Obsessed with Me - When she rejected him, he set out to destroy her - book 1 (7 page)

“Good morning,” I murmur.

“
More
,” she says, a curious look on her face.

When she sees me take a seat at the breakfast table, she pauses with her rooibos tea and her curious look morphs in to a startled expression. “
En wat is dit
(And what is this?)?”

“It’s Tarago’s PA,” Jooste says with a chuckle. “He’s moved her in and she eats with us.”

“Whaaat?!” A look of horror appears on Suzette’s face. “
Nee, nee, nee
! That can’t happen.”

She puts down her Rooibos tea, scrapes back her chair and with a ramrod-straight back, flounces off in search of Tarago.

I look at Jooste with eyebrows raised.

He grins. “Big
para
(fight) now, I tell you. Suzette won’t share her dishes with black people. Won’t even sit at the table with them.”

“Really now?”

“And she’s got that condition where she has to clean everything …?” He snaps his fingers.

“Like OCD?”

“Ja, that’s it. She’s like,
bang vir
(terrified of) germs.”

Even though I should be mad at what I just learnt, at her blatant racism, my mind races – if Suzette is unhappy with me being here, and she successfully works on Tarago about that, maybe he will cave and send me away! And, since
he
would be the one to breach our agreement, I will leave with two million rands and be home free. The thought is so deliriously appealing.

Oh, and talking about ‘home free,’ my house will also be free and paid up. Ha!

“Why you smiling?” 

I put down my cup of coffee and wave dismissively at Jooste.

When we hear loud voices – Tarago and Suzette’s, my grin widens. Any moment now, I expect him to burst through that door and tell me to take my things and get lost. At the thought of that, I tingle with excitement.

Jooste nods, his eyes like slits. “I know – you want them to fight so you can go home, right?”

“Wha …what do you …mean?” I’m wondering just how much he knows. I’ve never discussed anything with him, but maybe Tarago has. I force a casual shrug and change the subject. “Just who is Suzette?”

“She’s my sister, Tarago’s half-sister. Same father, different mothers.”

“Oh.”

“My mother was the mistress and we were the loooove-children.” He makes a kissing sound.

“Really? And you all get on?”

“Well, our father, he was a bastard. He never cared about us. Paid for us, but never wanted us. But when he died, Tarago met with us and we became family.”

“Wow, really?!” When did this happen?”

“’Bout ten years ago.”

“So Tarago is not such a bad asshole after all,” I say.

He laughs and shakes his head.

We are interrupted by a stone-faced Suzette storming back into the dining room. She glares at me, then take her tea, her nautical attire, her blue eye shadow and storms out again, muttering something about not wanting to dine at the same table as a coolie slut.

Hanlie and Erika enter the dining room at that moment and almost collide with the furious Suzette.

Erika’s bottom lip is dragging and Hanlie has her arm over her shoulder.

“
Wat maakeer
?” Jooste asks.

Erika sniffs hard and amps up the injured look on her face.

Hanlie explains that Anneline called Erika dumb and Erika is furious.

“Whaaaat?” That’s not good,” Jooste says. He gets up, goes over to Erika and gives her a hug. Just before he disentangles himself from her, he gives her breast a quick squeeze. She doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m foking smart,” Erika says with an air of indignation. “I know when to say vagina and when to say pussy.”

I almost choke on my coffee.

Erika has hair the colour of straw and eyes the colour of honey. Her hair is spiraled into curls, and she has about four earrings per ear. She also has a pieced belly button and a nose ring.

“Yes, you are,” Hanlie soothes. “You have looks and brains. Look at you – a rare combination.”

“
Dankie
, Hanlie,” Erika murmurs. “You are a true friend.” Then she sits up and sniffs. “I am going to fok up Anneline one of these days. She slams her fist into her palm.”

Hanlie nods.

A short while later, Tarago stumbles into the dining room looking disheveled and bleary-eyed. To my horror, I see scratches on his face and I cringe. Last night – shit!

He grunts a greeting to everyone at the table.

“What happened to your face?” Erika asks.

He touches his face and frowns.

