To: trinityluhabe@jozitalks.co.za

From: ethanbell@discovery.co.za

Darling –

I’ve rebooked Pigalle for tonight at 7pm. Can’t wait to see you! This will be the night we remember for the rest of our lives…

Lots of love,

Ethan

To: ethanbell@discovery.co.za

From: trinityluhabe@jozitalks.co.za

Sorry babes, I ate a dodgy sandwich at lunch and have been throwing up all afternoon. A dinner would be wasted on me. But we’ll do it soon, I promise!

XX

Trinity

To: trinityluhabe@jozitalks.co.za

From: ethanbell@discovery.co.za

Okay, I’ve changed the booking to Saturday night. That will actually be nicer. Saturday nights are much better for special occasions.

I’m so excited about this! I can’t wait for the weekend to arrive.

Lots of love,

Ethan

To: ethanbell@discovery.co.za

From: trinityluhabe@jozitalks.co.za

Oops! Saturday’s no good either. I forgot to tell you – Steph and I are going to a dance class on Saturday and we’ll be hanging out with the dancers afterwards. We might be back quite late.

It’s all part of some research I’m doing for work, so I really can’t get out of it. Maybe we should put off the dinner till things have settled down a bit?

XX

Trinity

To: trintyluhabe@jozitalks.co.za

From: ethanbell@discovery.co.za

Sweetheart –

It almost feels like you’re trying to avoid me. Saturday night is Couple Time, remember? I wrote it in your diary. I know your work is important, but this is our future we’re talking about.

Now, please, when can we have dinner together? You name the date and I’ll make the booking.

I promise you won’t be sorry!!!

Lots of love,

Ethan

To: ethanbell@discovery.co.za

From: trinityluhabe@jozitalks.co.za

Next Tuesday at 7.30pm. And don’t worry about picking me up. I’ll meet you at the restaurant because I’ll probably have to come straight from work.

XX

Trinity

IT’S BEEN a stressful day.

I came into work early this morning all psyched up to present my story proposal to Barbara, but it turns out she’s away on training for the whole day.

Instead I’ve had to deal with about a million emails from Ethan. And I don’t seem to have done a very good job of it because now he thinks I’m avoiding him. Which I am, of course.

I’ve managed to put our dinner off until next Tuesday. That should give me enough time to decide how I really feel about moving in with him. Now if I could just focus for five minutes, I might finally get somewhere. But every time I try to concentrate on our relationship, my mind hops away like a grasshopper.

What’s for supper? Has the YDE sale started yet? I hope Barbara likes my proposal. Steph’s new haircut looks so awesome.

You see? It’s like my brain just doesn’t want to deal with it. Which is really weird because it would be the next logical step in our relationship. We wouldn’t even have to move into Ethan’s place. We could start looking for somewhere new together. And with our combined salaries we could probably afford something really nice. We’d have a bigger garden and more room to entertain friends.

And the best part of all is that we’d be together every night.

Just the two of us. Alone together. In a flat. Or maybe a townhouse.

I wonder what we’d do.

I mean, obviously we’d chat about our days and stuff. And … and we’d probably rent DVDs quite often. Yes, that would be fun, wouldn’t it? Ethan and I curled up on the sofa together watching a DVD with a big bowl of popcorn between us.

And then on weekends we’d … we’d …

Oh, stop it. This is silly. Obviously, I’d do whatever it is that I normally do on weekends, except that I’d be with the man I love.

Now stop thinking about it. It’ll be fine.

“You wanted to see me, Trinity?”

I almost jump out of my skin. Barbara is standing in front of me, looking expectant. It’s nearly four o’clock, and she’s back from training.

“Um, yes …” I try to scrape my wits together. “Yes, I wanted to speak to you. Can we go into the conference room?”

“Sorry, no can do. I’m reading the news in exactly two minutes. I can give you thirty seconds and then I need to get Steve Parson on the line.”

“But, but … I really need to have a chat with …”

“Twenty-five seconds,” Barbara says, looking at her watch.

“Okay.” I immediately start to gabble. “I’ve got a new idea for a story.”

Everyone in the vicinity pricks up their ears. My story ideas have become quite legendary, apparently.

“There’s a group called the Rivonia Concerned Residents Association. They’re trying to shut down one of the nightclubs in their area. A place called Glitter. There’s going to be a trial about it and everything. If they succeed, it’ll set a precedent for all other residents’ associations. I want to do an in-depth piece about it.”

