by HJ Golakai
“Can you break it down for us? Like you’re talking to a five-year-old.” Chlöe flicked Vee a ‘humour me’ look to zip her mouth.
“The amendment is going to state that all BEE certificates used by local companies, hitherto and forthwith, had to have been issued by a SANAS- or IRBA-accredited agency – that’s the South African National Accreditation System and the Independent Regulatory Board for Auditors. The one little glitch that causes a tectonic shift. Any certificate from an unaccredited source becomes not only worthless, but illegal, putting that company at a severe disadvantage to enter bids for anything of merit. Therefore –”
“A third of the contenders won’t be LEAD-eligible. Including … ?” Chlöe drawled.
“No.” Walsh waved his hands emphatically. “No, no. Not The IT Factor. But five of the others don’t hold up to that kind of scrutiny, and to be fair, prior this we weren’t aware we categorically and strictly had to, so this axes them out of the running.”
Vee exchanged looks with Chlöe. “That’s a bad thing for you how?”
“Believe it or not, I like to play fair as much as possible. After scaling all the hurdles to reach this stage, being knocked out now by a technicality is a damn shame. Myself, Berman & Moloi – that’s Gavin and Akhona … well, it’s essentially Moloi now – let’s see, Moodley’s events management company … the TV production company … the majority luckily, we’re in the clear.”
“Moodley. The giggling Indian lady,” Vee muttered to Chlöe.
“But Kele – Kelebogile Letlaka –” Walsh said.
“Dreadlocks. The African crafts shop,” intimated Vee.
“She’s a bloody recent graduate. Started up with a friend, two honest young twenty-somethings, and look how well they’ve done. Tourists loved their World Cup mementos. They’ve been featured in Top Billing Home magazine; they were in True Love two months ago. They’re a grassroots operation finally coming into their own. They can’t afford to sit waiting to go through all this again. It’d set them back aeons.”
“Aren’t companies exempt from needing a BEE certificate if their turnover qualifies them as a small operation?”
“They are. Less than five million per year revenue and all they need is the EME – exempted micro enterprise certificate. Which they already have, as do the other small start-ups. But there’s still the other four larger outfits who have to front the cost of getting fully and properly compliant, that’s if they even want to bother.”
“Why isn’t this salvageable? This kind of cock-up isn’t new. Surely y’all can go ahead and iron things out as it progresses.”
“Not quite. It’s a setback for all of us because LEAD will be put on ice until this gets sorted. I can’t see how it can be got around. Those who have to take themselves out will cry foul if the damn thing still goes ahead; if it doesn’t everybody cries foul because we’ve essentially wasted months and months, and for what?” He scrubbed his palms over his face. “It’s a mess. A typical rainbow nation type of a mess.”
“But I mean, can’t everyone simply get accredited later? Like, the process continues and everyone can comply with the requirements by a later date or else … Like, if they won a major tender, then they have to pass on it if they haven’t gotten their records straight by the new deadline?” Chlöe flushed, looking round the room. “Sorry … stupid question, is it?”
“It’s not. That could work, if one of the driving points of the exercise was that this was going to be, had to be, kosher from the start. LEAD was meant to be a kind of BEE facelift, to offset some of the scandal around laundering, investment fraud and fronting. And don’t forget, private investors have a significant stake in this. The government can’t afford another stink. If they want to look good, which they do, they have no choice but to pull back and iron out the kinks. Or at least pretend to.”
“Or axe the entire venture.” Chlöe’s eyes widened. “How wasteful!”
Walsh reclined in his chair. “Oh, they won’t cancel it. They’ll make shifts and changes, maybe in record time, to get it back on track.” He shrugged lazily. “Or they may actually scrap it, who knows, hey? I certainly don’t give a damn now. I’m out. Dedicating myself to this was lost time, energy and revenue. I can’t afford that.”
“That’s a damn shame,” Vee sympathised, not sure what else to say.
“The nature of business is the nature of life. Some wins, some losses. I’ll get back out there, find another toy to entertain me. I’m good at finding interesting toys with which to amuse.” He grinned, arrows of wolfish delight aimed straight at her. Vee sucked her teeth, shaking her head reproachfully.
