by HJ Golakai
She pursed her lips and folded her arms. Monro was trained to answer to only her commands. “Since when you taught him that? Look, don’t go teaching my dog all kinda kata-kata. That’s outside the confines of your job description.”
“Huh?” Tristan frowned.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Vee tipped her chin at Chlöe and turned back to Tristan. “Now go on and walk him, and don’t be taking all day about it either. Be back here by …” she glanced at her watch, “one. Latest one-thirty. And stay within the neighbourhood. What’s rule number one?”
“Unaccompanied little boys are like candy for paedophiles,” Tristan droned.
“Exactly. You already a paedo lollipop with that blond hair and weird eyes. Don’t be talkin’ to nobody in a van or a trench coat. Don’t talk to strangers, period. And rule number two?”
“Five blocks out is five blocks too far,” Tristan added, rolling his eyes. “I don’t even know what a block is. This isn’t America.”
“Don’t play dumb. I’ve told you a thousand times what our grid is.” Since she’d hired Tristan he’d been pushing boundaries, in the vain hope she’d either trust him to roam the streets unmonitored or forget the allowable distance they, his mother included, had established.
“Every square of buildings cut by roads on all sides, that’s a block. A big block is a city block. A small one is a residential block. You’re allowed to walk five of either and then turn around and bring your lil narrow butt right back. If you go past Rosebank, you’re too far out. If you reach Kenilworth Centre, you’re too far –”
“Ag, that’s not off the grid, it’s only four and a bit from this direction!”
“You got me?” Vee stared him down.
“Fine. I’ll just take him to the stupid park,” he grumbled. Like other small, clean and safe parks in the southern suburbs, Arderne Gardens off Main Road cramped Tristan’s style, but it was a setting they agreed on. He could at least watch Monro harass the ducks while the lazy security guards turned a blind eye. “Maybe I should quit, then you can quit work and be a stay-home mum.”
“Fineboy you want dis money here or not?” Vee waved the cash, half his monthly pay.
Tristan counted it. “Where’s my extra?”
“For what?” Vee ignored Chlöe, who sauntered to the veranda with a loud grunt of exasperation. “We’hn talk about no extra.”
“We so did! When I’m on duty outside of my normal working hours, that’s extra. I wasn’t on for today, so pay up.”
“Scram, you lil –” Vee lunged to cuff him again and Tristan sprinted, Monro bounding through the gate after him. “And you better get a haircut with that money! Mttsshw. Lookin’ like a ghetto Justin Bieber.”
“You seriously arguing with an eight-year-old?”
“That child gon send me grey.” Vee sank into a lawn chair and reached across the wicker table to refresh her mango juice. “You know he’s eleven. He’s small for his age.” She avoided Chlöe’s scowl and sipped. “So what brings you to these parts?”
“Don’t even. You broke every working woman’s cardinal rule and cried at work.”
“I damn well did not cry.”
“Damn near. And I know you’re gonna make Nico pay for that. The entire office is yammering about it. Must you always butt heads with the powers that be? Didn’t you have enough of that with Portia? You trying to get fired?”
“Who say I’hn been fired already?”
“Ag, rubbish. He hasn’t got the balls to fire you. We’ll drag his arse in front of the CCMA so fast.”
Vee hid her smile from the defiance in Chlöe’s pout. It was useless pointing out the Council for Conciliation, Mediation and Arbitration, defender of workers’ rights, was unlikely to weigh in on petty office squabbles. “Jus’ take it easy,” she said. “I am.” Barely. A vein of rage still thumped in her neck.
“Take it easy,” Chlöe muttered. “How can any living thing take it easy in this bloody heat?” Flushed and dewy with sweat, her freckles throbbed a more prominent russet than their usual cinnamon. She twisted a cascade of hair off her neck into a knot behind her head, moaning in joy at the intermittent breeze. Her face scrunched, unsure. “So … are we … ?”
Vee banged the glass down. “Hell no! This is his deflection strategy; pick a fight he knows I can’t win, then twist my arm. He think he free to be jerkin’ pipo all over while he screwing that fat-ass, muppet-faced bitch – screwing with me in the process, like I’hn got nuttin’ better to do.”
