Cherry Marbles (4 page)

6

“I'm beginning to feel it was a mistake to give Buthelezi this contract, as impressive as your company seems,” Regile told her candidly the next day when their meeting was over and her heads of department had left. He and Langa sat in a boardroom at the Sasol Wax offices in Sandton, the tea and biscuits before them untouched.

Regile flipped through pages of the minutes his PA had just taken before giving Langa a rigid look. “Your proposal was adequate, though your team doesn't seem to have done much research on previous In-Cosmetics Exhibitions and what had made those the success they were.”

Langa opened her mouth and then shut it again, afraid of what she would say. She already had a headache.

“The fact that the event has been moved up adds to the pressure. Challenges of this nature are not supposed to derail everything, and I shudder to think what would happen if it was moved up even more. Your events company is fairly young and maybe we've made you bite off much more than you can chew,” Regile finished off, clenching his jaw with evident frustration.

The phone in the boardroom rang and he picked it up immediately.

“My dear,” he answered edgily, giving Langa an apologetic look, “I thought I told you to take all my calls until I'm done here, unless . . .”

Langa uncomfortably clicked away on her keyboard, trying her best not to seem interested in his conversation. Regile was silent and Langa figured his call was being transferred to him. After a moment he uttered tensely, “Can't you greet me before you start harassing me?”

Langa typed on furiously.

“I really can't talk right now. I'll call you later, mus'ukungiphazamisa,” he said quietly before replacing the phone.

“I'm sorry about that,” Regile offered, attempting to regain his composure by pouring a cup of tea. Their hands brushed softly as Langa fidgeted with the sugar bowl and they both hastily retrieved them.

“Langa, I'm concerned that your company will be unable to deliver, if the meeting we've just had is anything to go by.” He looked deeply into her eyes, his long eyelashes fluttering the same way Langa had seen butterfly wings flutter on flowers in summer. She felt flustered, her heart pounding so loudly that she thought he could hear it.

“You are right and I fully understand your concerns. Buthelezi Events is yet to plan an event of this magnitude,” she stammered. “The change of schedule has caught us off guard, although that's hardly an excuse. I apologise for our incompetence as far as research is concerned. You have my word that we will work through the nights to make this event a great success,” Langa finished off, wondering if the brief brush of their hands was causing the same incoherence in his head as in hers.

Regile nodded, perhaps too exasperated by the call he had just received to push any further.

“Well, I'm counting on you. Meanwhile we have to spend the rest of the day together; maybe visit the site later on, if time allows,” he informed her. Langa had been prepared for that and had taken the necessary steps at the office to make sure her absence wouldn't be felt. They spent the morning behind their laptops and making phone calls. Only after Langa's stomach had rumbled persistently did Regile actually take note that it was well after lunch.

“How inconsiderate of me. I'm sorry, would you like us to take a break and get something to eat?”

Langa nodded meekly, quite faint with hunger, her head pounding by now.

“Why don't we use my car and drive to West Road. There's a restaurant that does great Belgian cuisine,” Regile suggested as he got up.

Intrigued even though she was starving, Langa followed him to his car. He opened the door and helped her up the step before shutting it after her. Her skin tingled at their brief touch and she tried to breathe calmly as he reversed out of the car park cautiously, snapping his seat belt into place. Langa did the same with a slight grin on her face, despite her headache.

“So, have you been to Belgium?” she inquired. The last thing she wanted was a heavy silence between them. “You seem quite keen on Belgian food.”

“Yes, I actually lived there for a few years. I'd like to believe I'm well travelled, although South Africa is my home and you must never forget where you come from,” he told her.

“I'd love to travel but I've never been outside our borders,” Langa confessed, taking in the masculine scent of the car. It was tidy compared to hers, in which at least four pairs of heels lived on the back seat, together with empty McDonalds and KFC containers. However, that still wasn't an excuse for Nandi to hibernate in filth!

“Well, a woman's place is in the home, bringing up children and caring for her husband, so let's leave the travelling to the men,” Regile said lightly but his chauvinistic view did not go unnoticed. Langa clenched her fists and said a prayer to keep her silence.

“Ndebele women don't work at all; they live in the compound and use beads to create ornaments that show their status and beliefs. We believe that women have a dual force that can make them either mothers or sorcerers. Married women wear ukupothela around their necks permanently for prestige,” Regile went on grandly.

Langa felt nauseous. She wondered how it was possible for a man so well travelled to still have such primitive ideas on women and society.

