Читать книгу Beauty and the Broker - Cheryl Ntumy S. - Страница 5

2

“Lolo, can I borrow your car?”

“Hello to you too, Dumisane.” Melody paused in the doorway, laden with shopping bags, and squinted up at her brother. “Oh, my God. Have you grown taller?”

“He won’t stop,” said her mother, Connie, drying her hands on her apron and nudging the kitchen door open with her shoulder. “Dumisane, help your sister carry these bags! What kind of child are you?”

“Mama, I’m on my way out!” he groaned, looking at the bags out of the corner of his eye. “So, Lolo, the car?”

Things never seemed to change in the small house in Mandela Park where Melody had grown up. Her mother was always in the sunny, neat kitchen, apron on, hands wet or covered in flour or maize meal. Dumisane was always on his way out and where he went was forever a mystery.

Melody peered into the living room. It still had the same dark red sofas, faded now, but well worn and comfortable. The dining table was covered with a lace cloth that hid the signs of her childhood, like the words she had scratched into the wood, or the place near the corner where Dumisane had chipped at the table.

The old poster with Psalm 23 on it had yellowed and curled at the edges, but remained firmly attached to the wall above the small TV. Arranged around the television and stereo was an assortment of framed photographs, mostly of Melody and Dumisane.

Melody’s gaze wandered around the walls until it came to rest on her parents’ wedding picture, positioned right above the dining table. After her father’s death in a bus accident eleven years ago when she was just seventeen, she had taken it upon herself to look after the family. Now she made an effort to come home as often as she could.

She turned back to face her brother. “Where are you going in such a rush, anyway?” Melody narrowed her eyes at Dumisane as she deposited the bags on the kitchen counter. “You haven’t even asked how I’m doing.”

“Hawu, you look fine to me. Besides, I saw you last weekend.” Dumisane glanced at his flip-top phone. “Eish, I have to go.”

“Dumisane.” Connie shot him one of her stern, listen-to-me-I’m-your-mother looks.

“Mama, I promise I’ll help clean the kitchen when I get back.”

“When you get back? You mean tomorrow?”

“Mama, come on. Lolo?”

Melody stared at her tall, gangly brother, looking smart in his artfully distressed jeans and the sort of designer tackies she could never have afforded at nineteen. Back then she had been in her second year at varsity, working part-time to help her mother, and dreaming of having her own spa.

The vision had been so vivid: a small, cosy place about the size of an average hair salon, with bright, cheerful colours and the scent of aromatherapy oils in the air. Her name would be painted on the window in bright blue, and the place would be full of the type of women who would feel out of place at Imbali, but would be right at home in her spa. One degree and seven years of work experience later, she could still see the simple pastel robes in her mind.

She sighed. That dream was on ice, for now. “Dumisane, where did you get those shoes? And is that a new phone?”

“Ja.” He grinned at her. “Sexy, nè?”

“Dumisane!” Connie put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Go and get the rest of the things out of the car. Now!”

This time Melody’s brother obeyed without a word, making his way across the sandy driveway to where she had parked her second-hand Toyota Tazz.

“If only he would spend less time going out and focus more on school,” said Connie. “He won’t even talk about university. Says he’s taking a gap year. What on earth is that?”

Melody’s attention shifted from her brother to her mother. “There are still a few months until he’s done with school,” she pointed out, unpacking the shopping bags. “He might change his mind.”

“Your brother change his mind?” Connie clicked her tongue in annoyance. “He’s even more stubborn than you.”

Dumisane reappeared, carrying two more bags. “Did you leave anything in the shops, Lolo? These bags are fu- . . . really heavy.” He caught his mother’s eye and gave her a placating smile. After dropping the bags, he turned back to his sister. “Ja, so . . . can I borrow the car, or what?”

Melody sighed. “Show me your licence.”

“Lolo!”

“Show it to me.”

Dumisane scowled. “It’s far away. In my room.”

