Inside the auditorium, we found the best seats in the house reserved for us. The butterflies in my tummy were fluttering with ferocious intensity. I couldn’t wait for curtain time.
The show started with an orchestra playing before Roger appeared on stage to a drum roll to introduce himself and his play. I drew a surprised breath. He was wearing a tuxedo! The creases in his trousers were knife-edge sharp, his black tie looked perfectly centered, and his shoes were glossy.
The image was so un-Roger-like that I had to quash the laughter bubbling up inside me. His hair was trimmed and combed back neatly. He looked great on stage, with the bright lights showcasing the planes and angles of his face. He was a born showman, and articulate, if nothing else. He welcomed the invitees warmly, with a touch of humor, and ended with a charming smile—slightly crooked and seductive.
After the applause died down I heard one woman in the row behind me say, “I’d like to take him home. He’s adorable.” I silently agreed.
The lights dimmed and the heavy curtain lifted. I held my breath. The opening scene was the one I’d witnessed during rehearsal, but now, with the professionally designed set, it had a frighteningly real quality. If I’d experienced a few goose bumps that day, today the hair on my arms stood on end.
The dramatic elements were marvelous, with the dark alley, the dog howling in the distance, the homeless man huddled in a corner, the killer stalking his quarry, and the eerie background music causing me to nearly chew on my manicured fingernails. I was beginning to recognize what Roger had said about the high cost of sets and everything else.
I stole a glance at my family and the Vadepallis. Everyone seemed mesmerized by the drama unfolding before our eyes. I was breathing hard when the stalker appeared and the killing occurred. Carrie’s scream was spine-chilling, and when she fell, she did it with just the right touch.
Satish was great as the passionate but naïve diamond merchant who comes to Manhattan to start a jewelry store but instead gets caught up in a web of crime. Theresa, as the madcap clairvoyant, was amazingly credible.
Roger had to be proud. I found myself fighting back tears during the emotional scenes and laughing at the funnier ones.
The play was highly entertaining. Toward the end, I ventured a peek at the others in the audience. Most of them were critics from the media, advertisers, and publishers. They seemed as enthralled as I was, but perhaps I was reading in their expressions what I wanted to read.
What were they going to do to Roger’s masterpiece? How was it going to play out in the weekend reviews?
Would the Indian guy coming to America to strike it rich and ending up running for his life be a story that the critics would love or hate? Had Roger put too much Indian-ness in his play, or not enough to make it interestingly exotic? It was a tough call. The play Bombay Dreams, despite its popular appeal, had sadly folded after a brief run.
When the curtain fell on the final scene and then lifted once again to showcase Roger and his cast and crew taking a bow, the audience gave them a standing ovation, bringing tears to my eyes all over again.
Then Roger came forward and took his final bow.
He had worked hard for tonight and deserved every round of applause and every whistle. I suspected the whistlers were mostly his friends who’d flown in from out of town.
Mom and Mrs. Vadepalli were sniffling. Roger’s sister and her husband couldn’t stop applauding. Dad was slapping Mr. Vadepalli on the back, but Mr. Vadepalli still looked a bit constipated. I hoped it wasn’t because he’d hated the play. Krishna and Carol were whispering to each other. Pamma’s dentures were getting a good workout.
That night we celebrated—all of us and the Vadepallis. We went out to an Indian restaurant in midtown and had a lovely dinner. Roger joined us halfway through the meal and stayed only for a little while, glowing with excitement.
When I got up to go to the ladies’ room he must have followed me, because he called my name and I stopped in the corridor outside the restrooms.
“Soorya, wait.” He jogged up to me. His hair was now in its usual disarray and his black tie was askew. But what else did I expect? It was all I could do to stop myself from reaching up to straighten that tie. “What did you think?” he gasped, perspiration glistening on his forehead. “I want a brutally honest opinion.”
“It was outstanding, Roger. It was everything I’d expected and more.”
