Cherry Marbles (7 page)

12

“Your apartment looks amazing!” Langa marvelled as she took in the rose petals Richard had paved the floors with and the flicker of the dozens of candles he had lit everywhere. He smiled before taking her handbag and leading her into his lounge.

She gasped for breath at what she saw. In the middle of the room he'd set up a picnic basket on a Persian rug surrounded by the most comfortable-looking purple velvet continental cushions. Long-stemmed white roses sat in a crystal vase next to an ice bucket that held an unopened bottle of Dom Perignon.

“It's beautiful,” Langa whispered, bringing her hands to her cheeks and then twirling her body to soak in the lavender essence that was thick in the air. She'd taken time to pick out the body-hugging fuchsia dress and carefully applied her make-up.

“I'm glad you like it. Now, if you'd take a seat, my gorgeous lady, dinner can be served,” he said as he took her hand and helped her settle her buxom frame on the cushions.

“Due to the fact that I am heavily short-staffed, I will be playing the role of the chef, waiter, barman as well as myself tonight,” Richard informed her with a wink, taking a bow. He turned around to put a Shirley Bassey CD into the player and skipped to their favourite track, the one they'd sung together in a karaoke bar in Stellenbosch. Langa marvelled as she took in her fiancé's black tuxedo and jelled hair; he looked like a handsome Casanova out of an Italian Mafia film.

“We'll begin the evening with Namibia's best aperitif and the beverage that kept me sane in the bush: a sweet port with a name I cannot pronounce,” Richard said, grinning as he poured it and carefully handed her one glass. He quickly disappeared into the kitchen and brought back a tray of hot garlic bread with butter melting in its centre. He offered her a side plate, then selected the best-looking slice and put it on her plate with a set of tongs.

“Richard, what's going on? You're scaring me!” Langa giggled. “Please tell me what this is about. The anticipation is killing me.”

“Well, not before I've fed you, my love,” he said with a sexy smile. “Now drink up to open all your taste buds for the meal of a century.”

Langa took a sip of the port and tried to ignore the memories rushing back of the last time she'd had alcohol. Richard sat down on a cushion beside her and stroked her cheeks.

“I'm sorry I was away for so long. Hearing you cry on the phone the other day made me feel like the worst bloke ever.”

Langa smiled at him nervously. She'd kissed some other guy. That was ten times worse!

Richard had a sip of his port before having a slice of the garlic bread. Then he slowly brought his face closer to hers for a kiss.

“Great port,” Langa enthused, quickly turning away and taking a big gulp from her glass. He narrowed his eyes for a second before shrugging his shoulders and getting up to go to the kitchen.

Richard came back with a satisfied grin on his face and two flutes to pour the champagne into. He expertly opened the bottle and they cheered when it popped, leaving a smoky trail of celebration while Langa chastised herself once again. How could she be attracted to someone else when she had such a loving man?

“Dinner will be served shortly,” Richard announced as he took the garlic bread and port into the kitchen and returned with another tray.

As he put it before Langa, she felt tears begin to blur her vision. “You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble . . .” In the tray was her favourite meal: butter chicken with potato cubes tossed in cumin and mango powder. On a side plate he had added sliced black olives, a ripe plum, tomatoes and fresh parsley.

“Now you can't ever give me grief again when I ask you to make me pap and mogodu!” Richard joked. He sat down, they said grace and then tucked in.

“Wow, it's delicious. Are you sure you didn't buy this at Giovanni's?” Langa teased him.

“I've been slaving all day over a hot stove for you, and this is the thanks I get,” he said. She had to laugh.

Richard took his flute and held it up as he handed Langa hers. “Drum roll, please. I have an announcement to make.” He took a deep breath and then went on, “We're moving to Perth!”

He clinked his glass with Langa's just before it dropped from her hand.

“Hhayi bo, look what a mess I've made!” she cried as the Dom Perignon seeped happily into the Persian rug. “I'm sorry, please get me a cloth from the kitchen!”

Richard left and swiftly returned with a paper towel which Langa tore out of his hand and dabbed furiously on the rug.

“Don't worry, baby. It's not red wine; it won't stain,” he said, taking the sodden towel from her and helping her back to her cushion.

