desk. “She’ll be in New York.”
“Wow! Holiday?” Claudia asked.
“No, business apparently.”
“That’s strange. I wonder why she has business in New York. She works in a sex club for God’s sake, not a JSE listed company.”
Jen shrugged. “I didn’t ask. I never do. To be honest I’m too scared to probe. But anyway, she’s flying first class.”
“Crikey!” Claudia paused momentarily. “Speaking of probing,” she said, “your daughter has a meeting with Leonard for an article she’s writing.”
“Oh, so she did approach Len.” Jen smiled. Her daughter had taken her up on her suggestion; a first. “She’s doing an article on black…”
“…businessmen etc. in Krotoa City.”
“Krotoa City? You mean, Cape Town.”
Claudia laughed. “I’ll explain it to you over drinks on Friday, my darling white-privileged friend.”
“Don’t start your shit, Claudia. Just because you’re screwing a black man, doesn’t mean he’s fucked the white privilege out of you!”
The two roared with laughter. “Ah Jen. Your language is abhorrent. I don’t know where you learned to speak like this, but it really isn’t becoming.”
Just then, Zinhle, Jen’s assistant walked in with cappuccinos. “Claudy, I have to go. I love you. And I am over Jane my shrink who you and Sharon referred me to, by the way. See you tomorrow night.”
“Go google Krotoa City, babe.”
“I’m waiting for your explanation,” Jen lied, scribbling ‘Krotoa City’ on the pad. She had to make sure to be a lot more ‘woke’ – to use ‘Brig-speak’ – now she was living in what she thought was a more diverse town; although she knew her daughter would mock her for thinking Cape Town was diverse.
Ten
Since Lee had died, both the book club evenings and poker nights had dissolved completely. Everybody seemed to have lost interest in committing to monthly social gatherings. Maybe it was their way of mourning Frankie’s husband’s death. Who knew?
Frankie’s girlfriends had agreed to keep things on ice and stick to their bi-weekly Zumba classes and coffee mornings instead. Shelley and Frankie, however, met more often. Shelley, it seemed, was only too happy to take Jen’s place as bestie.
She had always been a little frumpy but since they had started hanging out together, she had shed a few kilos and Frankie noticed Shelley now made more effort in the way she dressed.
She had attributed this to Shelley hanging out with her. After all, Frankie placed a lot of emphasis on her appearance and she gave herself credit for Shelley’s new glow. Little did she know!
They had just finished a hot-stone massage at Majeka House Spa and had chosen to breakfast in the beautifully manicured gardens amongst the pruned rosebushes and designer cacti; both species taking advantage of the last rays of a temperate autumn morning. The two friends looked like pampered princesses dressed in their white spa gowns, drinking Autograph Gin, a classy local gin that had become all the rage in Stellenbosch and beyond.
“What shall we toast to?” Shelley asked.
“To your rebirth. You are looking fantastic. It must be my influence.” They gently knocked tumblers.
“I have something to tell you,” Shelley whispered. “But you promise not to say anything to anyone?”
Frankie picked pineapple from her fruit salad. “Who am I going to tell?” she asked. “My husband’s dead, Clive isn’t someone I’d share any secrets with, and I have no real friends except you, Shelley.”
Shelley looked around before she spoke. “I’m seeing someone.”
“A shrink?”
Shelley laughed, “Hell, no!” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I am committing adultery and loving it.”
Frankie opened her mouth to speak but Shelley stopped her. “Before you go on a self-righteous tirade; I know you’ve had affairs.”
Frankie lifted a brow, then smiled. She drew in a deep breath. “How do you know I was about to be self-righteous, Shelley?” She summoned the waiter, ordered another round of drinks.
“I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve lost Lee and you miss him terribly. You feel guilty for cheating on him now he’s…” her voice petered out. Shelley had never been subtle. She saw Frankie’s face turn.
“How dare you! Don’t try to make what you’re doing okay by falsely accusing me!”
Shelley clutched her hands together. “I’m sorry, Frankie. I was out of line.”
“Fucking sure you’re out of line.” Frankie tightened the band around her hair. “Who are you fucking?” she asked.
Shelley flinched slightly.
“Come on Shelley, call it what it is. A fuck.”
“It’s not really a fuck. Yet. It’s more like phone sex, dirty pictures… that kind of thing.”
Frankie crossed her beautifully toned legs, threw back her head and laughed out long and loud. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not adultery, that’s teenage behaviour.” Frankie noticed the tears well up in her friend’s eyes. She was unmoved. “You can be so hard sometimes,” Shelley whined. “It’s fun. I’m completely besotted.”
Frankie snorted.
“I’ve been in an unhappy marriage for years.”
“Frans is a good guy, Shelley.”
“No, he’s not. He seems like a good guy to all of you, but he’s an abusive prick.”
Frankie straightened up. “You’re joking! Does he smack you around?”
Shelley sighed. “You don’t have to be smacked around to be abused, Frankie.”
“Well, how else? Please don’t use that word ‘abuse’. I mean, come on, if he calls you names, you have a mouth. Tell him he’s a fat fuck and to shut up.”
“I wasn’t really raised that way.”
“And I was?” Frankie had always been sensitive about her ‘less-than’ upbringing. The women in their friendship circle were told to respect their husbands, speak kindly, look after ‘their’ children. They forgot the most important thing of all: to fuck them.
Shelley could see she had offended her friend. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I know how sensitive you are about where you come from.”
Frankie shrugged. “Not really. I’m beginning to think you all are a bunch of two-faced bitches. All about pretences, all the bloody time. I’m the only real one.”
Shelley looked at her. “How real are you really, Frankie? Your affair with the diplomat was just as covert as mine is. You did exactly what you are accusing me of doing. You played happy housewife because you knew where your bread was buttered.”
Frankie scowled. “My husband is dead. Don’t you dare destroy the memory of us with bullshit.”
“You’re not even prepared to admit to me, your best friend, that you were cheating on Lee.” Shelley had become shrill. There was nobody about except the waiter and he had gone inside to place their order. Frankie rose from her chair and pointed a finger straight at Shelley. “Don’t spread such vile rumours about me, you hear?” she said. “Just because you are fucking around with someone else, don’t drag me into it,” she grabbed her Louis Vuitton bag, ready to leave, “so you can feel better about cheating on Frans!”
“I’m