The Blessed Girl

by Angela Makholwa

  To hell with Papa Jeff. But before the final goodbye, I’m going to open a case of assault against that crazy woman.

  Carless in Johannesburg

  The next morning, without even thinking, I decide that I’m going to park the Merc outside the main entrance of my estate. But before I drive it out, I take a sharp butcher’s knife and stab and tear at all the seats. It breaks my heart to hurt my beautiful Merc, but since those evil, penniless people want to take it away from me, I feel it’s a good parting shot.

  After parking it, I go into the bathroom and take a razor blade out of the medicine cabinet. I consider cutting my face so I can claim the crazy bitch injured me when she smashed the windscreen. It was sheer damn luck that she didn’t, after all. It would be an effective move, but I’m hesitant. How would I explain the scars to Teddy and Mr Emmanuel? They’d think I was some hood rat. I can’t even afford the surgery to fix them. Eish, that woman is not worth ruining this face for.

  I take my car keys, my bag, and my ID book and drive to the police station nearest to Hyde Park. I ask to open a case of assault with intent to cause grievous bodily harm against the wife. The detective helping me to write my affidavit says I can only open a case of assault, because I can’t prove intent to do grievous bodily harm. Mxm! I take him outside to the parking lot and show him the smashed windscreen. It’s not as bad as I first thought. I should have smashed it more. The detective looks very unconvinced by my story so I cry dramatically to convince him. I could really have used a cut across my face right now. I need that old woman to spend one or two days in a jail cell.

  After I’ve filed my affidavit, my good spirits return.

  I drive home, park the vandalised Merc outside the gates of the estate, and leave the keys with the security guards. I give one of them a seductive smile and ask him to drop me off in the security vehicle.

  When I get home, I’m still on a surprising high.

  Since that meeting with Papa Jeff in December, I’ve been dreading the day they’d take the car from me. It was inevitable, though. I just have to let it go.

  I text Papa Jeff a message.

  U can pick up your scrap at the g8. The keys r with the security guard. Gud bye & hv a nice life wit dat crazy fat lady.

  I’m so glad I was smart enough to buy the penthouse when I had the downpayment.

  I get to my phone and download the Uber app. That is how I am going to have to get around town for now.

  I soak in a long bath infused with lavender oil and enjoy the sense of calm that washes over me. When I go to bed that night, I think of Ntokozo as I fall asleep. That makes me feel calm too.

  Iris Finds Love

  I get a surprise call from Iris on an otherwise uneventful Wednesday afternoon.

  I’m lying on the couch, posting my new supply of lace wigs on my Instagram page. Always update the fans.

  ‘Hello, stranger! Why are you avoiding everyone?’

  ‘I’m not avoiding anyone,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve been … a bit busy.’

  ‘Okay, boo. But is everything okay with you? And how’s Loki?’

  I pause. I don’t like the idea that she takes such liberties with Golokile’s name.

  ‘I’m fine. We’re fine, thank you. How’s things with you?’

  ‘Well … that’s why I called. This year’s been great, hey. I just got a job as a junior business analyst and Selaelo and I have been getting really close. He’s great, don’t you think?’

  Hmmm … interesting.

  ‘Of course he is. He’s exactly your type. So are you guys seriously dating?’

  ‘Do you think I’d let a guy like that go? He’s everything I ever wanted. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I was ready for a relationship but he’s just – yho! He’s swept me off my feet.’

  ‘I’m happy for you, Iris. So I’m guessing he’s single and unattached?’

  ‘Yep. As hard as finding a virgin in this city of gold, but he is exactly that!’ she says.

  Her voice sounds like a thousand firecrackers going off on New Year’s Eve.

  ‘Well, I guess it’s time one of us settled down,’ I say diplomatically.

  She laughs. ‘Yeah, I know …’

  I don’t want to be the first to raise the Mr Emmanuel issue.

  ‘So anyway, the reason I called is because there’s a formal event at his firm to celebrate a major client he’s brought on board. There’ll be an after-party at the Michelangelo Hotel, just a few of his close friends. He asked me to invite some of my friends too.’

