Love's Courage (2 page)

“I'm . . . I . . . uhm . . .” Lesego stutters as she tries to figure out what has happened.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, sure . . . I guess I just passed out.”

“What?! You went drinking? With me waiting here for you like a fool?”

“Don't be silly, I was just tired. I passed out as in fell asleep.”

“Why does it sound like you're in a closet or something? What's up with you?”

“Eish, my friend, it's a long and boring story. Listen, we'll have to postpone; it's too late now anyway. I'm sorry for making you wait there alone. No cute guys tried to come to your rescue?”

“What cute guys?!” Joy exclaims as she sucks her teeth. “You and I both know that the world is filled only with MCPs . . .” She sighs. “Shall we say tomorrow then?”

“Well . . .”

“No, you've been putting me off for weeks. Tomorrow, and not a day later. We can make an evening of it, since Friday is a public holiday.”

“But . . .”

“No buts. I'm seeing you tomorrow, boots or no boots. Bye.”

“But Joy . . . Joy?” Lesego looks at the screen and sees that it has gone back to her menu; her friend has ended the call. She sighs . . . She has R50 left in her account. What does she do with it? Buy petrol or honour her obligation to an old friend?

* * *

Lesego walks out of the national broadcaster's building and heads for her car, which is parked on the street. She starts the engine and looks at the quarter tank. She wonders what to do about Joy tonight. She'd better cancel, but what excuse can she give? She has given so many over the last two months that she has run out.

She may have to tell Joy the truth. The thought makes her slow down in the traffic, getting loud hoots from impatient Joburg drivers. She moves into the slow lane and shakes her head. What to do?

When Lesego walks into the office, Eileen, one of her work friends, says, “That bad, eh?”

“Huh?” she says, looking into Eileen's face, then realises that she must be looking worried and quickly pastes a fake smile on her face. “No . . . No, it went very well. They're going to review our proposed storylines and get back to us. I just have a slight headache.”

“Really?” Eileen asks sceptically.

“Yes, really. Stop worrying.”

“Maybe you should leave early?”

“What time is Lesley due back?” Lesego asks hopefully.

“Apparently she's heading to Durban after the meeting at the studios, and that will be round about . . .” Eileen looks at her watch, “now . . . So you can run off as well. You're such a goody-goody; you really should play hooky every now and again.”

“Maybe I will. Let me just check my emails. If there's nothing urgent, I'm out of here.”

“Well,” Eileen says, “a bunch of us are going to Rosebank for drinks at Escapade. Come and join us. You need to unwind a bit.”

“Uhm . . . unfortunately I can't. I have a date with a girlfriend.”

“Are you into girls now? I haven't heard you even mention a man recently. What happened to that guy you were dating?”

“Who, Eric?” Lesego asks incredulously. “That MCP!! He is old, tired and broke-ass, not worth it. I got tired of all the MCPs. A man who can't even afford airtime, has to be collected and picks up other women in your car, has to go ‘To the left, to the left, everything you own in a box to the left' like Beyoncé says.”

“Ooooh, that sounds terrible,” Eileen says, laughing at Lesego's tirade. “You sure you won't come?”

“Oh no, Joy would kill me if I stood her up again. Thanks for the invite, though. Maybe next time.”

“I'll hold you to it. Bye, girl, we're out. When the cat's away, the mice will play.”

Lesego walks to her office, sits down at her desk and glances at her phone, wondering how to ditch Joy without getting her all upset. She switches on her computer, checks her e-mails but sees nothing urgent – yay! She looks around the open-plan office and sees the place is deserted; even the bosses' offices are empty. Who am I trying to impress here? she decides. She logs off, turns off her computer, grabs her bag as she heads for the door, then shuts it and sets the alarm.

* * *

Kenneth looks through his email and is pleased to see that there is nothing left to attend to – his inbox is empty and his to-do list ticked. He takes another look through the proposals. The one he is most drawn to is the one for the Batshweneng cultural village. He really likes the fact that it will be informative, telling people things they don't know about themselves and their culture. It's about time someone starts thinking about documenting culture and putting it in cyberspace; this is, after all, the information age.

