“Miranda! Oh hello! How are you?” She says, trying to tame the enthusiasm in her voice.
“Well, pretty well, but also not so good. I mean, I’m still not drinking –”
“That’s fantastic, good for you,” Nasreen gushes.
“Yes, it is an accomplishment. But I think I may have ended our sessions prematurely. There are some more things I’d like to discuss with you if you can still see me.”
“Yes, no problem, Miranda.”
“I understand I may have to go back on the waiting list.”
“Yes, that’s a consideration, but let me see what I can do to shorten the time. Can I call you back tomorrow? I was just on my way out and I will need to check with our administrator about the wait list.”
“Yes, fine, that’s OK. I’m booked up for the next month anyway, so I wouldn’t want to start until after that.” Nasreen hangs up the phone, makes a notation in her agenda and locks her door. To new beginnings, she thinks.
She heads off to dinner with Asha and Mona, who, except when Nasreen brings them together, don’t tend to see one another. There seems to be a tacit understanding that since Mona and Asha met through Nasreen they should continue to convene with her as their link. Nasreen sometimes wonders about this, especially because her two friends get along famously.
As Nasreen walks south on Spadina, she sees Mona stepping down from the northbound streetcar.
“Wow, I thought I’d be late. I was at a housing squat in the west end,” Mona says breathlessly, as she hugs Nasreen. Mona’s organization has been taking over vacant buildings all over the city by rallying people to squat in them. So far the city has agreed to convert some of those buildings into low-cost housing.
“Think you’ll get this one?”
“We think so. Octavia Morales, the councillor for the neighbourhood, is pretty sympathetic.” They join Asha inside and Nasreen notices Asha surreptitiously checking her watch as they approach. Asha is always the first to arrive, and punctuality is her hallmark. If she is irritated by their ten-minute tardiness, she doesn’t show it. She gives each woman a Montreal-style kiss on both cheeks.
This busy Chinatown restaurant has been their regular meeting spot for the last couple of years. “Cheap and cheerful” is how Mona likes to describe it, and it has enough “real Chinese food” to suit her second-generation Canadian-Taiwanese tastes. Even better is that it’s popular with many of the lesbians of colour around town. Nasreen surveys the room and waves to a couple at one of the back tables. As she sits down, she whispers to her friends, “Don’t tell me they are back together again!”
“I know, it is masochistic, isn’t it?” Mona whispers, “They keep going back and forth, splitting up with a dramatic flourish and then moving back in together. Simone should go and find somebody else and stop settling for that two-timer. Simone is the marrying type.”
“And Lucy is definitely not,” say Asha with a smirk. She and Lucy were classmates and then lovers for a short period last year. “And by the way, she isn’t a two-timer. She is non-monogamous and Simone has always known that. Do you know she’s even doing her dissertation on the politics of polyamory? If Simone can’t deal with that, she should stop taking Lucy back.”
“Yeah, they really seem incompatible. I mean, Simone is one of the lead organizers of that whole gay marriage fight. Did you see her on the news last week? She’s quite articulate,” adds Nasreen.
“Yup, she’s smart, and beautiful and butch. She’d be just right for me,” sighs Mona.
“Or me,” says Nasreen, reading the menu.
“I’m not so sure,” says Asha, “Her politics are pretty conservative compared to yours. Come on, there have to be more important struggles out there than gay marriage. As if we all want to be like suburban straight people!”
“It’s not an issue high on my own personal agenda. But I’m glad someone finds it important. It’s a right we should have, even if we don’t want to get married ourselves, isn’t it?” Nasreen asks while trying to make eye contact with the waiter.
“Whatever her politics, she is cute. And you have to agree that there is a real shortage of single butches in this town,” Mona says, trying to make eye contact with Simone.
They drink tea and chat while they wait for the food to arrive. They talk about Asha’s professors, homelessness in Canada, and Mona’s recent fling with a woman in her late-fifties. There is a pause in the conversation and Asha gestures mischieviously to Nasreen with raised eyebrows.
