I can’t say for sure about the knife in my back. I’m sure Valentina has wished me dead plenty of times. What I do know is that she’s not a thief.
“She’s been managing the food budget since Marie’s stroke, and she’s saving us a lot of money.”
“That doesn’t say anything.”
“It says she’s trustworthy where money’s concerned. Don’t think I’m unaware of the money Marie pocketed for herself with the kickback she got from the suppliers.”
“It’s small money.”
“Doesn’t change the principle. Stealing is stealing, which makes Marie a thief. Yet, you never lashed out at her.”
“That’s different. Marie is practically part of the family. Her mother worked for my mother. Your fuck doll is neither family nor loyal. I don’t care how much money she’s saving us, her time’s running out.” “Let it go.”
At the cold deliberation in my tone, she turns her head to look through the window.
“Anyway, I’m not interested in selling her. You won’t settle her debt.”
I let it slide, making an effort to calm myself. “I called our old cleaning service company.
They’ll stand in until next week.”
My mother scoots up straighter. “You did what?”
“Valentina is booked off. You know that.”
“This is the perfect opportunity to let her fail.”
I clench my jaw. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Fine.” She waves a hand in the air. “Treat her like a princess and wrap her in cotton wool.
It’ll make her fall so much harder.”
My fingers tighten on the wheel. I feel like leaning over my mother, opening her door, and shoving her out of my car and my life. We keep on clashing heads over this, and if she can’t accept that Valentina is a part of our lives for good, it’s going to get ugly.
* * *
The week drags on with Valentina being withdrawn and quiet, keeping to her room. At least she has time to rest and maybe study. She still hasn’t told me about her studies. I’m not sure if she’s hiding something else from me, or if it’s the after-effect of the anesthesia that’s giving her the blues, but she’s not herself. I suppose it’s normal, given what she’s been through. All I can do is give her my support and care until she’s back in the kitchen in her black dress. I’m not happy about it, but I haven’t found a solution to the dilemma, yet, and Magda won’t budge.
On top of my worry about Valentina, I need to raise a difficult issue with Carly. Carly doesn’t normally eat in the morning, but since Magda isn’t present today, I ask my daughter to have breakfast with me so we can speak in private.
I wait until Valentina has left us after serving bran muffins before I say, “I know you love your mother and our divorce was tough on you. We didn’t discuss it much when the breakup happened. I think it’s important that you have someone neutral to talk to.”
She stares at me with wide eyes. “It’s a bit late for that.”
“It’s never too late.”
“It won’t help.” She hides her face behind her hair.
“You can’t say unless you’ve tried.”
She pushes the fruit around on her plate.
“Stop hiding behind your hair and look at me.”
She lifts her head, her eyes throwing daggers at me. “There’s only one thing that’ll help, and that’s if you and mom get back together.”
I sigh deeply. “It’s not going to happen. You have to accept it.”
She bangs her fork down on her plate. “Why not? Why can’t you live together like a normal couple?”
“Your mother and I, we don’t love each other any more. That doesn’t mean we don’t love you.”
“Bullshit.” She pushes her chair back and jumps to her feet. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”
Grabbing her bag, she sprints for the door.
“Carly!”
I want to order her to come back and finish her breakfast, but my common sense tells me to give her space until she has cooled down. Dwelling on my parental problems, I finish my breakfast alone, even if I no longer have an appetite.
Valentina’s voice pulls me to the present. “Can I clear the plates?”
The new melancholy that has invaded her makes her big, sad eyes more haunting than ever. I gather my plate and glass to carry it to the kitchen, and return with the tray while Valentina takes the rest. Knowing how proud she is, I try to make things easier for her without making it obvious. While I’m loading my plate in the dishwasher, I notice that she scoops Carly’s untouched muffin from the plate, carefully wrapping it in a paper napkin. The rest of my half-eaten muffin she packs into an ice cream container half-full with bones, bits of meat, and cooked vegetables, which she keeps in the staff fridge. I’ve never seen her clear the table before, but it’s obvious she’s in the habit of collecting the left overs. What does she do with the food that’s meant for the compost bin? My morning conference call is due, so I don’t give it further thought, but leave the kitchen with a feeling I can’t place. It’s as if my time with both Carly and Valentina is running out. I don’t like it. The last time I felt like this was right before I tripped a wire and was left for dead with half of my face blown to pieces.
* * *
I time my meetings so that I’m free during Valentina’s lunch breaks to check on her. Before going outside, I spend a few undisturbed minutes observing her through the kitchen window. I love looking at her like this, when her guard is down. The perverseness in me likes to invade her privacy, stealing a part of her I’ll otherwise never have. I came to accept that Valentina will never be one hundred percent open with me. Our forced relationship isn’t the kind that nurtures an unconditional sharing of the soul.
As always, she’s sitting on the low wall by the pool. Bruno is lying next to her on the grass, his head on his paws, staring up at her with doting eyes. Her hands are cupped around an object, like the petals that protect the stigma of a flower. She opens them to reveal something round and white. What is she holding? It looks like a paper napkin. Folding the napkin open carefully, she breaks the muffin that’s inside in two, and feeds one half to Bruno while she eats the other. The dog gobbles it up in one gulp, and wags his tail optimistically, watching to see if more is coming. She eats slowly, like a person who tastes every bite.