“Matsimela?” Barbara barks, glancing automatically at him.

Matsimela gives one brisk nod and carries right on typing.

“Fine, it’s all yours.” Barbara turns back to me. “That’s actually not a bad idea at all. Speak to Michelle. She did the original story when they filed papers at the beginning of the year. I never thought it would get this far. It’ll be interesting to see if it actually goes to trial.”

“Oh, thank you!” I’m almost blubbering. “Thank you so much, Barbara!”

But she’s already walking away.

Then she stops and turns around.

“Oh, and Trinity?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t fuck it up.”

I gulp and nod.

As I sit back down again, I can’t help the huge smile spreading across my face.

I’ve done it.

I’ve got my own story at last. And, okay, maybe I’m not absolutely the first person to work on it. It looks like Michelle, the court reporter, got there first. But I’m the one who’s going to find out what’s really going on. And I know exactly where to start. When we go to our dance class with Sappho and Elektra on Saturday, I’m going to interview them. If there’s anything fishy going on at Glitter, the dancers will know all about it.

*****

I wake up really early on Saturday morning, in a slight panic about what to wear to the class. I can’t believe I’ve left it this late. I normally start planning my outfits days in advance.

A series of thumps and bumps tells me that Steph is awake too, and also trying on clothes.

Okay, Trinity, think.

Think exotic dancing. Think glamour.

I try to remember all the dance classes I’ve taken in my life. There was ballet when I was little, and a hip hop class when I was a teenager. And then there was also … there was … um …

Hang on. Have I only taken two dance classes in my entire life? So why does it feel as though I spend most of my time dancing?

Okay, I suppose there is a difference between dancing at clubs every weekend and actual dance lessons.

Right, concentrate. What do dancers wear? Leotards, right? Fine, I’ve got a couple of those.

Footless tights? Check.

Leg warmers?

Hmm. This is all starting to sound a bit eighties. But maybe it’ll be cool in a retro kind of way.

What else? Black leather ballet shoes. Check. And a long-sleeve wraparound top because it’s a bit chilly. Check again.

I try on different combinations of this outfit. Soon I’m making the same bumping and thumping sounds as Steph – not to mention some choice swearwords. Is it just me or are leotards horribly unflattering to everyone?

Eventually, there’s a knock at my bedroom door. I go to answer it, pushing my hair out of my face. I’m sweating so much you’d think I’d already been to a dance class.

Steph and I stare at each other in silence.

“Oh …” she says. “You’re already dressed.”

“Yes.” I look down at myself awkwardly.

“You look very … um … nice.”

“Oh, so do you. You also look very nice.”

I catch Steph’s eye and feel a bubble of laughter rising up inside me. Suddenly, we’re both giggling helplessly.

“Tell me the truth,” I gasp, when I manage to catch my breath. “Does my bum look big in this?”

I turn around and wiggle my butt, giving her the full 360 degrees.

Steph pulls an agonised face.

“It does, doesn’t it?” I wail, reading the truth in her eyes. “I knew it! I knew it. I look like a bus in this stupid leotard.”

“I’m sorry, Trinity,” she wails back. “I don’t know why, but it’s turned your butt into a super-butt. You look like Beyoncé on steroids. It’s the same with my boobs, isn’t it?”

I nod sadly. Steph’s boobs are normally completely average, but that leotard makes her look like the prow of a ship. A really big ship. Like the Titanic or something.

“What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to do what we should have done in the first place,” I say. “We’re going to change into our normal tracksuits and stop pretending we’re auditioning for ‘Dancing with the Stars’.”

*****

The dance studio is in Rivonia, not far from Glitter. There’s a sign advertising ballet, modern, hip hop, ballroom, and “exotic” dancing, which is where we fit in, I guess.

We follow the signs to Studio 2 and find a group of women waiting outside the door for the ten o’clock class to start. I’m surprised to see that they are all quite a bit older than us. I can’t help wondering what they’re doing here.

“Hoping to spice up their sex lives,” Steph whispers, reading my mind.

“Really?” I whisper back.

“Oh, definitely. This is the latest exercise craze for housewives.”

