Читать книгу Dreams and Desires - Louise Make - Страница 5

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“Have Bonga send me these photographs from the Balanced Success shoot – I want shots twenty and twenty-four,” Moya told her assistant. “I think we should break up the middle column of text on the second page with another picture, maybe one more of the office shots with Ella.”

She was happy with Friday’s shoot results. Thandi’s instincts about Zakhele’s potential in front of the camera had paid off quite extraordinarily. Though the weekend hadn’t done much to ease Moya’s apprehension about their upcoming date, the shoot results were almost worth the sleepless nights she’d had.

“You would’ve done a way better job as our female model – you seem to fit with Zakhele.”

Moya’s head snapped up. Fortunately Lindi had missed her reaction – she was busy compiling a current affairs research folder at Moya’s request.

Moya wasn’t sure she’d understood her assistant correctly. “Excuse me?” she croaked, reaching beneath her glasses to rub her eyes. They were tired from poring over the contact sheet’s tiny photos.

Lindi merely carried on sorting and filing corresponding research items together. “You and Zakhele. We saw you together and Bonga snapped a quick pic – please don’t get mad. We were talking about how there’s an energy between you two.”

“How daft of Bonga to photograph a moment fuelled by a collective overactive imagination.” Moya moved a couple of notepads about her desk, trying to look busy, then quickly stopped when she nearly knocked her mug over onto the contact sheet. She looked up to find Lindi watching her and laced her fidgety fingers together. “There wasn’t any energy between us – I only met Mr Nkosi last Friday.”

“So? Haven’t you heard of love at first sight?”

“Nonsense.” Moya coughed lightly. “There’s just something about the way he interacts with all women. Surely you must’ve noticed the uh . . . sensuality he gives off when he’s around ladies?”

“No, I had a chat with him, but I’m pretty sure there was no flirtation coming from him.” Lindi’s brow was scrunched as she tried to remember. “I read a blog last week that said women’s instinct to settle down ignites in their early twenties and men’s in their late twenties. Maybe that explains his magnetism. Maybe he’s ready to find somebody to settle down with.”

Moya took her glasses off. “Zak’s in his late twenties?”

“Yep, he’s twenty-eight.”

“Not . . . in his thirties?

Lindi’s dreadlocks bounced as she shook her head. “Nope. I worked his age out from his ID number when he e-mailed his personal details through for the contract. That man is twenty-eight.”

Moya leaned back in her chair.

Zakhele Nkosi was two years younger than her! How could she have agreed to go on a date with a younger man? And, more importantly, how was she going to get out of it?

After placing the organised folders on Moya’s desk, Lindi headed for the door. “I’ll get Bonga to delete the photograph he took of you and Zakhele. There’s one printout that I know of – I’ll find it and drop it off here for you.”

With that she closed the office door behind her.

Moya stretched her stiff muscles.

There was no way she would go out with a man in his twenties, not even once. It would be difficult enough competing for his attention around girls as delightful as Lindi and Ella, but having to worry about being older than them – and him – was more than she was willing to sign up for.

The phone rang suddenly, startling her out of her introspection.

She took a steadying breath before answering. “Moya, hello?”

“Portuguese or Vietnamese?”

Moya’s heart doubled its speed. She knew that voice. “Zak . . . Why are you calling me? Aren’t you due to come in soon?”

“Yes, but I wanted to book a table for our date. I’ve seen you in your work environment and something tells me you wouldn’t want to discuss restaurants when I come in on Friday to sign on the dotted line. Now, Portuguese or Vietnamese?”

“Neither.” Moya was taken aback by the pang she felt at rejecting him, but she steeled herself against the tightness in her chest. “I’ve thought about it and realised that I should never have agreed to go out with you. We’re simply not suited to each other.”

He didn’t even falter. “I don’t see how you could know this without having spent any time with me.”

“Well, I just do.”

“I was born eMpumalanga, but we moved to Cape Town when I was three, so this has always felt like home to me. I enjoy being outdoors, and love cooking if I have someone to share the meal with. I live in Lakeside and work as a car sales manager in Newlands.”

After a short chuckle he added, “And I model in my spare time.”

Moya had to inhale slowly to get past her body’s response to his laughter. “I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

“Do you find anything I’ve told you thus far particularly offensive?”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “No, I don’t.”

“Good, then you don’t have any reason to think we wouldn’t have a good time on a date.”

Moya could almost picture the satisfied expression on his face. “But there are other . . . details to consider.”

He paused. “Moyomhle, nothing you say could possibly negate how I felt the first time I saw you. So, line up all the details you want – I’ll still want to share one exceptional night with you once all is said and done. Besides, a deal’s a deal.”

* * *

“Dedicating the Personal Space section to tips on personal investing is not a good idea.”

Moya leaned back in her chair as she addressed her team of eight women. Finalising the concept for the August issue of Quest had just hit its first developmental bump: the ideas presented to her were uninspired and hackneyed. And with May well underway, they would have to complete assembly of the August concept soon.

“We need to strike a clever balance here,” she continued. “I know our readers aren’t the type of women who relax by crocheting or doing DIY projects, but that doesn’t mean they don’t want a break from all the business talk either.”

“So true,” Margot, one of the features writers, interjected contemplatively. “A very specific pattern arises in the e-mails we receive as winter draws to an end. Everybody complains about not having enough time for themselves because they’re too occupied with closing the financial year on as high a note as possible. Their businesses take precedence and all their remaining energy goes to their families. Yet, at the same time, the promise of spring makes them anxious for personal renewal.”