“So, don’t you have some news to share with us, Nas?” Nasreen was hoping that Mona’s affair would be titillating enough to carry them through the meal, but unfortunately Mona tends toward brevity in her descriptions about her love life.
“So how did the meeting go with our so-called straight Gujarati teacher? Did she kiss you again, Nas?”
“Huh, who’s kissing you?” says Mona, sipping her tea.
“We met at a coffee shop. Of course she didn’t kiss me again,” says Nasreen. “And speaking of coffee shops, did I tell you both that Connie is now working for Coffee Love? Mona, isn’t there still a boycott on them for their labour practices?”
“Don’t try to change the subject, Nas. So what happened between you and our lecherous Gujarati teacher?”
“What? I’m missing something. What’s going on? Someone fill me in. And yes you already told us about Connie and Coffee Love. That’s old news. Tell me about the Gujarati teacher,” Mona says excitedly.
“May I?” Asha asks. Nasreen nods miserably. Asha tells Mona the backstory, with a few exaggerated descriptions that Nasreen corrects. “So what happened when you met up with her afterwards?”
“Well, she apologized, and said that it wouldn’t happen again and we both agreed to move on and return to the way things were before it happened.”
“That’s it?” Mona looks disappointed.
“She did admit that she has been attracted to me for a while,” Nasreen concedes.
“Shall I say I told you so?” Asha teases.
“No, that’s OK. Anyway, when Asha and I told her that we’re lesbians, or ‘that way’, as she puts it, she got triggered to thinking about her younger days when she had a girlfriend in India.”
“That way? I haven’t heard anyone say that for a long time,” mutters Mona.
“Yeah, well, she just dated that one woman. Then she went on to do what was expected of her and got married and so on and so on. You’ve heard the story before. And when she told me it all, she started to cry. I held her hand to comfort her and then all of a sudden she was kissing me.”
“Wow. Your Gujarati teacher kissed you,” says Mona. “And you weren’t there to see it, Ash?”
“Of all nights to be sick in bed, huh?” Asha says, laughing.
“Hey, there’s one more thing. Did I tell you that her husband works where I do? He works as a janitor there. But he’s really an underemployed accountant who can’t find a job because he doesn’t have Canadian experience.”
“Wow. So Salma is really a lesbian and compulsory heterosexuality forced her to get married to an accountant who is now a janitor because of racism in Canada,” deduces Asha.
“And now your stunning beauty is breaking through the bonds of her oppression,” adds Mona dramatically. “It’s so like that movie, what’s it called? Wind? Earth? No, it’s Fire. You know the Deepa Mehta film?”
“Ah yes, I see it!” Asha says excitedly, “Nas is the younger woman just married into the family and Salma is like the older, unhappy sister-in-law –”
“It’s not like that at all!” Nasreen protests, holding her hands up in the universal sign for “stop.” Smirking, she adds, “Come on, please, let’s not get overdramatic about this. I can’t take any more drama in my life. It was just a kiss. But I would generally agree with your point about my stunning beauty having an effect on her.”
&
nbsp; “Of course, that goes without saying,” says Asha.
“But that effect doesn’t include breaking through any bonds of oppression. Things are going to go pretty much back to normal,” Nasreen insists.
“And you are just going to forget about that kiss? Asha said you liked it,” Mona asks, eyebrows raised.
“She is a good kisser,” Nasreen says, sitting up in her chair, trying to shake off the memory of Salma’s warm lips on her own, “I suppose it felt good to be kissed. You know, to have someone be interested? I’ve been feeling a little, well, undesired since the break-up with Connie.” Her friends go quiet and nod in understanding. With their full attention, she continues, “But there is a difference between desire and acting on desire when it is not appropriate. There is no way that I would take this any further with a woman who is essentially unavailable to me.”
“Hah! You’re such a therapist! I hope your therapy-speak reasoning goes for Connie too, girlfriend,” Mona says as she helps herself to the tofu that has just arrived, “Sorry to be so rough on you, but don’t you think she is essentially unavailable to you too?”