Hanlie thrusts a metal tea pot at him. He peers at his reflection in the teapot, frowns, then slowly turns his head to look at me. He looks at the teapot again, then at me.

I flame from toe to scalp.

“Cut myself while shaving,” he says, pushing away the teapot, his eyes still on me.

I don’t think anyone at the table buys what he’s saying. Not even smart Erika who knows when to say vagina and when to say pussy.

We all sit in strained silence and I suspect it’s more to do with nautical-loving Suzette’s unhappiness over having to break bread with black people.

Silently I feel bad that I am the reason for it. I look at Tarago spooning sugar into his coffee. He pauses and looks at me. “What?”

“Just wondering if you’d like me to take me breakfast in my room?”

He peers at me with a frown on his face. “Why?”

“To…to avoid upsetting your …to avoid upsetting
some
people with my …you know, colour.”

With hooded eyes, he glares at me. “
Hoe jou beck and sit vas.
(Shut your mouth and stay put.)”

“Fine,” I mutter. “Rude arsehole.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘
Ja
baaaaas
.’”

He glares at my insolence then takes a sip on his coffee.

I ignore him and sit back.

The silence around us remains thick.

“Say it again,” he says, his eyes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Say ‘
Ja
baas’
.”

I glare at him. “Go fuck yourself, you racist bastard.”

A collective gasp can be heard at the table.

He bursts out laughing and slaps the table. After that, the tension at the table is broken and everyone laughs.

Including myself.

From the corner of my eye, the two witches of Clifton in black and white head-scarves, exchange a combination of knowing and sneering smiles.

Chapter Eight

Ericka stands in front of the screen and belts away to P.J.Powers’
Feel
so
Strong
. She has an okay voice – nothing worth giving up her day job for. But from all the karaoke she sings, it’s evident she wants to be a pop star. With her good looks, and since she dresses like Madonna, complete with multiple earrings and a dozen or so of neck chains and pearls, I can’t help thinking her battle’s half-won. Maybe a good voice coach. A very good one.

Hanlie, who sits next to me at the pool area, doesn’t appear to share my sentiment.

“
Haai
, Erika, you sound fantastic,
meisie
(girl) you are going to be a big star soon.”

Erika beams. “Dankie, Hanlie.”

“You are welcome,” Hanlie says. “I am your number one fan. Maybe I should take your autograph before you get famous, hey?”

Erika darts over to give Hanlie a quick hug.

Now isn’t Erika lucky to have a friend like Hanlie? So supportive and with such a generous spirit. Makes me think of Rheema. I miss her so much. Maybe I should ask Tarago if Rheema can visit.

Erika tackles another song –
Substitute
by girl band
Clout
.

Anneline saunters into the pool area, wearing a tangerine string-bikini and large sunshades. She looks striking and svelte and I can’t take my eyes off her.

“Oh no! Does this girl ever stop?” she asks in an irritable voice.

“
Nee
,” Hanlie chuckles and drops her voice. “She sounds like a she’s chewing gravel, doesn’t she? I don’t know how much more I can take of this.”

I look at Hanlie with wide eyes.

Strike everything I said about her. She’s a back-stabbing bitch.

Then Tarago dances his way toward Erika. He takes Erika’s hand and twirls her around.

When he catches my eye, he puts his hand out to me.

I shake my head.

He jerks back and frowns at me. Then he the glances at the pool.

I point my index finger at him with a don’t-you-dare look on my face.

Anneline walks up to him and dances with him. Hanlie joins in and to me it looks like they are all silently vying for his attention. But the one who wants it most appears to be Anneline.

Thank God for that. At least the heat’s off me.

Then Jooste arrives and dives into the pool and pretty soon they all in into the pool. I watch him grab Erika’s ass and boobs, then cozy up to Anneline.

But not Hanlie for some reason.

When they sunbathe, they all remove their tops which makes me a little uncomfortable.

But it’s fascinating to watch Jooste lotion the girls. Especially when he squeezes their boobs.

He looks up and catches me watching him. “Do you want me to lotion you?” he asks as he lotions Erika’s breasts.

“Eh, no thanks,” I say.