“So what do you say about moving Down Under?” he asked, a smile curling on his cherry lips.

“Hold on, what do you mean? When? Why? What's going on?”

“Well, I met up with an Australian producer in Namibia. He was very impressed with my work and offered me a three-year contract filming in Perth for a top local channel, apparently the best,” Richard said breathlessly. “The money is far better than what I make here; I get to live in a beach house, drive a company car, and all my medical expenses are paid, the works.”

“And how long do you have to decide?” Langa asked in disbelief.

“Well, I already signed the contract; I start work in two weeks,” Richard said enthusiastically.

“And what about me; what about us? All I've heard you say is I-I-I!” Langa exploded. “Did it occur to you that I have a company in South Africa that's not doing too badly considering the credit crunch?!”

“Well, of course, baby. You don't have to move immediately; I mean, I'm not expecting you to leave with me. It's just that we might have to move the wedding up a little so that we're married by the time I go and then we'll talk about when it will be comfortable for you to join me,” he said, taking her hand.

“I don't believe it . . . You didn't even think to discuss this with me before you signed a three-year contract. Did you even do your research on this Australian channel? I've got an exhibition to organise that my very life depends on in two weeks, and now I've got to plan a wedding as well!” Langa cried in frustration. “How does your mother feel about all this?”

“I haven't told her yet,” he said. “About the wedding, I was thinking we could just go to court, maybe do the whole bride-and-groom thing sometime later. And about the contract, how the hell was I supposed to discuss signing it with you when I couldn't even call you! Fresh water was a problem in the bush, so bloody telephone calls were out of the question!” Richard exclaimed, turning bright red. He suddenly looked tired and drew a steadying breath.

“Langz, I'm sorry I didn't consult you about this before I made the decision but the main thing is, I still want to get married to you. I have no idea how we'll make it work but I know we can come up with a way that suits us both in the end,” he said more softly, looking into her eyes.

“It's all too soon,” Langa squeaked while avoiding his eyes. “We have too many issues to resolve first.”

“What issues? Are you talking about how we're always arguing?” he went on, rolling his eyes. “That's just how our relationship is.”

“Is it really? It makes everyone around us uncomfortable: my aunt, Naledi, even your mother; they've all complained about it. And in the midst of all that you want to just up and leave for Perth?” Langa exclaimed.

“You don't have to move from South Africa just yet. Maybe we can wait a year and see how things go for both of us; I very well might not like bloody Perth. The main thing is to get married, whichever way, as soon as possible.”

“I need time, Richard,” Langa whispered, watching wax melt slowly and run down one of the candles. “I'm not sure if we can actually make this work.”

“I don't understand; I thought all we had to do was set a date, unless you're saying you don't want to get married to me any more?” Richard gently lifted her face and brought it closer to his so that he could look into her eyes.

“It's not that I don't want to marry you but the past few weeks have been hard for me. I've been thinking a lot,” Langa told him, “about me, you, us . . . this wedding . . .”

“Damn, there's someone else, isn't there?” Richard shouted. “I knew this would happen.”

Langa was silent; she wanted to deny it but she couldn't.

“So there is someone else! Who is he, Langz?” Richard insisted, small beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Langa remained silent.

“It's the Sasol Wax guy, isn't it? When I walked into your office this morning it felt like I walked in on something. I thought it was my imagination but now I know I was right!” Richard's nostrils were flaring.

“Did you sleep with him?” he asked next.

Langa was ready to explode. “Of course not! What kind of woman do you take me for?”

“Then what happened between the two of you? For heaven's sake, I'm not a kid; tell me what happened?” Richard insisted.

“We kissed but nothing more,” Langa told him hesitantly. “It just happened.”

“Do you love him?” Richard asked quietly. “I need to know. Kissing someone doesn't just happen.”

Langa was silent, experiencing an uncanny
aha!
moment. It was no use denying it: she did indeed love Regile.

“I guess that answers my question,” Richard said and looked at her sadly. “After all we've been through to stay together: trouble with our families, the friends we've both lost because they couldn't accept us.”

