Читать книгу The Cupid Club - Cheryl Ntumy S. - Страница 4

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Amarani Cosmetics was run from a small, neat office in Parkview. There were only three full-time people on the staff: Amarava, her cousin, Senzeni, and their administrative assistant, Portia.

Amarava and Senzeni sat in the office with Raj, their legal counsel, going over the details of their first major contract. For the last few weeks they had been in negotiations to provide make-up services and products for Jozi VIP, a new lifestyle TV show. Amarava had been working as a freelance make-up artist and stylist for years before she finally decided to produce her own range of cosmetics.

Success was a matter of necessity for Amarava, who liked to pay for her own luxuries. Although her aunt and uncle had tried not to spoil the girls, they had grown up with a strong knack for business and knew all the right people. Amarava loved her designer clothes, but she had financial savvy and knew how to save and invest her money wisely.

After graduating from university with a degree in cosmetology, she had done a one-year course in fashion while working for a cosmetics company. She had worked her way up the ladder and three years later she branched out on her own. She had now built up an impressive clientele, including several celebrities and women’s magazines, all willing to pay top dollar for her expertise. All in all, she had done very well for herself. Now she worked under the company, and Jozi VIP would be her first big job for Amarani.

“The contract’s looking much better,” Raj was saying. “They’ve adjusted that loophole we found last time, so now it’s ironclad. You’ll be using Amarani products exclusively, unless there’s something needed that the range does not provide. I don’t have any more concerns as far as this contract goes.”

“So we’re good,” said Senzeni, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“I’m happy,” he replied, nodding.

“If you’re happy, we’re happy,” said Amarava. “Tell them we’re ready to sign and we want to meet asap. If they want to start shooting next month, we need to be prepared.”

“Will do.” Raj got up, sliding the contract into a plastic file. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve spoken to them.”

“Thanks,” replied Amarava. When he was gone, she leaned against the reception desk and sighed. “It’s lunch time already!”

“Is it?” Senzeni glanced at her phone.

“Time flies when you’re making money,” quipped Portia from behind the desk. “This contract is a big deal. We should celebrate.”

“We’ll do that when the ink on the contract is dry,” said Senzeni, the voice of prudence as always. “Besides, I’m still worried about the pressure this is going to put on you.” She nudged Amarava’s shin with the steel-capped toe of her shoe.

Amarava’s eyes twinkled. “You think I can’t handle doing make-up for a couple of TV presenters one night a week?” She shook her head. “When I first got out of varsity, I worked up to twelve hours a day. This is the easy life, Senzi.”

Senzeni shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I just hope you’ll still have time for the Cupid Club.” Portia leaned forward with a mischievous smile. “When’s your next date?”

“Good question,” said Amarava wryly. “Angie still has to get back to me with the details.”

As if on cue, her phone rang loudly from her desk. “That might be her!” She hurried to the desk to answer it before it could stop ringing.

“Is that Ama?” Angelique always began her phone calls with that question, as if she expected to find an impostor on the other end of the line.

Amarava smiled. “No, it’s a military robot programmed to sound like me. What’s up, lovey?”

“One day you’ll appreciate my caution,” Angelique drawled. “I’ve talked to David. He’s very excited about meeting you and he wants to have the date sometime this week. How’s your schedule?”

Amarava felt her pulse race at the thought of the first date. There was something about that moment, meeting a man for the first time. “I have a photo shoot on Friday night, but I’m free every other day. How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s good. And the venue? First date is lady’s choice,” Angelique reminded her.

“That Japanese place in Rosebank. I’ll meet him there at seven.”

“Great! I’ll tell him. Oh, by the way, wear purple. And don’t argue,” she added, as Amarava opened her mouth to do just that. “You must have at least twenty purple outfits, so just pick one. He’ll be wearing an orange shirt.”

Amarava sighed. She hated being told what to wear, but it was standard for all first dates initiated through the club. “Okay. Thanks, Angie.”

