I was in my car – on my way to yet another dud job interview. Thandi Thandeka was interviewing some psychologist about how to make relationships work. After listening to him drone on for a couple of minutes, I just couldn’t stand it any more. I found myself grabbing my phone and punching in the number almost without thinking. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last few months, it’s how to make a relationship work.

I wasn’t particularly surprised when they put me straight through to Thandi. It felt as though I’d called one of my girlfriends for a chat. I just switched off my car radio and talked to Thandi as if I’d known her all my life.

We were just getting into our stride when Thandi announced an ad break. Then the producer came on the line and said I had a really great voice for radio. He asked if I’d mind staying on the line and chatting to Thandi some more because they’d been getting a lot of positive response from the listeners. Of course, I said yes. This was the most fun I’d had in months.

When it was all over, nearly twenty minutes later, I felt like I was walking on air. This was what I was born to do. I’d found my true calling at last. And when the producer phoned me up a few days later to invite me onto the Friday Talk panel, I couldn’t say yes quick enough.

“A whole hour!” I say gleefully. “The Friday Talk slot lasts a whole hour, Steph. Can you imagine what might come of it?”

“Um … like what?”

“My own show!” I breathe ecstatically. “Or at the very least, a regular guest-slot on Thandi’s show. This is my ticket into show business, Steph. I just know it is.”

Steph opens her mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again. She reaches over and gives my arm a little squeeze.

“You’re going to be great tomorrow,” she says at last. “I know you are. They were right about one thing – you sound fantastic on the radio. They’d be lucky to get you as a presenter.”

“I know!”

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the TV screen and give myself a big, confident smile.

The next morning, I’m not feeling quite so cocky.

In fact, I’d give anything to get a bit of last night’s buzz back. I feel as if I’m off to the dentist for a spot of root canal. Without an anaesthetic.

I can’t understand why it’s so much scarier going on radio for the second time. After all, I’ve done this before, and it went really well last time. So why are my knees knocking together and my hands shaking?

I’m probably over-thinking it. Yes, that’s right. I just can’t help imagining all those people tuning in to listen to me stuttering and stammering my way through an hour-long slot.

All those hypercritical, judgmental people.

Oh God, I was mad to agree to this. Insane.

I should turn the car around right now and drive back home. Yes. I’ll call in sick. I’ll say I’ve been up all night with a broken leg. No, with a fever. And, okay, they’ll be furious with me and never invite me onto the show again, but still. That’s better than making a total fool of myself.

Fuck, I’m here already.

It’s a five-minute drive from our flat to the Jozi Talks offices. And now that I’m actually here, running away doesn’t seem an option any more.

My eyes flick to the News Café across the road. I’ve been there about a zillion times before. And each time, I’ve looked up at the Media Inc building with its two bright logos – Jozi Talks and Radio Gauteng – and imagined myself working here.

Well, this is the best shot I’m ever likely to get, so I’d better make it a good one.

A guard waves me in through the gate and I swing my car into a small, sunny parking lot.

Right. Quick appearance check. I tilt the rear-view mirror. No lipstick on my teeth. No zits putting in a sudden guest appearance. No clumps of mascara around my eyes.

Excellent.

I clear my throat a couple of times and say in a low, sexy voice, “Good evening and welcome to Talk with Trinity. I’ll be your host for the next three hours. On our line-up tonight …”

I stop as a nervous giggle bursts out. God, I hope that doesn’t happen while I’m on air. I take a swig of mineral water and force myself to calm down.

Okay.

Step out of car. Lock car. Walk calmly up to entrance of building. There we go – I can do this.

I step into a light, modern foyer with a security desk on one side and a circular reception desk on the other. A woman is sitting at reception. She has big black earphones on her head and a bank of computer screens in front of her. She says over and over again, like a mantra, “Jozi Talks, good morning. One moment, please. Jozi Talks, good morning. One moment, please. Jozi Talks, good morning. One moment, please. May I help you?”

It takes me a moment to realise that the “May I help you?” is directed at me.

“Um … hi … my name’s Trinity Luhabe. I’m here for the Thandi Thandeka show. The lady I spoke to was Sandra Viljoen.”

“Jozi Talks, good morning. One moment, please. She’ll be down in a moment. Jozi Talks, good morning …” She indicates with a wave of her hand that I should go across to the security desk.

“Trinity?”

I turn around to see a pale, harassed-looking girl walking quickly towards me with her hand held out.

“I’m Sandra. It’s so nice to meet you at last.”

