The Girl of My Dreams

by Durjoy Datta

  Avni sensed Daman’s discomfort at the nonsensical jargon Jayanti spewed.

  ‘We have decided on an approach on how we treat you as an author,’ said Jayanti. ‘The earlier we fix on a direction the better it will be for us. Marketing wise, we will put all our efforts in that direction. Of course we understand monies will be a major concern so we have taken care of that.

  I made my team and my seniors understand that the payment terms need to change and that we need to give you all the support you need.’

  Look at her talk. One might be fooled into believing she actually means these words, thought

  Avni. Avni looked at Daman who was staring stone-faced at Jayanti, unmoved by her drivel.

  ‘So you asked for 10 per cent royalty, a 5 per cent bump over your current percentage, and believe you me it was tough for me to get them to agree to it—’

  Avni interrupted Jayanti. ‘Isn’t 10 per cent the royalty for the majority of your authors? Why would that be hard for Daman to get? That should be a given.’

  ‘It was tough because I wasn’t aiming for 10 but for 12 because he’s so important for us,’ said

  Jayanti with a self-satisfied smile.

  Avni had walked right into the trap. Not wanting to get beat, Avni asked, ‘And what’s the advance money?’

  ‘He asked for 10 lakh, we are ready to offer him 14. And we will back him with whatever is needed.’

  ‘What’s the bad news?’ asked Daman, scowling. ‘You’re not this benevolent. What are you asking of me instead? Do I need to wear an anklet? Submit my passport?’

  ‘You insult me, Daman. I am just looking out for you. You’re my author—’

  Avni cut in. ‘Let’s not do this. Can we talk specifics? We don’t want to get sucked into something we will regret later.’

  Jayanti looked away from Avni and towards Daman. ‘Look, it’s nothing we hadn’t discussed before. The night you called me and said you wanted to sign up you agreed to making some changes to the book. That’s all I want from you. There will be no hidden clauses in the contract.’

  She looked at Avni and said, ‘You can read it too if you want to.’

  ‘But what kind of changes in the book are you looking for?’ asked Avni.

  Jayanti leant into her chair. ‘Oh, it’s nothing major. We all know the problems and the arguments we had regarding Shreyasi. The entire editorial team read your synopsis. And we all thought that

  —’

  Daman softly muttered, as if almost to himself, ‘We should drop Shreyasi from the book?’

  Jayanti was taken by surprise. ‘Yes, exactly! Now that we have Avni’s character in the book we thought keeping Shreyasi is superfluous,’ said Jayanti. Avni tried hard not to smile but she suspected Jayanti noticed it. Jayanti continued, ‘People lapped up the first book because they thought it was all true.’

  ‘And now you want Avni in the book because my readers know I’m dating her,’ said Daman.

  ‘Daman, you know it’s a good idea,’ said Jayanti. ‘The entire editorial team backs it. They love the story otherwise—’

  Daman slammed the table. ‘Who the fuck cares who I am dating and who I write about in the book? I’m not doing what Karthik does. I’m not going down that path. I can’t do it,’ said Daman.

  Avni clutched his hand. Why, her eyes seemed to scream.

  ‘The deal hinges on that,’ said Jayanti.

  ‘Daman, let’s think this over,’ implored Avni, still reeling from how quickly Daman had turned it down despite the money. ‘There’s no need to rush into it. We can go back home and think about it.’

  ‘My seniors want an answer today,’ insisted Jayanti.

  Daman frowned. ‘You are your senior. You answer only to the CEO, so stop saying things like the editorial team and your seniors. You’re just arm-twisting me into this. Why don’t you write the book yourself?’ spat out Daman.

  ‘I am not the writer, you are.’

  Avni interrupted, ‘Jayanti? Can you give us a second alone? We will—’

  Daman shot Avni an icy look. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. I won’t be another Karthik Iyer.’

  ‘The deal won’t stand without it.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Daman. ‘I will find another publisher.’

