Moxyland

Lerato

The date goes much better than I’d anticipated, but for all the wrong reasons. Stefan is as craggily beautiful as his profile photograph, and smart and lucid and engaging and funny and refined – and gay as a rainbow bumper-sticker.

‘I fucking knew it,’ I say, sipping on a papaya mojito, which he’s taken the liberty of ordering for both of us because it’s Gravity’s speciality. Gravity isn’t my first choice of afterhours, but in its favour, entry is strictly corporate pass, so you don’t have to deal with pleb civilians. And it’s set on the 44th floor of the Vodacom building on a revolving floor, so the view rotates around you at a gentle clip, mountain-city-sea, ideal for those with a short attention span for the spectacular.

‘I’m sorry?’ he says, slightly taken aback. Normally, I enjoy the deft manoeuvring around what can’t be said, the subtle, skilful politicking of negotiations. I had an Iranian friend, Shaheema, who taught me the finer tactics of never saying what you mean, when she came out on exchange to Communique from the Emirates office. It’s as useful in the secular corporate environment as in Persian culture. Which is not to say I’m prepared to abandon subtlety altogether when monitoring is a real concern. I lean forward, exposing maximum cleavage, and touch his arm.

‘We’re both adults, Stefan. We both know why we’re here. Why don’t you and I just skip straight to the main course.’

‘Uh – I thought perhaps we could just have a quiet drink, get to know each other.’

‘We could go back to my place. But I have a roommate, which might make it tricky, if we’re to make all the noise we want. What about yours?’

He’s utterly confused, the poor thing, but then his eyes crinkle and he half suppresses a smile, shaking his head. ‘I thought you were serious. I have an audio interference, if that’s what you’re worried about.’ He clicks the silver pen lying on the table beside his notebook. ‘We can make all the noise we like. No spyware’s going to pick it up.’

I toy with the glass, keeping up the flirtatious masquerade for the sake of anyone watching. ‘And how do I know you’re not with…’

‘Internal investigations? That this isn’t a setup?’

‘I do have a history, Mr. Thuys.’

‘Don’t we all, Ms. Mazwai. I’m afraid I don’t have anything to offer to allay your fears. You’ll just have to trust me.’

‘Give me a secret. One that I can verify.’

‘Why?’

‘Leverage.’

‘I’m not in the habit of trading secrets with beautiful women, especially not so they can blackmail me.’

‘Only beautiful boys?’ I’ve managed to get under that buffed and exfoliated and moisturised skin. He unfolds and refolds his legs.

‘You know, if I was from your current employer’s internal investigations, you would already have incriminated yourself.’

‘I really don’t know what you mean. I was in the middle of asking you if this was another one of Genevieve’s half-baked romantic set-ups. You interrupted, rudely, before I could finish my sentence. It’s hardly my fault if you want to jump to wild conclusions.’

He slaps his leg and laughs loudly enough to disturb the suits on the couch across from us, who glance over briefly. Unfortunately, audio interference only works on electronics.

‘You really are something. So, what would it take to – uh, get you into bed?’

‘I’m not a whore, Stefan. But if you’re asking me about my ambitions, my dreams? The kind of things we might discuss on a date? I want to live up to my potential. You know I was raised in a skills institute? Eskom Energy Kids.’

‘I saw it on your CV.’

‘Compared to scrabbling for opportunities with three thousand other Aidsbabies, believe me – corporate life is a breeze.’

‘Good wine does depend on its terroir. So what are your dreams, Lerato?’

‘The things any girl wants. A pony. True love. A diamond ring. A generous car allowance. A sea view, a space to call my own, that’s really my own, sans roommate. Work that is meaningful, you know, where I can make a real and valuable contribution to society, although I’d settle for challenging and remarkably well-paid with international firstworld opportunities. Maybe one day.’

‘Maybe soon.’

‘I’ll toast to that.’