Dubious

by Charmaine Pauls

  “If you’re sad, Valentina,” she used to say, “put on your red lipstick.”

  I fish the tube I ordered with my supplies from my bag and apply the lipstick in the mirror. The red stands out on my tanned skin. I scrunch my curls around my face, letting their natural glossiness stand out. I’m wearing the pink T-shirt, jeans, and flats from the Sandton boutique. On the outside, I look pretty. No one will know how broken I am on the inside. Maybe, one day, I’ll be able to just look at the pretty and forget that I’ve been a whore to the most dangerous killer in the city.

  When I say goodbye to Gabriel for the weekend, he looks at me like he may object to me leaving the house with the makeup on my face, but I’m not his daughter, and this is my time.

  He swallows as he studies me, jiggling the keys in his pocket. “I’ll drive you.”

  I don’t argue anymore. It’s pointless. On the way, I ask him to stop at the corner bakery to pick up a Black Forest Cake. I could’ve baked it for half the price, but that’s not the point. I’ve never purchased a cake in my life. I hold the fancy shop cake in its plastic container on my lap, the black cherries shiny with sugary syrup on top of the whipped cream.

  Gabriel glances at the cake and then at me. “Whose birthday is it? I know it’s not yours.”

  “No one.” I look from the window at the passing cars.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Nothing.”

  He purses his lips, but doesn’t continue the interrogation. Near Rocky Street, I ask him to stop again so I can feed the hungry dogs. The minute they see me, they come running. Gabriel leans against the car with his ankles crossed, watching me as I distribute the food between them. I wipe the plastic container out with a paper towel, and wrap it in a plastic bag to wash later. A shadow of a smile plays on his lips as I get back to the car.

  “What?”

  He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re every kind of good.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “To me, you are.”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to reply. He opens the door and helps me inside.

  When he drops me off across the road from Kris’ place, I wait until his car turns the corner before I head over to the house. Charlie nearly knocks me off my feet as I enter through the kitchen door.

  “Hey.” I laugh and deposit the cake on the counter. “How are you?” I take him into a big hug. There’s more meat on his bones and a tube around his middle.

  “Ca–cake!”

  “It’s for after dinner.” I squeeze his shoulders and sit down next to him on the couch, switching off the television.

  We play Chinese Checkers until Kris locks up the practice. As habitual, I cook, and she gets to take a much-needed break after she spends the first ten minutes freaking out about my thumb. When Charlie is seated with a big slice of cake in front of his favorite cartoon, she takes the chair opposite me at the kitchen table.

  “What’s with the cake?” she asks through the motion of chewing.

  “We’re celebrating.”

  “We are?”

  “Yep.” I lick the chocolate filling off my spoon.

  “Can you be a little less secretive?”

  I shrug. “We’re celebrating that I have more free time and money. I can now pay you proper board for Charlie.”

  She makes big eyes at me. “Did he give you a pay rise? More off-time?”

  I take a big bite. My mouth is too full to answer.

  “Well?”

  I wipe the cream from the corner of my mouth with my good thumb and lick it clean. “Not exactly.”

  “Val.” Kris pushes her plate away and folds her arms on the table. “What’s going on?”

  “I dropped out of uni.”

  I’m saying it like I just told her it’s hot today, hoping she’ll let it go, but I already know better.

  “Like in, quit your studies?” she exclaims.

  Charlie looks up from the television.

  “Shh.” I give her my best angry frown. “You’ll make him think something’s wrong.”

  “Something is wrong.”

  “Kris.”

  “Why?”

  “Look at it this way, I don’t have the burden of paying a huge school bill any longer, or worries about exams, and spending late nights studying anatomy.”

  She dips her head, searching for my eyes. “Why?”

  I sigh. “The cook had a stroke. I took over her duties.”

  “They’re going to hire another cook, right? You can’t give up. Val, you’ve completed more than half of the course!”

