Cherry Marbles (5 page)

“It does sound familiar when you speak it.” Langa remembered Regile and the white pharmacist speaking Ndebele on the fateful day they had met.

“I love the rings the Ndebele women make; the colourful ones with all the beads,” Langa said to suppress the memory.

“They are called idzila. I'll get one made for you next time I go home, if I remember,” Regile offered.

“Thanks, I'd love that. But please go on telling me about yourself,” Langa said.

“I thought I was off the hook,” Regile chuckled. “When I was eight, my parents went into exile and I went to England with them,” he continued. “We lived there until just before South Africa's new democracy. My parents moved back to Mpumalanga while I continued my studies in the USA. I moved back here just after the turn of the millennium.”

“But I thought you were a prince?” Langa blurted out before she could stop herself.

Regile seemed embarrassed. “Yes, I am, although I'd prefer we didn't talk about that.”

The waiter came back just then and Regile, who'd been studying the menu all along, ordered food for both of them as he had done before. He asked for another Cherry Marble and more sparkling water. Langa played with the crushed cherries at the bottom of her now empty glass, letting a welcome silence settle comfortably between them.

“Where did you grow up?” he asked finally. “And how did you meet and decide to marry a white guy?”

“Nandi and I grew up with my mother in Diepkloof, Soweto, and then moved to KZN when she passed away. We never knew our father,” Langa told him, feeling a little startled that he asked about her fiancé. “Richard and I met about two years ago at a conference I was hosting. We clicked instantly and unlike most of my black brothers, he wasn't threatened by what I do.”

“Well, he's a very lucky guy to have you,” Regile grinned.

“I wish someone would tell him that,” Langa retorted and blushed.

Regile almost choked on his water.

Then he said, deliberately ignoring the sentimental path the conversation seemed to be taking, “Your little sister is a lot like you. She's determined, has drive and is hungry for success. You can see it in her eyes and feel it when she speaks.”

Langa squirmed, ashamed that she'd almost confided in him.

“Are we talking about the same person here? Nandi is as unfocused as they come; she hasn't got a clue what she's doing!”

Regile shook his head. “You'll be surprised. I think all she needs is a breakthrough. I got the impression she's desperate for your approval.”

Langa smiled as the second round of drinks was placed on the table. “Since when has Nandi ever needed approval from anyone?” she mused. “Do you have any siblings?” she went on, changing the subject.

“No,” Regile said abruptly and then more silence filled the space around them.

But this silence was chilly, not comforting like before. Langa was taken aback. What was the matter? Was it something she'd said?

8

The next morning Langa collected her car from the garage and quickly drove to Rosebank to have a briefing with her staff. Regile had phoned earlier to tell her the Joburg Directorate had approved their venue proposal and that she should meet him on site at 10 am.

She left for Newtown with Zandile after delegating enough work around the office to keep everyone busy until Christmas.

“Morning, Langa,” Regile said when he saw her outside the Africa Museum. Handing her his laptop, he continued, “I just received a list of cosmetic suppliers who have confirmed that they will be attending the exhibition.”

“Morning, Regile; thanks again for dinner last night. Fortunately I got my car back today,” Langa offered, marvelling at how simple it seemed for him to switch from friendly to professional mode.

Zandile had been standing uncertainly behind Langa. Now she stepped forward and held out her hand. “Mr Mabhena, I'm Zandile, Miss Buthelezi's head events coordinator. We met briefly at the board meeting.”

“Hi there, Zandile,” Regile said cordially and Langa noticed that his eyes sparkled as they travelled from her assistant's head, adorned with a long weave, down to her gilded toes in wedge sandals.

“Please call me Regile,” he added, holding on to Zandile's hand a little longer than necessary as far as Langa was concerned. Zandile in turn giggled like a cheap vamp.

“Now that this is out of the way, can we go into the museum?” Langa requested irritably, taking in Regile's faded Diesel jeans and a white Top Man fleece. At the entrance of the museum they met with Malinda Harrison, who turned out to be as cheerful in person as she had been on the phone.

