LAKE OF MY HEART – CHAPTER 16

LAKE OF MY HEART – CHAPTER 16

Rosetta worked at a beauty salon somewhere in town. Once or twice they saw each other in the city. It should be in Baker Avenue. Though Rosetta was close to her cousin, Trevor had never been tempted to talk to the older girl about the switches of loyalties that the younger girl suffered from. He had always maintained that the last time would be the last. Obviously he had always been wrong. Each time he had driven through Sebakwe, Chambati and Gumbe Road, he had thought of Naomi a lot. The design of Glen Norah’s old houses always reminded him of his former girl.

“I am much better than Naomi who takes samples of saliva, stools and urine for testing ______” Rosetta didn’t finish. Everyone was laughing good naturedly. “Woe betide if you go to the loo and find a plastic bag near the chamber.”

“You say babies,” Naomi asked.

“Triplets and six years twins and six years later a lone Texas ranger,” Trevor suggested.

“Three is the number these days,” Rosetta replied. “With rented accommodation where do you make six children sleep in a two bedroomed house?”

“We grew up sleeping on the floor,” Trevor replied. “We shared a single bed as teenagers sleeping one at the other side.”

“That was then and now is different. At least a mattress and/or a bed for each child. The best is two children per room before eighteen and one per room afterwards,” Rosetta suggested. “Nowadays children have rights. We did not check ours during your time. You used to get a hiding from your teachers for petty mistakes. Now beat a school child and the parent will come with a shovel.”

“Ostensibly to move a few rounds of earth with the tool?” Trevor asked.

“To cut your head off,” replied Rosetta.

“The open range we used to hunt mice, grasshoppers and birds is now consumed by residential houses, shops and new developments. The cities are expanding.”

“Harare, Bulawayo, KweKwe, Mutare and maybe Masvingo are expanding, the rest remain pitifully the same little mine or agricultural town we knew ten years ago.”

“Then I will build a house bigger than the business magnate Philip Chiyangwa’s, bigger than those of Gideon Gono, Peter Ndlovu, Benjani Mwaruwaru, Sunday Chidzambwa, Kirsty Coventry, Taka Mutunhu, Kukura Kurerwa, Gordon Chavhunduka, Kombo Moyana, Aleck Macheso, Elisha Mushayakara, Nigel Chanakira, Strive Masiyiwa, Geshom Pasi, Kudzai Bwerinofa, Mutumwa Mawere, Mati Hativagone, Paul Mukondo or Oliver Mtukudzi,” suggested Trevor. “Bigger than any house of our own local financial and business heroes that I have mentioned.”

“Mati Hativagone is a heroine if you classify all as heroes,” Naomi replied.

“You do love children. Just make sure you don’t start producing them before you walk up the wedding aisle”, Rosetta had them laughing.

“Who said I was getting married?” Trevor asked.

“Who said you were not getting married?” Naomi replied. “We are going together to this party.”

“At such short notice?” he said at last. “I would need have my hair and beard trimmed. Look at the side beard that I have. Besides which there is a guy who had challenged me to two holes of golf before the day was over.”

“Sorry”, Naomi shrugged her shoulders. She had certainly filled up with becoming a mature woman. She was attractive with a big bosom. Trevor was yet to find what ingredient in his spirit kept him hooking back to Naomi. “There is certainly going to be no golf judging by the position of the sun. Besides which I have never heard of golf being played at night. You would also need a cuddy.”

“Neither have I ever heard of golf played under floodlights,” suggested Rosetta. It was as good as being with two lady KGB interrogators.

“Just because you have high heels does not mean I can’t play golf,” he replied. “You would get bogged down in the links.”

“You are not playing golf, period.”

“Shall I call security?” he asked. “I have work to do. Your perfumes are bothering my nose.”

At that they broke into cackles of laughter, white teeth and cheek dimples for Naomi were showing.

“I promised the gate guard a kiss on the cheeks so you can’t trust him,” Rosetta said. “When was last time you bought a coke for the big guy at the gate?”

“And me, nothing?” he asked.

“A haircut, getting rid of the side beard and the beard,” she replied. “With a bald head and your beard, moustache and side beards, you look like a member of the numerous apostolic sects.”

“I could marry both of you and put on a white gown,” he promised.

“I am promised to someone else, I wouldn’t like to be at their funeral,” Rosetta replied.

“I wouldn’t mind being there if there is a Castle lager or two,” suggested Trevor.

“Are we talking about us again?” Naomi asked.

“I would have to drive to Rosshire Heights, run a shower and change. I think these clothes smell. I have been poking at the ceiling with a client and changing tyres,” he replied. “I have other matters to attend to that’s why a man likes his beer in the evening.”

