Mr Not Quite Good Enough (8 page)

Suddenly Gorata remembered the
Batho Ba Mzansi
article. She dug around in her handbag. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “I cut this out, thinking it might help you. From what you've said today, I know it will. You're doing the right thing, you are.”

Ozee unfolded the newspaper clipping and looked down at it, smiling. “So you read Bra Kee too?”

“Sure, who doesn't? He must be the wisest guy in Joburg, maybe the whole country. He always tells the truth, no matter if we want to hear it or not,” Gorata said. She remembered the column Bra Kee had written about the listers. She realised now how silly it all was, how irrelevant. Bra Kee had been right yet again.

Ozee nodded his head, folded the newspaper clipping and put it in his pocket. “Thanks.”

“I'm really sorry about your brother. I wish there was something I could do to help you,” Gorata said.

“You already have. Thanks, Lady Gorata, you're a sweetheart.” He reached forward and kissed her on the cheek. He looked at his watch. “Don't you need to get to work?” He stood up and reached for her hand, but she didn't offer it.

“Wait, sit down. I wanted to say something else,” she said.

Ozee sat back down on the bench next to her.

“I've been so stupid and so wrong. You're right, I wasn't looking at you, I wasn't seeing you. I was seeing a uniform, a job. I was seeing everyone like that. But it's stupid, I was missing things, I wasn't seeing what's real.”

Gorata stopped. She wanted to say this properly and it was coming out so fast and confused. She stood up and paced back and forth in front of Ozee as she spoke. “What I mean is, I like you. I like you a lot. And you're right, I was just telling myself it's impossible because you're a petrol attendant, because of some stupid job that doesn't mean anything. All that matters is you and me. Right? Isn't that all that matters?”

Ozee smiled. “Yes, I think it is.”

“You see? That's what I keep telling myself, and it's true. You're right and I'm wrong. That kiss the other night, on the stoep, under the stars . . . I don't know . . . It . . . It was like I'd never been kissed by anyone before then. It was as if I'd been waiting my whole life only for you.”

Ozee pulled her to him. And there it was again. The kiss. His kiss that set her pulse racing and her heart soaring, his kiss that she wished could last forever. His kiss that made her forget any kiss before it, that redefined what a kiss could be.

At last he pulled away from her. “You mean that kiss?”

Gorata took a moment to gather herself back together. Pieces of her had flown away on tiny wings of happiness. She smiled. “Yes . . . that kiss . . . That kiss told me I need to see you. I need to see you clearly, with my honest eyes. With my heart. Everything else isn't important, just details to sort out.”

“But I understand someone proposed to you that night,” Ozee said.

“Alfred? Forget about him. It's not happening, but for some reason he can't hear me, no matter how many times I tell him that.”

“Maybe I should tell him,” Ozee said.

“No, I'll get it sorted out. But you . . . I wanted to ask you something . . .”

“Ask away.”

“Will you go out on a date with me?”

Ozee smiled. “Our first date?”

Gorata nodded. It was odd to think it would be their first date after everything they'd already been through.

Ozee stood up and took her hand in his. He held it and rubbed his fingers lightly along the back, then he bent down and kissed it ever so gently, like butterfly wings brushing against her skin, making her shiver in the warm Joburg morning.

“Yes, Lady Gorata, I'd be honoured to go out on a date with you.”

8

“What about my hair?” Gorata said, looking in the mirror, sure that everything was a complete disaster. She'd first put it up and then brushed it all out again so it lay smooth along her shoulders, and then she added some spirals with the curling iron, and now she'd piled it all up on top of her head again.

It was crazy how nervous she was about this date. You would swear she didn't know Ozee at all and that he was a complete stranger.

“It looks fine,” Mmandu said.

“Fine? Fine isn't good enough. I need fantastic!” Gorata spoke with a manic edge to her voice. She'd been waiting all week for this day. Now Saturday was here and she was finally going on her first date with Ozee and she was a jittery wreck.

She looked in the mirror again. “Maybe it's too curly.”

Kelebogile came and stood behind Gorata, who was sitting at her dressing table. She put her hands on Gorata's shoulders and looked at her in the mirror. “You look stunning. Your hair is perfect. Your dress is perfect. Your make-up is perfect. If Ozee doesn't drop dead at the door from a heart attack when he sees your beautifulness, he is crazy.”

Gorata laughed. “Okay . . . okay . . . I'm done being a lunatic.”

They all left the bedroom and joined a very patient Mark, who'd been waiting in the sitting room through all of the drama. “You look nice,” he said, and his face promptly turned pink.

“Thanks,” Gorata said. She sat down and waited. She suspected Ozee didn't have a car and didn't want to embarrass him by asking, so she had offered to drive. But he'd insisted he would pick her up. She felt bad, because he'd likely have to borrow a car, but she was trying not to worry about it.

She'd already told him their outing would be on her since she was the one who'd asked him out. She didn't want money to be an issue between them, but she knew she earned more than him. A night out to the movies and dinner was nothing for her, but it could seriously wreck a tight budget. She'd lived like that the greater part of her life, so she knew all about it.

