The Full Moon Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  On the pretext of putting away the bowls, I turned my back to him. Tears were gathering in my eyes and I didn’t want him to see them.

  I heard him breathe out a deep sigh. “But I do understand, Soorya. I was always the gawky kid with his head buried in Shakespeare and Molière when boys my age were into sports and computers and robotics. In my twenties I went around looking like a homeless bum when my classmates wore business suits. I worked in a musty community theater while they performed surgeries or sat in plush offices and had their own executive assistants.

  “My father reminded me what a loser I was no less than five times a week. I’ve been rejected by a dozen girls so far—well, thirteen, counting you. If that’s not living the life of an outcast, then you tell me what is?”

  I turned around to face him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that.” Hearing Roger’s words quickly put an end to my tears of self pity. Not for a moment had I stopped to think that he might have serious issues of his own. He always displayed such relaxed confidence. Well, now that I thought about it, he was the ultimate misfit in the Indian-American culture, with its doctors and engineers and scientists and computer geeks—especially the young Indian males.

  Why hadn’t I seen it as something that perhaps hurt him, alienated him from the other kids? He’d mentioned it the first time we’d met, during our walk in the park—the rejections, the awkwardness, everything. I’d also seen his father’s denigration of Roger firsthand. And yet, because of his looks and careless attitude, I’d dismissed it as nothing. It looked like Roger and I had more in common than I’d realized.

  He ran his fingers along the edge of the counter. “Well, now you know that Rajesh Vadepalli, or Roger, as you insist on calling me, has a few issues that he constantly battles with, just like you.”

  “I’m sorry. And for your information, Saturday’s appointment is a friendly business thing—sort of killing two birds with one stone—a little business and a little socializing with a fellow lawyer.”

  “Ah, one of those. I understand perfectly. Maybe Sunday for lunch, then?”

  “Sunday’s fine, but don’t you have a date with Charlotte or . . . the actress, Cassie?” I wasn’t quite finished grilling him. Just because he had some emotional issues, didn’t mean he wasn’t the world’s biggest flirt.

  A dark eyebrow inched up. “Are you by any chance jealous, Soorya?”

  “Of course not! Who you choose to spend your time with is your business.” The nerve, trying to put me on the spot when he saw two, maybe more, women in his spare time. All my sympathy for him melted like ice cream zapped in a microwave oven.

  “Well, for your information, the actress’s name is Carrie, and she has a steady boyfriend, a big guy with tattoos that I wouldn’t want to mess with. As for Colette, not Charlotte,” he said with a mysterious smile, “she’s my stage manager. We were discussing business the other day at the French restaurant. Just like you said—killing two birds with one stone.”

  “Ah, is that what they call a date these days—discussing business? I’ll make a note of it. It just might come in handy someday, when presenting one of my cases before a jury.”

  “Very funny. If you have to know the truth, Colette suggested dinner because we were meeting after her working hours. She works on weekends, and since I don’t exactly have an office, we had to meet somewhere.” He shrugged. “And she came up with that restaurant because she works half a block from it.”

  “Isn’t that handy? Admit it, Roger, it was a date.”

  “Fine, if you insist on calling it that.”

  “What else would you call it?” I knew I was belaboring the issue, but I couldn’t stop needling him a bit more.

  “A business dinner. Of course, I could have invited her to my little loft apartment for a glass of wine and my home-cooked chicken curry. Now that would’ve been an interesting discussion,” he added with a sly grin.

  I picked up the damp towel and threw it at him. “You are insufferable, Roger Vadepalli.”

  Catching the towel in midair, he put it back in its place and stood with his hands on his waist. “So will you go to lunch with me on Sunday, or not?”

  “Give me one good reason why I should.”

  He stood in silence for several seconds. “Because I’m interested in you. Is that good enough?” He paused. “I want to get to know you better, Soorya. I want to prove to you that I’m a nice guy. I want to show you that you’re an attractive woman who’s capable of capturing any man’s interest.”

