“You’ll like it at Sounds,” Hetty told Londi as they were walking to the next site the photographer had chosen. “We hang out together a lot after work. You know, do stuff, go places. Not the DJs, but the rest of us.”

“The DJs being too superior,” Londi guessed, because she’d noticed how they mostly ignored not only her, but Hetty and Jabu too. “I hope I don’t get like that, if I ever get to be on-air.”

“Every intern’s dream,” Hetty commented.

“You think I’m being stupid?”

“What’s stupid about dreaming?” A naughty smile crept over Hetty’s face. “So are you gonna have a DJ name like ‘Lil’ YoYo’? Say, ‘Miz’ Lon’?”

“Something more in your face? Kissy Kickass?” Londi laughed and pushed out her lips into an exaggerated kissing shape, then quickly let them relax again as she noticed Busani staring at her from where he and the photographer had stopped, under the M1 overpass.

Staring or glaring?

“Kwaa! It’s going to be fun, having you as part of the gang,” Hetty said. “We do some cool stuff. Clubs, concerts, that sort of thing.”

“Late nights are difficult for me,” Londi warned her. “Transport, you know? The creeps you get late at night.”

“You can always sleep over at my place. We’re in Fordsburg. The flat’s a bit crowded, with so many sharing to keep everyone’s share of the rent as low as poss, but you’re welcome. Hey, if you want to move out of kasi, you should join us.”

Hetty was enthusiastic.

Londi shook her head. “They need me to help at home. There’s just Gogo and my kid brother and sister since my father took off. My Sounds wages will help. I was at a spyzozo place until now. Terrible pay and rude customers.”

She believed in being upfront about her family circumstances, the same as she did about her lack of money. It prevented misunderstanding and embarrassment.

Hetty pulled a face. “Sorry, sisi. I hear you.”

“Hetty? We’re waiting,” Busani said, looking at Londi like he blamed her for Hetty not getting into place for the group shot the photographer wanted.

What was his problem? Londi shook her head slightly and took out the phone she’d been using to record the photo shoot at places around Newtown, starting with Museum Africa, moving on to the Market Theatre, and now Mary Fitzgerald Square and the overpass.

Vunile and The Roller weren’t part of the group, but there were three Sounds DJs, including Lil’ YoYo, and then Busani, Hetty and Jabu. Only Okuhle and the on-air jock had stayed behind in the building where Sounds had their office and makeshift studio.

It was great that everyone at Sounds was so young, Londi thought. Even Vunile and The Roller were only in their late twenties, with everyone else very close in age to her own nineteen.

“Weren’t you supposed to be in the shots too?” The photographer had come over to her while the others were fooling around under the overpass, taking selfies, now that he had finished with them.

Londi shrugged. “I just started at Sounds today. Anyway, I’d spoil the shots.”

She went hot as she realised Busani was listening – and looking like he’d tasted something bad. Again.

The photographer’s eyes were so dark they looked secretive, travelling over her outfit.

“Those colours you’re wearing would really stand out in a photo.”

“But clash with YoYo’s pink,” she joked, relieved when Busani turned away again.

“Seri-aass, I’d like to shoot you some time,” the photographer said. “If you ever feel like earning a bit of extra pocket money doing some modelling?”

Londi couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Like I was saying to my new colleagues, I’ve got the perfect face for radio.”

“There are different kinds of modelling.” He gave her another once-over with his eyes.

“Hayi, wena!” Londi protested indignantly.

“Hand or foot models, for example, for lotions and nail colour, that sort of thing. And your figure isn’t bad. There’s a demand for ngwaners like you. Look, give me your phone number, and you take my card. I pay well. What’s your name?”

“Londi. Thanks,” Londi said faintly, and gave him her number, watching him key it into his phone.

She felt a bit stupid. For a few seconds she’d thought he was suggesting something tacky, but a business card made him legitimate.

Esaia Selala Photographer, followed by two cell numbers and an address. She read it as he went over to take his leave of the others. Then she slid it into her bag – not that she could see herself ever accepting his offer. What a joke. It wasn’t that she was ugly or anything, but even her hands and feet were … well, nothing special. People often said she had a nice smile, but the only thing she really had going for her was her figure. Its hollows and curves were all exactly where they were supposed to be. If only she could afford to dress better and really show it off – but at least she had her scarves and other tricks.

“What did that photographer want with you?”

Startled, Londi swung round so fast that her big bag flew up and out and hit the person who had just spoken. Busani.

“Help! I’m being assaulted.” He held up his hands.

“Sorry, so sorry!” Londi was hot with embarrassment.

“That bag is so heavy, it must count as a deadly weapon! What have you got in there? Bricks?” he joked, surprising her after the way he’d been so unfriendly before.

“My library,” she answered him, and he gave her a questioning look. “Never mind, private joke.”

“Did you get plenty photos?” he asked, walking beside her as they started heading back to Sounds. “One of the intern’s jobs is keeping our social media accounts updated. Okuhle will give you the passwords, or make you Admin, whatever.”

“Fine.”

Londi knew she sounded abrupt, like she wanted to get rid of him. The truth was, he made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to people disliking her.

Busani didn’t take the hint. He just kept walking along beside her. Maybe he even slowed his steps a bit to keep pace with her, because his legs were longer. He was taller too. She would be able to rest her head against his shoulder if she–

What was she thinking? Rest her head against his shoulder? She was losing her mind.

Yes, and that shirt would be so soft and smooth under her cheek. She would be able to feel his warmth coming through it–

Londi swallowed. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. The one Sounds person who really attracted her had to be the one who couldn’t stand her.

“What exactly is the problem you have with me, Busani?”

It just came out, the same way she’d told YoYo she’d never lost herself. Busani turned his head sharply to look at her. Her whole face felt on fire. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?

“I wouldn’t call it a problem precisely,” he said.

“An allergy then?” she challenged him.

At least that made him laugh.

“Do you always come out fighting?” he asked.

“You make me sound like a boxer,” she retorted. “No, it’s just I believe when there’s a problem, you don’t keep quiet. You do something about it.”

Something Gogo had taught her, yet there’d been problems in her family no-one had done anything about. No-one being a proper adult, because she’d been a child, and they hadn’t lived with Gogo then.

“Do something,” Busani repeated. “Like what?”

“Try to understand it for a start,” she answered him.

“I like that,” he admitted, and for the first time she saw a hint of real warmth creep into his eyes. “So if–”

“Bad Busani!” YoYo interrupted him, skipping along to join them as they crossed Mary Fitzgerald Square. “Not waiting for your YoYo. You have to look after me, out in the big bad world, and you know I can’t stride around in these shoes of mine.”

Was she for real? And if she was Busani’s YoYo, was he YoYo’s Busani? Londi glanced down at YoYo’s high heels: pink flowers on a lighter pink background, with cute little bows.

“Pretty things.” Busani was also looking at them, his voice and smile indulgent.

“But not as nice as your shoes, my Mister Producer Man,” YoYo carried on. “They look Italian.”

Then, to Londi’s shock, Busani told what he’d paid for the shoes.

“What?” he asked sharply, catching her disgusted look.

Londi shook her head.

“Maybe I’m the one with a problem here,” she said, openly laughing at him. “Like it’s so wack to go around showing off about how rich you are.”

And his problem with her didn’t matter anymore. She’d gone right off him.

***

Tell us what you think: Is Busani showing off? How important is YoYo in Busani’s life?