True to her word, she did peer in the open door and was relieved to see all the child actors sitting at a long table together. At the next table, there were a few parents, caretakers and Steven’s tutor. Steven would be filming for two months and would then go to Singapore to take part in an action film. Mandla was too caught up in telling a funny story to notice Steven glaring at him.
“Let’s go in,” Monica said to Zak and Sipho. “The other parents are eating lunch here.”
Sipho groaned, but he followed dutifully. Monica sat at the end of the trestle table next to a lady who was picking at her salad.
“Which one is yours?” asked the woman.
Monica pointed at Mandla, who again had tears rolling down his cheeks, this time from laughing. The other children, except Steven, were screeching with laughter, too.
“I see,” said the lady, but it was clear from her tone she was confused.
Monica noticed her looking at Sipho, then Zak, and then searching for a wedding ring on Zak’s finger. Monica could have satisfied her curiosity by explaining that she had adopted the boys, but it really wasn’t any of her business.
“Mine is playing the lead,” said the lady, responding to the question Monica should have asked but didn’t.
“I see,” said Monica, borrowing her phrase.
“This is his third film. Did you see him in A House of Angels?”
Monica replied that the movie had not yet been released in South Africa.
“Is that where you’re from?” asked the lady.
“Yes,” said Monica.
“What part of L.A. do you live in now?”
“We live in South Africa.”
Her attitude warmed a little after that, perhaps because she sensed that Mandla could not be a threat to her son’s career if he lived so far away.
“My father-in-law and some friends went hunting in South Africa,” said the lady.
Monica wondered if Sipho had heard.
“The lion’s head he brought back is in his den. Hideous thing. A photograph would have been enough.”
“What a brave man your father-in-law is,” said Sipho, shifting his chair closer. “The workers at the game farm probably killed a buck, hung it in a tree and then built a hide close by for the big game hunters from America.”
“I don’t know how they did it,” said the lady. Her frown told Monica that she was not sure how to interpret Sipho’s comment.
“That’s how they all do it, but I bet that’s not the way he’d tell the story. Oh, no, he’ll tell you he stalked it for days on foot and took aim from two hundred meters away.”
Monica put her hand on Sipho’s leg to try to get him to stop.
“And after the kill, I bet your father-in-law tipped the workers at the game farm five dollars each, because five dollars goes a long way in Africa, you know.”
By now the sarcasm in his voice was discernible not only to Monica.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the lady.
Monica caught Sipho’s eye and glared hard at him.
“I’ll be outside,” he said, pushing his sandwich away.
“He hates hunting,” Monica explained to the woman when Sipho had left. She knew she ought to apologize, but in a perverse way she felt as though Sipho were avenging Mandla for the treatment he was about to suffer at the hands of the young star of the movie.
“That’s no excuse for his rudeness,” said Zak. “I’ll make him apologize to you.”
Now it was Zak’s turn to be the object of Monica’s glare. How dare he undermine her in front of this lady? Let him try. The only way he would get Sipho back in here to apologize was if he threatened him in some way, and that was not Zak’s style.
Zak left and, as Monica had predicted, returned alone to the table. “He’s sorry,” Zak said rather lamely.
“Thanks,” said the lady.
The children were being ushered out of the lunchroom and back into the studio. Monica caught Mandla’s eye. He winked at her.
“Is this his first movie?” asked the lady.
Monica nodded.
“He has talent. It’s a shame you’re going back to South Africa.” Monica could tell that she didn’t mean a word of it.
Mandla had less chance to show the range of his emotions in the afternoon session, since he was part of a group scene and didn’t have a line of his own. At three o’clock, the director called for a break so Steven could look over his lines again. He could not make it through a scene without a mistake. If this were a play, Monica knew that Mandla would happily prompt him from the wings. Mandla, of course, knew his own and everybody else’s lines. Steven’s mother looked mortified, so it was a good thing that Mandla did not have the opportunity to offer his help; his older brother had caused enough upset for one day.
Sipho had not returned to the studio after his outburst in the lunchroom, and Zak had found him sitting on an upturned crate reading a discarded detective novel. He’d refused to accompany Zak back to the studio.
At the end of the day, Mandla climbed into the car with a smile on his face. “I think I like this business,” he said. “And next time I’m going to go to the party.”
“There’s not going to be a next time,” muttered Sipho. He was still reading the detective novel.
“Yes, there will be. The director told me at lunch.”
“You’re going home to South Africa and these Hollywood people are going to forget all about you,” said his brother.
“Sipho!” scolded Monica. She had had enough of his hostile attitude. Even if he was correct in his assumption, he should not treat his brother this way. What was happening to him? What was happening to all of them?
Dinner that night was subdued. Mandla was still upset about Sipho’s comment, and Sipho was disgusted that his brother even wanted to be a part of the business where people like that “morally vacuous woman” and her son were allowed to succeed. Monica was secretly relieved to see a glimpse of the old Sipho. The new one, who spoke of girls and rock bands, unnerved her far more. A couple of times Zak squeezed her knee under the table, but she pretended not to notice.
