by Pike, Leslie
“I liked how you looked pregnant.”
Watching the Morgans is a lesson in romance. They adore each other and never try to hide the fact.
This dinner, this night is one of those special moments in time where things just click. It seems like the four of us have known each other for years, and conversations flow easily from one topic to the next.
“I know your time here is limited, Zan. But we’re glad you shared a night with us,” Soraya says, pouring another glass of wine all around.
He looks at me and smiles before he answers.
“It’s my pleasure. I wanted to meet the friend who told her to wear the gold dress.”
That brings a laugh from all four of us, but especially Graham. “Listen, we are outsmarted and outplayed by these two. Sometimes all it takes is a dress.”
“Don’t undervalue our other qualities,” Soraya adds. “Neither Belinda or I are short on the more, shall we say, standard gifts. Intelligence, compassion.”
“What she said,” I add.
Graham kisses her cheek. “Sweetheart, there’s absolutely nothing standard about you.”
“See why I love him?” Soraya asks. She gets up and starts to clear the dishes. When I make an attempt to help she stops me with one palm. “No. I’ve got this. Sit.”
We exchange a look only she and I were aware of. It lasted a fraction of a second, a blink of an eye. Girlfriend shorthand. But she said one hell of a lot and I agreed. She really approves of Zan, thinks he’s great looking, I did good, and I’d better not let this slip through the cracks. Oh, also isn’t it cool the men like each other?
“Tell us about your typical duties, Zan. Did you assume certain ones when you came of age?” Graham says.
Zan’s expression changes. Whenever he speaks about Mozia I can see how deep the connection runs. I think everyone does. He leans forward and his eyes brighten.
“My official role is as an advisor to the Crown. I’m a prince in name only, but a loyal countryman in every sense of the words. I’m responsible for advising the king on the business of running our country. The king and queen provided me with an impressive education to that end.”
“Zan has an international business degree from Harvard,” I brag.
Think I may have embarrassed him a little.
“But over the years I’ve discovered what really seems to be my wheelhouse,” he adds with a new enthusiasm.
“What’s that?” Graham says.
“I speak for the most disenfranchised in our country. The littlest Mozians. The children. I’m the spokesperson for the country’s largest charity. Hope. It’s not only my mission but my passion.”
That’s one thing I don’t remember being referenced in the many articles I read. It’s wonderful to hear though. And it makes his story all the more meaningful.
“That’s commendable, Zan,” Soraya says, returning with dessert. “It must be so rewarding.”
“I get so much more than I give. I know it sounds like a cliché, but it’s true. The children are at critical junctures in their lives, and they don’t have a voice.”
I squeeze his hand. “They’re lucky to have yours.”
He ignores my compliment with a wink. This one is genuine. I think he’s a bit embarrassed, so I save him by changing the subject.
“That looks delicious,” I say. “Soraya is a fabulous baker, and we’re all obsessed with this Marion berry pie.”
“I’m full, but there’s always room for pie,” Zan adds.
“I’ve been reading about your country since Belinda said you’d met. I’m intrigued by how prosperous and how connected the kingdom is with national organizations. I’m in the financial field, so it interests me,” Graham says.
“Morgan Financial Holdings is yours, right?”
“Yes. I’m always on the lookout for international opportunities for my clients.”
I let Zan take the reins of the conversation even though I understand the question and answer. It’s what I focused on in my initial article.
“We’re a fairly large economy for our size. My father wields considerable powers.”
“He also possesses major stakes in other African countries,” I add, unable to hold back.
Zan looks impressed. He takes my hand and kisses it. “The fact we possess undisputed mineral rights is the firm footing we stand on. But it’s also the more subtle advantages that add up. The king’s popularity within his own country and friendly relationships with international firms puts Mozia on the map as an investment spot.”
“I’m going to do a little more due diligence and I’d love to talk about this further. Would it be alright if I give you a call?” Graham says.
“Absolutely. I’ll send you my information.”
* * *
Two hours and one bottle of Austin Hope 2017 later we’re at the door, ready to call it a night.
“Thank you both so much. Dinner was delicious,” I say, kissing Soraya’s cheek.
Graham shakes Zan’s hand. “Pleasure, Zan. I’ll be in touch.”
“Good. I’m just sorry I don’t have more time in New York.”
Soraya throws her arms around his shoulders and goes in for a hug. “We’ll have to take a trip to Mozia someday. Think you could put up with three Americans?”
Zan’s face relaxes with the answer. “It will be better than a state visit.”
* * *
“I should be angry.”
“Whatever for?” Zan says, wrapping a leg around mine.
I look around my teeny tiny bedroom. “For making you sleep in this shoebox.”
He kisses my forehead and lips. “I like your shoebox. It’s cozy. And it’s real.”
“Oh it’s real alright,” I say nodding.
He chuckles. “Can you understand how seldom I get to live in the real world?”
Laying my head against his chest I mull his words over. What a strange reality he knows. Always the subject of other people’s interest. Having to steal moments of privacy when he can. It must be so hard. I think it would get tiring, but he seems so stable. And there’s a joy living in him despite his history. He’s survived the sorrows. Any reference to being a Royal Pain has new meaning. He’s known pain. All this insight and we just met a week ago. How can I know anything for certain?
