There's Something About You

by Yashodhara Lal

  She didn’t want to run into Akshay or any of the other Internet department folks, and was glad that Nivedita sat in the opposite wing, along with the rest of the print department. The reception guard smiled in recognition at her and she returned the smile but went past him quickly, not wanting to answer any questions about where she had been all this while.

  Okay. This was the editorial section. It reeked of coffee and cigarette smoke. The décor was in blue and purple and had a distinctly bohemian feel. The office was totally deserted. She checked her watch. Eleven a.m. Wow. These people clearly had a different set of rules altogether. Well, fair enough, they probably were up late getting stuff to press.

  Trish spotted a lone figure coming down from the far end of the office – yes, it was Nivedita. The latter saw her and waved in her typically overenthusiastic manner. She was dressed in a bright orange-and-white combination of flowing skirt and blouse with long dangling white earrings. She came up to meet Trish halfway and gave her a hug and even air-kissed her – not once but twice, on both cheeks. Unused to this form of greeting, Trish was totally embarrassed.

  To cover it up, she said gruffly, ‘So tell me again why we couldn’t do this over the phone?’

  ‘Oh darling, it’ll avoid many iterations on the contract if we can have a discussion in person.’ Nivedita smiled brightly at her. ‘Anyway, you know Zee doesn’t do phone conversations.’ Trish didn’t actually know anything about Zee at all, beyond the fact that she was the chief editor, but Nivedita went on. ‘And besides, she wanted to meet you in person.’ Her smile faded as she took in Trish’s appearance, looking her up and down slowly. ‘This is the best you could do?’

  ‘What?’ Trish said, her voice sharp.

  ‘Never mind, darling. Follow me.’ Nivedita breezily led the way to a room at the back of the office – the only one, Trish noted, that didn’t have see-through doors. Well, it was made of glass but the view of the interiors was blocked by curtains of blue beads. The big E was clearly the big cheese here – her office was even bigger and fancier than Akshay’s.

  As soon as Nivedita opened the door, her attitude changed from breezy nonchalance to absolute deference. She poked her head through the door and said in a meek voice, ‘Zee? Trish is here to see you.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you let her in then?’ rang out a sonorous voice with a strange, unrecognizable accent.

  Nivedita almost bowed in response and ushered Trish in. Trish walked slowly into the large office with its blue-beaded curtains and large, indecipherable pictures full of angles and colours which she assumed passed for modern art. Zee rose from her chair and walked slowly around her desk towards Trish. She was an imposing woman of about forty. She had a head of short tight curls and was clad in a flowing olive-green dress that looked rather like a gown. The manner with which she carried herself was distinctly regal. Trish smiled, but Zee’s lips merely twitched fleetingly around the edges as she looked appraisingly at Trish.

  ‘The column is doing well,’ Zee announced. ‘We’ve just concluded this month’s research and it’s already become one of top three in the paper. I always knew it had potential. I suppose it just needed the right tone.’

  Her words didn’t sound very much like praise, but Trish’s automatic response was, ‘Thank you.’

  Nivedita was in the process of withdrawing, murmuring something about leaving them to it when Zee called to her. ‘Nivedita. Will you tell the boy to get us two cups of green tea?’

  ‘Of course, of course, Zee,’ Nivedita grovelled and then escaped. Trish opened her mouth to protest that she would prefer coffee, but thought the better of it.

  Zee sashayed over and seated herself in the large leather chair behind her desk. Trish lowered herself on to one of the smaller chairs in front of the desk and shifted around, trying to get comfortable. The seat was soft and squishy. She looked around surreptitiously, noting that Zee’s office even had a separate lounge corner, with its own low table and sofa set. Impressive.

  ‘You’ll have to work at keeping the tone consistent, of course,’ Zee remarked, eyeing Trish. ‘I thought that last week’s column was a little soft. And you gave away something about yourself in terms of not having any children. You do realize, of course, we need to avoid involving personal details of any sort in future columns.’