“Well?” demanded Senzeni, as soon as Amarava hung up. “What’s the story?”

“His name is David,” Amarava replied, and once again she felt the delicious thrill of anticipation. “He’s a photographer, apparently good-looking and funny, and we’re meeting tomorrow for sushi.”

Senzeni and Portia exchanged glances. “Look at her. She likes him already!” Senzeni marvelled.

Amarava giggled. “I like the sound of him, yes. But let’s not get excited until I’ve actually met the guy.”

“He’s the one,” declared Portia, slapping her palm against her desk. “I’m telling you. I’m getting good vibes.”

Senzeni rolled her eyes. “Yoh, here we go again.”

Portia’s vibes had developed a reputation in the office. She had vibes about everything, from world events to weather patterns, and she felt the need to share all of them with her employers. Just a few days earlier she’d had a bad vibe about some takeaway Senzeni had ordered when the three of them were working late. Amarava, who was health-conscious and picky about what she ate, stuck to a cup of vegetable soup. Portia had refused to eat a thing, and sure enough, Senzeni had suffered from terrible indigestion for the rest of the night.

“She had good vibes about Mandla,” Amarava pointed out.

“We were already together when she met him!” Senzeni protested.

“Ja, but if I didn’t have good vibes, you would never have married him.” Portia folded her arms and looked smug.

“Listen to this crazy woman.” Senzeni clicked her tongue. “What are your vibes telling you about our chances of getting some food from S’thandwa’s before two o’clock?”

Portia closed her eyes and took a deep, theatrical breath. After a moment her eyes fluttered open. “Hhayi khona, Senzi. The queue!”

Amarava laughed, shaking her head, and returned to her desk. She opened her handbag and took out the tuna and vegetable salad she had packed that morning. She didn’t have time to go out for lunch; she had two women coming in to do a makeover for a magazine, and she had to get ready. Besides, she had no intention of eating the junk Portia and Senzeni called food.

* * *

Clement and Olivia’s home was a sprawling estate in Sandton. As Amarava pulled up at the white gate, she felt a familiar pang of nostalgia. Her memory of the flat she had lived in with her parents was hazy, but she had vibrant, wonderful memories of growing up in her aunt and uncle’s home.

There were times she felt guilty about her good fortune. If her parents had lived, she would never have had the privileges that came with financial security. She would have traded the wealth for her parents in a heartbeat, but she was grateful for all the opportunities her uncle and aunt had given her.

The gate slid open and she drove into the yard.

“Hmm,” said Litha, sniffing the air appreciatively. “They’ve just cut the grass.”

Amarava smiled. The family had two gardeners who made sure the grounds always looked like a little piece of paradise. She parked haphazardly as always, blocking the garage entrance. She grinned at her sister’s impatient sigh. “Relax, Litha. We’re home, remember?”

They walked up the winding brick walkway to the wide, white-tiled steps, and the front door swung open. Their aunt stood in the doorway, wreathed in smiles. She still looked good for a woman in her fifties, but then again, she had a personal trainer and a nutritionist. Amarava’s heart twisted just a little at the sight of her. Olivia was of average height, with a willowy figure and twinkling eyes. She looked just like Amarava’s mother, except she was wearing a flawless cream suit and heels and Amarava’s mother had been more of a skirt and sandals sort of woman.

“Girls!” Olivia cried in delight. “Come here and give me a hug.”

“Did you miss us that much?” laughed Litha, enveloping Olivia in a warm embrace.

“No, she just wants to soften us up so we’ll offer to do the dishes,” Amarava replied, raising an eyebrow at her aunt.

Olivia looked at her, all wide-eyed innocence. “When have I ever done that?”

“Always,” the sisters replied in unison, stepping into the house.

Their uncle stood in the foyer in his usual golf shirt and chinos. He smiled. “Hello, girls. It’s good to see you.” His hugs were less exuberant than his wife’s; he had never been one for open displays of affection. “Let’s eat now, I’m starving.”

