Finding Jelena’s compound in Bolori I had been tricky, but finding her small villa inside hadn’t; it was the place with all the vehicles parked nearby and Europop thumping out the windows. As the two contractors walked towards the party Jack caught Mikhail’s head bopping along to the music and he stopped to ask a question. “You’re not going to start doing that dance, where you crouch down and start kicking your legs out, are you?”
“I like the music.”
“What do you know about music?”
“I play the piano.”
Jack looked at Mikhail for a moment, as if the Russian had just told him he was really a giraffe, then went up to ring the doorbell.
The woman who answered was about Jack’s age, and stood blocking the way with one hand on her cocked hip and another up by her head holding the open door, a smoke dangling from her fingers. Her burgundy blouse matched her lipstick, and her shoulder length brunette hair was about the same color as her leather pants and heels. Her dark eyes regarded the two men rather dubiously, Mikhail especially, before she simply asked “Yes?” Jack quickly explained they were looking for Jelena’s party and that they’d been invited by Aldo.
The woman took a drag off her cigarette, then ruefully smiled at Jack before saying “That boy will be the death of me” in a mild Slavic accent. She waved her hand at the two contractors as she added “I am Jelena. Come, come” and quickly ushered them into her home. Plowing through the men blocking her way by lightly barking at them in various languages and delivering well placed pokes here and there, Jelena led Jack and Mikhail into the dining room, which featured a table laden with catered food and a sideboard piled with even more booze. Jack asked for a beer and as their hostess handed him a Castle, Mikhail said something in Russian that made Jelena laugh; Jack knew that was his cue to exit stage left, so he wandered away into the living room.
Jack recognized a few people from his “civil affairs” rounds; some nodded his way, while others studiously ignored him. Then he noticed Aldo across the room and decided to go say hi. As Jack made his way through the press he saw the young photojournalist was wearing black jeans, an Eiffel 65 t-shirt and sunglasses; how the young Italian could see anything in the dimly lit room was anyone’s guess. Still, Jack slapped Aldo on the arm as he shook the kid’s hand; Aldo seemed quite pleased to see Jack, and even happier when the contractor mentioned Doctor Blake and MSF might be interested in the pictures of their trip to Akanni.
After more than a few grazie’s Aldo nodded towards a short young woman standing a few feet away talking to three guys. Her long, dark curly hair framed a very cute face, and her white v-neck t-shirt contrasted markedly with her caramel colored skin, but matched her flip flops perfectly; the t-shirt was as tight as the blue jeans the young woman wore and made it clear that if she ever had babies, they’d never go hungry. “Mia donna Naomi. Like mia madre, she is from Addis. She works for Jelena.”
At the sound of her name Naomi turned her head and gave Jack a polite little smile; then Aldo said something to her in Amharic and the smile was replaced for a second by a worried little frown. Naomi looked over at Aldo then back at Jack, hesitated for a moment and then reached out to lightly touch the contractor’s forearm as she said “Thank you for helping my Aldo;” Naomi’s charming British accent couldn’t quite mask the fact that her words of thanks didn’t sound all that happy to Jack . As Naomi turned back to flirt with the three other guys, Jack wondered what the hell had just happened; Aldo might have been looking on behind his shades, but it was hard to tell. Jack briefly pondered whether the young Italian was one of the most confident guys he’d ever met, or the most oblivious, before he excused himself to wander around some more.
Since the inside of the villa was getting crowded, hot, noisy and smoky Jack eventually popped out the back, just in time to see a French blonde he vaguely knew go running past in what he assumed was a bikini; she was quickly caught by some guy chasing her and the two tumbled off the patio into the communal pool at the center of this block of villas. A few seconds later the two came sputtering up from under the water, and as the gal began climbing out it became evident that she’d “somehow” lost her top when she fell in. A smattering of applause broke out from the male party goers around the pool as the gal shrieked in horror and tried to cover herself, but Jack was close enough to see that was all for show; a little smile played at the corners of the Frenchwoman’s mouth and her nipples were rock hard, almost certainly not because of the still warm pool water. Another guy standing nearby decided to play along and walked up to the gal, pulled off his t-shirt and offered it to her; she accepted with a smile and quickly pulled it on, thereby plastering the thin yellow fabric to her upper body. The two were soon joined by the first guy who’d also fallen into the pool, while the Frenchwoman's top floated forgotten in the water.
Jack glanced down at this watch. “Shenanigans have started a little early,” he thought. “Must have been a tough week all around.” Then Jack noticed an older, retired British cop named Trevor standing off to the side. Besides being out in Maiduguri as part of some sort of UN sponsored police training mission, the Brit held a dark pint glass in his hands, so Jack figured he could kill two birds with one stone by asking about a Guinness while they talked shop. As he made his way around the pool Jack briefly wondered if Miranda was going to make it tonight, and what she’d make of this kind of expat house party if she did …
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