THE RUDE AWAKENING

 

This story takes place from the late 1960’s to the mid 1980’s. It’s about a rebellious teenage girl who questions the apartheid laws. She falls prey to a drug dealer who convinces her to run away to Hillbrow. He introduces her to the underworld ruling there. Soon she’s a drug runner herself, trapped in fear, hanging out in clubs with the gay community, biker gangs and losers in shebeens. [The local name for taverns] Wanted by the police, she makes a run for it, hiding out all over the country, seemingly always one step ahead...

This is a work of fiction based upon the reality of the South African climate at the time.

THE RUDE AWAKENING

Little Phil and Helen are sitting in her lounge, sharing a joint. They are a strange looking couple, her tall and slim, him a dwarf. They have nothing in common, sharing only one concern, the well being of a mutual friend.

 ‘What ever happened to her husband?’ he wants to know, passing the toke to her.

‘I don’t know. Why?’

‘Maybe he can snap her out of her hypnotic state’

Helen takes a deep drag before replying.

‘I don’t think that you’re going to find any joy there my friend, she left him for another man, remember?’ she reminds him in a sarcastic voice.

She leans forward to return the joint.

‘Ten to one, he gave her no choice. She never had options around him. He always manipulated her’ little Phil disagrees, taking a last puff before putting it out.

Helen sits quietly for a long time, lost in thought, before smiling at him.

‘Maybe you’re right. I’ll go along with you. I used to often visit them, he’s a nice man, a genuine prince charming’ she makes up her mind, willing to try anything to save her friend.

‘Do you know where to find him?

She shakes her head. ‘I’ll have to look up the address, he owns an engineering company somewhere in Newtown’

‘Look it up now’ he demands brusquely. She sighs in exasperation before getting up to leave the room, returning with a telephone directory. She hands it to him before sitting down again.

‘What’s the name?’

‘Collins’

He pages through until he finds what he’s looking for; then rips the whole page out, stuffing it into his jacket pocket. Helen looks on in shocked disbelief.

‘I might just need to find a number on that page you stupid idiot!’ she exclaims angrily. He gets up to smile mockingly into her eyes, being the same height now. ‘The book’s outdated fool. Get a new one’

She glares at him. ‘I don’t have time to...’ He interrupts.

‘I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning’

He swings around to let himself out.

Helen’s on her fifth cup of coffee by the time little Phil arrives. When she offers him some, he refuses, in a hurry to get going. She quickly downs the last bit, rinsing the cup before they leave.

‘What will we say?’ she wants to know as they’re driving along.

He glances at her before shrugging.

‘I don’t know. Just ask him to visit her I suppose’

‘And what if he doesn’t want to?’ she plays the devil’s advocate.

‘He must! She was his wife!’ he snaps in an irritable voice.

‘Don’t get angry with me! She broke his heart for God’s sake!’

He smiles at her apologetically before concentrating on the road again.

‘We’ll tell him the truth, tell him what he was really like; hold nothing back’ he suggests.

Helen thinks back. ‘I do remember her being frightened of him...’ little Phil interrupts.

‘We don’t have a clue as to what that girl’s been through. The bit I’ve seen and heard...? I owe her for turning a blind eye’

Helen looks down guiltily. ‘So do I’

‘But they did care for each other in a strange way’

‘If you say so’ she curtly agrees.

He glances at her with a frown. ‘He was besotted with her! She was his one and only soft spot, his downfall!’

‘I’m not disagreeing with you Phil! I just never saw them together like you did!’ she snaps impatiently. They drive along without talking for awhile, each lost in their own thoughts, remembering.

 Helen breaks the silence. ‘And he was her downfall’ she muses sadly.

Little Phil nods in mute agreement.

After driving around, getting lost for more than an hour, they find the Collins Engineering Company, parking outside in the street. Helen follows little Phil up a staircase to the first floor. He knocks on the only door in the short passage before opening for them both to enter.

A young girl seated behind a reception counter smiles up at them. ‘Good morning, can I help you?’ she wants to know in a friendly voice.

‘We’re here to see Mr. Collins’ little Phil tells her.

‘I’ll see if he’s available’

She gets up to swing around, going to a door situated behind her. Before opening she looks over her shoulder. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’

‘An old friend called Helen’ little Phil informs her with a smile. Helen nods anxiously in confirmation. 

She returns within a minute. ‘You can go through’

She waits for them to enter before closing the door.

David Collins is talking on the phone, motioning for them to sit down in the two chairs in front of his desk. They comply and wait in silence for him to finish.

‘Sorry about that. Business’ he apologizes before letting the girl at reception know to hold all his calls; that he’s not to be disturbed.

Then he gives them his undivided attention, looking at Helen first.

 ‘Nice to see you again’ he says with a smile.

‘It’s good to see you too David’

She quickly introduces him to little Phil.

‘What can I do for you on this lovely morning?’ David wants to know, his face puzzled. Helen looks down at her hands.

‘We’re here because...’ little Phil interrupts.

