Dreams and Desires. Louise Make
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“No, I had a chat with him, but I’m pretty sure there was no flirtation coming from him.” Lindi’s brow was scrunched as she tried to remember. “I read a blog last week that said women’s instinct to settle down ignites in their early twenties and men’s in their late twenties. Maybe that explains his magnetism. Maybe he’s ready to find somebody to settle down with.”
Moya took her glasses off. “Zak’s in his late twenties?”
“Yep, he’s twenty-eight.”
“Not . . . in his thirties?
Lindi’s dreadlocks bounced as she shook her head. “Nope. I worked his age out from his ID number when he e-mailed his personal details through for the contract. That man is twenty-eight.”
Moya leaned back in her chair.
Zakhele Nkosi was two years younger than her! How could she have agreed to go on a date with a younger man? And, more importantly, how was she going to get out of it?
After placing the organised folders on Moya’s desk, Lindi headed for the door. “I’ll get Bonga to delete the photograph he took of you and Zakhele. There’s one printout that I know of – I’ll find it and drop it off here for you.”
With that she closed the office door behind her.
Moya stretched her stiff muscles.
There was no way she would go out with a man in his twenties, not even once. It would be difficult enough competing for his attention around girls as delightful as Lindi and Ella, but having to worry about being older than them – and him – was more than she was willing to sign up for.
The phone rang suddenly, startling her out of her introspection.
She took a steadying breath before answering. “Moya, hello?”
“Portuguese or Vietnamese?”
Moya’s heart doubled its speed. She knew that voice. “Zak . . . Why are you calling me? Aren’t you due to come in soon?”
“Yes, but I wanted to book a table for our date. I’ve seen you in your work environment and something tells me you wouldn’t want to discuss restaurants when I come in on Friday to sign on the dotted line. Now, Portuguese or Vietnamese?”
“Neither.” Moya was taken aback by the pang she felt at rejecting him, but she steeled herself against the tightness in her chest. “I’ve thought about it and realised that I should never have agreed to go out with you. We’re simply not suited to each other.”
He didn’t even falter. “I don’t see how you could know this without having spent any time with me.”
“Well, I just do.”
“I was born eMpumalanga, but we moved to Cape Town when I was three, so this has always felt like home to me. I enjoy being outdoors, and love cooking if I have someone to share the meal with. I live in Lakeside and work as a car sales manager in Newlands.”
After a short chuckle he added, “And I model in my spare time.”
Moya had to inhale slowly to get past her body’s response to his laughter. “I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
“Do you find anything I’ve told you thus far particularly offensive?”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “No, I don’t.”
“Good, then you don’t have any reason to think we wouldn’t have a good time on a date.”
Moya could almost picture the satisfied expression on his face. “But there are other . . . details to consider.”
He paused. “Moyomhle, nothing you say could possibly negate how I felt the first time I saw you. So, line up all the details you want – I’ll still want to share one exceptional night with you once all is said and done. Besides, a deal’s a deal.”
* * *
“Dedicating the Personal Space section to tips on personal investing is not a good idea.”
Moya leaned back in her chair as she addressed her team of eight women. Finalising the concept for the August issue of Quest had just hit its first developmental bump: the ideas presented to her were uninspired and hackneyed. And with May well underway, they would have to complete assembly of the August concept soon.
“We need to strike a clever balance here,” she continued. “I know our readers aren’t the type of women who relax by crocheting or doing DIY projects, but that doesn’t mean they don’t want a break from all the business talk either.”
“So true,” Margot, one of the features writers, interjected contemplatively. “A very specific pattern arises in the e-mails we receive as winter draws to an end. Everybody complains about not having enough time for themselves because they’re too occupied with closing the financial year on as high a note as possible. Their businesses take precedence and all their remaining energy goes to their families. Yet, at the same time, the promise of spring makes them anxious for personal renewal.”
“Our readers are yearning for the chance to treat themselves, but feel they need to put the needs of their families before their own,” added Aisha, Thandi’s assistant.
Moya perked up. “Well then, why not treat this August’s Personal Space as a bridge between the demands of family and preparing yourself for the coming summer months?”
Aisha brightened visibly. “So they won’t feel selfish about clearing their schedules to do something fun! We could suggest family activities to look out for at the popular spring expos, list trips for two to revitalising spas and health restaurants, and finish off with activities they could do at home or in their neighbourhoods without spending a cent. I’d love to link our fashion theme to that, with the sort of outfits to focus on outside the boardroom. Perhaps the highlight could be to focus on the importance of loving ourselves as much as we do others.”
Moya couldn’t help smiling at her enthusiasm. “Well done, Aisha, I like that very much. Be sure to keep the beauty elements in sync with the fashion ideas in the Retail Space. These sections still need a little more work, but unfortunately we’re out of time. Think on it so we can pull together an August issue with impact. I’ll get Lindi to arrange an editorial meeting, at which point I expect to wrap this up, ladies. This has to be set in stone on Friday, so I can set up an impeccable compilation for Lebo.”
Moya watched everyone file out of her office and promised herself a much-deserved break. What she needed was an evening off from all the brainstorming and organising.
* * *
At six o’clock, exactly one hour after leaving their Claremont office, Moya entered the movie rental shop.
She’d given in to temptation and stopped for her favourite snacks – cashew nuts and buttered popcorn – before peeking in at the DVD shop to check for new releases. She told herself she deserved a treat after the day she’d had. What she wouldn’t admit was that she was desperate for a diversion from her thoughts about Zakhele.
It took her ten minutes to discover two new movies in the romance section and another ten seconds to admit that she didn’t know which one to choose. So she marched off to seek the shop assistant’s help.
“They’re both great,” said the girl between blowing enormous gum bubbles. “This one’s about a man who falls in love with a woman who’s dying and the only way he can save her is by giving up his own life. The lead actor was the bomb diggity.”
“I’m sorry, he was who?”
“He was good,” the girl explained patiently. “And the second movie’s about a woman who gets to know a complete stranger over the phone. She’s the type who normally cuts herself off from the world, but he sneaks into her heart anyway. This actress’s performance was totally the bomb di . . . I mean, good.”
“So, which one do you recommend?” Moya felt more