Deeply immersed in my thoughts, I nearly jumped when all the lights came on, illuminating the auditorium. I blinked and looked up.
Roger noticed me then. His face broke into a surprised smile. “Soorya! I didn’t see you come in. When did you get here?”
“A little while ago.”
He hurried down the steps and toward me. “Did you get to see any of it?” he asked, gesturing to the stage behind him.
“The last half hour or so,” I lied. It had been closer to an hour, but I felt a bit like a voyeur, sitting in the dark and observing him silently.
The familiar scent that clung to him reached me as he came closer, making me feel a bit woozy. “So, what did you think?”
“I’m impressed, Roger. In just a few weeks you’ve made tremendous progress.”
He sank into the chair beside mine. “But I still have a long way to go.” He clapped to get the attention of the chattering cast members on the stage.
A few other men and women had joined the ones in the two scenes and the noise level was up, so Roger had to whistle to get them to listen. “Let’s call it a day. Tomorrow morning we start at eight sharp. No tardiness, please, and I don’t want any excuses, either.” After that curt order his tone relaxed and warmed. “So, who’s still up for pizza?”
Four hands went up while the rest started to gather their coats and bags. I assumed the ones who weren’t joining the pizza party were folks with families to go home to.
A bit disappointed that Roger hadn’t mentioned going out to eat, I pondered if I should get out of the building with the departing cast members and go directly home. I’d feel safer with people around me than standing outside by myself, waiting for a taxi to show up.
Roger excused himself to talk to the people getting ready to leave. He gathered them around and talked in hushed tones and I noticed them nodding at whatever he said. I’d never thought of Roger as a managerial type, but these folks seemed to listen to him, respect him.
The four that had opted for pizza grabbed their coats and started walking toward me, with Roger bringing up the rear. He introduced them to me. “Soorya, I want you meet my coworkers. This is Carrie Blatt,” he said, indicating the pretty redhead who was making me jealous.
I offered her my hand. “Hi, Carrie. Nice job. I was observing your performance.”
“Thank you so much,” she cooed, taking my hand.
I smiled back at her, wondering why she had to be so amiable. It was hard to dislike someone so full of friendly pep. With a pang I noticed Carrie was prettier up close than she was on stage. No wonder Roger looked like the king of the hill.
Then there was Satish Ayengar, the guy who happened to witness her murder in the alley; Ryan Smith, the guy who provided the background music and sound effects; and Theresa Collier, the older woman who was one of the spectators in the alley. I knew she was the clairvoyant who would eventually play a bigger role later in the drama.
I shook hands with each of them. “You guys are doing excellent work. I can’t wait to see the finished product on stage.” They looked pleased.
Roger touched my shoulder. “Guys, my friend Soorya is an attorney with a famous law firm in Manhattan.” They looked sufficiently impressed. And the fact that he had referred to me as his friend wasn’t lost on me, either.
Satish turned to me, his dark eyes taking on a curious gleam. “Have you defended any famous criminals?”
“I don’t deal with criminals,” I replied with a laugh. “I’m a boring environmental attorney and work with corporate types. Not at all glamorous.”
Satish was a pleasant young man with deep-set ebony eyes and an Indian-American accent that suited his role. He looked awfully young and boyish, although I suspected he was in his mid to late twenties. The light in his eyes dulled a bit at my response. “Not even anyone mildly famous?”
I shook my head. Thanks to television, people believed attorneys led exciting lives. The O. J. Simpson case many years ago had even glamorized district attorneys to some extent, notwithstanding the meager salary, the deplorable working conditions, and the unkind glare of negative publicity at times.
Theresa was a woman in her forties with twinkling, mischievous eyes. I liked Theresa instantly. Ryan was a bit serious, with his severe crew cut and rimless glasses.
When I asked if they’d done stage work prior to this, Carrie and Theresa nodded, but Ryan shook his head. “This is my first time as sound artist.”
