Siren

by Kuli Roberts

  ‘Thank you so much for coming,’ Clifton said. The register of his voice was a little high, but there was something about it she immediately responded to. ‘I’m sorry you had to come all the way from Soweto. I would have come to pick you up, but I had a voice-over in Illovo.’

  ‘No problem. I was glad to come.’ She looked into his eyes, smiled and, yes, there was a connection there. No way could she be imagining it. ‘It’s bugging me, but I know you from somewhere.’

  He flashed a knowing smile. ‘You might have seen me on TV. I turn up there occasionally.’

  And then it came to her. ‘That’s it. There was that soapie, set in Eldorado Park.’

  ‘Actually, it was a daily drama. The Park.’

  ‘That’s it. Haven’t seen it for a while. What happened to it?’

  ‘It got cancelled is what happened. That’s the cut-throat world of television for you. You don’t get the ratings, you don’t get renewed and you’re back out there with the rest of the wannabes.’ The edge of bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

  ‘So, what are you doing now?’ Zinhle asked, anxious to lighten the mood.

  ‘Same as you. Going to auditions, looking for work.’ As he lightly touched a finger on her left hand, she found the sensation intensely arousing. ‘I’m sorry. Cynthia told me you’re on her books.’

  ‘What else did she tell you?’

  ‘Not a whole lot. She sent me your profile and I told her I wanted to meet you.’

  ‘She wants to sign you up. You probably know that already.’

  ‘I had my suspicions, but I’m not ready for a change right now.’

  ‘She’ll be disappointed.’

  ‘I’m not. I got to meet you.’ It was a corny line, but as it came out of his mouth she didn’t mind it. ‘Your photos don’t do you justice.’

  ‘They were taken by some guy Cynthia sent me to. I never thought they were that great.’

  ‘Good photos are really important in this business,’ he said. ‘They can make a big difference. I can hook you up with a really good photographer. With a beautiful girl like you he would do wonders.’

  ‘You think I’m beautiful?’ she asked, regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.

  ‘Of course. Don’t you?’

  ‘I never really thought about it.’ And it was true, she hadn’t. Everything was more about other people. Her mother had never called her beautiful, and neither had Dumi, even when he was trying so hard to get into her pants. Coming from Clifton, it sounded refreshing and true.

  They ordered food, but Zinhle didn’t feel like eating and, besides, she couldn’t afford anything. Maybe he wouldn’t pay for her, and anyway it was more fun watching him wolf down his steak and chips. And she was careful not to drink too much, although she was eager to take the edge off her nervousness. As the evening wore on, there was one thing she knew – Clifton was someone she really liked. If Cynthia never secured her a paying job, she would always be thankful for this.

  Their leisurely rapport seemed to infect the rest of the restaurant. Occasionally someone would look over, as if they recognised Clifton, but nobody bothered them. Talking to him was easy, as if she could tell him anything. She spoke about her mother and her struggles to keep the spaza shop going, about Abdul and the shop, even about her frustrations with Cynthia and the endless cattle calls she’d been sent to. He was such a good listener, and seemed eager to learn more.

  He had a black BMW that had that clean, expensive smell, and when she settled into the brown leather passenger seat she knew there was only one place they were headed. Nothing needed to be said, it just seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

  His apartment in Hyde Park had an underground garage. Up in the lift to the fourth floor and there they were, in the neat, ordered hallway. They were kissing before the front door slammed shut, he was unzipping her dress and she was letting it fall to the tiled floor. He was touching her, caressing her breasts, and she couldn’t get enough of him.

  The condoms were in a small wooden box beside a bed so large it almost filled the room. As he entered her, she was so wet, and his penis seemed to stretch her in the most wonderful way. When later he went down on her, his tongue dancing lightly over her clit before delving deeper, she knew that she wanted to return the favour. Taking his exquisite thickness into her mouth, she caressed it with her tongue, loving the way he moaned, his hand gently guiding her.