  “I can’t keep up the job and the studies. It’s too much.”

  Her lips thin. “You’re letting them win.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” I say through gritted teeth. “I work until dinner is served and the kitchen is clean, which means I’m lucky if I get off at ten. God, I’m lucky if I go to bed by midnight, and I’m up at four every morning.” I don’t say that Gabriel occupies another hour or more of my day, fucking me senseless and giving me orgasms until I pass out.

  Emotions play on her face. Thank God she doesn’t say something meaningless like she’s sorry.

  “It’s for Charlie.” I lower my voice. “Nothing will matter anyway if he’s dead. He’s all I’ve got.”

  She covers my hand with hers. It is a big, strong hand with cat scratches and dog bite marks, and a calloused skin that tells its own story. “You’ve got me, babes.”

  Warmth spreads through my chest, making tears build at the back of my eyes. “Thank you.”

  “You can still work here. I mean, after…”

  “I know.” After nine years, I’m not sure I’ll still have the stomach for this city. “Eat your cake. I paid a lot of money for it.”

  “You better hide the rest or Charlie will devour it in the night.”

  Worry nags at me. “He’s picking up weight.”

  “Sorry. I’m not here much, I’m afraid, or I would’ve taken him out for exercise.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “Uh-uh. When you get that light bulb moment look, I get worried.”

  I prop my foot on the seat of my chair, hugging my knee. “He can walk the dogs.”

  “You mean them?” She throws her thumb at the door adjoining to the clinic.

  “Yes! He crosses the road by himself, right? We can try with one dog first and see how it goes. I can go with him tomorrow.”

  “I suppose it can’t do harm.”

  “It’ll be good for him to get out more, breathe in some fresh air.”

  She snorts. “What fresh air? In case you haven’t noticed, this is Joburg.”

  I’m not having my spirits dampened, not tonight. “Charlie and I’ll do the first doggie walk together.”

  “You’re a good sister, Val. Charlie’s lucky to have you.”

  “No, I’m lucky to have him.”

  I’m still raw about my studies, but there’s a reason I’m doing this. The reason is a beautiful, innocent boy trapped in the body of a man who sits on Kris’ couch with a huge smile on his face. All it takes to make Charlie happy is a piece of cake. I should learn from him.

  * * *

  Gabriel

  The therapist knocks on my door at ten sharp, as agreed. Dorothy Botha is a short, attractive woman in her late forties. She’s wearing tight jeans and a stretch shirt, not the attire I imagined for a psychiatrist. At the rate I’m paying for the house call, I expected her to show up in Dior or Gucci.

  She shakes my hand, and offers a smile. “Mr. Louw.”

  “Call me Gabriel. Thank you for meeting Carly at home. It’s more comfortable for her in her own environment.” And there’s less chance for one of our enemies to discover my daughter has instability issues. They’ll use anything they can against me.

  I show her to the reading room where Carly sits on the couch, her legs pulled up under her. My daughter gives me a cutting look when we enter and doesn’t offer Dorothy a greeting. Every part of he
r body languages says she’s not happy about spending her Sunday morning with a shrink.

  “Carly, this is Mrs. Botha. Say hi.”

  “Say hi,” Carly parrots.

  I’m about to lose my cool and give her a lecture about proper manners, but Dorothy lays her hand on my arm.

  “You can call me Dorothy.” She takes the chair opposite Carly and looks up at me expectantly.

  I get it. She wants me to leave. “Coffee, tea?”

  “No, thank you.” She’s pleasant, but firm.

  “All right, then.” I close the door, hoping to God Dorothy will accomplish what neither me nor Sylvia is able to do––get Carly to open up.

  While the women are talking, or hopefully talking, I clear the table from our late breakfast, and feed Oscar. He’s got a new brand of food, the same as Bruno. With the price on the tag, they must put gold flakes in the kibbles. The brand’s worth its weight in gold, though, because Bruno’s allergies have disappeared, and Oscar’s coat is thick and glossy. Bruno’s food is delivered to our door from our local vet. I pay the bill. No cat food is included. The specialty food isn’t available at supermarkets. If Valentina doesn’t order it with our daily groceries, where does it come from?

