Sex, Lies & Stellenbosch

by Eva Mazza

  “Well, being forty-nine and pretty much lost to job opportunities and relationship opportunities made me question divorce as an option. So many of our friends – including me, I suppose – stay in our marriages because we believe that there is no happy alternative.” Jen gestured to Sharon to hand over the picture that she was studying. She looked at it as she spoke. “The thought of divorce made me scared at thirty and terrified at forty-nine – even after I caught John with Patty. Until today, because now there is no maybe.” Patty placed the evidence back down on the coffee table. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say? I know that after the divorce, even if I do feel lonely, I won’t wonder whether it was the right decision. It’s the right decision because there’s the proof,” Jen gestured to the envelope, “and divorce is the only choice I have.”

  Sharon leaned back in her chair and observed Jen more closely. “Have you ever cheated on your husband, Jen?”

  Jen folded her arms. “No! I haven’t. I’ve been so busy trying to raise children and make our marriage work that I haven’t so much as looked at another man.”

  “Do you think that you would’ve, if the opportunity had arisen?”

  “No. No, I really don’t think I would’ve. For one, there would be too much at stake; for another, it would invalidate what I’ve subscribed to and lived by. So, no, I can confidently say that I would not have cheated on John if the opportunity had presented itself.”

  “Okay, so let’s try and formulate a plan of action. What are you going to do after you leave this room?”

  Jen laughed. “I’m going to get pissed.” Jen waited for a response from her counsellor. There was a moment’s pause before she continued. “I’m going to pack my bags and check into a hotel, here in the city. I will instruct Leonard to get an interim settlement because, by God, this asshole is going to pay me back for every year I devoted to our marriage.”

  “Do you plan to engage with him when he sees you tonight? Will you show him the photos? And will you confront your friend, er…” Sharon looked down at her notes. “What is your friend’s name?”

  “Frankie.”

  “Will you confront Frankie?”

  Jen poured herself a glass of water. Her hands shook, and the water spilt slightly as she tilted the glass jug.

  “Leonard can deal with John. I don’t want to give him a chance to explain or to reason with me. He can be a very convincing liar. And Frankie. I won’t say anything. I won’t say anything, more for Lee’s sake.”

  “Lee. Frankie’s husband?”

  Jen nodded. “Why would you withhold information like this from him?”

  “Lots of reasons.” Jen fidgeted with the thong around her neck.

  “I’d like to know.”

  “Well, for one thing, I don’t want him hurt. Secondly, I’ve been complicit in Frankie’s affair with my husband.” Sharon raised her eyebrows. Jen pretended not to notice. “Also, I grew up in the same town as Lee. I know how Stellenbosch thrives on scandals such as this one and how we have been programmed to cover up at all costs. Knowing Lee, even if he has an inkling, he won’t do anything that would create a scene.”

  “Let’s go back,” Sharon said.

  “You want me to tell you why I am complicit in their affair?” Jen shifted, then she took another sip of water before she went on to explain how Frankie had shared her affair with her, and how Jen had all but sanctioned it. She told Sharon that Frankie would show her text messages, “From my husband!”, and how she had covered for her on Sunday night.

  “Well, there is a very nasty type of nasty in Frankie,” Sharon said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say things like that, but fuck it. Really, what a bitch!”

  Jen ventured, “Well, maybe it’s my karma.”

  Sharon frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I slept with Lee before John and I married.” Jen checked Sharon’s face, but again it remained neutral.

  “Nothing shocks you?”

  “I have an excellent poker face,” Sharon smiled.

  “Well, don’t speak to me about poker. That’s a story for another day.

  “So, Lee’s parents and my parents always joked about the two of us getting married. I think there was a family feud of some sort between John’s family and mine, and when I started dating John, my mother was very unhappy. It was a Capulet-Montague thing, but Mom had also heard some terrible stories about him. Unbeknownst to me, John was dating Shelley when he started courting me. It was through my mom that I discovered this. By that stage, I was pretty smitten. He was the first guy I had slept with and he introduced me to the joys of sex. There was no stopping me. I loved everything about him.”