  They finally found sleep entwined in each other, and when she woke up hours later Zinhle knew this was something special, something to nurture, something she wanted to hold onto and keep.

  Clifton had said he was chasing auditions just like her, but that was not strictly true. He may have lost his main source of income when The Park was cancelled, but he’d bounced back as the presenter of two prime-time TV programmes. One was a reality show that focused on entrepreneurship in the informal sector, while the other had a magazine format and highlighted former sports stars willing to mentor others. Whatever he made covered the bond on his apartment, and gave him a lifestyle to which he hoped to become accustomed. A big part of that lifestyle consisted of socialising, attending product launches and company functions – and Zinhle quickly became entwined in it.

  After that first night together, a part of her thought it was over, that, now he’d tasted her sweetness, Clifton would move on to find others to devour. Even when he took her number, she didn’t think much of it, and when he called the following day to invite her to the launch of a new TV drama, she found it hard to hide her surprise. Are you sure you want to go with me, she wanted to say, but stopped herself. After all, why wouldn’t he? She was as good as any other woman, better actually, and they had a connection that was all too real.

  So there they were on the red carpet, flashbulbs popping as they brushed shoulders with people she’d seen in the pages of glossy magazines and on the television screen. When a television crew cornered Clifton for an interview he kept his arm around her, pulling her close, so there was no way of keeping her out of the shot.

  And it did not end there. The following day there was a product launch for the latest BMW sports car, and again Clifton asked her to accompany him. By the fourth social event, she was running out of things to wear, so he gave her some money to buy outfits. By this time she was spending more time at Clifton’s apartment than she was at home. She cooked for him and he complimented her on her culinary skills, but when time was short they ate out. It was all about as far from a spaza shop existence as you could get.

  So quickly had Zinhle’s life changed, she had little time to even consider what she was doing. They made love all the time, and the more sex she had the more she wanted. It was like an itch that needed constant scratching; Clifton was her addiction, and one she could never get enough of.

  After a whirlwind fortnight of functions, launches and parties, they came back to Clifton’s place for another marathon round of sex. Zinhle was feeling tired, but knew that he would want her, would undress her, his hands and his lips covering every part of her body, and she wanted him right back, all of him.

  In the hallway he just stood there in front of her, looking into her eyes, and for a moment she thought something was wrong. When he got down on one knee and she saw the ring in the box, him holding it out for her to see, she knew there was only one answer to the question he was about to ask.

  Chapter 9

  ‘MARRIED?’ MABEL WAS trying hard to keep it together. ‘That is madness. You can’t!’

  ‘Ma, I can and I will. I love him.’

  ‘So OK, you love him, but you don’t have to get married.’

  ‘I want to.’

  ‘But why? Why are you doing this?’

  ‘He asked me and I said yes.’

  ‘But you’re only twenty. You’re too young. And what do you really know about him? Not a lot.’

  ‘I know enough.’

  ‘No. This is no good. I can’t agree.’

  It was always go
ing to be difficult for her mother. Marriage was something Mabel had never done; how could she know all Zinhle was feeling? Had she ever been in love? How could she begin to understand the sensation of knowing that everything was just as it was supposed to be?

  ‘Ma, I really need your support. But if you won’t give me your blessing, I will still do it.’

  They were standing at the sink in the house. Mabel had her hands deep in suds. Barely any dishes to wash, but in times of stress she needed to keep busy. The pot she had in her hand was spotlessly clean, but she couldn’t put it down. ‘And he is coloured, my child. They have no traditions, they just go ahead and marry.’

  Something about this made her laugh. ‘Ma, what traditions do you want him to follow? You want him to pay lobola?’

  ‘Why not? You are my daughter, and he hasn’t even been here to see me, to ask my permission.’

  ‘Well, actually ...’

  ‘Actually what?’

  Zinhle hesitated. ‘He’s sitting outside in the car.’

