Читать книгу Banking on Love - Sibusiswe Dhuwe - Страница 5

2

While on the surface Lulu bought into her mother and sister’s constant exhortations to marry a wealthy man in order to secure a good lifestyle for herself, a stubborn part of her – not too deeply buried – insisted she be her own backup.

To that end she had an Independence Plan, which was growing steadily. In another five years she would be able to buy into one of the many new housing developments that were mushrooming all over Jozi. Her plan was to find a neat two-bed unit in a small to medium lifestyle complex that would be her very own.

Right now, living in Nothando’s granny flat above their storage unit was safe and convenient. For as long as Lulu had known, she’d always lived in the bosom of her family, and while she wanted her independence, she was smart enough to realise that it was mainly of the financial kind. She loved being a hop, skip and jump away from her sister and her family, and living next door to her small circle of friends.

But at times like these Lulu wished for a little distance. As she shuffled on a pair of gladiator sandals, swiped a glossy brush over her lips and reluctantly began to make her way to the main house, she allowed her mind to replay the events of the evening before. She had better get it all straight in her head before she was forced to present her doings to her sister.

Feeling restless after her date with Moneybags Molefe – she really should stop calling him that – Lulu had decided to go round to Dumisani’s. Yes, it was almost midnight, but managing a hotel meant his hours were flexible, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d pitched up at his place after a date to talk to someone who wouldn’t try to pressurise her into anything.

Nothando’s approach to successful dating was to treat it like a military operation, whereas Precious, on the other hand, expected bells and horses, fireworks and overwrought declarations of undying love to feature, and was always vocal in her disappointment when they didn’t.

Lulu didn’t want to think of her mother’s expectations, which were even higher than Nothando’s. She was constantly being reminded that it was her duty to marry as well as, if not better than, her sister – after all, that was the point of having had two daughters and no sons. Wealthy sons-in-law were necessary in order to secure a lifestyle which she, their mother, had always expected and never got. “We didn’t have the opportunities you young girls have today to be the wives of rich businessmen and live in big houses and send your children to good multiracial schools.”

Why was she even thinking about all that? Lulu wondered. That was why she liked being with Dumisani. He took her mind off her issues by just letting her be.

She knew the code for the outer door to his apartment block, so she’d let herself in. He’d opened his door at her knock; by now he really should have given Lulu her own key. His starched white dress shirt was open a couple of buttons down and his smartly pressed black slacks looked as if he hadn’t spent even a minute in them, but Lulu knew he’d probably been wearing them all day. No matter what, even casual, he always looked incredibly smart.

“It’s late, Lu. What do you want?”

Paying no attention to his surly greeting, she’d breezed in with the boxed mini chocolate gateau in her hand, stopping to give Dumisani a peck on the cheek. “Don’t be like that, darling, I brought you your favourite dessert. Hmm, you smell divine, what’s that you’ve got on?”

“A hard day’s blood, sweat and tears,” he’d replied dryly.

“It works,” Lulu had joked over her shoulder as she moved further into the flat.

She loved his place. Like Nothando’s home in green and leafy Lone Hill, everything was in place and immaculate, but it was warm and inviting and there were traces of Dumisani everywhere, things she knew he liked and took pleasure in. There were the series of Art-Deco frames on the forest-green wall with their old-fashioned black-and-white photographs of his family, an intricate piece of wire art in the shape of a grand piano, a full-length mirror mounted in his hallway, set in a hand-decorated frame featuring intricate beadwork, and – hanging from the arched neck of a wall lamp in his living room – a leg rattle made of ten small gourds, which had once belonged to his maternal grandmother.

Lulu enjoyed Dumisani’s eclectic collection of art. He had a story to tell about every painting or sculpture he’d ever bought, never only for its value, but for what it meant to him. Sometimes the piece had sparked a thought, and when this happened he would find a place – usually on its base, if it had one – to put a sticker recording that thought.

As a result, Lulu loved picking things up or turning them over to see if there might be some random thought of his recorded there. She now knew every piece well and accordingly felt she knew their owner. Dumisani was himself a work of art with his beautiful smooth, dark skin on a face that was all angles and planes, and his even white teeth that transformed his face when he smiled.