  Jayanti suppressed a smile. ‘No one has the resources to do what we can do for you. We are also committing to a marketing plan of almost the same amount to build you as a brand. So effectively, that’s a lot of money we are spending on you as a writer to make you into a brand.’

  ‘Fuck your brand,’ grumbled Daman.

  Avni felt a growing tightness in her neck. How can he turn this down? Is he blind to see what he stands to gain out of this? Why can’t he get over the godforsaken name?

  ‘I think it’s a great opportunity,’ said Avni, steeling her voice. ‘It could change your life. It’s a lot of money to turn down, Daman’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Jayanti. ‘I need to leave this meeting with an answer. It’s either this way or that.’

  Daman buried his face in his palms and rubbed his face. Please say yes, thought Avni. He then leant back in his chair and stared listlessly at his hands. A little later, he agreed to the proposal.

  22

  Daman had thought of the freedom that awaited him when he first signed on with Jayanti. No bosses, no deadlines and no presentations—he would be paid to tell stories. How swiftly things had changed. He had left his job, fought with his parents and moved out, all to be a pawn in

  Jayanti’s list of authors. A second Karthik Iyer, a knock-off. At least the money is good, he told himself. He put his arm across Avni and hugged her close. They had come home tired from their meeting with Jayanti. Avni had promptly fallen asleep. Daman had stayed up and stared at the ceiling.

  ‘Are you awake?’ asked Daman.

  ‘Hmmm.’

  She turned and buried her face in Daman’s chest. She kissed him softly. ‘Do you remember the first time I lay naked in your bed?’

  ‘You were a shy little thing,’ said Daman, twirling the smooth curls of Avni’s hair.

  Avni smiled. ‘It was my first time.’

  ‘You came over your shyness really quick,’ remarked Daman. ‘Not that I am complaining.’

  ‘Only because I had imagined us a lot of times before it happened,’ said Avni and turned away from him.

  Daman’s nakedness pressed against her. ‘And was it just like you imagined it to be?’ He cupped

  Avni’s bare breast and drew circles around her nipple.

  ‘More or less.’ Daman frowned. She said, ‘It wasn’t anything to do with you. I had dreamt and thought and worried about what orgasms would be like. I read somewhere that it was like waking a dragon in your loins, others said it was like slipping into deep sleep, some even told me it was like space travel, weightless and limitless . . . there were no boundaries to my imagination. So no matter what you did, it would have been a little underwhelming. The standards I had set in my mind were humanly impossible to match.’ She turned and slipped her hands south. She stroked him slowly. Daman kissed her and she put the free arm around him. She continued, ‘Is reality underwhelming?’

  ‘Why are you asking me that?’

  ‘Are we underwhelming? You and me together? Is what we have less, compared to what your characters have in your book? Are you disappointed in us?’

  ‘Avni, you can’t think like that,’ said Daman.

  ‘It is just what it is. Sometimes I wish we had met in a more interesting fashion, something you could have written about. No one is going to be a big fan of, “Oh, they met in front of their office buildings, started talking, and just kind of started going out.”’ She chuckled pitifully.

  ‘I will come up with something,’ said Daman.

  ‘But will I ever beat Shreyasi?’

  Daman held her tighter. Daman thought of telling her where Shreyasi’s name came from. But will her questions stop then? What possible good will come out of her knowing that I b
elieved

  Shreyasi was the love of my life till I met Avni? What will she think when she knows Shreyasi’s back and that she loves me? Will she believe that I don’t love Shreyasi? Before Daman could say anything, his phone rang. Jayanti Raghunath calling. ‘I need to take that.’ Daman answered just before the last ring.

  ‘Hello?’ he said sitting up on the bed. Avni pinned her ears to the phone.

  ‘Hi Daman. Is it a good time to talk?’ asked Jayanti.

  ‘Yes, tell me?’

  ‘I was sitting with my marketing team and we were ironing out the deal and the timelines. We were thinking of placing your book towards the end of next year. Will that be okay by you?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It will give us some time to manage the marketing around your book, that’s all.’

  ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Daman got up, his free fist clenched, blood running to his face.

  ‘Why would you need eighteen months to publish a book, Jayanti? What on earth could you be doing sitting on the book for eighteen months!’

  ‘We need to—’

  ‘Don’t give me the marketing bullshit. At least try and come up with a pretext that’s more real.

  What is it?’

  There was a small pause. And then she said, ‘It’s Karthik.’

  ‘What about him?’ probed Daman.

  ‘He has pledged us two books in the same time period. We need to push his books. He needs an open window both before and after the second book. He has specifically asked for your book to not coincide with his.’

  ‘What does his books have to do with mine? What the fuck does that even mean, Jayanti?’

  ‘I would understand if you took your book elsewhere. Things changed at the last moment. I tried convincing Karthik but he’s adamant.’

  ‘What are you saying, Jayanti? What was all the garbage you spewed in the morning about me being your top author and what not? You’re such a—’

  ‘Daman, just check yourself there and think before you say anything. Publishing is a small industry. Let’s not say things to each other we wouldn’t be able to take back. Sooner or later, we will have to work together.’

  ‘Doesn’t stop me from telling you that you’re a fucking slut—’

  The line was disconnected. Daman let out a hoarse cry and swung wildly to throw his phone away. He restrained himself when he saw Avni’s terrified face. Daman was still heaving from the anger, his blood boiling when his phone rang again. It was an unknown number. He received the call.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Are you with her?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You can’t even recognize my voice? Walk away from that whore of yours. I need to tell you something,’ said the voice.

  Daman walked to the washroom. He hadn’t noticed the tears in his eyes. ‘It’s a literary agent,’

  Daman told Avni and locked himself inside. He lowered the lid of the commode and sat on it.

  ‘Yes?’

  She spoke in an urgent whisper, ‘What did I say will happen? I had asked you not to test my patience. Jayanti pulled the plug on the deal, didn’t she?’

  ‘How . . . how . . .’

  ‘You have to listen to know why Karthik did what he did. Check your mail. I have sent you a little video,’ said Shreyasi.

  Daman did as instructed. He downloaded and played the thirty-second video. It was grainy and shot from an awkward angle but Daman knew who it was in the video—a drunk, slurring Jayanti

  Raghunath. He put the phone to his ear to listen closely to what seemed like a conversation between Jayanti Raghunath and Shreyasi.

  ‘Karthik is good but I don’t see him going anywhere in the long run. Readers will tire of him.

  That’s why I’m trying to push Daman.’

  ‘You think Daman is a better writer than Karthik?’

  ‘Of course. Though Daman needs to learn a few things, nothing a substantial hike in royalty can’t take care of.’

  ‘So you’re thinking of making him bigger than Karthik?’

  ‘Why not if he can be? He just needs to listen to me. That Shreyasi girl? She needs to go from his book.’

  The two women laughed and the video abruptly came to an end. He played it again.

  ‘Hello?’

  Daman put the phone to his ear. ‘Karthik saw this?’

  ‘And pushed you out of the equation. Didn’t I tell you to not test my patience? Rather than write about Avni, instead of me, you don’t write at all, baby. It’s better this way.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘For love, Daman.’

  The line was disconnected.

  23

  Daman had been waiting for an hour for his turn at the Vodafone outlet before his token number flashed on the LED screen and he was summoned by a tired-looking customer service executive who had a rehearsed smile on him.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Hi, I’m Daman. I need a little help. Here’s a number,’ said Daman, and slipped a piece of paper in front of the woman. On it was written the number Shreyasi had called from. It had been three days and all the calls to Shreyasi had gone unanswered. Daman had to undo this. He needed the deal to go through. ‘I need to know where the person who owns this number lives.’

  The woman looked at the piece of paper and then slid it back towards Daman. ‘Sorry sir, I can’t reveal names or addresses of our customers. It’s against the company policy. Is there something else I could help you with?’ The woman smiled at him.

