‘What? Are you crazy? Do I look like I’d go around making up my men? We’re not all liars like some people.’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’
‘I didn’t say you personally … but I know you’re implying that I’m like those girls who fake their lives on Instagram. Everything I post is real, boo, right down to the Lamborghini my man drives.’
She had to rub it in my face. The guy drives a Lamborghini. Just when Papa Jeff’s Lambo’s been repossessed. Damn!
I try to play my game differently. I take a sip of champagne, give Iris my sweetest smile and say: ‘No, man. I know your shit is real, girl. I’m just saying … when are you introducing us to Mr Emmanuel so we can meet his rich friends and also enjoy the Sweet Life?’
Tsholo laughs. ‘Yho! I’m scared of Nigerian men.’
‘Oh, please, little fairy. You fear all men but your Tim.’
Iris and I laugh. We’re just having fun with her. Tsholo is miles away from the geeky little girl she used to be at school. She has a smooth toffee-coloured complexion, big round eyes, big boobs and a tall and slender body. She’s quite a knockout, but she never takes things further than flirting with other men. Her heart belongs to the one and only boring Tim, with the boring name. I dread the day he does what all men end up doing to love-struck women. I can bet you that when that happens, Tsholo will be the biggest player of them all. She’s so smart, she’ll outdo all of us.
To my utter delight, Iris seems to be warming to my idea of introducing us to Mr Emmanuel.
‘Well, he did ask me to bring my friends around next time he’s in town. I showed him our pictures from that night at Club VIP, and he couldn’t believe how hot you guys looked. Let me text him. See what he says.’
She gets onto her phone. Tsholo is saying something to me but I’m not really listening. I’m playing different scenarios in my head. Could it be that Mr Emmanuel has friends in the same league who could splash on me like that? Hmm … highly unlikely. Even if they are in the pound seats, what are the chances of them being that generous?
I steal a glance at Iris. She’s hot enough, though dark. I’ve heard that Nigerians are crazy about Yellow Bones, so I may just be in with a chance.
What else? Okay, Iris is book smart but I’m more street smart than her. For one thing, I wouldn’t text my man asking if he wants to meet my hot friends. Like, what? I’d wait till the franchise deal was clinched and maybe get myself knocked up by him just to keep him close … Nigerians are crazy about babies. Especially if he’s already considering taking her as a second wife. Yho. How lucky is this woman?
Physically … hmm. She does have a pretty hot body. Tiny little waist, big arse, small tits … hmm. You know how girls with big bums always struggle on the boob front? I got that fixed pretty fast. Well, I did my boobs two years ago; went from an A to a D cup. I might need to do those bum implants if I am to compete with Iris. Her bum is huge, sexy, and just … perfect.
Eventually Iris ends her conversation and addresses us with a smile. ‘Good news, guys! Mr Emmanuel is coming to Joburg in two weeks. He says he’s signing a deal with some guys here. I asked if he’d like us to meet up with them after the formalities, and he said that’s a brilliant idea! So, who knows? You guys may find yourself proper Level Six blessers!’
We giggle happily, but of course Miss Goody-Two-Shoes Tsholo spoils it by saying, ‘Nah … I’m fine. I don’t need or want any blessers, guys.’
I just laugh and say: ‘Well, more for me then,’ and we all laugh.
Tender Matters
I have to be honest with you. Teddy Bear wasn’t happy that I short-changed his payment. He’s coming through this weekend and I’m going to have to be extra-sweet to him. The fact that I wasn’t on site the whole week like I was supposed to be doesn’t help matters either.
Mama Sophia had wanted me to check that the contractors were on site every day so that we keep to our project timelines. Eish. You don’t know how boring and how hot it is to sit in the sun surrounded by sweaty men on a construction site. I was struggling through Monday when I got a call from Papa Jeff, who just happened to be in Polokwane on business. I met up with him at Fusion Hotel and spent two hot nights till I almost forgot I was there for work. He was confused by my sudden business acumen and full of questions. How did I get the contract? What did I know about the construction business? Was I cheating on him with some construction mogul?