  Sharon had stopped taking notes, Jen noticed. She had her head cocked to one side and was listening intently.

  “And although our parents knew one another, Lee and I only became friends through John. He had started seeing Frankie at about the same time John and I started dating. She came with a pretty bad reputation and Lee’s parents were beside themselves with worry. My dad had passed on, and though their marriage hadn’t been perfect, not by a long shot, my mom was determined to fulfil his wish for me to marry Lee. The two families set up an ‘intervention’ – supper on our farm. When Lee and I eventually caught on, we played along, and after dinner we drove up to the lookout point, got completely stoned and boom, we were kissing and groping and eventually we were having full-on sex.” Jen looked up at Sharon. She could see that she had managed to elicit some sort of reaction from her counsellor whose face was anything but poker. “So, I too had sex with my best friend’s husband. Well, sort of,” she back-pedalled. “None of us were married, and Frankie and I weren’t best friends yet.”

  Sharon broke the silence that followed. “So, you’ve carried this guilt around with you?” She put the lid back on her pen. “That is, if you have felt guilty?”

  “Yes, I have. I didn’t dare tell John! I was the closest thing to perfect and it was no secret that he wanted a ‘pure’ wife – someone who hadn’t been with half the town. There was a time when I was going to tell him about the one-night stand with Lee and deal with the consequences, but then I, I was pregnant. There was no way I could risk being an unmarried mother. I would never find a husband and I had been preened for marriage, so I kept my shameful secret, and now you know, too.”

  Sharon glanced at her watch. Jen couldn’t help feeling that even Sharon must be as exhausted as she was.

  “Thank you for sharing this with me,” Sharon said earnestly. “Before we end our session I’d like to ask how Lee felt after your… shall we call it passionate encounter?”

  “He begged me to leave John.”

  “Oh.” Sharon was clearly not expecting this answer.

  Jen went on to explain. “Look, sex with him was pretty awesome, but we were stoned and drunk and young; plus, it was taboo, so all of these things contributed to the ecstasy of it all. I walked around for days afterwards thinking about that evening, and wanting it back again, but I just felt so guilty! I loved John, and respectable girls didn’t do those things. I knew that if I left John for Lee my reputation would be questionable; everyone would know what had happened. I also knew that Lee and John had always had a little competition going, and it would have shattered John.”

  Jen couldn’t help thinking that it seemed like she was trying to look like the heroine of this story. Trying to shield John from hurt. How ridiculously empty it sounded when she said it out loud, so she further justified her motives for staying with her then fiancé. “I loved John very much, so it was an extremely confusing time of my life. The decision was made for me when I found out I was pregnant.”

  “And,” Sharon said cautiously, “is there a possibility that Brigit is Lee’s baby?”

  Jen wept. She had kept this a secret for so many years.

  “Yes,” she confessed. “My mother knew about the turmoil I was in, but when she heard I was pregnant, she was adamant that I marry John. She said that neither John nor Lee would w
ant me if they weren’t sure whose baby it was. She made it clear to me that Brigit was John’s child if Lee ever asked. He never did.”

  Twenty-six

  There was a light knock on her bedroom door. Frankie opened her eyes slightly to see Faith standing over her. She turned on to her side.

  “I’m tired, Faith. Let me sleep, please.”

  “Madam, the police are here.”

  Frankie’s eyes opened. Drowsy from the sleeping tablets she had taken the night before, she hadn’t quite grasped what Faith had said.

  “I’m a little woozy, Faith. What’s the time?”

  “Madam Frankie, it’s two fifteen.” Frankie didn’t register immediately. When she did, she shot up off the bed. “Jesus, Faith, have I been asleep the whole morning? Lee, where’s he?” She grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her.

  “I thought Madam is sick. There are two policemen. They want to speak to you. They say it’s very urgent and that I must wake Madam.”

  “Tell them I’m coming,” Frankie instructed. She quickly brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face.