‘I need to ask you two very personal questions before we state our case’

David nods, becoming intrigued now. ‘Go ahead’

“Firstly, are you presently involved or in love with anybody?’

‘No’

Secondly, how do you feel about your second wife? Or ex wife, if you divorced her’

David pales. ‘She’s still is my wife’

‘Why?’ little Phil wants to know. 

David looks out of the window, his face sad. ‘I just never got around to it’

‘She needs help real fast!’ Helen interjects with urgency.

David looks at her with pain filled eyes. ‘Why come to me?’

‘Maybe you can help her. You’re our last resource’ she stresses.

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, looking down at his hands before looking up again. ‘She’s in love with that…uh… I can’t recall the name’ he lies, not wanting to even say it because it’s too painful.

Little Phil gets up to lean over the desk.  

‘Was David, was. That man is no longer...’ David interrupts leaning forward; his face close to little Phil’s. ‘Don’t you dare tell me what was! I know what was! She walked out on our marriage for that bastard!’ he exclaims angrily.

Little Phil sits down to smile coldly. ‘David, I came all this way to tell you a story. Make up your mind afterwards, but first listen! You owe her this!’ he orders in a terse voice. David shakes his head, his face turning red, eyes flashing, just about to refuse when Helen leans forward, placing both her elbows on the desk, interlinking her fingers under her chin.

 ‘Please, please David! If you do not want to be involved once you know all the facts, I promise, we’ll never trouble or contact you again’ she begs in desperation, her eyes filling with tears.

David relaxes back, folding his arms before summing them up in silence for several minutes. ‘Go ahead’ he then stiffly agrees...

SUELLA

CHAPTER 1

1969

October   

I glance at my wrist watch when I hear my dad leaving his bedroom, going to the bathroom. Spot on! He’s as regular as clockwork, six forty five am.

Tiptoeing across the passage to my parent’s bedroom, I go to my dad’s side of the bed. Lifting the pillow to find his wallet, I quickly remove half of the small change before carefully replacing it. Then I quietly rush back to my own room, dropping the money into my school bag together with my dad’s footsteps coming down the passage. Just in time, not a moment too soon! Whew, that was close!

Now for the regular breakfast routine.

‘Good morning’ I greet, sitting down at the kitchen table where my mom places a bowl of steaming oats in front of me. My two sisters, Patty and Janine, are already leaving for school. They’re the goody goodies, never in trouble, always obedient.

‘Suella, go and open the garage door for me!’ my dad calls down the passage. Being the eldest I always end up doing these effing menial jobs! Do this and do that, which totally freaks me out!

Of course I only think this. To openly refuse and cuss can cause a hiding and grounding for several weeks. I also use dirty words when hanging out with my friends. To do so is perceived to be totally “with it” in our crowd. And let me not forget our African maid! I love to shock her, just to have her look absolutely disgusted. Of course she never say’s a word because to do so would be disrespectful because I’m white after all. I think that bad words are made so by our minds. I once swore at a Greek boy, new in our country, knowing for a fact that he could not understand one word of English. To him the worst word I could spew forth meant nothing at all. I did this just to test my theory and was not disappointed at all.

My dad passes me on the garden path when I return to the house.

‘You’re late. Would you like me to run you to school?’ he offers.

’No thanks, I still have a few things to do’ I decline with a pounding heart. I wait until his car pulls away before closing the door, returning to my bedroom where I sling my school bag over my shoulder. This I do just in case my mom unexpectedly appears. She has a habit of doing exactly so when I least expect it. Although I’ve outwitted her often, I’ve also failed many a time.

After making sure that nobody’s nearby, I return to the front door, opening it.

‘Goodbye!’ I call out before closing it loudly. The trick is to let my mom think that I’ve left while I’m still inside the house.

I quietly sneak back to my bedroom, hurriedly pushing my schoolbag under my bed, slipping in as well. Then I pull the blankets down to hang over the side, serving as a covering. Rusty springs; piercing through the old mattress nearly touches my face. I wrinkle my nose in disgust because it smells of urine and illness. My grandmother died on this bed two years ago. I really miss her because she was always on my side, getting me out of trouble, no matter what I did.

Evenly paced footsteps come resignedly down the passage, entering my bedroom for an old pair of red slippers to appear. One has a large hole in it from which a black toe peeps. I try changing to a more comfortable position, getting stabbed in the face by a spring. Damn it!

 I lay dead still, breathing shallowly and quietly. A few minutes later, more steps approach. Fast and furious is how I will describe these. I go through this whole rigmarole each time I bunk school, so know the regular steps well by now.

I have a glimpse of my mom’s smart leather court shoes when they appear next to my bed. ‘I want you to wash the kitchen curtains today. I also want all the bedding changed’ she instructs. The red slippers turn away from me to do a little curtsey. ‘Yes madam’ Betty replies humbly and respectfully.

My mom’s voice drones on and on as the chores pile up, causing me to get lost in my thoughts, like I tend to do when I’m bored.