“Sies man.” Chlöe got to her feet. “At least pretend I’m here. Or get a room. In fact, use this room. I’ll wait by the car.”
“Alone at last.”
“Cut it out,” Vee said wearily.
“You won’t accept my offer of dinner? Lunch? An innocent coffee?”
“Hmmph. Coffee with anything that has a penis is never innocent.”
His laugh surprised, an unfettered burst of mirth that blew his head back. She got a warm gust of chewing gum fruitiness to the face; saw a peep of dark, a filling, on his back tooth. Her mind leapt to Titus and his one sweet dimple, to Joshua and his lazy, laughing eyes. Perhaps this was how women lived dangerously, collecting suitors with cavalier ease, juggling them with disturbing dexterity. She’d tried it once, in her undergrad Legon University days, when it had just become fashionable for girls to talk about exploits and orgasms, to have a boyfriend each for tutoring, shoe-buying, restaurant-going, party-time, and one for love, if one was disposed to such. She’d dabbled and not very well, and hadn’t been too disappointed to find she couldn’t let two different pairs of hands excite her. Only to later find the owner of one set of those hands hadn’t any such qualms about frolicking with other women, after which she’d dumped him, feeling foolish. And here she was today, living quite the scarlet life, being ‘the kind of girl’ the Ghanaians had often accused exiled Liberians of being. Ah, la vie est drôle, Vee laughed to herself.
“Just to talk, nothing more. Two grown-ups in each other’s company.”
She tried not to roll her eyes. “Talk. About? More of this, professionally?”
He eyed her for a long moment, expression somewhere between quizzical and another thing she couldn’t decipher. He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it and drew it closed slowly. “Not so much. About … whatever you please. My schedule’s wide open for banter.”
“For true? You just said you’re done having your time wasted on pointless ventures.” She felt a stab of guilt when he winced a little. “Listen, I can’t, Ryan, I’m sorry. I’m seeing someone already. Two someones. I’ll literally be damned if I add one more.” His face twitched before he succumbed to more shoulder-shaking laughter. Vee crossed her arms, cheeks warming. Why had she said that?
“Two someones? I’m not terribly surprised.” His already bright eyes practically glowed as they bored into hers. “You do have the air of a woman who knows how to handle herself with the fickle sex.”
“It’s not like that. I’m not like that.” Vee uncrossed and re-crossed her arms. “Not that it’s any of your business but it’s complicated. I don’t need another person making it more complicated. But I’m flattered.”
“It’s because I’m white, isn’t it?”
“Whaaa – you really think …” The jovial bounce of his shoulders stopped her. She pursed her lips. “Hilarious. You find yourself very funny, I see.”
“Truth be told, I don’t. Certainly not around women.” He ‘ahem’ed, straightened his glasses, drew back with a squint to absorb her. “You, I like. You’re very unobvious.”
This time it was she who opened her mouth for a wordless moment, then shut it, finally managing, “I don’t know what that means,” before walking away.
“Hey!” A disembodied arm flailed in an exaggerated wave. “How are you?”
Chlöe squinted into blinding sunl
ight, hand over eyes as visor. The arm neared, its owner attached. Chlöe scuttled back under the protection of the awning, arms stinging from a few moments’ exposure. She could almost feel new freckles springing up every day, every night in her sleep. Soon, too soon if she didn’t watch it, she’d resemble a chocolate chip cookie, aged, crumbly and speckled from irreparable damage.
Aneshree Chowdri wiped sweat off her forehead and the back of her neck, lifting a short ponytail. “I saw you lurking over here and wondered if I should say hello. Then you saw me, and I couldn’t walk away since I wasn’t sure if you’d recognised me and it would be awkward if you had …” She popped a half-shrug. “Anyway. Howzit?”
“Cool,” Chlöe replied flaccidly. “And I was hardly lurking.”
Aneshree’s mouth tilted to a sardonic angle, clearly indicating her thoughts on a journalist who didn’t lurk. “Be that as it may. Bit of a surprise to see you here.” Her dark brown eyes flicked heavenward, considering. “Then again, I suppose not really. You are probing into murder and intrigue, aren’t you. Where’s your other half?”