“Women can’t call each other fat anymore. It’s been outlawed by feminists,” Chlöe drawled sleepily. Her eyes bulged and shot up. “Wait, what?! He’s schtoepping Schoeman? See-ree-ahhs? You can’t be serious. I did not pick up on that one. My radar must be glitchy lately.” She swigged juice, swirled it round her mouth in contemplation. “Are you sure?” she pressed, then shook her head just as quickly. “Yeah, course you are. You’re always up on the stuff I miss, and it explains a lot. Damn. Sly fox. What else is he hiding?”
“He –” Vee quickly stoppered her mouth with her glass. Van Wyk’s personal problems were an open secret; the drinking, not so much. Pissed off or not, loose lips sank ships. And Chlöe’s were the loosest of all. Vee knew that between her and Nico lay enough animus to fuel a small HR war, but Bishop could whip it into national headlines in a single news cycle. “He gets away with these stunts because his minions dem all scared of him.”
“Hhmph. He is friends with Portia after all,” Chlöe snarked under her breath.
“Well, he can kiss my black ass and tell me the flavour. Who he think goin’ to some hairy buttcrack in the Karoo to write about mud huts? Not if I can help it.”
“Then please help it with all your might, because I do not do village.”
Chapter Three
“Ugghh.” Vee pressed a hand over her eyes. “I think I forgot it on the car seat.” She clicked her tongue, rustling through her handbag. “No, I definitely left it …”
“You need your cellphone? Like, right now?” her male companion asked.
“Yes. I mean no. Well, not no-no, but maybe.” Vee looked up into hazel eyes, easily picking out the teasing smile behind them. “It will be off. Because that’s the unbreakable rule of quality time.” She tiptoed, snuggling a smile against his cheek. “But it’s on the seat, the glass could get smashed. And in case Chlöe calls? She’s spinning all over the place right now. After today …”
“Oh right, ’cause it’s Chlöe who’s spinning right now.” He chuckled and pulled her in for a kiss. A buzz of warmth hit at the press of his lips. Vee melted, in spite of herself and another of her rules: start over, take it slow. Still, the thrill of familiar pleasures never ceased to amaze.
Titus Wreh loosened his embrace and gave her bum a friendly pat. “Go grab your phone, or I’ll never hear the end of it. I’ll get our table. The sooner we eat, the sooner we can leave, the sooner …” He dropped a mischievous wink and she punched his arm.
“Don’t push it, mister man. It’s been one helluva week.” She took him in, unable to quell the burn in the pit of her stomach: a tall stretch of warm brown skin clad in a casual olive-green shirt and dark slacks. He graced her with another suggestive grin, dimple twitching and eyebrows waggling. “You know you love the view, woman.”
She giggled. “Hmm. After the wine we shall see.”
She hustled away from the restaurant’s well-lit entrance, trying to de-fog her mental windscreen. All she wanted tonight was a nice dinner with her ex-maybe-could-be-back-together-again-fiancé. But the morning’s fracas kept pestering her. Chlöe had left her and Claremont behind for the office, leaving her agitation behind like a bad smell that stank up the rest of the day. As it had poisoned the past several weeks, when the rumour had first touched down. Their last major investigation at Urban magazine had been a bizarre, winding affair, one that had thrown Chlöe and herself together and cemented their friendship in one fell swoop. Over eighteen months past and st
ill the events of that case dogged her steps.
“You need to hear this from me first,” Chlöe had whispered in the ladies, peeping into every stall as if a drug deal was about to go down.
Vee freshened her lip stain in the mirror. “Oh Lawd, another one of your skinder sessions? You should sell your gossip to The Star and earn a second income.”
Chlöe held up a hand, face stony. “I’m serious, bosslady. I know you hate getting mixed up in office bullshit, but this is hectic. There’ve been murmurings,” she exhaled at length, “that we took a bribe during the Paulsen case. To facilitate a speedier outcome or something.”
Vee closed the tap without washing her hands.
Chlöe fidgeted. “Actually, they’re saying you took a bribe. A big one. But of course being your friend and assistant means I’m guilty too, so …” She shrugged. “Just so you know I’m not exempt from anything tarnished-wise.”