He was wearing elephant grey trousers with muscles belts across his shoulders. He had a white and grey checked long sleeve shirt, grey tie and brown shoes. There was something wrong with him. He was not thinking straight. He was doing the opposite of what he should have been doing.

“I didn’t know that you had become a mechanic,” she replied. “Besides cold beer should be available, if not I will buy you some.”

“Just changing tyres,” he replied. “When a vehicle refuses to start, you don’t rush to get a mechanic. He will check and discover there is no diesel. He will tell you it needs a new battery!”

“That is why some people sell residents on their own. They don’t believe in estate agencies and their agents”, Naomi countered.

“The usual joke is about lawyers. I am yet to hear one about estate agents”, Rosetta rescued him.

“The party is at 1800hrs,“ Naomi concluded giving him no option. “I and Rosetta are heading there with you if you agree. We can wait. There is a green lawn area we saw we can sit on benches counting bees there.”

“And her escort?” he asked.

“We will pick him up in the city if we can,” Rosetta had said.

They waited for him to dismiss after work. They had timed their visit well, about an hour before he was due to go home. He last saw them posing. They took each other’s photographs on the courtyard which had cement block pavers in mixtures of maroon, white and red with green lawn and flowering shrubs in the background.

He drove to Rosshire Heights. Rosetta was by the window in the pickup truck while Naomi was very next to him. They talked excitedly about girlie things. He was feeling the heat. His brains had refused to be part of the new reconnection. His body was reacting to her closeness. Her laughter, his brain registered and a sense therein liked. Her perfume his nostrils twitched sending its smell to the like sense of his brain. He was doing the opposite of what he wanted to do.

He answered a call after which he explained he wasn’t in the office.

“Was it rental or purchase?” he asked with the instinct on him. “Oh a garden flat or a walk up? Garden flats we have but that would require I must be in the office to check that. The technical thing about a walk up flat is here it’s different, we do have some rental units coming up with two bedrooms atop plus a bath and toilet, down stairs is a lounge and a kitchen plus a flight of steps. You share the outside parking and facilities. You have a lounge and a kitchen entrance. _____ I can’t say if they have balconies. Telephone me first thing tomorrow morning. Thanks.”

“Are you that busy as agents?” asked Rosetta.

“He is trying to impress either me or you,” Naomi suggested.

“Shut up.” Rosetta was buff.

“What?” Naomi broke into laughter.

“Did we invite you to talk to us?” asked Rosetta.

“That was his girlfriend who was perplexed by the technical jargon as much as we were”, Naomi summed up.

“Girlfriend? I just tell her I have customs inspectors doing a body search,” he had replied. “We are somewhat busy. It depends on customer relations. I guess I should have pursued a degree in marketing if I had not become an estate agent. It looks like selling stuff is in my blood.”

“I don’t take calls after six in the evening,” she replied. “You get a client who tells you to come over and dress her hair at 2200hrs.”

“Same as me being asked laboratory results while I am at home,” Naomi replied. They drove into a complex of flats.

“You can come up and sit in the lounge”, he had invited.

“These are bedsitters, they have a cubicle of a kitchenette and a large bedroom,” Rosetta replied. “Where the heck do you find the lounge?”

“In between the kitchen and the bedroom is a passage you can use to wait or the bedroom has settees and a very large queen size bed and mattress with dressing table and headboard,” he replied.

‘Did anyone say you were a bedroom furniture salesperson?” asked Rosetta.

“Some of these flat blocks have bedsitters in between with two bedroom apartments at either end.”

“And when you dress?” asked Rosetta.

“You close shop”, replied Trevor. “You do have eyelids. The artificial ones are the eyelashes. You also have little brothers at home running around naked from the tub to the bedroom?”

“You can wash up and dress we will be waiting here,” Naomi had replied. “You can take the car keys we are fine as we are.”

He had taken the car keys and gone up the steps. The fourth floor made good exercise to reduce beer bellies. He had a shower and change. He was leaving when she knocked on the door. He opened it.

“Somebody should clean this apartment,” she suggested looking and walking past him. He should have her reported for sexual harassment. She pushed past him into the flat inspecting every room. She checked the 200-litre refrigerator and its contents.

“I pay someone to clean every Saturday when I am around,” he suggested. How did she know his flat when he had left both of them downstairs? Had she been stalking him? “If I am around.”

“Or if you are sober.”

“I am always sober in the morning. I get clients,” he replied. “Clients don’t like beer and cigarette breath.”

“You need open the window otherwise the flat will continue to reek of sweat. Further to which one will be hard put to smell the difference between a flat, a public toilet and a brewery,” she suggested.

“If I leave them open I will come back to missing electrical and consumables,” he suggested.

“I am not under writing your bad choice of consumer goods.”

“Bad choice?”