Melody gave him a curt nod. She knew his licence had been suspended after some debacle a month earlier. Her brother would never mention it, but she knew enough people around town to keep abreast of his latest indiscretions. “When you find it, let me know.”

“Lolo, please! I’ll take good care of the car, I promise!”

“I still remember the dent from the last time you took such good care of it,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “And I’m not letting you drive my car without a licence. Are you too good to use taxis now?”

“Yes,” he muttered under his breath.

“Stop bothering your sister!” called Connie from the other side of the kitchen. “Go and get a job, then you can buy your own car.”

“Eish,” Dumisane muttered, his shoulders slumped. “Fine. Can I at least borrow some money?”

Melody shook her head. “Didn’t I give you R200 last week?”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Lolo, that isn’t money.”

“So how much do you want this time? Should I clean out my account?” But she was already reaching into her handbag, fishing out a crisp R200 note. “That’s all you’re getting.”

“Thanks.” Her brother snatched the money from her hand and was out of the house before anyone could say another word to him.

Melody sighed and turned to her mother.

“He’s so ungrateful,” complained Connie, her face marred by a scowl.

“He’s a teenager,” Melody reminded her. “We were all like that once.” She frowned at the groceries laid out on the counter. “Did I get everything? It looks like I forgot the milk.”

“Lolo, you don’t have to buy us groceries every month,” her mother said softly. “I’m still working, you know. I can take care of things. And aren’t you supposed to be redoing your flat?”

“I am, but . . .” Melody caught herself just in time before saying, You can’t support yourself and cater for Dumisane’s lavish tastes on a primary school teacher’s salary. Then she continued out loud, “I don’t want you to struggle. Anyway, I have a good job. I can afford to help out.”

Connie smiled and gave her a hug. “You’re such a good girl.” She pulled back and fingered Melody’s freshly cut hair. “That’s why I can forgive you for cutting your hair like those American girls. What do your bosses say when you show up at work looking like one of those R&B singers?”

Melody had to refrain from rolling her eyes. “Mama, don’t start. You know I have no patience with long hair.” She had a brief mental picture of herself with a long weave and the man she had seen in the restaurant running his fingers through it.

She bit her lip; this wasn’t the most appropriate time to be fantasising. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since the previous night, and her thoughts always involved physical contact. Behave! she chided herself, turning her attention back to her mother.

“Maybe I’m too old to understand these things,” Connie was saying. “Like your brother. I don’t even try to understand him any more.”

“Mama . . .” Melody put an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a kid; he’ll grow out of it. He’s just going through a phase, like I did.”

“You weren’t this much trouble, Lolo. I always knew where you were at night.”

“Boys are more difficult,” said Melody in a tone that claimed authority she didn’t have. “Let’s not talk about Dumisane for now. I bought lots of eggs and flour, and I don’t have to be back in the city until later. I thought we could bake, just the two of us. How about that?”

Connie smiled. “As long as we’re following my recipes.”

Melody held up her hands in surrender, glad to be able to take her mother’s mind off her worries for a few hours. “It’s your kitchen, Mama. You’re the boss.”

* * *

By the time Melody drove back into town, it was nearly 9pm. She had a huge Tupperware container of biscuits on the back seat. After all that baking, she knew she would be too tired to cook when she got to her flat in Observatory. As she drove through town, she considered her options. Chicken? No, I had chicken the other day. Maybe some seafood? Her stomach churned. Nope, seafood won’t do it. I need something greasy. With cheese. She smiled. Pizza it is.

She pulled up outside the nearest mall and got out of the car, her stomach growling in anticipation. The pizzeria was packed, as usual, and she found herself in line behind a tall man with broad shoulders. She could barely see past him. Inching closer, she tried to get a good look at the menu. The man in front took a step backwards, the heel of his shoe landing on her foot.

Melody yelped and jumped back, almost losing her balance. The man whirled around and grabbed her arm to steady her.

“I’m so sorry! Are you all right?”

