Читать книгу Beauty and the Broker - Cheryl Ntumy S. - Страница 4

1

Melody Nyathi kept her eyes squeezed shut. She could hear her colleagues sniggering behind her, but she ignored them and tried to focus on what she was about to see.

“Deep breaths, Mel!” said Buhle. “This is it. The moment we’ve all been waiting for.”

Melody couldn’t resist a smile. “Shut up, Buhle, before I hit you with something.”

“It’s the tension talking,” said Buhle.

Annelize giggled. “Poor thing. She’s so nervous. You’d think she was in court or something, waiting for the verdict.”

“Hey, I could be subjected to a fate worse than death,” Melody pointed out. “Now be quiet. I’m trying to think positive thoughts!”

“A little late for that, isn’t it?”

“Hey, Sophie,” said Annelize. “You’re just in time for the big revelation.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” sighed Sophie in her no-nonsense voice. “Is this what you three have been doing? What happened to getting the rooms ready for the clients, heating up the wax, making sure we have fresh towels and bathrobes, and so on? Sometimes I think I’m the only person doing any work around here!”

Melody didn’t have to open her eyes; she could imagine the frown creasing Sophie’s brow. The pretty receptionist probably had her hands on her hips as she glanced around, shooting disapproving looks at the others. Sophie was one of those gorgeous women who seemed to feel the need to compensate for their looks by scowling as often as possible.

For a moment Melody allowed herself to see the reception area of the Imbali Health and Beauty Spa in her mind’s eye: the dark, polished wood panelling, the textured stone-coloured walls, the African-Zen décor. Potted plants were dotted around the area and the usual faint scent of lavender wafted in the air.

Last but not least, she pictured the only three colleagues she could call friends. Buhle, a voluptuous package of dynamite with an Afro almost as big as her personality; Annelize, a petite blonde with a soft heart and voice to match; and the tall, lithe Sophie with her shampoo advert hair. Melody loved the few occasions when their shifts coincided; it always made for a fun day at work.

“Mel, open your eyes,” snapped Sophie. “You have a massage at nine. That’s in . . . fifteen minutes.”

“Ssshh!” hissed Buhle. “You’re distracting her. She’s trying to change the timetable with her superpowers.”

Melody sighed, inching a little closer to the schedule on the notice board. “Eish, talk about unsupportive,” she grumbled.

She opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn’t. “You can’t be serious,” she groaned, staring at her timetable in horror. “I have Mr Meyer again.”

The others laughed.

“It’s not funny!” Melody glared at them. “That’s three times this week already. Ugh! There is such a thing as too many massages.”

“Not for Spongebob,” quipped Buhle with a wicked grin. “You know, I once used an entire bottle of oil on him. Strues God!”

“Not a whole bottle,” laughed Sophie.

“Ja, a whole bottle, Mma,” Buhle insisted. “The man’s skin is like a flippin’ salt pan.”

That set Annelize off. She giggled soundlessly, shoulders hunched, tears streaking mascara down her face. Then Sophie started, followed by Melody, and it wasn’t long before Buhle let out one of her loud guffaws, culminating in a wheezing cough that made everyone laugh even louder.

“Guys, no,” Buhle protested, clutching her side. “It’s too early in the morning for this kind of misbehaviour.”

“You started it with your Spongebob joke,” Sophie pointed out. “Honestly, you guys are too hard on Mr Meyer. He’s just a sweet old man, desperate for some female company. I’d take him over Cruella DeVil any day.”

“Cruella’s a nasty piece of work,” mumbled Melody, an image of their least favourite client’s thin, sour face springing to mind.

“So is her nasal voice,” said Buhle, tossing her head and pursing her lips in a fair imitation. “I thought I made it clear I wanted this done professionally. Can you see this nail polish? It’s chipped. Within a few hours of my manicure. Chipped!”

“She made me so angry that day,” whispered Annelize as she twisted her small, round face into a frown.

“And we all know it takes a lot to get you woes, nè?” added Sophie.

“I would’ve klapped her,” declared Buhle, hands on her ample hips.

“Never,” countered Annelize with a shocked laugh.

“Well, Buhle’s capable of that,” said Melody, raising her eyebrows.

“I am,” declared Buhle. “And if it weren’t for the fact that I liked my job, I would’ve given that woman such a hiding that every time she tried to sit down, she’d remember my name.”

“Buhle!” Sophie glanced warily at the door.

“What?”

The receptionist shook her head. “It’s almost opening time. We should get organised.” She inclined her head in the direction of the mirror. “Annelize, love, I’m only going to say this once: Waterproof mascara.”