“Oh, good, you’re here.” Senzeni emerged from the kitchen with an apron on and a large serving dish in her hands. “Ausi Seipati says hi. She was here a few days ago.”

Ausi Seipati was the family’s former housekeeper. She had been with them for ages, and was like part of the family.

“Ag, shame. Too bad we missed her,” said Litha as everyone moved to the dining room, where the table had already been set.

“Don’t worry, she promised to let us know next time she plans to come.” Senzeni set the dish on the table. “Come help me get the rest of the food.”

“Please tell me you didn’t cook,” said Amarava anxiously, eyeing the covered dish that Senzeni was setting down on the table.

Senzeni glared at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“She must still be traumatised by that cake you baked for Father’s Day,” her father told her, chuckling. “If you can call it a cake. I never tasted anything so terrible in my life!”

“Tata, I was nine!”

“Ja, nothing has changed,” he replied, making everyone laugh except Senzeni.

“Now that we’ve ticked ‘Mocking Senzeni’ off the to-do list, can I get some help in the kitchen?” she asked in an icy tone.

“Of course,” said Litha, linking her arm through her cousin’s.

“We wouldn’t want any accidents,” Amarava added with a wicked grin, earning another dirty look from Senzeni.

The huge kitchen was filled with a delicious aroma. Amarava could remember all the times the three girls had played under the counter, using pots and pans as pretend cars for their dolls. When they saw Ausi Seipati coming they would bolt into the garden, but the abandoned pots always gave them away.

“Mama cooked,” Senzeni explained, handing Amarava a dish.

“Really?” Amarava was thrilled. Olivia didn’t cook often. The three women carried the rest of the food to the table.

The doorbell rang just as Amarava was settling into her chair, and her sister jumped up to answer it. She reappeared a moment later with Senzeni’s husband, a stocky man with an infectious grin.

“You’re late,” Senzeni chided him.

“Sorry, s’thandwa sam, I was picking up the wine.” He held up a bottle. “Hey, Ama. I hear you have a hot date tomorrow.”

“Date?” Olivia’s eyes widened.

Amarava sighed. She didn’t like to discuss her dates with her aunt and uncle, especially since most of them didn’t lead anywhere. They took a lively interest in her love life, and Olivia especially was always asking whether she was seeing anyone.

Amarava hoped that some day soon she would bring home a wonderful man, but until then she preferred not to get anyone’s hopes up. “Yoh, some people have big mouths,” she grumbled, eyeing her cousin.

“Are you still part of that matchmaking club?” asked Clement, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“She’ll never leave,” said Litha, taking her place next to her sister. “Tomorrow she has a date with a photographer named David.”

Olivia beamed. “A photographer! I dated a photographer once.”

Her husband snorted. “And only once,” he said, making everyone laugh.

After Mandla had said a brief prayer, the meal began. They had never been a quiet, subdued family; they talked and joked while they ate.

“Tell us more about the contract with the TV show,” prompted Clement as they dug into their food. “Did they make you a fair offer?”

“It was more than fair,” replied Senzeni. Her father ran a construction company and often offered his daughter and nieces sound career advice.

Olivia cleared her throat. Amarava grinned behind her glass. Her aunt had a strict “no business at the dining table” policy, which her husband always seemed to forget.

Clement caught his wife’s eye and sighed. “So, Ama. Do you think this club of yours is really going to find you a man?”

“Why not?” She took a sip of wine. “The men are friends with at least one member in the group, so it’s safer than going out with complete strangers. We already know they’re decent guys; we only need to find out whether or not we get along.”

“I can picture you dating a photographer,” her aunt remarked. “You’re a make-up artist, you love glamour and fashion, and he probably works with a lot of people in fashion and beauty. This could be a good match.”

“Are you getting good vibes, Mama?” asked Senzeni slyly.