“Inside.”
“Ah. With Ryan.” Aneshree amplified the sly smile. “He’s taken quite a shine to her, hasn’t he.”
“Well, he better turn that shine off. She’s way above his pay grade.”
Aneshree sprayed giggles into her palm. “Oh, wow! You are quite overprotective, aren’t you. Are you paid extra for that?”
Chlöe quelled the urge to ask Aneshree if she knew the tenets of proper speech, how to inflect so that questions didn’t resemble plain old sentences, how not to be so annoying. Instead, she turned away and stared down the sweltering stretch of concrete, fixing on where the drive out of the office park fed into the main road. From the corner of her eye she couldn’t miss the ripening of Aneshree’s smugness.
“Ah, don’t mind me, I like to tease. I’m just a little surprised your poking around led you here.”
“It has,” Chlöe replied stoutly. “So it’s more like fancy meeting you here.”
“Nothing fancy about that either. I work here.”
Chlöe blinked in rapid succession. “You never told me that,” she all but growled. “You never once said you worked for Walsh! In fact, you never mentioned working for anyone at the LEAD thingy.”
“You never asked me, did you.”
“Yes, I did. When I asked what you were doing at The Grotto.”
“No, you asked what I did. Which I answered truthfully. I specifically said – no, hang on – I said I was there on my own steam. Which I was. I wasn’t meant to be at the convention or working that weekend, but my boss, Ryan, thought it would be very insightful if I was. And he was right.”
“So glad you find strangulations entertaining.”
“Wha–? I didn’t say that. All I meant …” Aneshree frowned, flustered for the first time. “This isn’t what you think. None of it is.”
“What isn’t what I think?” Chlöe spat. Was this chick acquainted with not wasting people’s time? Highly doubtful.
“As in underhand deals and dastardly deeds. It’s a simple, unforeseen mess. The whole thing is a mess. Everyone’s trying to get the best out of it that they can.”
Same words repeated in a short space of time, on the same premises. By two people who, it now turned out, worked together. Chlöe frowned. “What makes you say that?”
“What would make you not say that?” Aneshree folded her arms. “Have you talked to Ryan? Of course you’ve talked to Ryan.” She muttered something, shaking her head. “This stops us in our tracks. We can’t –” She muttered again. “We all have to start over. It’s frustrating.”
“But how b–”
Aneshree stole a glance at her watch and, without warning, trotted towards the front entrance. “Sorry, have to dash. A living to earn and all that. Nice seeing you again.” She bartered a smile and nod for Vee’s look of puzzlement as they crossed paths at the threshold.
“And then?” Vee frowned, tossing her chin in Aneshree’s direction.
“She works here. At The ITF. With Walsh.” Chlöe gave a wild shrug.
Vee released a long breath. “I refuse to let anything more surprise me.”
“Hhmmph. That girl reeks of weird.”
“Shocker. Joshua’s her brother. Just don’t sleep with her. We both know how you are about cuties you meet loitering around. Case in point Isabella. That ended well.” Ignoring Chlöe’s splutters, Vee pulled out her cell, checked for messages, crooked a smile and dumped it back in her handbag. After a beat she retrieved it, idly fiddled with the screen, rolled it between her palms and stuck it in her breast pocket.
“More messages from your hive of lovers, I see. So, are you gonna cast them off to frolic with the software king, or bring him in? You’ve read the hype. If you haven’t seen his beach house in Llandudno, let me Google the pics. I bet he splashes in millions in his bathtub. You’d be balling out.”
“Please. Granted, a little condescension doesn’t put off some women, but I’ll pass. He’s a nerd. The kind with hang-ups, who think it’s sexy to bend you over things and make you say his name.”
“Hey, I’ll take a little condescension if it comes with a whizz of Z4.”
“He does not drive a Z4. He can’t be the type.”
“Hah!” Chlöe stabbed an accusing finger to her left. “If that’s not his car in the CEO parking space, then I’m a flying wildebeest.”