He has never been able to understand why everything about culture has to be such a secret. That is why people make mistakes and end up embarrassing themselves. He thinks back to his tumble in the dust chasing a goat, sighs and decides to make sure that this project is passed. He will personally baby-sit this one to guarantee its success, and then other tribes will follow suit.

Kenneth looks at his Rolex. It is nearly four and he realises that it is dead quiet. Government officials always disappear early on the day before a public holiday; he is probably the only one left. But then he glances outside and sees his assistant, Jacqui, still sitting there. He gets up and walks to her.

“Jacqui, why didn't you go home, for heaven's sake?”

“I couldn't, sir; not with you still here.”

“Don't be silly,” he says, exasperated. “You work harder than me most of the time. Go home; I'm sure your man will be happy to have you back early.”

“Man!” Jacqui scoffs. “Ha! That one still needs to grow up. I threw his ass out! That MCP! . . . Anyway, I'll be off then.”

“Okay. Enjoy your long weekend.”

She waves and leaves. Kenneth walks back into his office, sits down in his chair and rolls up his sleeves. Maybe a night out with the boys, he thinks, and quickly looks for the email Stan sent him earlier in the week. Kenneth sighs. A boys' night can be boring, but it beats staying at home alone. He shuts down his computer and leaves the office.

* * *

Lesego is staring at her watch. It says 17h30 and she still hasn't called Joy. She is tempted to switch off her phone, but can't bring herself to be such a coward. She opens the phone, goes to Messages, then New Message:

Hey, girl, won't be able to m . . .

She deletes the message and sighs, wondering how to do this. Just then the doorbell goes. She isn't expecting anyone and wonders if it's robbers checking to see who is home. A little alarmed, she answers the intercom, “Yes, who is it?”

“It's me. I've come to pick up your stand-upping ass.”

“Shit!” Lesego says out loud. Now that she has answered, she can't pretend that she isn't home. She rolls her eyes in exasperation.

“I know you're in there,” Joy says. “Open up!”

Lesego opens the gate for her friend and her stress levels immediately go up. She feels trapped and short of breath – she has to take deep breaths to calm down. She thinks of her wardrobe – tracksuit pants and a tank top are hardly suitable for a night out on the town. She looks at her reflection in the mirror, but she doesn't look ill so she can't pretend to be. What can she do?

There is a knock on the door and when she opens up, Joy gives her a great big bear hug. This is too much for Lesego. She bursts into tears and just sobs and sobs, much to her friend's horror.

“Hey . . . Hey . . . What's up, baby? What's all this?”

“Tshepiso robbed . . . Gave her my last cent . . .” Lesebo blubbers incoherently. “So sorry . . . Keep disappointing you . . . Everyone wants too much . . . What to do? Shit! Life sucks . . . Don't have a rich husband or daddy . . . So sorrrrryyy . . .”

“Okay,” Joy says, confused. “All I got was that life sucks and that you want a rich daddy.”

“No!” Lesego wails. “Well – yes, actually . . . Then I'd be able to live a carefree life!”

“Look, I don't know what this is all about, but I'm going to get you some sugar water or something while you pull yourself together. Whatever this is must be terrible because you're doing the ugly cry . . . You know, the one where your face goes all deformed . . . The one where the crier has no pride or concern for what she looks like while she cries . . . Yeah, you must be in anguish. Man! You should've called me. I'm here for you, you know? You selfishly hang on to your problems and you won't let your friends help. That makes me really angry,” Joy remonstrates as she stalks into the kitchen.

“I know . . . I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me . . . Well, I do. It's called pride . . . Stupid, selfish pride.” Lesego continues to sob, her head in her hands.

When she finally looks up, she sees Joy with a glass of water, and bawls even more when she sees her friend's stern and disappointed expression.

“Here, drink this,” Joy says more gently.

Lesego gulps down some air, trying to breathe, and then drinks the water.

“Now tell me what this is all about,” Joy demands, and slowly but surely the whole sad story comes out, with much sniffling and embarrassment.

“So you were too ashamed to tell me you're broke? Even though you own your own house, your own car, single-handedly put your sister through school, and still manage to look this good? You were embarrassed in front of me, a girl whose car was bought by Daddy, who's still renting and has a mountain of debt? I don't understand that!”

