Eva Mazza - Sex, Lies & Stellenbosch

She had had such a fabulous evening. Did she really need this angst? Brigit’s prima donna histrionics would put a dampener on everything.

“Brigit, I’m really tired. I told you not to worry.”

She slipped off her sandals and untied her dress.

“Mom, Lee was killed in a car accident! We’ve been trying to reach you the whole day! It’s close to midnight. Where’ve you been? Frankie needs you. We all need you. Couldn’t you tell by all the missed calls that something was wrong?”

Jen had stopped listening. The last thing she had heard was “car accident” and the shock had all but blocked out Brigit’s voice.

“Mom, are you listening to me? Are you there?”

Jen slumped onto the bed. Her hand rubbed her forehead vigorously. She didn’t know what to say.

“Give me the phone!” Jen heard John bellow in the background, and then he was on the line. “Where the fuck have you been? We’ve been trying to reach you the whole day. For God’s sake, I called you about a thousand times. What’s wrong with you, Jen?” His tone softened. “Lee has been killed in a car accident. You need to come home.” The words shook her out of her stupor. “Support Frankie and Clive. We all need you right now.”

Jen finally spoke, and it sounded to her like her voice was coming from far away. “Who’s with you?”

“We’re all here. Except you. You know how bad it looks? I didn’t know what to say to everyone. Not knowing where you are. Frankie’s best friend, so jarringly absent and let’s not talk about you being the only wife AWOL!”

“Stop, John. Just stop fucking talking. You are the last person to talk about what things look like.” Jen would not allow him a retort. “I have a very important meeting tomorrow morning that I won’t cancel.”

“What?”

She stood up and walked to the window. The black and turbulent ocean brought a shiver down her spine.

“My driving through tomorrow is not going to bring Lee back,” she said resolutely.

“Have you completely lost your mind? Of course, it’s not going to bring him back. What it will do is show that you care. If not for me then for your best friend who has lost her husband.” He then asked, “What’s so important that you can’t give your best friend your condolences?”

“Our divorce, John,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I’m not going to drop everything now that I have set the wheels in motion. Let me speak to Pete, please.”

She heard him say to Pete, “Maybe you can talk some sense into your mother. She’s lost her fucking mind.”

Then Pete’s voice. Her darling ally. “Hey, Ma. How you?”

“I’m fine, under the circumstances. Hun, I need you to do me a favour. You can’t tell anyone◦– Dad, Brig, no one. Can you do this for me?”

“As long as it doesn’t mean I’m complicit in your suicide or someone’s murder.”

“Thanks, darling. Go where no one can hear us, and I’ll tell you what to do.”

She heard the background sounds change as Pete stepped onto the veranda, the rain pelting down on the tin roof.

After she had issued him with his instructions, she heard him hesitate.

“It’s going to be quite hard to scrounge in your cupboard without Dad seeing me, but I’ll try, Ma. I’ll try.”

Once she’d said goodbye, Jen fell into bed. She was shattered, but there were no tears and there was no sleep. Her thoughts raced. She could not make sense of Lee’s death, so she tried pushing it aside. She had to disengage from this tragedy, she thought to herself. I need to try to focus on what needs to be done and that is to move forward without John. She knew that if she stopped to do ‘the right thing’, it could change the urgency of her decision, and she knew he would use this lull to persuade her that divorce was not an option, that she had nowhere else to go.

She could not bring herself to console Frankie, even though she knew that Lee would have wanted her to pretend for the sake of appearances. Maybe two days ago she would have, but now she would not compromise herself, even if it meant that she would be the one who would face the wrath of her friends and family.

The next morning, Jen did not feel as resolute. The reality of Lee’s death and the way he had died began to dawn on her and an overwhelming sadness made her less determined about what she had to do.

The offices of Mazwai, Mantzel, Opilet and Associates were a few blocks away from Sharon’s rooms. They were beautifully appointed and occupied the third and fourth floors. What struck Jen most about the formality of the space was the informality and ease with which the employees negotiated their way around it. The atmosphere was busy but relaxed, and the people seemed friendly and welcoming, which eased her nerves.

Leonard Mazwai’s secretary collected her bang on time. She smiled, parting voluminous red lips that seemed to overwhelm the rest of her perfect facial features.

“Mrs Pearce, I’m Angie, Leonard’s secretary.” Jen stood up and they shook hands. “We’re on the next floor. Please follow me.”

Jen followed her into the lift. She had contemplated suggesting the stairs, but noticing the heels Angie was wearing, decided against it.

The fourth floor was much the same as the third. Next to the receptionist’s desk, which Angie occupied, were two office doors, one bearing Leonard’s name and the other Ron Opilet’s. Angie worked for both attorneys, it seemed.

Carpets soundproofed the clicking heels most of the women chose to wear. The firm’s brand colours were introduced in the cadet-grey and Oxford-blue cushions and the striped upholstery of the couches and office chairs. On one of the walls hung a Kentridge artwork◦– a charcoal and pastel drawing that Jen studied while she waited to be summoned into Leonard’s office. On the opposite wall were framed pictures of what Jen assumed were the company’s esteemed clients. She noticed some dignitaries among them and was impressed but also afraid at how much Mazwai, Mantzel, Opilet and Associates must charge per hour. She didn’t think being friends with Claudia or the fact that she was just a housewife would hold much sway over her final bill.

After she had filled out her personal details and read and signed the terms and conditions of the firm, she followed Angie to the boardroom. Angie pushed open the glass door and offered Jen a seat on one of the Philippe Starck chairs strategically placed around an antique mahogany table. In front of each chair were neat folders and pens bearing the law firm’s name, as well as water and a bowl of mints.

Jen was the sole occupant, and Angie enquired whether she would care for tea or coffee.

“A strong whisky,” she joked.

“That can be arranged, Mrs Pearce,” she winked. “Anything but narcotics.”

Jen laughed. She liked this Angie. “Well, good to know. I’ll start with a strong espresso. Double, please, Angie.”

Jen recognised Leonard Mazwai from the photographs on Claudia’s wall. He was exactly as they had portrayed him: tall and unbelievably handsome with his afro and black-framed glasses. He is also courteous , Jen thought as he stepped aside to allow Angie to exit before he entered the boardroom. Men in suits didn’t excite Jen but he looked dapper in charcoal, the pants tapered at the ankles and the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a finely striped purple shirt with a pin collar; the gold pin held a butter-yellow tie firmly in place. His look was accessorised with an antique Cartier wristwatch, which he glanced at before apologising for being a little late.

“I’m Leonard. I’ve heard so much about you that I feel I know you well.”

Jen shook his hand shyly. She wasn’t sure what he knew about her, but she did feel a little self-conscious. She adjusted her wrap dress to show less cleavage and in that instant she had a sudden flashback to her night with Myron, remembering that he and Leonard were friends. She blushed.