  Oh, no. Not the clever kids again … still, it might be a nice change.

  I’m about to ask her when but Iris is still talking.

  ‘Ja. I need to see you. Things are moving so fast between me and Selaelo – I need your expertise on something.’

  ‘Really? What’s that, hun?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, you’re so good at playing the game … I want you to give me some advice on how to handle Mr Emmanuel now that I have Selaelo in my life.’

  I mean, does this happen to someone like Dr Phil? Like, maybe he cheats with someone, then the person’s partner comes and asks for advice from him? Nope. I don’t think so. Only happens to poor old Bontle.

  ‘How am I supposed to advise you on that? I’m barely keeping my own love life intact.’

  ‘No man. Don’t act modest. Tsholo’s told me about some of your escapades. You’re a pro at this stuff; the real McCoy. Tsholo says you have a PhD in MENcology,’ she says, giggling.

  Trust this shit to follow you.

  ‘Okay, okay. We’ll talk about it. But I’ve mellowed out in my old age.’

  ‘Whatever … See on you on Thursday? And bring your PhD with you!’

  I drop the call.

  So I’ll be partying with Iris and her new boyfriend on Thursday, then stealing her blesser, Mr Emmanuel, on Friday.

  I know you already think I’m devious and conniving but even I have my limits. It’s one thing throwing this girl under the bus, but to be placed in a position where SHE is the one helping me source the bus with mechanical faults, mess around with the brakes and get the drunken bus driver with impaired vision to run her over – No man!

  Suits

  I decide to drink as little as possible tonight as I still have my hot date lined up with Mr Emmanuel tomorrow.

  I’ve also decided to make more of an effort with The Suits. I think my dress code at our last soirée made me feel out of sorts, a bit tarty, with Selaelo and his serious and committed friends. So today I am going to tone things down and fit in a bit more with the court geeks.

  I wear an old Hugo Boss pin-stripe tailored jacket worn with just a black bra underneath. I complete the look with a matching pin-stripe skirt slit to the thigh.

  Only one thing can complete this look: red-hot thick lips!

  I still feel sexy but at least I look like I might have come from a meeting where I had to seduce the boss for a salary raise. A corporate tart is still a professional.

  I wait an hour from the time Iris says they’ve arrived at the Michelangelo to call my Uber. A lady has to make an entrance. I’m glad that my misfortune with Papa Jeff occurred in the Uber era.

  I love the Michelangelo restaurant. It looks stately with its golden pillars, Persian carpets and beautifully upholstered chairs. It looks even more beautiful after my recent stint at home.

  I can already hear the noise carrying from Selaelo’s table.

  Iris gives a big smile as she spots me coming to join them. She stands up and gives me a hug, whispering, ‘You look gorgeous! So glad to have you back, Bontle.’

  I feel like a terrible person. But then I think maybe it isn’t because she’s suddenly my best friend, maybe she’s hugging and smiling at everyone now that she’s in love. She’s never been this fuzzy and sweet in the past. Tsholo also stands up and gives me a hug. I greet the group, which I see includes the glamour girls from our last encounter and many of the same lawyers.

  Selaelo welcomes me and compliments me on my
suit. I smile and thank him. I need a drink. I realise that it’s been a while since I was in such a large group and, while I’m feeling fine, it’s a little overwhelming.

  At least Tsholo’s there. We get big glasses of Chardonnay and chat between ourselves. She’s happy at the legal insurance firm where she started working a few weeks ago and sounds excited yet nervous about learning the ropes.

  Somebody starts taking pictures of Selaelo. Whatever new client he’s brought in must be massive because all the men are eating out of his hand; he’s even posing for pictures with some of them!

  Iris stands next to him and turns to me. ‘Could you take a picture of us, please, Bontle?’ I take one and then playfully tell them to get closer together and take a few more. In the last one, Iris leans in to kiss her man. She looks lit up with happiness. When we are all ready to leave, Tsholo asks me where I’m parked.