At the restaurant, Regile ordered her roasted duck in gooseberry sauce and abalone soup for himself. Langa wasn't used to anyone ordering on her behalf, especially when she was present; she was unsure if she should be flattered or upset. The surrounding decor was intimate, its charm lying in its understated classic elegance. To drink, Regile ordered them both sparkling water and insisted on tall glasses.

“It's great to get a break from work,” Langa told him as she sipped on her water. She'd have preferred some wine to edge off the pressure but decided against giving the wrong impression.

“I agree,” he told her, taking in her ring that sparkled as if on cue in the reflection of the afternoon sunlight.

“So, ke, how is it being engaged?” he inquired with his disarmingly boyish smile.

Langa was sure he was referring to the first time they met.

“Unsettling,” she flushed, shrugging her shoulders. She felt guilty about enjoying Regile's company and tried not to think of Richard. A Belgian acoustic band played softly in the background. This was work, she reminded herself firmly.

“And you?” she asked abruptly, her manicured fingers playing with the serviette. There was still no sign of a ring on his hand.

“Nothing to tell,” he informed her evasively, a twinkle in his eye, just as their waitress brought their food. “I'm bad at relationships. Once I grow attached to someone, I become overwhelmed and push them away. It's almost as if I don't want to be loved. The last woman I dated hates my guts,” he went on.

“What did you do to her?” Langa was fascinated.

“Well, I was always too busy to spend time with her. The last straw was probably when her best friend made us dinner and I didn't show up because I fell asleep! I was exhausted, so I thought I'd quickly nap for half an hour. Next I knew, my phone rang and they are all wondering where I was.” Regile grinned and then added, “That was four hours later.”

“I'd be mad too,” Langa gasped. “What happened then?”

“She showed up at my house the same night, drunk as anything and absolutely livid. Anyway, after giving me a mouthful, she wrote a very unflattering article about me in a tabloid. She was a journalist and hell hath no fury like a writer scorned,” Regile said, shaking his head.

Langa laughed, wondering how she and Naledi had missed that article. She gratefully tucked into her duck, which was delicious. She cut off humongous chunks of meat and ate so greedily that he had to laugh.

“You should have told me you were starving; I like a woman who actually eats.”

“With my size, don't I always look like I'm starving?” Langa chuckled, dabbing a napkin on her mouth. She watched him take a mouthful of abalone soup and frowned.

“Is that all you're going to have?” she asked, her horror evident.

Regile was amused. “I think so, if that's okay with you.”

“No, it's not. I should have guessed; you're fussy about food!” she told him.

“I
am
rather picky,” Regile sighed. “My mother still calls me every few days to make sure that I'm eating.”

For dessert he ordered Langa cottage cheese mousse with marzipan ice cream, then he paid their bill and sat transfixed, watching her as she ate with relish. Langa sighed, satisfied with the meal she'd just had, forgetting for a while about work and the fight she'd had with Nandi the day before. By the time they got back to the Sasol Wax offices, she felt better and her headache had subsided.

It was only after an hour of making calls with Regile that she remembered it was the night her prayer group came over to her apartment. After the disastrous meeting they'd had the week before, Langa couldn't afford to have another catastrophe. She excused herself to Regile who let her go.

In the car park she started her car but it wouldn't move. Langa impatiently stepped on the accelerator, yanked at the choke and grimaced as the engine sounded like an elephant being slaughtered. Regile appeared just then, casting a disapproving look at her through the car window.

“What's wrong with your car?” he inquired, surprisingly reminding Langa of those mechanics in the movies who talked to you with a cigarette glued to their lips the whole time.

“I'm not sure; I'd better call the AA,” she told him, reaching for her handbag to get her phone.

“Didn't you say you had to get home urgently for some meeting? I have no problem taking you to Newtown. The AA will take a while to get here, and besides, your vehicle is safe in our car park,” Regile said rationally, giving her a weak smile.

Langa hesitated for a moment. “Are you sure that won't be too out of your way? I'd be extremely grateful; I simply can't miss this meeting,” she told him, gathering her bag and turning off the ignition.

In his car once again, she put on the seat belt as sadness at leaving her Beetle abandoned in the Sasol Wax car park tugged at her heart. Meanwhile Regile put up the volume of a traditional Ndebele album and sang along, to Langa's increasing amusement. She jokingly told him not to quit his job and become a singer, and they both burst into a fit of laughter.

