Mr Not Quite Good Enough (3 page)

The three friends laughed. When their laughter died away, they could hear a cellphone ringing somewhere. Gorata stood up to collect her phone from her handbag in the sitting room and came back to the table. “Hello?”

The other two listened. At times Gorata held the phone away from her ear with a pained look on her face and both Amita and Kelebogile could hear the person on the other end clearly because she spoke as if she was talking through a bullhorn. In the end Gorata said, “Okay, go siame.”

She threw the phone down and let her head fall to the table with a loud thump.

“Who was that?” Kelebogile asked.

Gorata didn't lift her head but spoke into the table. “Mmandu.”

“Mmandu? What does she want?” Kelebogile asked.

“Who's Mmandu?” Amita asked.

“Gorata's eldest sister,” Kelebogile said and turned back to Gorata. “Is everything okay at home?”

Gorata lifted her head as if it weighed a ton. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. Why now? She had so many things to deal with. She didn't need this as well. Finally she said, “She says she's coming to Joburg.”

“Mmandu's coming here? Why?” Kelebogile said.

Gorata's head was back on the table. “For a visit.”

“So what's the problem?” Amita asked.

Gorata's head shot up. “The problem? The problem?” Annoyed, she stood up and paced the kitchen. “The problem is Mmandu. Busybody, always in your face, loud-mouthed Mmandu!”

“You're overreacting,” Kelebogile tried to pacify Gorata. “Your sister isn't that bad.”

“What? Have you forgotten? Mmandu is bad. She's very, very bad. She and my Joburg life don't go together. Mmandu in Rustenburg is bad enough, but a Joburg Mmandu – no, no, no!”

Amita looked confused. “I don't get it.”

Gorata turned and glared at her. “You will. Don't worry, you will.”

3

Gorata had thought agreeing to meet up with Johan would be a nice distraction from her constant obsessing about her sister Mmandu's pending arrival. She'd had many stupid thoughts before, but as she carefully climbed onto the catwalk at the top of King Kloof Bridge she considered that this might very well be one of her stupidest.

Like a mantra, she kept telling herself, “You will not die today. You will not die today.”

She asked herself when last she had read about people who died during bungee jumping. Never – people just didn't die doing such things. Driving her car to work was more dangerous.

The organisers checked everything. So why would it go wrong today? Why with her? She looked down at the ground so far away and thought –
why not?

“Go on, Gorata! Just do it!” Johan shouted from behind her. He was smiling, the wind blowing his long blond hair back; he was in his element. “It's a serious rush!”

She grabbed the harness, closed her eyes and stepped off the edge, much against all the rational voices in her head that shouted she was a fool.

The ground below rushed forward, ready to smash her body to miniscule pieces, into bloody smithereens.

She fell and fell for what seemed like ages. Finally she came to the end of the rope, but she bounced back up again. And again, and again. She thought it would never end.

Johan had lied. It was not a rush. She did not love it. She hated it – every single microsecond of it.

And when she was finally standing on her wobbly legs, planted as solidly on the ground as she could manage, she vowed she'd never do such a daft thing again. Never, ever, ever.

Johan jumped after her, shouting and screaming the whole time. When they unhooked him, he bounced up to her, his hair flopping all around him like that of a puppy, his eyes bright, his smile wide. He was ecstatic, she tried her best to smile. He threw an arm casually around her shoulders. “Fantastic, huh, babe?”

Gorata remained quiet. She thought it best not to lie and she didn't want to dampen his obvious enthusiasm. “Next weekend, for my big send-off, me and some friends are going up to Vic Falls to jump off that bridge, the one between Zim and Zambia. You should totally go with us.”

“I think I'm busy,” Gorata said, vowing to make sure she would be.

“Too bad,” Johan replied.

“Yes, it's a terrible shame,” Gorata muttered.

The drive back to Soweto seemed to take ages, mainly because Johan insisted on going through every bungee jumping experience he'd ever had, and there were far more than Gorata thought was within the parameters of normality. Each description pushed her back to the terrible ordeal she'd just been through, and she wondered if she could manage to keep her stomach stable enough for its contents to stay put for the rest of the ride.

Finally they got to Soweto and were heading for her house.

“Listen, I need to get some petrol and take a leak,” Johan said and pulled into the petrol station near her house. He threw the keys to Ozee, who was walking towards the pumps, and made for the toilet. Gorata laid her head back on the seat, thankful that she was nearly home.

“Howzit, Lady Gorata? You don't look so good. A bit green around the gills, Dr Ozee thinks.” The petrol attendant was poking his head through the passenger window.

