MY LIFE has come full circle.

Six months ago, I was sitting on this exact same burnt-orange sofa waiting to go on the Thandi Thandeka show. I thought my career was made. I thought I’d be getting my own show or at least a regular guest spot on Thandi’s. All those months of joblessness and fruitless interviews were finally at an end.

Now I know that life doesn’t work like that.

Despite everything that’s happened, I can’t help smiling when I remember how naive I was. I came here expecting to see celebrities around every corner. I was so excited when I first spotted Benson Dlamini.
In fact, there he goes now, slipping into one of the studios to pre-record an interview with a guest for his Sunday morning show. He gives me a friendly smile and I lift my hand in acknowledgement.

One good thing that’s come from working here is that I’m no longer totally overawed by celebrities. I’m completely used to seeing famous people drifting in and out. They’re just ordinary human beings, really. No different from you or …

Oh my God! Is that Ryk Neethling?

It is! It is! He’s just going into the men’s room. I wonder whose show he’s going to be on. God, he’s even more gorgeous in real life. I wonder if I went and stood outside the Gents … just very casually … and …

“Trinity!”

With a jolt, I see Rashid holding up two fingers.

“Two minutes.”

“Sure.”

Okay, in that case I’d better stay put.

When there are thirty seconds left to go, Rashid sticks his head out of the studio and beckons to me. I walk in and take my seat behind one of the spongy microphones.

The memories are coming at me thick and fast now.

Me burbling on about my “perfect” relationship with Ethan. The breakfasts in bed. The craft markets. The once-a-week sex.

And that lady. What was her name again? Audrey something-or-other. Sitting in the chair next to me and laughing until the tears ran down her cheeks. Definitely not my finest hour.

I adjust my microphone to the right height, all the while keeping my eye on Thandi. She, in turn, is keeping her eye on the controller who is giving her the countdown to the end of the newsbreak.

“Hello, and welcome back to the second hour of the show,” Thandi says in her melted chocolate, made-for-radio voice. “If you tuned in this morning you’ll know that the big story rocking Jozi-land today is the great nightclub hoax. With me in the studio today is the News Live reporter who broke the story in the early hours of this morning – Trinity Luhabe. Later on in the show we’ll be hearing from the Director of the Institute for Foreign National Relations who will be discussing the role that xenophobia played in the success of this hoax. Then we’ll be joined by one of the lawyers involved in the matter who will take us through the legal implications of Jozi Talk’s exposé.”

My heart skips a beat.

Did she just say one of the lawyers?

It’s Farouk. It must be. He’s the one who handles all questions from the media.

God, it’ll be so weird having him right here in the studio, sitting next to me and discussing my story.

Okay, focus. What is Thandi saying?

“Trinity, we’ve just heard that a second high-level resignation has occurred this morning. Mandla Papu has stepped down as Deputy MEC for Safety and Security. This comes just hours after Peter Drew retired as CEO of the Trichardt Oil Company. Speculation is rife that this is as a direct result of your story. We heard you on the Dave Robbins show earlier this morning discussing how you broke the story, but perhaps you could recap for the benefit of the listeners who have only just tuned in?”

“With pleasure, Thandi.” I smile across the studio at her. “A few months ago News Live reported on a pending court case between the so-called Rivonia Concerned Residents’ Association and a Nigerian-run nightclub in Rivonia. It seemed to be a story about a grassroots community initiative, so I decided to follow it and see how far the Residents’ Association got in its attempt to close down the club.

“And what led you to suspect that things weren’t quite as they seemed?”

“Well, Thandi, there were a number of things that didn’t quite add up. The nightclub that was being targeted is not situated in a residential area but is surrounded by several other nightclubs and strip clubs. So, that got me thinking – why them? Why pick on one small club when there are other, much bigger and noisier ones in the same area?”

“I believe you actually went to Glitter to see what all the fuss was about?”

“Yes, I did. And I was nervous about it, too. At that stage, I was still feeling my way. I’d heard enough bad things about the club to make me very apprehensive about visiting. But then when I got there I found a very cool, couple-friendly dance venue with a relaxed vibe and a fantastic show.”

“So, it’s not a strip club?”

“Definitely not. There’s no nudity – just a very hip and sexy dance show. So you see, by this time I was really wondering what the problem was.”

“I can imagine!” Thandi says. “If I can just stop you there for a moment, Trinity. Our switchboard is jammed with callers. We’re going to take a couple of calls quickly before you carry on with your story.”

Rashid gives us a thumbs-up from the producer’s box. A jammed switchboard means lots of listeners tuning in to the show, which means lots of lovely advertising revenue for Media Inc.