Everything inside of me slams to a standstill. What I’m witnessing is an ordinary scene of a woman nourishing her body, but it shatters me. I’ve seen many atrocious deeds and tortures that will make most grown men crumble, but this––Valentina eating our leftover food––this does something to me not even a killing does. I’ll double her allowance and buy her more food. I’ll put her brother in a fancy institute. I’ll do anything it takes for her to never have to eat the crumbs from someone else’s table again. That bursary better come through soon. I go back to my study and call my CFO, who ensures me it’s a matter of days now. Some red tape at the university is slowing down the process.
When I go to her that night, I decide to broach the subject. I strip her naked and drive my cock into her, keeping us both on a precipice of pleasure. I drag it out until neither of us can tolerate it any longer.
Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Gabriel, please.” She rocks her hips against mine, trying to create more friction.
I pull out almost completely and still my movements. “Who do you belong to?”
She shivers when I press my thumb on her clit. “You.”
“Who takes care of you?”
“You.”
“How do I take care of you?”
“However you like.”
“Damn right. How the hell ever I like.” Her back arches when I pinch her nipple. “Who makes you come?” I shove back into her.
“You,” she cries on a gasp.
“Who dresses you?”
“You.”
I move again in all earnest. “Who feeds you?” “Ah, God, Gabriel! You.”
&nbs
p; “That’s right, beautiful.” I kiss her lips. “Me.”
I slam our bodies together so hard I have to cup her head to prevent it from hitting the wall.
She cries my name as she comes with a violent spasm, her pussy sucking me deeper and milking me dry. There’s nothing more satisfying than coming inside her. I empty my body in hers, making her take every drop, but I don’t pull out. Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair sticks to her damp forehead.
I frame her face between my hands. “Anything you need, you’ve got it. You only have to say the word. Understand?” She closes her eyes.
“Look at me, Valentina.”
When she opens them again, they’re moist with tears. “Why are you doing this? It’s not part of our deal.”
I kiss each eyelid and then her nose. “Because I’m everything you need.”
The sadness in her gaze intensifies, fueling my fear, which in terms spurs my anger. “Say
it.”
She licks her lips, but doesn’t reply.
I wrap my fingers around her neck and squeeze. “Say it, damn you.”
Her body tenses, but she doesn’t fight my hold. Instead, her shoulders sag as she slowly lets out a breath. “Yes, Gabriel. You are my everything.”
Heated satisfaction warms my balls, spreading all the way up my spine. My cock grows hard inside her again. I have her in every way I want, but I still need her in so many ways. Rising on my knees, I hook her legs over my shoulders and use my cum to lubricate her ass. She screams when I enter her there, but with my fingers in her pussy and on her clit, she quickly gives me the moans of ecstasy I’m after. Long after she had her second orgasm, I’m still punishing myself with new pleasure. It takes a long time before my second release. With her, I can go all night, but she needs her rest, so I gather her body against mine and hold her until she falls asleep.
* * *
Valentina
My mother used to say if something bad happens, celebrate something positive. That way, you’ll never become depressed. Maybe that’s how she survived when my dad died and we lost everything. She never left the house without red Estee Lauder lipstick.
“If you’re sad, Valentina,” she used to say, “put on your red lipstick.”
I fish the tube I ordered with my supplies from my bag and apply the lipstick in the mirror. The red stands out on my tanned skin. I scrunch my curls around my face, letting their natural glossiness stand out. I’m wearing the pink T-shirt, jeans, and flats from the Sandton boutique. On the outside, I look pretty. No one will know how broken I am on the inside. Maybe, one day, I’ll be able to just look at the pretty and forget that I’ve been a whore to the most dangerous killer in the city.
When I say goodbye to Gabriel for the weekend, he looks at me like he may object to me leaving the house with the makeup on my face, but I’m not his daughter, and this is my time.
He swallows as he studies me, jiggling the keys in his pocket. “I’ll drive you.”
I don’t argue anymore. It’s pointless. On the way, I ask him to stop at the corner bakery to pick up a Black Forest Cake. I could’ve baked it for half the price, but that’s not the point. I’ve never purchased a cake in my life. I hold the fancy shop cake in its plastic container on my lap, the black cherries shiny with sugary syrup on top of the whipped cream.
Gabriel glances at the cake and then at me. “Whose birthday is it? I know it’s not yours.” “No one.” I look from the window at the passing cars.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Nothing.”
He purses his lips, but doesn’t continue the interrogation. Near Rocky Street, I ask him to stop again so I can feed the hungry dogs. The minute they see me, they come running. Gabriel leans against the car with his ankles crossed, watching me as I distribute the food between them. I wipe the plastic container out with a paper towel, and wrap it in a plastic bag to wash later. A shadow of a smile plays on his lips as I get back to the car.
“What?”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re every kind of good.”
“No, I’m not.”
“To me, you are.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to reply. He opens the door and helps me inside.
