After the Rain: Lagos plastic surgeons, #3

By Amaka Azie

Medical school student by day and nightclub stripper by night. When Miriam Dogo's uncle threatens her family, she's forced to dance at the Ozone Club. Terrified she'll be recognised and her medical career will go up in smoke, she develops an exotic persona and wears a mask to protect her identity. But who is that man constantly in the audience, his beautiful eyes staring straight into her soul? And why can't she stop thinking about him? 

 

Miss Rain wears a shimmery golden mask and dances with an unparalleled sensuous grace. Surely Oya, the Yoruba goddess of weather, has come to life. Because no mere human could mesmerise Dr Segun Akintola so and make him long for things he's run from for a lifetime. Night after night he sits there with eyes only for her. Until she disappears into thin air. And still, night after night he goes looking for her. Will he ever see her again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amaka Azie
• Release date: Dec 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224743230

Book preview

One

FOUR MONTHS AGO

The woman stepped onto the stage in a tan bikini that complemented her chocolate-brown skin to perfection. Fiery red stilettos hugged her delicate feet, and matching crimson nail polish peeked out from her toes. She’d obscured half her face with a shimmery mask, and a bejewelled tiara crowned her flowing braids.

His breath caught in his throat. He had never seen her before, but Segun knew one thing. Galaxies apart from any other woman he’d ever seen swinging on a pole, this was no ordinary stripper.

No. Even with her face a partial mystery, she brought to mind the painting hanging just above his bed. Of Oya. Powerful and sensuous, the image of the goddess of Yoruba mythology inevitably filled him with a sense of peace whenever his gaze fell upon it.

She sashayed onto the scene, and Segun bolted upright in his seat. His eyes zeroed in on her, letting every other woman on the platform fade into oblivion as her profile came to full view.

In the otherwise dimly lit room, several rotating lampposts beamed bursts of light from the ceiling that reflected onto the stage, yet he could see her clearly.

At this very moment, it seemed as if all his senses were shaken awake from a long slumber. He took in every detail of her tall, slender frame as he trailed his gaze slowly up her body.

She had long straight legs that drew his eyes up to gently curved hips. Two rows of sparkling red waist beads encircled her toned abdomen … sexy as hell. Segun’s fingers tingled, itching with the urge to trail over her tempting curves.

Her breasts were small with prominent nipples poking through the thin material covering them. And finally, her sweet smile—full lips parted to reveal pretty white teeth. Segun swore he could hear the softness of her breath.

Damn. He swallowed a sigh. If only he could see the rest of her face, the perfection he was sure was hidden under the mask.

What a stunning work of art she was. Just like a delicate sculpture of the goddess he’d become obsessed with as a young boy after learning about Yoruba mythology. Oya—the patron of the Niger River and the deity who commanded wind and storm.

Everyone, please welcome our special act for tonight. The voice from a speaker sliced through his transfixed fascination with the woman who pranced across the stage and curled her fingers around the pole directly opposite him.

Segun held his breath, every muscle in his body tensing in anticipation. He was in the VIP section of Ozone, a nightclub he frequented. Its strict reservation policy and the costly membership ensured not just anyone came to Ozone. Usually, no more than twenty people occupied the room at any given point in time.

Tonight, he and his friend Oke Amayo sat on his reserved loveseat after a busy Friday at work. Several similar seating arrangements encircled the platform where the women performed, while providing enough space between each seat to lend an intimate, but uncrowded atmosphere.

Expect to be blown away by our newest candy, Miss Rain.

Miss Rain. Her stage name. All in keeping with Segun’s impression of her the moment he set his eyes on her—the goddess of weather.

Cheers erupted as she swung herself onto the pole and swirled around like a fairy, her movements graceful and artistic. She began a slow seductive dance, sliding like a snake, her hips moving from side to side, her plush bottom bouncing as her body stole up and down the pole.

Slim-thicc. His exact spec. He loved women who were slender, but with curves in the right places. And by that, he meant a luscious ass.

She performed a split while high up on the pole, then twirled downwards again, all the while wriggling her hips, the lower half of her body moving with a will of its own. Mesmerising.