Malinda showed them all four floors of the museum that could be hired out: three cooking and four dining areas. Zandile efficiently took notes while Langa and Regile asked questions. They decided that the museum would work as the main exhibition area, while the square outside would be perfect for the live demonstrations and entertainment.

After two hours of turning the museum upside down, taking measurements for the various stalls and the walls to be covered completely with the In-Cosmetics banner, they headed for the square.

“We need at least three medium marquees for the cosmetic demonstrations and a large one for our entertainers, with enough space for their equipment and a two by five by five metre podium,” Langa said to Zandile and Regile as they stood in the square, surveying the space currently being used as a car park. Zandile jotted down everything Langa was saying but then Regile's phone vibrated.

After taking note of the caller's name flashing on his screen, he excused himself with a frown. Positioned a fair distance away from them, he began shouting animatedly into the phone, waving his hands emphatically in a state Langa had not seen him in before. She and Zandile tried to continue with their work but it was evident they were both trying to eavesdrop on the conversation that had the usually calm prince at his wits' end.

“Sorry, I have to fly to Mpumalanga immediately. It's a family issue,” he spat out after ending the conversation and storming back to them. “I'll be back by the end of tomorrow. Langa, I'll email you all the cosmetic suppliers who have confirmed they will be exhibiting so you can get going on stand numbers and the catalogue.”

“Alright,” Langa said. “Is everything okay, though?”

“Yes, it's just a small matter. See you soon. Thanks, Zandile,” he added as he left.

“Oh, and start working on themes; nothing overly buntu, please. Like I said, that's been done to death,” Regile turned to say as an afterthought before he disappeared among the cars, leaving Zandile and Langa to wonder what had just happened.

“Rather abrupt, don't you think?” Zandile quipped.

Langa refused to comment and simply said, “We have a marquee company to phone, a furniture company to locate and a decorator to get down here. Let's get to work.” Regile
had
been abrupt but that was nothing new. At least now she didn't have to deal with Zandile flirting with him all day!

It was only after Langa had dropped off Zandile at the taxi rank and was driving back to her apartment that she noticed Regile's laptop placed on top of her own. She remembered he had handed it to her first thing that morning; the fact had obviously slipped his mind as well as hers when he hastily told her he would email her the list of suppliers before leaving.

Langa parked her car in the basement of her apartment and took both laptops and her handbag up to the third floor with her. At first glance she could tell Nandi wasn't home, although she'd left the TV on a rock-and-roll music channel that Langa didn't even know she was paying for.

She slipped off her heels and switched on the kettle before sitting down at the kitchen table with Regile's laptop and her conscience. She needed an excuse to open his laptop. He had said she should take a look at the list, she tried to justify her intention. She consoled herself with the fact that she probably needed a password to get to his messages anyway.

Langa lifted the top panel of the laptop and it came to life. Before her was Regile's inbox. She had an internal battle, willing herself to close the laptop, but her curiosity got the better of her. The email she wanted was the last one he'd opened, although there were a few unopened messages that had since been sent to him. Torn between sending the list to her email address and simply waiting for him, she moved away from the scene of temptation and made a strong cup of coffee.

She thought about the day before, when Regile had practically bitten off her head for not taking the initiative to secure two venues. If he delayed his return from Mpumalanga and found that she hadn't done anything about the list of exhibitors, he'd once again become the tyrant he seemed to morph into when it came to anything that could affect his precious merger.

Picking up her phone, she dialled Regile's number. She got his voicemail twice and the third time the line went dead.

“Here goes,” she breathed, clicking the list open and checking it briefly before forwarding it to her email address. It was sent within a few seconds, leaving Langa with the option of reading any of the other messages or simply snapping the laptop shut. There were a few messages from Regile's father, King Regile Mabhena, a couple from Andre Zanier and some messages she had sent him, while the bulk was from Mabhena Oil Limited. It was only when Langa, being a faithful and God-fearing woman, decided to close the laptop and refrain from reading any of his messages that her eyes landed on one halfway down the screen that didn't appear to be work-related and therefore stood out.