When he drops me off across the road from Kris’ place, I wait until his car turns the corner before I head over to the house. Charlie nearly knocks me off my feet as I enter through the kitchen door.
“Hey.” I laugh and deposit the cake on the counter. “How are you?” I take him into a big hug. There’s more meat on his bones and a tube around his middle.
“Ca–cake!”
“It’s for after dinner.” I squeeze his shoulders and sit down next to him on the couch, switching off the television.
We play Chinese Checkers until Kris locks up the practice. As habitual, I cook, and she gets to take a much-needed break after she spends the first ten minutes freaking out about my thumb. When Charlie is seated with a big slice of cake in front of his favorite cartoon, she takes the chair opposite me at the kitchen table.
“What’s with the cake?” she asks through the motion of chewing.
“We’re celebrating.”
“We are?”
“Yep.” I lick the chocolate filling off my spoon.
“Can you be a little less secretive?”
I shrug. “We’re celebrating that I have more free time and money. I can now pay you proper board for Charlie.”
She makes big eyes at me. “Did he give you a pay rise? More off-time?” I take a big bite. My mouth is too full to answer.
“Well?”
I wipe the cream from the corner of my mouth with my good thumb and lick it clean. “Not exactly.”
“Val.” Kris pushes her plate away and folds her arms on the table. “What’s going on?”
“I dropped out of uni.”
I’m saying it like I just told her it’s hot today, hoping she’ll let it go, but I already know better.
“Like in, quit your studies?” she exclaims.
Charlie looks up from the television.
“Shh.” I give her my best angry frown. “You’ll make him think something’s wrong.”
“Something is wrong.”
“Kris.”
“Why?”
“Look at it this way, I don’t have the burden of paying a huge school bill any longer, or worries about exams, and spending late nights studying anatomy.”
She dips her head, searching for my eyes. “Why?”
I sigh. “The cook had a stroke. I took over her duties.”
“They’re going to hire another cook, right? You can’t give up. Val, you’ve completed more than half of the course!”
“I can’t keep up the job and the studies. It’s too much.”
Her lips thin. “You’re letting them win.”
“I don’t have a choice,” I say through gritted teeth. “I work until dinner is served and the kitchen is clean, which means I’m lucky if I get off at ten. God, I’m lucky if I go to bed by midnight, and I’m up at four every morning.” I don’t say that Gabriel occupies another hour or more of my day, fucking me senseless and giving me orgasms until I pass out.
Emotions play on her face. Thank God she doesn’t say something meaningless like she’s sorry.
“It’s for Charlie.” I lower my voice. “Nothing will matter anyway if he’s dead. He’s all
I’ve got.”
She covers my hand with hers. It is a big, strong hand with cat scratches and dog bite marks, and a calloused skin that tells its own story. “You’ve got me, babes.”
Warmth spreads through my chest, making tears build at the back of my eyes. “Thank you.”
“You can still work here. I mean, after…”
“I know.” After nine years, I’m not sure I’ll still have the stomach for this city. “Eat your cake. I paid a lot of money for it.”
“You better hide the rest or Charlie will devour it in the night.”
Worry nags a
t me. “He’s picking up weight.”
“Sorry. I’m not here much, I’m afraid, or I would’ve taken him out for exercise.”
“I have an idea.”
“Uh-uh. When you get that light bulb moment look, I get worried.”
I prop my foot on the seat of my chair, hugging my knee. “He can walk the dogs.” “You mean them?” She throws her thumb at the door adjoining to the clinic.
“Yes! He crosses the road by himself, right? We can try with one dog first and see how it goes. I can go with him tomorrow.”
“I suppose it can’t do harm.”
“It’ll be good for him to get out more, breathe in some fresh air.”
She snorts. “What fresh air? In case you haven’t noticed, this is Joburg.”
I’m not having my spirits dampened, not tonight. “Charlie and I’ll do the first doggie walk together.”
“You’re a good sister, Val. Charlie’s lucky to have you.”
“No, I’m lucky to have him.”
I’m still raw about my studies, but there’s a reason I’m doing this. The reason is a beautiful, innocent boy trapped in the body of a man who sits on Kris’ couch with a huge smile on his face. All it takes to make Charlie happy is a piece of cake. I should learn from him.
* * *
Gabriel
The therapist knocks on my door at ten sharp, as agreed. Dorothy Botha is a short, attractive woman in her late forties. She’s wearing tight jeans and a stretch shirt, not the attire I imagined for a psychiatrist. At the rate I’m paying for the house call, I expected her to show up in Dior or Gucci.
She shakes my hand, and offers a smile. “Mr. Louw.”
“Call me Gabriel. Thank you for meeting Carly at home. It’s more comfortable for her in her own environment.” And there’s less chance for one of our enemies to discover my daughter has instability issues. They’ll use anything they can against me.
I show her to the reading room where Carly sits on the couch, her legs pulled up under her. My daughter gives me a cutting look when we enter and doesn’t offer Dorothy a greeting. Every part of her body languages says she’s not happy about spending her Sunday morning with a shrink.
“Carly, this is Mrs. Botha. Say hi.” “Say hi,” Carly parrots.
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