I find myself glancing at them with new interest. I’m trying to picture these ladies trying out their dance moves on their husbands tonight. Then I start imagining myself trying out my own moves on Ethan and another fit of giggling threatens to overwhelm me.

Just then the double doors to the studio are thrown open and a group of little girls in pink leotards troops out. Sappho waves us all into the studio and Elektra appears from a side door, carrying a change of music and some props. I can’t resist glancing at the pile of stuff she’s brought. I spot some feather boas, a couple of white cotton shirts with velcro fastenings, and some black bowties.

I feel a tingle of anticipation. This is going to be fun.

We all snap to attention as music starts pounding through the speakers. It’s a sexy salsa beat, with a lot of hip hop influence. I remember it from the night we spent at Glitter.

“Ready, ladies?” Sappho and Elektra turn to face the mirror. “And a five, six, seven, eight!”

About an hour later, I have a healthy new respect for these girls. We’ve been throwing ourselves around the room practically non-stop. I’m puffing like an old bulldog and my muscles are slowly turning to jelly. I think I’m starting to understand the difference between dancing for fun a couple of nights a week and dancing for a living, every day of your life.

I look around to see how the others are managing. Steph is quite red in the face, but, like me, she’s keeping up with most of the movements. Some of the other ladies look as though they’re about to pass out at any moment. One in particular seems to be taking strain. She has short dark hair and a stocky figure, and her face is puce.

It wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t have to go down to floor level so often. Like now. We’re supposed to drop to the floor, hug our knees, and spin around on our bums. Then we come up on one leg in a fluid, back-bend type movement, do a final hair flick, and face the front.

By the time we’re all up, we’ve had our first casualty of the day. The lady with the short dark hair is still on the floor, looking as though she might need a forklift to get her up.

“Are you all right?” Sappho asks anxiously. Elektra rushes to switch off the music.

Legs shaking, the woman hoists herself slowly to her feet.

“I’ve had a revelation, girls,” she puffs.

We stare at her.

“I realised … while I was down there … that I’m a forty-five-year-old … mother of three.” She takes a deep breath. “I like to be in bed by half past nine every night. With a mug of tea and a good book. Should I really be giving my husband a reason to want to have sex with me?”

She turns to Sappho and Elektra, who are watching her goggle-eyed.

“You’re both lovely girls … you really are, but those dance routines of yours are pure evil. Now if you ladies will excuse me, I’m off to find myself a chiropractor.”

I can’t suppress a giggle, and clap a hand over my mouth. Suddenly everyone else is giggling too. Two of the ladies start up a slow handclap, and one of them shouts, “Way to go, Moira! See you at the Mugg & Bean later.”

There’s a scuffling noise at the back of the studio as another woman makes a dive for her handbag.

“Hey, Moira, wait for me! I’m coming too.”

The doors close behind them and there’s silence. Our dance instructors take a moment to pull themselves together.

“You’ll all feel really good if you stay and finish the class,” Sappho says unconvincingly. “No one else is leaving, I hope?”

There’s some restlessness in the ranks, but no one actually goes.

“All right.” She sounds more cheerful. “From the top, then. Five, six, seven, eight!”

By the end of the class, Steph and I are sweaty, red-faced and completely out of breath. Sappho and Elektra look as though all they’ve done is a bit of light stretching to warm up. It’s so unfair.

“Do you have another class after this?” I ask when I’m able to talk without gasping.

Elektra shakes her head. “No, we’re done for the day. We have to be at the club at five o’clock this afternoon to start warming up, but we’re free until then.”

“Did Ajala explain that I wanted to speak to you?”

“Sure. He said you’re doing a report on the court case, and that we should help you as much as we could.”

The other class members are gathering up their belongings and filing out of the studio. Some of them cast curious glances in our direction, but no one asks what we’re up to.

“Poor Ajala.” Elektra shakes her head. “He really doesn’t deserve all this.”

“All what?”

“This residents’ association trying to shut him down. It’s not like he’s doing anything wrong. These people are totally overreacting.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Steph crossing her arms over her chest and looking dubious.

But Sappho nods in agreement. “Ajala is such a sweetie. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“He’s the best employer I’ve ever worked for,” Elektra says.

“Me too.”

“And the kindest.”

I open my mouth to speak, but Steph gets there first.

“It almost sounds like he’s been telling you what to say.”

Elektra and Sappho stare at her in surprise. “Who?”