Gorata looked up at his handsome, dimply face and felt better straight away. “I went bungee jumping.”

“Why?” Ozee asked, as if Gorata had just said she'd poked a sharp stick in her eye.

She laughed. “Yeah, that's an excellent question. But at least now I can scratch it off my bucket list.”

“Well, I guess that's something.”

Ozee got to work filling the tank and washing the windscreen. Gorata watched him. Today he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. She wondered where he'd managed to build up such muscles. They pushed against his shirt as he pulled the squeegee towards him.

Handsome, a fantastic body, and a smile that could melt ice. Not necessarily things she looked for in a man, though. Not important in the long term, really. But still . . . Gorata couldn't pull her eyes away.

What was going on here? She was dating Showa now. He was a great guy in so many ways. Then why was she so drawn to Ozee?

A kombi pulled up, the speakers pounding heavy bass. “Hola, ma boss!” the kombi driver shouted at Ozee. “How long you on today?”

Ozee dropped the squeegee on the bonnet of Johan's car and rushed to the window of the kombi. He spoke to the driver for a minute and then came back.

The kombi pulled up next to Gorata's window. “Heya, ma-baby, howzit?” the driver enquired.

Gorata turned away, ignoring him.

“Yeah, okay . . . Be like that.” The kombi driver shouted to Ozee, “You gotta tough one there, my bru! Later!”

Gorata watched the kombi screech out of the station. She hated men who spoke to women like that. That was another problem with guys like Ozee – they had friends like that kombi driver. She couldn't deal with such a boyfriend.

Ozee came up to Gorata's window and spoke in that soft, whispery voice of his that drove Gorata crazy with its sexiness. “So, Lady Gorata, when are you gonna let me take you out on a real date, not this jumping off bridges that your men seem to prefer?”

“He's not my man, and it wasn't a date.”

“Okay, fine. But how about you let me take you out, show you how a lady is supposed to be treated?” Ozee smiled, and Gorata wanted to reach forward and touch his beautiful mouth, run her fingers over his delicious dimples.

“I'm . . . actually seeing someone,” Gorata said. The words sounded hollow and meaningless in the tension-filled air between them.

Ozee shook his head, the smile gone. “Too bad for me then.”

Johan came bouncing back into the car. He gave Ozee R500. “Keep the change, man,” he said and drove out of the petrol station. Gorata saw Ozee standing to the side, watching them leave.

As Johan stopped at her house, she turned to him and said, “Well, here we are. Hope Australia treats you well.”

“Sure, thanks. Hey, it was nice hanging out with you.” Johan leaned forward and gave her an awkward kiss on the cheek.

Gorata got out of the car and waved goodbye. As he drove away, all she could see as the car grew smaller and smaller was Ozee's disappointed face.

* * *

“Where are you off to?” Amita asked as Gorata rushed down the hall of their office suite.

“I have a press briefing in five minutes,” Gorata said while making her way towards the conference room.

“Press briefing about what?”

“The new Cellacom BEE shareholding deal.”

Landmark Investments was involved in negotiations to assist new black investors in buying shares in the largest cellphone company in the country. It was a simple deal that allowed for small investments from people who had little knowledge about the stock market, giving them a chance to start investing in it a little at a time. Gorata was very excited about the new programme.

“Okay, then that explains it,” Amita said.

“Explains what?” Gorata stopped. Now she was confused.

“The conference room is overflowing. I think someone got the wires crossed. There might be some journalists in there, but it looks like half of Joburg pitched up too.”

Gorata's face dropped. “No!”

“Yes,” Amita said, nodding.

Gorata turned back to her office where her PA, Ndo, was busy typing. “Who did you send the press release to?”

He started paging though some files on his desk. “Ah . . . everyone.”

“Everyone, as in who?”

“You said everyone and so I sent it to everyone.”

Gorata wanted to scream. Ndo and she were not working together very well. He needed everything explained in detail, minute detail, and if she had to do that much explaining she might as well do the thing herself, which is what she usually ended up doing. “I meant everyone in the media, not in the world! That's what a press conference means – a conference for the press. You're the personal assistant of a PRO, I thought you'd understand that by now.”

“Oops . . . sorry.” He actually did look sorry, and Gorata felt bad about losing her patience.

“Okay, anyway, it's done now,” she said. “Come with me, we need to make a plan.”

Amita was right. It did look as if half of Joburg had pitched up. The tables in the conference room had been removed and it was now full of chairs, but there were not nearly enough. The room was crammed tight with people standing, and others spilled out of the door into the hallway. Some pensioners were even sitting on the floor.

