Under the Sunset Series is a series of short stories I write using visual art depictions of Black women or girls as my prompt/inspiration. Disclaimer: Adult Content
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Amahle frustratingly rambles as she searches through her closet.
“Where are my lynx coats? Maybe the bobcat print?”
“Towards the back, ma’am,” Umi responds as she walks into the closet right next to the Russian sables.
“Ah yes, that’s the one. That’s the one. Not the lynx but the Russian sable. The full length or waist length?”
Umi reaches to pull the coats down for Amahle. Amahle taps her arm.
“Please, please, I can do it. Have a seat. I can do it. You’re not working today.”
Amahle hums softly.
“It’s a celebration… a life celebration.”
Umi shakes her head in confusion.
“Yes ma’am,” Umi says.
“You are here as my friend only today. You can stop calling me ma’am.”
“Yes ma—”
Umi corrects herself.
“Amahle.”
Amahle steps out of the closet holding her full-length Russian sable in one hand and the waist length in the other. She walks to the mirror.
“Full length or waist?”
“Full. I love the full one,” Umi says.
“Full it is.”
Amahle throws the full-length coat on her bed and heads back into the closet.
“Okay, let me get my shoes and then we can head to the office.”
“Okay, I’ll head down to the office.”
“No, Umi stay. Sit. Keep me company.”
“Um… yes ma’am.”
Amahle peeks her head out of the closet.
“Yes, Amahle,” Umi corrects herself.
Amahle winks and disappears back into the closet.
Umi hears her rummaging.
“The shoes are in alphabetical order by designer’s name from left to right,” Umi says nervously as she sits on an ottoman bench. “The lightest color of the shoes start on the left and they work their way down to the darkest color toward the right.”
“Ah yes, yes, yes. I see now.”
“With that outfit you should probably go with the lighter color,” Umi says.
“Great minds think alike,” Amahle responds. “I’ll do the white - P, Q, R, S - Saint Laurent. The white Saint Laurents.”
Amahle pulls down the shoes, puts them on, and walks out of the closet. She sits at her vanity.
“How much time do we have?”
“It’s a quarter to,” Umi says. “He’ll be here shortly.”
Amahle finishes her makeup.
A little bronzer. A nude lip.
“Glasses or no glasses?”
She opens a drawer filled with frames.
“Glasses, glasses… glasses.”
She selects a pair and puts them on.
“Alright, let me put this coat on.”
Umi grabs the coat to help her put it on. Amahle takes it from her hand and walks to the mirror.
She studies herself.
“Yes, yes, yes. It’s coming together but something’s missing and I can’t quite figure out what it is. The Esquire is one of those irritating PETA people, so I know this coat is going to piss him off with his fine specimen self.”
She chuckles.
Umi smirks and walks into the closet. She returns with a jewelry box.
“Studs. Not dangling,” Umi suggests, holding the box open.
Amahle touches her ears.
“Ugh, Umi, what would I do without you? Getting ready to walk down there with naked ears. An abomination.”
She picks out diamond studs and puts them in.
“Yes, yes, yes. This is it.”
She sings again.
“It’s a celebration. A life celebration.”
“Do I need a purse? A briefcase?”
“No, no. This is fine as it is.”
She claps once.
“Great. Let’s go.”
They walk down the long hallway of Amahle’s family home.
The Clifton neighborhood house in Cape Town had been passed down through generations of her family. It stayed in their possession even through apartheid, when Black families were not allowed in the Clifton area.
The walls are adorned with family history. Portraits dating back to 1806. Framed artwork from coveted artists like Julie Mehretu and Basquiat. Family heirlooms. Porcelain sculptures.
“Do you think the office is a good place for this meeting?” Amahle asks. “Or should we meet in the day room and have Bandile bring in tea? I want this to feel less formal.”
“Interesting,” Umi says.
“What Umi?”
“I mean, pardon me, but you are dressed formally. Fur and all. But you expect this meeting to be less formal?”
“Absolutely!” Amahle says. “The event can’t be more formal than the host.”
She taps her chest.
“I am the event.”
They burst out laughing.
“Sing it with me Umi.”
She sings.
“It’s a celebration… a life celebration.”
Umi rolls her eyes.
“How about we meet in the atrium?” Amahle decides. “It has a natural glow and we can look into the courtyard.”
“Should we have tea?” Umi asks.
“Tea is always a great addition to any meeting.”
“Can I ask what this meeting is about and why it’s with Mr. Khumalo of all people?”
“You cannot,” Amahle says.
She starts singing again.
“It’s a cele—”
Umi cuts her off.
“Fine. I’ll go arrange the tea service.”
“No, I’ll go to the kitchen and ask Nomsa to have Bandile bring tea in about twenty minutes. I will meet you in the atrium.”
“Amahle, its ok, I can go to the kitchen.”
“No. You are not working today. Go to the atrium.”
Amahle walks away.
When she reaches the kitchen, Nomsa is sitting at the table reading.
“Sweet Nomsa.”
“Ma’am. Everything okay?” Nomsa stands.
“Everything is fine. Listen, in about twenty minutes please have Bandile bring tea and any crumpets you might enjoy to the atrium. Tea for four. It will be me, the Esquire, Umi, and I would like for you to join us.”
“Me ma’am?”
“Join us in the atrium after you’ve let Bandile know about tea service.”
Amahle turns to leave, then stops.
“You know what… I personally would like champagne with my tea.”
Nomsa nods.
“Let’s have champagne flutes as well. And I want burgers from The NOB.”
Nomsa looks shocked.
“So tea, four champagne flutes, crumpets for anyone who’d like them, and burgers from The NOB. Oh, don’t forget the fries. And let’s do the vintage bottles of champagne from Poppa’s collection.”