She’d turned back, eyebrow arched as he slowly followed her into the living room after having shut the door. “What?” she’d asked and set the gateau on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living area.

Dumisani had stood in the arched doorway just looking at her. Then, shaking his head, he had moved to the warmly lit nook where he’d set up a bar. Taking two glasses down from the mirrored shelves lined with a variety of glassware, he now sent her a questioning glance.

“Yes, please.”

“I swear you only come here to drink my wine,” Dumisani grumbled. “Here.” He handed her the glass he’d poured and touched his glass to hers. “To Mr Moneybags and a successful resolution of these negotiations, so maybe one day I can have a peaceful evening at home.”

“Oh, come on, Dumi, you look forward to my visits and we both know it, so don’t pretend.”

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” He moved away, leaving Lulu feeling a little puzzled.

She studied his face for a moment, then asked, “What’s up with you? You’re acting strange.”

“Mina? No, never. Mild-mannered Dumi, day in and day out, always the same.”

“Hmph!” Dumisani’s statement made Lulu even more puzzled, as there was nothing mild about him, and definitely not that evening. Instead of his usual relaxed and joking self, he continued to be a little sharp-edged and brooding, until finally she decided it hadn’t been a good idea to visit.

“I think I’d better go home. You’re being too weird and uptight for me and you keep pretending it’s normal. I can’t take it any more; it’s really winding me up.”

“No, Lulu, don’t go. I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day.”

“Then I should go and let you get some sleep.”

“Stay. I won’t sleep now anyway. I need to wind down. Let’s watch a movie or something.” He held out his hand for her to take.

“I don’t know.” Lulu was feeling very uneasy. Dumi­sani wasn’t his usual self.

“Come on.” He made a somewhat imperious gesture and for some strange reason, Lulu felt compelled to move forward and let him lead her to the sofa.

About fifteen minutes into a movie they’d started watching from the middle on Movie Magic, Dumisani softly said her name. Leaning into him, head drowsily on his shoulder, Lulu looked up. And then he kissed her! No preamble, no exploration or gentle introduction. He went straight for the kill – hot and charged. Sexy. Deep.

Even now, thinking about it in the bright light of morning, she felt something in her stomach do an almighty backflip, knocking the breath out of her momentarily.

“Hhayi, wena! What is wrong with you today, Button? It’s like you don’t hear my voice. I’m not going to repeat myself all day. I said, do you think he might propose? It’s been long enough coming, but knowing you, I bet you’re not even making an effort to let him know that you would say yes.”

Nothando could have been Lulu’s twin: tall, caramel in complexion with dark brown eyes framed by naturally lush lashes and perfectly arched brows. The only difference was that Nothando was more often than not sporting a long, luxuriant mane of the best hair money could buy. Lulu tended to stick to a short pixie cut that hugged her head almost lovingly, making her look years younger than her sister, whose figure was kept strictly hourglass sleek through two gruelling hours in the gym every day.

Lulu had always been sporty and her body needed little coaxing to remain in shape with a quick thirty-minute workout every other day. Both sisters were bordering on five eight in height and loved to add to that with the latest in platform heels or high-arched wedges. But that was where the resemblance ended.

Nothando hardly ever smiled and would never be associated with the word “fun”. All that ever seemed to come out of her mouth was duty, obligation, proper behaviour and security. Lulu knew what was coming again now.

“You can’t just leave these things to chance,” Nothando continued her sermon.

Sitting across from her sister on the sunny patio, Lulu reached across the perfectly laid breakfast table and speared a boerewors sausage, ignoring the look of disapproval on Nothando’s face.

“Button, must you behave like you grew up in the back yard of a shebeen? Why didn’t you just ask me to pass you the platter?”

Lulu wasn’t fazed by her sister’s criticism. She saw no reason to stand on ceremony, so she didn’t take Notha­ndo’s words on board. She didn’t even mind her sister still calling her Button. In fact, she relied on hearing that nickname to remind her that Nothando hadn’t always been uptight and lost to a pretentious existence.