“What about you, Satish?” I was interested in knowing how a desi had ended up in the world of theater. I wondered if he was like Roger, hoping to fulfill his Broadway dreams. Did he have a rich dad, too, someone who could keep supporting him while he tried his hand at show business?
“I was a drama major at NYU,” he said. “My claim to fame is bit parts in two Hollywood movies and some off-Broadway plays. Most people wouldn’t remember the skinny Indian guy sitting at the bar or cheering at the ballpark.”
“You never know what people notice or remember,” I said in an effort to encourage him.
“Say, you didn’t happen to notice the fellow carrying the water pitcher into the tent in the movie Alexander, did you?” he asked good-naturedly.
“Not really.” I liked Satish’s sense of humor.
After a few more polite words to the folks, I turned to Roger. “I think I’ll be heading home. You guys must have a lot of things to talk about.”
Roger put a restraining hand on my arm. “Soorya, come join us for pizza. We always order in when we do evening rehearsals.”
I looked at my watch. “Well, I—”
“Will you stay? We’re just going to eat in the adjoining room.”
“My diet doesn’t allow pizza.”
“I’ll order a salad for you.” Roger grinned. “Lots of red and green veggies.”
I hesitated for a moment, but the faces around me seemed friendly enough, so I nodded. Roger ushered us into a conference room, an ancient room that smelled mustier than the theater. The walls looked like they hadn’t been painted in half a century. “Soorya, welcome to our executive lounge–cum–conference room. We plan, strategize, brainstorm, and argue here, but mostly we eat here.”
“Thanks.” I looked around. An oversized wooden table and a dozen chairs with faded upholstery were the only furniture in the room. Everybody found a chair to sit in and Roger ordered dinner on his cell phone. We talked while we waited for the food.
Carrie flirted outrageously with Roger as well as the other two men. I envied Carrie’s lack of inhibition.
Satish and I talked. “So tell me about some of the roles you’ve played,” I said to him.
He reeled off a few names of movies and plays. Unfortunately I hadn’t seen any of them, so I couldn’t comment. He tilted his head toward Roger. “Mumbai to Manhattan will be my first step into a major stage show.”
“You think this will make it big?” I asked Theresa, who was sitting on my other side. She seemed to know the stage and the subject. I was curious on Roger’s behalf.
“I think so. I’m really excited about the script. It’s got potential, with its East-West mix and the current interest in multicultural themes—especially after Slumdog Millionaire became a hit movie. If it’s done right, M-to-M could be a Broadway hit. Roger has the talent and the drive.”
“You may be right,” I said. “So you hope to see your name in lights soon?” I asked, turning to Satish once again.
“I’ve waited many years to see my name in lights.” Satish’s dark eyes gleamed with hope. “Sorry, I’m probably boring you to death.”
“Not at all,” I assured him. “What do you do besides acting?”
“I work as a programmer at an investment bank.”
“Programming and acting? You’re a man of diverse talents.”
He rolled his eyes. “Programming is boring, but it pays the bills and allows me some flexibility to follow my passion.”
Boring perhaps, but stable employment and a steady income, I c
oncluded silently. Satish appeared to be a sensible man. He was also giving me the sort of attention that was flattering. I could tell he was interested. My ego was humming.
The pizza and salad arrived a few minutes later and we ate. When it was over and we’d cleaned up the table and got rid of the boxes and soda cans, I realized I’d had a good time, especially my conversation with Satish. I tried not to let Carrie’s possessive attitude toward Roger bother me. I managed to keep smiling.
Ryan and Roger went into some deep discussion about sound effects and at one point moved to the far end of the table to talk about amps and acoustics in private.
I didn’t mind one bit because Roger’s actors were fun to talk to, even Carrie. They told me stories about bloopers in some of the roles they’d played over the years and the scandalous things that went on in some dressing rooms and behind the curtain.
It was vastly entertaining to learn how celebrities behaved behind the scenes versus how they were on stage. One or two stories were so outrageous I found myself laughing out loud, making Roger glance at me across the length of the large table and smile indulgently.