I had to assure him that I was working with my Aunty Sophia, a distant relative, who saw potential in me and wanted to teach me the ropes. He said that he’d like to meet Aunty Sophia and I promised I’d introduce them, which I have no intention of doing. To allay his fears, I showed him some emails and texts between me and Sophia … all shop talk, which seemed to give him some reassurance.
When he left Polokwane, he deposited R20,000 into my account to pay for a new bag.
Eish. New bag while other people are pushing franchises? I mean, really, Papa Jeff.
But I guess I have to be a bit sympathetic. Shame, his situation is not good at all. I’m just glad his wife is sticking by him throughout all of this. I would hate to be the one who has to reassure him every day that things are still going to turn out well. I’m not good with that kind of stuff. I’m the girl you call when you need to celebrate life’s successes.
I saw an article in the paper the other day mentioning something about the Hawks investigating his businesses. Something about unpaid taxes. Eish, it’s rough out there, but I promise I won’t dump Papa Jeff. I told you: he’s the one who gave me my first taste of the good life.
Anyway, meeting with him for two days meant that I could only get back to the site on Wednesday. When I got there, the builders were nowhere to be found. I called Mama Sophia, who was in Tembisa on another project.
‘What?’ she said. ‘But where are they?’
When I told her I hadn’t seen them since Monday she started shouting at me and calling me irresponsible. Then she calmed down and told me to call John, the project manager. ‘Find out why they’ve decided to go AWOL. Give him hell because I want to put this project behind me. It’s been an absolute nightmare!’
Eish.
I hope she doesn’t mean it’s been a nightmare working with me.
I called John, who didn’t pick up my calls. He finally did when I tried from the hotel phone.
‘John, why have you guys not been coming on site?’ I began. This was no time to be saying hello, how are you?
‘Who’s this?’
‘It’s your boss, Bontle.’
‘My what? Are you serious?’
‘Okay … listen … Sophia and I want to complete this project as much as you guys do, but we can’t afford any further delays. Why did you not show up on the job?’
‘You people need to check your emails. We’re out of building materials so what do you expect me to do? My guys have other projects. So if you people are not professional in the way you run things …’
Oh, shit.
Sophia told me the area she’s working in has a network problem so I should be diligent about checking my work-related emails. I check my inbox and find more than twenty emails relating to the project. One has an attachment with a breakdown of the materials we need to buy and the amounts required. Shit, we need R3 million worth of materials!
I hope Mama Sophia has budgeted for this in the first payment we received.
I call and apprise her of the new developments.
Crazy bitch asks how much I will be contributing.
Like, what? She gave me R2 million and she knows most of that is supposed to go towards bribing Teddy and his politicians.
Gosh! The nerve of this woman. She’s probably spent all her money on … on what? More promotional T-shirts?
I send her a text to say I’m meeting with Teddy and ask if I should suggest he returns his share of the money so we can buy building materials. She immediately calls me back, sounding panicked. He he he.
‘Of course I do
n’t expect you to do that! Oh, Lord … listen, I’ll find a place with good reception and check my emails. Maybe we can buy half of the materials for now, but when you talk to Teddy you need to make him understand we’ll be submitting another invoice soon. We need to be paid for the second phase of the project.’
‘Okay, Mama Sophia. I’m on top of it,’ I say, humbly. At least I hope I sound humble. I don’t like fighting with this woman. I know this is a great opportunity but at the same time I’m not sure if construction is really the business for me. It’s complicated. A News Café sounds so much more manageable.
The Romance Conspiracy
I got a call from Tsholo this afternoon asking me if I’d like to come through to her apartment later tonight for a lazy Friday indoors.
All this business of invoices and building materials has left me so nervous that I think an evening indoors might be just what I need.
I decide to focus on myself for a bit. After a leisurely day of shopping I pop into a nail salon to spice up my nails with the brightest tips on the menu. That instantly perks me up. I ask the nail technician to take a snap of my beautiful hands and I post it on my Instagram account #FabFriday, #FabMe, #FabNails! Ten people like my post instantly and one person comments: ‘We’re out here toiling in the office while you’re out there doing your nails. I want your life!’
