Cherry Marbles (8 page)

14

Unsure whether to set up a meeting with her staff to let them know of Buthelezi's demise regarding Sasol Wax, Langa got to work earlier than everyone else and paced up and down her office. She tried Regile on his cellphone but only got his voicemail. Apprehensively she checked her mail. There was no mail from Regile, although there were some messages from In-Cosmetics sponsors and suppliers. Feeling a little reassured, she replied as best she could and didn't mention that her company wasn't organising the exhibition any more.

She spent the morning in her office trying to reach Regile and finally learnt from the receptionist at Sasol Wax that he had flown out to Mpumalanga the day before and would be back later that day. Outraged as Langa was that he'd flown off and left the exhibition plans at a standstill, she was elated there was no mention of her contract being terminated from the receptionist or anyone else at Sasol Wax.

Langa worked on the press releases that should have gone out the day before, then focused on changing the floor plan and sent the alterations to the decorator who only a few weeks ago had convinced her to choose a contemporary theme. Stifling a yawn, she checked the website Zandile had set up for the exhibition before writing an email to Regile.

From
: [email protected]

To
: [email protected]

Subject
: Please reconsider your decision

Regile

I'm sorry about having disrespected you the way I did. There really is no excuse for my prying and I ask
for your forgiveness. Withdrawing the exhibition fro
m Buthelezi will be a heavy blow, both for the company
and myself. Since our first business meeting you have
been exceptionally professional towards me. Please
reconsider your decision, if not for anything but the
repercussions this could have on the reputation of
Sasol Wax and Mabhena Oil Limited.

I would like to set up a meeting with you as soon
as possible to resolve this slight setback and continue
planning the most successful In-Cosmetics Exhibitio
n yet. I look forward to your reply.

Kind regards.

Langa

She read the message a few times before pressing the send button.

Langa stared blankly at her screen for a moment and then decided she was hungry. Instead of ordering food from the Greek restaurant downstairs, she resolved to have her lunch there.

As she settled in at a corner table, Langa thought back to the night she'd come to the same restaurant with Regile and smiled at the memory of her drag queen make-up, but then ended up longing for him. She missed his boyish smile, remembering the thing he did with his eyebrows when he was concentrating and the dictatorial manner in which he had always ordered food for her.

“Please can I have pan-fried rump steak with paprika and chips?” she asked when a waiter appeared.

The waiter jotted down her order before smiling stiffly and leaving. Langa noted a couple a few tables away from her, sipping on Cherry Marbles as they dreamily looked into each other's eyes. She sighed in envy and decided that the next time she ordered a Cherry Marble it would be to celebrate something, although the way things were going she had a feeling that might take a little while.

Langa wondered whether Regile had seen her message and if he would bend his rigid work ethics just this once. She mentally began making notes of the points she would raise, should she be granted an audience with the prince. She was a ruthless businesswoman after all; if she'd won his favour before, surely she could do it again.

Her fists clenched with anger when she thought how Regile could possibly use all Buthelezi's creative ideas for the exhibition and get the credit for them. Despite Naledi advising her not to involve her lawyers, she had called them earlier that morning in case Regile gave her a hard time. He'd left her no choice, wrenching the carpet from under her feet like that!

Before she left her office for the day, Langa tried to call Regile again and got his voicemail once more. She called Sasol Wax and her heart skipped a beat when the receptionist put her on hold. Several minutes later Langa was on the verge of hanging up, believing the receptionist had somehow lost her call, when she was told that Mr Mabhena wasn't in.

“Is he back from Mpumalanga?” Langa inquired, a little sceptically.

“Erm . . . Miss Buthelezi, is it?” The receptionist sounded less confident than before.

“Yes, it's me,” Langa replied. “Is he back then?”

“I'm sorry, sisi; he isn't,” the receptionist said gingerly. “And I don't think he'll be here tomorrow either.”

“Is that so?” Langa rolled her eyes as she hung up. She could tell Regile was back and was simply avoiding her.