No, this wouldn't work. Gorata needed to think quickly. Then she remembered. She flicked open her cellphone and made a call. After a quick conversation she hung up and spoke to Ndo, close to his ear so he could hear her over the noise.

Then she went to the podium. “Dumelang, batsadi. We didn't expect such a fantastic turnout. I hate to trouble you, but could we go across the street to the old Joburg Cinema? The owner has opened it to allow us to have this meeting. I think there we'll all be able to find a seat.”

Ndo went to the door and led the group down the stairs and across the street. Gorata waited until the crowd was gone before making her way towards the door.

“Quick thinking,” someone said behind her.

She turned and was surprised to see Ozee. “Hello,” Gorata said, a bit lost for words. He didn't quite look like the Ozee she was used to. The petrol station uniform was gone and in its place was a casual brown suit. He looked taller and bigger, stronger and more powerful. “What are you doing here?”

“You don't think a lowly petrol attendant like me has money to invest in the stock market?” He smiled and she felt terrible.

“No, I mean . . . I didn't mean it like that . . . I was just . . .” What was happening to her? Gorata was not normally lost for words, but suddenly here she was, stammering like a schoolgirl.

“I thought PROs were communication majors,” Ozee teased.

She laughed. “Yes, well, theory and practice are two different things. Sorry, honestly, I really didn't mean it like that. I just thought it was a coincidence to see you here, especially since this was supposed to be a press conference but my PA got it mixed up.”

There was that smile again. It was as if Ozee's smile was directly connected to Gorata's stomach. He smiled, her stomach flipped. Why was he making her so nervous? He looked seriously handsome in the suit, that was certain. She realised it was the first time she'd ever seen him in anything apart from his uniform. There were men who were good-looking and then there were men like Ozee, completely in their own class.

She had no idea how long they'd been standing there. Time seemed to go in a different sequence when she was around Ozee, but she realised suddenly that she needed to be across the street at the cinema where half of Joburg waited for her. “Shall we go?”

He motioned to the door. “Ladies first.”

* * *

Gorata rushed to collect Kelebogile after work. “Hurry,” she said as her friend made her way to the car, struggling with an overstuffed Lekuka. “I don't want Mmandu spending any extra time at Park Station. God knows what she could get up to.”

Kelebogile barely had the door closed when Gorata was off. “Slow down,” Kelebogile said, and then, “What could she really do?”

“You of all people should know the answer to that. Don't you remember the inauguration of King Moletlegi? She went in front of the crowd and did
that dance!
Surely you remember? I wanted to crawl under a rock and hide – forever! They
still
talk about it at home.”

“Okay, yeah . . . But that was an exciting event. Mmandu loves excitement. She likes fun.”

Gorata looked at her friend. She was protecting Mmandu now, but Gorata had a feeling that after a few days of full-on assault from her sister, Kelebogile would change her tune. “Yeah, fun. Lots and lots of fun, that's Mmandu.”

She pulled the BMW into the parking lot and even before she got out, she spotted her sister waiting on the pavement with a crowd of people gathered around her. Mmandu was talking away, her hands flying in all directions. Gorata knew she was telling them a story, she'd seen her do it a thousand times before. Stories her sister swore were god's truth, even though they were about as long and twisted as any story could get. She'd start quietly and reel the audience in; before long they were caught, mesmerised, and by the end they were her lifelong captives.

Despite herself, Gorata smiled. Mmandu was more of a mother to her than a sister. She was only five years older, but their mother died when Gorata was ten, and Mmandu took over all the domestic duties while their father, a primary school teacher, was busy with his students. Gorata loved Mmandu and, despite all of the headaches she knew were in store for her, she was happy to see her.

Mmandu looked up and spotted Gorata and Kelebogile coming towards her. She stopped in mid-sentence. “Ah! Gorata-wee! Kele-wee!” She came running towards them as fast as a 130-kilogram woman could run, her long arms outstretched, ready to grab the two friends up in her monster hug.

They disappeared in her breasts and she rocked them back and forth. “Oh, my darlings. Come, come meet my new friends.”

Gorata and Kelebogile were pulled over to the gathering of about twenty people, all originally on their way somewhere, but then they met Mmandu and somehow they suddenly all had time to stand around and listen to her and her stories. She already knew each of their names, where they came from, where they were going and who they'd come to visit. She even had their phone numbers, and when the three women were getting ready to leave almost thirty minutes later, the people all hugged Mmandu goodbye as if they were taking leave of an old friend.

As the crowd cleared away and she turned towards Mmandu's luggage, Gorata was reminded of why her sister's presence in Joburg created problems. “All of this?” she asked.