resting her eyes on her house—the only bungalow on Elmwood Street. All the houses used to be bungalows until new owners bought and renovated them. Rhoda’s house was the only one that had remained as it was. Something about its antique look had always appealed to her father. Maybe if she managed to stop the sale, she would refurbish it.
Walking up to the front door, she crossed her fingers and knocked twice. Mr Chidi would probably yell at her again, but it was worth a shot. A familiar nervousness came over her as soon as the door swung open, and she saw a man who wasn’t Mr Chidi. Her mouth went dry again, just as it had last night. How couldn’t it? The same handsome man with cornrows who had bought a painting now stood in front of her. Jeremy Malcolm. But what was he doing here?
“We meet again,” he said, smirking.
Exhaling away her nerves, Rhoda spoke.
“Yes. May I ask what you’re doing here?”
“Here? It’s my house.”
Rhoda’s heart sank. So he was the buyer. This meant he’d closed the deal with Mr Chidi.
“You’ve signed the papers, then?” she asked with a deflated sigh.
“Not yet,” Jeremy said with a shrug. “I’m just waiting for Mr Chidi to arrive.”
“Not yet?” Rhoda asked, her hope reigniting. “Then I must make an appeal to you.”
Rhoda spent the next twenty minutes inside the now-empty house, explaining her plight to Jeremy. Her family had been renting the building for nearly 20 years. They had meant to buy it, but life happened. With her dad no longer in the picture and her siblings living elsewhere with their families, she’d spent the last three years living here alone. Now, with the owner insisting on selling and her not having the funds to purchase it, she had to leave. All she needed was a little more time—or a payment plan flexible enough to work.
After her long, harrowing explanation, she stood watching Jeremy’s face for any hint of his response. There was none. After a moment, he sighed.
“What exactly do you want me to do for you, Miss…?”
“Rhoda,” she replied. “All I ask is that you don’t buy the house. If you retract your offer, he might consider mine.”
Jeremy didn’t get a chance to respond before Mr Chidi burst through the front door.
“I thought I heard your voice, Rhoda,” Mr Chidi said, his eyes accusing her through his glasses. He then turned to Jeremy. “Is she bothering you, Mr Malcolm?” he asked. “I’ve told her not to interfere with…”
“It’s fine, Mr Chidi,” Jeremy said, not sparing Rhoda a glance. “Let’s just sign the papers and be done with it.”
Rhoda’s heart broke a hundred times over as she watched the two men stand by the kitchen counter and sign the papers. So much for crossing her fingers. Noticing they were still crossed, she freed them. Unable to take it anymore, she walked out the door.
She was about to get into a cab when she heard her name. She turned and saw Jeremy jogging toward her. Was he coming to apologize?
“You can save your apologies, Mr Malcolm,” Rhoda said with a pout. “I don’t need them.”
“Apologies?” he asked with a chuckle. “I came to ask why you ran off.”
“Did you expect me to stand there and watch you shatter my dream?”
He chuckled again. “I didn’t. You wanted a more flexible payment plan, and Mr Chidi would never have agreed to that.”
“That is not new information, Mr Malcolm,” Rhoda retorted. She would wipe that smug smile off his face if he kept taunting her.
“What was your offer?”
“A two-year payment plan.”
“Deal,” Jeremy said.
“I don’t understand,” Rhoda said honestly.
“I’ll agree to your payment plan,” he said. “I’ll sell you the house.”
Rhoda’s eyes flew open. “You will?”
He nodded, smiling.
“Why?” she asked, confused.
“For one, I really liked that painting,” he said, still smiling. “Secondly, I don’t think you should be living in the gallery. And thirdly, it’s Christmas.”
Rhoda couldn’t stop herself from laughing aloud. The American Christmas movies were not wrong, after all.
“I’ll come over to the gallery to discuss the terms. Hopefully, this time you’ll let me in.” With that, he smiled and walked away.
Rhoda stood there smiling until the taxi driver started honking his horn. As she rode in the cab to the gallery, she couldn’t help but sing the Igbo praise songs her father used to sing back then.