Sugar Daddy Page 5

  * * *

  “Is that you, Busi?” her grandmother called as she entered their shack.

  “It’s me, Gogo!” She was cold and out of breath. She had taken off her shoes to run through the dark streets – too frightened to slow down or stop.

  “I thought you were all sleeping over at Asanda’s tonight,” her grandmother said, smiling, as Busi bent down to kiss her on her cheek. “You’re exhausted.”

  “All that dancing,” Busi lied. “I left before the end. Asanda’s being such a show-off, I decided not to spend the night there.” Her grandmother smiled. “Girls! I remember all the fights we had at school. Then we would hug and make up.”

  * * *

  Busi sat up all night – watching, waiting, listening to the sounds of the night. Part of her still expected Parks to come and knock at her window, armed with a big smile and a sound explanation, a can of Coke and a whole-nut chocolate. His phone was still on voicemail and she couldn’t think of a single person who might be able to tell her what had happened to him. She was angry and worried.

  She didn’t know what to think.

  Where was he?

  As the night grew still around her, a million possibilities raced around her head. Did he owe her anything? Did he really love her? What did she know about him and his life? In giving her money and buying her things, Parks didn’t have to explain anything to her. And suddenly she felt like that prostitute in the hotel. He had bought her sex with pretty lockets and meals in fancy restaurants. She wasn’t sure what to wish for – that he would come for her or that she could forget him forever.

  As the sun rose she could no longer fight the tiredness, and she drifted off to sleep. But Parks wouldn’t leave her alone. There he was in her dreams, opening the door of his taxi. And there she was getting in, looking back. But in her dreams the gaadjie had gone. In her dreams a woman sat on the back seat. It was the woman from the smart black car, staring at her.

  Chapter 12

  Busi woke up late in the morning, with a headache. She felt nauseous. Her granny said it was because she hadn’t eaten properly and cooked her some porridge. But Busi didn’t feel hungry. She had to force the porridge down. Parks still hadn’t called and there was nothing she could do. She told herself to try to forget him, but she couldn’t. And when there was a knock on the door she rushed through to see who it was. She hoped that it wasn’t him and that it was him – all at the same time. She would be so relieved to see him, but she didn’t want her granny to meet him. It wasn’t Parks – it was Unathi, looking tired but still handsome.

  “I came to see if you got home okay?” he smiled.

  “What do you care? I saw you dancing with Felicia last night.” Busi couldn’t look at him.

  “What was I supposed to do? Sit on the wall? I asked you to dance, remember, and you said no – too busy waiting for Mr No-Show.”

  “Actually he phoned,” she lied. “He was in an accident.” Unathi raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

  “So, why aren’t you at the hospital at his bedside then? Why aren’t you with him in his hour of need?”

  “I can’t leave my grandmother.” It was a stupid excuse, she knew. But he didn’t question her further and his expression softened.

  “I was worried about you, Busi.” His voice was quiet now, and full of concern. “It’s dangerous, Busi. What you are doing is dangerous.”

  She didn’t have the energy to fight back. What could she say? And when there was another knock at the door and the sound of girls giggling, she was so relieved, she laughed. Her friends burst in looking a bit worse for wear from the night before. Asanda still had some make-up on. “Hey, Unathi sprinted to get here ahead of us, Busi. He must really like you,” she teased. Unathi rolled his eyes.

  “I just came to tell her that what she’s doing is dangerous,” he told the girls.

  “Well, we’ve come to take her clothes shopping at Wynberg station. Xoli got such a nice top there for only R5,” said Lettie. “And it’s girls only, boyfriend.”

  “I get the message,” said Unathi. “Loud and clear.”

  * * *

  “I don’t care about clothes any more,” Busi complained as they got into a taxi to Wynberg. She didn’t care about anything – except what had happened to Parks. They sat in a row at the back – Asanda, Lettie, Busi, Ntombi, and Zinzi squashed in between them.