There was a knock at the door and Gorata jumped out of her seat as if she'd been launched. She opened the door and had to catch her breath a moment before she could speak. Kelebogile had joked that Ozee might have a heart attack when he saw her, but Gorata was sure her heart was beating quite irregularly when she saw the man at her front door. She wasn't sure she would not need paramedics.

There he stood. He's cut his hair, she thought. It was nearly gone, and his fabulous heavy-lidded, sexy eyes were suddenly all she could see. He smiled and his dimples appeared. He wore a tight, long-sleeved black jersey and black jeans, accentuating those chest muscles and that trim waist and those legs she'd barely noticed under his petrol attendant uniform. Did he say he played soccer? And had he always been so tall?

“Hello,” Ozee said. “Gorata? Are you okay?”

She was knocked back into the real world. She wasn't sure how long she'd stood in silent awe of this beautiful man in front of her.

“Yes . . . I'm fine,” she said. “Hello. Do you want to come in?”

“Sure. You look great,” he whispered in her ear before kissing her on the cheek.

Mmandu pushed forward. “Hello, hello, Mr Ozee. Don't you look like something I could eat up?”

“Hey, Mmandu, howzit?” Ozee said. Gorata wondered when the two of them had got so friendly, but then, with her sister you just never knew.

“You know Kelebogile, and this is her boyfriend, Mark Wilson. He's an American working at Hope Springs,” Gorata said.

Ozee shook Mark's hand. “Yeah, I know that place. They're doing some really important work. Thanks for coming over and helping us. HIV/Aids is a big problem, especially in the black communities with fewer resources.”

“Yes,” Mark said. “The organisation is trying to make a difference.” He kept looking at Ozee as if he was trying to figure out something. “You look kind of familiar, have I seen you there before?”

“No, I don't think so.”

But Mark kept looking at him. “Wait, I know! You're in some photos there. Weren't you like one of the donors or something?”

Ozee looked at Gorata and then at the others. “No, I think maybe you're getting me confused with someone.” He turned to Gorata and said, “Well, let's go then.”

She thought he looked a bit like a trapped rabbit, but why? Mark just had him confused with someone.

“Okay, see you guys,” Gorata said as they made their way to the door.

“Nice to meet you!” Mark shouted excitedly after them, a bit out of character.

* * *

Outside Gorata was surprised to see an almost new VW Golf. She kept quiet as Ozee opened the door for her, but wondered which of his friends had let him borrow their brand-new car.

He sat down behind the steering wheel. “Okay, you said you're the boss tonight. Where to, my lady?”

Gorata didn't want to go somewhere too fancy, so they headed for Ramon's, a new Mexican restaurant in Melville. Since she was the boss, she decided she'd go retro-romantic with
Breakfast at Tiffany's
at the cinema a few blocks away from the restaurant.

Ramon's had recently become the hang-out of choice for Joburg's up-and-coming. It had an old-school Mexican mariachi band playing in the corner, adobe walls and waiters in sombreros and Mexican blankets. Gorata thought she knew a lot of people, but she was surprised to see so many people coming up and greeting Ozee.

“What's the deal?” she finally asked after watching the parade pass by.

“Customers,” Ozee said, then changed the subject while taking both her hands in his. “Do you know how fantastically beautiful you are?”

“Thanks, you're not so bad yourself.”

They sat at a booth in the corner, on the same side. Ozee moved closer and Gorata could feel his thigh pressing against hers, and soon she couldn't think about anything else. He picked a nacho from the plate in front of them and slowly fed her. After each bite he kissed her gently, and she wondered how much more she could take. Her body was tingling in places she didn't know could tingle. What was going on between her body and his? She was startled by the power of it.

“I like you,” Ozee whispered in her ear. “I like you a lot.” He nibbled at her neck and she wasn't sure but she thought she groaned in pleasure – she hoped she hadn't.

Gorata was having trouble breathing. She pulled away from him. This was crazy. She had never felt like this before. What was going on? She couldn't keep control of things.

“What's wrong?” Ozee asked.

“Nothing . . . I . . . just . . . I . . . It's all so fast, so . . . strong . . . so . . . new.”

“You've had other boyfriends . . .”

“Sure, but they never felt like this. God, where'd you learn to do these things?” Gorata asked. It was as if he knew exactly which parts of her body to touch, to lick, to kiss.

“What things? I'm just being me,” Ozee said.

Well, if this was being him, she liked him being him, Gorata thought. She liked it a lot. He was certainly talented.

Gorata moved away from him. She needed a break or they wouldn't even get through dinner, let alone the movie. “So how's your mother?”

“She's doing okay. One of these days I must take you to meet her.”

Gorata kept quiet. A Motswana boy stating that he'd like his mother to meet you right at the start of the first date? Yes, things were going very fast.

Ozee must have noticed that she was getting nervous and said, “I've met Mmandu, and she's basically your mother, right?”

“Yeah, but everyone meets Mmandu, whether they want to or not.”

“Have you sorted out things with Alfred?” Ozee asked.

“Yes, we had a long talk and he understands that we would never have worked. I gave him his ring back.”

“Good. I don't want anything between us.”