I smile at the post. I can’t stop grinning when I realise that the person who posted it was one of the mean girls at school who used to look down on me because of my ‘township roots’. He he he. How the mighty have fallen. This day just keeps getting better.
I drive home and take a nap till my alarm rings at 6 p.m. I take a quick shower, don a loose cotton top, my favourite boyfriend jeans and a pair of sneakers. I text Tsholo to let her know I’m on my way.
Tsholo lives in a townhouse complex that resembles a student village, with mostly bachelor flats and one-bedroom apartments.
All those years at varsity and she’s still living like a pauper. I really need to count my blessings, you know. Did I tell you Tsholo’s on her second degree? She started out as a science major then decided to complete her BSc degree before venturing into law. Insane, isn’t it? Anyway, I have to tell you, I respect the girl’s patience.
I drive into her visitors’ parking after she buzzes me in through the intercom. The Toyota Conquest passed on to her by her dad is in her parking bay. Then I clock her boyfriend Tim’s Polo Playa in the visitors’ parking. Oh, boy. I wasn’t aware we’d be having company.
Tim opens the door of her apartment for me with a grin. ‘The Queen of Bling! How’s it going?’
I laugh and walk in. Tsholo is lounging lazily on her weathered two-seater couch.
‘You guys are playing me. Didn’t realise you were in the lover’s lane over here. Why am I even here? You know I don’t like being third-wheeled.’
Tim goes to the fridge and gets himself a beer. ‘What will you have to drink, Bontle?’
I crease my nose. ‘Definitely not beer.’
‘Chill, man. We’ve got you covered. Tsholo, where’s that red wine I brought you yesterday?’
‘It’s in the bottom kitchen cupboard. Shush, you guys. This is my favourite part of the movie.’
‘What are you watching anyway?’ I ask, sitting down on the tub chair facing the couch. Might as well use this opportunity to observe modern young adults coupling.
‘The Notebook. It’s so sweet, Bontle. I swear you’re gonna cry buckets watching this.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Tim, do you also watch this Hollywood romantic crap?’
He looks embarrassed and shrugs.
I suppress a laugh.
He brings two wine glasses and starts opening the bottle for us.
‘Seriously, dude. You’re gonna lose what little street cred you have if you spend Friday nights watching romantic movies with your girlfriend.’
‘Hey, wena, leave Tim alone. Don’t corrupt him with your crude tendencies,’ Tsholo says.
We all laugh.
‘Bontle, do you seriously mean to tell me that there’s not a single romantic bone in that body of yours?’ asks Tim.
‘Phhtt! Do I look dumb to you? You guys just don’t get it, do you?’
‘What don’t we get?’ asks Tim.
‘This is all just fantasy. Nobody actually lives like this. There is no true love forever. No romance, no happily ever after. First of all, this crap is about a bunch of white people somewhere in the States, or the UK or whatever. They’re from a different background. They’re raised differently from us. They love differently. All you’re doing by watching these movies is deluding yourself. You get sucked into a false sense of reality. When did you ever see a happily married black couple? Hmm?’
‘I think my mum was happily married. Well, for most of my younger years,’ Tsholo says, after thinking.
‘And now?’
‘Well. Things happen. I think my parents just grew old – and grew apart. They don’t talk to each other much anymore. But they’re still together.’
‘Hmph. Sorry to burst your bubble, Tsholo, but there’s probably a whole history of cheating and lying and disappointment there. That’s why they can’t talk to each other anymore. These things are just not real. All these fake Hollywood love stories … I just don’t buy them.’
‘So what would you rather have, Bontle?’ asks Tim.
I take a sip of my wine. ‘Me? What would I rather have? I’d rather have money. That’s all.’
‘Do you know that the majority of rich people are desperately unhappy?’ Tim says.
‘And you got this research from where? The Communist Party?’
Tim spreads his long legs all the way to the coffee table, only to be smacked on the knees by Tsholo.
