by Dhasi Mwale
From what she could tell, neither of them had changed, yet their dynamic was off. Perhaps the passage of time and too many things left unsaid obstructed the flow of what had once been an effortless friendship.
Yes. That must be it. Never mind that her heart was running at a strange pace, her chest was constricted, and everything below her navel was swirling.
Desperate to be rid of his proximity, she drove at above her average speed. In fifteen minutes, they were at her door.
Wezi, guitar case in one hand, backpack in the other, studied her living room. “Nice place.”
Katenekwa strode past him to place the pizza on the coffee table, one of four pieces of furniture in her sparsely decorated living room.
“This is home.” She pointed to the pigeon-grey sofa, devoid of pillows. “I warned you about the sofa, though.”
“It looks all right.” He leaned his guitar case against the wall.
She was tempted to stand there and watch him take off his shoes—a real option in her current state of mind. Wezi’s presence messed up her brain in ways she failed to understand.
“So, I’m going to take a quick cold shower, but I’ll turn the heater on for you. Cool?”
He chuckled. “It’s cute how you think I bathe in hot water. That’s literally something I can’t afford to do. Cold is fine.”
The light returned to his eyes. Light and something seductive she’d never noticed before or had maybe denied. A dangerous something.
She blinked away the probable hallucination and crept toward the door leading to the hallway. “Okay, smart mouth. You can take a shower after I’m done.”
The indescribable thing in his eyes intensified and spilled over to his mouth. A quick lick of his lips, a flick of the tongue promised excitement, danger, and so much more.
She stepped back even though he hadn’t moved an inch since he’d set down his guitar.
“Imagine if, instead of taking those cold showers separately, we took one together,” he said, his voice pregnant with intent.
Katenekwa’s joints locked. She forced breath through her collapsing airways and prayed to God that her visceral reaction to his words was subtle. She sensed a sincerity in his offer that drove her crowded mind to riot and incited throbbing in parts of her body that shouldn’t have so much going on.
“Don’t be an ass, Wezi,” she said and disappeared into the passage before he could respond.
Katenekwa scrambled for the shower. She had to get under the water before her physiology overtook her cognition and directed her to jump on Wezi and make a life-altering mistake. She’d begun the ritual cold showers in high school to dowse the forbidden fires rampant in her young body. For her adult self, they served to rejuvenate her after a hard day’s work, but today her 28-year-old self reverted to her teenage struggle.
She forced herself to breathe.
The cold water cooled her hot skin but did nothing for the wildfire inside of her.
Shivering on the outside, burning on the inside, Katenekwa sat on her bed for the better part of an hour. Logic and longing warred inside her, and her brain went quiet. Every sound Wezi made incited a rhythmic change in her pulse.
To host a man she’d been attracted to for years was the darnedest thing to do. She hadn’t enjoyed the company of a man in months. She tried with Josiah, really she did. But often, when in his company, she found herself making plans for work.
Now here she was, paralyzed by the mere presence of a man she could never have. Must never have. Damn Wezi!
She surrendered to the speculative thoughts that took the seat of power in her mind. From memory, she recalled the shape of his body. The feel of his hard chest in those moments when he held her close. His scent—a soapy, lightly perfume she inhaled deeply every chance she got. The contrast of his coffee skin against her teak hue. How she longed to hold him forever. But her senses, when they returned, explained why Wezi was not worthy and provided evidence.
Stability—nil. Maturity—doubtful. Age—well, a year wasn’t so bad? It wasn’t like she’d be robbing the cradle or anything.
But the evidence that won the argument against Wezi was that he was too much like Kawana had been. Easy to love, endlessly optimistic, light-hearted, and charming. The kind of man women swooned over. The sort of man who could make a woman do just about anything—one who made women lose themselves.
Case in point.
She slapped her cheeks and shook herself from the trance.
His scent lingered in the air. She wrinkled her nose. All this from memory and one encounter?
Reason returned.