He moved closer to Gorata again and put his arm around her shoulder. “Listen, I don't play games. I like things to be honest and open. I'm not afraid of getting hurt, it's happened before and I survived. I'm more afraid of not living, of missing out on love.”

Gorata just stared at him, unable to get out a word.

Then he continued, “As I said, I like you a lot. So why should I play around and be coy? I like you and I think something important can happen between us. I'm ready for it. That's all I'm saying, don't get scared. It's just me.”

Struggling to find her voice, Gorata said, “I like you too, Ozee. But I'm not like you, I
do
get scared and I
am
afraid of getting hurt. I think I'm realising now that all of the men before tonight were nothing. I thought I had something with them, but it was nothing. I know that now, I know that because of you.”

Ozee kissed her. First softly and then deeply, and she felt connected to him as if they were one, one heart beating. Gorata could feel his hand moving down to the centre of her back, pressing her into him, and she relented. She wanted to feel every part of him. She wanted to be lost in the feelings he was producing in her; new, exciting, unknown feelings.

They finished eating and walked hand in hand to the cinema through the busy Melville streets. Hippies and skinheads, rastas and goths – Melville was home to the artsy types, the bohemians of Joburg. Gorata loved the place.

Still, she was surprised to see a crowd at the cinema. She didn't think
Breakfast at Tiffany's
would have such pull, but apparently she was wrong. They sat near the back and Ozee took her hand in his and held it in his lap throughout the movie. She felt so protected and cared for, so special.

When Audrey Hepburn searched in the rain for Cat, Gorata couldn't help but cry, though she'd seen the movie before. And when Paul appeared and he and Audrey Hepburn's character Holly were kissing in the rain, Gorata knew for the first time what they were feeling. That giving in to what was so strong. She knew she felt that way about Ozee too.

By the end of the movie Gorata was a mess. Ozee handed her his handkerchief and wrapped his arm around her.

“Great movie, one of my favourites,” he said.

She looked at him in surprise. “
Breakfast at Tiffany's
is one of your favourite movies? I thought you'd lean more towards
The Fast and the Furious
.”

“That's because you think you know me, but you don't. Not yet, anyway.”

They came out of the cinema into the starry night. Late spring in Joburg has to be the most magical time of the year, Gorata thought. Everywhere you look nature is waking up, happy and ready for the first life-giving rains. Potential vibrates in the air. It's a hum of expectation, of optimism that good things are coming. Gorata could feel it pulsing through her own body too.

“If you'd like, we could go to my place. It's not far,” Ozee said. “We can walk from here.”

“You live in Melville?” Gorata asked. She'd always assumed he lived in Soweto with his mother. This was certainly a night of discoveries. “Yeah . . . okay.”

Ozee put his arm around her and it felt as if she'd always been there, right in the crook of his arm where her head fitted so perfectly. Gorata could smell rain in the air. A dusty, organic smell, such a blessing in the dry Highveld.

They turned into a side street that climbed up the hill behind the main street they'd just left. Halfway up Ozee stopped. “Here's my place.”

Gorata looked at the three-storey Victorian house in front of her. It was painted light blue with royal blue window frames. The garden looked like something out of a Beatrix Potter book, with blue hydrangeas and yellow and white daisies; Gorata was sure Peter Rabbit would be hopping across the brick path as soon as they opened the gate in the white picket fence. “You live
here?
”

“Not the whole house, just the third floor. It's owned by an old woman who lives downstairs. I do maintenance and odd jobs for cheaper rent,” Ozee said in a way that made Gorata think he wasn't telling her the entire story. But she let it be. They had time to learn everything about each other; at least, she hoped they did.

There was a wooden staircase at the back of the house that took them to a small veranda on the third floor. Two chairs and a small table took up most of the space. Gorata imagined Ozee sitting on his small balcony looking out over the lush back garden, reading or eating his dinner. And to her surprise there was a cat, a noisy cat who seemed to be chastising them for coming home late.

“Is this your cat?” Gorata asked.

“Yeah, he's mine. Chinua, Gorata; Gorata, Chinua. Formal introductions are now over. I can't promise he'll be friendly, though. He's a man who likes to keep to himself.”

“Hmmm . . . The more I see of his owner, the more I think he's like Chinua,” Gorata said.

“Nope, I'm an open book,” Ozee said, smiling.

An open book with about 3 000 unread pages, as far as Gorata could see. Each page had a new surprise. He lived in Melville, in a gorgeous house. He had a cat named Chinua. He looked like a male model when he was out of his uniform and he liked
Breakfast at Tiffany's
. One surprise after another.

Ozee opened the door and switched on the light. The flat was one big room taking up most of the length and breadth of the house, except for a bathroom off to the side. There was a sitting area with big windows looking out on the street they'd just come from. A kitchenette and a small dining area were in another corner. Bookcases packed with books filled one entire wall, and at the back was the bedroom area.

Gorata couldn't quite believe this was where Ozee lived. “This is . . . lovely . . . but . . .”

“But what? How can a petrol attendant afford to live here? I told you, Mma Olson gives me a discount on rent and I have a few . . . part-time jobs.”