“Well, if that's how you want to play games, Mr Mabhena, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. I'll find you because I need to talk to you!” Langa said out loud to herself as she ransacked the Sasol Wax file and all the In-Cosmetics paperwork she had with her. Forty-five frustrating minutes later, she looked up from the desk that she had turned upside down and smiled.

Langa drove cautiously along William Nicol Drive towards Lonehill so that she wouldn't miss Fourways Mews, the complex where Regile's townhouse was. She eventually found the complex perched high on the hill overlooking the north of Joburg.

“Sawubona, bhuti, I'm going to number 214, Regile Mabhena's residence. My name is Langa Buthelezi.”

The guard took down her name and car registration number before buzzing Regile. Langa prayed silently that he would be home, and even more so that he'd allow the guard to let her in!

“Miss Buthelezi, it's the last house on the road,” the guard said as he finally lifted the boom for her. She sat still for a second, hardly believing her luck.

“Thank you,” she uttered to God and the guard as she drove to the last house on the road. The speech she'd rehearsed earlier that afternoon suddenly disappeared when she saw Regile's Range Rover parked in front of his garage. Her heart was beating as she parked her car alongside his and slowly crawled out.

She rang the doorbell with trembling hands, comforting herself with the fact that at least he had been forewarned of her arrival.

After a while Regile opened the door, inviting her in with a face showing no expression.

“You'll have to excuse the mess; the housekeeper hasn't been here for a few days,” he offered, leading her into an enormous lounge that kicked her little Newtown one's ass, tenfold! A large abstract oil painting, split into three pieces, filled the front wall of the lounge. A wooden bookshelf ran along the width of the adjacent wall and was overflowing with books; parallel to that was an inviting-looking fireplace cased in a white marble mantelpiece.

Regile had a few art pieces around the room, most of them beads on canvas. But Langa decided the most impressive part of the lounge was the humongous television that filled half the surface of the last wall and had a powerful surround-sound system.

There was a blanket on the couch and a mug on the coffee table.

“Would you like a bite to eat? I was about to prepare something,” Regile offered as she sat down on the edge of the couch.

“No, thank you; I'd just like to get to the point of why I'm here,” Langa answered.

“Which is?” Regile asked, turning down the volume of the big screen with one of the many remote controls on the coffee table.

“Did you get my email?” Langa asked as she cleared her throat. “I sent you a message earlier.”

“I did receive it,” he told her. “But my decision is final, however many emails you send or calls you make . . .” Regile shrugged his shoulders. “I must say, you are extremely determined once you put your mind to something. That's the trait that strikes me most about . . .” He stopped abruptly. “My decision is final.”

“But how are you going to get a company to do everything Buthelezi has done this far – unless they take over from where we've left off, which isn't legal, without my consent anyway.” Langa was doing her best to remain calm. She tried to ignore how handsome he looked in a T-shirt and shorts.

“Unfortunately I can't answer that question at this moment. As you probably know, I just got back from Mpumalanga. I was going to weigh up my options tonight after supper, so maybe you should wait around. Since for some reason you won't have anything to eat, you can watch me have my meal and then we'll see what my thoughts are afterwards. Women should never rush men to talk.”

Langa felt like letting out a bloodcurdling scream but quickly checked herself. Instead she blurted out, “Why are you being so difficult? Our companies both need each other, and you know it!”

“I take it you'll be staying for supper then, though under normal circumstances it should be you cooking.” Regile motioned her to follow him before disappearing behind a door. Langa followed him, annoyed at his arrogance but curious to see where the door led. She discovered she'd followed him into the kitchen. Two long stainless steel units took up most of the space; there were also a double sink, a dishwasher and wooden cabinet. Regile stood in concentration with his eyebrows arched in the cute way that made Langa smile despite herself.

“Please feel free to take a seat.” He pointed at a glass table that faced the back garden with a pool surrounded by a lush green lawn. She pulled out one of the two stainless steel bar-stools and sat down.