  “So he didn’t show?” said Lettie, “It’s not the end of the world, chommie. Forget about him. Move on.”

  “Yes, forget him,” agreed Asanda. “I’m a one-chance girl. If a boy says he’s going to call and he doesn’t, I give him one more chance. If he does it again, he’s out. If boys get to know that you won’t take shit, they won’t give you shit! Or if they do, they’re not for you.” But whatever they said, Busi couldn’t forget about Parks. How could she?

  They got out at the taxi rank in Wynberg and walked over to the street stalls, where they started looking through the piles of pretty tops on sale. It was then that she saw Parks’s taxi stopping on the other side of the road. She watched as the gaadjie helped an old lady off, nearly falling in the gutter himself as he handed over her plastic shopping bags. She strained to get a glimpse of Parks. She wanted to run across the road, but a Golden Arrow bus pulled up in front of the taxi. And when she finally got there, the taxi sped off. But not before she had caught sight of the gaadjie grinning stupidly and waving at her – the idiot. Busi’s mouth was dry with shock.

  “It’s not him,” Zinzi said, taking Busi’s hand.

  “What?”

  “Parks isn’t driving,” Zinzi said.

  “How do you know? How do you know it wasn’t him?”

  “Because it was a woman driving,” said Zinzi firmly. “I went over there to get some chips. I saw everything.”

  “A woman?”

  Busi thought of that black car and the woman staring at her. She checked her phone again. Nothing. No SMS, no missed call – nothing. She sat in silence all the way back in the taxi, feeling like she wanted to throw up. And when the taxi lurched to a halt near Asanda’s house, she got out just in time to run to the side of the road and retch. It was like her whole body was turning itself inside out. She was a mess. And she started to cry. “Come inside,” said Asanda, putting her arm around her friend. “You can wash, and we’ll make you some tea. Then we’ll have a fashion show. It will make you feel much better.” But Busi just wanted to get to her bed where she could curl up in the dark and work out how she could find Parks.

  * * *

  “Busi,” her grandmother called her when she came in, “I’ve made you something special for lunch – hot scones. Oh, and there’s fresh sweetmilk cheese. I got my pension today.”

  “Thank you, Gogo, but I’m not hungry.”

  “You must eat, child,” her granny said, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “I said I’m not hungry!” Busi snapped, and flung herself on her bed. Her grandmother stood in the doorway.

  “What’s the matter, child?”

  “Nothing’s the matter! Now can you leave me alone, please?”

  She had shouted and she felt terrible when she saw the look of shock on her granny’s face. And then the tears came, deep sobs wracking her body. Where was he?

  When she woke up she could hear her grandmother listening to Isidingo. Did she have to have the TV on so loud? The light was fading outside and there was a cold cup of tea on her bedside table. She pulled off her clothes and climbed into her pyjamas. “Is that you, Busi?” her grandmother wanted to know when she crept past her into the tiny kitchen. Who else could it be?

  “It’s me,” she answered meekly. Her grandmother switched off the TV, and turned right around.

  “What is the matter, child? Is something worrying you? You can tell me.”

  “It’s nothing, Gogo – really, it’s nothing.” />
  “I want you to understand something, Busi, mtwanam. I don’t have money to give you, but whatever it is that is worrying you – whatever it is that you did or didn’t do – I will always be on your side. That is what love is all about, and I do love you so, even if at times it’s hard to believe.” Busi bit back the tears.

  “I’m not feeling so good, Gogo, that’s all – it’s nothing to do with money.” Her granny came over to her and lay her cool hand on her forehead.

  “You’re a little warm – a bit of a fever. I’ll give you some pills. You’ll soon feel better.”

  Busi ate a cooled scone with thinly spread apricot jam and sipped at a scalding cup of fresh tea. Then she took the two Panados her granny had given her and went back to lie on her bed, where she watched the evening shadows darken and turn to night. Where was he?

  “I was young once,” she heard her grandmother say as she shuffled about preparing for bed.

  “Goodnight, Gogo.”

  “Goodnight, my child. Are you feeling a little better?”

  “Aha, a little.”

  “Good. Have a nice rest. Lala kakuhle …”

  Her grandmother shuffled along to her bed on the other side of the room. As usual she bumped her leg on the edge of the bed and instead of cursing, sang praises to Sweet Jesus. Busi couldn’t help smiling. She listened to the creaking bedsprings as her granny climbed under the blankets and turned this way and that until she got comfortable. Soon the old lady was snoring away peacefully.

  If only Busi could fall asleep so easily.

  Where was he? Why didn’t he phone at least – tell her something, anything? She needed to know that he was alive – explanations could follow. She thought of that disgusting, grinning gaadjie. Would he tell Parks that he’d seen her?

  “What goes on in his head?” she had asked Parks once.

  “Fog, baby,” he had answered, “just fog. But he’s good with a gun. You see, he doesn’t think.”

  “Not enough of a brain to have a thought,” Busi had added. Parks had thought that was so funny, he had laughed out loud.

  How she longed for him. It had been days. And still no word.

  Chapter 13

  Busi was up early. Today would be different, she decided, as she pulled her hair into shape. Today she’d start with a new attitude, beginning by being nice to her grandmother. How could she have been so mean? “What do you want, Busi?” her grandmother asked as she placed the hot cup of tea on the table in front of her. “I don’t have money to give you.”

  “Want? I don’t want anything, Gogo.”

  “Yes, you want something. I know you. Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “I made myself a cup, Gogo, so I made you a cup too. That’s all.”

  “Thank you, my child. Now, are you feeling better?” the old lady wanted to know, still frowning at her.

  “I’m feeling a whole lot better, thank you, Gogo.”

  “I’m sure it’s your period that’s on its way.”

  Busi kissed her grandmother on her soft, wrinkled cheek and rushed off out of the house. She would be on time for school today, instead of running into Harmony High just as the prefects were about to lock the gates. This new attitude was helping her to cope with not knowing what had happened to Parks. Today she wouldn’t worry about him. She had left her cell phone at home. It wouldn’t bother her that he didn’t phone. She would get through this day – without him and without thinking of him.

  * * *

  But life has its own plans.

  “It’s him! Come quickly!” Zinzi came running towards Busi during first break. “Khawuleza!”

  “What are you talking about, Zinzi?”

  “It’s him – Parks. He’s waiting outside in a big, black car.”

  “What?”

  There were wolf whistles as she rushed to the school fence. Everyone knew about her and Parks by now. Everyone was talking. She felt their eyes following her. So what? Soon they’ll find someone else to talk about. That’s what Unathi had told her once. “People talk, Busi. It’s human nature. Soon they’ll get tired of talking about you and find someone else to gossip about.”

  Zinzi was right. There he was, sitting behind the wheel of his fancy car: big sunglasses, big smile, blowing big smoke rings into the chilly autumn air.

  * * *

  Busi was so pleased to see Parks again she didn’t notice that the car was identical to the one she had seen at the hotel – the same car that appeared in her nightmares. The prefect stationed at the gate couldn’t stop Busi as she pushed past her. “I thought you were dead, Parks,” she gasped, when she was in the car and in his arms.

  “Dead, baby? Why dead?” he laughed, throwing his head back. They both heard the siren. Break was over. “You better go back,” he said.

  “No. I’m coming with you.” She couldn’t just let him disappear again. Not now. She couldn’t go through the torture of waiting again. She looked out to see the prefect writing her name in the detention book. “Will you write me a doctor’s letter?” she asked Parks as he pulled away from the kerb. “To get me out of detention.”

  “Of course I’ll write you a letter,” he replied, with that impish, irresistible smile of his. At the stop sign he leaned over and hugged her so tight, she cried. “Why the tears, baby?”

  “I’ve missed you so much. Where were you?”