Spellbound, Segun held his breath, his fingers tight against the stem of his champagne flute, his gaze fastened on her.

The three other women at the periphery doing their own routine didn’t exist to him. Only Miss Rain.

The grace with which she moved, the seductive flare in her eyes as she made love to the pole with her body, drew him in. There was an art to the fluidity of her bones, not just aiming to arouse, but also to captivate, to ensnare. Similar to the tune of a flute played by an experienced snake charmer to control the reptile.

Right now, their positions reversed. As if she were the snake charmer, blowing out a hypnotic tune on the flute. And he the snake—under her spell. Unable to move, to breathe, to do anything without her command. And what she commanded was his full attention.

Ozone strippers never performed completely nude. They danced on stage in their undergarments and had no contact with their audience. Tips were placed in the vault attached to the stage in front of each dancer—an effective deterrent to inappropriate behaviour by patrons.

Another reason he preferred Ozone. Other strip clubs in Lagos were not as well-organised, and many times, bouncers had to forcibly remove unruly men and women who became too grabby with strippers.

Typically, Segun split his money among all dancers equally. Not today. The 100K naira stashed in his jeans pocket belonged to one person tonight. Miss Rain.

She dances like a ballerina twerking to an Afrobeat.

Oke’s voice crashed through his thoughts. Reluctantly, Segun slid his gaze sideways to his work partner and friend of nearly a decade. Without doubt, he knew exactly whom she was referring to.

Yes, he said, his voice hoarse and his face heating up. God, he felt like a leering pervert. Not his usual response to strippers in a club. Had Oke noticed?

He usually came over to Ozone on Friday nights to relax after work. As one of the three partners of Blossom Health, a busy cosmetic centre in Lekki, his job was gruelling.

Lagos had fast become the centre of plastic surgery in Nigeria, and Blossom Health was number one in the country and West Africa. Their clients travelled from all over the continent, and most days, he found himself performing three surgeries.

Such stressful, detail-oriented work required an outlet. A single man who steered clear of the strings attached to committed relationships, Segun enjoyed the freedom of appreciating the nude or semi-nude female form without any need for conversation or intimate contact.

Ozone afforded just such stress relief and relaxation. Here, he could be himself. Give himself permission to enjoy sensuality as an art without any judgement. Or entanglements.

Only nine years old, he’d stumbled on a painting of a naked woman in his grandfather’s studio, painted by the old man himself. The excellent blending of colours that produced the life-like image had sparked a creativity within him. Like his Papa Adebayo Akintola, he would become an artist, endlessly capturing the beautiful creation of the naked female form on canvas. And fulfilled doing so.

If only life were so simple.

His parents, renowned cardiothoracic surgeons, balked at his chosen future profession. Nothing other than becoming a doctor, like everyone else in the family, would do, and Segun had succumbed. Veering into plastic surgery had been his one rebellion—a way to foster his creative side in the medical field.

A part of him still longed to resume painting women in their natural state. Would Miss Rain be my muse?

His cheeks flooded with shame at the thought. He shouldn’t be thinking of painting another woman. The last woman he’d painted had shattered his heart into pieces. Besides, he was a doctor now. A successful surgeon. Not an artist. Painting would only bring back bad memories. He shook off the odd feeling.

She’s not the typical stripper we see here, he said, leaning closer to Oke to avoid shouting.

I know. Look at the men, Oke said, casting her eyes around the place before coming back to him with a sly smile playing on her lips. I think she’s cast a spell on y’all.

His cheeks flooded with warmth again. His friend had noticed his own captivation. How embarrassing.

Segun let his eyes sweep around the room. Indeed, almost every other man’s eyes were glued on Miss Rain. The women, too. She really was this evening’s star.

Jealousy—another unexpected emotion—slashed through Segun. Red-hot irritation rocketed up his spine.

What the hell?! Where had that come from? Why did he suddenly want to jump up, switch off every light, and plunge the room into total darkness? Anything to keep leering, inquisitive eyes off her.

Segun swallowed hard, turning his attention back to the exotic dancer on stage. Her left ankle curved around the top of the pole as she swung around it, tossing her hips back and forth. Her legs and arms caressed the pole and a seductive smile played on her lips.