That night in bed, he put his arm around her. “I wish you would talk to me,” he whispered.
“Shh, the boys are not asleep yet,” she said.
A short while later, she heard Zak’s breathing become regular and knew that she had lost her chance. Tomorrow he would fly off and return to his familiar world in Lady Helen. If she hadn’t been feeling lonely for months already she might have feared being left alone.
Zak took a taxi to the airport the next day after giving Monica a lesson in driving the rental car on the right-hand side of the road. Ten years of driving in Johannesburg had prepared her for the impatient and unforgiving drivers of Los Angeles.
Two more days remained before Sipho had to return to Houston to start school, but, for him, the time couldn’t pass quickly enough. While Monica watched Mandla in the film studio that afternoon, Sipho sat outside listening to music or talking to Connor and other friends on the cell phone Connor’s mother had given him. Twice Monica did what she had told herself years ago that she would never do when her children were teenagers: she eavesdropped on Sipho’s conversation. Afterward she regretted it, not because she thought it was morally wrong, but because what she had heard disturbed her. Sipho was another boy entirely when he spoke to Connor. In fact, he was not a boy at all but a young man, and what upset her the most was that he was a cynical young man.
The following morning, just before five, the telephone rang in the hotel room. Only Zak and Monica’s mother knew the number, but neither would call at this time except in case of an emergency.
“Monica, it’s Zak.” He sounded agitated.
Her heart started to pound in her chest.
“She’s gone, Monica.”
“Who?”
“Yolanda. That woman took her to Australia while I was in the United States.”
Monica sat up in bed. “
But Yolanda would never agree to go.”
“Well, she’s not here.” His voice cracked. “She left me, Monica.”
“I’m sure she didn’t do it willingly,” she said softly.
There was a sniff on the other end of the receiver. Was Zak crying?
“Did you contact her school?” she asked gently.
“There’s nobody there now because it’s still summer holidays. I called the principal at home and she said Yolanda’s mother never said a word about taking Yolanda out of school.”
“Have you phoned Jacqueline’s office?”
“I just got back from the airport.”
“I’m sorry, Zak. I wish I was there to help you. See if Jacqueline’s colleagues or friends know anything.”
“Okay,” he said in a small voice. “I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Call anytime. Zak?”
“Yes?”
“Nothing. Good luck.”
That afternoon at the film studio, Monica waited five minutes after Sipho had ended another call with Connor, and then pulled up a chair beside him. She would have preferred to watch Mandla in the scene where he had most of his lines, but this was more important.
“Are you sure you want to go back?” she asked Sipho.
His eyebrows lifted.
“You could come home with Mandla and me. Your principal, Mr. D., would welcome you with open arms.”
“I’m supposed to stay four and a half more months.”
Monica sighed. “Sipho, there’s no easy way to say this. You’ve changed. This place has changed you.”
“The only thing that’s changed is I’m having fun,” snapped Sipho.
Monica was taken aback. “You have fun in Lady Helen.”
“Mom, there are only ten boys in my class. None of them share my interests.”
“But neither does Connor. You hate sports.”
Sipho flipped his cell phone open and then closed it again. “It’s different here.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. Come home. We miss you. Your brother misses you.”
“Maybe you should worry about getting him on the plane with you.”
“Why? Has he said something to you?”
Sipho shook his head. “Just look at him, Mom. He loves this. He loves it here.”
Since the boys were young Monica had feared that Mandla would one day want to wander off and explore the world. If she had foreseen that it would happen when he was eight, she might not have had a minute’s peace. Although she couldn’t bring herself to open up to Zak, she decided that she had to be honest with Sipho.
“You’re growing up too fast here.”
He shook his head.
When she’d first moved to Lady Helen and the principal of Green Block School had allowed Sipho to jump ahead two classes, she had wondered if the day would come when she’d regret it. Today was that day.
“You’re only fifteen. Connor’s seventeen. That’s a big difference when you’re a teenager.”
Sipho stood up. “Mom, Connor and his friends accept me. They think I’m cool because I’m different.”
“And you’ve proved you can fit in, so now you can come home.”
Sipho put a hand on her shoulder and she put her own hand over his. “I have to complete this year, Mom, or it will all have been a waste of time. I need this to get into medical school.”
“You can do something else back in Lady Helen to prove yourself.”
“I can’t give up something I’ve started. Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’ll be fine. Mandla is not the only actor in the family.” He withdrew his hand. “Are you still coming to Houston for a couple of days before you fly home?”
She nodded.
“I’m not the one you need to worry about, Mom.” He gave her a meaningful look.
He meant Mandla, Yolanda and Zak, but also herself. Sipho, with his big serious eyes, had always seen more than he let on.
Zak called that evening to tell her that if Jacqueline’s colleagues or friends knew where she was they weren’t sharing the information.