Annelize rushed to the mirror. Melody smoothed down her mint-green slacks and white shirt and adjusted her apron before taking her turn at the mirror. Melody was proud of her looks: Beauty was her business, after all. She was no supermodel, but she had an athletic figure (thanks to a mixture of good genes and daily morning jogs) and a pretty face, if she did say so herself.

Make-up was a requirement at work, and Melody liked the little touch of glamour it added to her conservative uniform. Her game face was intact: small almond-shaped eyes framed by long, fluttering lashes courtesy of L’Oréal, full lips coated in muted Avon lipstick and not-quite-flawless chocolate skin elevated to perfection by a layer of Dream Matte Mousse.

Looking good, she thought, blowing a kiss at her reflection.

“Okay, Miss Universe,” piped up Sophie with a touch of impatience, “Mr Meyer will be here any minute.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Melody stuck her tongue out at the receptionist. “Enjoy the front desk. I think Cruella’s coming in today, and you know how she loves to shoot the messenger.”

Sophie looked daggers at her. “Make sure you warm your hands for Spongebob!” she retorted.

Melody laughed, although her heart sank a little at the thought of Mr Meyer’s dry, flaky and hairy back. She had given him plenty of advice on keeping his skin healthy, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he deliberately ignored her so he’d have an excuse to keep coming back.

She entered the room where she would be doing the massage. The usual soothing music was playing; Mr Meyer loved Enya, and Imbali always gave the customers what they wanted. Everything was set up: Sophie had been the first in, as usual, and she always helped her less punctual colleagues by straightening the rooms out before they arrived.

“Thanks, Sophie,” Melody muttered as she set out the oils and lotions.

Spongebob was right on time. He walked in beaming, his bald patch glinting brightly.

“Good morning, Melody,” he gushed, shuffling towards her. He was already in his green robe and disposable underwear.

She gave him an indulgent smile. “Morning, Mr Meyer. How are you today?”

“Tense.” He grimaced and rubbed his shoulder to prove it. “Aching all over.”

“You should really take better care of yourself,” she chided him, rolling her eyes as he lowered his robe and climbed onto the table.

“My work is killing me, you know,” he mumbled into the pillow. “All those long, boring meetings . . . It might help if I had a pretty wife to go home to, but . . .” His voice trailed off.

Dream on, Spongebob, Melody thought in disgust, applying oil to her hands. Then she asked, “What happened to that nice lady you met at the bank?”

“Oh, her,” he sneered. “She dumped me after two dates.”

“No!” gasped Melody in mock dismay. “Did she give you a reason?”

“She said she needed someone with more oomph.”

Melody had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“What does that even mean?” he went on. “I’ll have you know, men like me are hard to find.”

No, not really, thought Melody. But in a soothing voice she said, “Relax, Mr Meyer. Don’t worry about her. In a few minutes you’ll feel much better.”

Taking a deep breath, Melody plunged in. Much as she disliked Mr Meyer’s back, she loved giving massages. Her hands moved deftly across his skin. It was second nature to her, and even though she’d probably need a massage herself once the day was over, it was all worth it. She liked to make people feel better.

“You’re . . . really . . . good,” he mumbled.

“Thank you.” She smiled. Shame, maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. So he liked massages; who didn’t? And what man wouldn’t love to have a bunch of pretty girls give him a little TLC every now and then?

“Could you . . . A little lower . . . Ahhhhh!”

Another satisfied customer. Melody liked being good at her job. I’m a healer, she thought, applying a little more oil to her hands. Like a doctor who doesn’t cause you pain. Yep, she liked the sound of that. Working in her industry wasn’t a preference, it was a calling. She made people look and feel beautiful.

“Melody?”

“Yes, Mr Meyer?”

“How much . . . would I . . . have to pay . . . to have . . . you . . . as my . . . personal masseuse?”

Melody laughed. She’d heard that one before. “Uh, a lot.”

“Name . . . your . . . price,” he persisted. “I could . . . really use some . . . personal . . . attention . . . if you . . . know . . . what I mean.”

Melody’s hands froze. You dirty old man! And here I was about to give you the benefit of the doubt!

“Melody? You’re not stopping, are you?” he asked in panic.

She gritted her teeth. “Of course not, Mr Meyer.”

“I still have an ache in my upper back.”

Melody pushed down a little harder than necessary, making him cry out. “Oops. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. About my offer . . .”

“Thank you, Mr Meyer, but I’m fine where I am,” she replied, her tone icy. “Lie still, please. You have a lot of tension.” She slammed her palm into his shoulder.

“Aaarrgghhh!”