  Trish didn’t react. It wasn’t that Zee wasn’t making sense, it was just that she didn’t like the tone.

  Zee didn’t seem bothered about her reaction anyway. Her attention had shifted. She was peering at something on her large, flat-screen desktop, grunting to herself, ‘Incompetent fools, can’t understand a simple thing.’

  Trish waited for her to come back to their discussion, but a couple of more minutes passed and it looked as if Zee might have forgotten about her. She cleared her throat and said politely, ‘You look like you’ve got an early start today. The office is empty.’

  This succeeded in distracting Zee from the screen, and she looked over at Trish rather blankly, saying, ‘Oh yes. Well, most people start their day here at noon and work late. But I wanted us to finish our meeting before anyone came in.’

  ‘Oh. Why is that?’

  Zee looked her up and down with what Trish instinctively recognized as disdain. Zee didn’t bother to answer Trish’s question. She suddenly changed tack. ‘Well. Shall we look at the contract then?’

  ‘I haven’t actually received a copy of it from Nivedita.’

  ‘Oh, that woman.’ Zee rolled her large eyes. ‘Indians can’t get anything right the first time, can they?’

  ‘Er. I’m Indian, too,’ Trish offered.

  ‘Oh, so am I, unfortunately. Part south Indian, part South African.’ Zee’s attention was back on the screen as she clicked repeatedly on the mouse. ‘But I’ve had the advantage of spending most of my working life in more civilized places in Europe, mostly the UK. Just two years in this city, and it’s been enough to drive me mad.’

  Trish found herself bristling with anger, but figured that it was better to avoid saying anything. This candid little speech confirmed her initial opinion about Zee – she was just a self-obsessed egomaniac with a deep-rooted colonial hangover.

  There was a knock on the door and Zee called out, ‘Come!’ in her deep voice. A scrawny young fellow entered and hurried over to the table with a tray with two cups of green tea in shiny white bone-china cups, gold-rimmed unlike Akshay’s, Trish noted. She said a soft thank-you to the tea-boy, but he seemed too scared to respond. Zee ignored him completely, still staring at her computer. Trish watched curiously as the trembling boy proceeded to back out of the room.

  ‘Here it is,’ Zee announced and turned the screen all the way around to face Trish. ‘I won’t bother asking that buffoon Nivedita to take a printout. Just read it on the screen for now.’ She helped herself to a cup of green tea and settled back in her chair. Trish tried to ignore the fact that Zee now seemed to be studying her expression. She kept her focus on the screen.

  Hmm. Standard stuff. This contract between Ms Trish Saxena, hereinafter referred to as the party of the first part and DNX Publications, Mumbai, hereinafter blah-blah … Okay, daily column, non-compete clause as far as this genre was concerned, contract validity for a year on renewable basis upon mutual agreement, termination from either side upon one month’s notice, content to become the property of the publication, conferring the right to use it online, right to use material or reject it as per editorial’s final judgment etc. etc. It looked all right, but the compensation structure didn’t appear to be clearly mentioned anywhere so far, and Trish was about to remark upon this when she reached Clause 4D.

  The party of the first part agrees that they will maintain complete and total secrecy about their identity in relation to the column in question, and will, in no circumstance, whether intentionally or through negligence, allow for it to become known that they write the same.

  ‘What’s this? In this privacy clause.’ She looked up at Zee. ‘I’m not supposed to tell even fam
ily and friends about the fact that I write the column, even post termination of the contract? Why?’

  ‘Have you told anyone yet?’ Zee had her eyebrows raised.