Blood flowed to the organ between his thighs, hardening it. Segun shifted in his seat, once again thankful for the room’s semi-darkness. His jaw tightened as he placed his free hand over the front of his denim-clad thigh to cover the bulge in front of his jeans.

Other men would have this same physical response to Miss Rain. She was a stunning creature, and they were in a strip club being entertained by near-naked women shaking their bodies. It was only natural. He’d never given his reactions a second thought before, so why the sudden embarrassment? And this inexplicable rage at other men gawking at her?

Tearing his gaze from Miss Rain, Segun turned back to his friend. She’s exceptional, he admitted before taking a slow sip of his champagne, trying to gather himself together. This was so unlike him, to feel wound up at a strip club instead of relaxed like he usually was.

Yep. But that’s why she’s different, Oke said. She’s not just dancing. She’s performing.

Uh-huh.

He took in the other three dancers. Two were on the floor, twerking away, their voluptuous bodies jiggling as they moved. On Miss Rain’s other side, the third woman lay spread-eagled, repeatedly shoving her pelvis upwards in a guileless, seductive dance. No art. Just pure sexual exhibition.

This normally satisfied him. Not now. He returned his gaze to Miss Rain. Oke was right. She moved like a fairy. Yet she still managed to ooze intense sensuality with every seductive toss of her butt, every twist of her waist, and every glide of her arms and legs. She worked the pole like a gymnast, but also had the allure of a Bachata dancer.

Oh, she’s put that spell on you, too, Segun. Looks like someone has fallen in love.

Oke’s teasing felt like being dumped into icy waters. Goosebumps spread over his skin, drawing him back to his senses.

He was in a strip club for goodness’ sake. A place women wearing next to nothing danced seductively for an audience. Of course, his body was aroused. And yes, maybe he was overtly intrigued by the skill of the new dancer. Who wouldn’t be? She was a fantastic dancer. But nothing more.

And his response was totally natural. Being teased by a beautiful, almost naked woman shaking her tits and ass right in front of him would have the same effect on most men. Nothing else to it, so why did he allow his mind to dig any deeper than usual?

Miss Rain, no matter how captivating, was nothing but a stripper doing what she was paid to do. And she did a mighty good job of it.

Segun let out a chuckle. "You dey craze! He swatted Oke on her shoulder playfully. Na your papa don fall in love."

Oke flung back her head and burst out a laugh, flicking a loose strand of her braided hair behind her ear. You know what, you’re right, she chortled. My father has married his fourth wife and moved to South Africa. They say his nose is wide open for the girl half his age.

Segun curved his lips into a smile. Although Oke’s tone was buoyant as a feather in the wind, he sensed the underlying disappointment in her father. As a child, both her parents had abandoned her, leaving her late grandmother to raise her. It had to be hard getting only second-hand information about her father who didn’t bother keeping in touch.

Regret clogged his throat. What a bad joke. What the hell was wrong with him today? From drooling over a stripper to being flippant and hurtful to his good friend? Sorry about … I didn’t mean⁠—

Oh, please, she cut him off with a wave of her hand, giving him a bright smile that stretched her heart-shaped face. Don’t apologise. I’m not fazed at all.

He grinned. He’d not upset her. The twinkle in her eyes proved as much. Since he’d met Oke nearly a decade ago in New York, they had become fast friends. As the only Nigerian woman in the plastic surgery residency programme their first year, she’d caught his attention. Her intelligent contributions during lectures had solidified his interest. He’d wanted to get to know her better.

At first, he’d also found her sexually attractive. Who wouldn’t? Petite with just enough curves to suit her tiny frame, she had a pretty face, smooth brown skin and a bubbly personality.

He’d tried a couple of times to seduce her, but after she’d turned him down firmly, he let it go. Now, he was glad he had. Oke was right—their friendship was far too valuable to jeopardise for a fling.

Neither of them wanted a committed relationship. Kindred spirits who both enjoyed playing the field and living life on their own terms, unbothered by the judgement of others, they connected more as friends.

She poked his shoulder. Say whatever you want, but I’m not as captivated as you were by Miss Rain, she added with a wink. And deny it as much as you want, but I know she’s cast a spell on you and every other man in this room.

