Cherry Marbles

by Shukie Nkosana

  She sat there for a few minutes, her heart hammering in her chest as she tried to look unfazed at the thought of seeing Regile again. Langa crossed her legs, uncrossed them and then decided to cross them once again. She was angry at herself for wanting to see his handsome face and boyish smile, for longing to hear his engaging voice. She grew angrier still when instead of Regile emerging from the double doors, out popped Mr Radebe, a liaison officer with a receding hairline whom Andre Zanier had introduced to her at the board meeting.

  “Miss Buthelezi,” he said, stretching out a hand, “it’s a pleasure once again. Congratulations on landing our contract.”

  “Where’s Regile?” she was screaming in her head but she firmly took his hand and gently uttered, “Thank you for giving Buthelezi Events the chance to work with Sasol Wax.” Langa got up with as much grace as she could muster to conceal her disappointment. She followed the man through the double doors and into an unimpressive corner office with a water dispenser and a dismal view of a few back roads.

  “We’ll get right down to business.” Mr Radebe smirked, hauling out the contract from his drawer in a manner that reminded Langa of old women removing coins from their bras with a self-righteous air, regardless of who was watching.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Langa said. The liaison officer missed her sarcasm completely, as he did her perfectly made-up face and overpowering scent. “Will anyone else be joining us?” she quipped with sudden hope.

  “No, unfortunately Mr Mabhena, whom you will be working with mostly for this event, had to leave for Mpumalanga last night and will only be back sometime tomorrow. Meanwhile, I trust you’ve gone through the contract?” Mr Radebe placed a bound copy in front of her.

  “I did indeed, and I’m very happy with it,” Langa told him, leafing through the tangible version of the contract she’d spent hours reading the night before. She initialled the bottom of all the pages before finally signing the agreement on the last page with a slightly apprehensive sigh.

  “Thank you, Miss Buthelezi,” Mr Radebe said while countersigning. “It will be best to have a briefing with Mr Mabhena. I’ll have him phone you as soon as he is back so that you can arrange your first meeting.”

  “Thanks, I’ll wait for his call,” Langa said as she felt bile rising from her stomach. He’d probably gone to Mpumalanga on purpose to avoid meeting her!

  “How is the merger going? The JSE predicts it will be one of the most powerful mergers of the year,” she boldly stated, secretly thanking Naledi for their shameless prying.

  “Very well, actually. Mabhena Oil Limited is overseeing the construction of the GTL plant in Nigeria. In the first few months of its existence, our merger has increased the corporation’s gross turnover considerably,” the liaison officer told her smugly.

  “That’s wonderful news,” Langa replied, feigning interest. “Sounds like Mr Mabhena is a very busy man.”

  “He is, although he’s gone to Mpumalanga to attend to a family matter.” Mr Radebe picked up the phone and called his PA who promptly brought the original contract. After signing that as well, Langa got up and shook Mr Radebe’s hand, flashing him a smile she would now reserve for liaison officers with far-from-impressive corner offices.

  As she walked to her car, Langa toyed with all the probable circumstances that could be classified as “family matters”. One wife giving birth to twins, a second to triplets and another causing havoc in the kingdom because she felt left out. Very likely, she mused.

  Langa’s phone rang as she drove back to Rosebank. It was Naledi.

  “So what did he say?” her friend wanted to know immediately.

  “He wasn’t there, choma,” Langa sighed. “I saw some liaison guy who has a corner office that’s not icorner office uyangithola?”

  Naledi laughed for a moment and then said, “Oh dear, what did you do this time?”

  “Nothing!” Langa cried out. “Nguyena just simply vamoosed to Mpumalanga.”

  “So I take it he wasn’t there?” her friend asked calmly. “I often forget you tend to be a drama queen. I’m afraid you’re a lot more like Nandi than you care to admit, my friend.”

  “I’m not a drama queen! I’m just saying he finds me so repulsive that he went to Mpumalanga; the thought of a meeting with me must disgust him!” Langa went on, more convinced of her point than before.