When they arrived at her apartment, she invited him in since there weren't any of her prayer group members' cars around yet. Langa was astonished when Regile took her up on the offer. Nandi was home, suspended on the couch as usual, although Her Majesty had for once gone to the trouble to clean up the place. After a brief introduction Regile joined her on the couch, still unsure of what meeting was about to take place.

The prayer group turned up in dribs and drabs, not nearly as enthusiastic as the week before and with no eager conquests in tow like before. Langa led the discussion, avoiding Regile's stunned stare that penetrated her very soul. A final prayer was said before everyone left.

“Some meeting,” Regile said, raising his eyebrows at her when she came back inside after seeing off her group. “I just accepted that you were rushing off to some business meeting. You never cease to amaze me, Langa.”

She smiled at him.

“By the way, you have an amazing apartment,” he told her as his eyes lingered on a picture of her and Richard dancing in vampire outfits at a Halloween party in Hout Bay, Cape Town.

Nandi walked in just then, stifling a yawn. “Are you still here, Regile? I'm shocked you put up with the prayer bunch,” she scoffed.

He gave Nandi a thumbs-up and then said, “Your sister did a great job leading the discussion. Next time you should join their session.”

Langa watched the two of them, amazed at how well they got along. “I wish she would do that,” she told Regile, looking determinedly at Nandi.

“Okay, I'll join the prayer group if both of you come to Baseline next week some time and support my poetry session,” Nandi said.

“You got yourself a deal,” Regile told the girl, glancing briefly at Langa before grabbing his car keys from the kitchen counter.

7

The earsplitting music and speedy weaving of the taxi through the morning traffic did little to get Langa in the right frame of mind for the call she got from the Gallagher Estate representative when she arrived at her office. The polite young lady on the other end of the phone let her know that due to In-Cosmetics moving their exhibition a month up, the estate could no longer host them as they had an African Heads of State Conference scheduled to take place the same week.

Langa put down the phone, a little panic-stricken. Then she emailed Regile and instructed Zandile to compile a list of potential venues.

Before she could do anything else, Connie transferred a call from Naledi.

“Hello, stranger!” Langa's friend crooned in her singsong voice.

“Sawubona, my friend. I've been meaning to call you since Cedar Square last week,” Langa said, smiling.

“It was a great night out as usual, although Thabo wasn't too impressed when I got home. After all those chocolate chilli martinis, I didn't pull off tiptoeing into the house too well!” Naledi laughed. “How was your staff party the next day?”

“Lots of fun; we brought the house down! Now I'm sure the masses are geared for the hard work to follow,” Langa told her. “The outing was to soft-soap them for when we have to work long hours in the weeks to come.”

“So, I take it you've had your first meeting with our prince?” Naledi asked curiously.

“Yes, I've had a few meetings with Regile.” Langa rolled her eyes; she knew that was the main reason Naledi had called.

She gave her friend an abridged version of her first meeting with Regile at Kaldi's Coffee, their Belgian lunch and finally his attendance of her prayer session. She took care not to mention her confusing feelings regarding him, how she felt strangely drawn to his slightly unkempt appearance and stringent work ethic.

“Sounds to me like you two are getting close,” Naledi teased. “You sure you're not falling for the lovely prince, mngani?”

“Of course not! I'm still engaged to Richard, even if he's stuck in the bush in Namibia for a few more weeks. We're going to set a wedding date when he gets back,” Langa said firmly, sounding more as if she was trying to convince herself than Naledi.

“Well, alright then,” her friend said in the annoying tone of voice she used when she knew much more than she was letting on. “I've got a meeting to get to. Will call you later.”

Langa put down the phone with a sigh, wondering if God considered an almost married woman yearning for another man a sin.

Later that day the AA called to let her know that they'd towed her car to one of their specialist garages not far from the Sasol Wax offices. The vehicle would be fixed by the next morning; meanwhile she could collect a courtesy car to save her any inconvenience. While Langa was still contemplating if she had enough time to look through the list of venues Zandile had given her and make it to Sandton before the traffic began, Connie transferred a call from Regile.

“Hello, how are you today?” she said with a pounding heart, feeling like a teenager again.

“I'm alright, thanks, and wena? I've had a busy day though, so I only just saw your email,” his silky voice said. After a pregnant pause he asked, “Have you managed to find a new venue for the exhibition? We need to view the site straightaway.”

“I'm just going through a list of potential places as we speak,” she told him.

“Do you mean to tell me you didn't have at least two on standby in case the first one fell through?” Regile sounded exasperated.