For Betty not to curtsey can cause instant dismissal. All white people in South Africa have servants, even the poorest of poor. Black people are perceived lower than us under the apartheid system. They’re slaves to be used, working for a pittance, and of course let me not forget goodwill. To fall out of favor is not a good thing. Betty clings to her job because she has six children. Her husband works for the mines and resides in a hostel built for workers such as him. I’ve heard along the grapevine that they’re all squashed into little rooms so that the police can control them.

Betty and her husband rarely see each other or their family, residing in a location. This is an area where the government has placed all of them, the black people or the kaffirs. This is how we refer to them when talking about them. We never discuss them by name and especially not by their African names, which we cannot pronounce anyway. We call our pets by name? This greatly confuses me because the church teaches that animals do not have a spirit? So they’re lower than animals? But they look like us except for their color, hair and noses. And of course their lips are thicker. Tire lips as the whites joke and mock. I tend to get lost in this confusion of mine!

To get back to my story, some relative or neighbor is taking care Betty’s children. Where we have identification cards they have to carry a pass book at all times. An alarm goes off at a certain time each evening when all the kaffirs have to be off the streets. Husbands and children are not allowed to visit in white areas. It’s been whispered that some of them had done so in the past, when the police promptly removed the husbands straight to jail and the children were never seen again.

Betty has one week-end per month off, that can be cancelled without notice. This happens only if the madam, my mom, has to entertain unexpected visitors. How the hell they’ve managed to conceive so many frigging children is beyond me? I mean, they hardly see each other!

We’re regular church goers where we are taught that God’s son, Jesus, is and were a white man? The Bible somewhere proclaims that people with darker skins are this way because they were born to be slaves? What somehow does not make sense to me is; why is their blood red like ours? Should they not have black blood? We have many pictures of Jesus. His skin is lily white, His hair auburn and He has beautiful blue eyes? I must admit that to me He looks like a pathetic, pale and very skinny little man. I cannot imagine a God looking this helpless!

Because I love reading, I frequent the library where I found a book on people’s of the world. If Jesus lived in Israel and He was a Jew, how the hell could He have been milky white with blue eyes? This book clearly states that those people are very dark? They’ll definitely be classed as non-whites here? I also think that because they had no electricity in those days, He as a carpenter should have been muscular and well built? He had to chop the trees down and work manually for heavens sake!

When I questioned my mom about this, she smacked my face. I’m not to refer to Jesus as a kaffir, so she told me. The kaffirs also believe in Jesus and God even though He’s white? Yet the word kaffir means unbeliever. I know because I made a point of looking it up in the dictionary. How they can believe in our white God is a complete mystery to me? If I was in their position, I would’ve been cursing Him! Or maybe they only believe as to not get into trouble? Or do they somehow know that He was a non-white like them?

We are told that the kaffirs are slow and stupid. Yet they can speak Afrikaans and English nearly fluently, although most of them are illiterate? And that’s not even counting their own languages; which we do not speak nor understand? I’m extremely uncomfortable with this whole situation, feeling very sorry for these people, thanking Jesus daily for my white skin. I sometimes steal things for Betty to take home to her children. We have to be very careful because if caught, she can get into serious trouble. This is another question of mine, I steal and she gets into trouble...?

At last my mom’s feet disappear, the front door closing softly behind her.

She works in Johannesburg for the receiver of revenue.

 CHAPTER 2

 The red slippers are once again facing my way when Betty starts making my bed. I tickle her toe while at the same time hissing like a snake. Kaffirs are petrified of reptiles! My mom says this is so because they’re baboons.

We saw a locally produced film where a monkey picked up a rock to find a snake curled up there. It dropped the rock back onto the snake to faint from fright, only to wake up to do it again and again. I found this hilarious but somehow cannot see kaffirs as baboons. I find them to be gentle and loving. Some of them I find awesomely beautiful. This I keep to myself because I’ll get my face smacked or worse!

‘Hau!’ she shrieks, jumping away from the bed. I quickly crawl out.

’Good morning Betty’ I greet with a naughty grin.

‘Suella, why are you not at school? I can loose job and we’ll get plenty trouble if madam finds out’ she exclaims, her kind face creased with concern.

‘If you don’t tell, I won’t. What can school teach me that I do not already know?’ I challenge teasingly while removing a packet of cigarettes from under my pillow, lighting up. ‘I’m sixteen years old and passed standard eight’ I jest while blowing smoke into her face.

In South Africa, if you have a white skin, you’re guaranteed a good job with or without education. But I’m going to try and finish high school even though I hate every second I spend there. How I’m going to achieve this, I still have to think about because I regularly bunk school. My grades are not good because I do barely enough to just scrape through. 

I place my smoke on the dressing table to slip out of my school uniform, twirling around in the nude, my long auburn hair flying wildly. ‘I have a nice body, a nice face and all the damn education I need’ I sing in a mocking voice. ‘And I’m white’ I add mischievously. Betty shakes her head sorrowfully while removing the cigarette to prevent a burn.