  Stunned, I stared at him. For the first time he’d come out and admitted he was interested in me. And for the first time I actually believed he meant it when he said I was attractive. I was tempted to take a few steps forward and ask him to put his arms around me, prove to me that I could ignite a fire in him like he did in me.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. A few barriers stood in the way—not the least of which was that my family was in the next room. I couldn’t throw myself at a man, no matter how much I wanted to. Besides, self-respecting girls just didn’t do things like that.

  Like a fool I stood rooted to my spot and bit my lip. I was very rarely left speechless. Roger was one of the few people who managed to leave me in that state.

  Probably tired of waiting for my reply, he tilted his head and looked at me. “What’ll it be?”

  “Yes,” I murmured at last.

  “Excellent. I’ll pick you up at noon. I have a car now,” he said. Then he threw me a curve. “By the way, Satish wanted to know if you and I are an item.”

  “Why?” I sort of knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from Roger.

  “He’s interested in you, Soorya. Didn’t he make that abundantly clear?”

  “We’ve only had a couple of brief conversations, that’s all.”

  “He said he wanted to ask you out but didn’t know whether you and I were seeing each other.”

  “So what did you tell Satish?” I asked, hiding my grin. I was feeling like a pampered cat. It was wonderful to have three men interested in me—three very different personalities.

  “I told him I had the first claim, so he didn’t stand a chance.”

  “You didn’t!” I was flattered by all this attention, but Roger had some nerve to assume I’d fall in line.

  His response was to smile and saunter out of the kitchen, the picture of male confidence, hands in his pockets. But my heart was doing a tap dance.

  I’d done it again. I’d fallen under Roger’s spell.

  Chapter 25

  On Saturday morning, I woke up with a headache and stuffy nose. I wasn’t sure if it was my allergies or a genuine cold, but along with my antihistamine I swallowed a couple of aspirin to play it safe.

  The weather was cold and the sky a drab gray. The forecast called for snow flurries later in the day and I dreaded driving in bad weather to meet Lou. But I was going only up to Edison and not all the way to Pemberton like the last couple of visits, so I’d be driving forty-five minutes at the most. Despite the miserable feeling, I told myself I could do it.

  Lou had suggested Edison because he was interested in visiting the quaint icon known as Little India, a neighborhood filled with Indian restaurants, sari shops, jewelry and grocery stores, music shops, and novelty boutiques crammed with arts, artifacts, and souvenirs. The area even smelled of India.

  In his e-mail Lou had mentioned his interest in sampling Indian food and perhaps an Indian movie with subtitles. Lou was in for a shock to his system—spicy food, colorful clothes, accented English, and a movie with lots of dancing and singing and outlandish costumes.

  I hoped he wouldn’t get turned off by a heavy dose of ethnicity. I had a suspicion he was doing all this to learn more about my culture, in essence to please me. It was thoughtful of him.

  When the headache and stuffiness refused to go away, I called Lou on my cell from my room. “Lou, I don’t feel all that good and I hate driving in bad weather. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “
I’m sorry to hear that, Soorya.” He became quiet for a minute. “Look, why don’t you take the train to Edison and I’ll pick you up there. That way the only driving you’ll have to do is from your home to your local train station and back.”

  “I suppose I could do that.” I looked up the train schedule on the computer while I had him on the phone. “There’s one that’ll put me at the Metro Park station around noon.” Lou agreed to that.

  Mom and Dad gave me concerned looks when they noticed my red eyes and sneezing fits. “You feeling okay, princess?” asked Dad, who was sipping coffee while Mom made brunch.

  “It’s just a mild cold, Dad.” I poured myself a glass of milk. “I’ve already taken something for it, so don’t worry.”

  Seeing me dressed in outdoor clothes, Mom remarked, “Should you be going out? You’ll end up getting sick, dear.”

  Pamma looked up from her newspaper. “Too much cold outside. You stay home and rest. Good Indian movie on TV today. We all see it together.”

