FOR A couple of weeks, now, I’ve managed to shove Steph’s words right to the back of my mind. But the first Monday in September brings them to the fore with a vengeance.
The day gets off to a weird start.
First Barbara strides past my desk and says, “Hey, Trinity, today’s your three-month anniversary of working here. Bet you didn’t realise that, did you?”
Then, just as I’m trying to decode the hidden message behind that one, I get an SMS from Tyson.
Babes, meet me at News Café at 1pm for lunch. Got something huge to tell u. Brace urself 4 a shock. Don’t be late! XX
Huh?
Okay, he’s probably just met someone new, but still, I’m practically popping with curiosity.
Then I check my emails and find a message from Ethan marked High Priority. It’s a link to the e-card site that he uses to send me romantic messages. I click, and up pops a slide show with hearts and flowers and bunnies hugging each other. It’s very cute, but possibly over the top for an ordinary Monday morning.
Then, when the slide show finishes, a fancy invitation appears. It’s written in calligraphy, with little Cupid graphics at the corners.
Darling Trinity
It’s time to take our relationship to the next level. Please join me for dinner tonight at Pigalle in the Michelangelo Towers at 7 pm. I have something very important to ask you.
Love, Ethan.
It’s not even ten o’clock and I already have more to think about that I can deal with.
I can’t do this on my own. I need to talk to someone. I make my excuses to Kallie and head for the loo, sliding my cellphone open as I go. It’s not like we’re forbidden to take personal calls in the office or anything, but I do try to keep them to a minimum. Besides, I don’t want anyone to overhear this.
I shut myself into a cubicle and speed-dial Steph, hoping she’s not in a seminar this morning.
“Hey …” she answers sleepily. “What’s up?”
I take a deep breath. “I’ve been in my job for three months already and Tyson’s got something huge to tell me and Ethan wants to take our relationship to the next level!” It comes out as a kind of garbled shriek.
There’s a pause. Then I hear Steph yawning.
“Do you want to run that past me again?”
I do some more deep breathing.
“Okay, here’s the thing. My boss reminded me this morning that I’ve been at my job for a full three months.”
“And …?”
“And I still haven’t moved off the traffic desk yet. I promised myself I’d be doing news reporting by now. It’s been such a long time, and I’m no closer at all to getting my voice on the radio.”
There’s another silence. I’m expecting Steph to tell me to relax and stop worrying. But she doesn’t.
“Do you think your boss was just mentioning it casually, or was there some kind of sub-text, telling you to get your arse in gear?”
I replay the conversation in my head, trying to remember Barbara’s tone of voice.
“I think there was a sub-text,” I say honestly. “I think she’s disappointed that I haven’t lived up to her expectations.”
“Maybe you should start suggesting ideas for news stories that you could follow up.”
“I’ve suggested millions of ideas!” I wail. “They’re never any good. They’re always ‘wrong’ for Jozi Talks. I’m getting desperate here.”
“Okay, let’s shelve that one for now,” Steph says briskly. “We’ll talk about it tonight. What’s the deal with Tyson?”
“I wish I knew! He wants us to meet up for lunch. He’s got something huge to tell me and I’m supposed to prepare myself for a shock.” I start nibbling on my nails, but immediately take my hand away from my mouth. No point in ruining a perfectly good manicure. “You don’t think he’s dying, do you?”
Steph laughs. “Well, if he is, he’s the healthiest-looking terminal patient I’ve ever seen. Didn’t you hear him on Friday night – boasting about how many thousand kilograms he can bench-press, and how many miles he runs every morning? I don’t think he’d have been talking like that if he knew there was something wrong with him. No, he’s probably just met someone new that he wants to introduce us to. Now, what was that about Ethan and your relationship?”
I gulp. If I’m honest, this is the thing that’s freaking me out most. I describe the e-card invitation to Steph in detail – right down to the bunnies and the Cupids.
“Whoa …” she says. “That sounds serious. What do you think he has in mind? Not more Couple Time?”
“No,” I say hollowly. “I think he wants us to move in together.”
I hear Steph suck in her breath. “Move in together? That’s hectic. You’ve hardly been together a year.”
“It’ll be nine months on Wednesday.”
“Only nine months? That’s not very long, is it?”
“I know.”
“So … how do you feel about it? Are you ready to move in with him?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea. After we saw Kealiboga on Friday night, I felt like I was miles away from settling down. But Ethan keeps going on about how great their set-up is and how he wants what they’ve got. He loved the cosiness of it all.”
“Well, it certainly was cosy,” Steph says fairly. “You can’t deny that.”