He certainly sounded sorry. Melody raised her gaze to his face and her eyes widened in recognition. He was the hot guy from the restaurant, the one who had starred in her fantasies for the past twenty-four hours. Suddenly she felt flustered and nervous. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“I’m afraid that’s what happens when you have feet as big as mine,” he said apologetically, flashing a contrite grin. His teeth were just a little crooked and his smile was slightly lopsided, which only made it more appealing. His body was no less impressive: well built and powerful-looking. He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular arms, blue jeans that fitted just right and spotless tackies at least twice as expensive as her brother’s.

Melody forced her gaze back to his face. “Uhm, no problem. I shouldn’t have stood so close anyway. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Hunger does strange things to people.” He smiled again, and Melody felt her knees buckle.

The man pointed at the menu and said something, but she was too busy staring at him to pay attention.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I’m way too tired to be talking to someone this good-looking, she thought miserably. I’m probably a mess! Where’s that full-length mirror when you need it?

“I was just saying they have a special,” the man said. “Buy any large pizza with two extras and get a small one free.”

Melody ran a hand down the back of her head, hoping she didn’t look as tired as she felt. “They’ve probably increased the regular prices to make up for that.”

The man laughed. “And I thought they were being nice,” he teased. “What are you having? I’ll order for both of us.”

“Thanks, a small chicken and mushroom for me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Small?”

“I’ll be eating it alone,” she explained.

He grinned, suddenly looking very pleased, then leaned towards the counter and placed the order.

Melody fumbled in her bag and fished out a R50 note.

“It’s okay. I’ve got it,” he said, pushing her hand away gently.

“Oh no, that’s really not necessary,” she protested. “Please take the money.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s bad manners to refuse a gift? Come on, let’s have a seat while we wait.” He led her away from the counter.

Melody didn’t know whether to be grateful or feel put out. Grateful, probably, but she couldn’t help it; she liked to pay for her own things. That was the whole point of being independent. She could hear her friends’ voices in her head, telling her to relax. It was only pizza.

“I’m Thabiso, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand. “Thabiso Gumede.”

She took it with a smile. “Melody Nyathi.”

“Lovely name,” he remarked.

She almost swooned. “Thanks. And thanks for the pizza too. That’s kind of you.”

“Hey, it’ll be my good deed for the week.” He leaned a little closer. “Did you have a good time with your girlfriends last night?”

So he recognised her as well. A little shiver of pleasure ran up Melody’s spine. “Ah, it was you I saw at the restaurant,” she said, feigning nonchalance.

“Wow, she noticed,” he replied with a grin.

Their number was called and the two of them moved forward to get their food. Thabiso’s arm brushed against Melody’s sleeve and a jolt of electricity shot through her. He handed her the smaller box.

“It was nice meeting you, Melody.”

“You too.” That’s it? she wondered in dismay. Aren’t you going to ask for my number?

“Enjoy the pizza,” he said. He lingered for an agonising second as if debating his next move, then smiled and swept out into the night.

For a moment, Melody was at a loss. Have I been out of the game so long that I’ve forgotten how to read the signals? she wondered. I could have sworn there was something there.

She sighed and walked to her car, her heart still hammering against her ribs. Stop, she chided herself. The disappointment was so strong she could almost taste it, sour and unpleasant on her tongue. She shook her head. Maybe the chemistry had been one-sided. Thabiso was just a nice man in a pizza shop.

“Melody!”

She turned around, startled. There he was, two cars away, about to get into his silver Audi.

“Hi,” he crooned, walking towards her.

She felt her stomach flip over. “Hi.”

His smile was ridiculous. “Sorry, I just forgot to ask you something.”

Oh Lord, thought Melody, grateful for the presence of her car, just in case she lost the use of her legs. How in the world does he get away with being this sexy? She cleared her throat, managed to string a few words together and even threw in a coy smile for good measure. “Really? What’s that?”

“Well . . .” He offered a sheepish laugh. “From the moment I walked out of that pizzeria, I regretted not asking for your number.”