“You’re not just saying that?” he asked on an uncharacteristically insecure note.
I shook my head. “I think all of you did a great job. Even Ryan, despite this being his debut play, did well with the sound and light effects.”
“Thank you, Soorya. It meant a lot to have you and your family in the audience.”
“Our pleasure, Roger. Thanks for offering us the best seats.”
He flushed at that remark and glanced down at the floor. Roger was clearly suffering from opening night nerves.
When I joined the group once again, Dad ordered champagne and proposed a toast. “To Rajesh, Broadway’s new star, and Mumbai to Manhattan’s magnificent opening night. May they both enjoy continued success and many awards,” he pronounced proudly and raised his glass.
We all joined Dad in toasting Roger and his play.
Roger thanked Dad profusely and then the rest of us. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Uncle, and all of you, and certainly not without my fantastic cast and crew.”
Dad grinned at him. “Looks like I made a wise investment, Rajesh. Congratulations!”
“Thank you, Uncle,” replied Roger. “You made the whole thing possible, sir. We’ll talk some more tomorrow?”
Dad nodded. “Anytime you have a spare minute, call me. You’re going to be an extremely busy man now.” He raised his glass again. “May every one of your shows be SROs.”
What the heck were my dad and Roger talking about? Had Dad just said investment? Suddenly my stomach dropped. I looked at Dad, my hands under the tablecloth shaking. “Dad, what’s all that about?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment, dear.” His spirit remained buoyant.
The churning in my gut was a sign that I wasn’t going to like his answer.
Chapter 27
Dad casually sipped his champagne and inclined his head at Roger. “That boy is going places, Soorya, if my hunch is right.”
“You mean you’re the investor who financed Roger’s project?” I hoped I was wrong. It had to be a mistake. My dad couldn’t have tried to buy me a husband. Or could he? Why else would a shrewd guy like my father invest in a risky venture like an unknown playwright?
Was that why Roger had been so nice to me, asked me out, invited me to his rehearsals, and even gone as far as telling me I was attractive?
He’d been trying to kiss up to his financier’s daughter.
“Yes, princess,” replied Dad. “I even talked Venki into accepting Rajesh’s ideas. Venki’s a hard man to convince, I can tell you that,” he said with a wink at Roger’s father. “Took me several long-distance calls to get this guy to see my point of view.”
Mr. Vadepalli shook his head. “You’re more stubborn than I am, Pramod. But I have to say this: Because of your persistence, at least my son and I are talking now—without coming to blows, anyway.” He turned to Roger and said something to him. They fell into a conversation.
The elders as well as Renuka and her husband seemed unaffected by the news. Mom and Mrs. Vadepalli were still busy chatting. Pamma looked a little overwhelmed and tired. Krishna and Carol had left early because they had a long drive back to Maryland.
Surprisingly, I noticed Roger staring at his father with a dismayed frown. Who knew what that was all about. Were they arguing again, despite what his father had said just moments ago?
No one else seemed to be bothered by what was happening around us. Was I the only one disturbed by the bombshell?
Bitter resentment against my dad rose in my throat like bile. How could he have humiliated me like this? What exactly
had he said to Roger? If you promise to take my plain daughter off my hands, I’ll give you money for your play? Or was it more like, Let’s make a deal, boy: You get all the money you want if you marry my daughter.
Damn it! How could Dad do this to me?
Roger came to stand beside me a minute later, his coat on, and a scowl on his face. “Soorya, we need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Roger.”
He touched my arm. “I’d appreciate a few minutes of your time.”
“We’ve said everything there is to be said, Roger. I’m in no mood to talk to anyone right now.” My eyes were trained on my glass of water. I wanted to fling something at someone. The half full water glass looked tempting.
I couldn’t and didn’t want to face the man who’d been bought by my father. This whole episode was even more despicable than the dowry system. At least that was open and upfront deal making, with no lies and deceit involved.
