Jessica Danielle Parker: All For A Glass of Water

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
(I made Danielle a little older here...)
Sahara and Charlie have split, and Danielle is frantically planning her next move--on a beautiful day, when, suddenly, she becomes very thirsty and goes on an intercepted trip...

Submitted: March 26, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 26, 2012




I woke up later than usual, but, hey, I’d been up all night talking to Latoya, Jody, Sienna, Delilah (my relationship counselor) and Sally; discussing the gossip.

Charlie and Sahara had broken up.

“A doomed relationship,” a SQB (Secondary Queen Bee) had remarked loudly. According to Sally, they’d only gone out because everyone said they’d be good together; but, the thing was, they didn’t actually like each other. Paula commented on how, even though he was available, how low my odds were of getting him. Delilah tried to tell me (kindly, of course) that I should move on-to no avail. In the end, she just gave me all her flirting tips which included not acting too smart and acting her version of ‘normal’. i.e. white-no offence to Delilah, or anything. Latoya was having a field-day—she said if I tried hard enough, perhaps we, “could become friends!” which really means, “Hey, Danni, sorry, but you’re not going to get him. You know what? Become his friend-and maybe, no promises, because you are pretty low on the Social Pyramid-and get, perhaps, to a party he’s at. Trust me, he’s sure to have cute friends within your league!” in Latoya-speak. Sienna went on to mention a whole list of guys I actually had a chance with, would look good next to me, and were of a darker race. Afterwards, she added, “I would’ve put Vuyo on the list, but…” I could actually HEAR her lick her lips, “mmmm!” as if that were a valid explanation. Jody laughed and laughed and laughed…and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed…

What she found so damn funny forced me to hang up on her--twice.

It was Saturday and the sky was coated in bleached white, fluffy clouds, so it was cool with a warm breeze.


I decided to retreat to the cul-de-sac, somewhere I often ceased to be. It was empty there, scary, but how I knew I preferred it to be. I flicked on my phone, but there was nothing to text. Nonetheless, something came to me.

Danielle:  I wonda hu Charlie’s gonna huk up wit nw

I sent it to Jody, then relaxed, leaning back on a tree.  I took a swig from my bottle of ‘tea’ (made of lemon, honey and Rooibos-yes, I deliberately forgot water. A big mistake. It was so concentrated!). My mouth felt drier than before. I really didn’t want to return back home to fetch a tumbler of water. I knew my mum would nag about my upcoming Zulu oral. Then I remembered. Didn’t Tamzin live less than ten metres away? I’d just go and ask for a glass of water…sure, she was a QB, and I was a lowly ‘broach’ (if you think of the Social Pyramid as a jersey, the QB would be the wool…I would be a broach. Unnecessary, uncool, not to bring myself down or wallow in self-pity) I walked down, and as soon as I got to the gate it all clicked.

I was being bloody stupid!

I barely knew Tamzin. How on earth could I just waltz in-ask for some water- and then waltz out? Gosh. Sighing, I fingered the twenty rand note sitting folded up in the pocket of my hoodie. If I could just nip down to KwikSpar…

Was I seriously losing it, today? How could I just walk up to Spar?

How could I not?

I was fifteen now, I could (no, I would) be allowed to go out by myself. Mummy did say so. Hm. I quickly sent her a text saying I was just going for a quick jog off to Spar, and promptly after that, left.

Oh, crap. I’d forgotten about how hard it is going the long, uphill distance to Spar. What was I thinking? I was sweating out of every pore. I smelt worse than bull****!  Oh, jeez, I think I’ll just look at those fine looking dudes across the road checking me out to keep me going. And they were both black and built. They crossed the road to talk to me.

“Blah, di-blah kablah hlablah blah ma-blah-,” the first began. I stopped him right there.

“I don’t speak Zulu.”

The second one laughed. “He wasn’t speaking Zulu!”

“Hey, I’m Luwazi, sooo…” he wolf-whisteled, “what do I owe the pleasure of speaking to you?”

I blinked, momentarily transfixed until I realized I was jogging on the spot. I began to pick up pace.

“Hey, wait!” he called, bending over to tie his shoelace. I noticed the second, hotter guy approach me.

“Weh-he’s been rejected. But I think you’re the first girl ever to run away!” he gave me a high five. “I’m Emmanuel.”