“Well, to be fair, once we secured Gallagher Estate, there seemed no point in trying to provisionally book another venue.” Langa struggled to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“Still, I thought you'd be professional enough to have shortlisted a few other places,” replied Regile in a condescending tone. “Anyway, I need confirmation of at least two venues by the end of the day.”

“You can't be serious!” Langa exploded, past caring about how hysterical she sounded. Surely the man had lost his mind! The working day was almost over and she still had to collect her courtesy car.

“Is that a problem for you?” Regile challenged. “I can't afford any complications regarding my merger; I thought I made that clear. With hardly a month to organise this exhibition, I'll have no qualms about pulling the plug on Buthelezi.”

“You'll have two venues by the end of today, even though the working part ends in just an hour and a half,” Langa stated flatly.

“Thank you,” Regile said calmly before hanging up.

Langa felt like screaming, which she did silently for a moment before saying out loud to herself, “I'm not going home until I've secured a suitable venue for two hundred and fifty cosmetic suppliers, two thousand potential buyers, space for live demonstrations and even more space for a large podium for our entertainers and their bands. So help me God!”

She suddenly thought of Steve, head of event reservations at The Dome, and called him. The two had worked together on a wine tasting show the previous year. Steve had taken a shine to Langa, professing his undying love for her after sampling the greater part of the exhibitions. He was overjoyed to hear from her again but informed her that The Dome was hosting John Legend during the week in question and then promptly proceeded to ask her out to dinner. Langa hung up feeling violated.

She feebly went through the list Zandile had drawn up in her curvy handwriting with big cheerful-looking hearts that dotted the letter “i”. Langa made a few more unproductive calls, then started coiling one of her dreadlocks around her finger as she sat thinking in frustration. After a few minutes she picked up the phone again.

“Connie, please get me the number for Joburg's Directorate of Art and Culture,” she said before she hung up.

Thinking quickly, she completed her venue proposal just as Connie rang her back with the number. Langa knew it was a long shot but she had to try.

She called the Directorate and asked to speak to the head of reservations but he was on another call, so she spoke to his assistant, Malinda Harrison. After hanging up, Langa inhaled and allowed air to fill her rib cage. Quickly sending off the proposal to the email address she had just scribbled down, she felt an adrenaline rush.

Langa couldn't think of a better venue for the exhibition than Mary Fitzgerald Square and the Africa Museum. Malinda had seemed impressed with the prospect of an internationally recognised event being held in Newtown and had told Langa she would get back to her the next morning but felt positive that her proposal would be approved.

It was just after 7pm when she called Regile.

“Hi, Regile, we have one venue basically confirmed,” she announced proudly when he answered his phone. It sounded as if he was driving.

“I thought I said two venues,” he answered curtly. “Two are better than one.”

Langa couldn't believe what she was hearing; she felt hot tears build up in her eyes. She hated him with an intensity that made her want to scream the whole list of obscene words she had given up since finding Christ.

“Well, I've secured one,” she managed to squeak, the tears now flowing in a rush.

“What venue is it?” He sounded undeterred in his mission to make her life a living hell.

“It's the cultural precinct in Newtown. You know, Mary Fitzgerald Square and the Museum,” she stammered.

Regile laughed. “Are you serious? I just spoke to the Directorate's head of reservations to secure that place.”

“Well, I just spoke to his assistant.” Langa smiled, despite the tears. “I really think Newtown is perfect for the venue.”

“I actually think so too.” Regile's voice sounded kinder. “You know what they say about great minds?”

“They think alike,” Langa finished off, wiping her eyes and wondering whether she really hated him that much after all.

“I suppose it was a bit of a long shot to try and secure two venues so close to the end of the day,” Regile said, and she knew he was smiling his boyish smile.

“You think?” Langa answered lightly, looking at her watch. She had to get going.

“Did you get your car back?” Regile asked after chuckling at her sarcasm.

“No, I was supposed to collect a courtesy car for the night but I guess I'll just take a cab home,” she said, surveying her puffy eyes in the mirror of her powder compact.

“I could drop you at home; I don't think I'm too far from your office. Isn't it in Rosebank?” he went on.

Langa hesitated, “Yes, it is, and a lift would be great.”

“What road are you on? I'll try and use the navigation system in this car; wait a second.” She could hear him looking for something in the car. “Alright, what road is it?”

“We're on the corner of Cradock and Biermann Avenues,” she told him.

