Read Online The Lazarus Effect by H. J Golakai - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: H. J Golakai
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Her ass was still perfection; her smile touched her eyes.
‘Stop groping me, New York City boy. Whetin you doin’ heah? Dah nah even yor neighbourhood. And it too cold for dis kana nonsense.’ She prised the ice cream cone he’d forgotten he had from his fingers. She took a large bite and made a series of throaty sounds he hoped, had long hoped, he’d hear one day in a less public, less clothed arena. ‘Brain freeze, but so worth it. Yeah, so, I had no idea you were still in town, since you too hip to take anybody’s calls. Whehplay you been hidin’ so?’
Joshua grinned. She’d been a floater for two-thirds of her life, yet aside from a slight American affectation her accent was unharmed. ‘For Chrissake, when are you gonna learn to speak English properly? You write for a living.’
Vee gave him the finger. ‘When Celine Dion stops freaking me out. Why do you look like …’ she mussed her hand over his overgrown hair, the stubble on his face, the hole in his T-shirt, ‘… a homeless turd? You’re supposed to be an expat, a high-powered finance exec. Have some pride.’
‘I had some time off. I’m allowed to cut loose too, y’know.’ Joshua shot an eye across the street and his heart dipped. Vee followed his gaze. Her eyebrows cocked at the sight of the pricey boots, prowling a hole into the concrete of the parking lot, a frown on the face of the wearer. ‘Ohhh,’ she smirked. ‘Shopping with the missus, and she looks twitchy. My bad.’
Joshua grunted. ‘Cut that out; she can wait. Let me walk you to your car. It’s getting late and you’re loitering around, enticing muggers …’
‘My car’s two steps away. And the French Canadian songbird isn’t finished …’
‘You hate this song. C’mon.’ He steered her by the elbow, the back of his neck itching thanks to the laser of annoyance drilling into it from across the road. He’d patch that up later. ‘You look good,’ he said. ‘Much better. Happier.’
‘I’m working on something.’
He lifted his eyebrows.
‘Good question. Time will tell.’ She crunched the cone down to a nub, eyes planets away.
Oh, Jesus . Joshua studied what he could of her profile in the half light, the almost too-muchness in the slant of cheekbone and plumpness of mouth. Her mind was on the grind and the process was practically audible: shit unspooling, hacked and bashed to pieces and spliced back together in a digestible, Voinjama-approved format. ‘What’re you doing?’
‘Nothing! Jeez. Why everybody always think I’m doing something?’ He said nothing. ‘Okay, not nothing. A small something. I’m still figuring out what, though.’
‘Your somethings can derail into a series of weird, very bad other things.’
‘That’s because … you know … circumstances get away from me.’
‘No, it’s because your process is so moronic that it circles back on itself and just about manages to squeak under the door and turn out brilliant. Face it. You got a thing for starting fires when you’ve got no water on standby.’
‘Msshw,’ Vee sucked her teeth and poked a finger near his nose. ‘Don’t shrink me. Just because you know a few of my problems …’
He quirked his eyebrows again. A few?
Vee pulled open the Corolla’s door and eased in. ‘Dickhead. I’ll see you later.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he called after her.
6
‘You sure you don’t want something to eat?’
Vee drained her cup of Ovaltine and ahh-ed in satisfaction. ‘Nope. Can’t stay. And don’t give me that look.’
‘Bheti whyyii?’ Connie pouted. ‘I’m coming to cook any minute now.’
‘Yeah, you coming. Christmas coming. I only came for the ambiance, anyway.’ Vee stretched her feet out. ‘Y’all know how to make noise like market people round here.’
And it served her purposes. Connie’s flat in Rondebosch was the antidote to the imperious silence of her own house that she wanted to avoid right now, the white noise she needed. Tonight
‘Stop groping me, New York City boy. Whetin you doin’ heah? Dah nah even yor neighbourhood. And it too cold for dis kana nonsense.’ She prised the ice cream cone he’d forgotten he had from his fingers. She took a large bite and made a series of throaty sounds he hoped, had long hoped, he’d hear one day in a less public, less clothed arena. ‘Brain freeze, but so worth it. Yeah, so, I had no idea you were still in town, since you too hip to take anybody’s calls. Whehplay you been hidin’ so?’
Joshua grinned. She’d been a floater for two-thirds of her life, yet aside from a slight American affectation her accent was unharmed. ‘For Chrissake, when are you gonna learn to speak English properly? You write for a living.’
Vee gave him the finger. ‘When Celine Dion stops freaking me out. Why do you look like …’ she mussed her hand over his overgrown hair, the stubble on his face, the hole in his T-shirt, ‘… a homeless turd? You’re supposed to be an expat, a high-powered finance exec. Have some pride.’
‘I had some time off. I’m allowed to cut loose too, y’know.’ Joshua shot an eye across the street and his heart dipped. Vee followed his gaze. Her eyebrows cocked at the sight of the pricey boots, prowling a hole into the concrete of the parking lot, a frown on the face of the wearer. ‘Ohhh,’ she smirked. ‘Shopping with the missus, and she looks twitchy. My bad.’
Joshua grunted. ‘Cut that out; she can wait. Let me walk you to your car. It’s getting late and you’re loitering around, enticing muggers …’
‘My car’s two steps away. And the French Canadian songbird isn’t finished …’
‘You hate this song. C’mon.’ He steered her by the elbow, the back of his neck itching thanks to the laser of annoyance drilling into it from across the road. He’d patch that up later. ‘You look good,’ he said. ‘Much better. Happier.’
‘I’m working on something.’
He lifted his eyebrows.
‘Good question. Time will tell.’ She crunched the cone down to a nub, eyes planets away.
Oh, Jesus . Joshua studied what he could of her profile in the half light, the almost too-muchness in the slant of cheekbone and plumpness of mouth. Her mind was on the grind and the process was practically audible: shit unspooling, hacked and bashed to pieces and spliced back together in a digestible, Voinjama-approved format. ‘What’re you doing?’
‘Nothing! Jeez. Why everybody always think I’m doing something?’ He said nothing. ‘Okay, not nothing. A small something. I’m still figuring out what, though.’
‘Your somethings can derail into a series of weird, very bad other things.’
‘That’s because … you know … circumstances get away from me.’
‘No, it’s because your process is so moronic that it circles back on itself and just about manages to squeak under the door and turn out brilliant. Face it. You got a thing for starting fires when you’ve got no water on standby.’
‘Msshw,’ Vee sucked her teeth and poked a finger near his nose. ‘Don’t shrink me. Just because you know a few of my problems …’
He quirked his eyebrows again. A few?
Vee pulled open the Corolla’s door and eased in. ‘Dickhead. I’ll see you later.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he called after her.
6
‘You sure you don’t want something to eat?’
Vee drained her cup of Ovaltine and ahh-ed in satisfaction. ‘Nope. Can’t stay. And don’t give me that look.’
‘Bheti whyyii?’ Connie pouted. ‘I’m coming to cook any minute now.’
‘Yeah, you coming. Christmas coming. I only came for the ambiance, anyway.’ Vee stretched her feet out. ‘Y’all know how to make noise like market people round here.’
And it served her purposes. Connie’s flat in Rondebosch was the antidote to the imperious silence of her own house that she wanted to avoid right now, the white noise she needed. Tonight
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