“I know. It’s just that cosy isn’t what I want at the moment. I’m looking for adventure and excitement and … and travel. I want to be able to dance until dawn without worrying about who’s waiting up at home for me.”
“Hmm …” Steph’s scepticism practically vibrates down the line.
“What does that mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“You hmmed at me, I heard you. What did that ‘hmm’ mean?”
“Well, for starters, it meant that you already have travelled. For two years, remember? And it means that I can remember a time when cosiness was exactly what you wanted. Just with a different guy.”
For a moment, I can’t quite think of a reply. Part of me wants to ask her to explain exactly what she means by that, but another part really doesn’t want to go there.
“This isn’t about what I used to feel,” I say quickly. “It’s about what I’m feeling now.”
“And what are you feeling now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay … listen. Just stall Ethan. Put the dinner off to another night. That’ll give you some time to think, and we can talk about it later.”
*****
I hurry back to my desk, glancing at my watch. I’ve only been away for twelve minutes. It felt like a lot longer. I need to get a huge amount of work done this morning so I don’t feel bad about taking time off at lunch to meet Tyson.
I’ve been doing my best to make Kallie’s life as easy as possible. Which may possibly be a tad counter-productive. The more indispensable I become, the more reluctant he is to release me to the news desk. Still, nobody ever got ahead by being bad at their job (except possibly for cabinet ministers), so I’m giving it my best shot.
I put my head down and spend the next few hours making sure that Kallie has everything he needs for the lunch-time traffic reports. Then I slip out just before one o’clock.
This can’t go on, I decide, pressing the lift button. I can’t stay on the traffic desk forever. Just last week, a girl who was hired after me got promoted to the news desk. She had been working on the website, writing up news reports for the 24-hour internet newsfeed, and they obviously liked her style.
I can see the back of her head now from inside the lift. She’s got a swishy blonde ponytail that she whisks around like a show pony. I’m working very hard at not hating her.
If only Barbara would approve just one story of mine. Just one. That’s all I’m asking. Instead, she seems to have developed a special eye-roll that she saves just for me. All the other reporters spew out brilliant ideas at news conferences as Barbara sits nodding, her fingers flying over her laptop while she logs it all in the daily diary.
But when it’s my turn, I get the eye-roll.
It’s driving me nuts. I need to break the cycle. I need to come up with a really stunning story idea.
The warm spring sunshine lifts my spirits as I walk across Morton Road towards the News Café. Winter is definitely over. It’s all long, hot, sunny days from now on.
The News Café is humming, but I manage to snatch a table for two as someone gets up to leave. I’m a little early. I order a Pepsi Max and sit back, ready to people-watch.
It’s great to feel I belong here, after months of being on the outside looking in. Now I just need to change my job description to news reporter, and I might finally feel I’ve arrived.
There’s a sudden stir of interest. People lift their heads to check out a new arrival. It must be a celebrity or a sports star, I decide. Who else would make this crowd of jaded sophisticates sit up and take notice?
Then I spot him.
It’s a guy dressed in head-to-toe Hugo Boss, topped off with aviator shades. He strides through the restaurant, swinging a slimline briefcase that’s dangerously close to being a man-bag. Pulling off the aviators, he reveals a face resembling that of rapper 50 Cent. The women in the room eye him with naked lust, while the men try to assess the threat he poses to their alpha status.
I watch his approach with interest. As he gets close to my table, I put my fingers to my lips and give a long, low wolf whistle – one of the few useful skills my brothers taught me. He stops as though he’s been shot and turns slowly to face me. Then he smiles.
I stand up and fling my arms around his neck. He squeezes me until my ribs creak and we do the triple cheek-kiss thing. Every female eye is watching me with loathing. Including a few that I recognise from Media Inc. Good. Maybe I’ll get some more respect now.
“It’s so great to see you twice in a row like this!” I take his hand and sit down again. “You’ve been so scarce lately, what with the MBA and everything. Have they let you out for good behaviour, or what?”
The full-time MBA at the Gordon Institute for Business Science is one of the toughest programmes in the country. Over the past two years Tyson’s social life has practically ground to a halt, especially on weekends.
“I’m on the home stretch at last, if you can believe it,” he tells me, ordering a chai from the flustered waitress. “I submitted my dissertation last week and now I just have a couple of exams left. I should be getting my life back any day now.”
He rubs his eyes, and I’m immediately reminded of my fear that there might be something wrong with him.
“So, what’s up?” I try to suppress my anxiety. “What was it you wanted to tell me, and why do I have to brace myself for a shock?”
“Oh …” He immediately turns serious. “That. Yes, of course. I’ve been wanting to phone you all weekend, but I thought I’d better tell you face to face.”
“Tell me what?”