  ‘Well, no, but …’

  ‘Good. Now. Trish.’ Zee spoke with the air of one explaining something to a particularly slow individual. ‘You probably have very little understanding of how these things work. But I’m trying to run a lifestyle supplement here. It’s the most read supplement. In fact, our research tells us it’s read even more than the main paper. This hasn’t been easy for me to achieve, but I’ve done it. And it’s because I keep in mind that there has to be a certain aura we must maintain and project for the key columns and columnists that we feature.’ She waved one heavy arm around for effect. ‘We have celebrities writing for us. Have you seen Deepika’s column?’ Trish shook her head, but Zee paid no attention. ‘Well, you have the honour of being published alongside those columns now.’

  ‘Yay,’ Trish said dryly. ‘But Zee, the thing is, no one knows that I’m Amy, and according to this contract, you don’t want anyone to ever know either.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s for good reason,’ Zee said sharply. She appeared to have caught the sarcastic tone in Trish’s voice and seemed affronted by it. ‘We would like Amy to be perceived as someone who’s … successful, glamorous, young, hot. The persona we’d like to create is of someone good-looking, well turned out, confident, in complete control of her life. And you … well.’ She paused and looked at Trish with an expression full of meaning, waiting for it to sink in.

  ‘So.’ Trish underwent an inward struggle to maintain her composure. ‘In short, you want Amy to be all the things you think I’m not.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Zee sat back, with a pleased, condescending smile. Trish, who had been a little daunted when she walked in for the meeting, now felt like jumping up and challenging this woman to a wrestling match. She could take her, she would grab those tight curls and swing her around and then sit on her until she begged for mercy. She would …

  She took a deep breath to calm herself down. Her eyes fell on her neglected cup of green tea. She picked it up now to take a sip. It was lukewarm, bland and disgusting. She tried to contain her anger as she skimmed through the last couple of paragraphs on the screen facing her. She almost choked on her tea.

  As compensation for the column and the agreed discretion, the party of the second part agrees to pay the party of the first part a sum of Rupees …

  They were increasing her payout? Trish’s heartbeat quickened as she read on, hardly able to believe her eyes. And offering a six-month advance? It would take a great deal of pressure off her to know that she had guaranteed work at this rate. She had been prepared to negotiate, but the numbers in front of her were already well beyond what she had hoped for.

  ‘So.’ Zee spoke softly now, her tone almost ingratiating for the first time. She was still watching Trish’s expression closely. When Trish looked up, the smile on Zee’s face was already triumphant. ‘I assume we have an understanding?’

  Trish underwent another internal struggle that lasted several seconds and then nodded, saying in as neutral a tone as she could manage, ‘I suppose so.’ It was worth the stupid anonymity clause.

  ‘And we can count on your complete and absolute discretion?’

  Trish bit her lip. ‘Okay, yeah.’ She cleared her throat and said in a more decisive manner, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Zee said dryly and then reached out and turned the computer screen towards her again. She now spoke with an air of dismissal, not looking at Trish. ‘Nivedita will handle the paperwork with you. Only she and I know that you write the column. I intend to keep it that way.’ She looked at her crystal-studded silver watch. ‘So you should leave now. It’s almost noon and people will start to come in soon. If anyone sees you, they’ll wonder what on earth you were doing talking to me.’

  It was rude and abrupt as a parting, but her short time with Zee was enough for Trish to know that she couldn’t have expected any different. She pushed back her chair to stand up, making as much of a noise as she could by scraping the legs along the floor. She felt a slight twinge of satisfaction to see that this made Zee wrinkle her long nose.

  She said, ‘Bye, Zee,’ when she reached the door, but Zee was staring at her screen again and didn’t reply. Trish left the room, mentally slamming the glass door behind her, although the only sound she actually made was the tinkling of a few blue beads.

  She didn’t bother to speak to Nivedita before leaving and was still in a bad mood as she drove out of the parking lot. She was pissed off at Zee – what a complete bitch! But she was beginning to feel even more pissed off at herself. Had she just sold out? Why had she let herself be insulted like that?