She just couldn’t let herself fall for a musician. Artists were…
She winced at the pain that stabbed her chest.
Her twin had been reckless. A true player. Look where that had gotten him. Although he’d probably be ecstatic to know that he, the great Keystone, had been immortalized in a murder-suicide. Never mind that he’d left their lives and their hearts in shreds. That was the kind of person Keystone was. Selfish. Reckless. He’d lived only for the moment and never once thought about the consequences of his actions. He’d never seen the gun coming. Never imagined that he’d hurt someone so much that she would decide his death, and hers was the only cure for her pain. Loving Keystone was loving a hurricane.
And Wezi? They were the best of friends, and Katenekwa had had enough of hurricanes to know to stay away from him. Of course, it had hurt when he’d left, but her mind knew it was better that way.
Certain that sufficient time had passed after his shower and with her desires back in maximum-security confinement, she joined him. The image of him sitting cross-legged in a pair of white shorts and a vest overthrew her high-security prison. Fugitive emotions rushed at her. Logic went out the window.
“Ta-da!” He waved his hand over the meal. His smile was wide and familiar.
Her heart warmed, and she felt at home. The tension in her face melted, and for the first time since he’d reappeared, she saw her Wezi – the Wezi she remembered. She could do this. It was just four days.
She joined him on the rug and tucked her legs under her. She sat close enough to not be suspicious but far enough to be safe.
“This pizza better be good, or I’m never eating with you again.” She stuck her tongue at him and grabbed a piece.
He hung his head and said in a plaintive tone, “Kitty won’t try new things.”
She flicked his shoulder. “I do try new things. Just meatless pizza? How did I forget you were vegetarian?”
“Well, we didn’t use to eat together much back in the day. K was always dragging me to parties.”
“You say it like it was torture.”
“But it was. I loved your brother, but he was tiresome. I prefer staying in.”
“Said no musician ever.”
“Why do you think we’re all party boys?”
She dodged his seeking eyes and twisted a braid around her index finger. “I didn’t say that.”
He parted his lips as if a million things fought to break out of his thoughts and become words. Instead, he shook his head and bit into his slice. “How do you like planning the Keystone Festival? Is it everything you ever dreamed of?”
Katenekwa warmed. “And more. I’m having the time of my life.”
“Yeah. You have always been weird. I still have a hard time believing you and K were twins.”
“No. Mom stole one of us.”
“I’m sure you have a colour-coded binder and a neatly filed daily to-do list or something.”
“I’m a planner, Wezi. Of course, I have daily to-do lists.”
Laughter danced in his eyes. “What’s for tomorrow? Can I help?”
Katenekwa tensed at the arm Wezi draped over her shoulder. His finger traced circles on her arm. Her mind blanked.
“Um. I don’t want to bother you.” She wriggled out of his hold and perched on the sofa. To her relief, he stayed on the floor.
“Nothing you ask of me can e
ver be a bother. I’d love to help.”
She examined him and, seeing no malice, agreed. “But no funny business. No Weziness.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You know, you. You tend to take things lightly. Which is good outside of work, but this is my whole future. You understand?”
“Don’t worry. I know how much this means to you. Have I ever done anything to make you doubt me?”
Disappearing for two years without a trace sure fit the bill, didn’t it? But that wasn’t what he was asking. When he was around, he was honest. He didn’t promise her anything, didn’t lie to her.
She couldn’t blame him for the heartbreak she’d caused herself by indulging in the fantasy of being his. She’d let herself believe that she meant more to him than she did, and that wasn’t his fault. The things he said, they were just words. She’d heard Kawana say those things to so many girls with the same honesty that she saw in Wezi’s eyes. It was the art of the player. They dealt in betrayed trust and broken hearts, promised the world, and left only tatters. Their sincerity was so disingenuous. She’d been foolish once, but she knew better now. She’d guard her heart.
Wezi would not break her.