“Uh huh, that’s very true, Nas. You have to take that extremely wise sentiment and transfer it over to that fabulous ex of yours. No more processing and doing closure while shagging her on the couch.”
“Good point, Asha. I second that!” Laughs Mona.
“Thanks very much for that wonderful advice,” Nasreen says wryly. “Let’s eat before this gets cold.”
Chapter 25
“SHAFFIQ, THERE YOU ARE.” Ravi comes around the corner, his vacuum cleaner in tow, relief written all over his round brown face.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. Things are very right! Very, very right! But I need a favour from you. It’s very last minute, I know, but if you could do this one thing for me, I will owe you forever, man.” Ravi says, bouncing from one foot to another.
“OK, OK, just tell me what you need.”
“Angie’s parents went to Detroit for a funeral today, and they will be away for a few days. Angie wants me to take tonight off so I can have some time with her. You know, time alone, overnight?” he says, elbowing Shaffiq in the ribs. “Can you do my floors? Work the extra hours? I don’t want to ask James unless I am already covered. I’ll tell him I’ve suddenly got a migraine or something. You know how he gets if you ask for time off at the last minute.” Ravi looks at Shaffiq, desperation in his eyes.
“My goodness, my friend. You do have it bad for this Angie! Giving up a day’s wage to spend time with the girl! This must really be serious!” Shaffiq teases, prolonging Ravi’s agony.
“It’s just that, well, I’d like to spend a whole night with her. You know what I mean? She is always having to sneak back upstairs when it gets late so that her parents won’t suspect anything. Or, it’s me who is leaving to come in here for the night shift. We just want a night or two together.”
“When are you going to tell her parents so that you don’t have to keep sneaking around like that?”
“Soon, soon. It will happen. Can you do the shift?” Ravi asks, his brows furrowed, his eyes wide.
“Of course, Ravi. It’s no problem. But be careful! Don’t get caught!”
Ravi’s plump face widens with his smile.“I’ll be careful! Thanks! Thanks so much! I’ll go tell James right now!”
Shaffiq watches Ravi walk away, the rush of love in his gait. He smiles at his friend’s youthful joy. Then, for the very first time in his marriage, he calculates the frequency of his lovemaking with Salma.
On the fourth floor, Nasreen hears the squeak of Shaffiq’s cleaning cart coming to rest in the hallway outside her office door. She looks up from her computer and sees him in the corridor, struggling with a black garbage bag. For a brief moment, she considers pretending she doesn’t see him. After all, he is the husband of the woman who kissed her. Has Salma said anything to him?
“Hi Nasreen. How are you tonight? Still here I see. You want me to come back later? Am I disturbing you?” Nasreen looks at the janitor, wondering which question to answer first.
“No, that’s alright. You aren’t bothering me. Hey, Shaffiq, I haven’t seen you for a while.”
“Yes, I only come up here to cover the shift for Ravi. He is off tonight.” Nasreen looks at Shaffiq’s tired face, tries to interpret his expression. Does he know? She takes a deep breath.
“Hey you know what? I forgot to tell you that I met your wife.”
“Yes? My wife. You met Salma?” He feels his jaw tighten slightly and sends a message to his brain to calm down.
“Yes, she is my Gujarati teacher.”
“Oh my, you have been to my home? What a coincidence. She is your teacher?” Shaffiq tries to maintain a neutral expression, the way detectives do on the cop shows he watches.
“Yes, we were talking some time ago and she mentioned that her husband works here and I guessed it was you. I saw your photo in the bedroom, you know the wedding picture?” Nasreen wonders if she has revealed too much already. Will he wonder why she has been in his bedroom?
“So strange how things are. Such a small world. You told her that you knew me?” Shaffiq wonders why Nasreen was in his bedroom.
“Yes, I said that I had met you a few times. She didn’t tell you?” Shaffiq shakes his head. Nasreen has her answer. Does that make her complicit in the secret? “Well, anyway, she’s a good teacher.”
“Oh yes, she taught English literature in Bombay, you know. She is probably better in English than her mother tongue. But she likes teaching Gujarati. I think she likes teaching anything.” Shaffiq racks his brain to think up a way to ask Nasreen about the green blouse, about her telephone call to his wife.