  Magda walks into the kitchen, dressed up in her black and white Chanel suit. “Where’s Carly? I want to invite her for lunch.”

  I cross my arms, and lean on the counter. “Where?”

  “The McKenzies.”

  My back immediately turns rigid. “Not interested.”

  “Come on, Gabriel.” She props her clutch bag on her hip. “Carly’s never going to take your place. She hasn’t got it in her. Our only chance is finding her the right husband.”

  “I said no.”

  She advances two steps, stopping short of me. “Do you have a cleverer idea? What if something happens to you? Or me? Who’s going to take over our business? Not that gold-digging, ex-wife of yours. Word’s going around she’s got her sights set on Francois. If she marries him and we can’t provide a successor, that slimy rat will take over as Carly’s stepdad. Is that what you want?”

  Acid burns my mouth. Francois is a pretty boy five years Sylvia’s junior, but that’s not what’s bothering me. It’s the idea of him playing stepdad to Carly that I can’t digest.

  “Answer me. Is that what you want?”

  “Is that all you care about, finding a successor for the business? What about Carly’s happiness?”

  “Happiness?” She laughs. “Carly is my granddaughter, but by God, she’s a spoiled child. You got her used to this.” She waves her arms around the room. “You give her everything her heart desires. You think she’s going to ever settle for less? I don’t think so.”

  “Don’t project your sentiments on Carly.”

  “Oh, money is as important to her as it is to me. Let’s face it, even if she’s not a leader, she’s a Louw. She’ll do her duty for our name.”

  “Don’t you dare treat her like a pawn in your business. Carly’s not going to lead the life I live.”

  “The life you live? You want to live the life of one of our debtors? Want to see what it’s like on the poor side of the fence? Do you know what happens to you and your daughter at night when you don’t have enough money for an alarm system that criminals can’t break through?”

  “I know what happens. I’ve seen it.”

  “You haven’t felt it. Believe me, you don’t want to live any other life than this life.” She scrutinizes me. “You’re getting soft, Gabriel. It’s that girl, isn’t it?”

  My hackles rise. “She’s got nothing to do with this. Valentina or no Valentina, I’ll never marry Carly off to Benjamin McKenzie.”

  “I hope for your sake you’re growing tired of fucking your toy.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses. My injured leg protests against the strain. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “A cat only plays with a mouse for so long before he goes for the kill. Why isn’t she dead, yet?”

  My heart drops like an ax splitting wood. “I’m not ready.”

  “I’ve been patient with you. I gave you the toy you so badly wanted. We made a deal. Now I’m giving you a direct order. Kill her, or I’ll do it for you.”

  I almost jump on her. I’m a hairbreadth away from her face before I stop myself. “You’ll do nothing for me, do you hear me?”

  “You have one last chance. Make it sooner than later.” She smiles sweetly. “You’re not twelve any more. Don’t make me shoot you in the foot.”

  My vision goes blurry. I’m about to strangle my own mother in our kitchen. The only thing that stops me from reaching for her scrawny, white, wrinkled neck, is Carly’s figure that appears in the doorframe.

  There’s a chill in her voice. “We’re done.”

  “I’m going out for lunch, Carly dear. Why don’t you join me?”

  “Magda is having lunch at the McKenzies,” I say, knowing how much Carly hates Benjamin.

  “No thanks, Gran. I’ve got homework.” She trots down the hallway, pretending I don’t exist.

  When Carly is out of earshot, I narrow my eyes. “Let me handle my own affairs and leave Carly out of the business.” Giving my mother my back, I walk from the room, feeling the tension in my leg.

  “Softness will get you killed, Gabriel,” she calls after me.

  Dorothy waits in the reading room.

