Читать книгу Sex, Lies Declassified - Eva Mazza - Страница 8

Patty grabbed the printed email from her desk. The ‘business’ offer to visit New York in hand, she sat in one of the comfortable armchairs in her office, facing the view of the Atlantic Ocean. It was a cloudless Monday morning. Having taken Saturday night off for Jen’s fiftieth, she had catching up to do at the club. Someone was stealing. Management was unhappy, and she felt accountable, as always, so she had come in to do a recon of their takings. She would also have to go through last night’s CCTV footage.

She studied the email entitled “Offer”, for the third time.

A man of apparently extraordinary wealth had been introduced to the Gentlemen’s club and had wanted to set-up something similar in New York. She couldn’t be sure if he was legit or not. It was difficult to determine the legitimacy of anything, really, because the club itself was illegally owned by top businessmen. Patty had felt unsettled since the death of her boss, Lee. She was beginning to believe there was no clear distinction between businessmen and gangsters. They’re all the same. Businessmen are gangsters.

She reread the email. Maybe if she organised a video-call she could assess what type of guy this American was (if indeed he was American) just by looking at him and sounding him out before flying off to New York to who knows what.

She thought about Lee. She missed him. Since his death, things had not been the same for her at work. They had moved premises under her charge, and she was given Lee’s shares; although it felt she had doubled up as the BEE-cum-female staff quota. Not that the club needed to adhere to any BEE regulations, Patty thought. They heeded no regulations; an illicit joint in every way. She realised just how much Lee had been her buffer, protecting her from the real sleaze of the club. Maybe she could sell her shares. Another cynical smile. Do joints like these accept resignations?

“And the smile?” Her ‘associate’, Snoekie had walked in without her noticing, “Hoekom smile jy?” He’d startled her with his quiet entry. He liked to speak to her in a Cape Malay accent when they were alone. Did he feel that with both being so-called coloured, the two shared a bond? He seemed to be featuring more and more in the club lately, and she didn’t like it. Not at all.

“I’m not smiling, Snoekie, I’m just smirking. There’s a huge difference.”

“Well, a penny for your thoughts.” He sat down opposite her, blocking her view, and grabbed a Bic pen off the glass coffee table, clicking it repeatedly.

With guys like Snoekie around, it wasn’t impossible for her to entertain the idea that Lee had been bumped off. Unlikely but not impossible.

She sat up straight, ready for anything untoward that may happen between her and this Snoekie creature. She was used to uninvited glances, unsolicited touches and unwelcome sexual banter from men. Patty knew it all too well.

She thought about Jen’s fiftieth birthday celebration. What sheltered happy lives these rich people seemed to lead. How little they knew of what went on around them. She couldn’t share the goings-on at the club with any of them, even if she wanted to. That’s why she kept her distance. True friendship was something she hadn’t ever really experienced.

To be honest, females weren’t her thing. She had a deep mistrust of women, and they mistrusted her. She wasn’t going to deny her looks were a huge detractor, especially among married women. And the fact that she was single and men ogled her with abandon didn’t help either. Yes, she had used her looks to her advantage, but lately she’d become sick of it all. Her duplicitous lifestyle prevented her from forging close bonds. Ironically, since the ‘John-reveal’ when Patty was caught in a compromising position with Jen’s husband, Jen had become her closest friend. Still, she couldn’t form the kind of friendship she would have liked with her, nor with Sharon and Claudia, for that matter. Her work had made it impossible. She felt compelled to live two separate and very different lives. Initially it hadn’t been that difficult, being coloured in South Africa, she was used to non-disclosure. Anyway, in her experience, not many whites cared to know more about Patty which suited her just fine.

Snoekie’s eyes were on her. Dull blue, they gave nothing away; unlike his tattoos which he tried hard to conceal beneath his Replay shirts.

“The way I see it, I have no option but to go,” she said to him guardedly.

“Exactly. I wouldn’t sniff my nose up to dis offer,” he said, pressing his palm up against his nose and sniffing; an annoying trait of his.

Turn my nose up, you idiot. She smiled. “I see there’s an email address. Do I reply or are you going to, Snoekie?”

Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on him. He wasn’t where he was because he was stupid. An entrepreneur of sorts, and a good one at that, he had also inherited a power-chip he carried on his shoulder.

There’d been a time when she’d been naïve enough to believe the club operated within strict boundaries; no sex-trafficking, no women employed without their consent. But she couldn’t be sure about this anymore. Especially since Snoekie had billowed out from the smoke of Lee’s car-wreck. His crude tattoos certainly attested to the fact that he was a gangster and had spent some time in jail.

“You can reply. It’s better to deal with all dis jouself, en don’t cc me. Jis sen me copies of your communication.”

She crossed her legs, and her skirt rode up above her knee. She noticed him glance down at her thighs. Patty pulled down her skirt. Then she looked him squarely in the eyes.

“You feeling a little lost without your boyfriend?” he asked.

Her heart pounded.

“To tell you the truth, Snoekie, I am. I miss him terribly. And you?” She challenged him to a stare down, “Do you miss your boss?”

His cold eyes almost broke the duel. “He was never my boss.”

“And he never was my boyfriend.” Patty continued to stare at him, showing a modicum of bravery.

“Don’t forget that, princess.” He shifted in his chair.

“What? That he was never your boss or my boyfriend?”

He pushed his chair back and made for the exit. Every finger encrusted in gold.

The Gentlemen’s club could pay for her trip to New York. In fact, since Lee’s death, she could pay for her own trip, but she would take up the offer of a first-class ticket and a stay at one of Manhattan’s finest hotels, paid for by this mysterious, Jack Wallerst.

After dealing with Snoekie, she surely could handle some American with a fake identity.

She watched him leave. He had reserved his gangster walk for her, so ridiculously contrived. Hey, fucking walk properly, arsehole! She wanted to shout out to him. One day.

Trying not to feel unnerved, she reread the printed email:

Dear Snoekie,

Thank you for your time. I would have liked to have met directly with you, but I am happy to meet with your associate, Patty Klein. Below, please see the temporary reservations for flight and hotel bookings. Awaiting Ms Klein’s passport details to confirm. Visas can be organized at short notice. Ms Klein to please send me her details as a matter of urgency.

Best,

Jack.

She moved to her desk and sat down behind her computer. Why are all clandestine characters called Jack? Jack Sparrow, Jack Black? She hadn’t been given much notice, had she? Snoekie had been sitting on the email for a week, but he expected her to pack and leave by Wednesday. Patty placed her manicured fingers on the keyboard of her laptop:

Dear Mr Wallerst…