“Stop acting like a brat and come with me, Soorya,” said Roger in a tight voice. “Unless you want to cause a scene here.” I’d never heard that steely tone before. I’d heard him sound serious, businesslike, angry, frustrated, excited, warm, and cajoling, but never like this.
“Fine, I’ll go outside with you, but only for a minute.” I stood up, put on my coat, and followed Roger toward the front door, but not before I sent my parents a blistering look.
By God, I was going to make them pay for this.
I could feel all eyes on Roger and me. The tension between us was so thick that our respective families had finally stopped conversing and lapsed into silence. Even the handful of patrons left in the restaurant and the two waiters hovering over them were gazing at us wide-eyed.
There was plenty of traffic outside even this late at night, mostly because it was a Friday and this place was close to the theater district. A few pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks. Frost had gathered on the windshields of the vehicles parked on the street and shimmered like crushed glass.
A blast of frigid air blew in my face the moment I stepped outside. Shivering, I thrust my hands deep inside my pockets. “Now say what you have to say, Roger, and then leave me alone,” I ground out.
“I don’t intend to,” he replied, sounding equally peeved.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I plan to ask you out, break down your defenses, make you like me a little—maybe even accept my marriage proposal.”
It was like a fist connecting with my chest. Marriage! Good God, he was actually going to stoop to that level—let my dad buy him like a side of beef hanging in a butcher shop. Was that what he and Mr. Vadepalli were discussing earlier, when Roger’s face had taken on an odd expression? Was his dad forcing him to marry me as a payback for my father’s generosity?
Being mildly attracted to me was one thing, but marriage was entirely another. No wonder Roger had looked enraged and then come to drag me out here with a vicious glower on his face. Like a good Hindu boy he was going to perform his duty, do his father’s bidding, even if it killed him. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
I threw Roger my most disgusted look. “Accept your proposal? When hell freezes over.” At the moment my nose was freezing over and my teeth were chattering.
He leaned against the brick wall of the building with a loud sigh. “Why, Soorya? Why are you behaving like this?”
“You lied to me—again. You took money from my father and never told me. I abhor liars, remember?”
“I didn’t lie to you, Soorya. I only kept certain information from you. I wanted to tell you about the loan. Your parents didn’t want me to, but—”
“But what? Lying comes so easily to you that you couldn’t help yourself?”
His jaw tightened. “I wanted to tell you tonight, after the opening, when you were likely to be in a good mood, more willing to listen.”
“Well, ha-ha, I’m in a fantastic mood. Can’t you see?”
“Sarcasm is your middle name, Soorya. Practically every sentence coming out of your mouth has an edge to it. But I know you have the capacity for understanding and forgiveness. You have a heart underneath all that scorn, even if you prefer to keep it under wraps. I’ve caught glimpses of it on occasion.”
“And flattery is your middle name,” I reminded him.
He ignored my remark. “I wanted to tell you about your father’s offer to fund my project a long time ago, but your mom and dad swore me to secrecy.”
“Of course they did.” It was a conspiracy right from the start.
“And by the way, you’re not the only one to be shocked by all this. I just had the biggest jolt of my life.”
“What is that, Roger? That not everyone falls in love with you? That there are a handful of us who are capable of resisting your considerable charms?”
“I just found out that your father put up fifty percent of my funding while the other half came from guess who? My father. How do you think I feel?”
I was speechless. His father had shelled out money for the play? Was that what was going on between father and son a few minutes ago?
Roger pressed his fingers to his temples, like he was fighting a headache. “Go figure that. Remember I’d mentioned to you that he’d changed his tune recently? All those concerned phone calls and offers to foot my living expenses? It was your father who convinced the stingy old bat to ease up on me and even invest his money in my venture.”
“Sure, that’s my dad—philanthropist, mediator, and diplomat. He’s so good at it that he even managed to talk you into proposing to his daughter.”