  “Okay, let’s get this straight: the man who has behaved very professionally by awarding you the Sasol Wax contract purely on merit, considering how terribly rude you were to him, has put himself through the pain of a boring trip to avoid a meeting with you?”

  Langa was silent.

  “Call me when you get to your office. The last thing you need is a ticket for talking on your phone while driving, which is actually true and not far-fetched!” Naledi laughed as she hung up.

  News of a celebratory party was just what the staff at Buthelezi needed to hear, as most of them were still dealing with the aftermath of the previous day. The mood in the office lightened up considerably, the thought of consuming copious amounts of free alcohol hitting home with most. Langa and the catering company of the previous day had a meeting that ran well into lunchtime. Despite the diarrhoea disaster, they felt they still deserved the original amount her coordinator had agreed to pay them. Langa reiterated that this was simply out of the question and they left with sour faces, promising that she would hear from their lawyer.

  After they’d left, she called the restaurant downstairs to order her usual pan-fried rump steak with paprika and chips. Putting down the phone, Langa ignored her rumbling stomach and avoided watching the clock like a hawk by going through some junk mail. Stacks of credit card and gym membership offers later, Zandile came into her office, carrying a tray with her lunch. Langa wasn’t sure when last she’d been so happy to see her event coordinator.

  “I brought you a bottle of flavoured water from the fridge too,” Zandile said when she saw the smile on her boss’s face.

  “Thanks.” Langa got a whiff of tender steak and immediately cut herself a piece. “Is there anything else?” she asked after she’d sunk her teeth into the steak. Zandile was still lingering in the office, hovering over her like a dark cloud.

  “Well, I was just wondering if you saw the Ndebele guy.”

  Langa almost choked on the steak. It burnt the lining of her throat. “Are you sure you aren’t related to my little sister?” she retorted.

  Zandile cowered to the door, smiling her usual annoying smile when she thought she was on to something.

  Langa chewed ruefully as she watched the girl shut the door behind her. Then she received an email from Naledi.

  From: naledimahlo@standardbank.co.za

  To: langa@buthelezievents.co.za

  Subject: Tonight

  Hey, drama queen, just a reminder that we’re meeting tonight for dinner and drinks at the usual place . . . Seeing that you conveniently FORGOT to phone me!! Don’t overindulge at lunch!

  From: langa@buthelezievents.co.za

  To: naledimahlo@standardbank.co.za

  Subject: RE: Tonight

  Oops, I’m halfway through rump steak! Trying to leave it midway would be futile, so don’t ask me to do it! I’ve had a busy day; I didn’t conveniently forget. I’d really like to see Regile again and make a better impression! Meanwhile can’t wait for tonight.

  From: naledimahlo@standardbank.co.za

  To: langa@buthelezievents.co.za

  Subject: RE: Tonight

  I think you like him! LOL!! Watch out, Richard!

  From: langa@buthelezievents.co.za

  To: naledimahlo@standardbank.co.za

  Subject: RE: Tonight

  I DO NOT like him! Now if you don’t mind, I have to go. This is me logging off conveniently!!!

  It was official, Langa thought: Thursday night was the new Friday night in Jozi. Also, unknown to her, leather pants had made a ceremonious comeback. Langa and Naledi sat at Cubana in Cedar Square with their first round of
chocolate chilli martinis and a large plate of nachos before them.

  “Pure bliss,” Langa said to her friend, sighing as she sipped on her drink.

  Naledi took a sip of her own and pinched her eyes, feigning pain. “I don’t know why we do this to ourselves; there’s no mistaking how absolutely vile this is!”

  “Vile or not, I’m glad we made time to meet. With work and you getting married, we don’t do this nearly as often as was prescribed,” said Langa. “And by the way, I love the Jimmy Choos; move over, Phindi K!”

  “Thanks, I was hoping you’d say something before I did!” Naledi laughed, raising her leg slightly so that the fuchsia heels were in full view. “A girl can never have too many shoes. Though Thabo had a semifit when he saw his credit card bill.”

