It was only after Langa had dropped off Zandile at the taxi rank and was driving back to her apartment that she noticed Regile’s laptop placed on top of her own. She remembered he had handed it to her first thing that morning; the fact had obviously slipped his mind as well as hers when he hastily told her he would email her the list of suppliers before leaving.
Langa parked her car in the basement of her apartment and took both laptops and her handbag up to the third floor with her. At first glance she could tell Nandi wasn’t home, although she’d left the TV on a rock-and-roll music channel that Langa didn’t even know she was paying for.
She slipped off her heels and switched on the kettle before sitting down at the kitchen table with Regile’s laptop and her conscience. She needed an excuse to open his laptop. He had said she should take a look at the list, she tried to justify her intention. She consoled herself with the fact that she probably needed a password to get to his messages anyway.
Langa lifted the top panel of the laptop and it came to life. Before her was Regile’s inbox. She had an internal battle, willing herself to close the laptop, but her curiosity got the better of her. The email she wanted was the last one he’d opened, although there were a few unopened messages that had since been sent to him. Torn between sending the list to her email address and simply waiting for him, she moved away from the scene of temptation and made a strong cup of coffee.
She thought about the day before, when Regile had practically bitten off her head for not taking the initiative to secure two venues. If he delayed his return from Mpumalanga and found that she hadn’t done anything about the list of exhibitors, he’d once again become the tyrant he seemed to morph into when it came to anything that could affect his precious merger.
Picking up her phone, she dialled Regile’s number. She got his voicemail twice and the third time the line went dead.
“Here goes,” she breathed, clicking the list open and checking it briefly before forwarding it to her email address. It was sent within a few seconds, leaving Langa with the option of reading any of the other messages or simply snapping the laptop shut. There were a few messages from Regile’s father, King Regile Mabhena, a couple from Andre Zanier and some messages she had sent him, while the bulk was from Mabhena Oil Limited. It was only when Langa, being a faithful and God-fearing woman, decided to close the laptop and refrain from reading any of his messages that her eyes landed on one halfway down the screen that didn’t appear to be work-related and therefore stood out.
Intrigued, she clicked it open, noting that it had been received a few days before:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Sorry
I know you’re probably mad at me for not being able to face you when you came home after I’d put so much pressure on you to do so. I can’t face your parents either, at least not before they know about my predicament, though anyone here at the oil plant can see I’m pregnant. I know you’re busy with the Sasol Wax merger but you still have to perform the initiation rituals and the lobola talks are way overdue. Please speak to Ikozi. He’s the only one who can get me out of this mess and the only solution to your problems. And please pick up your phone when I call; it’s annoying when you ignore me. You promised you’d be there for me always, remember?
Langa’s heart started to thump even more loudly as the laptop suddenly shut down. She sat rooted to the spot, believing she’d been found out until she decided with relief that the battery must have run out. Closing Regile’s laptop, she put it aside and switched on her own. She tried to concentrate on the list she’d received but all she could think of was the message she’d just read.
Chapter 9
9
“Have you finished the cornflakes already?” Langa called to Nandi as she manically opened and closed all the cupboards the next morning. Her sister walked into the kitchen barefoot and yawning, then reached for the canister on the counter that boldly bore the label of the cornflakes. Nandi placed it in front of Langa with emphasis before walking away.
Langa rolled her eyes and poured too much cornflakes in a bowl before adding raisins and cold milk. She was still stewing over the information she had stumbled upon the night before as she ground her breakfast loudly with her mouth open. Regile, who always pranced around as if he was the embodiment of a traditional Ndebele man, was involved with a woman he wasn’t married to and would soon give birth to his child! Too revolted to continue eating, Langa put the bowl aside and dragged her feet to her bedroom to say her morning prayer and get ready for work.
She drove to Rosebank to meet someone at the company that was designing and printing the exhibition banners and catalogues. Afterwards, she spent the day following up on a number of cosmetic suppliers who had shown interest in exhibiting their products but hadn’t contacted the registration department.
Langa eventually got to her office just as everyone was leaving for the day and sat down gratefully for the first time. She was still mulling over that email of Regile’s. Despite the fact that she’d had no right to go through his laptop, she was upset and felt a sense of loss she couldn’t bear. But why? She was engaged to Richard and she loved him, despite his penchant for leaving smelly strands of used dental floss in her washbasin. Why should she care about what Regile did with his life? Did God understand all these conflicting feelings?
She resolved she would work harder at her relationship with Richard and then they would finally set a wedding date. Langa drove home, singing along to the heartbreaking sound of Adele turned up so loudly that she could still hear the tear-jerking guitar chords as she let herself into her apartment. Nandi wasn’t in and her home was dark and still.
A light breeze flowed in through a window Nandi had left open and gave the apartment a pacific quality that Langa enhanced by lighting vanilla-scented candles and playing her favourite Diana Krall album. She went to her room and changed into an oversize T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. She put a frozen pizza into the oven before reaching for the bottle of wine she’d been saving at the back of her cupboard for a “special” occasion, the same bottle she had wrongly accused Nandi of opening.
