Banking on Love. Sibusiswe Dhuwe

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      “It’s late, Lu. What do you want?”

      Paying no attention to his surly greeting, she’d breezed in with the boxed mini chocolate gateau in her hand, stopping to give Dumisani a peck on the cheek. “Don’t be like that, darling, I brought you your favourite dessert. Hmm, you smell divine, what’s that you’ve got on?”

      “A hard day’s blood, sweat and tears,” he’d replied dryly.

      “It works,” Lulu had joked over her shoulder as she moved further into the flat.

      She loved his place. Like Nothando’s home in green and leafy Lone Hill, everything was in place and immaculate, but it was warm and inviting and there were traces of Dumisani everywhere, things she knew he liked and took pleasure in. There were the series of Art-Deco frames on the forest-green wall with their old-fashioned black-and-white photographs of his family, an intricate piece of wire art in the shape of a grand piano, a full-length mirror mounted in his hallway, set in a hand-decorated frame featuring intricate beadwork, and – hanging from the arched neck of a wall lamp in his living room – a leg rattle made of ten small gourds, which had once belonged to his maternal grandmother.

      Lulu enjoyed Dumisani’s eclectic collection of art. He had a story to tell about every painting or sculpture he’d ever bought, never only for its value, but for what it meant to him. Sometimes the piece had sparked a thought, and when this happened he would find a place – usually on its base, if it had one – to put a sticker recording that thought.

      As a result, Lulu loved picking things up or turning them over to see if there might be some random thought of his recorded there. She now knew every piece well and accordingly felt she knew their owner. Dumisani was himself a work of art with his beautiful smooth, dark skin on a face that was all angles and planes, and his even white teeth that transformed his face when he smiled.

      She’d turned back, eyebrow arched as he slowly followed her into the living room after having shut the door. “What?” she’d asked and set the gateau on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living area.

      Dumisani had stood in the arched doorway just looking at her. Then, shaking his head, he had moved to the warmly lit nook where he’d set up a bar. Taking two glasses down from the mirrored shelves lined with a variety of glassware, he now sent her a questioning glance.

      “Yes, please.”

      “I swear you only come here to drink my wine,” Dumisani grumbled. “Here.” He handed her the glass he’d poured and touched his glass to hers. “To Mr Moneybags and a successful resolution of these negotiations, so maybe one day I can have a peaceful evening at home.”

      “Oh, come on, Dumi, you look forward to my visits and we both know it, so don’t pretend.”

      “Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” He moved away, leaving Lulu feeling a little puzzled.

      She studied his face for a moment, then asked, “What’s up with you? You’re acting strange.”

      “Mina? No, never. Mild-mannered Dumi, day in and day out, always the same.”

      “Hmph!” Dumisani’s statement made Lulu even more puzzled, as there was nothing mild about him, and definitely not that evening. Instead of his usual relaxed and joking self, he continued to be a little sharp-edged and brooding, until finally she decided it hadn’t been a good idea to visit.

      “I think I’d better go home. You’re being too weird and uptight for me and you keep pretending it’s normal. I can’t take it any more; it’s really winding me up.”

      “No, Lulu, don’t go. I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day.”

      “Then I should go and let you get some sleep.”

      “Stay. I won’t sleep now anyway. I need to wind down. Let’s watch a movie or something.” He held out his hand for her to take.

      “I don’t know.” Lulu was feeling very uneasy. Dumi­sani wasn’t his usual self.

      “Come on.” He made a somewhat imperious gesture and for some strange reason, Lulu felt compelled to move forward and let him lead her to the sofa.

      About fifteen minutes into a movie they’d started watching from the middle on Movie Magic, Dumisani softly said her name. Leaning into him, head drowsily on his shoulder, Lulu looked up. And then he kissed her! No preamble, no exploration or gentle introduction. He went straight for the kill – hot and charged. Sexy. Deep.

      Even now, thinking about it in the bright light of morning, she felt something in her stomach do an almighty backflip, knocking the breath out of her momentarily.

      “Hhayi, wena! What is wrong with you today, Button? It’s like you don’t hear my voice. I’m not going to repeat myself all day. I said, do you think he might propose? It’s been long enough coming, but knowing you, I bet you’re not even making an effort to let him know that you would say yes.”

      Nothando could have been Lulu’s twin: tall, caramel in complexion with dark brown eyes framed by naturally lush lashes and perfectly arched brows. The only difference was that Nothando was more often than not sporting a long, luxuriant mane of the best hair money could buy. Lulu tended to stick to a short pixie cut that hugged her head almost lovingly, making her look years younger than her sister, whose figure was kept strictly hourglass sleek through two gruelling hours in the gym every day.

      Lulu had always been sporty and her body needed little coaxing to remain in shape with a quick thirty-minute workout every other day. Both sisters were bordering on five eight in height and loved to add to that with the latest in platform heels or high-arched wedges. But that was where the resemblance ended.

      Nothando hardly ever smiled and would never be associated with the word “fun”. All that ever seemed to come out of her mouth was duty, obligation, proper behaviour and security. Lulu knew what was coming again now.

      “You can’t just leave these things to chance,” Nothando continued her sermon.

      Sitting across from her sister on the sunny patio, Lulu reached across the perfectly laid breakfast table and speared a boerewors sausage, ignoring the look of disapproval on Nothando’s face.

      “Button, must you behave like you grew up in the back yard of a shebeen? Why didn’t you just ask me to pass you the platter?”

      Lulu wasn’t fazed by her sister’s criticism. She saw no reason to stand on ceremony, so she didn’t take Notha­ndo’s words on board. She didn’t even mind her sister still calling her Button. In fact, she relied on hearing that nickname to remind her that Nothando hadn’t always been uptight and lost to a pretentious existence.

      The nickname had arisen as a result of their father always referring to Lulu and Nothando as “abantwana” when they were young children. Two years old and hanging on to every word their father uttered, Nothando had taken to using the word with reference to Lulu, not realising it included herself. She had difficulty pronouncing the word and soon the name Button had stuck. Their mother had tried to correct Nothando’s mistake, to no avail, and later had tried to make her stop using the nickname, but she had resisted, so Lulu’s name remained Button.

      “Listen, you’ve got to seal the deal soon, otherwise he might lose interest,” Nothando persisted. She hadn’t touched her СКАЧАТЬ