I: Get your filthy paws off my man

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BAROTSE PLAINS HOTEL

Nacilele Nyambe stood by the window, the pale pink dress slipping softly off her shoulders. Her dark hair was pulled back without much effort, leaving the turquoise-and-diamond necklace to rest boldly against her skin, its matching earrings moving whenever she shifted. From a distance, she looked calm-but up close, there was something tight in her expression, as if she were holding herself together with more will than peace.

At the sound of the light knock on the door, she turned away from the window where she had been standing and staring out for the past forty-five minutes. All afternoon she had done nothing but pace, peep at the screen of her phone and check the car park below.

But her phone never rang. Nor did he come by in his sleek black Celica to tell her that he had changed his mind, that he still loved her and the engagement was still on.

She had hoped as the days drew closer to the set date for their engagement party that the nightmare would be over.

When days turned into weeks and there was still no word from him; both fear and hope had overwhelmed her.

She needed him to change his mind because she couldn’t live without him. Her body and mind had refused to do anything other than hope and wait while the cynical voice at the back of her mind had had a good laugh at her expense.

On the fifth knock, she answered in a strong voice that was a contrast to how she was feeling inside. The door opened and Lemba Zimba walked in. He stood tall and confident at the entrance, making her heart swell.

This was the man her heart beat for.

The man she had loved since she was five.

The man she had once thought she would spend the rest of her life.

“Hey.” Her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” he greeted her back, his voice deep, velvety and very comforting, “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“I…am fine. Don’t mind me.”

“If you are not up to it, they will understand.”

“And what will it solve? Nothing. It’s better we get it over with,” she said quietly going to get her purse.

He nodded saying nothing. She came round the desk and stood in front of him. He was as handsome as he was mysterious and that was what she loved about him.

” You look well,” she said barely hiding the traces of bitterness in her voice. It hurt her that he seemed to have moved on just fine while she was barely holding on.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It is what it is. Shall we?”

Nodding, she threw him a tight smile and walked out first. With her back to him, a lone tear fell down her face.

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Forty-five-year-old Ian Anderson disrobed   to expose his stout and hairy body. He threw the white hotel bathrobe on the sofa, flipped back the sheets and duvet and made himself comfortable on the honeymoon suites Queen size bed.

He reached for the glass of whiskey malt on the bedside table and pat the vacant side of the bed then looked up at his guest.

“Are you going to join me or what?” he asked in his lazy and heavy British accent,” I don’t know about you but I haven’t got all night.”

Clere Benedict stood at the edge of the bed looking down. She tried but failed to pull the skimpy white nightgown around her. She might as well have been naked.

Tears stung behind her eyes. She wanted to run away and put an end to the nightmare but doing so meant abandoning her mission.

“Maybe, we need a little motivation?” Ian taunted his young companion.

He reached for the top drawer on the bedside table and pulled out a black folder with gold inscriptions. She followed his every movement under her blonde bangs.

Benedict holdings.

“ Is this motivation enough?”

The moment of truth.

To stay or to go.

Surely, her parents would understand if she didn’t go through with this. For eighteen years they had brought her up to be God-fearing and value her body.

Everything that she would throw away tonight.

“If you’re not ready, that’s fine..I’ll consider this a botched deal,” he drawled, his eyes crawling lecherously over her untouched body, inch by inch, as he started fondling himself with a wicked grin. “Question is-can you afford the consequences?”

She looked up at him sharply. Her green-eyed blazing with fire.

Ian put the folder behind her pillow, “I will just leave this here. I am sure it is the motivation you need to do your part.”

Clere reached for the crucifix around her neck and squeezed it tight, tears rolling down her flawless face.

She wanted to run away and shove his blackmail down where the sun did not shine, but a part of her knew the guilt would kill her each time she saw her depressed and wheelchair-bound father.

And the bastard knew that.

“Look,” Ian spoke into her ear. Clere shivered, disgust and fear crawling over her skin. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard him cross the room. His large hand slid along her arm, his voice hot against her neck. She stepped back, but he followed, pressing her into the wall.

“Think of it as doing a great service for your family. Your body—that’s what’s going to save them,” he said, his mouth forcing itself onto hers.