“Did I ask?” I replied saucily, running faster. To my disappointment, he didn’t follow me, but, weirdly enough, when I arrived at Spar I noticed both Luwazi and Emmanuel waiting.

For me.

“Stalkers!” I cried. Emmanuel gave me a sad smile.

“Can I have your number?” Luwazi begged.



“NO!” I repeated, seriously starting to get scared. There was a bit of an odd glint in Luwazi’s eyes.

“Can I have a hug, at least?”

I began to hurriedly back away when I noticed a bus arrive. I jumped onto it.

Suddenly, a man turned a gun on me. It became apparent to me. Everyone in the bus had a gun-aimed at me.

I was being kidnapped. Or trafficked.

All because I wanted a bloody glass of water!

“Sit still,” ordered one person as he draped ropes around me.

Oh, heck no. I knew that happened to gullible girls who got taken. They were never found. Abused. Killed.

That was what my future was coming to???

I tried to kick someone, but to no avail. He looked like he wanted to whack me with the gun, but the driver forbid him to touch me.

“We need her looking good, Joseph, okay?”

We need her looking good.

Oh, heck no.

We pulled up in front of what looked like a broken down building, but, as soon as I walked in, realized was a club. A pretty cool club. ‘Joseph’ handed me a weird outfit and ushered me into a dressing room filled with women.

“Angeline!” Joseph called without opening his eyes into the dressing room, “can you do this one’s make-up and suit her up?”

“Course, Joey, baby,” a curvy woman replied, sauntering up and placing me in a rickety wooden chair. She did my make-up eccentric—it was stage make-up. My eyes were outlined in eye liner and I was wearing false-eyelashes (“boy-entrancers”) and bright lipstick. Angeline began to speak animatedly to me.

“Call me: Angie, Angel, Lynne or otherwise, pet, just don’t call me ‘Angeline’!  Reminds me of the awful men who brought you and Toy Poodle here. What’s your name, dear?”

“Toy Poodle?” I managed to croak despite my bitterly dry throat.

“Ooh-got a hoarse throat, eh? Would you like some Savannah?” she hooted loudly at her bad joke. “Toy Poodle’s the name. That’s what she told me! Shy, African girl. High voice-do you know her, doll? Now, please enlighten me to whatever your name is.”

“Saint Parker!” I blurted without thinking.

“Saint Parker,” Angeline repeated, looking thoughtful, “never heard of a Saint Parker before. Now, dear, go over to that girl over there serving Toy Poodle, alright?”

I nodded, and raised slowly. I walked up to Latoya and made a point of repeatedly poking her to get her attention. Her mouth dropped open as she caught sight of me.

“Dan?” she whispered.

“Latoya.” I answered. We hugged. “Jumped on a bus?”

Latoya nodded, “Lu told me it was free if the place was within a kilometre because the bus driver had won the lottery and loved his job so he didn’t quit; choosing instead to severely lower his rates. I should have known. How bloody stupid!” Latoya hit her head seven times.

“Lu? As in…”

“Luwazi, why?”

I told Latoya my story. And she filled me in. “we’re dancers. They have a big show tonight, but two of their girls bailed. They told me if we dance well and don’t mention this to anyone, they won’t touch us or make us do anything we don’t want to do and leave us alone. But, I we do squeal…well, they told ME my address.”

I blinked. “why’d you say your name was, ‘Toy Poodle’?”

“I was walking to you house! Did you tell them your name was ‘Jessica Danielle Parker’?”

I shook my head, feeling embarrassed. “I called myself ‘Saint Parker’.”


“Well, when Jody was REALLY mad at me, she called me that. And saying ‘Dan’ or ‘Danni’ didn’t occur to me because I was really angry at being so stupid.”
Latoya nodded faithfully. She understood. I stared in wonder at the sky-high heels they made us wear, along with these bright burgundy leotards. They were like shorts at the bottom, but were long sleeved with green embellishment.

They were cute.

One of the girls dyed the tips of everyone’s hair green too. We had to wear identical, green masks too, and we were also supplied with long scarves (well, all the gals on the right were-all the girls on the left were given whips…?).

Wait, here I was-kidnapped-and noting how cute the outfits they put us pole-dancers in? We were show-girls. All I had to do and jiggle this and that in front of greedy eyes and sweating hands, then escape before they could have really dirty thoughts.