This is another thing that I find mighty strange. I burn the furniture and she gets into trouble? She even gets into trouble when my mom smells my cigarette smoke. It’s her duty to prevent me from doing things I should not be doing. But this cannot be because I’m white and she a mere servant? These double standards boggle my mind! I try my best to keep her out of trouble, so I don’t normally light up in the house. Even though my dad smokes, my mom always seems to know when I do it.

Opening my wardrobe, I pull out blue denim jeans, a pink midriff top and leather sandals from my stash of “naughty” attire hidden behind my “nice” clothes. I hold my breath while Betty zips me up. 

I wear my jeans very tight, no matter that I cannot sit down or breathe properly the entire time they’re on. When I know in advance that I’m going to be in them for an extra long time, I have the zipper sewn up by my friends. Of course I cannot then go to the toilet but at least I’m sexy, looking good! The secret is not to drink much before and during these episodes.

The way I manage to buy these stunning outfits is, when the church sends home forms for me to collect donations; I pinch a few extra when the minister’s not looking. Then I go from door to door, day after day, making people feel guilty. I gently tell them that Jesus loves them, that they’re blessed with all they have, sincerely pleading for the poor and down trodden, which is me of course. This never fails. And thank God, my mom’s not a housewife, so never looks inside my wardrobe. Betty does all that and will never tell on me.

I quickly put on the rest, sitting uncomfortably at the dressing table where I apply my make up thickly, eyelashes and all. Once this is done to my satisfaction, I retrieve the stolen loot from my school bag, counting it. Damn! Only two rand and twenty cents! I cannot steal much because then my dad will notice. I’ve been doing this for a long time and have never been caught, yet.

I toss it loosely into a little handbag, along with my cigarettes and cosmetics, Betty watching in morbid fascination. I sometimes wonder what she makes of us white people. I’ve questioned her but she won’t tell.

She retrieves my uniform from the floor and we leave the room together with her shaking her head, mumbling in her own language.

She can get fired for what I’m doing but I’ll return in time because I owe her big time. My dad’s a week-end alcoholic and my parents regularly have violent fights at these times. Because I cannot handle this, I always go to sleep under Betty’s high bed. It’s elevated by several bricks to keep the “tokolosh” away. This is a very short evil spirit who the kaffirs staunchly believe in. She always offers to share her bed with me because she fears for my life. But I refuse, knowing that my parents will not be angry if I sleep with the spirit, evil or not, but sleeping with a kaffir is taboo. I don’t want to get her into trouble, and much rather prefer sleeping with a quiet evil spirit than with all the effing arguments and fights taking place inside my house. My parents have the bad habit of making me pick sides. This makes me very uncomfortable because no matter how I choose, I’m in frigging trouble!

CHAPTER 3

I close the front door softly behind me, quickly and nervously walking down the garden path. We have a very nosey neighbor, Mrs. Black, who always seems to know what’s happening in our street. Between us we’ve nicknamed her the newspaper. Even my mom calls her this.

At the gate I peep around but see nobody, so I quickly run to the house next door. My best friend Helen lives here and their doors are never locked.

Quietly slipping into her bedroom, I find her still asleep. I pull the pillow from under her head. ‘Come on lazybones, wake up’ I order softly. She groans before covering her head with the blanket.

I sit down next to her, gently rocking the bed.

‘Stop it you stupid cow!’ she admonishes in a hoarse voice, peeping over the blanket’s edge.

‘Come on, we have a lot to do today’ I persist.

She sits up to stretch and yawn. ‘Do you have cigarettes?’ she wants to know while rubbing her eyes.

I light one and pass it to her.

‘I’ve just fallen asleep. Do you have to come and cause a disturbance at this ungodly hour? My head feels like an effing parrot cage’ she complains tiredly.

‘Stop moaning. I don’t have everyday free like you to mess around with. Get dressed, let’s go!’ I stress impatiently while she yawns and stretches again.

‘First we’re going to Jimmy’s place. From there we’re off to see a movie. After that it’s Jan’s place. And then, I have to move very fast to get into my uniform, returning from school on time’ I lay out the day’s plans.

‘Got any money?’ she enquires lazily.

‘Yeah, but not much’ I reply in disgust.

‘I did quite well last night, only two and I’m thirty bucks ahead’ she brags, throwing the blanket back to jump up. She’s naked; her voluptuous fourteen-year-old body passing as twenty. Bending down, she retrieves jeans and a see through top from under the bed. Just then her dad walks into the room, his eyes jumping to her naked breasts.

‘Good morning’ he greets pleasantly.

‘Get the hell out of here!’ his daughter shrieks, struggling into her clothes, her face red.

‘Don’t speak to your father like that little girl’ he warns in a quiet voice.

‘What do you want?’ she snaps rudely.

‘I need twenty bucks fast!’ he demands, stepping closer to her.