I lean forward, alert, waiting for the first question. I wonder what I could have said that has sparked such a frenzy of calls so early in the interview.

“Lindi from Orlando East, hi!” says Thandi.

“Hi, Thandi, love your show! I just have a question for Trinity if she can hear me?”

“Go ahead, Lindi. I’m right here.”

“Oh, right. Well … I was just wondering if you are related to Abel Luhabe, by any chance?”

Oh God, not this again.

I have to force my voice to stay friendly. “Um …yes Lindi, I actually am. He’s my father, but that really has nothing at all to do with …”

“Because I’ve heard about his company’s bursary scheme and I was wondering how I could go about applying.”

“The details are all on the UbuntuGold website.”

“Oh, I know, but I thought it would be easier if I just phoned in and asked you.”

“It’s all on the website, Lindi,” Thandi interrupts. “Thank you for calling. Now let’s go to Suzette in Mondeor. Go ahead, Suzette.”

“Hi, Thandi! Hi, Trinity! I’m engaged to a black guy. We’re getting married in February. And I was wondering if Trinity’s mom has found it difficult marrying into an African family. I mean, I really like my fiancé’s parents and everything, but they’re just not the same as us, are they?”

I stifle a giggle as I see Thandi hold her head in her hands.

“Suzette, I’m afraid I really can’t comment on my parents’ marriage over the radio,” I say as politely as I can. “But I hope you and your fiancé will be very happy.”

Oh God, I hope that wasn’t the wrong thing to say. “No comment” sounds a bit ominous doesn’t it? Everyone knows that people always say no comment when they’re covering up something awful.

Anyway. I can’t worry about that now. I have to listen to what Ben in Randburg is saying.

“Trinity, I’ve heard that your father has been approached to join COPE to try to resuscitate it. Can you confirm if that’s true?”

“Again, I really can’t speak on behalf of my father. He is well-known to be a member in good standing with the ANC. Whether he has been approached by any other political parties is something I can’t comment on.”

“Thanks for calling, Ben” says Thandi. “When we come back from the break, News Live reporter, Trinity Luhabe, will be talking more about the story she broke this morning.” Thandi has clearly caught her controller by surprise, and he scrambles to get the commercial break underway.

An Outsurance ad starts playing. Thandi presses the button that activates the intercom to the producer’s box and shouts so loudly that everyone in the box jumps.

“What’s going on in there?” she barks. “Why do you keep putting through callers who only want to talk about Trinity’s dad? We’re trying to have a discussion about the nightclub story. Now everyone’s going to be phoning in to talk about COPE and bloody mixed marriages!”

Rashid shrugs defensively. “It’s great for ratings. As soon as people know they’re listening to Abel Luhabe’s daughter, everyone in Gauteng tunes in. It was the same on Dave’s show this morning.”

“Well, now that everyone’s listening, can we please stay on the point? This is the biggest exclusive we’ve had in weeks and if we mess it up Barbara will have us all on toast.”

“Sure, Thandi.” Rashid grins. “You’ve got it.”

Thandi sitd down in her seat and shoots me an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. We’ll pick up right where you left off. Try to make it sound as intriguing as possible, okay? Kind of like a thriller with you as the main detective.”

“Right …” I say after a pause. “I guess I can do that.”

So when I go back on air I put on my best spine-tingling voice and tell it almost as if I were reading a story. And when I tell it like that, I suddenly realise that it was very exciting – certainly the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.

It didn’t feel like that at the time. I was only aware of feeling frustrated and full of self-doubt.

I tell Thandi about the lies that Wessels and Kumar tried to spread about Ajala – and how not one of them checked out when I actually followed up on them. I talk about how suspicious I got when I found out that Wessels just used his Rivonia house as a bachelor pad and was hardly involved in his children’s lives at all. I mention how successful Ajala’s club has become – even in the recession – to the extent that he’s had to add lots of new parking.

At this point, Thandi takes a couple of calls, all from people who’ve been to Glitter and had a really good time there. Which is great publicity for Ajala.

Then I talk about going to Le Club so that I could see what a real strip club was like. I’m a bit careful about what I say here. Barbara’s made it very clear that I can’t mention anything slanderous. So I just keep it to the “aha” moment when I connected one of the dancers at the club to Ignus Wessels. That was when I got Gidon Lazar to unravel the maze of ownership behind the Le Club franchise, and he helped me trace it directly back to Ignus Wessels and Dipesh Kumar.

“And those weren’t the only names you came across as having an undeclared financial interest in Le Club, right?” Thandi prompts me.