Simple, eh?

The dance went marvelously, up until we had to walk into the audience to entangle men in out scarves and bend over to pick up our ‘clumsily’ dropped whips. I suddenly realized who was there.

Emmanuel and Luwazi, the dicks.

How dare they show up—after hoodwinking us!

Latoya whipped Luwazi over the back of head-or, may I say tried. He was bending over (probably to stare at our bums) ‘texting’. Emmanuel was just also texting like mad. We weren’t supposed to talk at all—I doubt the guys knew it was us, anyway, considering the masks. Latoya leaned over to see who (and what) Luwazi was texting to, and I did the same to Emmanuel; being redundant as they were texting each other! Well, IMing. It went like:

StrongaThanULu: da most innocent, sweetest, cutest chik I eva did c, nw she’s gon

EmmettMoonlight: shut up, romeo.da 1 in da hoodie’s da best. So cheeky wit me, wise 2 ur triks. She was cleva

StrongaThanULu: Yeah, but my gal was…

EmmettMoonlight: Naive?

StrongaThanULu: she trusted us. N we tuk her here

EmmettMoonlight: I’m nt hapi bout dis, bt it’s da only way we can pay 4 Lungile’s op.

StrongaThanULu: yeah, 4gt jobs etc

EmmettMoonlight: u no we need da moni nw. d’ya want ur lil bro n my cuz to die?


Luwazi began to tear up. Honestly. Latoya and I switched instruments, she delicately wiped away Luwazi’s tears with her scarf.

“Ey, voetsek! You little *****!” he swore in incomprehensible –uh, I think Xhosa, seeing as he didn’t speak Zulu. Listening to Luwazi ramble off in unknown languages reminded me of Emmanuel.


“I don’t need to pay woman to get them!” he ended off with.

“I know,” Latoya mumbled. We had to get back to the stage, the other ladies were going now. Latoya quickly lifted her mask, but couldn’t stay to watch as Luwazi’s face was contorted with shock, disbelief, relief, guilt and happiness. I stared back into Emmanuel’s eyes, and suddenly, he knew too. He blinked back at me, then continued to IM Luwazi who was SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO HIM.

For a hot, intellectual (well, I assume. It’s not like I actually KNOW him, or anything) dude, Emmanuel was…thick.

Or polite. I noticed how they weren’t shouting in loud voices, saying their perverse thoughts aloud. That was nice.

He was nice.

At the end of the show, we’d gotten so many tips I had about five hundred rand! I wasn’t happy about the men with dirty fingernail dropping it on the floor so I had to pick it up (enabling them to slap my butt at least fifty-two times!!), but, still. Latoya got a little bit less than me. Combined, we had a little under a thousand.

I looked at Latoya. Did she know what this meant?

“I know I should be happy about the money,” she rolled her eyes as we changed back into our own clothes, “but, but—not to sound like you talking relentlessly about Charlie—but, I’m thinking of Luwazi.”

“Yeah, forget Robbie!” I joked.

“Yeah.” She looked sad, until I told her my idea.

I told Latoya how odd it would look if we went out and returned with a thousand rand, how it would look fishy, and once Latoya understood my plan, she agreed.

We found Luwazi and Emmanuel still sitting (though everyone else in the audience had left)-waiting for us.

They stood up, and we stared at each other for a bit, until I handed Emmanuel my money and Latoya did the same to Luwazi. As they accepted the notes, their warm hands held mine as I hugged Emmanuel (Latoya doing the same to Luwazi).

“For Lungile,” I whisperd in Emmanuel’s ear, walking away. Into my palm he pressed a piece of paper with his number on it.  I turned around and upon reading it and took his LG Chatterbox Plus, saving my number onto the memory card—as well as Latoya’s—and going. Latoya and I took a bus (you’d have thought we’d have learnt our lesson…) home. It was about three pm now, and Latoya and I ran to my house. She called home and begged to sleep over, and all night long, we talked of nothing (and no one) but Luwazi and Emmanuel. And, that night, our dreams were dotted precariously with little fantasies containing us, together, forever.

Robbie and Charlie forgotten.

In the middle of the night, when Danni was snoring and deaf to her phone’s beeps, it rang. She had a text from Jody in response to her earlier sent one saying…


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