“We've been sticking this out for the wrong reasons, Richard. We fight over the simplest things. Doesn't that worry you?” Langa asked. “We feel like we need to make extravagant efforts to make each other happy. If it isn't a candle-lit dinner, it's a trip to the Kruger or . . .”

“Stop making excuses for falling for someone else; just stop it!” he shouted.

“I'm not happy any more, Richard. The more we try to fix things, the more we mess them up. I'm tired of sticking this out for all the wrong reasons.”

They sat in the same stifling silence for over an hour before Langa got up to leave. The food had since grown cold, the CD stopped playing and the champagne was untouched. Dessert still waited in the fridge, as did the bottle of grappa that Richard had imagined would help them digest the mini-feast.

Slipping his engagement ring off her finger, Langa put it on the mantelpiece.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered as she left the apartment and headed for her car with tears running down her cheeks.

13

Langa was trying to go through the exhibition catalogue on her desk once again when her office telephone rang.

“Hi, Langa,” Connie's clear voice boomed on the other end, “Mr Mabhena is here for your meeting.”

“Thanks, Connie, send him through, please,” Langa said, feeling the dread at seeing him again build up as she put down the phone. Still, she quickly applied a fresh coat of lipstick.

“Morning, Langa,” Regile said, entering her office after a quick rap on her door and looking as unsettled as she felt. There were bags under his eyes and she imagined that he'd had a rough night.

“Morning, Regile,” she replied, lightly tapping the catalogue as he sat down opposite her. “We've got to go through this thoroughly before it goes to the press, then hopefully the publicity department can start running the advert on all the main TV channels and newspapers from tomorrow.”

“I thought you'd already dealt with the press releases.” Regile sounded exasperated. “Today I thought we could work on the floor plan for the museum; I'm not entirely happy with it,” he finished off firmly.

“Well, you thought wrong about the press releases,” was Langa's repartee. “And I'm sorry that you're not ‘entirely happy' with the floor plan but I'm not about to waste my time on such a trivial issue when I can easily get someone else to work on it.” She played with her fingers in frustration, her engagement finger feeling light without Richard's ring and looking strangely bare.

“If you'd done your research, Miss Buthelezi, you would've noticed that the press release is your responsibility. I'm simply supposed to oversee the process!” Regile snapped as his phone rang.

Langa gritted her teeth, too annoyed to realise that he'd just addressed her as Miss Buthelezi.

“Where are you?” Regile barked into the phone. “I'm getting tired of your games. How am I supposed to take you to Shangana if you keep disappearing each time I come to Mpumalanga!”

He paused as the person on the other side of the line spoke, then shouted, “It's almost as if you don't want to have this baby!” and hung up. Regile opened his laptop and completely ignored Langa for a few moments while he studied something quietly on his laptop.

“This floor plan is too cramped. You have to fix it by the end of today,” he told her.

“You're unbelievable! If you're not taking out your personal problems on me, you're yelling all sorts of crazy orders! I'm not the one who made Sibusisiwe pregnant!” Langa let the words spin off her tongue before she could stop herself.

“What did you just say?” Regile's eyes widened. “How do you know about her?” he inquired.

Langa felt as though she'd wet her pants; her palms were suddenly dank and her mouth drier than sandpaper.

“I asked you a question. How do you know about Sibusisiwe? I've never told you about her and I can't think who else would have,” Regile asked with a chilling calmness. He looked at her and then smiled wryly. “My laptop; you went through my messages, didn't you?”

“Look, Regile, I . . . I honestly didn't mean to; it just happened. I'm . . . sorry,” Langa stammered in a tiny voice.

“I can't believe you looked me in the eye and lied when I asked you about it. You had me thinking I was the most horrible person for even thinking you'd invade my privacy like that. And yesterday you had me ready to . . .” Regile shook his head and then said, “Forget it.”

“I'm . . . sorry,” Langa stuttered again. “I tried to tell you yesterday. Please forgive me.”

“I can't do this any more – professionally or personally. Buthelezi Events is officially out. I'll find another events company to do this exhibition.”

“What? You can't do that, Regile. There's barely two weeks to go and we signed a contract!” Langa cried out.