“She is a good teacher,” Nasreen says again brightly.
“Yes, she is.” Not finding the words he’s looking for, he searches Nasreen’s expression for guilt and sees none. No, I shouldn’t ask her about all that, he decides.
“She should try to get a job at a school here.”
“Well, we looked into it. She has her accreditation now, but she needs more courses to get a job in Toronto. There is no time for that with the children. And it will be expensive. Perhaps in a few years.”
“Well,” Nasreen rolls her chair backward towards her computer, “I guess I should finish up here so I can go home.”
“Yes, well, I will see you next time. Bye then.”
Shaffiq walks away, reflecting on his wife’s omission. Why would she not tell him that her favourite student works in the same place as he? But he can’t really question her, can he? He has known for some time that Nasreen is Salma’s student. He has kept the fragile secret to himself all this time just as Salma has. The only one not hiding anything is Nasreen. Or perhaps she is and she just has a crafty way of appearing innocent?
Shaffiq wishes he could dislodge the sense of suspicion and conspiracy teasing his mind. He wonders if these secrets mean anything or are just trifling distractions. The truth must be that they are all innocent: Nasreen, Salma, and himself. After all, he’s done nothing wrong by not telling Salma that he already knew. Likewise, maybe Salma just forgot to tell him and there must be some kind of misunderstanding about the mystery of the phone call Nasreen made to Salma the other night. Shaffiq resolves to watch less TV on his time off, especially those crime shows. He should be using his time for job searches, for upgrading. He has to keep looking for a better job. He can’t stay in this place forever.
Chapter 26
THREE DAYS LATER, within the yellow-grey walls of the Institute, a pair of Indian janitors laugh over tea and pav bhajji. Ravi is entertaining Shaffiq with his girlfriend troubles.
“You laugh now, Shaffiq, but it was a little tense there for awhile. You know, Angie and I thought her parents were going to be in Detroit longer than that. Then they came home, two bloody days early, an
d of course the first thing that bastard does, before even unpacking, he wants to come and collect the rent. Right away Angie hid in the closet and stayed there until I could write a cheque.”
“He didn’t suspect anything?”
“I don’t think so. She went home a little later and told them she had been out at the store. She even took an unopened carton of milk from my fridge to make it look good. But I drink homo, not two-percent like them. I’ll have to ask her how she explained that!”
“You were lucky! So did you have a good time while they were away?” Shaffiq winks at Ravi.
“Oh, boy, it was the best. We didn’t worry about anyone hearing us. She even cooked me dinner upstairs, in their house. It almost felt like we were a married couple.”
“Imagine if they’d come home to see you, their basement tenant, sitting at their kitchen table seducing their daughter!”
“We were just having supper. She made me cannelloni. I’ve never had that before. It’s good! You ever tried it?” Shaffiq shakes his head. “It’s this tube-like pasta dish with tomato and meat sauce, but she made it vegetarian for me and so –”
“Arré, continue with the story, I don’t need the recipe, man!”
“OK, OK. Anyway, we are lucky that the parents didn’t find out. But you’re right, there would have been trouble. You know, Shaffiq, since almost being caught, Angie and I have gotten more serious. She wants to hurry up and tell her parents the truth so we don’t have to hide our relationship anymore.”
“So the day is finally coming. No more sneaking around for you.”
“Well, what I’m thinking is that we could do it … if we were engaged first. You know, they might accept me better if I am not the boyfriend, but the fiancé.”
“Has she said yes?”
“I haven’t officially asked. I want to. But first I feel I should tell my Ma. I want to do things in the proper order.” He shakes his head miserably, “I’m afraid of what she is going to do, when she finds out.”
“Yes, yes,” Shaffiq commiserates, considering Ravi’s dilemma. He doesn’t need to ask what her reaction will be. “But maybe it won’t be so bad? Maybe she’ll understand with time.” Shaffiq doesn’t really believe the false optimism, but doesn’t know what else to say.
Stealing Nasreen Page 23