‘I’ve no money and even if I had, you wouldn’t see a damn cent. Why don’t you ask your drunken gambling friends?’ she spits out in anger.

He slaps her, her head jerking back. ‘I heard them coming in last night! I heard the action! Where’s the money?’ he hisses.

‘Please Mr. Perone, don’t hit Helen’ I beg, my heart racing. 

‘Shut your trap and get the hell out of my house!’ he orders angrily before grabbing Helen by the arm, twisting it painfully behind her back.

‘In my left shoe under the bed!’ she gasps, her face turning white, one side red where he hit her.

He lets go to retrieve what he came for.

‘Thank you sweetheart, you’re still daddy’s favorite girl!’ he exclaims with a broad smile; no trace of the anger he displayed only seconds ago. Then he swings around, leaving the room without saying another word.

 ‘Damn him! I hope he dies a slow death where I can watch!’ Helen breaths out in frustration while rubbing her shoulder.

She goes to the window, removing a ten rand note stuck with tape to a corner hidden by the curtain. ‘Let’s get out of here before the rat smells my last ten bucks’ she whispers, tiptoeing out of the room with me following close behind. She slams the front door loudly behind us, causing the whole frame to shake. Noisy bitch! This is a certain way to attract the attention of the newspaper! Then again, if I was in her position, I would have probably have done the same. I just hope the nosy old bat is on the toilet or somewhere else...

Helen goes to the gate first to look around. ‘It’s clear’ she softly calls to me over her shoulder. We run very fast to the corner of our street, where it connects with the main road. Then we slow down, walking at a relaxed pace.

‘Why don’t you report your old man to the authorities?’ I suggest.

‘Hell no, they’ll send me away where I’ll have to return to school!’ she exclaims in horror. 

‘I’ll give ten years of my life if I could be eighteen this very moment and my education complete. I want a job that takes me all over the world’ I wish out aloud.

‘If you want to leave, why not just go? I have many friends in Hillbrow who will help you find a job. I mean, you’re nearly sixteen? What the hell’s the matter with you? If I was your age, my old man would never see me again!’ she advises impatiently. Sounds good but I’m frightened. Home might not be heaven but at least I have a plate of food and a bed.

 Four blocks down we turn into a narrow back street, entering the yard of a dilapidated house. There are several rooms in the back yard, Jimmy and his mom sharing one. We quietly slip inside, finding our friends, Jimmy, Glen, Jeanette and Jan in a stupor, relaxing on a large unmade bed.

‘They’re tripping out’ Helen whispers excitedly.

I find a bottle of benzene next to the bed and look around for rags to soak, finding only find two socks. Yuck! I hope these are clean!

We join our friends, pushing and shoving, promptly soaking and sniffing.

Nearby a dog’s barking, echoing repeatedly in my drug soaked brain. I see five of Helen, her face changing shape. Suddenly there’s movement next to me. Jimmy’s laughing, jerking his right leg with each guffaw. I sniff deeply once again, slipping away, giggling at Helen’s funny face, the barking vibrating near and far.

 For how long I lay here I do not know, when the door’s suddenly flung open. Jimmy’s mom appears, somehow appearing grossly deformed with many heads, causing me to burst out laughing. ‘Get out! Get out!’ she screams. We all jump up to stumble through the door.

She invites her gentleman friend in, slamming the door behind them.

‘We better sit here until we can see straight’ Jimmy suggests with a lopsided grin. We collapse onto the lawn, waiting for the double vision and echoes to subside.

‘I believe benzene eats one’s brains cells away’ I remark with a giggle.

‘Bullshit! Do I look brainless to you?’ Jimmy challenges.

‘Depends on how and when we look at you. While we’re tripping, you’re cool but right now, I don’t know...?’ Helen interjects mockingly.

Everybody laughs and Jimmy throws a stone at her.

‘Shall we move on to my place? Jan suggests, at last finding her voice.

As we’re walking along Helen suddenly lurches. ‘My poor brainless head’ she groans. We all follow suit, grabbing our heads before collapsing with laughter.

 At our destination we wait outside while Jan goes inside to check whether the coast is clear. A few minutes later she re-appears on the veranda. ‘OK guys, nobody’s home, pile in’ she invites with a relieved smile.

We scramble up the steps, straight to Jan’s bedroom. She lifts the mattress, retrieving a plastic bag of dagga {the common name for marijuana in South Africa} ‘My brother reckons this is straight from Zululand’ she informs us, handing it to Jimmy. He opens the bag to sniff.

‘Yes it is; good stuff’ he confirms, sitting down to roll a joint.

He lights up, dragging deeply before passing it to me. They never give up, I don’t do this! ‘No thanks’ I decline, passing it to Helen.

‘Come on, don’t be a wet’ Tony encourages mockingly. I pull a face at him while passing a second joint to Jan.

‘Are we still going to see a movie?’ I want to know after awhile, getting impatient.