“That’s where you’re totally wrong. I’m grateful to your father for all he’s done for me, Soorya, but you and I are a separate issue. My interest in you has nothing to do with your dad’s money.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“Initially, when I first met you, it started out with the idea of marrying a wealthy woman and possibly borrowing money from her or her family. But things changed. I got to know you better. Even on that first day, when we took a walk in the park and then went to a movie, I found you very intriguing.”
I laughed. “Sure, and my name is Cinderella.”
“Don’t be snide, Soorya. When will you accept the fact that everything about a person does not hinge on physical appearance? There’s so much more to a person besides—”
“I don’t need a lecture on philosophy, Roger,” I cut in, looking at my wristwatch. “Now that you’ve said your piece, I’m out of here.” I turned and started going back inside the building.
I wished I had my own car, so I could have driven around a bit, maybe given myself some time to absorb all this. I badly needed some privacy, but I had arrived with my parents and Pamma, and I was stuck going home with them.
Roger came up behind me and grabbed my arm. “Soorya, wait, hear me out.”
“Unhand me, Roger.” When he didn’t let go, I eyed the passersby. “I said let me go, or I’m going to have the cops here in a minute.” Indeed, a couple walking past us, hearing my raised voice, stared in speculation for a second before continuing on their way.
Roger dropped my arm but held my gaze, his eyes turning cold with fury. “Go ahead, call the cops. What are you going to say to them? That I’m asking you to forgive me for something that wasn’t really my mistake? That I’m asking you to consider me as a suitor?”
“I don’t have anything to say to you, Roger. I have nothing to say to my parents, either. You lied to me, all of you. You guys went behind my back and planned this thing—money in exchange for proposing to poor Soorya.”
“That is not true and you know it.”
I made a dismissive gesture with my hand. “All I know is I’m disgusted with you. Every one of you.”
“If you’re trying to deceive me or yourself, you’re failing miserably.” His eyes narrowed on me, like he was looking into my soul. “Deep down, I know you care about me, Soorya, at least as a friend, if not more. I’ve seen it in your eyes.
That wall of self-defense you’ve built around yourself doesn’t fool me for one second. I know I’ve come to care for you a great deal.”
He paused for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts. “Our families get along so well. On their part, they’re keeping the communication lines open so you and I have every opportunity to get to know each other better. God knows I’ve tried to get you to go out with me.”
“Is that why there were long, unexplained silences between the times you got in touch with me?” I recalled the times he’d remain invisible for weeks, and then just sort of sail into my life, upset my equilibrium, and then disappear once again.
“You’re a fine one to complain about silences. By asking you to come to the rehearsals, I tried to leave an open door at all times, hoping you’d use that as an excuse to see me. Being who you are, an Indian woman, I knew you’d hesitate to initiate a date, so I thought of that idea. And yet you wouldn’t budge. It was always I who contacted you. Your parents had my phone number and you had my e-mail address, and yet you never bothered to use either. You never tried to call or write to me. Not one damn time!”
I frowned and stared at the ground. He was right, but I didn’t want to accept it, much less admit it.
Getting no response from me, he continued, “Our parents are hoping the two of us will get married someday. I’d sincerely hoped that would happen, but it takes two to build a relationship and a marriage. We could come to love each other, Soorya. We’re already there to some degree, aren’t we? When it comes to Indian culture and marriage, one couldn’t ask for a better foundation than that.”
“That’s a hunk of baloney,” I said, impatiently pushing my windblown hair away from my face. Oh God, he was talking about love. Finally, he was talking about love—caring. And he was right, at least about me. I was half in love with him. But about him being in love with me, I didn’t know. He could be mistaking gratitude to my father for love.
“No matter what I do or say, you’ll find a way to turn it into something ugly and dishonest. I don’t know why the hell I even try.” He groaned and looked at his watch. “Never mind, I don’t have the time or the desire to argue with you anymore. I’m already late for the cast party.”
The Full Moon Bride Page 26