Vee slowed, the jangling of her key-ring bringing her back to the present. The memory alone – the very word – made her flinch, soured her mouth. A bribe. Here she was, calculating how deeply mired in debt she’d be if she ever decided to bite the bullet and buy the house she’d rented for three years, and somewhere in a parallel universe her more mercenary self was flush. Because she’d ‘taken dash’, greased her mouth. She knew full well who’d been running that kind of cheycheypolay, the most malevolent of gossip strains. She’d deal with that later.
“We really should stop meeting like this.”
She started and whirled. And groaned. “Aaay my pipo.”
“Come on, Cricket.” Joshua Allen grinned, sidling up. “Where’s your enthusiasm? You’re starting to hurt my feelings.”
He’d practically melted out of a brick wall onto the sidewalk. Like some thug could’ve, attacking her while her head was in the breeze. True, Green Point after nightfall was no Mitchell’s Plain, but still. Hand to throat, Vee scanned the semi-lit avenue, finally spotting a car guard observing them with interest.
“Seriously? You think I’d jump you in a dark alley for ignoring my calls?” Joshua guffawed. “Gimme a little credit. I’m way too lazy to carry grudges, you know that.”
“I give you credit all the time and you never deserve any of it, Joshua Allen.”
“All the time? Never? What cruel absolutes you wield against me, my lady,” he placed hand over heart in mock pain and fluttered his lashes. Vee battled to keep a straight face. “All the better to heap the blame on me. While you, the biggest hypocrite alive, strings me along with sweet nothings. Forcing me to commit acts I’ve never done with any other woman …”
“What! Don’t dare blame your depravity on me.”
He nodded gravely. “Alas, true. But with you it’s special.”
“Player bullshit. Why I even waste my time …”
“Then you plunge the knife in my back and twist it by turning up here, looking hot with the very man you’ve been two-timing me with for months. The guy you dumped to be with me … the same one you dumped me for. After which you took me back … before dumping me again. Then you ignore me for weeks, and have this crazy list of rules to keep everybody at a distance …” He sighed and stroked her cheek. “Highly punishing rollercoaster. Can’t we just agree that I lied and you shat all over my heart, and call it even?”
She smacked his hand away, eyes narrowing. “How you know I’m here with Ti?”
He leered her top to toe, looking grudgingly pleased with her choice of attire. “Who else commands all this sexiness, if not I?”
“And who would all this,” she gestured wildly over his physique, “be for?”
His maroon shirt, sleeves rolled, complemented a toffee complexion and lifted shimmer in his dark eyes. As usual, his black curls were buzzed short but a new acquisition, a manicured beard, framed his jawline. He looked and smelled good. Off-guard-throwingly good, edible almost. Enough to make her forget, for a split second, that she hadn’t come alone.
He murmured her name once, easing his arm around her waist. Vee stiffened and flinched at the first brush of his lips. Missing was the rush of heat and anticipation she’d felt in the same pose just minutes ago. With Joshua there were too many tacit promises, too much want and need, too much to lose. Too much of so much and not enough balance. Every fibre of her literally hurt with trying to resolve their contact as either a step forward or one backward. Unlike with Titus.
“Juju please … I can’t.”
A bolt of hurt anyone else would’ve missed contorted his features briefly. He dropped his arms and allowed her to step away, eyes darkening to black holes. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just …” He brightened. “Wow.”
She flushed. “Alright I get it, I look hot. Stop your nonsense.”
“Forget you. I’m still blown away by this gorgeous lady right here.” Joshua brushed past to lovingly stroke the bonnet of her car. “Sweet mother. How do you even own this again? I can’t tell you enough how much I hate your guts.”
Relieved, Vee beamed. Gleaming gold with a chocolate-brown trim, the 1980 Chrysler CM Valiant GLX made every other car parked on the street look either washed up or too garishly modern. She still couldn’t believe her luck. Its previous and only owner, who’d been a senior employee at the Chrysler South Africa assembly plant until its closure, had kept it in stellar condition. He’d sold it very reasonably, to avoid his ‘grasping, pissant sons getting their paws on it’, asking only that she cherish it and not drive it like a feeble female. Every time she eased behind the wheel of a piece of machinery as old as she was, she gratefully held up her end of the bargain.