  ‘I came in an Uber, babe. I’ve already asked for a driver to come and pick me up.’

  ‘Oh. Where’s your car?’

  ‘Darling Tsholo – this is the era of responsibility. Do you really expect me to be driving in the state I’m in?’

  She looks at me with a puzzled expression. ‘Wow. Wena … Miss Convertible … in an Uber?’

  ‘Yep. Okay. Love you lots, babe. I have to go. My cab’s waiting,’ I say, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘You and I must get together soon.’

  She smiles. ‘Can’t wait!’

  Date Night

  Mr Emmanuel’s in town!

  I woke up at 6 a.m. this morning and I’ve been cleaning the house and just keeping myself busy because I have this manic energy due to my excitement at the prospect of seeing him.

  After witnessing the glow of adoration in Iris’s face last night, I wonder if I might feel a bit like that for Mr Emmanuel? He is such a manly man, and the way he holds me, the way he whispers in my ear when we’re making love … Jerr! I am really starting to feel something for him. While he hasn’t actually said anything about our relationship, the man makes constant and urgent plans for us to get together. Sounds to me like someone might be interested in getting himself a second wife.

  I know what you’re thinking, you Prophet of Doom.

  But you haven’t been together that long, Bontle.

  That’s what you’re thinking, right? Eish, wena, with your jealous tendencies! Some people meet and marry within weeks of knowing each other. One of the Kardashians got married after dating her husband for just two weeks and they’re my role models after all. (Aren’t they just amazeballs?) Mr Emmanuel and I have known each other for much longer than that. Granted, he’s often out of the country, but those ten days in Bali brought us close and reignited emotions that I had long given up on ever feeling for a man again. Also he makes sure to see me every time he’s in town, even if his trips are really rushed and busy. He’ll be on the phone making his deals and appointments, but he’ll always find the time to devour me with his eyes, his mouth, his … mmm!

  So, to step things up a notch, I’ve invited him to my place.

  The Teddy Bear deposited R20,000 into my account when he slept over the last time he was in town so even though I go through R20,000 like a professional racing driver ploughing through the Kyalami track, I still have just enough money to organise a nice dinner.

  Mr Emmanuel loves hot and spicy food, so what I’ll do is get Uber Eats to deliver a curry from my favourite Indian place. I’m going to cook some rice and fry an onion and put the dishes in the sink. Optics, baby, optics!

  Later That Evening

  I love my penthouse. It’s modern and minimalist. (It probably wouldn’t have been minimalist if I’d decorated it myself. When Ntokozo moved out after I filed for divorce, Papa Jeff got in an interior decorator.)

  I hardly ever spend time in the kitchen but it has all the modern fittings: white cupboards, aluminium handles and soft lime green tones on the walls. It gives off a real sense of homeliness. This is very important when you’re dealing with married men. You don’t want them to think you’re some classless hag who’s only good for a lay.

  I don’t entertain much, but when I do, I use my open-plan dining room, which blends into the lounge area. My dining room has a beautiful chandelier with different light settings. Tonight I am going to set it to give off a warm dim glow, which I will accentuate with candlelight.

  I have set the table with beautiful place mats, my best dinnerware and cutlery, and crystal champagne glasses. You’d imagine I was older if you saw this perfect dinner in this beautiful flat but that’s fine, I’m not here to entertain boys, I like sophisticated and mature men.

  After setting the table, I go and take a quick shower, put on the war-paint, some perfume and a short, casual dress and sandals. The food delivery arrives right on time. I open the door to be greeted by the intoxicating aroma of lamb curry. Yummy!

  I asked that they make Mr Emmanuel’s extra hot. That’s the ticket. If he doesn’t fall in love with me after this, I may have to visit uBaba Shongwane and get some juju in the mix.

  Don’t ever say I lack ambition.

  I place the rice and curry in separate serving dishes and bring out the crunchy carrot salad from Woolworths that I bought earlier today. At the rate I’m using Uber cabs, I might as well be paying a monthly car instalment. I seriously need to start working on a more economical option for my mobility otherwise I’ll end up spending my life savings on Uber!