“Ajala. It sounds as though he told you to say only nice things about him. He needs to remember that we’re not in Nigeria now. South Africa is a free country, you know. We have complete freedom of the press here. You don’t have to be scared to tell us the truth. There’s even a witness protection programme that you could …”

I clear my throat sharply.

“Stephanie …” I say gently.

“Yes?”

“Hollywood called. They want their movie script back.”

Sappho and Elektra giggle.

Steph turns pink. “I just think you shouldn’t be naive, that’s all.”

“All right.” I switch my voice recorder on. “Perhaps you girls could start by telling me how you came to work at the club.”

“Ajala headhunted us,” Elektra explains. “He went round to all the local clubs and hand-picked the dancers he liked best. We were all happy to make the change.”

“Because he offered you a higher salary?”

“Because he offered us a salary, full stop. That’s not normal in this business. At most other clubs, the dancers only get their tips. And that’s after they’ve given the house a cut, plus tip-outs for the kitchen and bar staff. Anything over and above that is what they get to take home.”

“Which is fine when all the clients have money to burn,” Sappho goes on. “But it’s not so great when times are tough, like they are now.”

“Ajala gives us sick leave and medical aid,” Elektra says. “That’s unheard of in this industry.”

“Plus, it’s a really nice place to work. We don’t do full nudity and we don’t do lap dances.”

“So, generally you’re happy with your working environment?”

“Oh, definitely.” Sappho nods vigorously. “At my old club, I had to put up with racist abuse nearly every day. I lost count of the number of times I got called the K-word. Ajala would never stand for that. At Glitter I feel respected both as a woman and as an African.”

Steph makes a slight choking noise. I turn to her with raised eyebrows.

“What’s up, babe?”

“Could I talk to you in private please?” She turns to the two dancers. “Excuse us for a sec. We won’t be long.”

*****

I switch off my equipment and follow Steph out of the studio. Something tells me I’m in for a lecture.

“What?” I ask, as the doors close behind us.

“Don’t you feel it?” she asks urgently. “Something’s off with this interview. It’s not going the way it should. Those girls have totally hijacked it. You’re not getting to ask any of the hard questions you should be asking.”

“Why would they want to hijack it? They seem so helpful.”

“They work for Ajala, remember? He’s the guy who pays them. Would they really say anything bad about him or his club?”

“No …” I admit reluctantly. “I suppose they wouldn’t.”

“You need to coax it out of them. You need to trick them into saying something inconsistent.”

I rub my forehead. “I don’t know, Steph. They really seem to like working for him. Didn’t you hear Sappho: ‘I feel respected both as a woman and as an African.’ I nearly cheered when she said that.”

“And I nearly reached for the sick bag. It sounded totally false – like she was reading it off a script. I bet Ajala paid her to say that. And anyway, the way he treats his employees is not the point. The lawsuit is the point. That’s what you need to get to the bottom of.”

“I guess …”

I’m starting to feel a bit depressed here. Like I might have bitten off more than I can chew. Steph’s right. I’ve allowed myself to get sidetracked. And I really shouldn’t need her to tell me my job. I’m the one who’s supposed to be the journalist. I should have thought of it myself.

I stand up straighter and take a deep breath. “Okay. I’m going back in there and I’m going to get straight to the point. No more distractions. Let’s go.”

*****

My determination takes a knock the moment we step back into the studio. Sappho and Elektra are looking at me with such helpful expressions on their faces, I can’t believe they’ve been paid to lie to me. Then I catch Steph’s eye and feel strong again.

“Let’s talk about this lawsuit that Ajala’s facing,” I say, trying to sound businesslike.

They both nod.

“What do you think is behind it? Why is the community so keen to shut the club down? It must be costing them a fortune in legal fees. Nobody’s got that kind of money to waste these days. They must have a good reason for doing it, right?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Sappho says, widening her eyes. “It just doesn’t make any sense. Why us? Why not one of the other clubs? It’s not like we’re even in a residential area. We’re surrounded by restaurants and shops and clubs.”

“And not just any clubs,” Elektra chimes in. “Hardcore strip clubs. They’ve got louder music than Glitter, and full-on nudity. Sappho’s right. It doesn’t make sense at all.”

I nod sympathetically – that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking all along. Then I see Steph raising her eyebrows, and realise I’m doing it again. I’m not being critical enough.