“What are you thinking?” His voice brings me back to earth. My fingers trace the shape of his.
“I’m thinking we have so much to learn about each other, and I don’t see how we’re going to be able to do it from afar.”
He comes up on an elbow and stops me from biting my lip.
“Don’t hurt that beautiful lip. You need it for kissing me.”
I give a perfunctory nod of agreement. My mind is elsewhere.
“Listen, Belinda. I think we should show a little faith. Have a little faith. I don’t want this to slip through the cracks. Do you?”
“No! Definitely not. I just don’t…”
His kiss quiets my fears and reminds me of what I know for certain. In my life whenever I really wanted something I’d move heaven and earth to get it, accomplish it, or understand it. No matter how out of my reach it seemed. I’ve been an adventurous soul, not afraid to face the unknown. Especially if it’s what needs to be traversed to get to the prize.
Now, something magically meaningful is in my sights. It seems like destiny. But it’s made of unfamiliar feelings and surprising twists. I’ve never known this pull toward another person before. What a fool I’d be to deny it’s happening. Am I going to let an ocean come between us? Will different time zones be our undoing? Should I give up before we’re even apart?
No. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t see what’s right in front of me.
I seal my decision with a kiss.
Chapter 9
Zan
The thirteen-hour flight from New York to Johannesburg has gone quicker than usual. And I’ve been awake the entire time. Usually I spend at least six hours behind my sleep mask, earbuds blo
cking background noise. Not today.
Visions of Belinda saying goodbye occupy my mind, like a screensaver that pops up every time you turn on the computer. I see her beautiful eyes, filled to overflowing with tears. For me. Her bottom lip was quivering almost imperceptibly. But I saw it.
Now with just an hour left till we land, I put my signature to paper.
“What’s that?” Kwai says, eyeing my letter.
“I’m writing Belinda.”
The humph precedes his laugh. “Oh man, you’ve got it bad, brother. You just left her! And writing a letter? What century is this?”
It’s a good thing we’re the only occupants of first-class. The family and security take up every seat. We can speak freely.
I shoot Kwai a look he’s very familiar with. It sends the ‘quit being an asshole’ message.
“There’s a difference between old fashioned and classic. You’ve yet to discover that, Kwai. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but women appreciate effort.”
“Effort? That’s rich coming from you! She’s the first woman you’ve shown any effort with at all. Now all of a sudden you’re the expert? Fuck. Do your preaching elsewhere.”
He follows his point with a chuckle, and I can’t help but break a smile. He has a point and likes I’m acknowledging the fact. His eyes move across the aisle one row up. I follow their path. The king and queen are huddled together in a two-person bed. Only their feet are visible but there’s something poignant about the image. Shit. Everything has taken on new meaning.
Kwai sees it too and leans in. “He looked so sick this morning. More than yesterday.”
I let out a deep sigh, as if making room for the awful truth, and put down my pen.
“I saw it. It must be a hundred times worse for Mother. She’s strong, but this isn’t something she’ll ever get over.”
“When you think of how young she was when she became queen.”
“Yeah. We’re going to have to really be aware of her needs and if we see anything…”
His palm raises, blocking any further discussion of the matter.
“Stop right there! I’m well aware of how to be a good son! I don’t need you to tell me how…”
Right in the middle of Kwai’s protest Tarik sends a strong kick to the backs of our cabins. That’s it. No words needed. I do hear a grunt, which says everything,
I look at Kwai and we come to a silent truce. Just like we always have. Tarik’s right. This isn’t the place to have a heated discussion about the imminent death of my father and the hard road our mother will be traveling.
We exchange nods, ending the conversation. I go back to my letter and reread its messages. It took me hours to get it right. I edited at least four copies and deleted half the sentences. It was too much. Too much of a man under the spell of a woman. Too sappy. Glad I reworded those versions. Let’s see if this sounds right.
Dear Belinda,
It’s been half a day. Already I sense this separation sucks. It’s funny how easily we’ve become used to being around each other. I think that’s how great connections happen. Unpredictably. But unmistakably too. Pretty sure it’s happening to us.
I’m happy to know I’ll be seeing my home again, but now I’ve a need to show it to you. I guess I want to show off. Let you see the beauty I live with, and among. Have you experienced the sound of lions in the night, or the caw of Hadeda birds in the morning?
Have you ever seen a Baobab Tree? The shape reaches into the sky like dancer’s arms lifted in expression. I know you’d love it. And the Imzimbuvo River that traverses Mozia. We could ride it and hear the monkeys in the trees announcing our visit.
Does any of this sound appealing? If not, we could just stay in bed and explore the most exotic land of all, your body. In fact now that I think of it, that second plan is far superior. Come to Africa and I’ll wear a pith helmet for our adventures.
If it wouldn’t be too presumptive, I’d like to send you an airplane ticket. You pick the dates.
