After dealing with Snoekie, she surely could handle some American with a fake identity.
She watched him leave. He had reserved his gangster walk for her, so ridiculously contrived. Hey, fucking walk properly, arsehole! She wanted to shout out to him. One day.
Trying not to feel unnerved, she reread the printed email:
Dear Snoekie,
Thank you for your time. I would have liked to have met directly with you, but I am happy to meet with your associate, Patty Klein. Below, please see the temporary reservations for flight and hotel bookings. Awaiting Ms Klein’s passport details to confirm. Visas can be organized at short notice. Ms Klein to please send me her details as a matter of urgency.
Best,
Jack.
She moved to her desk and sat down behind her computer. Why are all clandestine characters called Jack? Jack Sparrow, Jack Black? She hadn’t been given much notice, had she? Snoekie had been sitting on the email for a week, but he expected her to pack and leave by Wednesday. Patty placed her manicured fingers on the keyboard of her laptop:
Dear Mr Wallerst…
Five
That Thursday, Brigit found herself straddled around Leonard.
She stared him straight in the eyes as she rode him. He was not the kind of guy she would usually go for, although she wasn’t sure anymore what her kind of guy was. According to her therapist, they were the ones who were normally unavailable. Off-limits. And now she was with the boyfriend of her mom’s new best friend, Claudia. Fucked-up, that’s what she was.
They had spoken at Jen’s fiftieth. Brig was researching an article on “Black Business Entrepreneurs and Professionals in the Western Cape” and she had been very keen to interview him.
“It’s quite alarming actually,” she’d said. “After being in Jo’burg for a conference, to see how much the Western Cape is lacking in a black middle class, never mind integration on all levels, socially, economically, in business.”
Leonard had taken a swig of his beer. The music blared from the lounge and most of the guests were prancing around on the dance floor. She had seen him alone, leaning over the veranda’s bannister before she approached him. “Aren’t black people supposed to be the life and soul of the party?” she’d joked. She felt his eyes on her breasts. Her top plunged low in the front and at the sides too, so she had stuck her tits to it with double-sided tape. “They are,” he had told her. “It’s just I don’t know where Claudy has disappeared to.”
“Well, that’s okay,” she teased. “I was hoping to proposition you.”
Leonard choked on his beer. Brigit laughed. “You guys are all the same, black, white, yellow, red. I just want to interview you, if you’ll let me.”
His embarrassment was evident. “Fuck! Okay,” he said. “You want to interview me?”
Her hand touched his shoulder gently. “If you’d allow me to.”
Then Claudia had appeared. Brigit liked Claudia. She had replaced Jen’s best friend, Frankie, who Brig blamed entirely for her parent’s recent divorce.
Claudia is different. She’s classy, worldly and progressive. Everything 29-year-old Brig aspired to be.
“What are you two on about?” Claudia had asked, trying to wangle her way into the conversation. Brigit’s arm slid from his shoulder.
Leonard placed a strong arm around Claudia and drew her in, “Brigit wants to interview me.”
“Yes, I’m doing an article on black entrepreneurs and professionals in the Western Cape. Mom suggested I interview Leonard.”
Claudia’s brows lifted. “Ah.”
Brigit laughed uncomfortably. “What do you mean by, ‘ah’?”
Leonard kissed his girlfriend’s cheek. “That’s what therapists say when they’re analysing you. She does it to me all the time.”
“No I don’t, Len!” Claudia elbowed Leonard playfully. “So, are you going to interview my man?” she asked.
“If he’ll let me.” Brig noticed Claudia’s eyes run over her plunging neckline. “How do your boobs manage not to slip out of that top?” She noticed Leonard’s hand squeeze into Claudia’s arm.
“Um. I…” She was about to explain but Claudia interjected.
“Leonard’s a great fit. For your article,” she said, then turned to Leonard, “Let’s go dance, baby. I love this song.”
On Monday Brigit had managed to reach Leonard through his secretary Angie, whom she had met once or twice at Jen’s house and at her mom’s fiftieth.
She had arranged a time after work that Thursday, and by six pm, and half a bottle of Delheim Shiraz later, he had succumbed to Brigit’s advances. Now she was busy fucking him on his very expensive black leather swivel-chair. Challenging, to say the least.
He seemed angry. Angry she had managed to seduce him; so he stood her up, bent her over his file-encumbered desk and fucked her harder. Nothing she wasn’t used to. She had never ‘made love’; in fact she scoffed at the idea. Her one and only long-term relationship with her professor had involved his desk laden with students’ files, essays and dissertations. And she remembered him having to pick up papers off the floor after one of their breathless sessions. The messier the desk, the better the fuck. That’s what most men wanted: a good fuck.
There was only one man who had not given in to her advances. Her godfather Lee, killed in a freak car accident, the headlines had read, An Unrecognisable Body, Charred In The Aftermath: her father’s best friend and the husband of her dad’s ex-lover, Frankie. Embarrassingly, her mother’s one-night cheat all those years ago, which now posed the question as to who Brig’s daddy really was: John or Lee? She swept her hand across Leonard’s desk causing papers to scatter across the floor. Her life right now was in as much of a mess as Leonard’s legal files.
Six
John and Brigit had met in the parking lot of Tokara. It was their monthly catch-up; a date Brig marked on her calendar along with her period and her psychologist appointment; all regular as clockwork. She’d felt a little guilty her brother, Pete was never included, but given the tense relationship between father and son, it wouldn’t have been the Daddy-Daughter date they had both come to cherish.
The view of the majestic mountain ranges and neighbouring wine estates never failed to take Brigit’s breath away. She stopped to look at a few of the impressive outdoor art installations before catching up with her father who was waiting for her at the entrance to the restaurant.
The cellar, encased in pristine clean glass, was a work of architectural mastery. Brigit took a quick photo to post on Instagram.
“This place! I just love it!” she said, admiring the cellar.
“All these fuckers have the same cellar design. Mine is not show-offy. It’s a working cellar. No pretences; it doesn’t have to be encased in glass.” John nodded at the waiter.
“Come on, Daddy. It’s magnificent. You have to admit,” Brig retorted. They had decided on a table in the courtyard. They’d have a drink there before going back in for supper.
“I’m not saying it isn’t. I mean there’s loads of money here. I can’t really compete.”
“You