The nickname had arisen as a result of their father always referring to Lulu and Nothando as “abantwana” when they were young children. Two years old and hanging on to every word their father uttered, Nothando had taken to using the word with reference to Lulu, not realising it included herself. She had difficulty pronouncing the word and soon the name Button had stuck. Their mother had tried to correct Nothando’s mistake, to no avail, and later had tried to make her stop using the nickname, but she had resisted, so Lulu’s name remained Button.

“Listen, you’ve got to seal the deal soon, otherwise he might lose interest,” Nothando persisted. She hadn’t touched her own food in front of her. She was too concerned about Lulu’s lack of urgency.

“But if he loses interest, doesn’t that mean he doesn’t love me? If that happens, I’ll have saved myself from being caught up in a loveless marriage.”

“Ha! Are you serious? What has love got to do with anything?” Nothando continued. “If you wait for that idealistic roses-and-hearts kind of thing, you’ll end up right back where we started. Marriage is not about love – that’s what you do when you’re a teenager and you think you can’t live without the boy who sits behind you in class.”

Lulu sighed, but her sister rambled on. “Well, guess what, honey? You grow up and that boy becomes a thug or he makes your best friend pregnant and you realise you can live without him after all. Then you make a plan to secure your own life with someone steady who’ll provide a good life for you and your children and help you look after your family. You can learn to love a man like that.”

Lulu knew that at this point it was best not to speak. Anything she said would be taken as criticism of the choices Nothando had made. True, many “love” marriages turned out not to be what they had seemed to promise at the beginning, but sometimes, things did work out. Dumisani flashed into her mind at that moment, but Lulu quickly dismissed the thought. How could it ever work?

True, he had a steady job managing a gorgeous boutique hotel in Houghton, but comfortable as his life seemed, he was not as well off as some of the men who had been after her, including Moneybags Molefe. Nothando had engineered the introductions to the latter after meeting him at one of her husband’s company functions. It seemed to Lulu that her sister went to these functions simply to fish for husband candidates for her.

“I know, sis. I should be sensible . . . You were lucky you met Cebo,” Lulu stumbled over the name, as she always did, simply because her sister’s husband was so much older than her that she found it almost disrespectful to call him by his first name. “He’s a good man,” Lulu continued and she really meant it, but good a man as he was, she knew that her sister felt no passion for him and as a result seemed to have lost a great deal of her youth. Nothando felt she had to behave a certain way around Cebo and his friends and colleagues, and it didn’t help that their mother kept a sharp lookout for any sign of what she considered youthful foolishness – something that Lulu was often accused of displaying.

“But guys like Molefe,” Lulu realised she wasn’t even sure of his first name, “are players. Sharks. Okay, so I marry him because he has money and not because I love him. What happens if he goes broke?”

“Don’t be difficult for nothing, Button. Of course you have to make sure you know how he deals with money and what business he’s in. And of course you won’t be so silly as not to put away something for a rainy day. Cebo will help you manage your money.”

Cebo Malope was an economist who had risen from the ranks to end up at the top of the banking industry. Being old school, he liked good things but was not flashy. If for no other reason, Lulu liked him because he seemed to genuinely love her sister and didn’t take exception to their mother’s often unreasonable demands.

Cebo adored his two children, but didn’t spoil them. Lulu often thought that for kids under ten years of age, they were too well behaved, but under Nothando’s strict rules there was no other way to be. Lulu loved being the indulgent aunt, often taking them out on what her mother and Nothando would term frivolous jols around Jozi.

“Don’t rush me, Thando. I know what I’m doing. Goodness knows, you and mama have drilled it into me.”

“Just remember, you’re not getting any younger.”

“I’m only twenty-nine.”

“Well, it’s your funeral if you want to spend your time looking gift horses in the mouth.”

Lulu held back a sigh. She didn’t want to talk about this any more.

Her sister sighed. “I can see you’re getting that stubborn look on your face, so let me get up and go about my business before it’s time to pick up the kids from their karate lesson.”

Lulu wiggled her fingers in goodbye, then proceeded to try and eat her breakfast. She was starving, but her stomach seemed to be tied up in knots. It was very seldom that anything spoilt her appetite. Uh-oh, she thought to herself, this can only mean trouble.