‘Count us out’ Tony declines, getting up, pulling Helen to her feet. They leave the room, my friend giggling loudly down the passage before a door slams, cutting off all sound. The rest of us sit quietly for awhile before Glen and Jan leave the room as well.

Then Jimmy and Jeanette lie down. He kisses her passionately, breaking to place what’s left of a joint in the ashtray next to the bed before slipping his hands under her blouse. I sigh deeply before getting up, leaving the room and house.

I slowly walk home. Damn them! Another wasted day! Totally unreliable!

CHAPTER 4

November

I am relaxing in the bath when my sister bangs on the door. ‘Sharon’s here!’ she loudly informs me.

‘Tell her to join me!’ I order impatiently.

 The door swings open for an attractive girl with short curly blonde hair to enter. She sits down on the closed toilet seat, her face a picture of distress. ‘Miss Claasen was enquiring about you today. I told her that you suffered another bout of tonsillitis, that you’re very ill’ she informs me softly.

‘Did she believe you?’ I want to know with a worried frown.

She shrugs her shoulders. ‘For your sake, I hope so’

This calls for another letter from my parents, explaining my absence. My friends and I get several parents to sign on a blank sheet of paper, in pencil, up to a certain point. Then one of my parents has to sign. Before approaching them I break the point off the pencil, carefully re inserting it. I of course have a pen handy for just such an emergency. I spin a yarn about a lucky draw or having one’s personally explained through your signature and so forth. Of course the pencil point breaks when they sign, when I quickly pull out my magic pen and so another day is saved.

After this I go to my bedroom, rubbing out all the other signatures, carefully writing a letter to my teacher. I can forge my parent’s handwriting perfectly, but a signature will be pushing it. My friends and I stick to the same story of the moment, never using the same strategy twice. I’m proud to say that I’m the one thinking up all these winning tall tales. I’m very creative when it comes to planning and living my life. This is a clever trick which has never failed me yet.

‘Are you going to the opening of the new club tonight?’ my friend pulls me back from my thoughts.

‘If you can convince my mom that it’s a decent youth centre’ I contemplate with a frown.

‘Don’t stress, let me do the asking’ she suggests, her blue eyes wide with innocence when she gets up. She winks at me before leaving. With that look, butter can’t melt in her mouth. She’s a good girl or so my parents think, while she helps me to get out of the house when I fail to do so on my own.

I clench my fists, closing my eyes tightly, praying softly and urgently to Jesus. Please let me go!

It’s not long before the bathroom door swings open again. Sharon’s head pops around. ‘You can go but must be home by eleven sharp’ she excitedly informs me. I jump out of the bath with a loud splash.

She follows me down the passage to my bedroom, closing the door behind her. I drop the towel to open my wardrobe. ‘What shall I wear?’ I ponder aloud.

Together we pull my “nice” clothes aside to find my hidden stash of “naughty” attire. My friend pulls out a tiny stretch top, together with bright pink bell bottoms, the very latest craze. I retrieve my pink dolly rockers, a modern flat shoe, after which I pull out a short tent dress. I look at Sharon with question marks in my eyes. She shakes her head.

This is high fashion of the moment. Thanks to Mary Quant, and Twiggy as a roll model, we all strive to be beautiful and skinny. Obeying and following like slaves. It’s the getting thin part that’s very hard for me. I love my food! Returning from school, I sometimes have to finish the oats I left at over from breakfast because my parents do not believe in wasting food. Not nice, but when my stomach screams, I obey.

Only on Sundays we eat like royalty, three red meats, chicken and every single vegetable in season. Plus roast potatoes and rice and gravy. Let me not forget the salads! After that we have canned fruit, jelly and custard, or ice-cream. Wonderful!

What on earth am I thinking about! Thin is in!

‘See you at my place’ my friend throws over her shoulder when she leaves, my attire tightly clutched under her arm.

I quickly dress into a “nice” pale blue dress with matching sandals, tying my long hair up into a neat ponytail. Then I go to the kitchen where my mom’s busy preparing dinner. ‘Is it OK if I leave now? Sharon’s invited me to eat with them’ I chance my luck.

‘Ok, but be home at eleven sharp’ she sternly agrees. I run to fetch my handbag from my bedroom.

Once outside, I stop in front of Helen’s house, whistling loudly. My friend appears on the veranda to look at me mockingly. ‘Rock me gently, it’s off to the Sunday school picnic I see’ she teases. I ignore the barb.

‘Are you coming to the opening of the new club?’ I inquire indifferently.

‘Do birds fly? I’ll meet you in the parking lot’ she confirms excitedly.

I walk at a brisk pace to Sharon’s home, situated in a “better” area. The main road in our suburb separates the “better” part from the “bad” section. Like the wrong side of the tracks I read about in American novels.

I find her dad reading the newspaper in the lounge when I arrive. He peeps over the pages at me. ‘Where are the beauties off to tonight? I see many broken hearts’ he teases. I smile at him, shrugging my shoulders, my face turning red. Then I swing around to go to my friend’s bedroom.