Amarava groaned. “Don’t mind her. Anyone for dessert?”

“I’ll get it,” said Olivia, getting to her feet. “It’s banana bread with ice cream, and frozen yoghurt for you, Ama.”

“Thank you, Auntie.”

Amarava loved being with her family. Nice as it was to have her independence, there was something special about coming home and enjoying a meal with the people she loved most.

* * *

“I’m nervous,” Amarava admitted as she stood in front of her full-length mirror, checking her white-and-purple dress.

“You look gorgeous,” Sheila assured her. She had come over to offer moral support and finally pick up the Amarani mascara she had ordered weeks earlier.

“Thanks.” Amarava frowned at her sleek ponytail, pressed her red lips together and slipped her feet into a pair of peep-toe ankle boots. “I think I need more shoes.”

“If you buy any more shoes, you’ll have to sleep in the lounge,” Sheila told her. “Relax, he’ll love you.”

“Have you met him?” Amarava glanced at Sheila as she picked up her bag.

“No, but Angie says he’s cute.”

“Cute or hot?”

Sheila laughed and pulled Amarava away from the mirror. “Hey, you’re going to be late. Can you get a move on?”

Litha was curled up on the sofa with the TV on and her laptop in her lap. She looked up and whistled. “Is that a new dress?”

“I bought this last month!” Amarava rolled her eyes.

“Exactly, new,” said Litha, grinning. “You look spectacular, as always, but aren’t you a little overdressed for sushi?”

“A woman can never be overdressed,” replied Amarava with a wink.

Sheila walked her to the car. “Remember, he’s going to be in an orange shirt.”

Amarava nodded. “It better be a nice shirt, or I’m walking right out of there!” She got into the car and started the engine. “Litha will give you the mascara. See you later!”

“Have fun!”

Amarava waved and pulled the car into the road, tyres screeching, and sped off.

When she arrived at the restaurant, it was five to seven. The restaurant was dimly lit, with Japanese paintings on the walls and lovely wood panelling. A sliding door led to the smoking area on the left, and the waitresses all wore black kimonos. The place wasn’t full, so she took her time scanning the tables, searching for an orange shirt. There he was, near the back.

Her heart started to pound. Besides the rusty-orange shirt – which got her approval – he wore black jeans and black boots, and a leather jacket hung over the back of his chair. She couldn’t see his face, but he was clean-shaven, with short, neat hair. So far, so good.

Amarava made her way towards him. He glanced at his phone, then looked towards the door. Her heart jumped. He really was handsome, with wide, laughing eyes and a soft mouth. Their eyes met, and for a fraction of a second Amarava felt as if she had been plunged into boiling water.

His eyes widened in appreciation as he realised who she was. He smiled, and his face took on a charming childlike quality that made her smile, too. He got to his feet as she approached.

“Amarava?” he asked hopefully.

She nodded. “You must be David.”

“I hope so, otherwise I’ll be very disappointed,” he remarked with a grin.

She laughed and took the seat opposite him. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“No, really, the pleasure is mine,” he said. “You’re beau–tiful. Is it okay for me to say that in the first five minutes?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’ll have to check the manual. No, I’m kidding. Thank you. You’re not exactly hideous yourself.”

“The surgery was successful,” he replied with another grin. “Oh, here comes the waitress. I have no idea what to order in a Japanese restaurant, so I’ll follow your lead.”

Amarava smiled. She liked him. He had a positive energy and he had made her laugh almost immediately. Plus he was sexy. Very sexy, she realised, glancing at him over the menu. She ordered sushi for herself and stir-fried rice and tofu for him.

Her phone rang just after the drinks arrived. It was Portia, no doubt calling to find out if her “good vibes” had been correct. Amarava apologised, put the phone on silent and made a mental note to call Portia later.

“Was that Rihanna?” asked David. “Your ringtone.”

Amarava grinned. “Yep. Are you a fan?”