Lesego uses one tissue after the other as her friend continues.

“Actually we can take whatever money we have, hire some DVDs or watch the stack you have, cook a good dinner, buy some cheap booze like we used to at varsity and hang out together. I just wanted to see you, Lesego, not force you to spend money you don't have.”

The lecture sparks a fresh torrent of tears.

“Well, I obviously can't deal with this on my own,” Joy suddenly says, pulling out her phone. “Time to bring in the cavalry.”

An hour later Lesego's living room is lit with candles, there is old-school music blasting from her stereo and her girlfriends are swarming all over the house: Boitumelo in the kitchen, cooking and mixing killer cocktails, Lebogang at the radio, Joy as the main entertainer. Constant laughter and light seem to fill the room and Lesego wonders why she didn't just do this to begin with.

2

Lesego wakes up from being too hot. It is broad daylight. She is tired but happy. She hasn't received any frantic SMSs or calls, and had a rejuvenating night and day with her girlfriends who left last night to look for real parties and hook up with their men.

Lesego wonders what to do with herself. Her house is sparkling clean, her laundry is done, she doesn't like gardening because she finds the wild look more natural. So, what to do?

She gets an SMS. R600,00 has been deposited into her account by Mr Khumoetsile.

Lesego calls her father. “Papa, can you afford this?”

“Yes, of course. Don't worry, I wouldn't have given you the money if I couldn't. I have to take care of your nephew and mother, you know. But I thought you should do colour prints for your presentation, and you need money for petrol, and you may want an ice cream.”

“Wow, you're the best dad in the world . . . So the money cleared early?”

“Yes, I checked my account on the off chance, and God and the ancestors were with me.”

“Okay, let me go to town then. Thanks a lot, Daddy. Say hi to Mom and Tiro.”

“I will. Bye.”

Lesego decides to do her favourite thing – go book shopping!

* * *

Trawling the mall is Lesego's best; she pops in at clothing stores, pervs over shoes and clothes, stares at passers-by . . . Eventually she steps into Exclusive Books and goes to the fiction section first because it tends to be cheaper. But nothing looks exciting . . . She wanders over to the health section and realises she has read most of the books there, and the others have little appeal. She decides to try the reference section; maybe she can find something to help her jazz up her presentation.

She strolls down the main aisle, looking at various titles. Hello, speak to me; I have money and I want to spend it, she thinks. When she reaches the middle of the aisle, a title catches her eye:
The History of the Batswana
. Yes! she thinks as she reaches out for it – at the same time as a well-manicured, masculine hand reaches for it. They pull the book out together and turn to look at each other while still holding on to it.

When their eyes meet, they both feel an electric shock going through their system. The two stare at each other for a few moments, looking each other up and down. Lesego's gaze has the highest to go – she sees a fine specimen of masculinity: the most soulful hazel-brown eyes, set in a well-chiselled face, a long, well-shaped nose and the most luscious lips ever to be placed on a man, together with her favourite – a goatee. Eish, she thinks to herself, if it gets better than this, I'm going to turn into a hussy and get the brother's details. Her gaze travels down unashamedly over a gracefully masculine neck with a small Adam's apple, broad and muscled shoulders in a T-shirt that clings to well-developed pecs and a six-pack to die for.

God is great! Your wonders amaze, oh Lord, you are worthy of praise! Lesego continues to exult to herself as her gaze continues down to what looks like . . . Oops! This has gone too far, girl! she reprimands herself in her thoughts. The brother has a face, and what a face. We must do this journey again, from the bottom up . . . Oh, what a ride!

At the same time, Kenneth is doing his own checking out and his thoughts are also running riot . . . Perfect skin, caramel brown, a high forehead – a sign of intelligence; please God, say it's so! Thick eyebrows over beautiful, large chocolate-brown eyes framed with the longest lashes he has ever seen. A dainty nose, high cheekbones, a wide and totally kissable mouth, a small chin and long, thin neck that flows into delicate, uncovered shoulders above a generous chest exposed to perfection with a heart-shaped bustier-type cotton top in a yellow that offsets her complexion – NO BRA!