It was nearly nine-thirty when the party finally broke up.
Satish shook my hand and held it for a long time. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Soorya.”
“Likewise.” I withdrew my hand just as reluctantly. I wasn’t mistaken about that look of interest in Satish’s expression. My cheeks felt warm. Why hadn’t I noticed earlier that there was something rather attractive about him? Was it the fact that he was more my type—plain vanilla?
“Maybe we’ll meet again?” He handed me a business card.
“Maybe.” I slipped the card in my bag. It gave me perverse pleasure that Roger noticed the exchange with great interest. A slight frown marred his handsome face—but it was gone in an instant.
The moment was interrupted when Carrie rose from the table and stretched. “See you guys tomorrow.”
Roger looked at her. “You need someone to walk you to the bus stop, Carrie?”
She shook her head. “My boyfriend’s picking me up. He’s waiting outside.”
Ah, Carrie had a boyfriend. That bit of information eased my mind like a good night’s sleep.
Satish left on his own while Ryan offered to walk Theresa home, which she said was only a few blocks from there.
That left Roger and me. “Soorya, don’t go out alone. I’ll walk with you to the train station,” he offered.
“That’s okay. I can get a cab,” I said.
He chuckled and nudged me out the conference room door. “Try hailing a cab in this neighborhood at this hour. You’ll be standing there all night.” Shutting off all the lights, he pulled out a set of keys from his jeans pocket and locked the door to the auditorium.
As we climbed the stairs toward the foyer, I turned to him. “That reminds me. Why did you pick this place for rehearsals? It’s scary.”
“Take a wild guess.”
“Low rent?”
“Correct. And convenience.” He opened the front door for me and followed behind, then used the keys once again and locked the massive door. “It’s used mostly by community theater and off-Broadway productions for rehearsals. It’s a popular place. I was lucky to get it on short notice.”
We started walking toward the train station, which Roger said was only a couple of blocks. The stores were closed now, and the shutters drawn. The bar-restaurant was still open and the music still playing. The street looked nearly deserted. My disquiet returned.
Roger must have sensed my anxiety, because he patted my arm. “Don’t worry. It’s not as unsafe as it looks.” He gave me one of those easy smiles of his. “I’m a brown belt in karate, if it helps any.”
“Really?” One more thing that seemed so out of place with this odd man. But it was entirely possible he was telling the truth. I’d detected some steely strength in those long arms and chest when he’d hugged me the other day. I just hadn’t made the connection then.
He shrugged. “When my sister took tap dancing and violin lessons, I was expected to find something appropriate for a boy. I picked karate.”
“Not just picked but excelled at, apparently.” It appeared that he did well in most whatever he picked.
“Turned out that I enjoyed it,” he said.
“Just like you enjoyed theater arts,” I prompted.
The subway station had a lot more people, making me feel much better. There were even a few business people and several student types on the platform, probably from my old alma mater, Columbia University, which wasn’t too far from there.
We had a few minutes to kill before our train was scheduled to arrive. We talked, mostly about the play. Roger was deep into designing the playbill. He told me what it cost to get one printed.
I was aghast. “But it’s an itsy-bitsy flyer. Why would that cost so much?”
“That itsy-bitsy booklet is a work of art, Soorya. It needs designing, professional photographs, color graphics, attractive front and back covers, and ads. It requires excellent writing and editing, too.”
“All that for something people sit on, step on, fan themselves with, roll and toss at the end of the play?”
“Sad, isn’t it? It means nothing to anyone else but those of us who are directly involved.”
I agreed. Poor Roger wasn’t likely to see any profits coming out of this venture. Maybe never. If, and it was a huge if, the play ever made it big, it would probably be months, or years, before he actually took home a paycheck.
Probably guessing my train of thought, Roger nodded. “Yeah, it’ll be a long time before I go to the bank to make a deposit instead of a withdrawal.”