I think that her dad’s great but he makes me uncomfortable. I’m not familiar with a loving dad. No, let me rephrase that, I’m not familiar with a dad who loves his children all the time. I’m sure my dad loves me, just as I know that he hates me at times. A see-saw situation, but it’s familiar and I have this balancing act under control.

 Sharon’s sitting at the dressing table, already applying her make-up. I put a record on the turntable in the corner; changing my outfit to the loud music of the Beatles telling me that “it’s a hard day’s night” I hold my breath while my friend zips me up. Fortunately this one has a little more space and does not call for any sewing. Then I slip the tiny top over my head to cling to my body like a second skin. Lastly I slide into my dolly rockers.

Sharon moves over on the small stool, sharing the mirror with me. Once my make up’s done, I scoop up several bangles lying around, slipping them onto my arms to jingle with each movement. We both spray a ridiculous amount of perfume in all the right spots. 

My friend gets up, watching enviously when I swing around to loosen my ponytail. I lean forward, brushing my hair from the base of my scalp, downwards.

‘It’s not fair’ she mutters when I straighten up, flicking it all back to hang thick and wild, nearly touching my bottom. She believes that her hair’s too curly, that it takes ages to grow? My opinion; she has no patience!

I get up to critically study my reflection in the mirror. What I see is not too bad but nothing close to Twiggy. Damn, I’ll have to watch my diet!

 ‘I’m ready’ I say at last.

Her dad whistles appreciatively when we enter the lounge. ‘Going my way?’ he teases. Her mom’s smiling proudly at us.

She thinks that Sharon’s the most beautiful thing in the world and frequently tells her so. She also likes the modern clothes that she allows her daughter to wear. I cannot recall my mom ever telling me that I’m beautiful? Rather the opposite. Her comment is, if a baboon wears a golden ring, it still remains an ugly thing. She doesn’t mean harm; because when she says it, her eyes are soft and smiling. It’s at times like these, that I know she loves me. That’s the way things are said and done on the other side of the track.

 Her dad gives her ten rand, humorously reminding her that her curfew is   twelve-midnight. He always says it like this, twice, making sure that she gets the message.

CHAPTER 5

It’s already dusk when we leave, walking slowly to our suburb’s only shopping centre. The club is situated on the first floor. We go to the parking lot where crowds of teenagers are hanging around, talking and laughing.

Jimmy whistles loudly to attract our attention. We join him and Helen.

‘How much is the entrance fee?’ Sharon wants to know. 

‘Three whole rand’ he tells her with a frown. Shortly Jan and Tony join us. 

‘Well, let’s go on in’ Helen suggests, turning towards the steps leading up to the club. One of my friend’s will cover for me, which I will repay after my next trip to my dad’s wallet. I don’t get much pocket money and if so, very occasionally and very little.

  At the door an attractive man with long dark hair is leaning against the wall. He’s staring intently at me while we wait our turn in the queue. When it’s our turn to pay, he smiles. ‘Welcome to Luke’s. No charge tonight’

My friends file through the security gate which is opened by the cashier pushing a button. I’m the last one to enter. The gate swings shut and I’m still on the outside! Then he grabs my arm, pulling me towards him!

My nose nearly touches his chin when I look up at him. ‘My name’s Rory’ he introduces himself. I jerk my arm free, my face turning red.

‘I’m here with my friends!’ I snap rudely, stepping back.

He smiles at me. ‘I like you and I always get what I like’ he tells me in a teasing voice while signaling to the cashier to open up.  

I can feel his eyes burning into my back when I walk away. My heart’s jumping nervously because I’m secretly very shy. I do not make new friends easily.

Once inside, I decide to stay in one spot until my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. After awhile I see my friends sitting at a table cluttered with beer bottles, on the far side of the club. I pass the dance floor, situated in the centre of the large warehouse. A large mirror ball is hanging from the ceiling, rotating to reflect colors from strategically placed light fittings. To the left, there’s a small stage where a rock band’s performing live; to the right, a long bar. There are couches and coffee tables strewn throughout the place. I have to sit on Tony’s lap because there are no more seats available.

‘Who was that at the door? He’s panting hot for you’ Helen teases spitefully.

I feel my face burn when I blush, grateful for the lack of light.

‘Some Rory or other’

She does not let it go!

‘What’re you saving it for? Do you think that prince charming is going to come along and treat you like a princess just because you’re a virgin? Wake up, smell the coffee girlfriend. We’re heading towards the seventies’ she advises in what I call her voice of wisdom. Fourteen years old and thinks she knows all? I hate that tone of voice of hers, talking down at me like I’m stupid!

‘Let her be, let her dream. We’ll stick around to pick up the pieces’ Jan interjects soothingly while winking at me. No malice or false wisdom here, so I wink back

Tony pushes me off his lap, pulling me towards the dance floor. ‘Don’t listen to them. They’re jealous. Let’s dance’ he sides with me. The guys are always nice to me, all of them. It’s the girls who freak me out at times!