Chapter 3
The night guard waved the car into Media GQ’s deserted visitors' parking lot. Six was early, even for workaholic Lillian.
When Katenekwa had called to seek access to her office, Lillian had attempted to convince her to come at seven. But Katenekwa had reminded her that it was an hour’s drive from Media GQ to the gala venue, and her appointment was at eight.
Lillian had begrudgingly agreed to ask the night guard to let them in. A real sacrifice on her part. If Lillian had her way, she’d carry her office keys home with her every night. She hated having people tamper with her workspace.
“So, you’re wide awake.” Katenekwa leaned into the wall as she and Wezi waited for the guard to fetch the front door keys.
Wezi drew on the condensation on the closed glass doors. “I’m used to early hours.”
“How come?”
“I work in a supermarket deli. We start the day pretty early.”
“You work in a supermarket? What about the modelling? You said it was going well.” Katenekwa gaped at him.
“It is. I get some good jobs now and then, but Grandma retired, and I have to pitch in.”
“Oh. That’s um…” She swallowed a hard ball of saliva. How unkind of her to forget that he had younger siblings to think of. He didn’t come from privilege like she and Kawana had.
A smile tugged at his lips. “It’s all right. It pays the bills. And this way, I have time for my music.”
The melancholy that gripped her refused to leave. She had often thought of Wezi as a musician/model and nothing more. It was such a charming description that she forgot the hardships that came with life.
Not everyone could be Keystone. The man was born a pop star. When fame had come calling, it had found him willing and able. Trends were his sustenance. If it was new and happening, Keystone was already on it, one chart-topping single after another. He was a non-stop Zed-pop machine.
Wezi, however, was a true artist. He wrote the kind of songs that took one places they’d rather forget and unearthed emotions they’d learned to shun. Wezi was tuned in to soul frequency, to those broken and worn and desperate parts of humanity. Keystone had once said that Wezi, despite his talent, had never broken out because “His music makes people uncomfortable. People don’t want to feel anymore.”
Katenekwa stepped aside so the guard could unlock the door, and she wondered if she, too, was fighting Wezi’s effect. If she, like the world, no longer wanted to feel. She floated down the hall, led by instinct alone, her senses blunted, unaware of anything but the irregular beating of her heart.
“I won’t be long,” she announced, hoping words could nudge her senses back into action. “I just need to grab my binder real quick.”
She’d expected him to make a joke. Nothing. She spun on her heels to see Wezi frozen at a closed door.
That closed door.
Will alone would not carry her to him. It had taken months to exile the presence of that room to a dark corner of her mind. These days she managed to walk by without her hands secreting and her eyelids burning. But now, the room screamed for her, reasserted its existence and demanded to be seen.
“Wezi.”
She couldn’t be sure he’d heard.
He turned her way, face deadpan. His body seemed to go limp for a second, then he rolled his shoulders and placed his right palm on the oaken door. “Can I go in?”
Could he? She’d never asked. Lillian and the others at Media GQ had never addressed the matter of Keystone’s studio.
For sure, they still used it. Occasionally, she spied the Do Not Disturb - Recording in Session neon sign lit up. She perceived it in her periphery, where she exiled all the visual reminders of Kawana, all the images she’d refused to see since he’d died.
Katenekwa struggled against the wave of confusion and anger resurfacing, unable to answer the question.
Wezi tried the door and stepped in.
Weak knees refused to carry her there or anywhere for that matter. She stayed in the corridor, powerless to stop reality from invading her denial.
Suddenly, she was back at her father’s farm, prostrate over the grave of her only sibling. Well-wishers and relatives gathered around. Hands reaching for her. So many hands, too many voices consoling her, telling her life goes on. Too many people failing to understand her loss.
Wezi standing at the edge of the mound, frozen. And when he moved, he disappeared from her sight and from her life.
Gentle music pulled her out of the past: Wezi’s soulful baritone accompanied by piano. Entranced, she inched her way to the door and leaned on the frame, unable to enter.
Her eyes scanned the room and settled on Wezi at Kawana’s Steinway baby grand. That beautiful instrument was so out of place in a Zed pop studio, yet it was so Kawana. He’d asked for it, and Mike, of course, could never refuse him. A week later, the office nearest the studio was converted into Kawana’s personal studio, and he promptly began to fill it with instruments he’d never use in his songs.
What he did, though, when his creativity stalled, was play classic jazz and soul because although Kawana was the Zed pop sensation Keystone, at his core, he was very soul. Very Wezi.
A million tiny needles jabbed the inside of Katenekwa’s eyelids. She swayed to the rhythm of Wezi’s rendition of Billie Holiday’s “God Bless the Child.” His voice filled her, and she didn’t want to flee anymore. She inched closer and—for the first time since his passing—entered her brother’s studio.
After he played the last note, Wezi sat at the piano, fingers on the ivory, and did nothing. Katenekwa understood. Paralysis accompanied realization, always.
“He loved that song,” she said at length.
Wezi stirred. He moved his hands from the piano to his lap. “He’d never be caught singing it, though. He was dramatic like that.”
She slid onto the bench next to Wezi and traced the contours of Kawana’s treasured instrument. She clasped her shaking hands to her chest. The urge to flee returned full force as weakness took root within her.
Wezi drew her to him.
“I miss him, too,” he whispered and squeezed her closer.
Her arms encircled him, and she welcomed the comfort of his chest, the delicate tones of his cologne, the gentle thump-thump of his heart, which picked up speed with each breath. He shifted, and she prepared for him to draw himself away as he normally would. Instead, she felt him bow toward her, bringing his head closer till his lips were closer than they’d ever been.
Someone coughed. Once. Twice. Katenekwa pulled away.
“Morning,” Lillian said.
“Morning.” Katenekwa could not decipher the expression on Lillian’s face, although it included definite signs of surprise. She stood in the doorway, arms akimbo, dressed to conquer co
rporate Zambia. “Look who it is.”
“Hi, Lillian. Long time.” Wezi said with a smile.
“What is going on here?” The voice of Mike, Media GQ’s owner and general manager, floated in. He appeared behind Lillian and halted. One brow curled, then the other. “Katenekwa?” His gaze passed over her and settled on Wezi. “Was that you singing?”
Wezi, not one to be intimidated, flashed a smile. “Hi. Sorry about that. Kitty had nothing to do with it.”
“Ki...,” Mike began to say. “Uh-huh. Do you do this often? Enter studios uninvited?”
“Mike, it’s all my fault. I didn’t think you’d have a problem with it...” Katenekwa began to explain.
Mike raised a hand to shush her.
“Katenekwa. Leave.” He pointed to Wezi. “You. Stay.”
Katenekwa suppressed the sudden urge to protest and pushed herself to her feet.
Wezi’s hand travelled down her arm. He gave her hand a squeeze, almost as if he didn’t want her to go. She understood that. There was nothing she wanted more than to stay by his side. She slipped past Mike, avoiding eye contact.
Once outside, Lillian shut the door behind them. “Are you all right, dear?”
Katenekwa nodded. “I’m okay. Just, um…”
And just like that, her words evaporated.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have gone in there.”
“I’d have had to at some point.”
Katenekwa inhaled the familiar scents of Media GQ, the ones that grounded her. “So, the two of you are early today.”
“We are particular about our business, and I wasn’t comfortable letting the guard into the office. So, you and Wezi—how long has that been going on?”
Katenekwa grinned like a demented Cheshire cat. “What?”
“You’re going to pretend I didn’t just see you almost kiss.” Lilian’s brow arched upwards.
“We didn’t. Wezi and I are friends. Nothing more.”
Lillian shook her head. “I saw the way you looked at him. The way he looked at you. Boys like him... You can’t afford to be distracted. You need to focus on the Keystone Festival.”