He looks at her, draws in his legs, grins and sips his beer. ‘You really believe that money is the key to your happiness?’ he asks me.
‘It’s done me well so far,’ I respond.
Tsholo rolls her eyes.
‘Don’t roll your eyes at me, Tsholo. Be realistic. What do you need to make you happy?’
She ponders the question for a short while. ‘Hmm … I’d say free wi-fi, sex and food.’
Tim is tickled. He kisses her on the neck. ‘That’s why I’m the luckiest guy in the world.’
Gosh. These two.
I look at the screen and the couple on TV start kissing in the rain. Urgh. My whole world is turning into a Coca-Cola advert.
‘Mxm. This movie looks lame. What’s it all about anyway?’
‘It’s about this poor farm boy who falls in love with a rich city girl. He goes to serve in the Second World War and when he comes back he finds that he’s still in love with her even though she’s already taken,’ explains Tsholo. ‘Kind of like you and Ntokozo,’ she adds mischievously.
‘Ntokozo is not a poor farm boy,’ I retort.
Tsholo laughs.
‘Okay. So you’ll be the poor farm boy. Once you make your riches, then his parents will realise the error of their ways and welcome you back to their perfect medical family.’
‘Fuck Off!’ I swear at her, and hit her with a cushion for good measure.
She giggles, clearly enjoying my irritation.
‘Tsholo loves this movie,’ says Tim. ‘She read the book so I decided to download the movie for her. She’s watched it, like … what, Tsholo, six times?’
She sticks out her tongue at him. ‘Not that many times, wena, maybe three times – at the most. It’s beautiful, Bontle. Do you want me to rewind it?’
‘No!’ I say. ‘Don’t you have anything else we can watch?’
‘Bontle, do you seriously hate romance? Were you raised by wolves?’ asks Tim.
‘I told you. Real life’s not like that. You black men got so messed up by apartheid you’re incapable of the kind of love displayed in these movies. So rather than set myself up for heartache, I choose to be realistic.’
‘What? You think all black men are incapable of loving their
women?’ asks Tim, shaking his head. ‘You honestly think one day I’ll run off and just deliberately hurt Tsholo?’
She looks at me and then at Tim. ‘Why didn’t you warn me that apartheid damaged you, dude?’ she asks, straight-faced.
They both laugh.
‘I’m serious, guys. How can you show love when you yourself have never experienced it? Tim, you don’t even know your father so where are you supposed to have learned how to really love a woman?’
‘Did you seriously just go there? You are one fucked-up bitch,’ Tim says. He’s smiling and doesn’t look that offended though. Neither am I. We often talk to each other this way. ‘Anyway, I’ve gotta go, babe, I’m having drinks at Sophiatown with Tshepo and Malusi. Check you later?’ he says, rising.
They share a kiss and Tim goes to the bedroom.
‘But, Bontle, did you really have to bring up his dad?’ Tsholo whispers. ‘He’s kind of sensitive about that.’
‘Do you think he’s mad at me?’ I whisper back.
In a few minutes, Tim emerges from the bedroom. He’s put on a jacket and cap. He’s such a happy-go-lucky guy, I sometimes wonder what it’s like to date someone young when I see how relaxed he is around Tsholo and with life in general. But then again, I think of his car and his job and the cheap dates we’d go on and I immediately stop wondering.
‘Okay, babe. I’ll see you later. Bontle, see you around,’ Tim says, without giving me so much as a glance.
Once he’s out the door, I grab the remote.
‘Bontle, come on. Give the movie a chance,’ Tsholo pleads. ‘I’ll put it on from the start.’
‘Ag … fine. Can we watch the Kardashians later?’
Tsholo rolls her eyes. ‘You can’t be serious. We need a compromise candidate.’
‘Eish. Okay. Can we watch Somizi then?’ I offer. Somizi is a flamboyant gay South African performer who has his own reality show. He’s brilliant!
She grins. ‘Much better. I love Somizi.’
See why we’re such great friends? We always have a middle ground.
Getting Ready for the Big League
The Blessed Girl Page 6