  The column must have really got the circulation and readership numbers of the paper to rise by a significant percentage. There was no other reason she would have been offered this kind of money. She couldn’t help being mystified by the privacy aspect. Sure it was an anonymous column. But not to be able to tell her own family? If Zee had said they needed to maintain anonymity so that a future writer could also carry the column off, it would have been different. Instead, she had given her that condescending haughty look and implied – no, said in so many words – that Trish was too much of a loser to be identified with Amy. Trish should have thrown the contract in her face. Figuratively. No, literally. She should have tossed the damned computer screen at her.

  She glanced moodily into the rearview mirror. Her attention suddenly shifted to one of the cars behind her. In it was the same tall, bespectacled man she had seen on the ground floor while waiting for the lift. He had quietly pulled out of the parking lot a few seconds after her in a nondescript grey Ford Fiesta. She now realized that he had taken the same few turns that she had so far and was currently maintaining a consistent distance of three cars behind her.

  Trish was being followed.

  10

  Hello, Mister

  ‘Okay, stay calm … Stay calm!’

  Trish tried to suppress her rising panic as she squinted at the rearview mirror. Unmistakable. Same fellow, and he was definitely after her for some reason. To test her theory, she flicked the indicator switch and took the first right turn that came up even though it took her away from her route home. Sure enough, after a few seconds, there he was again, four cars behind her now. Her heartbeat quickened.

  She fiddled around on the dashboard to find her sunglasses. They were dusty from lack of use, but she quickly wiped them on her kurti and shoved them on to her nose. They made her feel less visible and she was now free to glance at the rearview mirror every three seconds. She took another couple of random turns in a bid to throw him off, finding it difficult to navigate the new, unfamiliar terrain.

  What did he want? Was he some kind of psycho? A rapist? A psycho-rapist? Why her? She was Trish, the girl to whom nothing ever happened, for god’s sake. Just when she had become used to that, life was throwing this sort of thing at her.

  Crime rates were growing at an alarming rate across all the large cities of India, and Mumbai was no exception. Her mother often exclaimed over newspaper reports, reading them out to Trish with a mixture of fascination and horror, usually over breakfast when she least wanted to hear it. The perpetrators were often innocuous-looking, well turned out men from decent families. That was just what this guy looked like, Trish thought grimly. There would be no point confronting him. What if he were armed? She took the next left turn. She decided it would be best for her to try and circle home. A few tense minutes passed and she couldn’t see him any more. Maybe she had managed to lose him.

  The grey Fiesta suddenly appeared behind her again and her foot automatically pressed down on the accelerator. She could call the cops, she realized. That would be the smart thing to do. Where was her purse? Oh god, she had tossed it in the backseat. She slowed down a little and tried to reach back for it, but it was just out of reach, and as she clawed desperately at the straps, she e
nded up pushing the purse farther away.

  Could she stop and retrieve it? But she would lose a few precious seconds and he’d be right upon her. She accelerated again, zipping past the other cars, overtaking from the left and not paying any heed to traffic signals. Surely there was nothing he could do to her in broad daylight with other folks around. But she wasn’t taking any chances. There was no way she was going to stop now.

  Why wasn’t she able to spot any cops? Usually, if she even broke the slightest rule, such as crossing the stop line at a red light, a policeman would magically appear, with his challan-book, ready to fine her. But now, even though she deliberately zipped through a red light, almost colliding with an auto-rickshaw approaching from the right, there was no cop in sight. The auto-guy held his palm out at her in the aggressive-but-curious gesture that was code for ‘Ah, another stupid lady driver’, but she just left him in a cloud of dust. She briefly wondered: would the Mumbai junta come to her help if she just stopped and said she was being followed? Somehow she felt it would be wisest not to try and find out.

  Her heart was still racing as she got closer home. There had been several close shaves, but at least her crazy driving had served to throw the psycho off her trail. Anything could have happened, she realized. She took a deep breath and exhaled: ‘Ommmmm.’ Some sort of protective spirit had been at work, she thought. She felt a lot better as she reached the street leading up to her apartment and slowed down.