“Ooh Lord help.” Cringing, Vee gaped at the dark blue bodice and gleaming chrome of the convertible. “The metal vagina? Every idiot in Cape Town with a bald spot and mommy complex has one.” She wasn’t really listening to herself, though her eyes were drawn back towards the dark-red brick office building.
“What?”
“I just … That feeling just passed over me. Lizard zipping down my back.” Like always, the sensation came leaden with meaning yet lightning fast; it spilled into and slipped through her as she grappled to pin it down. “That … It’s …” Vee stomped her foot. “Dammit, it’s gone.”
Chlöe spun out an operatic sigh. “Ag babe, stop with the highly creepy antenna. Promise, if this was two hundred years ago, I wouldn’t stop a village mob from throwing you on a braai for witchcraft. We started here because you knew this guy was a soft spot that if we, you, massaged right, it’d be worthwhile. Okay, so we got the skinny. A skinny of sorts. Now we have to repeat this with how many others?”
“Don’t you get it? This one was an appetiser. We can now look at this from another vantage point. The wind has blown the scent in a new direction. Now we start working our jaw for a main course.”
“All you’ve explained is my hunger,” Chlöe complained.
Chapter Sixteen
Head bowed, Vee bit her lip, staring down the doormat. ‘Welcome’, it beckoned in cheery red letters. Was she welcome? Her hand inched toward the doorknob, then froze. She left it hanging, bunched it into a fist and then dropped it.
She leaned against the balcony’s railing and stared out. On the horizon, white curls of brine crashed onto the stretch of shoreline that was Sea Point beach. Strolling couples dotted the picturesque backdrop. Couples everywhere. Hand in hand, jogging in tandem, throwing objects for a frisky dog. Kissing. In the distance, a man broke his embrace with his woman, hoisted her by the hips and flung her over his shoulder, mimicking falling to his knees under her incredible weight. Vee could swear she caught the delighted peal of the woman’s laughter over the waves, over the dying throb of rush-hour traffic on Sea Point Drive, over the cacophony of human life emanating from nearby apartments on this floor of the complex.
“You gonna stand there all evening?”
She turned with freeze-frame slowness, afraid of what she’d meet. Joshua’s eyes; onyx implacable as ever. Beard still groomed, though his hair had already begun to re-sprout, tiny licks of black hugging to his head. She smiled, chest throbbing. He didn’t smile back. Her face fell.
“How you knew I was here?”
&nb
sp; “It’s not easy being green. Was a matter of time before you dropped by to threaten my life. Plus you breathe like a troll when you’re upset.”
She scowled. “I am not jealous. Since when –”
“Ahhh Vee, for Chrissake come in.” He disappeared down the short hallway. “She’s not here,” he yelled over his shoulder. Vee snapped her lips shut.
The apartment had undergone a facelift: cushions plumped and propped on sofas, books shelved, magazines fanned atop the glass coffee table, carpet fluffy and citrussy with cleaner. His silver twelve-speed bike, usually propped on the nearest wall, was out of sight. The black-and-white mural of American greats had changed address from over the fireplace nearer to the dining area: Nina Simone levelled an acrid stare through cigarette smoke; Miles Davis puffed his cheeks over his trumpet; in mink, Eartha Kitt levelled her usual coy over one shoulder. The kitchen gleamed spic and span, save for a counter littered with empty tins and vegetable scraps. Either Palesa his housekeeper had recently been in, or Aria had learnt to sing for her supper.
Joshua swept a small mound of freshly chopped herbs off the chopping board into his palm and dumped it in a pot. His work clothes resembled something out of the ‘what to wear’ pages of GQ magazine: clean lines, svelte but approachable. “Palesa says hi,” he spoke finally, looking at her through the steam as he stirred. Ginger, cumin and meatiness wafted greetings up her nostrils. “Aria’s too busy to lift a finger around here. And she’s American. Way too progressive for stuff like that. Unlike some I could name.” He smirked.
“Who gives a damn what she’s too busy for.” Her face warmed as she squashed recollections of doing dishes and throwing together enough meals to feed a stadium. It was perhaps possible she had put herself out a tad too much in these surrounds. “I got home training, I not no heathen. Since when you started cooking on weekdays?”