“You sure?” he asks, his eyes dropping to my breasts and staying there as he kneads her breasts.

Resisting the urge to cross my hands over my breasts, I shake my head.

We are saved by the entrance of Julia and Charlene bearing different fruit juices and snacks. They pass drinks to everyone in the pool, then set the rest on the table.

Everyone except me – they totally ignore me.

Even though I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that they are just maids, and that I don’t care what they think of me and how they treat me, my eyes fill with tears at their meanness.

The irony is that the whites in this looney house are a bit thick and racist for sure – I expect it from them.

However, the black staff or coloured staff are the ones who hurt me most with their blatant racism and their spitefulness. Their desire to bring me down a peg or three for no reason.

It’s so hurtful, I could cry.

While they swim, the sweet and lovely Hanlie gets out of the pool and walks over to me.

Blue-eyed, blonde haired, two-faced Hanlie is not only a sweet bitch, but she is also nosey and drops secrets at the drop of a hat. Even without a hat dropping, she will sing like a Kookaburra who’s imbibed on fallen fruit.

She probes, wanting to know everything about me. Of course, I am selective in what I say, mainly because of the confidentially clause I signed with my a-hole of a husband, who is carrying Erika and Anneline and throwing them behind him into the water as if they are beach balls. When is he going to grow up? At thirty three, he should have had a wife and kids by now, not living like an eighteen-year-old.

But I take the opportunity to ask about Tarago, his wealth, his girlfriends, his relationship with Suzette and Jooste.

“See Tarago, he likes guns and he invents a device on gun that he sold to the government and he makes a lot of
geld
(money) that way. Then he sells it all over the world, to all the countries and every month he makes good money from it.”

“Oh, really now? I thought he inherited his money.”

“Nee, he was just a
arme
(poor) farm boy. But he had this…” She sticks her index finger to her temple.

I nod.

She drops her voice and leans towards me. “I heard that he’s doing some big business with the AWB and he stands to make a lot of money from them too.”

I gasp. The AWB in South Africa, is the equivalent of the Klu Klux Klan, and they openly rally against the lifting of the apartheid law.

My lips turn down with contempt for him. It’s 1993 – how could he possibly in this day and age have dealings with people like that?

No wonder he doesn’t want anyone to know that we’re married. They’d drop him like a hot potato. What a dirtbag!

Even more disturbing – later that afternoon, Tarago sends word with Charlene that he’s entertaining some people and that I don’t need to be there.

I’m really surprised. Why would he send such a message? It’s the first time ever. As I think about it, I sense that Tarago doesn’t want the people he’s entertaining to see me.

When the men show up – six beefy rednecks speaking loudly in Afrikaans, I pull my anchorwoman aside. “Hanlie who are those men?”

“AWB manne (men),” she whispers. “The ones I told you about.”

“AWB…really?”

She nods. “
Verkrampt
. You must not come out here tonight. Unless you put on a maid’s outfit.” She says it with a short laugh.

“Mff.”

A
verkrampte
Afrikaner is a person who fights against any change in liberal trends in government policy. Especially racial changes which will lift apartheid laws. 

I stand at my window and look at him. What a jerk.

Sounds like a great party though. Tarago has invited more girls this evening probably to entertain his guests.

At that moment, he looks up and sees me. I hold his gaze. He quickly looks away.

After a moment, he looks up again. For a moment I swear he looks flustered and embarrassed. As I look at him, my lips curl with disgust. Fucking two-faced jerk. Piss-poor morally.

****

About two weeks after my conversation with Hanlie and the party that I was asked to stay out of, Tarago takes the blondes and me to a business meeting. To my surprise, we meet with an ANC politician, whose party is in political opposition to the AWB.

The politician, Jaya Singh, cordially welcomes Tarago and the rest of us.

The meeting takes place in English, and I’m staggered as to how good Tarago’s English is. Fluent. That crap about not-more-than-six-characters and how he prefers to speak Afrikaans as it is easier – a load of rubbish. He was just fucking with my brain, I can tell now.

Then to my utter astonishment, Tarago brings out his cheque book and makes out a cheque to the ANC.