“Oh, did that hurt?” She smiled sardonically. “So sorry.”

* * *

“You’re mean,” declared Sophie, peering into her glass.

“He was asking for it,” replied Melody, sipping her drink. “He’s a pervert.”

Sophie shook her head. “You might have hurt the poor man, you know. He’s not as young as he once was.”

“Ugh!” Buhle covered her eyes. “Now I have the scary image of Spongebob in his youth burned into my brain.”

“How does he look?” asked Annelize, leaning forward in her chair.

Buhle lowered her hands. “The same. With more hair and much more dandruff.”

Melody laughed and swatted Buhle with her napkin. The four of them were in a corner of their favourite restaurant, sipping cocktails and trading gossip. The nightlife in Cape Town was always interesting. There were so many tourists around that it was almost impossible to go out without meeting someone new. Melody scanned the room until her gaze came to rest on a group of men sitting at a table not far away. One of them was staring at Sophie, mouth agape.

Melody grinned at the receptionist. “Hey, you have an admirer.”

“I was wondering why it was taking so long,” said Buhle. “Usually she has about seven by the time we make it to our seats.” She looked around, craning her neck. “Where is he? Let’s size him up.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother. I thought we were having a girls’ night out, not a matchmaking festival.”

“No harm in looking,” said Buhle. “For you, of course,” she added with a smug smile. “Some of us are already off the market.”

“And you’ll never let us forget that,” said Melody.

Of the four of them, she and Sophie were the only singletons. Annelize had three years of wedded bliss under her belt and Buhle was still with her boyfriend from varsity.

Melody had been single for about a year, and was in no rush to start another relationship. She was only twenty-eight; she had plenty of time. Sophie, on the other hand, was so pessimistic about men that she had already decided she was going to adopt all her children.

“Oooh, he’s hot,” announced Buhle, turning back to her friends. “And foreign. Italian or something.”

Melody frowned. “He didn’t look Italian to me.”

Buhle shrugged. “Whatever, babes. Dark hair, light skin. What’s the difference?”

“All white people look the same to you, nè?” teased Annelize.

Buhle laughed. “More or less. But the point is, he’s hot. Right, Mel?”

Melody didn’t answer. A man at the other end of the room had caught her eye. He was pretty hot as well, she had to admit: tall, broad-shouldered and with the air of someone who knew he had the ability to draw female attention. His head was freshly shorn and his handsome dark face was clean-shaven. He had slightly slanted eyes, a strong nose and full lips which parted in a mischievous smile that made Melody’s heart skip a beat. Their eyes met briefly and his smile widened.

Melody smiled back and lowered her gaze, but when she looked up again he was talking to one of the women in his group of friends, his face turned away from Melody. The woman leaned towards him, said something and they both laughed. She was probably his girlfriend. Men like that were hardly ever single.

To her surprise, Melody was a little disappointed. It had been a while since she’d had her eye on anyone.

“Mel!”

“Hmm?” Melody spun around. “What?”

“Sophie’s guy. A hottie or a nottie?” asked Annelize.

“Oh, a hottie.”

“See?”

Sophie drained her glass. “Do you really think I care? I told you, I’m not interested in relationships. I like being on my own. I need a man . . .”

“Like a fish needs a bicycle, we know,” Buhle interrupted, holding up her hands. “Silly thing to say, if you ask me, and I bet you every cent in the Reserve Bank the woman who said it has a man.”

“I think she got married, actually,” mused Annelize.

“Ha!” cried Buhle, raising her glass in a triumphant toast. “I rest my case.”

Sophie tossed her head, sending her long hair cascading over one shoulder. “Whatever. I don’t need a man to complete me.”

“Hear! Hear!” cheered Melody. She still enjoyed the freedom that came with being single and didn’t feel any pressure to settle down. Her career was going well, she had wonderful friends and family, and she loved her life. That said, if love happened to come along, she would welcome it. As long as the man who came with it was willing to play by her rules. She stole another glance at the guy across the room. He was looking right at her, that irresistible smile on his lips. She looked away quickly, feeling light-headed.

“That’s only because you don’t know how wonderful it is to have someone in your life whom you can count on,” Annelize was saying. She fingered her wedding band and gave her friends a dreamy smile. “When you find the right person, it’s amazing.”

Sophie and Melody exchanged amused glances. “Here we go,” Melody whispered.

Right on cue, Annelize continued, “Johan is like my best friend. We can talk about anything. I can’t imagine my life without him, and he’s the most incredible . . .”

“Okay, okay,” Melody interjected. “We all know how fabulous Johan is. And I’m sure, if we gave her the chance, Buhle could spend all night singing Sandile’s praises. But not all men are knights in shining armour.”