  “The pains of having an extravagant wife!” Langa smiled and then became serious. “You think I’ll make a great wife, what with the way Richard and I go on lately? I’m scared one day they’ll find him lying in a pool of blood somewhere.”

  “Mngani, that’s an awful thing to say!” Naledi sounded shocked. “Have you thought why you argue so much these days? You guys used to be such a joy to have around.”

  “We just seem to be drifting apart. I told you, he fell asleep at my candlelight dinner, which was to make up for me missing his mother’s party. Before that we went on that disastrous trip to the Kruger, an attempt to rekindle the old spark,” Langa said, waving to their waitress. She felt like they were back at varsity, having a heart-to-heart over martinis, the only difference being that now they could actually afford the martinis!

  “You know, I’ve always said that you’re with Richard for all the wrong reasons, and hang on before you accuse me of having issues because he’s white,” Naledi said, holding up her hands before Langa could protest. “Actually, you two are together because in the beginning you had to fight so hard to be accepted as a couple. When are you going to realise that it’s alright to let go; you don’t have anything to prove to anyone. You’ve always been headstrong, Langa; that’s one of the things I love about you, but remember, no one expects you to be perfect. Being married has taught me you really have to love your partner to tolerate some of the things they put you through.”

  “Well, I love Richard. We’ve both just changed over time, that’s all.”

  “But is what you have now enough to base a marriage on? Are you truly happy?”

  Langa sighed. “I’m tired of convincing myself our relationship is contentedly dysfunctional. Richard and I used to love spending time together; now we seem happier when we’re apart. He used to make me laugh; now all he does is make me angry. I’m no longer myself around him; it’s almost as if I have to prove that I’m the black chick who’s good enough to be with the white guy, all over again.”

  “Well, sit down with him when he gets back and have a serious talk. Love conquers all, right?” Naledi said, taking her hand.

  “No, chocolate chilli martinis conquer all,” Langa smiled and then continued, “The only thing worse than mulling over my relationship with Richard is thinking about my first meeting with Regile.”

  “Maybe somehow you can slip in some martinis and make it a more casual get-together,” Naledi suggested naughtily.

  Chapter 5

  5

  She recognised him easily, not because the coffee shop was virtually empty but because there was something magnetic about the way his arched eyebrows were squeezed in concentration as he focused on his laptop. Langa’s heart skipped a beat. Their eyes met when he felt her presence and slowly his face broke into a friendly smile.

  “Miss Buthelezi,” he said lightly, getting up at her arrival. He reached out for a handshake before pulling out a chair for her to sit down opposite him. She noticed he didn’t have a ring on his left hand.

  “Hello, Regile. Please call me Langa,” she told him awkwardly, taking her own laptop from its bag. The waitress came over and they both ordered coffee.

  “Langa . . .” he said pensively, as if deciding whether he liked her name. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding this place. I prefer to have my meetings in Newtown; the atmosphere is conducive, yet peaceful.” He regarded her silently as the waitress brought two pots of freshly brewed coffee.

  “Kaldi’s Coffee is hardly out my way; I actually live a few blocks away, on Quinn Street,” Langa said meekly as she poured herself some coffee. She was unsure how to bring up their encounter in the pharmacy; she could feel her palms getting clammy.

  “That’s great,” he answered. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Congratulations on landing this contract. However, we have a lot of work to do to make this a success.”

  Regile typed something on his laptop and after studying it for a moment, went on to say, “I was impressed with your proposal, although the idea of an African theme for the exhibition has been used so often that I don’t feel it’s original any more.” He kept his eyes on her; he had authority in his voice and an objective manner that astounded Langa. His detachment from any personal opinions he might have of her was evident.

  “Erm, sorry . . . but before we go on I’d really like to apologise for my rude behaviour the first time . . .” Langa began, stirring her coffee with so much force that she knocked over her cup. She jumped up as Regile waved his hand at their waitress with an expression that seemed to be one of relief that the coffee hadn’t spilt onto his laptop more than anything else. A million pieces of porcelain surrounded them, a pool of coffee at their feet. All conversations around them halted as Langa yearned for the earth to open up and swallow her whole.