She watched as Regile put two ready-made dinner packs into the microwave and rubbed his hands contentedly before joining her at the table.

“I hope you don't mind an instant dinner,” he said.

“I guess it won't help to refuse it.” Langa sighed, coiling her dreadlocks in her fingers. “Please can we talk now?”

“I allowed things to get out of hand between us, Langa. That almost ruined me professionally; I can't afford to lose focus now,” Regile told her. “Working with you and spending most of our time together has stirred feelings in me I'm not sure I can or want to deal with right now.”

“I'm attracted to you, Regile. I've tried to lie to myself ever since the day I met you but the truth is I'm falling in love with you,” Langa told him, feeling like she was freeing herself of a huge burden by finally being honest with Regile and most importantly with herself. “What were you going to say to me the day Richard burst into my office?

“That's not important now,” Regile countered, uncomfortably shifting in his chair. “I went to Mpumalanga to witness my bride's bukhazi; that's when the royal bride-to-be enters a smaller room and stays there with a select group of elder women to coach her for a month. We are getting married after that,” he finished off.

“Can't your bride-to-be come out of the smaller room if you found someone else?” Langa asked naively, looking at Regile like an innocent child. He had to chuckle.

“No, she can't, Langa,” he said gently and then put on his stern face again. “What are you here to talk about: our personal or professional relationship?”

“I'm not sure any more,” Langa groaned. “It's just . . . Richard and I . . .”

“Listen,” Regile interrupted her, “for the sake of a successful exhibition, let's forget what's happened between us: the kiss, the message you read, everything. The only way I'll continue to work with you is if we maintain a professional relationship, at least until the exhibition next week. After that we never have to see each other again.”

“I suppose that could work,” Langa sighed. “Thanks for giving Buthelezi another chance.”

15

The next few days flew by, with Langa and Regile either stuck in meetings or on site at the Africa Museum. They worked together in a civil manner, save for the awkward silences. Occasionally one would catch the other staring and their accidental touches made them more physically aware of each other.

Two days before the exhibition Langa tossed her handbag on the counter when she got home and threw herself beside Nandi on the couch.

“Hard day?” her sister inquired and then smiled. “You don't have to tell me anything; I can see it in your face. How's Regile?”

Langa sighed. “Still keeping me at arm's length. You'd swear I'm the eighth plague. Meanwhile Richard's left for Perth; he sent me an email.”

“Wow, that soon. So how do you feel?” Nandi asked, sitting up.

“Sad, even though I know the break-up saved us both a lot of pain.” Then Langa's thoughts were with the exhibition again. “It's really tough working with Regile after he's rejected me.”

“He'll come round,” Nandi assured her. “He probably just feels a bit besieged. After all, it doesn't happen every day that the independent, impervious Miss Buthelezi declares her love for you!”

“Hardly the traditional approach he's used to, I suppose,” Langa sighed. “But at least I got it off my chest.”

“He'd be a fool not to love you back,” Nandi said gently. “Anyway, I've been thinking.”

“Oh no,” Langa answered with dread, expecting the worst.

“I'd like to come and work for you; well, part-time only. I've enrolled at Damelin College in Braamfontein to do a course in events organising!” Nandi announced excitedly.

Langa flung herself on top of her sister. “Of course you can work for me; I'd love that! But wait, when did you decide you wanted to do events?”

“Watching you every day, witnessing your victories and challenges made me feel like giving it a go,” Nandi said. “You're such a great inspiration and businesswoman; you're my role model.”

“Wow, we're going to take over the world, you and me! If Mom could see us now, she'd be so proud!” Langa beamed.

Nandi nodded happily.

“But does that mean you've given up on the poetry?” Langa asked after a moment. “You're so great at it . . . Although I'm proud of you whatever you decide to do, as long as you do it passionately and give it all you've got.”