He shook his head and laughed. Never. No woman on this earth can faze me. Been there, done that. Never again, he said, turning his attention back to the stage.

Miss Rain hung upside down, slinking down the pole with the ease of a lizard. She swung her head forward and fixed her gaze directly on him. His heart flip-flopped in his chest.

Oh, God! His face blazed like the scorched desert sun, pulling his skin tight until Segun thought it would pop. Although a mask covered her face, he could see the intensity of her bright eyes through its oval slits.

His pulse rate amped up. Oke may be teasing him like she usually did, with her normal fun and games. Still, the way his stomach fluttered as he watched Miss Rain move on the pole, his friend was spot on. This almost otherworldly exotic dancer had captured his attention.

Yes, the stirring in his loins was normal, even welcome. Nothing new there. He frequented Ozone and other strip clubs in Lagos precisely for that—the freedom of losing himself in this kind of sensual atmosphere.

However, this strong and unexpected pull to just one dancer, when three similarly clad ladies danced on stage, troubled him. Shocking. Unwelcome.

Not since Halima had ripped his teenage heart to shreds had Segun felt the urge to paint a woman nude. And that could mean only one thing. Miss Rain had stimulated more than one part of his anatomy.

Just like with his laughable infatuation with Halima, a woman old enough to be his mother, a dangerous longing stirred in the pit of his belly.

Segun shook his head and gulped from his drink. Not going there. Time to squash this like a bug. He swerved his head abruptly and stretched his lips into a smile so wide his jaw ached.

So, tell me about the guy I saw you having dinner with at Zazu. Are you dating? he asked Oke, hoping his voice betrayed none of his inner turmoil. Best to change the subject. What better way to shake these unwanted sensations than talking about Oke’s messy dating life?

Arinze? Noooo, never. She barked out a short laugh, shaking her head decisively. Her eyes twinkled in amusement, as though the very idea was preposterous. He’s just a friend. And way too squeaky clean for me. Wants marriage and babies. Totally not my type.

Segun’s face fractured into a wide grin. I know. Me neither, he said, raising his glass to her. That’s why we get along so well. Cheers to being birds of a feather.

Oke clinked her champagne flute with his. And here’s to living our best lives as successful plastic surgeons free from the box society imposes on others.

Hear, hear! He nodded, sipping his drink as he relaxed back onto his seat.

Then, as if all free will had deserted him, Segun refocused his attention on Miss Rain, watching her gracefully swivel around the pole.

Tonight, he would continue to enjoy watching her dance, tip her heavily for thoroughly entertaining him, and then, go home like he always did. Simple. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And this sudden, odd desire—some might say, overwhelming need—to ferret out the woman’s identity behind the golden mask? Well, that would disappear as soon as he left. Of course, it would.

Two

FOUR MONTHS AGO

Miriam slipped on her jeans and zipped them up. She pulled a handkerchief from the pocket and dabbed at her face, frowning at the brown stains her foundation made on the white cotton cloth.

She glanced around, taking in the perspiring bodies of the three other women in the dressing room. The small space was cluttered, with a dressing table and a large wardrobe that took up almost half the room, leaving little manoeuvring room for four adults. To make matters worse, one tiny window near the ceiling and no fan to circulate the air could tip anyone into claustrophobia.

She drew in a deep breath, dragging the smell of musk and sweat into her nostrils. Gosh. She itched to be out of here and into the fresh, early morning breeze as soon as possible. But she needed to make friends with her co-workers. Leaving without introducing herself would make it harder.

Today was her first day working at Ozone, and even though the boss had given her a quick tour of the stage earlier on, he hadn’t introduced her to anyone.

Miriam parted her lips to speak but closed them again when the woman opposite her let out a sudden, loud hiss.

"Omo, this place dey hot o." she grumbled, pulling away the long blond wig from her head to reveal cornrows in dire need of a rebraid. She was still in the bejewelled thong and push-up bra she’d worn onstage, and her toffee-brown skin glistened with sweat. Her face was heavily made up, and her eyebrows thickly plastered above her eyes in a rather outlandish way.