Amahle smiles.
“It’s a celebration. It’s a life celebration.” She hums.
As she walks away she whispers to herself nervously.
“This is a celebration… a life celebration. Yes, that’s what it is.”
When she reaches the atrium Umi is pacing.
“Umi, sit. Relax. It’s a celebration.”
“For what, ma’am? Really. What’s happening?”
Bandile enters.
“Ma’am, Mr. Khumalo is here to see you.”
Mr. Khumalo enters.
Amahle stands.
“Our first guest has arrived!”
She hugs him tightly. The hug lingers longer than normal. Umi watches with suspicion. When they pull away Umi sees Khumalo turn away to wipe a tear from his eye.
“Have a seat,” Amahle says.
“Can we get you anything?”
“I’m fine.”
Khumalo stares at the coat.
“How many animals were sacrificed so you could wear that god-awful thing?”
“Don’t start, Esquire.”
“Should I be representing Kruger National Park in the lawsuit against you for all the animals you’ve stolen to wear on your back?”
Amahle laughs.
Khumalo smirks.
“You never understood high fashion,” Amahle says. “That thrifte suit does seem to at least fit you well today”
“Whatever, Amahle.”
Nomsa enters.
Amahle gestures to a chair.
“Nomsa, sit here.”
Nomsa and Umi exchange confused looks.
Amahle nods to Khumalo.
He opens his briefcase.
“Ladies, I have all of the documents here.”
He hands two documents to Umi and one to Nomsa.
“Umi, you need to sign both documents. Nomsa you have one to sign.”
“Sign? Wait. What is happening?”
Khumalo looks at Amahle.
“So you still haven’t told them.”
Amahle lowers her head.
“Umi,” Khumalo says gently, “this document states that Ms. Dlamani has assigned you as her power of attorney.”
“Wait… Amahle… why?”
Amahle looks at her.
“Umi, we’ve been together for years. You’re not just my assistant. You’re my best friend. You’ve taken care of me on good days and bad. There’s no one else other than you and that Type A personality of yours I’d trust more to represent me when I cannot represent myself.
Khumalo continues.
“The second document is Ms. Dlamani’s last will and testament.”
He gestures to the pages.
“She outlines her funeral arrangements, program and where her money and belongings will go. Section three outlines what you will receive from the estate.”
Umi scans the page.
“Ten million dollars every other year for the rest of my life?”
Nomsa gasps.
Khumalo continues.
“Nomsa, this document shows that Ms. Dlamani is leaving you the family home.”
Nomsa freezes.
“You’ve worked for me since I was a teenager,” Amahle says softly. “Your mother worked for my mother. This house is just as much yours as it is mine.”
Nomsa’s hands shake.
Khumalo continues.
“She has also created a trust for your children. Their schooling will be paid for. After graduation they will receive installments for ten years.”
Nomsa looks at Amahle in disbelief.
Amahle takes a breath.
“My cancer is back.”
Silence fills the room.
“I’ve decided to go to Switzerland.”
“What?” Umi says.
“I’ll be checking into the SunJoy facility and undergoing the euthanasia process.”
Bandile enters with tea service.
Amahle suddenly smiles.
“Ah! The tea is here!”
She claps her hands.
“We have crumpets. Champagne. NOB burgers!”
She lifts the bottle.
“You see? Death does not deserve the final word.”
She pours champagne.
“I do.”
She raises her glass.
“So today… we celebrate!”
“It’s a celebration. A life celebration.”
Esquire, do you have a pen in your thrift store suit jacket?
Khumalo pulls out a pen and hands it to Amahle. Amahle signs the documents and hands the pen to Nomsa.
“Ma’am,” Nomsa says, “I can summon for Mama Yanga, there are healing herbs we can use. We've done it before.”
“Yes! I’ll go to Soweto now to get her.” Umi stands up.
“I'm tired.” Amahle says.
“I just don't want to fight anymore. I'm tired of the temporary fixes. I just want you both to sign and we spend this moment celebrating together. That’s all I want.”
Nomsa signs and passes the pen to Umi.
Umi looks through tho documents and then signs.
“Let’s swim!”
Amahle kicks off her Saint Laurents.
“One last swim together.”
She laughs.
“People always cry at the end of things.”
She runs out of the atrium doors and jumps into the pool fully clothed.
“Not tonight!”
Water splashes.
“Tonight we celebrate!”
She sings loudly.
“It’s a celebration! A life celebration!”
Nomsa and Umi hold hands anf jump in.
Khumalo sighs, removes his tie, jacket, shirt and pants until he stands in boxer briefs.
“You ain’t never not been a fine man,” Amahle laughs.
He dives in.
They laugh, play Marco Polo, cry, sing, eat NOB burgers and fries, drink vintage champagne, and watch the sunset.
Eventually they fall asleep beneath the stars.
Morning sunlight warms their skin.
As they come to, they realize Amahle is gone.
“Bandile!” Umi shouts.
“I drove her to the airport,” he says. “She didn’t want to wake you.”
Amahle’s wet fur coat hangs over the chair.
“Please have the cleaner tend to this.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Later Umi stands in Amahle’s closet.
She places the white shoes back exactly where they belong.
Her phone rings.
She answers.
“Hello?”
“Yes, this is Umi Sithole”
“Yes.”
Umi closes her eyes and the tears fall.
“Yes, I Amahle Dlamani’s power of attorney.”
A pause.
Her voice cracks.
“I will be there in the morning. Thank you.”
She hangs up slowly.
Silence fills the room but the grief is loud.
Umi whispers through tears.
“A celebration.”
She wipes her face.
“A life celebration.”
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Read the other stories in the Under The Sunset Series:
