was a marriage coming to an end. In any case Nandi and Tumi had kept their friendship.
“One day Zaza and Princess will laugh at themselves for being so silly,” Tumi said.
“That will be the happiest day of my life,” Nandi responded.
Tumi and Nandi said their goodbyes and hung up. Nandi turned to the clock on the wall – two hours had passed and she had done nothing. She turned to the paperwork on her desk and forced herself to concentrate, but the figures in front of her seemed to have their own agenda.
* * *
After talking to Nandi, Zaza put down the phone and hauled herself up and out of bed. Her head was heavy, as if she were balancing a bucketful of water on it; a dull headache lingered. Too much wine and sex did that to her.
Zaza’s mind drifted to the previous night. It had truly been an amazing evening. Sex was always good between them, but last night was extra special and spectacular. They reached another level, and she wanted to stay there for a long time. But the things Bongani had said that morning disturbed her. Suppose he did something stupid like – heaven forbid – leave his family. Where would that leave her? Would he expect her to do the same with Bheki and her family?
When they started seeing each other they had made a formal pact to stay committed to their families, no matter what the circumstances they found themselves under. They had made a promise to protect their families. Bongani was aware he was crossing the line. Was he putting her to some kind of test? Zaza realised she had to promptly call him to order before he screwed things up for her.
Zaza put on her terry cloth robe and went downstairs. The house was spotless, as usual. Zaza never ceased to be amazed at how Thembi, the family’s live-in help and her children’s nanny, managed to deal with the morning madness of getting the children – Zaza’s four-and-a-half-year-old son Pascal and Thembi’s seven-year-old daughter Khaselihle, who also stayed with them – ready for school and get the house cleaned before nine. She herself hadn’t mastered the domestic domain and struggled terribly when Thembi wasn’t around. Zaza had come to the conclusion many years ago that domesticity was an art of sorts, a talent of which she clearly had none. She was perfectly fine with the realisation.
As Zaza stepped into the kitchen her youngest son, two-year-old Milan, spotted her. The boy shrieked with excitement and ran towards his mother.
“My baby!” Zaza scooped up the toddler and bounced him in the air several times before plastering kisses all over him. “Did you sleep well?”
“He’s been asking for you since he woke up at seven,” Thembi said. “I told him you were very tired and needed to sleep. I ended up taking him to the park after the others left. I’m glad you’re finally up. I was getting worried, thinking you may have forgotten that mzala’s plane is landing this morning.”
Thembi was Bheki’s cousin thrice removed. She was suggested to them by Bheki’s mother after it became apparent they weren’t going to find anyone in Joburg they could completely trust with their precious first-born, Pascal. Thembi was thirty-six, a mere five years older than Zaza, though she conducted herself in the manner of someone approaching fifty-four.
“I didn’t forget,” Zaza said, pulling up a chair next to Thembi and sitting down with Milan snuggled on her lap. She felt a flush of embarrassment for having spent an entire night out with her lover, as if Thembi could see through her. “You should have let him see me, I don’t mind. My work can be demanding, especially the boutique this time of the year stocking up for Christmas holidays, but the boys take priority. I can never be too tired for them. Right, baby?” She kissed Milan.
“I will never understand why you insist on working. Mzala provides for you and the children,” Thembi commented.
“We’re not having that conversation again. Staying at home is a bore. I’ve tried it before, remember?” Zaza motioned at the newspaper on the kitchen counter. “Anything interesting?”
“Mzala, you know the news doesn’t change in South Africa. It’s always the same things – fiasco leadership, crime, corruption, service delivery protests and Zimbabwe. Izindaba zemihla ngemihla.”
“I have a headache. Do we have aspirin?”
“Pills won’t cure your headache. What you need is wholesome food. You don’t eat, mzala. When was your last meal? You modern women are always worried about your figures.” Thembi pushed a plate with two pieces of buttered toast towards Zaza. She rose, took a cup from the cabinet and made rooibos tea – milky and extra sweet. “This will take care of your headache.” She gave Zaza the tea.
“Thanks, mzala.” Zaza took a few sips of her tea. “How are they at home?” she asked.
“They are well. They want more money, but that’s not new,” Thembi said, rolling her eyes. “For five years I’ve been singing the same song: money doesn’t grow on trees here. Nobody wants to listen. They probably think I’m hogging it.” Thembi’s husband, Sakhi, had refused to move with his wife and child and remained in Nongoma with the rest of her family. Thembi was the family’s breadwinner, as Sakhi was often out of work.
Zaza laughed. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“And then this thing Sakhi got himself into.” Thembi’s face clouded with rage. Zaza worried she would explode, as she had the last time Sakhi’s name had come up in their conversation, but Thembi merely made a click of annoyance with her tongue and shook her head.
“It’s a difficult one, mzala,” Zaza offered.
“I’m waiting to see his actions when the child gets here. Where is he going to get the money for child support? He can’t even buy himself a bottle of beer,” Thembi hissed. “Anyway, the latest is induna wants more than inhlawulo; he’s demanding Sakhi take her as a second wife. He says his daughter is damaged and no other man will want to marry her.”
“No, please say you’re joking. They still do that?”
“The not so funny part is my husband is keen on the idea of two wives and marrying into royalty. Of course he hasn’t mentioned this news to me, it’s my sister who told me. He knows I’ll chase him out. I’m not sharing my house with a seventeen-year-old uneducated farm girl. In all fairness, I built that house.”
“Men can be irresponsible and insensitive sometimes.”
“If it wasn’t for my daughter I would leave him. Sakhi is useless to me, but what can I say – Khaselihle adores her father. My parents also like him; they say he’s helpful around the house. They’ve turned a blind eye to this whole mess with the chief’s daughter.”
“Maybe you should take time off, go home and sort things out. I can take care of the children.”
“Maybe,” Thembi said with a tone as blunt as plastic scissors. “You’re lucky to have Bheki. He’s a good man.”
Zaza smiled and turned to her food. She finished nibbling on her toast, returned the child to Thembi and went upstairs to shower. She slipped into a sexy strapless dress that fitted snugly around her slender body – it could have been made for her. She knew Bheki would go berserk; he always did whenever she had the dress on. Next Zaza put on a pair of silver Prada sandals and double-checked her make-up, and when she was satisfied, donned her oversized Fendi sunglasses and left for the airport. She was expected to look good. She was, after all, a trophy wife, as they said.
