‘Have you seen her around there recently? This week?’
‘No. I have seen her friend though. I heard Thandeka is working there at your company. I commend Diana for helping these young ladies with jobs.’
‘Aunty, could you please give my number to her friend?’
‘Hawu!’
‘I am in Cape Town and I have a task for her … eggs-related,’ I say. It will take me the whole evening to explain why I need them to contact me. ‘Please ask her to send me a please-call request. This is very important.’
She agrees. Bingo!
I get to the mall and stroll up and down until I find the perfect gift for Ciara. She likes gowns with Disney characters on them, so I get her one. I don’t know how many teddies she has and fitting another one in my carry-on case will just be a job and a half. I have the gown wrapped at the counter and head back to the car. On the way to the hotel, my aunt calls to tell me that Thandeka’s friend went to the hospital to visit her sick mother. Thandeka’s brother was not home. She left my number with Maria’s sibling. I am hoping that she calls me.
* * *
All night I wait but I don’t receive an SMS or text from any number I don’t know. On Friday morning I check out of the hotel, put my suitcase in the trunk of the rental car and go to the last meeting of my trip. I hardly hear a thing that is said at all. Afterwards, I get into the car to drive to the airport. Please call R10 airtime pls, an SMS beeps. Do people still personalise their please-call-me requests? I don’t even remember when last I sent one.
‘Hello.’
‘Hi, is this Maria?’ I ask. The only person that I have requested to send me a please-call-me is her.
‘Yes.’
‘I am looking for Thandeka. I have been looking for her for a while. Can you please send me her number?’ I plead.
‘Is this Gundo? Rudzani’s brother?’
‘Yes, it is. I waited for your please-call-me since last night.’
‘I got the message late and didn’t want to bother you.’ If only she knew I didn’t sleep. I wanted to be bothered.
‘Can I have the number, please?’
‘Okay, I will write it down for you and you can call me in a minute,’ she says and I agree and hang up. I call her back soon after and she gives me Thandeka’s number.
Thank God!
I call but her phone seems to be off. I need to go to the airport, but I’m not budging until I get hold of Thandeka. I try the phone a few more times without success. The only option I have is to call the friend again. I probably look desperate but for some reason I don’t care. I am just worried about Thandeka now that she doesn’t have a job and her friend is not with her. In fact, after seeing where she stayed, I am worried sick about her. It didn’t look safe at all. I get Thandeka’s address from her friend. The evening I dropped her home, I was not paying attention. When I get to Johannesburg, I am going straight to her flat.
* * *
When the flight lands at OR Tambo at one o’clock, Thandeka’s phone is still off. I hurry to where my car is parked and drive straight to Joburg CBD. Thandeka’s building looks as shady as I remember it. I didn’t want to say anything when I dropped her here the other evening, but this place is a no-no. It is not even late afternoon yet, but you would think otherwise with the number of people just hanging around in the street. I lock my car and try the doors a few times before making my way to the flat. I am dressed in a tailored suit and feel like these guys sitting by the entrance are going to rip it off from my body. That is how fucked up this damn place is.
I get to Thandeka’s flat and knock a few times before a guy wearing a pair of boxers opens the door. He moves his eyes from my head to my toes, probably wondering who the hell I am, before raising them to my face.
‘I am looking for Thandeka.’ Without a word, he walks back inside, leaving the door open for me.
What? Do I follow? Is she here? No?
I take a few steps inside and make my way to a dark corridor.
‘That door over there,’ the guy says and points at a closed door. He turns to what is supposed to be a living room. Instead, it is divided by curtains to make more ‘rooms’ for tenants.
He stares while I knock on the door which he pointed out.
‘Knock. She is in there,’ he confirms.
‘Thandeka, it is Gundo. Please open the door,’ I call out while knocking a little harder than before. The door flies open and before me is the most beautiful woman in the whole world. I am not exaggerating. She is like a pretty angel in a shirt-dress that reaches to her knees. Her shiny, relaxed black hair is tied into a very small bun. She stares into my eyes like she has been longing to see me.
‘What are you doing here? How did you even find me?’
‘Can I come in?’ I ask. She hesitantly opens the door and makes way for me. She is the tidy type. Her room is clean and her laundry is folded on the table in the corner of the room. ‘I have been trying to call you.’
‘My phone died. Some electricity issues … I don’t know what is going on.’
‘I heard you resigned.’
She invites me to sit on the bed while she stands by the window. Her curtains seem to be the only neat ones in the building from what I have seen from the outside.
‘She fired me. I saw it coming after she saw us in the boardroom.’
‘She shouldn’t have done that,’ I say.
She shrugs.
‘I didn’t know. I was away on business …’
‘I heard.’
There is silence. I am thinking about the fact that she is staying here in a flat full of men just on the other side of her door. She is scared, that is why she is locking herself in here.
‘You are valuable to me … um … to my company, Thandeka. Phuti told me the client loved your idea. They did a photoshoot on Thursday,’ I announce proudly.
‘Really?’ Her face lights up. I love that. She looks so beautiful, and lovable, and kissable, and, and, and …
Her smile fades away after a few seconds. Reality hits home – I am the reason she got fired. We stare at each other until loud voices from outside the room startle us. An argument has erupted in the living room.
‘Sorry,’ she says shyly. ‘They get loud sometimes.’
‘Hey, I just scored some hotel vouchers from my last trip. I was supposed to come back on Monday, so they gave me a voucher. Don’t you want to use it?’
There are no vouchers. I just want a decent way to get her out of this damned flat while I make a plan for her to get out of here for good – without stepping on toes.
‘Sir …’
‘Stop calling me “sir”. Do you even know my name?’
‘Your name is Gundo,’ she says.
‘Call me by my name, please.’
She nods with a smile.
‘I would like you to use the hotel vouchers this weekend,’ I insist.
‘No … I cannot …’
‘It is either I camp here on your bed or you go with me,’ I say while standing up and taking off my shoes and jacket.
She laughs at me being dramatic. I am about to land back on the bed when she yells that she is packing.
‘Fine, fine … I will go with