  I got up and put my empty glass in the sink. “Don’t worry so much, you guys. I’m just going out to lunch with some friends in Edison and then we’re going to see a Hindi movie inside a nice, warm theater. We won’t be hanging outdoors all that much.”

  “But they’re forecasting snow tonight,” Mom added.

  I shot the three of them my most cheerful smile. “I’ll be home before the snow arrives. I won’t stay out late—promise.” I patted Pamma’s shoulder. “Don’t look so grim, Pamma. I’ll be home in a few hours.”

  A half hour later, as I sat in the train, I felt guilty about having lied to my family. I tried to tell myself that theoretically I hadn’t lied. I was indeed meeting a friend for lunch and a movie. But my folks thought I was going out with a bunch of girls and boys as usual, not a single man, and definitely not someone like Lou.

  And then there was Roger flitting around in my mind. He had indicated interest in me. At last. But I still didn’t know how deep my emotions went. Lusting after a handsome face and sexy body didn’t mean permanence. I’d have to explore that a bit more tomorrow. Maybe if Roger and I saw each other a few times I’d know what my true feelings for him were. There was also the chance that he’d tire of me.

  In the meantime, I had Lou to deal with.

  Was it only three months ago that I was a woman with no men in my life? Now I was juggling two—with Satish a possible third. My new diet, despite the hunger pangs, was worth it. I wanted to howl aloud. The feeling was so damn heady, so powerful. Soorya Giri with three men claiming her attention—and all of them good-looking in their own way.

  Was this how my popular friends felt when they had to deal with more than one man chasing after them? How did they decide which one to go steady with? How did they weigh one against the others? Looks, speech, manners, education, job security, sense of humor?

  I blew my nose and pocketed the tissue, then resolved to stop analyzing the situation and enjoy the day. I hadn’t had anything beyond a glass of skim milk, so my stomach was already growling, looking forward to lunch in Edison.

  When I emerged from the train station at Metro Park, I found Lou waiting at the curb in his Explorer. He honked to catch my attention. When I climbed in he leaned over to place a warm kiss on my cold cheek. “It’s great to see you again.”

  He was wearing khakis, a brown leather jacket, and a matching golf cap. He smelled of some kind of spicy men’s cologne. My sense of smell was still somewhat alive despite the stuffed-up sinuses.

  “Likewise, Lou,” I said and fastened my seat belt.

  He touched my arm with a gloved hand. “Feeling any better, babe?”

  “A little.” He’d called me babe. Pleased with the endearment, I smiled and told him which way to turn after exiting the parking lot.

  Little India was crowded despite the unseasonable cold and the cloudy skies. I suggested eating at a North Indian restaurant that served a buffet. A buffet was always the safest choice. There was bound to be something that appealed to a first-timer.

  The restaurant’s ambience was typical—some Rajasthani prints on the walls, Indian lantern-type light fixtures, green vinyl upholstered chairs, and a buffet set up against a wall with the food served in wide copper handis.

  Hindi songs played in the background. Just as I’d anticipated, the first thing Lou asked me was why the falsetto voice sounded like high-pitched shrieking. I gave him my stock answer: “That’s Indian music for you. And this singer is considered one of the top voices in the world.”

  Poor Lou looked like his eardrums were ready to split. I asked our waiter to turn down the volume so we could eat in peace.

  Lou tried eating a variety of things from the buffet. He didn’t seem particularly pleased with anything other than the grilled chicken. For dessert we had cashew-raisin ice cream and coconut burfi accompanied by spiced tea.

  As I sipped the scalding tea and savored its aroma, I glanced at Lou. “So, what did you think of your first Indian meal?”

  “Interesting.”

  “That’s a polite way of saying you hated it.”

  “No, honestly, a couple more times and I could get into it seriously,” he replied with a grin. “I think dessert was the best part, though.”

  I made a face at him. “Can’t take the spices, eh? Where’s your sense of adventure, Lou?”

  “I ate the grilled chicken and rice.” He didn’t seem to like the tea much, either. I noticed he’d pushed his cup away with most of the tea still in it.