Yours for the taking,
Zan
That sign-off may have crossed the line. But it’s true. I am hers for the taking. Unbelievable. And if it scares her off then I’m misreading the room. I’ll find out soon enough. I’ll send this as quickly as possible, but in the meantime set up a WhatsApp connection. Tomorrow after getting settled, I’ll call. Yeah. Sounds like a plan.
* * *
The compound is maintained beautifully, but since we’ve been gone new exterior paint is visible on all the separate houses and structures. Mine is the soft butter color I picked last month. Kwai begrudgingly agreed to his second choice, a light mint shade. The electric purple he wanted didn’t pass my mother’s test of good taste. Tarik’s home, which sits between us, is a pale blue.
The king and queen’s residence remains white, but the huge double doors have been sanded and stained a rich golden bronze. The colorful seal of the Royal Family hangs over the entry.
Two stoic armed guards open the doors for me as I pass through.
“Good morning,” I say, knowing I won’t get a response.
It always feels false to me not to acknowledge they are standing there. It’s their job to remain on guard, but I don’t have to be a dick about it. And I know my kindness is appreciated because they’ve told me in their off hours. We have a mutual agreement. Me to say good morning, them to keep their concentration.
Inside the entry never fails to impress me. Ebony wood floors, thirty-foot ceiling, hand painted murals of the riches of Mozia, tasteful gold touches dotting the tables. But it’s the lighting that touches me most. Hand blown glass chandeliers hung down the middle of the space. Each one a variation of the theme, African flowers and tree blossoms, leaves all gilded at the edges.
But as I move to the family room, what my mother told Kwai, Tarik, and I yesterday hasn’t left my mind. How could it? The cancer has spread to his lungs and liver. It’s inoperable. Now it’s only about waiting for the inevitable, trying to fill what time we have with him with love. We knew it was coming, but nevertheless it shocked. Tarik got quiet, as did I. But it was Kwai who cried. That image of my mother holding him in her arms was powerful in its despair.
“Good morning, Son.”
My father’s once booming voice has begun to change. I think this one thing scares him more than the other symptoms of his cancer. We have all ignored it, pretending it’s unnoticeable. But who are we kidding? Not this mountain of a man.
“Good morning, Father. How was your night?” I say, entering the room and walking to where he sits.
That’s another thing. It was rare to see him sit during the day. Now it’s a given. Today he has an African marriage blanket on his lap.
“Excellent. I slept well.”
“I didn’t,” my mother says, entering from the far door leading into a parlor.
I kiss my father’s two cheeks, like I have for decades, then move to do the same for my mother.
“She hasn’t had a good sleep since New York. She worries too much. Never turns it off!” he says, tapping his temple.
Taking a seat next to him on the couch, she tucks the heavy blanket against his legs and I see for the first time how thin they’re getting.
“See what I mean?”
My mother gives a little grin and doesn’t contradict the king.
“It’s a woman thing, my darling. Don’t begrudge me my nature.”
He’s charmed by the comment and lets her fuss.
“You two have set the bar very high, you know,” I say, pouring myself a coffee.
They know without further explanation what I’m talking about. When I turn back I’m greeted by their smiling faces.
“She’s lovely, Zan. Just make sure you take your time getting to know the whole person. It’s very easy to fall for the physical,” my mother warns.
“Like you fell for me?” My father laughs and flexes his guns. They’re still bigger than all three of his sons’ arms put together.
She pl
ayfully feels the muscle and sighs.
“Well, you can’t blame a girl. You were a beautiful ebony king, and I was just an inexperienced wide-eyed teenager with zero confidence in herself.”
My father looks at me and tells me the real story.
“She was a beauty whose lack of confidence only made her more appealing. Different from any other girl I’d been with. And of course I’d been with many by that time.”
The queen makes a sour face at the thought.
“But when I saw her, I knew. Right then and there, I knew. There’s no mistaking your destiny, Zan. Is this girl yours? Can you feel the truth of it?”
“Yes, Father. She’s the one.”
“I have something to add,” says my mother. “What you have to do is make sure she feels the same about you. Otherwise, destiny or not, it won’t work.”
As romantic as she is, my mother is a pragmatist and always sees clearly.
Chapter 10
Belinda
The sound of my cell stops me in my barefoot tracks. I was afraid I wasn’t going to hear it ring. The gym is so fucking loud today! Soraya heads for the pool, knowing I’ll catch up. I get a backwards wave. She’s used to our time together being interrupted by calls, messages, and videos from Africa. The entire month of May has been like that. I take a seat along the wall of the indoor pool and connect to WhatsApp. He’s sending a text message.
Zan: Morning, baby. Are you at the gym? Don’t want to disturb, just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you.
Before I can respond, a photo comes through. It’s of his crotch. He’s fully dressed, and there isn’t a hint of an erection, but I get the idea. I start laughing. The woman in the neon-lime bathing suit passing by gives me an odd look. Keep moving, mama, I’ve got a hot man here and he’s very amusing with his non dick pic.
Belinda: Morning. What you got in there, boy?
Zan: Your breakfast. Hungry?
Belinda: Always for you. But looks like pool water is the only thing I’ll be swallowing this morning. Soraya and I are going for a swim.