Lord have mercy on the weak! Kenneth gasps to himself as he swallows hard. His gaze continues over a flat stomach with just a bit of skin showing over the top of her tight blue jeans that show off her shapely and well-rounded hips above firm thighs . . . Then he forces his gaze back up again.

They both realise they have been unabashedly checking each other out and instead of being embarrassed, the two give each other a cheeky grin.

“So, how are we to settle this?” he asks her flirtatiously.

“You could be a gentleman and just let me have it,” she responds.

Eyebrows slightly raised, but seriously tickled, he responds with a naughty smile. “Well, normally I am a gentleman, but I really need this, so I think you should let me have it.”

They both flush with desire and their eyes begin to glaze over. Their breathing becomes erratic while they stare at each other's lips as they speak.

Lesego shakes her head to clear the haze. They are practically engaged in mild foreplay right here in the middle of a bookshop, for heaven's sake. “Okay,” she says, “what must I do to get you to let me have the book?”

Slightly disappointed that she has become all serious, he says, “Well, this is the last copy and I honestly think I need it more than you. But I can let you have it if you promise to let me borrow it when you're done.”

“But we hardly know each other; how do I . . . ? Oh, okay, you want my number,” she says with another cheeky grin. “You could've just asked. Anyway, I would've found a way to get yours.”

His eyebrows shoot up – he's obviously impressed with her boldness.

“I just have a series of questions I'd like you to answer before I give you my number,” she continues. “If you answer reasonably, I'll hand it over gladly.”

“What? An interview? You must be kidding.”

“Hey, you're the one who said you were a gentleman.”

“I never said any such thing.”

“Look, you could ask them to order another copy, but that would probably take a while, so it all depends on how desperately you want this book,” she says, cocking her hip to one side and placing her hand on it to draw his attention down her body once more.

He takes a long breath, releases it and then says, “I want it fast, all right . . . Okay, but I would also have to ask you some questions.”

“No problem; whatever you need.”

Lesego purses her lips and sucks her bottom lip into her mouth. His eyes seem to devour her and she suddenly feels the need to fan herself.

“Right then, let's begin,” he says.

“Fine. Are you a serial killer?”

He bursts out laughing. “Are you serious? If I were, would I tell you? Wouldn't you just find yourself at the receiving end of my torture tools?”

“You have torture tools?” she asks, widening her eyes in a mocking way.

“Do I look like I have a need to torture women? No, I'm not a serial killer and I don't have torture tools.”

“Do you have your own place?”

“What? This is ridiculous. Why are you asking these unrelated questions?” he asks, a little exasperated.

In reply he gets another wide-eyed look, a slight shake of the head and a small shrug while the book is waved in his face.

“Okay, fine – I own my own house.”

“Good,” she says. “That means you're gainfully employed, then?”

He is about to argue that when she gives him the same mocking look.

“Yes, I am gainfully employed . . . Your turn now. Is there a history of mental illness in your family?”

She smiles charmingly and says, “No.”

“Have you ever stalked a man?”

She raises her eyebrows and gives him an amused look. “No, I've never had the time.”

“Are you gainfully employed?”

“Yes, I am gainfully employed.”

“Are you looking to get married?”

“No, not any time soon; I have too much to achieve and a husband might hold me back.”

He cocks his head, surprised at her answer. “How old are you?”

“I could be a typical female and lie, but I think the age thing is a lot of bull. I'm twenty-nine.”

“You're very interesting. Can I have your number?”

“Sure. Give me your phone.”

He hands it to her, and while putting in her details, she says, “I won't ask for yours. So, I leave the ball in your court, sir. Then you have the opportunity to chicken out.”

“Who says I'll do that?”

“You're a man. You're probably involved and you're probably afraid of strong women. So, it computes.”

“Wow, you're quite cheeky.”

“Said the kettle to the pot. What's your name, by the way?”

“Kenneth,” he says, extending his hand.

When their hands clasp, they both gasp as an electric shock of excitement travels through their arms and settles firmly in their groins. They both swallow, they both lick their lips.

“Kenny, did you find . . . Oh, sorry.” Their reverie is interrupted by a pretty woman who flashes a brittle smile at Lesego. “Who's this?”

“This is Lesego; Lesego, meet Thandi.”

The women nod at each other.

