“And so I thought you were like done with Sipho Dlamini?”
“Yes, me too.” Ayanda wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about her situation with him. How could she talk about something she knew nothing about? Her mind was as confused as ever about the man.
“That card didn’t sound like he’s over you,” Kiki said.
“Did everyone in the building read my card?” Ayanda asked.
Jabu laughed. “It’s a newspaper, sifuna izindaba.”
Ayanda had to laugh. “I guess I’m no better. I’d have read it too.”
Kiki was like a pit bull. She flipped her long weave over her shoulder and leaned into her friend. “So? What’s the story?”
Ayanda had little power against a full-on Kiki onslaught. “Okay . . . but seriously off the record, okay? I don’t want to see this showing up in those high-society columns. I know Sipho is one of your readers’ darlings.”
“Eish, you’re no fun at all! Fine . . . all right . . . But you know, if I don’t write it, someone else will. Sipho Dlamini’s hot stuff . . . Okay, honest – I won’t repeat anything. Spill!” Kiki ordered.
Ayanda started reluctantly, because she was still unsure of what she really felt. “I don’t know . . . he’s not my type at all. But then . . . he’s dead sexy. And I hate to say it, but he’s so manly, like he just takes over and . . . I know you two won’t believe it . . . but I like that.”
“You? . . . You like being bossed around? First I heard,” Jabu said.
“It’s not as if he’s bossed me around; it’s just that he takes control. So I can relax. I guess it makes me feel safe. Well, and then there’s that smile . . .”
“Oh girl, I wondered when you were going to get to that!” Kiki said. “I saw him once at one of these charity auctions with his shirt off. Have you seen that pretty picture yet?”
Jabu put his hands out in front of his face as if to shield himself. “Hey, hey! Male in the house! Can we change the topic?” he said. “I can take a lot of girl talk from you two, but Sipho’s six-pack is going a bit far.”
Kiki relented. “Okay, Jabu. For you, my dear brother, we’ll leave Mr Dlamini’s abdomen for another time.” She took a sip of her fluorescent pink champagne cocktail. “Then let’s talk about my latest date from hell.”
Jabu looked at Ayanda, rolling his eyes. “I’m starting to think you actually attract those freaks.”
Kiki considered that for a moment. Her face became concerned. “Maybe . . . You think people can really do that?”
“I don’t know. But what is this? Date from hell number fifteen or sixteen?” Jabu asked.
“Eighteen, but who’s counting besides me? . . . Anyway, our number eighteen is a guy named Omar,” Kiki said.
Ayanda called the waitress to bring them another round; she knew they would likely be there for a while to hear all about poor Omar and whatever afflictions and shortcomings he had. Kiki’s stories about her dates from hell usually took some time.
“Omar? Where’s he from?” Ayanda asked.
“His parents are from Saudi Arabia, but he was born here in South Africa.”
“So what did Omar do that was so wrong?” Jabu asked. “I feel sorry for him already.”
Kiki smiled a sad smile. “Yeah, in many ways, I don’t blame Omar. It’s not really his fault, you know. Sometimes people would just be better off as orphans.”
Ayanda frowned, wondering where this was going.
“He’s thirty-three and he still lives with his mother.” Kiki liked to drop small bits of information at a time. Ayanda thought her friend might do better writing fiction than feature stories on socialites and handbags, maybe even detective books; she knew how to lead her listener to the answer one clue at a time.
“So what? Times are tough; a lot of people live with their parents until they get married,” Jabu said. He always gave people the benefit of the doubt.
“Okay, fine,” Kiki conceded. “I met him in a chatroom for single South Africans. We’d been talking online for a few weeks and along the way he dropped some hints about the kind of women he’s into. I sort of liked his firm opinions. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted. That’s like a good thing, right?”
“Yeah, so what went wrong?” Jabu said.
Ayanda kept quiet; she knew these dating stories all too well. She’d been hearing them since she and Kiki started dating in high school. Something had definitely gone wrong and Kiki would soon tell them; they only needed to be patient.
“Well, first he said he liked long hair on women. So I went and got this weave. And it wasn’t cheap – I dipped deep into my savings. Real human hair, not the plastic stuff . . . Then he mentioned he liked women in dresses, especially ones belted at the waist to show their figure. After a few days it was black patent leather pumps with bows and long fingernails painted fire-engine red.” Kiki held out her freshly manicured hand. It looked as if her fingers had been dipped in blood.
“Going a bit kinky now, if you ask me,” Ayanda said, sipping at her beer.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Kiki said. “So he doesn’t have a car.” She raised her hand to stop any protests. “Before you say anything, I’ve changed that rule. The new one is: I can date men without cars, as long as they have a job. Anyway, so I go to his house to collect him and who opens the door? His mother!”
“So? What’s wrong with that?” Jabu asked. “Honestly, you don’t know what you want. You’re so tough on these guys.”
“Oh yeah? You think so?” Kiki asked. “I opened the door and thought I was looking into a mirror – only my reflection was about thirty years older and three or four shades lighter, but everything else? Almost spot-on!”
Jabu started laughing.
“Oh god!” Ayanda said. “He wants to date his mother!”
“Yeah,” Kiki said in a slightly put-out voice. “Laugh all you want. It’s creepy having to kiss a guy good night when you know he’s fantasising about doing it to his mother.”
Ayanda tried to contain herself. “I don’t know why you go on all these dates anyway. Rather just wait; the right guy will come along. Who knows, he might be here right under your nose.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it.” Kiki downed her pink drink, pushing the umbrella to the side to get the bit left at the bottom. She looked up, her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing’s wrong. I think you’re perfect,” Jabu said with a face that looked slightly too serious. Then he quickly joked, “I’m sure Omar thought so too.”
Ayanda covered her mouth to muffle a giggle.
“Oh, Jabu, you think you’re so funny,” Kiki said, but she couldn’t hide her smile.
Busy with the story, they hadn’t noticed who entered the bar until someone said, “Hi, Ayanda, I thought I might find you here.”
Hearing a gasp from Kiki, Ayanda turned around to look into Sipho’s face. It took her a few seconds to get her bearings. Sipho Dlamini in Selly’s – that was something she never expected to see. “Hey . . . Aren’t you a bit out of your territory?”
“I came looking for you. I heard this was where people like you hung out.”
“People like me?” Ayanda asked.
“I meant journalists,” Sipho answered.
“I thought we agreed on Saturday,” Ayanda