  But it’s all for Mr Emmanuel so I’m considering it an investment.

  I lay everything on the table as part of my fare for the evening.

  I text Mr Emmanuel to see how far away he is. He says he’s on his way.

  I go to the bathroom to freshen up. I apply another layer of lipstick, some powder, and I spray myself with Chanel No. 5. I give my weave one last brush. It’s perfect, long and wavy with a side fringe that really suits my oval face. Always invest in pure Brazilian, Indian or Peruvian hair; that’s what I tell my customers too.

  When Mr Emmanuel finally rings the bell, I am beside myself with excitement. I take a deep breath and open the door.

  He’s brought me a large bouquet of flowers and a bottle of champagne. I give him a quick kiss on the lips and welcome him to my home.

  ‘Hmmm … Miss Thing, look at you … very impressed, young lady. Very, very impressed,’ he says as he walks into the open-plan living area. I can see him taking in the place. He’s studying my vintage Louis XV gilt occasional chairs, antique coffee table and the framed paintings on my walls.

  He suddenly stops short, a strange expression on his face.

  ‘Hmmph,’ he snorts.

  I smile at him, somewhat nervous yet happy to have him in my home.

  ‘Can I offer you something to drink? Some champagne?’ I ask as I lead him over to an armchair.

  He nods and drifts slowly towards the chair, still looking around the room. I come to sit next to him and place the two glasses of champagne on the table between our two chairs.

  ‘So … you are actually here,’ I say, with a nervous giggle.

  ‘Yes. I am.’ He smiles back at me. ‘Tell me, how does a young lady like you afford a place like this?’

  I shrug.

  ‘My businesses have been doing very well. Clearly,’ I laugh.

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘It’s been a while. About three years.’

  He sips his champagne slowly.

  ‘You know … I love classy women. Women who respect themselves. Their bodies. That’s why I was attracted to you. That day I first saw you, I was struck by your beauty. But when you opened your mouth, I was even more taken.’

  I smile. I love hearing his compliments.

  ‘What I don’t like are these girls … what do you call them here in South Africa? Blessed? Blessees? To me, that’s just prostitution by another name.’

  ‘Well, I guess it’s their choice, isn’t it?’ I say, trying to hold on to my smile.

  He looks at me, then plays with his glass.
He gives a forced laugh and says, ‘But you’re not one of them, of course.’

  ‘Of course not,’ I say, getting up to check on the food, like a proper homemaker.

  He’s standing now and starts wandering around, waltzing from room to room. After a few minutes, he returns.

  ‘There’s men’s shower gel in your bathroom cabinet.’

  I laugh.

  ‘Mr Emmanuel … what’s going on? Why are you fishing through my bathroom cabinet?’

  He shrugs.

  ‘I’m your man, aren’t I?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ I say, with a smile, ‘but that doesn’t mean you can snoop through my things. We’re still getting to know each other.’

  ‘Bontle, I’ve taken you on trips around the world.’

  ‘One trip,’ I correct him, but I say it playfully, signalling the number with my index finger.

  ‘We’re sleeping together … very intimately. That makes me your man.’

  There’s something about the way he says it that makes me feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Dinner’s ready!’ I say cheerfully. ‘I’ve prepared a mouth-watering meal just for the two of us.’

  ‘Bontle. You still haven’t told me whose shower gel that is.’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know … I don’t even know what you’re talking about. It’s probably something my little brother or a male friend left a while ago,’ I say dismissively.

  ‘I don’t like bitches and I certainly don’t like promiscuous women,’ says Mr Emmanuel, an unexpected flash of anger on his face. Oh, no, no, this isn’t happening.

  ‘Get out of my house,’ I say.

  ‘You’re asking me to leave?’ he asks, astonished.

  ‘Mister … you come to my home. You question my source of income. You snoop around my house then you call me a bitch? Fuck you!’

  He comes striding into the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that, young lady,’ he screams, wagging his finger at me.

  ‘I won’t be insulted in my own house, Mr Emmanuel!’