Then Lesego coos, “I have to go,” flashing a smug look at him that says, “Was I right, or was I right?” He gives her a confused look and is about to tell her that she is wrong, when Thandi's red nails clasp his arm and she cuddles up close to him, batting her eyelashes.

Lesego laughs at Kenneth, causing Thandi to clench her jaw in irritation, wondering if she is laughing at her. “Sorry, private joke. Your move,” Lesego says to Kenneth and gives him a wink. “Nice to meet you,” she bids Thandi farewell and walks off.

She looks like a model on a runway, but it's no affectation; that's just the way Lesego moves. Kenneth can't help but check out her rear and he looks mightily impressed. Thandi snorts. He glances down her bony figure and thinks: A girl needs to eat now and then. But out loud he says, “Shall we go?”

Kenneth and Thandi head for the door. When they pass the counter, Lesego glances their way and exchanges another cheeky grin with him. She sighs and under her breath she sings to herself, “Pom-pom-pom . . . Another one bites the dust!”

* * *

Later that afternoon Lesego is lying on a lounging chair in her garden, wearing a bright green bikini and orange sarong, reading her book and listening to Marvin Gaye, when her phone's message tone goes off. She picks it up and reads:

It's not what you think, smarty-pants. Kenny.

She smiles, then replies:

Hao! You don't have to explain anything to me. I'm not your girlfriend, just a woman who'll give you what you want.

She adds a cute emoticon at the end of the sentence, and as she waits for a delivery report, she saves his number into her phone.

He responds:

Cheeky! . . . I think the other one's a stalker. She has just started working at our offices and we met up by chance last night when I was out with the boys. She somehow found out where I lived and showed up wearing very little. The only way I could get rid of her was to take her out to lunch.

Without missing a beat, Lesego shoots back:

Ao, you don't have to explain. That's what you get
for going out with an anorexic. The starvation affects
their reasoning abilities.

Kenneth bursts out laughing where he is lying on his couch, facing the garden with his large glass doors open, the Saturday paper in his lap, listening to Marvin Gaye. He types:

Lol. I told you I'm not seeing her. When can I see you though? Find you fascinating.

Lesego answers:

I'm a bit hectic at the mo and haven't had enough time to assess whether you're a serial killer. So you'll have to prove you're worthy of my trust before I agree to see you.

Ahhh! The lady's been burned. Okay, what would convince you?'

If I told you, you would do it, but you may still be a serial killer. You'll have to find a way yourself.

Fair enough. What you up to?

She replies:

Reading the book that introduced us. What serendipity. It's like our ancestors conspired to introduce us to each other, using our culture as the connector.

Interesting thought. What would that mean then? That we are fated to be together? Are you hitting on me?

He smiles while adding a devil emoticon at the end of the message.

No, I'm not trying to say we were fated to meet. But maybe we'll learn things from each other before we part ways. Like I said, I'm not looking for a long-term commitment.

So what? You only want me for my hot body?

She grins and writes:

And if I was?

You can have it. I know I want you for your hot body.

Is that all then? Just sex?

Wow, you're blunt. No, I find you fascinating, and hot as well. Maybe you're the full package I've been looking for.

This time he adds a smiling emoticon.

She feels a little flattered but quickly suppresses that and writes back:

Whoa, cowboy! Watch yourself before you promise things you can't deliver on. I didn't think you were impulsive. You seem so calculated.

Some opportunities only come once, so you have to strike while the iron's hot. And you're one red-hot iron. And I hate regrets. I'd regret never knowing.

Sweet, but I bet you say this to all the girls. I'm going now before you make me melt and break all my rules. Don't SMS me, I'm off. Later.

The sudden ring of her phone makes Lesego start. The screen says
Kenneth
and she laughs, tickled by his persistence. She lets it ring a few times more before she answers and says, “I said I was going now.”

“Yes, you said I shouldn't SMS you; you didn't say I shouldn't call. Plus I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Ijoo, you're dangerous! I have to watch myself. So, what did you want to say?” she asks, trying to sound blunt.

“Well – nothing, really . . . I wanted to see what effect your voice would have on me, and whether your being would touch my soul,” he says seriously.

“What? Are you gay? You must be . . . What heterosexual male says such things?”