  Two police officers were seated, caps in hand, taking in the lavish décor of the lounge. They jumped up on seeing Frankie. The older officer introduced himself and his colleague.

  “Are you Frankie Holms?” he asked nervously.

  “Yes?” Frankie said uneasily. These two didn’t look like they were carrying a summons for a traffic offence.

  “I’m afraid we have very bad news, Mrs Holms.” Frankie reacted before the officer could finish his sentence.

  “Oh my God, it’s Clive, isn’t it? What’s happened?”

  Silence.

  “Tell me, for God’s sake! What has happened to my son?”

  “It’s your husband,” the younger officer ventured.

  Faith screamed, “Boss Lee!”

  Frankie looked at Faith and then at the two men.

  Calmly, she asked, “What? What has happened to my husband?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Holms.”

  “Was he speeding? He’s been locked up again, hasn’t he?” She searched their eyes. Pity had channelled its way through the faces of both the men. There was an agonising silence as Frankie moved towards Lee’s armchair. Her limp body slumped into it.

  The officer finally spoke. “His car was found this morning. No other car was involved. It’s badly burnt, Mrs Holms.” The younger officer handed her a plastic bag with the contents of Lee’s Rolex and his gold wedding band.

  Frankie heard a groan, but she hardly recognised it as the sound that came from her mouth.

  Immersing himself in work had calmed John down somewhat. He had to catch up on Monday and Tuesday’s work and he had been in his office behind his computer the whole day. A message that his money had come through flashed across his screen at the same time as his phone began to ring. It was Frans, and he answered immediately.

  “Thanks bud. I see the money’s come through. Much quicker than I anticipated. I do realise you had to pull some strings to do this for me.”

  There was no reply from Frans, only what John could decipher as long grunts, as if his friend was choking.

  “Frans!” He jumped up from behind his desk, knocking his knee on an open drawer. Fuck! He tried to rub the pain away with his free hand. “Are you okay, bud?”

  Frans tried to say something, but it came out as garbled – something that sounded like “Lee”.

  “I’m not hearing you. What about Lee?”

  “Lee’s dead”, was all that Frans could manage.

  “What the fuck are you saying, Frans?” he asked with more force this time. “You’re starting to scare me.”

  Forgetting about his injured knee, he paced the office floor.

  “I’ve just spoken to Frankie. The police were at her house about a half an hour ago. They found Lee’s burnt-out Ferrari at the side of the road.” Frans choked on his words. “His body was found in the wreck. Um, burnt. Our buddy is dead, John. Our buddy.” Frans broke down again.

  “Why didn’t Frankie phone me? I’m Lee’s best friend!” John shut his desk drawer and slumped into his chair.

  “Is that all you have to say, John? Why didn’t Frankie phone you? Who the fuck knows or cares? She’s lost her husband, for fuck’s sake. I don’t know why you never got a call. Jesus! She needs our support. The police are on the way to Clive’s digs to collect him and bring him home. We need to get our wives together and go to her house. I’ve told Shelley. She’s gathering the book club girls. You need to let Jen know.”

  Embarrassed, John said, “I’m sorry, Frans, you’re right. Fuck! I’m not quite absorbing this. It was the first thing that came to mind. Lee is dead. Christ! My buddy is dead.”

  He heard Frans say, “Go and get Jen immediately. She’s asking for Jen.”

  John put the phone down long after Frans had. He was trying to process the enormity of the tragedy. His best friend had died in a grotesque accident. He was overcome by guilt, but also, he felt relief. He was intrinsically sad, but Lee’s death was, in fact, going to be his deliverance. He was in the clear. His relationship with Frankie would go with Lee to his grave. If, indeed, he had found out. Thoughts rushed at him now. He couldn’t help wondering if his friend’s death had anything to do with the club’s ‘bosses’. Lee had made it quite clear that they had meant business. Paranoia engulfed him. He slammed his fists on his desk. Fuckfuckfuck! He shoved his fingers through his hair. Jesus! He hoped he wasn’t in danger of the same fate. He shook in his rush to transfer the money into Patty’s bank account, then messaged her: “Money transferred. I stuck to my side of the deal, now you stick to yours.”