As she poured herself a glass of wine, Langa thought about her relationship with her sister. She wondered if she was perhaps too harsh on Nandi and needed to accept her for who she was, as Regile had said. She took her glass over to the couch and curled herself up there, not bothering to switch on the TV. For the first time in weeks, Langa sat perfectly still without her laptop or paperwork around her. She listened to the saxophone as Diana Krall sang Peel me like a grape and closed her eyes, only opening them when the oven timer snapped her out of her reverie.
Pouring herself more wine, she ate the pizza as she returned to the couch.
Carefully balancing her supper, she manoeuvred her way back under the soft throw, taking care not to spill her red wine. When she’d stuffed her face enough, she got up to put the almost empty box back in the microwave before refilling her glass. Feeling the wine go straight to her head, she laughed at the memory of her lady of the night cum drag queen look the night before. When her phone rang, she thought she was hearing things for a second. Then she rushed to find it on the counter where she remembered last seeing it.
“Hello?” she answered lazily, taking another sip from her glass and not bothering to check who was calling.
“Hello there, Langa; I’m sorry for calling so late.”
It was Regile.
“Please say you have my laptop.”
“Yes, I do,” she said slowly, and she could hear him sigh with relief. She brought her glass to her lips, expecting to taste some of its bittersweet contents in her mouth but in vain. Langa tipped her glass upside down, hardly believing she’d downed that glass so quickly.
“I’ve just picked up my car at the airport and realised that my laptop wasn’t in the back. Are you at home? Can I pop in and pick it up? There are a few things I have to work on tonig
ht that just can’t wait,” Regile told her.
“Yeah sure,” she replied, her voice a little slurred. “Apartment 3C. Buzz me when you get here and I’ll do my thing.”
“Alright,” he said, sounding a little puzzled, “see you in a few minutes.”
True to his word, Regile arrived at her apartment a few minutes later, and true to her word, Langa did her thing.
“Am I interrupting something?” Regile asked as he walked into the dimly lit apartment and heard the soft music playing.
“Not really, I’m just having some ‘me’ time,” Langa told him, scratching her head as if to remember where his laptop was. She found it on the kitchen table where she’d left it the night before and carried it to the lounge.
“How was your trip? And sit down, goodness; don’t just stand there. Please take a seat,” she said as she handed Regile his laptop.
“My trip was fine,” he said as he awkwardly sat on the couch.
Langa went back to the kitchen, returning with her glass refilled with wine and one for him as well. He declined it at first but reluctantly accepted when she squinted her eyes. She sat beside him and took a sip from her glass.
“I actually didn’t recall giving you my laptop until I remembered the list of suppliers I meant to show you yesterday morning,” he said. “Do you want me to send it to you now?”
“Too late; I already sent it to myself. I tried to call you about it but your phone kept going to voicemail,” Langa told him, feeling dangerously light-headed.
“What do you mean you sent it to yourself?” Regile raised his eyebrows. “Did you go through my mail?” He angrily put down his glass of wine on the coffee table in front of him.
“I didn’t know if you’d really be back today; besides, you said I should start on the catalogues and how was I supposed to do that without the actual list of suppliers?” Langa asked him squarely.
“I know I said so but that didn’t give you the right to snoop in my personal mailbox! Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?” Regile shouted as he got up.
“After your tantrum over the venues the other day I wasn’t about to risk your precious merger or have you throw your weight around by saying, and I quote: ‘I’ll have no qualms about pulling the plug on Buthelezi!’” Langa yelled, getting up to face him. The blood raced to her head and she suddenly felt dizzy.
“Nothing whatsoever gives you the right to go through my mailbox! Did you check any of my other messages?” Regile asked, battling to stay in control.
“What have you got to hide?” Langa countered.
“I can’t believe you were so disrespectful. A woman who cannot handle herself is a disgrace!”
“Spare me the conservative bull! I’ve had it up to here with your traditional views on women. I’m fed up with your controlling, compulsive behaviour and your evasiveness. You’re one to talk! You should start to practise what you preach!” Langa yelled, turning to leave.
He grabbed her hand and as they looked silently at each other for a second, tears began to gather in Langa’s eyes. Regile pulled her body against his and brought his lips to hers in a gentle kiss that became more frantic while both fought to catch their breath. They landed on the sofa in a heap as he murmured, “Do you know how crazy you drive me?”
Regile was kissing her urgently as her tears rolled down her cheeks, landing in hot drops on his shirt. Langa kissed him back, her tongue exploring his mouth, her hands reaching to unbutton his shirt.
“I have to leave,” he said suddenly, gently removing the hand he had on her firm bosom. Langa watched him scurry out, leaving behind the laptop that had started everything.
Chapter 10
10
It was a few days after the passionate night at Langa’s apartment. Regile seemed as agitated as she felt tired. She’d had a bad night and his screaming at a timid-looking Themba didn’t make the situation any better.