“Remember when I said I had no qualms about pulling the plug on Buthelezi and you thought I was just huffing and puffing and throwing my weight around? Well, you've finally managed to push me into doing exactly that, and the board will stand by my choice.” Regile got up and gathered his laptop.

“Wait! You can't do this!” Langa felt tears in her eyes.

“Well, I just did,” Regile said, turning to leave.

Langa felt as though she'd been hit by a bullet. She supposed asking him about what he'd wanted to get off his chest the day before was out of the question now.

“I came as soon as I could,” Naledi told Nandi when she opened the apartment door. “Where is Langa?”

“In her room, praying and crying. She's been there all afternoon and for once in her life she refuses to eat!” Nandi told Naledi in horror. Naledi made her way to Langa's room after placing the Black Forest cake she'd brought with her on the counter with her handbag and car keys.

Langa sat miserably in bed, her mascara mingling with the tears that ran down her cheeks. The sight reminded Naledi of their varsity days when one of Langa's boyfriends, a younger guy with a fondness for dagga, had broken up with her because he didn't like being tied down. Langa, who was usually the one to end relationships without a second thought, had cried in bed for over a week. Naledi had known it was more because she couldn't stand rejection than any actual feelings she might have had for the guy.

“I'm sorry, my girl,” Naledi said and gave Langa a long hug before she removed her heels and climbed into bed with her.

“I guess I brought it on myself. I let my emotions spoil a perfectly good professional relationship,” Langa quavered, blowing her nose.

Naledi stroked her friend's dreadlocks and sat with her in silence, save for Langa's occasional pitiable sobs.

“Have you tried calling him?” Naledi asked, unsure of what else to say.

“Calling who – Regile or Richard? I'm having a hard time deciding which of the two hates me more,” Langa sighed. “They both won't return my calls. Richard may well be in Perth by now.”

Naledi tried to hide a smile. Langa always managed to amuse her, even when she was in distress.

“Maybe I'm just a bad person,” Langa began after a shuddering sigh. “I mean, even my own little sister can't stand me.”

“You know that's not true. The past few weeks you two have grown much closer than I can ever remember seeing you,” Naledi said, getting agitated. “Only last week you were raving to me about her poetry! You just need to be strong; now isn't the time to fall apart!”

“But what am I supposed to do? My company has lost its best client ever and I just ditched my fiancé because I'm in love with a soon-to-be king who has no problem with being polygamous,” Langa wailed.

Her friend rolled her eyes. “First we're going to pray and leave all your cares to God and believe that His will shall prevail, both in your personal and professional life. And I'm glad you've admitted to yourself that you love Regile; it will make our lives so much easier!”

Tears continued to roll down Langa's cheeks.

“Tomorrow you're going to try and set up an appointment with Regile and shut your mouth while he vents and throws his weight around. Please don't involve any lawyers just yet, Miss Buthelezi,” Naledi finished off, laughing.

“Thanks,” Langa sniffed and then half smiled. “I'm sure you brought cake, after yesterday's attack on my weight in Tasha's.”

“I thought you were too depressed to eat?” Naledi joked, dropping her jaw.

Nandi came into the room just then, carrying a tray with thick slices of the cake in dessert bowls. She placed this indulgence on Langa's bedside table before wriggling herself into bed too so that she and Naledi were sandwiching Langa between them.

“Don't we make a happy family?” Nandi said with a smile, passing dessert bowls to Naledi and Langa.

“I knew you brought cake!” Langa mouthed to Naledi before tucking into hers with the tiny fork her sister had placed in the bowl.

“There's got to be a way to deal with all this,” Nandi stated thoughtfully.

“Oh dear, I've heard that one before,” Langa said as she waved a warning finger at her sister. “Don't do
anything
to fix anything.”

“What can I possibly do in this case?” Nandi asked. “You're better off telling Regile how you feel about him.”

“No!” Langa choked. “And promise me solemnly you won't try anything, missy!”

Her sister feigned innocence as she took a mouthful of cake.

Suddenly Langa asked, “Do I smell steak; are you cooking?”

“Yep, I'm trying to prepare a little something for your prayer group tonight. If I'm going to sit through it, boring old fruit and juice won't cut it,” Nandi replied, grinning.