Intrigued, she clicked it open, noting that it had been received a few days before:

From
: [email protected]

To
: [email protected]

Subject
: Sorry

I know you're probably mad at me for not being able to face you when you came home after I'd put so much pressure on you to do so. I can't face your parents either, at least not before they know about my predicament, though anyone here at the oil plant can see I'm pregnant. I know you're busy with the Sasol Wax merger but you still have to perform the initiation rituals and the lobola talks are way overdue. Please speak to Ikozi. He's the only one who can get me out of this mess and the only solution to your problems. And please pick up your phone when I call; it's annoying when you ignore me. You promised you'd be there for me always, remember?

Langa's heart started to thump even more loudly as the laptop suddenly shut down. She sat rooted to the spot, believing she'd been found out until she decided with relief that the battery must have run out. Closing Regile's laptop, she put it aside and switched on her own. She tried to concentrate on the list she'd received but all she could think of was the message she'd just read.

9

“Have you finished the cornflakes already?” Langa called to Nandi as she manically opened and closed all the cupboards the next morning. Her sister walked into the kitchen barefoot and yawning, then reached for the canister on the counter that boldly bore the label of the cornflakes. Nandi placed it in front of Langa with emphasis before walking away.

Langa rolled her eyes and poured too much cornflakes in a bowl before adding raisins and cold milk. She was still stewing over the information she had stumbled upon the night before as she ground her breakfast loudly with her mouth open. Regile, who always pranced around as if he was the embodiment of a traditional Ndebele man, was involved with a woman he wasn't married to and would soon give birth to his child! Too revolted to continue eating, Langa put the bowl aside and dragged her feet to her bedroom to say her morning prayer and get ready for work.

She drove to Rosebank to meet someone at the company that was designing and printing the exhibition banners and catalogues. Afterwards, she spent the day following up on a number of cosmetic suppliers who had shown interest in exhibiting their products but hadn't contacted the registration department.

Langa eventually got to her office just as everyone was leaving for the day and sat down gratefully for the first time. She was still mulling over that email of Regile's. Despite the fact that she'd had no right to go through his laptop, she was upset and felt a sense of loss she couldn't bear. But why? She was engaged to Richard and she loved him, despite his penchant for leaving smelly strands of used dental floss in her washbasin. Why should she care about what Regile did with his life? Did God understand all these conflicting feelings?

She resolved she would work harder at her relationship with Richard and then they would finally set a wedding date. Langa drove home, singing along to the heartbreaking sound of Adele turned up so loudly that she could still hear the tear-jerking guitar chords as she let herself into her apartment. Nandi wasn't in and her home was dark and still.

A light breeze flowed in through a window Nandi had left open and gave the apartment a pacific quality that Langa enhanced by lighting vanilla-scented candles and playing her favourite Diana Krall album. She went to her room and changed into an oversize T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. She put a frozen pizza into the oven before reaching for the bottle of wine she'd been saving at the back of her cupboard for a “special” occasion, the same bottle she had wrongly accused Nandi of opening.

As she poured herself a glass of wine, Langa thought about her relationship with her sister. She wondered if she was perhaps too harsh on Nandi and needed to accept her for who she was, as Regile had said. She took her glass over to the couch and curled herself up there, not bothering to switch on the TV. For the first time in weeks, Langa sat perfectly still without her laptop or paperwork around her. She listened to the saxophone as Diana Krall sang
Peel me like a grape
and closed her eyes, only opening them when the oven timer snapped her out of her reverie.

Pouring herself more wine, she ate the pizza as she returned to the couch.