All the more reason why I had to keep him at a safe distance, I reminded myself. And it was a good thing he’d moved on since our first meeting and the subject of marriage. Being married to a guy like Roger would mean dealing with the fact that I’d be the sole breadwinner in the family.
He’d be working long hours and putting a lot of effort and creativity into a job that could bomb in the end, and there would be no income. Only debts—and frustrations—and shattered dreams. It was an alarming thought.
And what would that do to a relationship, when roles were more or less reversed—the woman paying the bills and keeping the home fires burning while the man did more or less female things like dabbling in the arts? What would it do to the male ego and the woman’s psyche?
Despite my negative thoughts I sent Roger an encouraging smile. “You’ll get there one of these days. You’ve got a dedicated crew and you’ve got the talent and determination.”
“Thanks, Soorya. You’re a good friend,” he said and patted my arm again. “You’re welcome to come and watch our rehearsals any time.”
“I just might do that.” I noticed his use of the word friend again.
“I’m sure Satish will be happy to see you, too,” Roger said. “Looks like you’ve made a conquest with Satish.”
I laughed. “Girls like me don’t make conquests, Roger.”
“You could have fooled me. Satish was definitely drooling.” His eyes hardened a bit. Again, it was a mere flash.
“Nice to have a guy drooling, I suppose.” Despite my lack of acting skills, I did my best to look nonchalant. Nevertheless I was flattered by Satish’s interest. And I was dying to know if Roger was at least a little bit jealous. If he was, he wasn’t showing it.
Instead he took me by surprise by asking, “What are you doing on Friday evening?”
“Nothing in particular.” I gave him a wary look. “Why?”
“Want to go with me to the Ganesh Temple in Flushing?”
I hadn’t thought of Roger as the religious type. When he had touched Pamma’s feet I’d assumed it was more a cultural gesture rather than religious. But then he’d been throwing me one curve after another. “You are going to a temple?” I asked.
“Something wrong with that?”
“Nothing wrong. I just can’t picture you as a temple
-going, devotional kind of individual.”
He smiled a slow, deliberately calculated smile that made my bones melt and shift a little. “You don’t know a lot about me, Mizz Giri.”
“So what are you going to do at the temple?”
“Pray for the Lord’s blessings, of course. I could use a lot of those, as you know.”
I clucked my tongue and slapped his hand. “The truth, Roger.”
He pretended to soothe the imaginary wound I’d inflicted on the back of his hand. “Okay, Satish’s uncle and aunt are performing a puja at the temple, and I’m invited to it and the prasadam dinner. I was asked to bring along a friend if I wanted to.”
“So I’m the friend you thought of asking?” A puja was an elaborate ritualistic religious ceremony and prasadam was the feast offered first to God and then fed to the guests—consecrated food. So anyone who ate the meal reaped the peripheral blessings surrounding the occasion. It was a privilege to be invited to a puja and a prasadam meal.
“You’re the one friend who’s likely to know all about the temple and maybe even enjoy the visit,” said Roger.
Going to the temple with Roger was tempting, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to encourage him too much. Visiting a temple together was something typically done by engaged or married couples in our culture. And I didn’t want to give Satish or his relatives the wrong impression. Did I want to risk that?
On the other hand, was this a deliberate move on Roger’s part to send a subtle message to Satish that Roger and I were indeed a couple? But then he’d gone out of his way to call me his friend. I wished I knew what Roger was up to this time around. Beneath what appeared to be a forthright and uncomplicated personality I was beginning to discover some deep, complex layers.
So I made up an excuse. “I work rather late on most Fridays.”
“I work late every evening. Besides, it shouldn’t matter if we’re delayed. You know how laid-back Indian gatherings are. People trail in at whatever time they feel like.”
“Yeah, but still—”
“Why don’t you call me on Friday when you’re ready to leave the office? We’ll take the train together into Flushing.”
The Full Moon Bride Page 15