  I close the door and take a seat. “How did it go?”

  She wipes her fingers over her brow. “She’s tough to talk to. Of course, I need to win her trust first.” She looks at me from under her lashes. “I pick up a need for approval and acceptance. Are you spending enough time with her?”

  “Not as much as I’d like.”

  “Busy job?”

  “It’s not that. Carly would rather spend time with her friends than her father.”

  “It’s normal. Try to strengthen her self-esteem by complimenting her for homework well done or good deeds, anything positive, but be authentic. Make sure she knows you’re noticing her and taking an interest in her life.”

  “I assure you, I am.”

  “I don’t doubt that, or I wouldn’t be here. Just make sure you show her as well as tell her. It will help, of course, if I can have a joint session with you and your ex-wife to agree on a consistent strategy that will reinforce your daughter’s self-image.”

  “I’m afraid you won’t find much cooperation from my ex-wife.”

  “Ah, well.” She wipes her hands on her thighs and straightens. “Let’s see how it goes after a couple of sessions. Try to maintain the status quo at home. Don’t introduce any new or stressful situations if you can avoid it, at least not for a while.”

  “Such as?”

  “A stepmom.”

  “Carly’s worried about that?”

  “She mentioned it. I know this is a personal question, but are you seeing anyone, maybe a lady friend your daughter doesn’t get on with?”

  “No.” Not that Carly knows of, at least.

  “Then Carly’s fear is unfounded. It’s not uncommon for children to feel lost after a divorce. Carly’s frightened of losing you or her mother to someone else. Reassure her of your affection whenever you can.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll see you next week, same time.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Even as I speak, my mind is drifting to a reoccurring thought. How will Carly react if she ever finds out about Valentina?

  * * *

  Valentina

  Regret is not a conducive sentiment. Still, I can’t help from feeling it when I read the letter addressed to me that Gabriel brings to the kitchen on Monday morning. Reading it with my back to him, I curl my fingers in a fist until my nails cut into my skin. I want to cry, but he’s hovering at the coffee machine.

  “Good news?”

  I glance at him from over my shoulder. He’s dressed in a dark suit with a blue shirt and yellow tie. He makes the ensemble look perfec
t. The tailored pants stretch over his narrow hips, which emphasizes the broadness of his chest. His unique fragrance beckons me, but I need to be alone to deal with the news.

  I shrug.

  “All right.” He says it like a threat, making me understand he’ll let me get away with my disobedience of not giving him a reply for now, but maybe not later.

  I hold my breath until he has left the room. Only when I’m alone do I allow the emotions to explode inside of me. I grab the edges of the counter so hard my arms shake from the strain. The letter crumples in my fist. I scrunch it up until it’s a tiny ball. Of all the sick jokes in the world, this one must have the best timing. I bang my fists on the counter, setting the bowls and knives and spoons clanging. For all of three seconds, I allow myself every single destructive emotion that lances into my heart, and then I lift the lid of the trashcan and dump the letter informing me of my all-inclusive scholarship inside. When the lid falls back with a clang, something inside of me ceases to exist. What’s left is the hollow echo of a dream and nothing more than the will to survive.

  * * *

  Gabriel

  The letter that arrived from the university this morning should’ve made Valentina ecstatic. There’s a change in her I don’t understand. After doing my morning rounds at our franchises in town, I head to her friend’s place where Charlie lives. The woman waiting in reception with a Miniature Doberman shrinks back when she looks up at my face. Walking past her with practiced ignorance, I venture to the food section and lift my sunglasses to read the labels. I pull a bag of the urinary diet brand Valentina bought for Oscar from the shelf and carry it to the till. A few minutes pass before a peroxide blonde in a white overcoat exits. Hard lines mar her weathered face, and her fingernails are broken. Her eyes give away nothing as she assesses me. They flitter from me to the bag of food standing on the counter.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Is this the best brand you’ve got?”