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She stares at me, unbelieving.

'Cos I didn't use to. I reckoned it was all time wastage, you know?' And this is true, kids. I was big-time ambition once, Masters in literature, novel ambitions, before the cast, before the sugar, before the girls. 'When I was a kid, I only ever used the educationals.'

This riles her. 'You can't simplify like that. It's all blurred now, the lines between education and entertainment.' And I've hooked her.

'What, like the kids' games? That Moxyland shit? Murder and mayhem. Training them to be savage, don't you think? It's not about making friends with kids all over the world, it's about getting ahead, getting one over.'

'But don't you think it's appropriate? Considering.'

'The world, you mean? That's a tad harsh. Is that it? Won't they learn that shit later?'

'All right. So, what should they be learning?'

'Compassion? Empathy? How to get along? Life skills?'

'You're an idealist.'

I shrug, all modest coy, as if she's bust me. I look down at my drink, cos the tequila has arrived on the conveyor that runs between the terminals, so the players won't be distracted by comings and goings, so they'll stay longer, spend more money.

'To compassion.' She grins with a sardonic twist to her mouth, taking the tequila.

'To beautiful women with a mean sarcastic streak,' I toast back.

Later, Julia comes back to the swivel with me. They always do.

Lerato

The date goes much better than I'd anticipated, but for all the wrong reasons. Stefan is as craggily beautiful as his profile photograph, and smart and lucid and engaging and funny and refined – and gay as a rainbow bumper-sticker.

'I fucking knew it,' I say, sipping on a papaya mojito, which he's taken the liberty of ordering for both of us because it's Gravity's speciality. Gravity isn't my first choice of afterhours, but in its favour, entry is strictly corporate pass, so you don't have to deal with pleb civilians. And it's set on the 44th floor of the Vodacom building on a revolving floor, so the view rotates around you at a gentle clip, mountain-city-sea, ideal for those with a short attention span for the spectacular.

'I'm sorry?' he says, slightly taken aback. Normally, I enjoy the deft manoeuvring around what can't be said, the subtle, skilful politicking of negotiations. I had an Iranian friend, Shaheema, who taught me the finer tactics of never saying what you mean, when she came out on exchange to Communique from the Emirates office. It's as useful in the secular corporate environment as in Persian culture. Which is not to say I'm prepared to abandon subtlety altogether when monitoring is a real concern. I lean forward, exposing maximum cleavage, and touch his arm.

'We're both adults, Stefan. We both know why we're here. Why don't you and I just skip straight to the main course.'

'Uh – I thought perhaps we could just have a quiet drink, get to know each other.'

'We could go back to my place. But I have a roommate, which might make it tricky, if we're to make all the noise we want. What about yours?'

He's utterly confused, the poor thing, but then his eyes crinkle and he half suppresses a smile, shaking his head. 'I thought you were serious. I have an audio interference, if that's what you're worried about.' He clicks the silver pen lying on the table beside his notebook. 'We can make all the noise we like. No spyware's going to pick it up.'

I toy with the glass, keeping up the flirtatious masquerade for the sake of anyone watching. 'And how do I know you're not with…'

'Internal investigations? That this isn't a setup?'

'I do have a history, Mr. Thuys.'

'Don't we all, Ms. Mazwai. I'm afraid I don't have anything to offer to allay your fears. You'll just have to trust me.'

'Give me a secret. One that I can verify.'

'Why?'

'Leverage.'

'I'm not in the habit of trading secrets with beautiful women, especially not so they can blackmail me.'

'Only beautiful boys?' I've managed to get under that buffed and exfoliated and moisturised skin.