Carefully balancing her supper, she manoeuvred her way back under the soft throw, taking care not to spill her red wine. When she'd stuffed her face enough, she got up to put the almost empty box back in the microwave before refilling her glass. Feeling the wine go straight to her head, she laughed at the memory of her lady of the night cum drag queen look the night before. When her phone rang, she thought she was hearing things for a second. Then she rushed to find it on the counter where she remembered last seeing it.

“Hello?” she answered lazily, taking another sip from her glass and not bothering to check who was calling.

“Hello there, Langa; I'm sorry for calling so late.”

It was Regile.

“Please say you have my laptop.”

“Yes, I do,” she said slowly, and she could hear him sigh with relief. She brought her glass to her lips, expecting to taste some of its bittersweet contents in her mouth but in vain. Langa tipped her glass upside down, hardly believing she'd downed that glass so quickly.

“I've just picked up my car at the airport and realised that my laptop wasn't in the back. Are you at home? Can I pop in and pick it up? There are a few things I have to work on tonight that just can't wait,” Regile told her.

“Yeah sure,” she replied, her voice a little slurred. “Apartment 3C. Buzz me when you get here and I'll do my thing.”

“Alright,” he said, sounding a little puzzled, “see you in a few minutes.”

True to his word, Regile arrived at her apartment a few minutes later, and true to her word, Langa did her thing.

“Am I interrupting something?” Regile asked as he walked into the dimly lit apartment and heard the soft music playing.

“Not really, I'm just having some ‘me' time,” Langa told him, scratching her head as if to remember where his laptop was. She found it on the kitchen table where she'd left it the night before and carried it to the lounge.

“How was your trip? And sit down, goodness; don't just stand there. Please take a seat,” she said as she handed Regile his laptop.

“My trip was fine,” he said as he awkwardly sat on the couch.

Langa went back to the kitchen, returning with her glass refilled with wine and one for him as well. He declined it at first but reluctantly accepted when she squinted her eyes. She sat beside him and took a sip from her glass.

“I actually didn't recall giving you my laptop until I remembered the list of suppliers I meant to show you yesterday morning,” he said. “Do you want me to send it to you now?”

“Too late; I already sent it to myself. I tried to call you about it but your phone kept going to voicemail,” Langa told him, feeling dangerously light-headed.

“What do you mean you sent it to yourself?” Regile raised his eyebrows. “Did you go through my mail?” He angrily put down his glass of wine on the coffee table in front of him.

“I didn't know if you'd really be back today; besides, you said I should start on the catalogues and how was I supposed to do that without the actual list of suppliers?” Langa asked him squarely.

“I know I said so but that didn't give you the right to snoop in my personal mailbox! Haven't you ever heard of privacy?” Regile shouted as he got up.

“After your tantrum over the venues the other day I wasn't about to risk your precious merger or have you throw your weight around by saying, and I quote: ‘I'll have no qualms about pulling the plug on Buthelezi!'” Langa yelled, getting up to face him. The blood raced to her head and she suddenly felt dizzy.

“Nothing whatsoever gives you the right to go through my mailbox! Did you check any of my other messages?” Regile asked, battling to stay in control.

“What have you got to hide?” Langa countered.

“I can't believe you were so disrespectful. A woman who cannot handle herself is a disgrace!”

“Spare me the conservative bull! I've had it up to here with your traditional views on women. I'm fed up with your controlling, compulsive behaviour and your evasiveness. You're one to talk! You should start to practise what you preach!” Langa yelled, turning to leave.

He grabbed her hand and as they looked silently at each other for a second, tears began to gather in Langa's eyes. Regile pulled her body against his and brought his lips to hers in a gentle kiss that became more frantic while both fought to catch their breath. They landed on the sofa in a heap as he murmured, “Do you know how crazy you drive me?”

Regile was kissing her urgently as her tears rolled down her cheeks, landing in hot drops on his shirt. Langa kissed him back, her tongue exploring his mouth, her hands reaching to unbutton his shirt.

“I have to leave,” he said suddenly, gently removing the hand he had on her firm bosom. Langa watched him scurry out, leaving behind the laptop that had started everything.