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Shocking!!!:there Is Something About Him by pjamas(m): 6:45pm On May 16, 2016 |
“Are you kidding me?”
Levendale said throwing
the magazine on
Elizabeth’s desk. He
strode across the tiny
office in his odd way that
always reminded
Elizabeth of a vulture. His
head pushed forward, his
wobbly, wrinkled neck
moving back and forth,
his legs thrown ahead of
him waiting for his body
to catch up. He was the
master of international
sports for the magazine
and fancied himself the
boxing expert in South
Africa. “The Hitman has
been retired for eleven
years. How can you talk
about him defending his
IBF title? That’s over and
done with. He’s a has-
been. You really need to
understand boxing if
you’re going to write
about it, Elizabeth. A
column like this is going
to have you losing all
credibility, but I always
expected as much. It’s
really not good for the
magazine. I don’t know
what Chako was thinking
when he gave you the
column. You know
nothing about the
intricacies of the sport.
Nothing.”
Elizabeth nearly laughed.
In Levendale’s eyes she
never had creditability in
the first place so how
could she lose it? He
didn’t care too much
when she was only
writing articles about
athletics for The Sports
Review. She’d been a 100
metre star during her
university days at WITS
so that gave her a bit of
cred in his eyes, but that
was only for athletics.
When the magazine’s
long time editor, Rre
Chako, let her do a
column on boxing, now
that was stepping on
Levendale’s toes and he
didn’t like it, didn’t like it
at all. Rre Chako knew
enough about the boxing
world, though, to know
no one would take a
columnist named
Elizabeth seriously, and
so asked her to write
under a male
pseudonym. Elizabeth
wasn’t happy about that
but loved boxing enough
to do it. Ever since she
was a little girl and
would go to matches
with her father, she
adored the sport. So she
agreed to write the
column under the name
E.B Diseko. The column,
Punch Drunk, was a bug
up Levendale’s nose.
Every issue, he’d pitch up
at Elizabeth’s office
complaining about what
she’d written. Plenty of
night’s at Gino’s, the local
work hangout on the
ground floor of their
office block, once
Levendale got enough
Black Label flowing in his
system, he could be
heard spouting off about
how a sports magazine
had no place for women.
Since Elizabeth was there
(albeit the only woman
besides the tea lady in
the office) there must be
a place for some women
at a sports magazine, and
Elizabeth suspected any
woman who could
tolerate Levendale
earned a place next to
her. Elizabeth learned to
accept that Levendale
was a sexist pig and
nothing in this lifetime
would shift him from that
position. The world
would just have to wait
for him to move on to
the next life where, one
could only hope, he came
back as an equality-
committed sea slug.
“Gimba Kwabizani wants
to prove that he’s the
best heavyweight boxer
South Africa has ever
produced. He can only do
that if he gets a fight
with The Hitman. He’s the
only IBF heavyweight
who never lost his belt.
And in any case, the
Hitman was just a kid in
2001 when he won the
title. He was like 20,
that’s make him only 31
now. We don’t know
what he’s been doing, he
disappeared, we don’t
know where he went.
Maybe he’s been boxing
in Cuba or something. For
all we know he might be
at his prime. Besides, it’s
not like it’s some wild
request from left field.
Felix Steyn has been
insinuating that his boxer
is fit and ready to get
back into the ring at any
time. In my column I’m
just speculating about
what the problem might
be. That’s all.”
“Calling The Hitman a
coward is not going to
make you any friends.”
Elizabeth smiled up at
Levendale. “Unlike you,
Levendale, I have enough
friends.”
Levendale stormed out
just as Marea arrived. She
poked her head around
the door, “Is it safe?”
She was dressed in her
normal Marea way: green
tights to match her
currently green hair, a
black leather mini skirt,
black Bob Martins, a
green blouse with a ruffle
down the front and a
playing card, the queen
of hearts, hanging from a
loop in her ear. Marea
and Elizabeth had been
best friends since primary
school, and she’d always
been dressing weird, but
still, each day was a
surprise- even for
Elizabeth.
“What’s with the queen
of hearts?” Elizabeth
asked as Marea plopped
down in the only other
chair in the tiny
windowless office.
“It’s all about love. I may
have met someone.”
Marea smiled.
“Ooo… tell me more!”
“He moved into my
building, one floor up. So
far no woman in the
picture. We met in the
elevator. There was a
connection. I’m feeling
him, that’s all I’m saying
for now. I don’t want to
jinx it.”
Elizabeth pulled her
handbag out of her
bottom desk drawer. “Is
it okay if I invited Zakes
to join us for lunch?”
“Errrr… I don’t know. You
know how it is…it’s still
sort of weird me and h….”
She stopped talking
when Zakes walked in.
Zakes was the magazine’s
football reporter. He
wore his usual:
Manchester United T-shirt
and jeans. He had a
compact footballer’s body
thanks to years of playing
the sport like an addict.
This was in direct
contrast to his silly,
boyish face with the
deepest dimples
Elizabeth had ever seen
on a man.
Marea popped up from
her chair and gave him a
kiss on the cheek. Her
voice suddenly all jolly
and accommodating.
“Really wonderful to see
you, Zakes. Elizabeth tells
me you’ll be joining us
for lunch. I’m so pleased.” |
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