Serves you right, she thought, her smile widening. “I don’t usually give my number to strange men,” she said, toying with the strap of her handbag.

“That’s a very smart policy,” he teased. His Blackberry materialised a moment later and he looked at her with his head cocked to one side. “I’d love to see you again, Melody. On purpose this time.” A flicker of doubt crossed his face, momentarily marring his features. “Unless there’s already someone in the picture. You’re not wearing a ring, and you ordered pizza for one, but still . . .” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her response.

“There’s no one,” she blurted out. “At the moment I’m . . . free.”

His grin returned. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. And your number is?”

Melody grinned and held out her hand. “Here, let me do it.” He gave her the Blackberry and she entered her name and number, then called her phone before handing back Thabiso’s. A second later, her ringtone went off. “And now I have yours.”

“Thank you.” He pocketed the Blackberry. “I have to get going,” he said, showing no sign of moving.

“Me too. Good night, Thabiso.” Melody took a step backwards.

“Night. I’ll be in touch.”

“Sure.” She turned around and walked the few steps to her car with a little more swagger than usual, knowing he was watching. Good thing she was wearing those skinny jeans that brought out the best in her generous butt.

* * *

“I knew it!” exclaimed Buhle, pounding her fist against the sofa and almost sending the bowl of popcorn flying.

“Calm down,” said Melody, snatching the bowl out of danger and shooting her friend a warning glance. “Watch the sofa.” She frowned and ran a hand over the velvety beige upholstery, still new and spotless.

“Why? You met somebody. I’m excited!”

“Spill it, Mel,” demanded Sophie from the armchair next to them.

The three were curled up in front of Melody’s home theatre system, pretending to watch a DVD. Her friends had taken a break from helping her redecorate the flat to unwind, but then spent the duration of the film chatting and had to keep going back to the bits they had missed.

Slowly but surely the flat was taking shape. Over the years, Melody had managed to amass countless artefacts and pieces of furniture that corresponded to her black-beige-silver theme, and now she had weeded out the ill-fitting junk of her youth to make room for newer, more sophisticated pieces. The living room was her favourite: beige sofas, a black coffee table and wall unit, and silver items here and there – the elliptical clock, the photo frames, the vases. All the large pieces were in place, except the massive metal sculpture of a woman pouring water, which had taken up residence near the kitchen until Melody could decide where to put it.

She felt weak at the mere thought of Thabiso. “I wouldn’t say I met somebody,” she said cautiously. “He just bought me pizza.”

“The way to a woman’s heart, Mel, the way to a woman’s heart.” Buhle turned her attention back to the DVD, then whipped her head around again and gave her friend a knowing look. “Was he hot?”

Melody laughed. “Is that all you care about?”

“Yes,” said Buhle and Sophie in unison.

“Sies, you’re shallow,” teased Melody. “You should’ve come to church with me this morning, so you can learn about the things that really matter.”

“Right now the only thing that matters is that you’re betraying the sisterhood,” said Sophie. “What happened to being single and independent?”

“Hawu, come on!” laughed Melody. “It’s not like I went and eloped! I just said it was nice to flirt a little, that’s all. It was harmless.”

The other two exchanged glances.

“Did you get a name?” asked Sophie.

“Thabiso.” Melody felt a little tingle at the sound of his name.

“Look at that smile!” Sophie tossed a kernel of popcorn at her. “I can’t believe it. All it takes to win you over is a small pizza!”

“Ja, she’s not worth much, is she?” Buhle inched closer to Melody on the sofa and peered into her face. “Seriously, though, do you like him?”

“I barely know the man!” Melody protested.

“But do you want to see him again?” prodded Sophie.

Melody hesitated. “Well . . . I mean . . . I wouldn’t mind . . . Not that it means anything,” she added hastily.

But it was too late. The expressions on her friends’ faces told her they thought she had protested too much. And if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that seeing Thabiso again would be the highlight of her week. If only he would call.