“It’s something I noticed on Friday night. I haven’t told anyone else because I didn’t want anyone to ambush you with the news.”
He pauses meaningfully.
“Well …? Don’t keep me in suspense. What is it?”
“Okay. But, listen … whatever happens, I just want you to know that I’m here for you. You’ll probably find that this is going to explain some of the doubts you’ve been having lately.”
“Ye-es?” I flap my hands, motioning him to get on with it.
“Ethan is gay.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, honey. There’s no easy way to tell you this, but it’s true. Your boyfriend is gay.”
I stare at him in utter astonishment, hardly able to believe what I’m hearing.
“It’s all starting to fall into place now, isn’t it?” he says, squeezing my hand sympathetically. “All those niggling doubts you’ve been having. Not knowing your own mind. It’s all making sense now, right?”
“No, it isn’t!” I pull my hand away crossly. “Ethan is not gay. Honestly, Tyson, you’re hopeless. You’ve got the worst gaydar of anyone I’ve ever met. It took you years to figure out that you were gay. I don’t think you’re qualified to comment on other people.”
“You mean he’s not?” He sounds disappointed.
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“You don’t think there’s a kind of poofy quality about him?”
“No, I do not!” I almost shout.
“Okay, okay.” He lifts his palms. “Anyone can make a mistake.”
I eye him with affectionate exasperation. Tyson is one of those people you just can’t stay mad at. Especially when he does that apologetic face, like he’s doing right now.
“I thought you’d given up on telling Steph and me that all our boyfriends are gay. Once you even told us that Farouk was gay, remember? And we all know how that turned out.”
“Ah, but that was different.” He grins. “That was wishful thinking. Farouk is a Grade-A hottie. Hey, it was so great to see him again the other night. He hasn’t changed a bit – except possibly to have got even hotter. Don’t you love the short hair and the buff physique? I mean, the ponytail was fine while he was a skinny student, but the short hair looks much more professional, don’t you think?”
“Um …”
I mean, really. What am I supposed to say? That I’m totally drooling over my ex-boyfriend?
“Plus, he’s a really nice person too. That’s something else that hasn’t changed.”
“Mm…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, tell me. You mean he’s not a nice person?”
“I just mean his … behaviour … hasn’t always been completely perfect, that’s all.”
“What do you mean? Like when?”
“No, forget it. It’s ancient history now.”
No one knows the real story behind my break-up with Farouk, and I’m not about to get into it now. Some things are just too painful to talk about. Luckily, Tyson doesn’t push it.
“Why are we talking about him, anyway?” I demand, as our drinks arrive.
“You brought him up, remember?”
Oh, that’s right. So I did. Silly me. Time to get off the subject.
I decide to ask Tyson about my work dilemma instead. Not that he’s especially clued up about the media world or anything, he’s just clued up in general.
Except about whether people are gay or not, obviously.
So I lay the whole situation out for him, and he thinks for quite a while before answering.
“So, what you’re saying is that all the other reporters get their story ideas approved as a matter of course, but you get shot down every time you suggest something?”
I nod. “Every single time.”
“How do the other journalists do it? You must have seen how they work.”
“They have contacts!” I wave my hands in the air. “Lots and lots of contacts. Some of them have these dog-eared old contact books that are about three inches thick, or they keep the numbers on their BlackBerrys . They know the news before it happens because they’re always getting tip-offs.”
“All right, so what about you? Who are your contacts?”
“No one! I don’t know anyone. I’ve only been back in Joburg for a few months, remember?”
“Oh, come on. You must know someone.”
“I know you. I know Steph. I know everyone we were at varsity with.”
“Okay, let’s forget about contacts for a minute. What about the other reporters that are just starting out? How do they do it? Like that one you were just telling me about. Miss Ponytail or whatever.”
“Miss Swishy Blonde Ponytail,” I correct him.
“Exactly. How did she make it to the news desk so fast?”
“She just seems to have a nose for news. It’s like some kind of sixth sense that I don’t seem to have been born with.”
“Trinity,” Tyson says sternly. “Are you sure you’re not being your normal dizzy self, suggesting stuff that’s more suited to Cosmopolitan than to hard news radio?”
“Of course not!” I say indignantly.
“Trinity …”
“I’m not!”
“Trinity-yy …”
“Oh, all right! I used to do that, but I don’t any more, okay? I learnt my lesson ages ago. And now I only suggest serious stuff.”
This is true. I have totally given up on trying to introduce a lighter note at news conferences. Now I just suggest boring old stories like a change to the tax code, or some study that shows how the small business sector performed in the year ending March 2009. Yawn, yawn.