“I won't stop writing poetry because I always have words floating around in my heart. But I figured it's time to expand my horizons, and I have you to help me,” Nandi told Langa.

Later that evening Nandi got ready to go to Baseline for her performance.

“Hey, I'm coming to watch you perform again tonight; I'll just quickly change,” Langa said, getting up from the couch.

“No!” Nandi said urgently. “Tonight isn't a good night; it's overbooked. You won't find a seat and there's nothing worse than standing throughout the show.”

“I don't mind that,” Langa told her, puzzled by her sister's abruptness.

“Tomorrow will be a better night. Don't wait up.” Nandi smiled at Langa apologetically as she opened the door and left.

“Hhayi-ke,” Langa muttered, picking up the list of suppliers from the counter where she'd tossed it hours before and heading back to the comfort of the couch. She had work to do anyway.

“Here,” Langa said, getting her chequebook from her handbag the next morning and signing a blank one before giving it to Nandi. “That's for the college fees. You can't detour to Identity or I'll find out!”

Nandi laughed. “Thanks, I wouldn't use a cheque; your credit card, maybe!”

Langa smiled and then said, “I'm scared. Regile and I are working from the site all day today. I can't believe the exhibition is starting tomorrow. It seems like only yesterday I got the Sasol Wax contract, lost it, then got it again!”

“After this exhibition I'm on board at Buthelezi. Careful, moms; lock up your sons!” Nandi sang. “Justin is incredibly cute!” she went on, giggling.

“Not my head of production! Forget about Justin!” Langa joked.

“I think we need a break,” Regile said to Langa many hours later. It was getting dark and they still had a hundred and one things to do; the marquee company had only just arrived.

“Yes, you're right; we need a break,” Langa answered. “You realise we're likely to be here for the whole night? The queen marquee still needs putting up and the podium looks like it can hardly hold one person, let alone a whole band and instruments.” Langa was exhausted and hungry.

“Kaldi's Coffee is closed now. Let's just get into the car and see where we end up,” Regile suggested as he led her to his car. So, this was part of being professional, Langa thought, before she became aware of the fact that she was undeniably excited by the prospect of being entirely alone with him.

Regile opened the car door for her and she slinked into the seat before he gently shut the door. He snapped his seat belt into place and looked expectantly at Langa to do the same. They drove to Rosebank in a comfortable silence which neither felt they had to fill up with small talk; the familiar silence made both feel strangely at home.

Only when he stopped the car at the corner of Cradock and Biermann Avenues did Langa realise they were at her office.

“I really liked the restaurant downstairs from your office last time we came here. I hope you don't mind?” Regile asked.

“Not a problem,” Langa stuttered, a little flustered by the intensity in his eyes. She let herself out and waited for him at the entrance, straightening her dress and brushing off invisible fluff from the material. The waiter who had served them before seemingly recognised them and came rushing to lead them to a more private table this time, next to the window, far away from the one fluorescent light!

“This is it then,” Regile began when they had settled down. “After tomorrow, I'm not your boss and you aren't my client.”

“I guess not,” Langa replied. “It feels like only yesterday we bumped into each other, quite literally, in that pharmacy in Parktown,” she chuckled and then covered her mouth with her hand. “I'm sorry, I forgot we have no past whatsoever.”

Regile laughed. “I didn't mean it that way. We just needed to focus the past few days; there was so much at stake. I was never going to take the contract away from Buthelezi; I was just retaliating because you really did upset me a lot.”

“I'm terribly sorry about having invaded your privacy. Please forgive me,” Langa asked sincerely.

Regile nodded and then said, “Sibusisiwe is my first cousin. Her parents passed away when she was young and my parents brought her up. She's like the sister I never had.” He waved the approaching waiter away lightly.

“Sibusisiwe is considered the only daughter of Ikosi but unfortunately she fell pregnant by one of the workers at Mabhena Oil and then she decided to disappear, ashamed of the disgrace she'd brought to the royal family. As her brother and the king's only child, I had to ask forgiveness from my father as well as the ancestors. I also had to ensure that the young man in question paid lobola for her before she could return to the kingdom,” Regile finished off.