“Our readers are yearning for the chance to treat themselves, but feel they need to put the needs of their families before their own,” added Aisha, Thandi’s assistant.

Moya perked up. “Well then, why not treat this August’s Personal Space as a bridge between the demands of family and preparing yourself for the coming summer months?”

Aisha brightened visibly. “So they won’t feel selfish about clearing their schedules to do something fun! We could suggest family activities to look out for at the popular spring expos, list trips for two to revitalising spas and health restaurants, and finish off with activities they could do at home or in their neighbourhoods without spending a cent. I’d love to link our fashion theme to that, with the sort of outfits to focus on outside the boardroom. Perhaps the highlight could be to focus on the importance of loving ourselves as much as we do others.”

Moya couldn’t help smiling at her enthusiasm. “Well done, Aisha, I like that very much. Be sure to keep the beauty elements in sync with the fashion ideas in the Retail Space. These sections still need a little more work, but unfortunately we’re out of time. Think on it so we can pull together an August issue with impact. I’ll get Lindi to arrange an editorial meeting, at which point I expect to wrap this up, ladies. This has to be set in stone on Friday, so I can set up an impeccable compilation for Lebo.”

Moya watched everyone file out of her office and promised herself a much-deserved break. What she needed was an evening off from all the brainstorming and organising.

* * *

At six o’clock, exactly one hour after leaving their Claremont office, Moya entered the movie rental shop.

She’d given in to temptation and stopped for her favourite snacks – cashew nuts and buttered popcorn – before peeking in at the DVD shop to check for new releases. She told herself she deserved a treat after the day she’d had. What she wouldn’t admit was that she was desperate for a diversion from her thoughts about Zakhele.

It took her ten minutes to discover two new movies in the romance section and another ten seconds to admit that she didn’t know which one to choose. So she marched off to seek the shop assistant’s help.

“They’re both great,” said the girl between blowing enormous gum bubbles. “This one’s about a man who falls in love with a woman who’s dying and the only way he can save her is by giving up his own life. The lead actor was the bomb diggity.”

“I’m sorry, he was who?”

“He was good,” the girl explained patiently. “And the second movie’s about a woman who gets to know a complete stranger over the phone. She’s the type who normally cuts herself off from the world, but he sneaks into her heart anyway. This actress’s performance was totally the bomb di . . . I mean, good.”

“So, which one do you recommend?” Moya felt more torn than ever.

“Oh, I have no clue, dude. I loved both.”

“Right. Sold.”

Her phone rang as she was handing cash to the assistant for both movies.

“Hello?”

“Hi, sweetie!” Itumeleng still had exactly the same amount of energy he’d had the day Moya had met him ten years before. Explosive. “Guess what? Okay, you’ll never guess this, so I’ll just tell you. We’re going to the Big Apple!”

“New York?” Moya was astonished.

“No – my dear, clueless sweetheart – not the city, the club in Green Point. You really need to get out more.”

“Oh. Enjoy.”

Tumi let out an exaggerated groan. “Shaz and I were planning on taking you out, actually.”

“Not tonight.” Moya shook her head. “Last Friday I had a nightmare of a shoot to supervise. Then I spent the entire weekend proofreading rewrites in between calling nearly every florist in the Western Cape in search of one willing to commit to delivering enough roses, lilies and poppies to fill a garden party in December. And today I was in meeting after meeting, four in total. I even missed lunch.”

Tumi’s tone softened. “Oh sweetie, that all sounds hectic.”

“It was. But I’m taking care of it all,” Moya sighed. “Quest’s August issue will be conceptualised in time – after all, planning magazine issues three months in advance is what I do. And that stressful shoot delivered marvellous pictures, so all’s well.”

“And the gazillion garden posies? What are those for?”

“Roses, lilies and poppies,” Moya amended. “I’m planning a baby shower for my sister-in-law. My mother’s Greek mythology addiction has rubbed off on Kay, so I thought it would be nice to make it the theme for the baby shower. It’s perfect because I know she’d prefer a sophisticated lunch to a Disney party – but it also means I’ll have my work cut out for me.”

“Just don’t let Kay walk all over you, sweetie.”

“I’m not letting her take advantage,” Moya quickly answered. “Sam and Kay have been through an awful time with their struggle to fall pregnant. And when their doctor told them a year ago that it might never happen . . . The whole family was over the moon at the news of the first Duma grandchild. This is the best gift I could ever give them – a baby shower to beat all baby showers. But the day Kay crosses a line I’ll be the first to let her know, trust me.”

“Well, all right . . .”

“So, please forgive me for not coming to New York with you –”

“The Big Apple!”

“– but this is the first quiet evening I’ve had in a while. I just want to go home and relax. End of story.”

“And eat popcorn and watch fairytales,” Tumi added in mock accusation. “Not forgetting spending the night with your dream lover again.”

“You know me too well,” Moya laughed, tucking the DVDs in her bag.

“Moya, I need to say something – just this once.” His tone was more serious than she’d ever heard it. “There’s a whole world outside, one more real than anything on your television screen or in your dreams. I worry about you sometimes. I worry that life will pass you by while you watch movie stars and your sister-in-law and everybody else live and love. You need to give yourself permission to live and love as well.”

After they’d ended the call, Moya waved goodbye to the blue-haired shop assistant. A few minutes later she was driving home, her thoughts far off.

“End of story?” She shook her head at the traffic lights that had just turned green, not bothered by the fact that she was talking to herself again. “My journey’s just beginning, isn’t it?”