Radical

D minus ten years

Thapelo was nursing a beer at an off-campus dive. He had done very well during his first semester of a BCompt degree, but finances, as ever, were a problem.

Then they had walked in.

Thapelo, and every other straight man in the place, sat up while the two women settled themselves at the bar.

They oozed money. The taller of two accentuated her height with 4-inch heels. She was dressed in a slinky black and white wrap-around number, a knee-length that was simultaneously completely professional, and not. It hugged her curves and accentuated her ample breasts. Her short hair and big hoop earrings drew attention to the face of a Cleopatra. She had full lips and deep sensual brown eyes framed by long eyelashes and smoky lids. All in all, she looked and smelt like money.

The shorter woman looked no less striking in navy blue; formal pants, silk blouse and heels. Also utterly professional at first glance, but her confident bearing injected an unmistakeable sensual insouciance.

Thapelo wondered what women like those were doing in a place like this.

Then the taller one languorously swivelled her barstool, leaning an elbow on the bar, and the change in posture made it impossible to look away. As if it was possible before she turned around, Thapelo inwardly groaned to himself.

Incredibly, she made brief eye contact with him, and smiled. Then she leaned towards her friend and said something.

Thapelo didn't notice the bartender approaching until a tall drink was set down on his table. He looked up, questioning.

"Long Island Iced Tea," said the barman, "from the lady in black and white. I told her you were drinking beer when she asked, but she ordered this instead. She says her name is Ntombi."

The barman ambled back to his post.

Thunderstruck, Thapelo weighed up the situation. That was a come-on, clear enough, right? It would be rude not to go and thank her for the drink, and introduce himself, at least.

When he got up his legs were suddenly water. He picked up the new drink, deserting the remainder of his beer, and walked up to the two women.

"Hi, Ntombi, thanks for the drink," he grinned awkwardly. "I'm Thapelo..."

"Hi Thapelo, pleased to meet you," she said, holding out her hand. When he shook it she subtly softened her grip so that the hand-shake ended with a caress of her fingers down his palm. Then she looked towards her friend and said, "And this is Jaqueline."

They exchanged greetings.

"Business first," said Jaqueline to them both, and then showed Thapelo a picture on her phone.

"Have you seen these guys?" she asked.

Thapelo knew of them, a campus band that was starting to get a lot of positive attention, but he didn't know them personally. Jaqueline swivelled towards the bartender when Thapelo shook his head.

The bartender glanced at the picture and pointed to a booth in a corner of the bar.

"Thanks," responded Jaqueline, taking a sheaf of papers that looked like a contract out of a large, but elegant, shoulder bag. She headed towards the three men in the booth.

By the time Jaqueline returned to the bar twenty minutes later, a stunned Thapelo was holding hands with Ntombi.