Langa listened in astonished silence. She felt like an idiot for having jumped to conclusions.

“I thought she was someone you got pregnant; I'm so sorry,” Langa whispered.

“My dear Langa,” Regile said, giving her the boyish smile she'd missed so much, “you never cease to amuse me. I'll be the king one day, and I've been brought up to stay away from anything that could bring shame on me.”

“Well, it just seems to me like you're used to controlling everyone and everything around you,” Langa answered and caught herself wrinkling her nose in frustration. “Sorry, I'm doing it again.”

“Doing what again?” he asked.

“Candidly saying what I think before considering the consequence,” Langa sighed.

“I'd say that's the most refreshing thing about you: you speak your mind. Most people, women especially, feel they have to watch what they say when they speak to me. They outrightly lie to my face if they think it will make me happy,” Regile said.

“Well, you'd better get used to the sucking up. When you're king you'll have to deal with that all the time,” Langa mused, lightly playing with her napkin.

Regile laughed. “Sometimes I wish I'd been born in a normal family or that at least I had an elder brother. He'd take all the pressure off me and maybe make my father proud.”

“He is proud of you. You work very hard.”

“All my parents seem to want from me is a queen,” Regile countered. “And babies!”

“So, then I suppose your queen won't work; she'll sit at home barefoot and have one baby after the other?” Langa asked, remembering that he'd said Ndebele women didn't work.

Regile laughed. “Well, initially I thought so but lately I've been thinking she can work if it makes her happy. I've realised that a woman who speaks her mind and makes her own decisions is very attractive. I'll just bask in her success and not be threatened by it.”

Langa took a deep breath. “Richard and I broke off our engagement.”

“I know; Nandi told me,” Regile said. “I had the great pleasure of watching her perform at Baseline last night. She told me all the things I've been afraid to admit to myself.”

“That's why she was so offish when I wanted to go with her,” Langa realised. “I should've known she was up to something; she must've gotten your number from my phone. What did she tell you?”

“All the things I've left unsaid,” Regile answered mysteriously, taking out a small box from his pocket and placing it in front of Langa. She gasped and opened it. It was a beautiful ring made of colourful beads.

“You remembered,” Langa marvelled. “It's an idzila; it's beautiful!”

“This is a symbol of friendship; forgetting the past and starting over. To answer your question, my bride-to-be can come out of the smaller room to make space for new possibilities,” Regile said and took Langa's hand. “I've disappointed my parents once again by calling off the wedding.”

Langa felt tears forming in her eyes.

“I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, Miss Buthelezi. The evening we came here and your face was covered in make-up, I knew it without a doubt. Last night Nandi helped confirm all the feelings I've been running away from,” Regile continued. “I'm in love with your hard-working nature and your love for God. And your strong will and independence drive me crazy!”

“Crazy?” Langa uttered breathlessly.

“Yes,” he nodded, “a good crazy. I love the fact that you're a smart and independent woman who's not afraid to speak her mind. That's all new to me; I've always been surrounded by women who dote on me and don't seem to have a brain of their own. The fact that you're so independent attracts me to you, even though it made me so mad in the beginning. I'm not proposing just yet, but I'm sure if you give me a chance to get to know you better, I will do that someday soon.”

“Will I have to stop working when I become queen?” Langa asked confidently.

“Not unless you decide to,” Regile answered, his eyes dancing.

He leaned over the table and reached for her face. Their lips met and they kissed, unconcerned about anyone watching them. When they separated to catch their breath, the waiter was there, clearing his throat.

“Are you ready for me to take your order?” he asked.

“The gentleman will have lamb shank and I'd like pan-fried rump steak with paprika, both with chips,” announced Langa, happily squeezing Regile's hand. “And to drink we'll both have Cherry Marbles.”