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Teliwe Sindaza walked with a skip to her step down the hotel’s corridors, her heart light with love and the whole world stretched out for her to conquer.

The teenager smiled widely to herself as she neared her destination, her excitement bubbling over after so long apart. She stopped in front of the mirror two doors down from his room number, tilting her head to check herself one more time.

The clothes on her slender figure fit her just fine, she assured herself with a quick nod-skinny jeans hugging her legs snugly, the white t-shirt soft and comfortable against her skin, her company name printed bold and black across the back.

She had been on her way home from work, just three blocks down the road, when Pumulo’s text lit up her phone: he was back in the country at last.

Instead of waiting for him to visit her as his message had promised, she had turned on her heel and come straight here, unable to wait a minute more.

A quick splash of water on her face cooled the faint flush of anticipation from her cheeks, and she ran her fingers through her shaggy Afro hair, taming the wild curls just enough. It would have to be good enough for now-she had not seen Pumulo for over four months, and her excitement could hardly be contained within her chest, making her pulse quicken with every step.

Shifting the position of her purse from one shoulder to the other, she rushed toward his room. The door stood slightly open, carrying the soft strains of jazz music out into the hallway, wrapping around her like an invitation.

She pushed the door gently and stepped inside. The room lay dark, save for a thin ray of light that seeped through from under the closed bedroom door, casting faint shadows across the floor. She reached for the light switch without any problem at all-she had been here many times before to see him, knew every corner by heart.

The light flickered on, bringing the room sharply to life. There, hanging carelessly over the arm of the lounge sofa, was a cherry-red, sequined woman’s dress, tossed aside as if in a couple’s heated moment where they couldn’t undress fast enough for each other.

On the coffee table sat two champagne flutes placed side by side; one of them smeared with lipstick right on the rim, and beside it rested a man’s watch-the one she knew so well.

Teliwe stood transfixed, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes took in the scene, her mind refusing to process what it all meant just yet.

Then a woman’s sultry laughter carried out from the bedroom, low and teasing, followed by her moans that filled the air. “Oh yes… yes oh… yes…,” she sighed out, voice thick with pleasure, “Pumulo, you are just the best.”

“Pu…Pumulo?” Teliwe called out timidly, her voice barely above a whisper. This couldn’t be happening-not to her, not after everything.

She wanted nothing more than to turn and run away, to forget the whole episode ever took place, to pretend she had never come. But her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her slowly toward the bedroom door of the suite, each step heavier than the last.

Her hand trembled as she slowly turned the knob, the metal cool against her skin.

In that instant, her world came crashing down. Pumulo sat naked on the bed, his hands moving over the back of an equally naked woman, who moaned softly beneath his touch, completely lost in the moment.

A gasp escaped Teliwe’s lips, alerting them to her presence. Pumulo looked up sharply. Shock flickered across his face before disgust set in. He jerked his hands away from the woman’s bare back as if burned, the intimacy of the moment breaking apart instantly.

“Teliwe…honey, it’s not what it looks like,” he said quickly, shaking his head in denial as he grabbed a sheet from the bed to cover himself.

The woman looked from Teliwe to Pumulo, her expression shifting to amusement at first, then something harder.

“Pumulo? What’s going on?” Teli asked, her voice trembling.

“Pumulo,” the woman spoke up, her voice laced with irritation now, “tell your little friend to leave before I call security on her.”

“Not now, Nsemiwe,” he growled at her, rising to his feet and moving toward Teliwe with the sheet clutched around him. “Teliwe, let’s talk calmly. Let’s go out to the lounge, okay?”

A teary Teliwe charged at him. Her purse swinging wildly as she hit him with it again and again. “Bastard! You lying pig! How could you do this to me?”

“I’m sorry, Teli. I’m sorry…,” he stammered, hands raised to fend her off.

“Hey! Enough. Take your filthy paws off my husband,” Nsemiwe yelled from the bed, sitting up straighter now.

Pumulo turned and glared at Nsemiwe, who cast him an ‘I dare you’ look right back before shrugging her shoulders carelessly.

Teliwe slowly shook her head, tears streaming down her face, her eyes silently pleading with the woman to take back those devastating words that would forever change her life.