The next number is a slow love ballade. Rory taps Tony on the shoulder just as he’s pulling me closer. ‘Please?’ he requests politely. My friend steps back to bow mockingly, after which he leaves the dance floor.

He pulls me into his body, dropping his hands to cover my buttocks. I struggle against him. ‘Relax’ he orders firmly. I nervously glance up at him when he brushes his lips across my forehead. My heart’s thumping, my hands clammy! I’m way out of my league here! This is no schoolboy who I can control!

‘I lost my heart the minute I saw you in the parking lot. What’s your name?’ he wants to know, his mouth close to my ear.

I nervously clear my throat. ‘Suella; now let me go or else I’ll complain to management’ I threaten lamely. He throws back his head to laugh out loudly. 

‘I’m management. Any problems you have with me, I can sort out immediately. This club belongs to me’ he informs me playfully once he catches his breath. He’s still holding me way too tight and close!

‘That doesn’t give you the right to paw me!’ I snap, at last losing my temper. He immediately lets go to take my hand.

‘Ok I won’t, let me buy you a drink instead’ he suggests, leading me towards the bar, making it hard for me to refuse without causing a scene.

‘What’ll it be?’ he wants to know after we’re seated. 

I order the first thing that comes to mind. ‘Martini’ Not that I know what an effing martini is? But this is what a girl in the latest James Bond movie ordered.

We sit in silence, sipping at our drinks, watching people rotate on the dance floor. Three drinks later he takes my hand to kiss it. ‘Suella, I like you. You’re one sexy lady’ he compliments in earnest. I feel relaxed and silly/happy, so smile at him. Then he wants to know whether I have a boyfriend? Its none of his damn business!

‘I’m much too young to even consider something like that. I aim to travel, see the world before I settle down’ I tell him in earnest, causing him to smile.

‘So you’re an ambitious girl?’

I nod in agreement. After this we dance a few more times where he does not pull me too close. 

Time flies by and before I know it, I have to leave; curfew time!

He frowns at me. ‘Aw, come on, you’re kidding? The night’s young and I wanted to treat you to another club once I’m off duty’ he protests disappointedly.

‘I really should go but if I can find a phone, I might and I mean, just might, be able to stay a bit longer’ I tempt and tease in my newly discovered, brave and very alcoholic daze. Wow! No wonder my dad took to alcohol!

He leads me through the dim noisy club to his office.

Once inside he points to a phone while he pretends to be busy with something else on the other side of the room. He’s very obviously listening to the conversation I’m having with my now, half cut, dad.

‘Hi Dad, we’re still at the youth centre. Sharon and I are assisting with the cashing up. Can I sleep over at her place tonight?’ I daringly lie while watching Rory move papers around on his desk. My dad agrees but drunkenly cautions me to be home before ten the following morning. I can hear my mom disagreeing in the background.

This happens on a regular basis when my dad drinks. To spite my mom, he always does the opposite to what she wants. Another reason for a damn fight and I’m very glad that I don’t have to go home tonight!

I replace the receiver to smile at Rory. ‘OK buster, I’ll take you up on that invitation!’ I exclaim victoriously.

He comes over, pulling me close to hug me. ‘How old are you?’ he queries into my hair.

‘Nearly sixteen and you?’ I shoot back, the drink making me brave.

‘Ouch! I’m a young twenty eight. And what do you mean by youth club?  This is a nightclub where the big bad wolf can eat you’ he teasingly warns.

‘I certainly could not tell my dad that. He would’ve been here to pick me up in a flash’ I explain with a giggle.

We leave the office, returning to the bar to drink and talk. 

Shortly before Sharon has to leave, I pull her off the dance floor. ‘I’m sleeping over at your place tonight’ I whisper in her ear. She nods impatiently before swinging around. ‘And I’m going somewhere else with Rory after this. I should be back around three, so leave the window open’ I call out to her retreating back. She freezes, swinging around to retrace her steps.

‘You better be careful! That guy’s older and tough! There will be nobody to watch out for you!’ she warns worriedly. 

‘Don’t worry. We had a long chat. He’s actually very sweet, I’ll be fine’ I try to put my friend at ease. She sums me up with a concerned expression for awhile before swinging around to return to the dance floor, leaving me feeling unsure and apprehensive.

I quickly shrug this aside before returning to Rory.

After the club empties, I help Rory cash up, lining bank bags along the bar counter. After all has been counted, checked and packed, he leans back into his bar stool. ‘You deserve a drink. I’ll mix you a special, my very own recipe’ he suggests with a lazy smile. I nod my consent, smiling back at him.

He slips through swinging doors to the other side of the bar counter, mixing a concoction with his back turned to me. Shortly he hands me a medium sized glass filled with a thick purple liquid called, “Lamoure” something or other. I do not quite catch the full name.

My dad drinks brandy and coke. That’s it. No fancy drinks like this for him. I pretend to know all, smiling when I accept my strange looking drink. Taking a small sip; finding that I like it, it’s surprisingly tasty.