She walked up and down the passage before taking something from her hand bag. A black plastic thing for covering shopping fell down to the floor. She didn’t bother with the litter. She had found a solid nail sticking out of a piece of plank on purpose. She hooked something changing its look. He walked over and there was her likeness in her university gown looking down at him at an angle.

“That’s a good portrait of the president’s mother,” he said.

“Trevor!”

He took her by the arm. She was soft and cuddly, her hands reached behind his back holding firmly. Her thigh bones were against his biceps. He could feel the beat of her heart. She fitted into the crook of his arms. He wrapped his arms around her letting his head come down. His hand raised her chip up. Their mouths brushed, their lips locked in embrace.

Five minutes later, he broke out for air. The flesh was soft, he kneaded and caressed. He had a savage erection. She was not allowing anything below the waist.

“Absolutely no sex sweetie.”

“The boys didn’t penetrate that far?” he asked.

“I had none.”

“Sure? Are you sure you will not be a nun?”

“I am not of the faith that has nuns,” she had replied.

“A nun can be a married woman who doesn’t like sex,” he had replied.

“Then it follows, are you not going to be a celibate priest? That is a husband who does not like giving conjugal rights to his wife.”

“No, the opposite.”

“Trevor is sex all the stuff you guys at work talk about?” she asked.

“We talk about social issues, women who are so hot for sex they can’t wait and their reverse, the nuns who can’t stand a husband’s demands etc.,” he replied.

“And you forget the celibate priests within the conjugal arrangement I suppose?” she asked.

“Those we don’t talk much about them, because we all claim to be high achievers. We talk of the nuns who freak at every erection as if they are about to die if they give conjugal rights. We talk of naughty little children. We exchange their stories.”

“And where do you take yours?” she asked.

“I have married brothers, sisters, cousins and family members,” he replied.

“Do you need talk of sexual encounters?” she asked.

“No we don’t. The married don’t explain what happens at their homes. We just get general jokes and discussions in that area.”

“How is the portrait?” she asked.

“That ZBC radio 2 female disc jockey looks great,” he said. She was pushing him against the wall with her back to him. “There isn’t much of a change since I last saw her when we were on board a Peugeot 4.0.4 emergency taxi. Just that the bones have filled out and the bosom has come of term. The dimples have somewhat lessened but I can bet you if you squeeze that nose, milk will come out.”

“Trevor?”

“Otherwise she is still the same lady brat who keeps kicking me out of her life,” he replied.

“I always had your portraits in my room”, she kissed him again drawing out his tongue. “No sex at all now or anytime until after we marry.”

“And if we don’t?”

“I will have sex with the first guy to pay the customary bridal price.”

“Is it a race to pay for it?”

“It’s a complicated selection process I tell you. You may apply to be part of it. You will be given first preference as my love when I was still a school girl.”

“A badly dressed school girl.”

“Shamwari, I was a living asset to the educated and working gentry.”

“Why do you do this?” he asked.

She moved to the nearby bathroom leaving the door open. She checked her appearance in the mirror. She closed the door. He heard water running.

She opened the door and emerged. She had been surely changing slowly growing into a woman. She had shaded her girlish looks for the sophisticated touch of a professional woman. He wondered if this included behavioural changes too.

They went down the steps. My goodness, she was making him mad. The more she broke off and came back, the further and further he remained hooked on her. Why was it that his other liaisons ended prematurely before she resurfaced? Was she bewitching him and them?

“I asked why you do what you do?”

“Do what?” she asked.

“Break up and come back”, he replied.

“Sorry”, was all she volunteered. “Rosetta went to meet Paul at Anglo American corner Julius Nyerere and Samora Machel. We can pick them up from there.”

“I take it you are now working?” he asked.

“I have been for two weeks. I am reliably informed that I may get my salary in the third month. I have to check that all issues have been captured on computer every month least it takes six months without a salary,” she replied.

She moved over to a window looking across four storeys below checking if she could catch Rosetta. The view was amazing. One needed to be an artist to appreciate everything.

“The vehicle keys?” he checked himself in the car park.

He made a U-turn going up to the flat. When he came back she was leaning on the engine hood waiting. He opened her door first before opening his.

He had a good outing with the two girls and Rosetta’s escort though he had to drive both to Glen Norah. It was dark when he had reached their home stretch. Naomi started kissing him on the lips. He had stopped the vehicle right outside her black sheet metal sliding gate. Her tongue was darting into his mouth. Thankfully, the power utility had chosen the evening to load shed the whole area of Glen Norah A to C.

“Thanks for the evening”, she had said.

“You are welcome,” he had said. “Is it okay kissing me in front of Rosetta?”