But what does she expect me to say? How can I argue, when I agree? Oh, I give up.

“What do you think, Steph?” I ask, handing the reins over to her.

“Well … I kind of think that this is the whole point. We need to ask ourselves why the Rivonia residents are doing this now. They’ve tolerated nightclubs in their area for years. So why are they suddenly freaking out about Glitter? There has to be a good reason for it. And I’m wondering whether you girls already know what it is.”

I hold my breath as Sappho and Elektra lock eyes for a moment. Then suddenly they turn back to us.

“No,” Elektra says firmly. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea.”

“Me too,” Sappho adds. “I just can’t understand it.”

I let my breath out in a long sigh.

Steph starts pacing up and down. “I can understand if you guys are trying to protect Ajala, but you’ve only been working for him for a few months. You really don’t owe him this kind of loyalty.”

Elektra shrugs. “I don’t know about that. I’m a single mom and Sappho is the only one in her family with a job. Ajala took us out of a bad situation and helped us to look after our families better.”

“And the point is, we’re not covering up for him,” Sappho says quickly. “There’s nothing to cover up. We’re just telling the truth. We really don’t know what this lawsuit is all about.”

“What about drugs?”

“What do you mean?” Sappho asks uneasily.

“Well, that would explain everything, wouldn’t it? If the club is being used to deal drugs, you can understand why the residents would want it to be closed down.”

“That’s crazy! Ajala is very strict about drugs. He says he can’t control what we do on our own time, but he won’t have us bringing drugs into the club. It’s an instant firing offence.”

Steph opens her mouth to say something, but Elektra gets in first.

“We’re not answering any more questions now. I thought you guys were on Ajala’s side. He told us you were his friends.”

“We are!” I say defensively. “We’re just trying to get to the truth. I’m a journalist – I can’t afford to be on anyone’s side.”

“Well, it sounds to me like you’re trying to attack Ajala. I really think you should go now.”

Both girls fold their arms and stare at us expectantly. I have no choice but to start packing up my equipment.

“Okay … well …” I shove some stuff randomly into my bag. “Thanks for your time.”

They ignore me completely.

*****

Steph and I walk to the car in silence. I turn my face away so she can’t see how upset I am. But the problem with best friends is that they get to know you pretty well.

As we reach the car, she puts her arm around me and gives me a little hug.

“Don’t take it so to heart, babes. You didn’t step out of line. You were just doing your job.”

“I know …” I sigh. “But I really liked them, you know? I didn’t want them to see me as some kind of über-bitch.”

“I’m sure they don’t. But the point is, you didn’t go into journalism to make friends. Sometimes you’re going to end up alienating people. That’s just the way it goes.”

“Now we can’t even go back for another dance lesson. And that was the best workout I’ve ever had.”

Steph rubs her neck and winces. “Me too, although I’m going to pay for it in the morning. Imagine how fit we’d be if we did this every week.”

“Well, something tells me Sappho and Elektra won’t be welcoming us back with open arms.”

Steph gives my shoulders a last squeeze before climbing into the car. “Come on, Trinity. Don’t move in on my act here. You’re the strong one and I’m the wuss, remember? You’re the one who’s never been afraid of confrontation. You just need to dig deep and get in touch with your inner tough girl.”

I slump down in my seat as Steph weaves through the Saturday afternoon traffic and heads for home. My inner tough girl seems to be taking a break today. Steph’s right, though. I’ve never been one to worry about what people think of me, or needed everyone to like me. So why couldn’t I ask the difficult questions today? Why did Steph have to do it for me? Isn’t she supposed to be the non-confrontational one? It was almost like she was the reporter and I was the sidekick.

There’s something about this story that’s making me uneasy. And when I’m uneasy, I can’t bring myself to start throwing accusations at people. Or perhaps I’m just losing my edge. I haven’t been very assertive at all lately. Maybe it’s time to change all that.

I try to imagine myself whipping out a box of Tinkies at Ethan’s house and boldly unwrapping one under his nose.

Or phoning up Farouk and asking him to explain why he walked away from our relationship three years ago.

No, not Farouk. I don’t know where that came from. Forget Farouk. This has nothing to do with him. This is about proving myself to Barbara and the rest of the Jozi news team. And that’s not going to happen until I stop being so lame.