  “Taking care of business …”

  “You could have phoned. Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

  “I phoned you this morning. Your cell was on voicemail. That’s why I came to look for you.” A car hooted behind them and he pulled away again.

  “Where were you?” she asked again.

  “I told you, I had business.” She could hear that he was angry now. She shouldn’t be asking so many questions. But she needed to know.

  “I’m sorry, Parks. I was just worried.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t worry. I’ve got enough of my own stuff to worry about. I can’t be worrying about you too,” he snapped.

  “I thought something had happened to you …”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. You’re not my mother, or my wife!” He was shouting.

  That was it. She wasn’t his mother. She wasn’t his wife. What was she to him?

  “You are a big, juicy secret in his life,” Asanda had told her. “I bet you he’s married with a bunch of kids.” They had all laughed out loud, Busi probably the loudest. It had seemed so absurd at the time, but it wasn’t funny any more.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Anywhere.” She stared out of the window. It didn’t matter.

  “Do you want to go back to school? Do you want to go home? What do you want?”

  “You’re the driver!” It was going horribly wrong, thought Busi. It wasn’t meant to be like this.

  “Come, I’ll take you to eat somewhere. Are you hungry?” His voice was softer. He wasn’t so angry any more.

  She really wanted to talk – to tell him how frightened and alone she had felt. But the words were caught in her throat.

  He took her to the Spur at Fish Hoek and held her hand across the table. “I’ve missed you, baby,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. But this time it would take more than those words to make it okay. He could just turn on the charm – she knew that now. But Parks knew how to bring someone around. And when he started talking about his childhood, he had her in the palm of his hand all over again.

  “When I was a little kid …,” he said, looking out at the rolling waves washing up on Fish Hoek beach down below, on the other side of the railway tracks, “my dad used to go off for long periods of time. I missed him so much. But when he came back I was so happy to see him, and he spoiled me.” Busi listened to Parks and imagined him as that little boy. “We would take a train ride to the bea
ch, just us two, and he’d teach me to catch fish. But then, one day, he left without a word to me. I used to stand by our gate every day waiting for him to come back, but he never did …”

  He had hooked her again – drawn her back to him with his sorry story. She imagined him as a little boy waiting for his dad to return. She put her head on his shoulder. His story was so sad.

  After their meal Parks lit up a cigarette. He pointed towards the sea.

  “Is that a whale?” he asked.

  “Maybe it’s a shark,” Busi laughed. He was back and she was happy.

  * * *

  As he dropped her off, he said, “You wanted to meet my friends. I’ll introduce you to them tomorrow. I’ll meet you outside Jake’s.”

  “Sure,” she said. Isn’t this what she had wanted? But when Parks had gone she panicked. What would his friends think of her – a schoolgirl?

  Chapter 14

  Parks’s friend’s house was in Mandalay. It was a double-storey – so grand. It had windows and balconies all over the show. And it was set in a big property with trees and a huge, enclosed yard. It reminded Busi of the house in Romeo and Juliet – the way Mr Ntlanti had described it, with Juliet calling Romeo from the balcony. Their English teacher had a way of making you see things in your mind. Yes, it was just like this.

  Parks’s friends seemed nice enough, but she was the youngest there by far. They ignored her mostly, and so did he. She sat and watched as they played pool and drank beer. She watched Parks as he laughed with them, burped with them, cheered for Swallows. There was an enormous flat-screen TV in the lounge. From time to time he came over to her in the old armchair where she sat, trying to look relaxed. “Are you all right?” he asked her, and when she nodded he went back to the pool game, laughing and joking nechommies. She realised that she didn’t know a great deal about Parks at all.

  The women were braaing sheeps’ heads outside on an open fire. She knew they were talking about her, but what did she expect? She felt alone and out of place and wished her friends were there with her. They could chat and laugh about the older women who thought they were so smart. And the men, with their beer bellies. But her friends were far away. All she had was Parks. He was her lifeline, and he was ignoring her.