“Don’t get any ideas, girls,” said Buhle hastily. “After nine years, Sandile’s armour is a little rusty.”

“You know what I mean.” Melody swirled her drink around in her glass. “We all grow up with this idea of the perfect guy, until we become adults and discover that real men have –”

“Beer bellies,” Buhle cut in.

Everyone laughed.

“I was going to say flaws,” said Melody, “but I guess that works, too.”

“No one’s saying you have to hold out for Mr Perfect,” Annelize pointed out. “You just have to believe that there are good guys out there.”

“Sure, but not everyone’s lucky enough to find one,” argued Melody.

“And instead of daydreaming about something you might never have, it’s better to focus on and appreciate what you do have,” added Sophie.

“She has a point,” said Annelize, her tone almost apologetic.

Buhle sighed. “You’re so sensible, Sophie. You and Mel are such independent women. But just you wait. One day you’ll fall head over heels for some idiot on a motorbike and then we’ll see how sensible you really are.” She rubbed her hands together and threw her head back like a diabolical movie villain. “Muahahahaha!”

Melody shook her head. “I need to stop hanging out with crazy people.”

“She is a bit of a psycho, isn’t she?” remarked Sophie, grinning. “I’m ordering another drink. Anyone want anything?”

Buhle’s hand shot up. “After all, it’s Friday night,” she said, holding up her almost empty glass. “Hello, weekend! I missed you.”

“Well, I can’t stay out too late, guys. I’m driving to Khayelitsha tomorrow morning.” Melody glanced at her watch. “I think I’d better have some juice only.”

“Weren’t you home just last weekend?” asked Annelize.

“Yes, but . . .”

“She’s afraid her family will disappear if she leaves them alone for too long,” Buhle interjected.

Melody glared at her. “I’m just checking on them.”

“Uh-huh, to make sure they’re still there.”

“Buhle!”

“Okay, okay! I’m going to the ladies’ before you hit me with the salt cellar.” She got up and squeezed past Melody.

“I hope you know you’re almost falling out of that top,” remarked Sophie from behind the menu.

Buhle glanced down at her ample bust. “It’s not my fault they don’t make clothes for real women. Mel, your foot!”

“Sorry.” Melody shifted her foot to let Buhle pass.

“She’s insane,” she said in a stage whisper once Buhle was gone.

“I know,” Annelize giggled. “But you’ve got to love her.”

“I don’t know about you two, but I’m having ice cream,” Sophie announced.

Melody and Annelize looked at each other, then shrugged.

“Why not?” said Annelize. “Let’s go for it.”

Melody grinned. “After all, it’s Friday.”

“Should we order one for Buhle too?” asked Annelize as Sophie waved the waitress over. “She did say she was trying to cut down on sugar. Maybe we should get her fruit salad instead.”

“Oh, please, Buhle has never eaten a salad in her life,” scoffed Sophie. “Mel’s the one who’s on diet.”

“It’s not a diet; I just don’t eat red meat,” Melody reminded her. She had cut red meat from her diet, along with fizzy drinks, after a nasty experience with a so-called beef stew she had bought from a roadside takeaway stand. She had never got over it.

“Whatever. But we all know how Buhle feels about food that’s actually good for you,” Sophie said with a giggle.

“She seemed so serious about the sugar thing,” mused Annelize. “I thought she meant it this time.”

Melody smiled, trying to imagine Buhle sticking to a diet. It was impossible. Buhle was allergic to restrictions.

After perusing the menu for a few minutes, they settled on four chocolate sundaes. Melody took another peek across the room, but the table was now empty and the man was gone. She swallowed her disappointment just as Buhle reappeared.

“Shu!” said Buhle, sinking back into her seat. “Guys, I’m still hungry.”

“Have some salad,” Sophie suggested, kicking Melody’s shin under the table.

“Eh?” Buhle shot her a dirty look. “Do I look like livestock?”

“You said no more sugar, remember?” said Melody.

“What? I would never say something so evil and twisted,” snapped Buhle. “Where’s the menu? I need some ice cream, people. Are you in or out?”

The other three looked at each other. Sophie let out a derisive snort and everyone collapsed into laughter. Annelize was laughing so hard, her face was red, and Sophie could barely speak. Melody was doubled over in her seat.

“What?” asked Buhle, staring at them in astonishment. “Haai, what’s so funny?”

“You,” gasped Melody, wiping her eyes. “You’re classic.”

“I’m sorry, I’m lost,” said Buhle.

“We know,” the others responded in unison, before cracking up all over again.