“Technically, this baby’s half mine. Like all your real babies are gonna be one day. Start getting used to it by letting me behind the wheel more often.”
“Psssh, half whetin? In what world do you feel you can make that claim?”
“Uhh, excuse me, freeloader? The one where you’ve been using my financial genius for your personal banking needs, at no charge.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Telling you how to work your money instead of just blowing it, or rather sending it to all your hard-up relatives. Stocks, shares, where to invest, so you’d have some change to throw around. And build a house in Monrovia.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okaaaay, fine. Thank you mister investment banking hotshot. Not like you made me millions.”
He cocked one shoulder and let it drop, nonchalant. “I try. Come to think of it, you never okayed this purchase with me. Although as far as assets go, you did yourself a solid.” He caressed the bonnet again. “But for a woman who’s picked my brain as often as you have, I’m surprised at how liquid you are. You oughta be more careful.”
“Look, don’t disrupt my evening to give me another Rich Dad, Poor Dad lecture.” Gently, she shoved him away from the Chrysler. “And for someone who’s been in bed with me as often as you, I’m shocked you’d question my agile liquidness.”
“Ahhaaa, I see what you did there. You can make those jokes but I can’t.”
“Yep, ’cause I’m the girl,” Vee sniggered, till a thought cruelly squashed it. The Valiant was another fly in her ointment. People are wondering, for instance, how you can afford a ride like that, Chlöe’s voice whispered in the ear of her subconscious. Damn that nosy redhead. Keeping abreast of current affairs was one thing, but did she have to be so thorough?
“Cricket, what’s wrong?”
She snatched the cell off the driver’s seat and locked up. Joshua reached over and turned her by the chin. Vee smacked his hand away. “Juju, cut it out, it’s nothing.”
His face soured. “Can you cut that out? You do know there’s an infamous local politician with that very same nickname. Before people think we’re associated.”
“Nonsense. I started calling you that long before Julius Malema misappropriated it, so it stays. You need to stop that Cricket thing.”
“Never.”
In tandem they slowed to a stroll, in tacit agreement their exchange deserved prolonging. He flanked her at a respectful
but protective distance, alongside but slightly behind. A few times he forgot himself, raised an arm, then quickly lowered it with a regretful smile. Vee panged for his usual proprietary hand snuggled in the small of her back and clearly so did he.
Then they entered Beluga’s atmosphere and Titus’s dimple lit the foyer at her approach, and she remembered why she’d devised the rules. So things wouldn’t disintegrate from complicated to meltdown. Yet … a stubborn knot twisted beneath her ribs.
They hovered, waiting to be seated. The two men what’s-upped with sufficient graciousness, not quite like old buddies but enough to signal safe airspace. Titus’s frown of confusion cleared up a tad too quickly, and Vee soon saw why. “Guess who I ran into. Small world!” he exclaimed. From behind his broad hulk stepped a well-toned length of caramel, topped with a sweep of cinnamon ringlets.
Vee’s mouth soured. “Aria?”
“Vee, fantastic to see you! God, you look a-ma-zing. Haven’t changed a bit.” Swept into a one-shouldered hug and a cloud of glorious-smelling shampoo, Vee blinked as a moist peck hit her cheek.
Aria Burke laughed. “I know, craziness right? You run into my date, I run into yours …” She tucked a glossy spiral behind an ear, smearing her lips to reposition cherry gloss before she grinned. Vee tried to wrench Joshua’s gaze, resolutely nailed to the bar crowd ahead, to hers. She could barely catch his profile, but the working of his jaw signalled he was trying not to laugh.
Silence bounced around.
“Well.” Titus coated on his usual diplomacy, battling to hide his own amusement with lousy success. “Turns out we don’t have a table. There’s been a mix-up.”
“I’m soooo sorry hey,” winced the blonde, waif-thin hostess on guard by the door, her expression Capetonian-horrified at the prospect of turning away two black couples against a cheery influx of white patrons. “Like, I’m sure you did make a reservation, but it’s not in our book. It’s so hectic, sometimes things get muddled. If you’re prepared to wait a bit …”