He shook his head ruefully. “I like her hair, but not her music.”

Amarava’s jaw dropped. “At least tell me you like Beyoncé.”

“Sorry. I’m more into Zahara, Norah Jones. You know, laid-back stuff. All that jumping around in sexy costumes frightens me.”

Amarava laughed again.

“So.” He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. “Tell me about your name.”

“Oh.” She smiled; she should have seen that one coming. “People always ask. It’s the name of the queen of the first people, from Credo Mutwa’s book Indaba, My Children. Read it?”

David raised his eyebrows. “Ask me again next week.”

Amarava chuckled. “I’m told my dad was obsessed with the book. My mother wanted to name me after my grandmother, but he wasn’t having it. They died when I was seven,” she added, in a more subdued tone.

David’s smile faded. “I’m sorry to hear that. Who raised you?”

“My aunt and uncle. They’re fantastic. Anyway, tell me about you.”

He cleared his throat. “I was named after the kid with the slingshot who beat the giant Goliath. Obviously my parents had great expectations.”

Amarava laughed again. As the evening wore on, she found herself laughing so often that she couldn’t take the smile off her face. David wasn’t afraid to be silly, or to admit that he was nervous. His gorgeous smile didn’t hurt either, and when he looked at her with those expressive eyes, her heart beat a little faster.

“You’re not big on fish?” she asked, amused by the way he looked at her sushi.

“It’s the raw part that bothers me,” he confessed. “I’m more of a burger and chips kind of guy.”

“There’s only one word for that,” she replied. “Cholesterol.”

He laughed. “I know! I love it. Give me grease and a charred steak any day. But you’re obviously a health nut. Low fat, low sugar, low fun?”

“Low risk,” she retorted.

She couldn’t believe how well they were getting along, considering how different they were. She had heard of opposites attracting, but she had never experienced it – until now. There was a definite crackle in the air between them, and though he kept the conversation light, his eyes told her the attraction was mutual.

The waitress returned with the bill, and David and Amarava both reached for it. His fingers brushed hers, sending a pang of desire through her. She found herself looking at his hands, imagining how they would feel on her skin. They were large and strong, with long, slender fingers and short, clean nails. She could picture them touching her face, her neck, her thigh . . .

“Oh, no,” he said, breaking the spell. “None of this modern woman stuff, please. My father told me if I ever took a woman out and made her pay he would disinherit me, and I have my heart set on his record collection.”

Amarava burst out laughing. “Well, I certainly don’t want to deprive you of your inheritance.”

They walked out together, exchanging numbers and checking each other’s online profiles on their phones. His featured his photography, as well as other people’s work and countless images of anime characters.

“You’re really into fashion,” he remarked.

“You’re really into cartoons,” she countered.

“Hhayi, it’s not cartoons!” he cried. “It’s anime. Totally different.”

She giggled. “Sorry.” All too soon they were standing in front of the Mini, and Amarava wished she could press rewind. It was the best date she had been on in a long, long time . . . possibly the best date ever.

David’s tone grew serious. “So how does this work? Can I see you again, or is it up to Angelique?”

She smiled, suddenly feeling shy, and looked down at her shoes. The shiny leather looked reddish brown in the streetlights. “It’s up to me.”

“Oh, good.” He inched forward, then stepped back, looking uncertain.

They were standing very close to each other. She looked up into his eyes, neither of them speaking. Amarava got the feeling he wanted to kiss her, and if he had tried she might have let him. But he didn’t. Her stomach churned with longing and anxiety, and, as if picking up on it, David stepped back.

“I really had fun,” he admitted, his tone playful once again. “Would you mind if I stalked you online?”

She laughed. “I think I’ll survive.”

He waited until she pulled out of the parking lot and waved before he made his way to his own car.

Amarava found herself giggling uncontrollably like a teenager, her pulse racing at the thought of the way their hands had touched. When she got home, she was still smiling.