“Who cares? Do we need start to learn to kiss on our wedding day?” she asked. “Watch My Perfect Wedding on SABC and see how they run their weddings. The epitome of the programme is how much it costs to stage both a western and traditional style wedding. It’s not about costs in rand but the cost in effort, pressure and hardworking which at times very few people appreciate. You find a photographer who gets paid for a job he doesn’t do.”

“Who said we want to marry and wed?” he asked. “Maybe I will get used to being ditched and reconnecting again. One day you will come up to the office and find there is a portrait of me and a Diana someone there.”

“I was talking of social issues in South Africa. Forget about Diana, I am still breathing fire internally and externally.”

“I was talking of my personal social life you keep interrupting,” he had replied. “Are you sure you are not showing off?”

Half her upper torso above the waist was in the driver’s cab with him. She was so near he could smell her perfume, sweat and hair shampoo. Rosetta was watching them with dreamy eyes. She was a quiet one. Naomi switched the engine off to save on diesel.

“Nope and thanks Trevor,” Naomi said.

Rosetta broke her silence. “Drive carefully and keep away from women of the night, especially those in the Avenues area.”

“Don’t stop at a watering hole on any account,” Naomi warned. “I am phoning the flat in twenty minutes, you should be in by then.”

“I will be huffing and puffing on the second floor. Make it thirty minutes.”

“Twenty it stays,” she had said.

She sent him a gift wrapped card that had details about her graduation party in Chadcombe because their Glen Norah A place had limits. A tent couldn’t be pitched there. He was sure she had perfumed the sealed envelope. The card gave a pleasant smell. He could not pin point the European made perfume. He thought it was Christian Dior. He pinned it on his notice board within his office.

“I don’t see any reason why you haven’t married,” Howard had said. He had passed by Trevor’s office.

“It takes times to select,” suggested Cecil.

“Most of us where not selecting. We were busy guzzling beer and treating every lady like a whore, he wasn’t interested in sleeping around,” Howard replied. “I don’t see why he wasn’t whoring. He doesn’t go to church. He plays golf on a Sunday morning.”

“Still it takes time”, Cecil reminded.

“So when is she having her graduation party?” asked Howard.

“In four days. Are you two doing anything?”

“Not I”, Howard opted out. “Her card looks like a wedding one.”

“It’s wonderful,” Cecil said. “I wonder if Vanessa will find time from her class of 9-year olds to attend with me.”

He attended with Cecil and his girl. Rosetta had another different escort. It was a smashing party held on a Saturday starting at 1200hrs. The music was more reggae and rhumba than anything. There were sounds of Pepe Kale, Awilo Longomba and other rhumba greats that had him dancing crazy.

Did he dance and enjoy himself? She kept checking on him and Cecil. She made sure they had enough food, fruit and drinks. Cecil’s escort was under wraps by Rosetta who made sure she was catered for. Cecil’s girl promised Rosetta a dozen or so clients after Rosetta had promised her a free hair do. Did he drink but remain on his feet talking about all the internet jokes he read, printed and filed away?

“I will pay you a visit at Rosshire Heights one of these weekends,” she had whispered. “It’s high time I just telephoned less than ten minutes before reaching your flat.”

“And the laws of staying away from my digs?” he asked.

“I will bring an escort,” she had replied. “Stay sober most times. The rules remain the same shamwari. Maybe it’s time I paid you for your patience by having a clear dating program. You were so patient with me. I normally help Rosetta with clients. I heard the girls discussing how they have to be thrown out of their boyfriends’ flats that side if they have any. I am afraid you may have a little Maureen beside me.”

“I can still be on my feet after five or seven pints,” he replied. “Beer has a way of not throwing down a big framed tall and stout person like me.”

“This Saturday, pick me up opposite Electricity House in Samora Machel Avenue at 0800hrs, there is a place I want to show you”, she had said and disappeared. “Can I have your cell phone?”

“It doesn’t have girls’ addresses.’”

“I wasn’t looking for those _______”,

“Neither does it have their pictures”, he defended.

“Can I just have it?”

“The girl’s pictures in there are those of my bosses’ daughters or your would-be aunties”, he had handed the cell phone leaving his group of males laughing. “The most beautiful girl photos are my lady cousins.”

“When I return it, the boys’ photos in there will be those of the boys’ choral group and the men’s photos will be those of the Father’s Union”, she countered.

“Don’t delete anything.”

“I know the girls know your vehicle, work and home address,” she replied. “I put a reminder for Saturday in case you say you have forgotten.”

She returned it thirty minutes later. When she gave him the phone, it was on picture viewer, viewing her graduation photographs which had not been there. He reminded himself to connect his device to a USB cable to his 29-inch Philips colour television set through a DVD player to watch the photo display. He had taken to the dance floor to burn off calories and some beer.

© Copyright tmagorimbo 2014