"Yes, o. See as I dey sweat like Christmas goat," the woman beside her said, tugging on the hem of her tight red dress as if even a millimetre of spare material existed to pull over her ample, barely covered bottom.

"I swear, eh, if no be say I need this money eh, I for commot this work since, the woman with cornrows mumbled, lifting a magazine off the dressing table beside her and fanning herself. This dancing na serious exercise, and one needs a place to cool off afterwards, not this kind of hellfire room."

Miriam burst out in laughter, catching the attention of the two women who turned to her abruptly. Four curious eyes stared back at her.

Sorry, she mumbled, covering her mouth with her palm. Didn’t mean to interrupt.

The woman with cornrows gave her a knowing look. "Ah, our new girl dey speak correct English. We have an ajebo amongst us, she said in a teasing tone. What’s your name?"

Miriam smiled, pleased to have the opening she’d hoped for. Miriam, she said by way of introduction. Also known as Miss Rain.

Hi, Miriam, I’m Dupe, also known as Miss Lollipop, the woman with cornrows said, stretching out her hand.

Miriam reached out and grasped her hand. Nice to meet you.

I’m Nnenna, also known as Miss Sweetcakes, the woman in the red dress said, moving a bit closer.

Miriam shook her hand, too. Hi, good to meet you.

The third woman in the corner stood perched by the wardrobe, fully clothed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She looked up from her phone and waved. And I’m Efe, Miss Honeypot.

Miriam threw her an answering wave with a wide smile.

So, Miss Rain, it seems like you’re educated and quite capable of finding other employment. Why work here?

Miriam’s jaw dropped as her eyes widened. Clearly, Dupe wasn’t as razz as she looked or portrayed.

Dupe’s laughter boomed in the air. Yes, I’m educated just like you, my dear. So, close your mouth.

S-sorry I didn’t mean to offend— Miriam stammered.

No offence taken. Dupe cut her off with a swat at the air. It’s a common assumption about strippers and exotic dancers. Nothing new. Her shoulders rose in a half shrug. I mean, how can any woman who twerks half-naked in front of leering strangers possibly have an education, huh?

I should know better, Miriam said, feeling embarrassed. Indeed, she should have known better. Most of her classmates typically overlooked her in Uni because she didn’t look half as flashy as they did.

"No wahala, said Dupe. I’m used to it. I’m a graduate from University of Lagos. History. But no jobs. So here I am. Because man … and women ... must survive. You nko?"

Miriam nodded in agreement. I’m still in school… She hesitated, not sure she wanted to give away too much of her personal life to total strangers. Heaving a deep breath, she added, Medical student. I’m here because my mother is sick and needs weekly dialysis. Very expensive. So …

I understand, my sister, Nnenna said, a look of commiseration crossing her face. "Imagine a future doctor having to do this? Sapa no go kill us for Naija o. She shook her head. My own story is similar. My mother needs money for heart surgery abroad, and my day job as a tailor can’t even cover my rent. I need this extra cash."

Heaving a sorrowful breath in, Miriam glanced across the room at Efe, wondering what her story would be. Another woman resorting to dancing half-naked in front of strangers out of desperation?

Such a shame. Because of the abysmal economy and lack of affordable healthcare, too many people had been reduced to doing things they’d never dreamt of doing ... just to make ends meet.

Efe huffed, a smirk on her lips. I love this job, she said. All I have to do is dance, shake my boobs and bum, and boom—twenty-five thousand per day appears in my bank account. Working six nights a week, I get over half a million a month. Tell me which other job in this economy will pay me that much?

Is that the pay? Only twenty-five thousand? Miriam asked, arching her eyebrows. I thought we get to keep our tips, too.

The room erupted in laughter so loud that she found herself chuckling in response to their profound amusement.

"Chai! Dupe said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. Keep tips? You think this is Nollywood? Didn’t Boss Man tell you the deal when he employed you?"

Miriam’s cheeks heated. She must have misunderstood what she heard. I thought he meant the baseline pay is twenty-five thousand plus tips.

Another round of laughter rose in the air, but this time, less rambunctious.