As I shake her hand, I realise that she’s younger than I am. How on earth did she get a job here? Am I literally the only unemployed twenty-three-year-old left in Gauteng?

“The other guest is already here,” she’s saying, talking fast and walking even faster. I almost have to run to keep up with her as she heads towards the lifts. “You’ll meet her upstairs.”

We step out of the lift into a confusing environment of bright colours and passages leading in different directions. Sandra ushers me to a burnt-orange sofa and apologises for having to rush off.

“Bit of a crisis,” she says tightly. “Back in a sec.”

It takes me a moment to realise that I’m not alone on the sofa. An older lady, more casually dressed than I am, is sitting next to me. I give her a nervous smile.
She stretches out a hand and beams at me.

“Hi there!” she says heartily.

“Hi.” I shake hands. “I’m Trinity.”

“Nice to meet you, Trinity. I’m Beyond.”

I think about this for a moment, but can’t make sense of it.

“Sorry?”
She roars with laughter. “It’s the title of our discussion, remember? Keeping Romance Alive in your Twenties, Thirties, Forties, and Beyond. Well, I’m Beyond.”

“Oh, right.” I titter awkwardly. “Got it.”

“Audrey Painter. Fifty-five years old. At your service.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Audrey. I guess the title of the discussion is a bit patronising. I never really thought about it before.”

“I think it’s a hoot,” she says cheerfully. “I’m guessing you’re here to tell us about keeping romance alive in your twenties?”

I nod. “Absolutely.”

“Then the two ladies phoning in from Cape Town must be in their thirties and forties. This is going to be such a giggle, don’t you think?”

“Well … I suppose so. Although it’s quite a serious subject, isn’t it?”

She hoots with laughter again. People turn and stare.

As I look around, trying to get my bearings, I see a familiar face disappearing into one of the studios. For a second I think it’s someone I know. Then I realise.

“Oh, my God!” I squeak. “Was that Benson Dlamini?”

“Sure looked like him. Hey, do you think they’ll give us some water to sip during the show? My mouth gets a bit dry when I talk a lot.”

But I’m so overwhelmed at having spotted someone famous that I can’t even answer her. I keep craning my neck to see who else I can spy. I can’t believe how casual she’s being about all this. It’s like she doesn’t even care that Kuli Roberts or Elana Afrika could walk in at any moment.

Unless …

A blinding thought strikes me and I gasp.

Unless she’s a celebrity herself!

I immediately stop rubbernecking and turn to stare at my companion. Painter … Painter … isn’t that some kind of famous name? But then I take in the polyester slacks from Woollies, the orthopaedic lace-ups from Dis-Chem, the bristly chin from Menopause 101, and change my mind.

“What’s wrong?” she demands. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sorry. I was just wondering if you’re also famous.”
Her laugh bounces off the walls. “Only for my chicken pie, love. And my glamorous taste in shoes.”

“Ready, ladies?” Sandra Viljoen reappears at my side, looking a bit more relaxed.
We both nod.

“Excellent. There’ll be an ad break in a minute. I’ll take you in and introduce you to Thandi. Then we’ll get you set up with mikes and headphones, and you’ll be on straight after the news. Just try to relax and follow Thandi’s lead.”

Audrey and I stand up. My legs have mysteriously turned to jelly, but Audrey strides confidently ahead of me.

We stop and wait outside a studio while Sandra keeps an eye on a digital clock above the door. As the numbers roll over to 09.52, she pushes the door open with her hip and waves us in. An ad for life insurance is blaring over the speakers. Thandi Thandeka is removing her headphones and taking a swig of bottled water. She gets up immediately and comes toward us.

“Hi there! You must be Trinity and Audrey. I’m Thandi. It’s so nice to meet you both.”

We say hello and shake hands. Thandi looks exactly like her publicity photo on the Jozi Talks website, only a lot less glamorous. I thought Sandra was kidding when she told me that Thandi normally presents her show in a tracksuit and takkies. But guess what? That’s exactly what she’s wearing.

I smooth my slinky bias-cut dress over my hips, feeling ridiculously overdressed.

“You look stunning, Trinity,” Thandi says immediately. “I love your shoes.”
I look up quickly, thinking she’s being sarcastic, but see true shoe-envy in her eyes.

“Where did you get them?”

“From Palazzo Pitti, in the Zone.”

“Ooh, I love that shop. Gorgeous, gorgeous shoes.”

“I know. It’s my favourite too.”

We grin at each other – united in the sisterhood of shoes. I feel myself starting to relax. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

***

Tell us what you think: Do you think Trinity will be a natural for a job in radio? What do you think could go wrong in the interview?