Eva Mazza - Sex, Lies & Stellenbosch

Lee remembered that evening vividly. There had been no way they would have gone to a movie together, knowing this would spark all sorts of rumours around town. Instead, they had decided to drive to the highest point on Jen’s farm, park the car and smoke a joint to kill time.

Both stoned, they lay on their backs looking up at the stars. Lee rolled on to his side, arm resting on his elbow, and they began to giggle uncontrollably.

“How awkward was that?” Jen laughed.

“I think it’s not such a bad idea, Jen,” Lee joked. “You marry me. We make our parents happy and your dad, may he rest in peace. We combine our wealth and create an empire, while we secretly shag John and Frankie.”

“Separately or together?” Jen asked, causing them to snort with laughter. It had seemed so hilarious. “Oh my God, Lee, you crack me up. Who said you couldn’t have your cake and eat it?”

“The town could do with a scandal. They thrive on this type of thing. Let’s give them something to talk about.”

Then they stopped laughing and looked at each other as if they’d never really seen one another before. As if they had synchronised their movements, they reached for one another and before they knew it, they were kissing, mouths open, tongues probing, wanting to be naked but prolonging the agony of having each other wholly by exploring the other’s body. Their mouths were still joined as their hands moved up t-shirts and pulled down pants, touching places that brought bliss and longing simultaneously. Lee didn’t remember seeing Jen naked, but he remembered vividly what she felt like and how she tasted. He could recall the absolute desire and the ecstasy of their union after the protracted teasing and the lengthy foreplay, the curious probing and the constant touching. Never again had he been able to replicate that moment of complete and utter abandon and the feeling of being absolutely satiated. Never.

He shifted gears and drove at full throttle. He remembered the heartache that had followed. He had been prepared to lose his friendship with John over Jen, he had wanted her so much. Never had he felt this way during sex and never again was he able to recapture the intensity of that night, despite his attraction to Frankie and her sexual prowess. Jen, on the other hand, had been racked with guilt. She blamed the alcohol and drugs and insisted that Lee forget it had ever happened.

Years later, Jen’s mother had asked Lee to visit her in the retirement village. Over tea, she had cried, telling him how she feared for her daughter’s happiness. She shared the story of her marriage to her unfaithful husband and how it had saddened her that history seemed to be repeating itself. She was concerned about the rumours whispered around town. Her only hope was that her daughter would have the courage, courage she had never found, to leave the marriage; but she feared that, like her, she was shackled to her husband financially. It was a long afternoon of promises and disclosures, and by the end of it, Lee had sworn he would see that Jen would be fine, no matter what situation she chose to be in, married or divorced.

Had he failed? Frans was the one who had insisted on roping all the guys into the club. Lee could have prevented John from joining, but it would have caused a major rift in his group. As for his wife’s affair with Jen’s husband, that was beyond his control. John had finally seduced Frankie. It had only been a matter of time.

It was apparent that John had a sexual addiction. Lee felt that he had no choice but to expose his friend; maybe he would’ve chosen a different, more gentle approach if he hadn’t been fucking his wife. He hoped that this exposure would not cause too much collateral damage, impacting on Jen and her children, but he figured he had very little choice. It was the only way he knew to save Jen from John and herself, and to keep the promise he had made to Jen’s dying mother.

Jen had left the house for the city long before she needed to. She wanted to get to her first appointment on time and she knew that the weekday traffic was hellish. She was also relieved not to have any contact with the man who had been posing as her faithful husband for the last twenty-four years.

She had hardly slept for mulling over John’s betrayal. She had spent most of the night joining the dots of Frankie and his adulterous relationship, chastising herself for being so naïve and blind.

She did not appreciate the spectacular scenery as she entered Cape Town. Majestic Table Mountain to her left and Cape Town’s already bustling harbour to her right went unnoticed as she negotiated her way through the traffic just before the N1 offramp into the Mother City. An irate motorist hooted at her for cutting in front of him. She raised her hand in apology. How stupid she was to have missed the signs! She would often come home to find Frankie ‘waiting’ for her when she had known that Jen would be out or would be home late. “I was in the area”, or “I forgot that you wouldn’t be home”, and “Don’t worry, John entertained me until you got back”, had become regular refrains when she found her friend in her home alone with her husband. John had always offered to walk Frankie to her car on the grounds that he needed to catch up with work in the cellar, and Frankie had always offered John a lift there, which, Jen remembered, he never declined. That’s exactly what happened, Jen concluded: they’d had sex in John’s office in the cellar. She must have parked her car on the other side of the cellar, hidden and unseen by trusting old me. Jen’s imagination started to play out different scenarios of their trysts, and her anger escalated.

She recalled how Frankie had often showed her sexy text messages “from her married lover” and realised now that they must have been from John. How cruel! It was bad enough that she had betrayed her with her husband, but to derive a thrill out of sharing his illicit texts with her was beyond comprehension. Why?

She was relieved to find an empty parking bay in Wale Street, the exact street where Sharon, the relationship counsellor, worked.

She ordered a strong espresso at the nearby Bean There , to kill time and to give her a kick after a restless night and very long drive. She then braced herself for the day that lay ahead.

Sharon was not a beautiful woman. Her features were hard and butch◦– hardened more by close-cropped, peroxided hair and minimal make-up. But what she lacked in looks, she made up for in style. Her tailored pantsuit was well fitted and expensive. Jen also recognised Sharon’s jewellery from fashion magazines: handcrafted, quirky bespoke pieces by Lisa Stanton, an up-and-coming local jeweller. Sharon exuded verve as she walked out to greet Jen and direct her to her consultation room.

Knowing that Claudia had met Sharon through Leonard, who always referred his clients to her, and vice versa, made Jen a little more at ease. Leonard was at the top of his game. If he trusted Sharon, then, surely, so could she.

The consultation room was warm and inviting, completely unexpected, given Jen’s initial impression of its occupant. There were three comfortable-looking armchairs positioned around an oval coffee table on which were placed a box of tissues, a water jug and three glasses.

Juxtaposing the warmth of the furniture was Sharon’s art selection. Two pieces in particular reminded Jen of the Facebook phenomenon Berlin ArtParasites’ haunting and thought-provoking art; in fact, they bordered on disturbing◦– an unusual choice for a space Jen assumed was supposed to bring tranquillity and resolution. One was of a male bust oozing blood from its eyes, the other of a woman hanging naked from a cross. At the far end of the room sat Sharon’s desk◦– a long and overbearing antique printer’s desk, burdened with piles of seemingly neglected folders and papers, a telephone, an Apple computer, as well as an open laptop and a glass vase with a print of Matisse’s Dance circling it, used as a container for stationary.