Читать книгу Sex, Lies Declassified - Eva Mazza - Страница 13

Jen was busy at work in Woodstock, a trendy creative hub a stone’s throw away from central Cape Town. Here she rubbed shoulders with other designers, artists, actors and musos. She loved her office block, an Art Deco building, fitted with an ancient wooden panelled and brass-buttoned lift that heaved her up to the third floor. Myron always insisted on using the stairs. “You’re gonna get stuck in that decrepit thing one day,” he’d joke. He was claustrophobic and wasn’t particularly nostalgic when it came to old things, preferring the modern, clean, technically savvy inventions of the twenty-first century. Which meant their shacking up together had become an issue. She loved her Victorian Oranjezicht home, and he loved his modern, stark Llandudno industrial masterpiece.

“Hi darling,” said Jen, answering her phone. It was Claudia.

“The private investigator came back to me.”

“Oh yes?” Jen was now behind her desk, checking her appointments for the day. Her assistant would be in any moment, her arrival heralding a most welcome cappuccino.

“Yes. The number wasn’t difficult to trace. It belongs to Mr John Pearce.”

Jen couldn’t hide her anger. “What the… What an asshole!”

Claudia didn’t say a word.

“I’m going to phone that son-of-a-bitch!”

Claudia kicked into therapist mode. “Do you think that’s the right thing to do?” Jen should make up her own mind but to think carefully before she did.

She sighed. “I guess we should just leave it.” Jen rose from behind her desk.

“The man’s a sociopath,” Claudia said. “It’s exactly as we thought.”

Jen’s mind raced. She wasn’t really listening to what Claudia was saying.

She walked around the desk to the samples of fabric lying on her worktable. She went through them as she spoke. “I will try not to let it get to me. I mean that’s what John is trying to do, isn’t it?”

She could hear Claudia tapping her pencil. “I think that would be best. It’s really his issue and not yours.”

Jen found the fabric she was searching for and jotted the code down on a pad in front of her. “Jane wanted to know why the WhatsApp message had rattled me so.”

“Jane?” Claudia didn’t know to whom she was referring. “Oh, Jane your shrink.” She could hear Claudia sigh. “Don’t even go there, Jen. I am telling you as a friend. Lee is dead. It’s completely irrelevant exploring why you were rattled by the message; whatever the reason.”

Jen took a long pause. “I was hoping he was alive.”

“Ah!” Claudia interjected. “So you hoped he was alive. Anybody would.”

“Yes, that’s what I said, but you know where Jane was going with it, don’t you?”

“I do. Stupid of her actually.”

Jen laughed. “Wow, Claudia, that’s unlike you, speaking against a colleague!”

“Friends come first in this instance. And you’re my friend. It’s a bloody useless, pointless exercise delving into why you ‘really’ want Lee to be alive.” Claudia sounded serious.

“Mmmm.” Jen leaned against her worktable.

“Psychologists need to give you a reason to come back so they can pay their bills.”

“Well, this WhatsApp has unsettled me. John’s a master at fucking with my brain.” Jen’s mind raced.

“Quite frankly, Jen, if you want my advice, I think you are done with therapy for a while. Put the money towards a holiday away with your gorgeous man who is alive. If you carry on with Plain-Jane you could be delving into necrophilia and questioning why you’re fantasising over a dead man.” Jen smiled. “Are we on for a drinkie Friday evening early? You, me and Sharon?” Claudia asked, brushing the WhatsApp message aside.

“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.” Then, “It’s the auction tomorrow night. Did you find something to wear?”

“I did. And I have an appointment for hair and nails. All organised.”

Jen grinned. She knew Claudia would look spectacular. She always did.

“Umm, getting back to Friday night: invite Patty. She seemed distant at your party. Maybe we’ve neglected her.” That’s what Jen loved about Claudia. She was acutely aware of people and their feelings. And it was true. They hadn’t been seeing much of Patty lately, and they hadn’t really made much effort to either.

Jen walked back to her desk. “She’ll be in New York.”

“Wow! Holiday?” Claudia asked.

“No, business apparently.”

“That’s strange. I wonder why she has business in New York. She works in a sex club for God’s sake, not a JSE listed company.”

Jen shrugged. “I didn’t ask. I never do. To be honest I’m too scared to probe. But anyway, she’s flying first class.”

“Crikey!” Claudia paused momentarily. “Speaking of probing,” she said, “your daughter has a meeting with Leonard for an article she’s writing.”

“Oh, so she did approach Len.” Jen smiled. Her daughter had taken her up on her suggestion; a first. “She’s doing an article on black…”

“…businessmen etc. in Krotoa City.”

“Krotoa City? You mean, Cape Town.”

Claudia laughed. “I’ll explain it to you over drinks on Friday, my darling white-privileged friend.”

“Don’t start your shit, Claudia. Just because you’re screwing a black man, doesn’t mean he’s fucked the white privilege out of you!”

The two roared with laughter. “Ah Jen. Your language is abhorrent. I don’t know where you learned to speak like this, but it really isn’t becoming.”

Just then, Zinhle, Jen’s assistant walked in with cappuccinos. “Claudy, I have to go. I love you. And I am over Jane my shrink who you and Sharon referred me to, by the way. See you tomorrow night.”

“Go google Krotoa City, babe.”

“I’m waiting for your explanation,” Jen lied, scribbling ‘Krotoa City’ on the pad. She had to make sure to be a lot more ‘woke’ – to use ‘Brig-speak’ – now she was living in what she thought was a more diverse town; although she knew her daughter would mock her for thinking Cape Town was diverse.