  “Are you alright?” Regile asked. Langa detected a tone of impatience in his silky voice.

  “Yes, I am; and I’m so sorry about this,” she offered as the waitress approached them with a dustpan and mop. Langa watched Regile type distractedly as the girl cleaned up the mess.

  “Can we have another pot of coffee for the lady, please?” he politely asked when the waitress was done. She nodded and flashed him a big smile, obviously taken with the man.

  “I was saying –” Langa started, but he stopped her with a dismissive wave of the hand.

  “Our first encounter was an unfortunate incident. Let’s rather focus on working together as a team; the success of this exhibition is mandatory for my corporation’s relationship with Sasol Wax,” Regile told her, his firm jaw clenching. It seemed like he wasn’t going to give her a chance to say anything. “Now, Langa, as I mentioned, the African theme is tedious, so we need to think of something our exhibition will be remembered for. We need something that will resonate with the cosmetic lovers who’ll visit the exhibition, as well as the cosmetic retailers. I want you to think about that over the next few days. Also, your proposed budget needs to be cut by at least a third. I will do some research on a more cost-effective approach. I suggest you do the same.”

  By the time their first business meeting was over, Langa, in spite of herself, had acquired a new sense of admiration for Prince Regile Mabhena. She felt puzzled by his indifference to her, yet strangely even more drawn to him. He was professional, very polite and attentive enough to her business views and concerns for her to know that the success of the exhibition was his top priority, although she found herself frustrated by the fact that he hadn’t seemed in the least interested in her personally. No small talk about the nuptials she had angrily flashed in his face; nothing about his own life. Instead, he’d given her a whole lot of work and she felt as if she had to redo the entire proposal.

  Langa watched him drive off in his Range Rover after he’d walked her to her car and opened her door for her. She sat in her car, unsure if she felt vulnerable and defenceless because he’d awakened a fondness for him in her or because he had quite literally butchered her proposal. Only when she felt her phone vibrate did she snap out of her trance.

  “Hello?” she answered, not recognising the number.

  “Hello, sweetheart.” The voice boomed at the other end; the line was bad.

&nb
sp; “Richard!” Langa exclaimed. “Are you back?”

  “Langz, I know I said I’d be home this week but we’re running behind schedule and there’ve been so many changes to the original script that we won’t be out of here for another four weeks,” Richard said, his voice drowning in the crackling noises.

  “You knew this would happen, right?” Langa squeaked almost inaudibly, feeling angry tears run down her cheeks.

  “Of course not,” Richard shouted above the noise. “I’m sorry, baby; I’ll make it up to you.”

  “But I need you here now. It’s as if you don’t care about us,” she sniffed, reaching in her bag for Kleenex, her vision blurred by tears.

  “Oh, my God, Langz; are you crying, baby? I didn’t mean to upset you!” From the sound of his voice she could tell Richard was panicking as she looked at her ring against her manicured nails. “Four weeks will fly by, you’ll see. Shit, babe, don’t cry, please. What’s wrong? How did it go with the Sasol Wax proposal?” Richard inquired, concerned.

  “Well, we got the contract.” Langa smiled oddly between sniffs, suddenly feeling shy as she glanced around for anyone who could be watching her break down like this. “Actually, I threw a party at Giovanni Pane Vino for the guys at the office. And all evening I thought about the last time we were there.”

  “Wow, you got the contract! That’s good news, baby!” Richard exclaimed. “I promise we’ll go to Giovanni’s when I get back; I know how much you love that place.”

  “It’s just hard here without you because I miss you all the time. And oh, Nandi is back; she’s currently crashing at mine,” Langa muttered.

  “Now you two don’t kill each other – just yet! I can’t wait for you to be Mrs Muller. Cheer up, sweetheart. I’ll call you soon. I love you!” Richard said just before the line went dead.