  Mabel spun round to face her daughter, the suds flying off her hands. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I told him I needed to talk to you first.’

  ‘But why? Am I such a monster?’

  This prompted a brief laugh. ‘Ma, just look how you’ve reacted. He wanted to come in with me, but I convinced him to wait.’

  At the window, Mabel pulled the curtains apart to peer at the road. ‘I can’t see him. Where is he?’

  ‘He’s there, Ma. Relax.’

  ‘Well, he can’t just sit out there. Tell him to come in. I have some things I want to say.’

  ‘Alright, but be nice.’

  Mabel shrugged. ‘When am I not nice?’

  So Clifton came in and they all sat down in the living room. Mabel was prickly at first: ‘Why do you want to marry my daughter? Can’t you see she is too young?’

  Turning on the charm, Clifton answered all of her questions with a studied calm. Yes, he realised how young Zinhle was, but they loved each other. He himself had just turned twenty-six, but they would build a life together, and he had the means to support Zinhle in anything she decided to do.

  Sitting by his side and holding his hand, Zinhle said very little, but the way Clifton addressed all of her mother’s concerns impressed her. As an actor, he knew how to deliver a line, but there was real sincerity in his voice. All she could do was watch in amazement as Mabel slowly melted.

  After that things moved quickly, and Zinhle let herself be carried away on the Clifton Michaels whirlwind. Before she knew it, there was a bidding war between various TV stations for the broadcasting rights to the wedding. She wasn’t sure that was what she wanted, but Clifton quelled her fears: ‘It’s the right thing to do. At the end of the day, we pay for nothing. And just think of the exposure, what it’ll do for your career.’

  It had been a while since she’d thought of herself having anything resembling a career, but it all seemed to make sense. In the wake of their wedding announcement, their images appeared on the covers of magazines. She was contacted by production companies who wanted her to appear on their programmes. After consultation with her fiancé, she chose an Afrikaans drama where she played a difficult customer in a jewellery shop, and a recurring part as a social worker in a well-established soapie. Her lack of experience showed, but it was a foot in the door, and all thanks to her public exposure.

  She really enjoyed the photo shoots. Drum ran a story that highlighted her and Clinton’s love for each other in a straightforward way that was perhaps too simplistic, but the photos communicated something of their passion.

  She got a call from Cynthia congratulating her on her engagement. ‘You know, I had a feeling you two would hit it off, but marriage – isn’t that taking it a little far?’

  ‘It’s what we both want.’

  ‘Well, OK then. Here’s wishing you both all the best.’

  ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘And the acting jobs you’ve done, congrats on those, although we still have to sit down and talk about the way forward.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I am your agent, my darling. Ten per cent of whatever fees you received.’

  Zinhle took a moment before answering. ‘I got those jobs off my own back. You had nothing to do with any of them. In fact, you’ve never got me any job.’

  ‘My dear, your contract states that I am entitled to ten per cent of your earnings. Read the fine print.’

  ‘You and I both know that contract isn’t worth shit.’

  A deep intake of breath from Cynthia down the phone line. ‘Well, let’s not talk about it now. After all, you have a wedding to plan. We can talk after the ceremony.’

  ‘We won’t be able to talk after the ceremony because you’re not invited. And by the way, you’re no longer my agent. You’re fired.’

  Preparations for the wedding continued. Mabel helped her pick out a dress, although having the TV cameras there recording everything was a little off-putting for everyone involved. Almost everyone – Clifton’s mother Alicia seemed to revel in the presence of the cameras, voicing her opinion loudly and comprehensively every chance she got. Her constant nitpicking could not fail to irritate Mabel, who was never slow in voicing her objections.

  Something about the mothers clashing amused Zinhle, who tried not to let anything interfere with her enjoyment of the whole process. Their onscreen feud would help boost the ratings when the programme finally aired.