“What Mr Mabhena is trying to say,” began Langa, “and is making a darn good mess of,” she bit her tongue not to add, “is that we’d be grateful if your company could set up a website for our suppliers. You know, a sort of detailed breakdown of what kind of cosmetics they want to exhibit so that we’ll know where to place them and get an idea of what they’ll need from us as their sponsors.”
Themba listened intently, avoiding any eye contact with Regile, who had made it his sole purpose to turn the meeting into a disaster. Giving his word that he’d get back to them in the next few days with a few choices to select from before setting up the actual website, he got ready to leave Kaldi’s Coffee.
Langa began gathering her own things.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Regile barked at her. They hadn’t mentioned, let alone spoken about what had happened between them and he’d become increasingly difficult to work with.
“Board meeting at Buthelezi; I told you about it yesterday. Call me if anything urgent comes up,” Langa retorted before turning to go.
“I’m leaving for Mpumalanga later,” he announced. “Family issues.”
Langa continued walking to the door, not bothering to acknowledge what he had just said to her or to inquire when he would be back. She knew he was probably going to introduce Sibusisiwe to his parents and pay lobola for her before she popped their baby.
Langa sped out of the car park and instead of driving to Rosebank, went back to her apartment. She decided that Zandile could do as good a job at leading the board meeting as she would.
Nandi was home. She raised an eyebrow when her sister slipped off her heels and joined her on the couch and under the throw. Langa curled herself up quietly without nagging Nandi about the state of the apartment or the fruit she was eating straight from a can, along with fresh cream she kept squirting into her mouth.
“What’s bugging you?” asked Nandi, who was concerned when the expected torrent of abuse didn’t come.
“Work stuff. You wouldn’t get it.” Langa sighed, resting her head on a cushion.
“Why? Coz I’ve never worked a day in my life?” Nandi said sarcastically, rolling her eyes and throwing her head back for a squirt of thick cream. It curled like a worm in her mouth before mixing with the fruit.
“It’s just this whole thing with Sasol Wax,” Langa started and then changed the subject. “Hey, we’re talking again!”
Nandi burst into laughter. “Erm . . . yeah!” She looked curiously at her older sister before asking, “Has this got anything to do with whatshisface?”
“No, it has nothing to do with him!” Langa spat, sitting up.
“You mean Richard, right?” Nandi’s eyes were now wide open; she looked confused.
“Yeah, of course,” Langa said unconvincingly. She hadn’t so much as thought of her fiancé since the night she and Regile kissed. She had to be honest with herself and admit that instead of missing Richard she actually longed for Regile.
“Oh, is this about the Ndebele guy? You know, your boss?” Nandi sang gleefully. “Regile, yes; this is about him!” she went on as Langa’s eyes darted away from her guiltily.
“Ah well, nothing gets past you, does it?” Langa said remorsefully. “Your perfect older sister who’s engaged kissed her boss the other night and now her perfect world is perfectly upside down.”
“Hhayi bo, tell me everything!” Nandi yelled, reminding Langa of Naledi.
“It all started with me bringing his laptop home with me by mistake,” began Langa as Nandi turned down Shakira on the screen. The singer was in a cage, gyrating her body in ways neither sister had thought possible.
“I knew he liked you! I just knew it that time he dropped you off and sat through the Bible discussion!” Nandi squealed after Langa had told her everything.
Langa cringed.
“So what are you going to do now?” her sister wanted to know. “And please don’t tell me you don’t have feelings for him. It’s written all over your face!”
“I don’t know what to do. I’m confused; I mean, I have Richard, don
’t I? How can I feel like this about another man who is probably paying lobola for uSibusisiwe as we speak?” Langa wailed.
“You can’t help who you love,” Nandi cooed. “I still can’t believe you actually read his messages! There’s life in you yet, old girl!” Nandi burst out laughing and Langa blushed with embarrassment at the memory.
“Besides,” went on Nandi, “you probably got the message all wrong. You know how you love to jump to the wrong conclusions!”
“I do not jump to conclusions; I simply possess great intuition and it’s obvious that the prince has something to hide,” Langa told her.
“Well, it looks to me like the only thing he’s hiding, and not well at all, is that he has feelings for you – and you’re doing the same thing. You two would be perfect for each other.”
The sisters spent the afternoon talking, glued to the couch and steadily emptying the fridge and cupboards of all the junk food they could find. They reminisced about their childhood in their aunt’s home, and Langa told Nandi things about their mother that she didn’t remember because Nandi had been so young when she’d passed on. Langa felt closer to Nandi than she ever remembered as they sat huddled together. She realised that her sister was in fact a young woman and that they had more in common than she’d cared to appreciate.
“Wake up!” Nandi nudged her sister who had drifted off.
Langa sleepily rubbed her eyes and looked around; the news was on TV.
“What time is it?” she asked a made-up Nandi who smelt of strawberries and cream and had changed into a long gypsy skirt and tied her long hair into a bun.
“Just gone 8pm. Get up; you’re coming with me.” Nandi tossed the warm throw under which Langa had been curled up to the other side of the room.
Cherry Marbles Page 6