“Great, I'll see you in a few minutes.” Regile hung up.

Langa spent the next few minutes trying to disguise her swollen eyes with make-up so that by the time he called her to say he was outside she looked like a cross between a lady of the night and a drag queen. Her lashes were caked with enough mascara to stick them together and the glitter around them made her feel like a fifteen-year-old mischievously sipping on Brutal Fruit in a park with an eighteen-year-old boyfriend. So much for trying to look like a relaxed businesswoman of thirty who'd just had a hectic day at the office.

Regile stepped out of his car to open the door for her and noticed the Greek restaurant under her office.

“Would you like to get a quick bite?” he asked after they had exchanged brief greetings.

“Alright, I don't think Nandi will have cooked anyway,” Langa said, realising she hadn't had a proper meal all day. It was only as he led her to the entrance of the restaurant that she remembered her face was heavily made up and darted away from the light. Regile, following closely behind her, was taken aback and asked if she was alright. Unable to meet his eyes, she just nodded her head. But lo and behold, the waiter led them to a table right under the restaurant's only fluorescent light!

“This looks like a great place to have meetings,” Regile said, taking in her face for the first time in the light. Slightly puzzled by what he saw, he raised his eyebrows and gave her an expression she'd often reserved for people with spinach stuck in their teeth.

“It does have an enchanting feel to it,” Langa agreed as their waiter hovered about. The young man openly stared at her before asking them if they were ready to order drinks.

Langa had been so preoccupied with scurrying from the direct beams of the light that she ordered the first drink she saw on the menu. “I'll have a Cherry Marble,” she told the waiter, her usually confident voice sounding strained.

“Sparkling water for me, please,” Regile said to the young man, raising another eyebrow. The waiter left, casting one last glance in Langa's direction.

“Wow, looks like quite a concoction.” Regile read the menu with a smirk. “Cherries soaked in brandy, mixed with Amarula cream and then laced with Stroh Rum and Kahlua.”

“I didn't realise it was an alcoholic cocktail.” Langa slapped her face in genuine shock and imagined a cloud of powder rising from it. “Excuse me,” she said, abruptly getting up and heading for the bathroom.

Her compact mirror hadn't done her face the justice the large one above the washbasins now did. She looked so ridiculous that she had to laugh at herself. Langa rubbed vigorously at her face with the paper towels from the dispenser, then decided that she resembled a clown who had just been mugged and splashed cold water on her face. The result was a little disheartening; she'd evolved into a clown looking refreshed, ready to make people laugh! Sighing, she headed back to Regile who was waiting at the table.

Their drinks had arrived. Hers looked like creamy drinking chocolate with crushed cherries nestled at the bottom of the stylish glass.

“Don't ask,” she said when Regile took in the smudged traces of mascara and patches of running foundation.

He gave her one of his boyish smiles before shrugging his shoulders. Then he inquired with concern in his dreamy eyes, “Are you alright?”

She nodded vigorously before reaching for her Cherry Marble. The taste was glorious and the alcohol eased the anxiety she felt.

Regile sipped on his water, regarding her openly before clearing his voice to ask, “Doesn't your fiancé mind you drinking?”

“No, he's never had a problem with it,” Langa informed him, surprised by his question. Defiantly, she went on to take a ridiculously huge gulp of her drink, for a moment believing she was past caring what Regile thought of her.

“I'm sorry; it was rude of me to ask,” he apologised.

“It's shocking enough that he lets me work, is that it?” Langa was itching to fire back at him but instead she said, “It's alright; I guess you're just curious. We don't know much about each other.”

“Well, let's see . . . You are Miss Langa Buthelezi, founder of the company Buthelezi Events. You live in Newtown with your younger, and might I add, feistier sister. You drive a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle that should be replaced and you're engaged to a dark-haired white man. And oh yes, you recently found Jesus!” Regile told her and laughed.

Langa blushed and felt grateful that the state of her face would perhaps mask the stupid grin on her face.

“Well, being engaged is one thing; not being sure if you're doing it for the right reasons is another,” Langa let slip out. Then she quickly changed the subject. “I'm ashamed to admit I know virtually nothing about you, apart from the fact that you made some damsel mad enough to take you on in a tabloid. Tell me about Regile Mabhena.”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he sipped on his water before saying, “There isn't much to tell, really. I grew up in Shangana near Hazyview in Mpumalanga. We are a small tribe called Ndzundza-Ndebele and our language is very similar to isiZulu, in fact most people can't tell the difference.”