  One disturbing aspect of the process was the constant stream of products Clifton was showered with following the news of their engagement – everything from expensive watches to state-of-the-art computers and luxury furniture. ‘It’s all part of the game,’ he explained to her. ‘We really have to make hay while the sun shines.’

  ‘But they’re using our wedding to push their products.’

  ‘We’re using them too,’ he countered. ‘We’re getting what we want out of them.’

  She wasn’t so sure about the ‘we’ part, as almost everything seemed to be for him. He was even given a Jet Ski to use on their honeymoon, when the cameras would still be rolling. Without consulting her, Clifton had extended the TV contract to include the engagement party and the honeymoon, as well as their first few weeks of marriage back home.

  Zinhle wasn’t sure she wanted any of it. All she knew for sure was that she loved her man with every ounce of her being, and that everything she was doing was for him.

  The production company had final cut. They could show any of the footage they liked, and there was nothing she could do about it. Apparently it was all in the contract.

  ‘It’ll be OK, babes,’ Clifton said when she questioned him about it. ‘I’ve got a good relationship with Refilwe, she’s a great producer, bags of integrity. Remember, this is our wedding, and she’s well aware of that. They won’t show anything that shows us in a bad light.’

  Even the venue had to be approved by the production company. The one Zinhle favoured, with a quaint chapel and well-kept, manicured grounds, just would not do. Not enough places for lighting, apparently, not enough for this, not enough for that. It was all getting a little too much for her to take.

  ‘This is my wedding!’ she pointed out to Clifton, well aware that she was raising her voice. ‘My special day, not theirs!’

  ‘Of course it’s your day, babes, but these guys have done this many times before, they know what works. You want to look good on TV, right?’

  The master of them all was TV, and they had to bow to its demands. When Zinhle had dreamt of having a career, this wasn’t quite what she had had in mind. But still, she needed to make it work for her; to make the best of what was quickly becoming intolerable.

  During a bizarre meeting between the TV producer, the stills photographer and the happy couple – all captured on camera – a wedding venue was agreed upon. To Zinhle’s untrained eye it didn’t seem all that different to the one she had chosen, but then what did she know?

&nb
sp; One break with tradition she insisted on was that her mother walk her down the aisle. ‘She’s been the most important person in my life,’ she said in an interview the day before the ceremony. ‘There is no other person. If God has a problem, so be it.’ She was almost sure the ‘God’ reference would end up on the cutting floor, but had no regrets about saying it.

  And that was how it went down, with Clifton’s sister and nieces as bridesmaids, Mabel walking her down the aisle, and Patrick, one of Clifton’s acting friends from The Park, as best man. Zinhle looked stunning in an Errol Arendz off-the-shoulder stretch crêpe wedding dress with ruffle beading and sequins, with her bridesmaids in purple grape mermaid dresses with Arabic halter necks. Clifton opted for a grey tuxedo with waistcoat, black shirt and grey tie. Vows were exchanged and confetti was thrown as the happy couple emerged from the chapel … though they had to find more confetti when they needed to repeat the whole process due to a malfunctioning camera.

  At the reception, Patrick stumbled through his speech, later making a drunken pass at Clifton’s clearly panicked fifteen-year-old sister. But on the whole, everybody was happy, including the bride, who was relieved that it had all gone off so well: the first dance, the cutting of the cake, the throwing of the bouquet (caught by Refilwe the producer, who had no business being in the running), the throwing of the garter, a packed dance floor responding favourably to the DJ’s selections.

  At some point later in the evening, Zinhle lost sight of Clifton, but that was fine, there were loads of people vying for his attention: he was the man of the moment. And she also spent time with her friends, and her mother, who after all the drama had embraced her daughter’s betrothal and was knocking back Veuve Clicquot as if it was going out of fashion.

  It was a short distance from the banquet hall to the bridal suite, the well-lit walkway strewn with rose petals. She knew he would be waiting for her, because he couldn’t be found anywhere else, and it would be just like him to do something like that.