But somehow, it’s still not good enough. It always turns out that someone else is already on the tax code story, or someone has been covering the small business development beat for years. Nothing I suggest is ever new enough or good enough, or can’t be covered better by someone else.
“There must be something you know about that nobody else does,” Tyson insists. “I’d have thought that with all your contacts … I mean, with your dad being who he is …”
“Ja, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?” I say bitterly. “But, guess what? It turns out that one of the business reporters has been covering Ubuntu Gold and all its affiliates for ages. She’s got her own personal moles in every subsidiary company. How bizarre is that? They don’t even need me for my family ties.”
“Well, there must be something,” Tyson repeats firmly. “And I won’t let you give up until you’ve found it.”
*****
To: Ethan Bell
From: Trinity Luhabe
Thanks for invite! Loved the cupids! But can we take rain chq on dinner? It’s still that time of the month. Horrible cramps.
X
To: Trinity Luhabe
From: Ethan Bell
Poor baby! Let me come and take care of you. Will bring soup & a heat pack.
XX
To: Ethan Bell
From: Trinity Luhabe
It’s not Couple Time 2nite. I checked. Go out with ur friends rather.
X
To: Trinity Luhabe
From: Ethan Bell
Every night can be Couple Time! Maybe it soon will be nudge wink! Will also bring Panados. C u later.
XX
To: Ethan Bell
From: Trinity Luhabe
No! Feeling fat and bloated. Spots on chin. Don’t want u 2 c me like this.
X
To: Trinity Luhabe
From: Ethan Bell
Darling, we need to get used to being 2gether all the time. Warts & all. I don’t mind. Honestly!
XX
To: Ethan Bell
From: Trinity Luhabe
In horrible mood. Will prob just bite ur head off. Going to bed early with book. Please. Just need some space.
X
I pull into the parking lot at Northern Acres, feeling all scratchy and irritable. I’m on edge, waiting for the next SMS to come through. Eventually it does – just as I switch off my car.
To: Trinity Luhabe
From: Ethan Bell
OK, darling. Sleep well.
XX
I breathe a sigh of relief and immediately feel guilty. Why am I being so mean to Ethan? Why couldn’t I just let him come over and take care of me tonight? But of course, he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and that’s something that drives me nuts.
The truth is, I really need to think about this whole moving in together thing. And I can’t do that while he’s with me. Only I can’t explain it to him like that, can I? I mean, what if I’m totally jumping the gun here? What if he just wants me to spend Christmas with his folks or something? Then I’d look like a real idiot for bringing it up.
I already feel like enough of a fraud for lying. The truth is, my period is as regular as clockwork and never lasts more than four days, for only one of which I feel slightly cross and uncomfortable. It certainly never gets in the way of my doing anything.
Still, a girl has to have her secrets, right? And it’s the only thing that makes Ethan back off a bit.
I brighten up as I see Ajala walking across the complex towards the parking lot. I’ve hardly laid eyes on him since we visited his club.
He waves as he catches sight of me.
“Hello, Trinity.”
“Hi, Ajala!” I smile, as he comes up alongside me. “Thanks again for the night out at Glitter. Steph and I had such fun.”
“I am glad. How did the lap-dancing class go?”
“Oh, we postponed it to next week. Electra couldn’t make it. But we’ll definitely be at the studio on Saturday morning.”
“That is good. And you will be bringing your friend, Stephanie?”
“Of course. She wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“Good. I would like her to become friends with those girls.”
This strikes me as a slightly odd thing to say. What would a PhD student have in common with a couple of exotic dancers? But then, I suppose, what would she have in common with me? So maybe it’s not that weird after all.
“So, how’s business?” I ask, after a pause.
“It is going really well.” Ajala sounds quite enthusiastic. “We’ve just had our best weekend ever. You would hardly have recognised the place, it was so full of people. If this carries on, we will have to expand soon.”
“That’s great!”
“Yes … I suppose it is.”
“Why do you sound doubtful? I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“It is.” He rubs a hand across his forehead. “Of course it is. And we’re well on track to getting it. But the local council has started giving us zoning problems, and this lawsuit is really bothering me. Our lawyers thought they could make it go away, but we’ve just heard that it’s going to trial.”
“So you might have to pay a fine or something. That’s not the end of the world, is it?”
“It wouldn’t be, if that were all. But they’re really going after us. They want to shut us down completely. And stop us from opening any similar establishment anywhere in the area.”
“Can they do that?”
“I don’t know. Our lawyers didn’t think they’d even get this far, but now it’s starting to look as though anything could be possible. And when the media gets hold of it, I don’t think it will be good for us.”