“I know she’s gone to Australia and taken Yolanda,” he said flatly.
Monica wished there wasn’t an ocean between them so that she could wrap her arms around her husband.
“I’ve put a call in to the police, but I was told to wait another twenty-four hours before filing a missing person report.”
She heard the desolation in his voice and her eyes filled with tears.
“What about the South African embassy in Australia?”
Zak had not tried this avenue and his attitude brightened after he gave it some thought.
“Call them, sweetheart, and then please try and get some sleep.”
He started to protest.
“You’re no use to your patients in this state.”
“You’re right.”
After Zak had hung up, Monica woke her mother in Lady Helen to ask her to keep an eye on Zak. Mirinda promised she would.
The next morning, after Monica had said goodbye to Sipho at the airport, she arrived at the studio to find Mandla in tears.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, hugging him.
“Steven says they’re going to have to put subtitles on the screen when I talk because nobody will understand my accent.” Mandla burst into fresh tears.
“He said this to your face?”
“No,” sniffed Mandla. “I heard him telling the other kids in the break room. They all laughed.” He threw his arms around Monica’s neck, sobbing.
“Come now, sweetie, don’t cry,” she said, stroking his back. “I’m going to have a word with his mother and make him apologize.”
Mandla pulled away from her. “No, please don’t do that. He won’t mean it even if he says he’s sorry.”
Her son had a point.
“Do you know why he’s saying mean things about you?”
Mandla shook his head.
“Because he’s jealous of you.”
“Of me? He’s been in two other movies.”
“That may be true, but it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you have natural talent. The director loves you. And this makes Steven feel threatened.”
“He shouldn’t be threatened by me. We’d never be up for the same roles.”
Monica caught her breath. Mandla was only eight years old and yet he had already grasped how the world worked. She wished it were not true, but it was.
“In South Africa you could have any role you wanted.”
He nodded. “But it’s not Hollywood.”
“Come on. Dry your eyes. We don’t want Steven to see that he’s upset you.”
Mandla took the tissue she offered and blew his nose.
“Has Sipho gone?”
Monica nodded.
“He’s changed since he’s been here, hasn’t he?”
“I think that deep down he’s still our old Sipho.” She hoped that this was true.
That afternoon during filming, Mandla pronounced a few of his meager lines with an American accent. It was slight enough to escape the director’s attention, but not Monica’s, and her heart ached for her little boy who wanted so badly to fit in.
Zak filed a missing person report and the South African embassy in Australia agreed to contact the local police in Sydney, since that was where Jacqueline had originally intended to live before Zak had put a stop to her move. And then the waiting began. The embassy promised to call Zak weekly with updates, but it was not enough for him, and so he phoned the embassy every day.
On the day Mandla finished filming his part in the movie, the director hosted a small party for him. Steven and his friends did not attend, but all the adult actors were there, along with the entire crew. The celebration consisted of nothing more than soda, chips, a chocolate cake and balloons, but Mandla was thrilled to be the center of attention.
Before Mandla cut his cake the director made a toast. “To Mandla’s future in the film business. I have a feeling we’re going to be s
eeing a lot of him.”
Everybody cheered and Mandla looked as though he might burst with pride.
After the cake had been eaten and people started to leave for the evening, the director took Monica aside. Mandla hovered close by, listening.
“I meant what I said. Mandla has a great future ahead of him.”
“Thank you,” said Monica.
“He needs some work.”
“Work?”
“Acting lessons, of course. A new, more hip hairstyle. And his accent was perfect for this movie where he played an outsider, but if he wants to get more roles he’ll need a voice coach to get rid of his South African accent.”
Later, Monica would think of a number of suitable replies, but at this moment she was speechless.
“If you want any recommendations, call my assistant,” said the director. He put out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure having your son on this film. He has incredible presence.”
Monica shook his hand and was relieved when his assistant drew him away because she didn’t trust herself to speak. How dare this man say Mandla had to get rid of his South African accent? Mandla’s accent was part of who he was, not something to be discarded like old clothes. And what was wrong with his natural hair? It suited him. He had never worn his hair any other way. Did the man want Mandla to start growing dreadlocks? All of a sudden, she longed to be on a flight back home with both her boys beside her. This country wanted to suck in her family and spit it out changed and new. There was only one place for her and her boys and that was Lady Helen.
That evening, as she packed their bags, muttering under her breath about the “cheek of the man,” Mandla asked her what she planned to do.
“Visit Sipho for a couple of days and then go home, of course,” she told him.
“But what about me?”
“What about you?”
“The director said I have a great future. He meant here.”
“Ouch!” Monica caught her finger in the lock of her suitcase. “It’s out of the question, Mandla. You belong at home with your family.” Her words had come out sharper than she’d intended.
“Sipho’s staying here,” said Mandla sulkily.
“Only for four more months, and he’s older than you.”
Fly Away Home Page 15