  ‘I understand but this is a special case. I got a call from this number and I need to know who has sent me the text.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I can’t do anything, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

  ‘Are you not listening to me? I got an important call from this number. I’m asking for specific help and you’re asking me if I need help with anything else? No, I don’t! I just want to know the address of the crackpot you sold this number to. Can I get that information, ma’am? Because that’s clearly your responsibility.’

  She smiled again. Daman wanted to knock out her perfect set of teeth.

  ‘No, sir. I’m not at liberty to disclose that.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind—’

  ‘There’s no need to raise your voice, sir.’

  ‘I will do whatever the fuck I want to do. Just look into your laptop and tell me who this person is and I will be on my way, okay? It’s not that tough,’ said Daman with as much calm as he could muster.

  ‘I can’t do it.’

  ‘No one will know. I will pay you for it.’

  The girl looked around, leant forward and whispered, ‘Three thousand.’

  ‘Done.’

  The woman tapped an awful lot of keys for fetching a simple piece of information.

  ‘What’s your name, sir?’

  ‘I’m Daman. What do you need that for? Just tell me the address,’ he said, pulling out the wallet from his back pocket.

  There was a pause before the woman spoke.

  ‘This number is registered to you, sir,’ said the woman.

  ‘What! What are you talking about? Are . . . are you sure!’

  The woman turned the computer screen towards him. She also showed the scanned copy of the document submitted, Daman’s driving licence, and a signed form Daman had apparently filled up.

  It had a close copy of Daman’s signature but he knew it wasn’t his. Daman wiped the astonishment off his face, lied and apologized to the disgruntled woman, how all of it was a big misunderstanding, and left the place.

  Just as he stepped inside his car, his phone rang. It was the same number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘I see that you have missed me,’ said Shreyasi.

  ‘Listen.’

  ‘I can meet you tomorrow evening if you feel like. It’s not as if you’re busy.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Karthik is doing a book reading at Oxf
ord. Come? It will be fun and we can talk things out.’

  ‘Okay, but—’

  ‘We will talk then. Got to go. Bye.’

  24

  The next day, Daman was in the metro hurtling towards Connaught Place. He wasn’t even at the venue yet and he had already spotted two groups of giggly teenagers talking about how exciting it would be to see Karthik Iyer in flesh and blood. Daman thought they would break down in tears any moment. Daman reached the venue at 5.45 p.m., fifteen minutes before the event was supposed to start, but the bookstore was already chock-a-block with little girls jostling for the best view of the stage. There were a handful of guys who looked like they had been forced by their girlfriends or sisters to get a book signed by this demigod who moonlighted as an author. He stood at the far end of the room, staring at his phone. The calls to Shreyasi had gone unanswered. The couches on which Karthik Iyer and Jayanti Raghunath would sit, where he sat a few weeks earlier, were barely visible from where he stood. After twenty minutes, Karthik Iyer walked in amidst feverish cheers and gasps from the crowd. Daman thought he spotted a few girls with tears in their eyes.

  Another bunch professed their love to him in sentences from his books. Karthik smiled, winked and nodded at them. Karthik Iyer wasn’t a bad-looking man and he seemed to know that. He stood at 6 feet 1 inch. Dressed in a crisp blue shirt which strained against his heavy biceps, navy blue denims and brown loafers, he looked as if he had walked out of a magazine shoot. But most of all, he had a pleasant face—a non-threatening, calm, smiling face. So he’s the guy who fucked me up.

  Insecure bastard, Daman thought.

  The session started. Karthik was a better speaker than him, more seasoned, and knew how to work the crowd. Every answer of his ended with applause or poignant nods. He regaled the star- struck crowd with stories of his childhood and of the days he had spent working as a botanist before he turned to writing full-time. The crowd lapped up his rehearsed words like thirsty crows.

  Daman searched for Shreyasi’s face in that bustling scene to no success. When the conversation between Jayanti and Karthik ended on the stage and the microphone was being passed around,