My dear, even if you are tipped a million naira, the bosses get to keep it all, so twenty-five thousand is all you get. Nnenna shook her head, her jet-black, bone-straight wig flapping across her face. No wonder you were performing like your life depended on it. You thought you would get more?

No … Miriam rebutted with a little laugh. I just love dancing.

Not entirely true. But she didn’t want to go into detail about it all. She’d had to learn everything about pole dancing from YouTube videos.

Her uncle had made sure of her skills before giving her this job, telling her that she was too tall and not curvy enough to interest his clientele. He’d said she needed something else to stand out—skill.

So, she’d practised non-stop for weeks until she satisfied him. Uncle John didn’t care how much her bones hurt. Nope. Her family owed him millions, and she was the instrument of payment. Whether she liked it or not. To him, family didn’t matter. Business was business.

Swallowing hard at the thought, she pushed back the bitterness that churned her tummy. She couldn’t afford to wallow in the negative emotion. She needed to do what she had to. Pay back the 7.5 million her family had borrowed from her father’s half-brother so her mother didn’t die in hospital. And if it meant dancing nearly naked in front of leering strangers, so be it.

My sister, please don’t waste your energy in this place, Dupe chimed in, drawing her mind back to the conversation. Just twerk for those horny men and women. They don’t care if you are spinning around the pole like a fairy or flying like a bird. All they want to see is your ass bounce and your tits jiggle.

Efe snickered. "Don’t mind these two jare, she said, heaving herself off the wardrobe and tossing her phone into her handbag. She seemed fed up with the conversation and ready to leave. Put in the best effort in all you do. Otherwise, what’s the point? I may need you to teach me how you dance like that sef. It could make me a better exotic dancer."

Nnenna curved her lips into a sneer. Biko, not everyone wants to be a stripper forever, Efe, she snorted. Some people have other ambitions.

Please, don’t insult me— Efe began.

"Abeg, let’s not start all that." Dupe interjected, raising her palm at them to stop their bickering.

From the dynamics among the three women, Miriam could already tell that Dupe led the pack. She had a commanding air about her whenever she spoke, like a school prefect to her fellow pupils.

So, why the name Miss Rain? Dupe asked, her eyebrow curving upwards. Did you pick it yourself, or did Boss Man give it to you?

Miriam shook her head. No, I picked it myself. I loved playing under the rain as a child. My parents nicknamed me Miss Rain.

Oh. Dupe chuckled. And here I was, thinking you would say something like, ‘Because when I twerk, people make it rain on me.’

Ha! I promise you, I’m not that colourful. Miriam grinned, then tilted her jaw towards Dupe. You? Why Miss Lollipop?

Dupe lowered her lashes coyly. Because for an extra ten thousand, I’ll suck any dick like a lollipop.

Startled at such brazen talk, Miriam’s eyes bulged, producing laughter from the three other women. Really? she asked.

"Yes, nau. Do you think the customers leave here and go home with a hard-on to their wives and girlfriends after watching so much erotic dancing on display? Dupe shook her head and gave a coquettish giggle. Hell no. Most call us every now and again to finish the job before they leave."

I don’t do any of that, Efe said, a frown on her face. "I’m strictly a dancer. Not an ashawo."

Stripper, Efe. You’re a stripper. Get off your high horse, Nnenna hissed. Dancers don’t twerk half-nude on a pole in front of strangers.

Don’t mind her, Dupe said, her forehead wrinkling in irritation. Not everyone has the luxury of rebelling against their rich parents by stripping in a club instead of —

A tap on the door cut her off. They all swerved their attention towards the entrance simultaneously.

Come in, Dupe said.

The door opened, and in walked Emeka, the Ozone’s assistant manager.

Miriam had met him earlier when her uncle—Boss Man—was showing her around. He’d seemed pleasant enough then. But right now … she wanted to slam the door in his face.

Worst timing ever! She grunted under her breath. Don’t interrupt now, Mister. I was just about to get the gist.

Efe’s story was getting interesting. A girl from a wealthy family stripping for money? That was different.

Hello ladies, he said with a grin that split his heavily bearded face in half, causing the toothpick hanging from the corner of his lips to wobble.

They all chorused a greeting, but Miriam could sense the unease settling in the room.