“That’s right, Thandi. But that’s when I started getting a little nervous, because the documents I found seemed to suggest that Mandla Papu of the Gauteng provincial executive and Peter Drew of the Trichardt Oil Company were both shareholders in Le Club and were using their positions to fund and support the RCRA’s campaign against Glitter. Including pressurising the local council to withdraw the club’s zoning rights, and bribing inspection officials to create non-existent safety violations.”

“There’s been no admission of wrongdoing from either of these men, though?”

“No, Thandi, that’s true. But most commentators are interpreting their resignations as a clear indication that News Live has got it right.”

“And no sooner had you made this discovery than The Weekly Guardian ran a piece about the Rivonia Concerned Residents’ Association?”

“That’s right.”

Her eyes twinkle at me over the mike, and I smile back. We have strict instructions from Barbara to milk this for all it’s worth. It turns out that the ex-boyfriend from varsity actually broke up with her on their graduation day, just when she was expecting him to propose. They’ve had a professional rivalry ever since, and especially since he became The Weekly Guardian editor. So our task is pretty clear – to rub it in as much as we can.

“That was the second part of the elaborate hoax they put in place to try to force Glitter out of business. The first part was to create a bogus Residents’ Association and bring a lawsuit against Glitter to pressurise it into closing down. The second was to set up a Weekly Guardian reporter as their tame spokesperson by offering her an exclusive.

“A very young and inexperienced reporter, Trinity?” Thandi asks, sounding all concerned.

“Exactly, Thandi. I believe she’s a recent graduate who’s working her way through their training programme. It seems Wessels and Kumar wanted an inexperienced fall-guy who wouldn’t question their facts too closely.”

“I have the story here in front of me where the reporter claims to have been followed and harassed by unknown men. She concludes that they were trying to stop her from writing the story.”
I give a slight snort. “Actually, Thandi, it seems far more likely that those men were working for Le Club. They were set to trick her into thinking that the owners of Glitter were dangerous criminals. And also to convince The Weekly Guardian to run the story sooner and more prominently than it might otherwise have done.”

***

As the eleven o’clock news draws closer, I feel we’ve already covered the subject pretty well.

I’ve been over every step of my investigation. We’ve done our best to make it sound as though The Weekly Guardian totally dropped the ball with last Friday’s story. We’ve thrashed out the whole xenophobia issue with the guy from the Institute for Foreign National Relations. And we’ve taken plenty of calls from people who have strong opinions about strip clubs in general and Le Club in particular.

I’m listening to Sheryl from Kensington, who’s telling me how strip clubs ruined her marriage. My mind keeps wandering because I know that the last guest will be coming in at any moment – the lawyer. The one I’m convinced will turn out to be Farouk.

The studio door opens behind me and my head swivels so fast I almost get whiplash.

It’s … not Farouk.

It’s someone else. Some guy in his early thirties, dressed in an Edgars suit. He nods nervously to me and to Thandi, while Rashid sets him up with a pair of headphones and a mike. Thandi brings the phone-in segment to a close and introduces him as Chris Burger from the law firm Broekhuizen, Ndala and Associates.

“We hoped to have someone from the legal team that was representing the RCRA, Chris,” Thandi says. “But no one was willing to speak to us.”

“That’s par for the course, Thandi.” He clears his throat, and the pitch of his voice soon settles down. “All the lawyers involved in this matter will have confidentiality issues that prevent them from discussing an ex-client. We wouldn’t want it any other way. But as someone who has never been involved, I can certainly speculate about what’s likely to have been going on behind closed doors on the legal front.”

“Thanks, Chris. We’ve received word that the Residents’ Association fired its entire legal team last night and is currently seeking new representation. Can you tell us why that would have happened?”

“I think the question to ask is who fired whom. I find it much more likely that their legal team refused to take the case any further. As soon as they discovered that the lawsuit was actually an attempt to deceive the court, I imagine they would have withdrawn their services.”

“So are you saying that the court case Ignus Wessels and Dipesh Kumar were trying to bring was actually illegal?”

“Well it seems certainly to have been an abuse of process. If it’s true that the Residents’ Association was nothing more than a front for the rival nightclub Le Club that funded and ran the lawsuit, then that was more than improper. We find precedent for this in the case of …”

As he slips into legalese, I tune him out and stare morosely at the jumble of wires running across the table. I’m trying to contain my disappointment here. To put it into perspective.

I was silly to think that the legal expert might be Farouk. Of course it wasn’t him. And of course he hasn’t called.

Or texted.

Or visited.

I think it’s time for me finally to start getting the message now.