  He ran to the farmhouse calling Jen’s name. There was no answer. She still wasn’t home.

  “Gladys!” he hollered.

  Gladys was out of breath when she got to the spare room.

  “Where’s Jen?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, annoyed.

  John dialled Jen’s number while Gladys hovered.

  “Lee is dead,” he told her matter-of-factly. “I need to tell Jen to get to Frankie’s house.”

  His employee’s hand suppressed a gasp. “Lee? Dead?”

  “Yes. If Jen phones, please, don’t tell her. Just ask her to phone me urgently.”

  Twenty-seven

  It was dark and raining when Jen stepped out of the building. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, she couldn’t face the drive back to the farm. Claudia had texted Jen that afternoon to offer her apartment for the night, as she was staying over at Leonard’s: “We have some catching up to do since my visit to the spa.”

  Jen phoned Claudia. “Does your offer still stand?” she asked. “It’s been one hell of a day and I can’t face the drive back.”

  “Of course it does, darling. You sound exhausted. It would be ridiculous to drive back in the rain then risk some sort of altercation with John, and then come all the way back to the city and still look for somewhere to stay. Go to the Waterfront, get yourself some clothes. You’ll have a brand-new wardrobe by the time your divorce goes through!” They both laughed. “Go chill at my place. The spare key is with the caretaker. Ring her bell and she’ll let you in. My apartment is on the second floor.” Claudia gave Jen directions to her building in the most prestigious locale of Clifton.

  “It will do you good to be alone.”

  Grateful, she entered Claudia’s apartment laden with shopping bags. The apartment was as tasteful as Jen had imagined. An enormous window boasted a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean. A few boats were visible in the distance, their lights twinkling through the rain. A passage led off from the left of the entrance hall to a separate studio for houseguests and on the right, an open plan Moroccan style kitchen, tiled in mosaic with brass fixtures. The kitchen led into a dining room furnished with a round marble table surrounded by a mix of upholstered dining room chairs.

  In the lounge, two roomy velvet sofas spilled over with cushions. A large gold ottoman, la
den with coffee table books, was placed at the opposite end of the room. The wall separating the room from the bedroom area was covered with framed pictures of Claudia and her family and friends. Jen noticed a picture of a much younger Claudia on her wedding day, standing next to a handsome young man. Daniel. He was robust, blond and tall.

  Judging by the landmarks of canals, gondolas and Greek tavernas it was evident that she was well travelled. There were several photos of her kissing, dancing closely and standing together in front of the Eiffel Tower with a man Jen assumed must be Leonard. Jen chided herself for having imagined Leonard as a white Jewish man just because of his name and because Claudia herself was Jewish.

  There was a picture of him on what Jen knew for certain as the unmistakable black beach of Santorini’s Paradisos. Leonard had one of the most beautifully shaped, chiselled bodies she had seen on a man this side of forty. His board shorts hung just under his hipbones and she had to stop herself from staring too long. Lucky girl, Claudia.

  She helped herself to a vodka tonic from the bar in the corner of the lounge and sat on the couch facing the Atlantic. Her phone beeped another message which she chose to ignore. She wanted time out from everyone. It had been a long day. Anyway, she wasn’t obliged to speak to anyone, especially not John. This new sense of emancipation gave her courage and she WhatsApped Myron before she could change her mind. “Where do you live? Do you feel like catching up this evening? I’m staying at Claudia’s and I can pop over if you’re not busy.”

  She decided to shower. She wasn’t going to sit at her phone waiting for a reply. His answer would determine the evening’s outcome. She stripped and threw her used clothes in one of her packets. A real bag lady I’ve become! She lingered in the shower, allowing the water to cleanse her. When she was done, she checked her phone.

  A missed call from John. More importantly, Myron had texted the address and directions to his house in Llandudno and a short “would love to see you”. She jotted the address down in her notebook and switched off her phone, deciding to leave it behind. Tonight, she was unreachable.