  “I recall a certain individual encouraging me to walk amidst the Pinelands’ snake nests, calling it an adventure, and now the same individual is afraid of a few harmless spices.” I made a tsktsk sound and finished my tea.

  Lou laughed and caught my hand across the table in both of his, sending a mild flutter up my arm. Since we were surrounded by Indians and we were already attracting curious stares, I quickly pulled my hand back. An Indian girl eating an intimate lunch with a black man was a rare sight in this milieu.

  And what if my parents’ friends were lurking around? Many of them visited Edison on weekends. I was afraid Lou might pick up my hand and place a kiss on it or something. Then I’d be in real trouble.

  An elderly woman sitting at the next table had been eyeing us nonstop since the moment we’d been seated, making me squirm in my seat. She reminded me of Pamma.

  Minutes later, it was a relief to walk out of the restaurant and those gawking, censorious eyes. I could only imagine the comments behind our backs: Did you see that Indian girl with the black man? What is the matter with our girls these days? They cannot find an Indian man, or what? Such nonsense this is. I hope she is not married to that fellow.

  The movie wasn’t until much later, so we wandered down the sidewalk on Oak Tree Road, looking at window displays in the long line of stores. Again, we seemed to attract some curious looks. By now the Indian community had grudgingly come to accept their children marrying Caucasians, but they had yet to accept African-Americans.

  Lou seemed intrigued by the clothes, the colors, and the elaborate gold and silver embroidery, even on men’s clothes.

  “The men really wear such girly clothes in India?” he asked me.

  “Not all the time, Lou,” I replied. “What you’re looking at is special-occasion attire—weddings, fancy parties and such. Those long, close-necked embroidered tops are called shervanis. Would you like to try one on?”

  Lou scowled at me. “I’d look like an idiot in all that fancy gold stuff.”

  “Come on, Lou, be brave and try something different. You asked to come here so you could have a taste of India.” I pointed to a male mannequin wearing a dashing gray and silver outfit, looking very proud and regal. “Doesn’t that look elegant?”

  He shook his head. “I’d look like an Arab sheikh’s harem guard in that.”

  “Harem guards are usually eunuchs,” I whispered.

  “Oh, please!” The look of pure disgust on Lou’s face was enough to make me laugh.r />
  “I think you’d look nice, like a maharaja. All you’d need is a headdress and a pair of those pointy hand-embroidered shoes called mojdis, and you’ll look very posh.”

  He chuckled, then took my arm and marched me down the street.

  We looked at a few more displays as we made our way back to the car. The wind was brisk and chilly, and my hair was blowing over my face. I shivered inside my thick coat. My nose felt runnier than ever. I fished out a wad of tissues from my purse and blew my nose.

  The movie was typical Bollywood, as India’s film industry was referred to, with lots of interesting garments and dances. The hero and heroine burst into song every few minutes, irrespective of where they were or what their mood. They sang in the middle of a busy street, a lonely park (with over one billion Indians, I didn’t think there were any deserted parks in India), a field of yellow flowers, on a rooftop, and even a window ledge.

  Every time they broke into spontaneous song, they also danced, and dozens of chorus girls and boys appeared out of nowhere, all dressed in identical clothes. And they all danced in perfect coordination.

  Lou was fascinated for the first half hour, but then started to squirm and chew on more mints than ever. And this time they were no ordinary mints—they were antacids. His stomach was clearly revolting against the spicy Indian food he’d eaten. Meanwhile, the warm air inside the theater was making my eyes and nose run more freely than ever.

  Things weren’t going all that well on my first real date.

  “Bored to tears yet?” I asked Lou.

  He shrugged. “Maybe another fifteen minutes and I’ll be there,” he said, stretching his legs and throwing his head back on the headrest.

  We were in one of the back rows of the theater and there was no one nearby or behind us. Lou reached for my hand and massaged it with his thumb. It felt hard and warm and soothing, and it sent a pleasant shiver through my system. Lou certainly had an electric effect on me.