He glances at his watch. I can see he’s itching to get to work.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and turn towards the flat. “I’m sure it’ll all work out in the end. You’re not doing anything worse than a lot of other places. Just try to stay positive.”
We say goodbye and Ajala gets into his car while I head for our flat. I’m about halfway there when my brain finally registers what he’s just said. Honestly, I think I must have mad cow disease or something.
When the media gets hold of this.
Which must surely mean … that they haven’t got hold of it yet.
I spin around so fast I almost fall over. Then I break into a run. Up ahead of me I can see Ajala in his car, waiting for the front gate to open.
I kick off my heels and stampede up the driveway. I reach him just as he’s pulling out of the complex.
“Ajala! Ajala – wait!” I scream.
He slams on the brakes and turns around in his seat, looking startled. He rolls down the window when he sees who it is.
“Ajala …” I jog up to him, huffing and puffing. “I just realised … I am the media.”
He looks completely mystified. “Sorry?”
“I work for a radio station, remember? And not just any radio station – the most influential news and talk station in the whole of Gauteng. Here I’ve been desperately trying to come up with a story, and there’s been one in front of me all along. It’s perfect! I get a great idea to take to my news editor and you get the chance to tell your side of the story. You wouldn’t mind if I poked around a bit, would you? Interviewed your staff and that kind of thing?”
Ajala is silent for quite a long time. Such a long time, that I’m beginning to wonder whether he’s as keen on the idea as I am.
“No …” he says at last. “I wouldn’t mind. You would report the matter from my point of view, yes?”
“Well …” Now it’s my turn to hesitate. “I’d report it from a neutral point of view, of course. Giving both sides of the story, you know? That’s our policy. But I’d also be giving you what you want, which is a chance to state your case. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
His right hand snakes out of the car window and closes around my wrist. Quite firmly, actually. I look up in surprise and see that his eyes are hard and black as obsidian.
“I am sure, Trinity, that when you investigate this matter you will discover that my point of view is the only one worth reporting.” His grip tightens for a second, and then he releases me. The car window slides shut. He raises a hand in farewell and pulls out into the road.
I walk back down the driveway, rubbing my wrist lightly. A paranoid person might have interpreted that as a threat. Luckily, I’m not a paranoid person.
I spend a few minutes trying to find the shoes I’d kicked off during my dash to the gate. They seem to have been swallowed up by the bushes. When I finally retrieve them I head straight to the flat, eager to tell Steph about it all.
I’m expecting her to be as excited about it as I am, but then I remember her weird prejudice against Ajala.
Steph frowns and chews her lip, as though I’ve just given her some worrying news.
“You’re sure this hasn’t been in the media before?” she says.
“I’m pretty sure it hasn’t. If it has, Ajala’s not aware of it.”
“And he’s given you permission to poke around his club and interview his staff?”
“Uh huh.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“I’m just remembering that this is the guy Farouk warned you not to have anything to do with. He said he was involved in all kinds of bad stuff, remember?”
“Farouk’s an old fuss-pot. He always thinks he knows best.”
“But when have you ever known him to be wrong?”
“Let’s see.” I hold a finger to my temple. “How about the time he used to think I was a complete airhead who wasn’t worthy of being his girlfriend?”
“So … what’s your point?”
“Yes, ha ha – very amusing. But you can’t deny that Farouk has been wrong about people before. And he’s wrong about Ajala now – I know he is.”
Steph does some more lip chewing. “I just think you should be really, really careful. I mean, what if you open up a real can of worms here? Imagine if the club turns out to be a front for arms dealing or something. Is Ajala still going to be cool about letting you stick your nose in his business? Or is he just looking for a tame journalist who will only tell his side of the story?”
“Of course he isn’t!”
My mind flashes back to what Ajala said in the driveway earlier. I consider telling Steph about it, but immediately decide not to. She’ll just overreact, as usual. I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but Steph won’t.
“Still, at least there’s a bright side to all this!” Steph says suddenly, perking up.
“And what’s that?”
“You’ll be spending a lot more time with Farouk from now on, won’t you? If you’re working on the same case, I mean. You’ll probably be phoning him up for quotes and stuff all the time.”
I give a pitying laugh. Honestly, Steph can be so naive sometimes. It’s not often I know more about a thing than she does, but this is definitely one of those times.
“We don’t phone up advocates for quotes!” I laugh. “That’s what we use the attorneys for. And anyway, Farouk is just one of a whole bunch of lawyers working on this case. He’s not going to be handing out statements to the media. In fact, I very much doubt that I’ll have anything to do with him at all.”
“Oh.” She looks disappointed.
“So if you’re harbouring any mad fantasies about getting us back together again, you’re in for a major disappointment.”