The Sari Shop Widow

by Shobhan Bantwal

  “But not great, right?” She looked at him for confirmation. “The contractors wouldn’t know how to go about following my ideas?”

  He shook his head. “On the contrary, your sketches should be useful in giving them a good bird’s-eye view of what we want. Once we have the basic structure laid out, then we can go into what you have here, the shelves, cabinets, and displays in the colors we want…the colors you want.” He put a hand on Jeevan’s shoulder. “Don’t you think so, Jeevan-kaka?”

  “I agree. Isn’t your usual architect sending someone from New York to look at the place?”

  Rishi nodded. “Our man in London has a contact in New York City, someone he works with in this part of the U.S. I happen to know the man.”

  Jeevan asked his brother about building permits.

  “I’ve already taken care of that,” said Mohan.

  “Excellent.” Rishi turned back to the drawings. “Now, let’s discuss these lovely designs, shall we?”

  Pleased with his remarks, Anjali felt emboldened to mention her color scheme. “Am I allowed to stick with the cream and blue?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I suppose you guys are going to change the name of the store?” She was so afraid they were going to give it some tacky handle that she had obsessed over it the previous night.

  Rishi lifted an eyebrow. “A little worried about the name, Anjali?”

  Despite her resolve to keep this on a friendly level, she couldn’t help asking, “Saris and Samosas?”

  “Not even close.”

  It was her turn to raise a brow. “Kapadia & Shah?”

  “Silk & Sapphires,” he replied with a sly grin.

  She stared at him. “You mean we keep the name?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I never thought I’d…well…that you and Jeevan-kaka would…” She was so relieved she had no words.

  Jeevan-kaka laughed for the first time that evening. “Why are you surprised, Anju? Why would we change such a beautiful name?”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “I’m glad you think it’s beautiful.”

  Over the next hour they argued over the placement of the different departments. Anjali was adamant about the food being entirely separate from the rest of the store. “I won’t have fried food odors in the store. The way a place smells has a lot to do with its ambience and the mood it creates.”

  “Not to worry,” Rishi assured her. “A solid dividing wall will separate the store from the café. Glass doors will be in place for those who want to get to it. Also, customers will not be allowed to take food and drink into the main store for obvious reasons. The odors don’t even begin to creep into the store.”

  “Exactly how much business will this chai shop generate, Rishi?” Anjali’s father pushed his glasses up his nose and bent over the designs once again.

  Rishi pointed to the area marked café on the sheet. “When a bride and her bridesmaids and family members are getting their hair and nails done and spend hours at the store, they invariably get hungry and start looking for a convenient place to eat.”

  “Makes sense, I suppose,” murmured Usha. “They can’t walk on the street or drive with curlers in their hair and mehndi drying on their hands.”

  “Exactly. Our cafés, particularly in London, are very popular. They’re always crowded, not just with customers from the store but also others who come in just to eat the unusual fare we offer. We always serve something different, like finger sandwiches, and on good crockery, too. Even our tea is served English-style with a china teapot and cups and saucers. No unsightly foam cups and plastic stirrers.”

  “Sounds too expensive for Desi tastes,” murmured Anjali. “Desis are generally a kanjoos bunch, tight-fisted.”

  “I agree,” said Rishi, much to Anjali’s surprise. “But when it comes to weddings and special occasions they’re willing to splurge. Don’t forget those are the events where they’re trying to outdo each other and make the others a little envious.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, keeping up appearances.”

  A large number of Indians and other South Asians had immigrated to the U.S. in the 1970s and 80s and through hard work and scrimping they had become comfortably entrenched baby boomers. But despite their frugality they thought nothing of spending their hard-earned cash on certain things they considered important, like their children’s educations and some significant milestones in their lives. Consequently Ivy League graduations, elaborate weddings, christenings, and birthdays had turned into eye-popping status symbols.

  In fact, it was precisely that mentality that had led to upscale stores like Silk & Sapphires to appear on the commercial scene.

  Usha stifled a yawn and looked at her wristwatch. “It’s been a long day. We should go to bed.”

  Anjali noticed Jeevan-kaka looking drawn. He’d eaten very little at dinner. She wondered if all this stress was getting to him. He might be a tyrant, but he was still her uncle.

  She touched his arm. “You look exhausted, Jeevan-kaka. Maybe you should go to bed, too?”

  “I will.” He stood up and pushed his chair in.

  Her parents followed suit. The elder Kapadias went upstairs to sleep, leaving Anjali and Rishi to continue deliberating over the designs. Rishi looked at her. “You think we convinced the three of them sufficiently?”

  “It’s not those three you should worry about. They seem willing to eat out of your hand. I’m the one that’s not entirely convinced.” She stacked the sheets of artist’s paper and rolled them into a tube. “But then, it’s mostly your money that’s tied up in this, not mine.”

  “A skeptic to the core, aren’t you? It’s a good trait for an entrepreneur, Anjali.”

  “No kidding,” she said.

  “I’m serious. You’re a good businesswoman. All you need is a little extra help at the moment.”

  “A lot of help.” She slipped a rubber band around the roll of papers. “By the way, I’m glad the store will keep its name.”

  “Speaking of names, may I ask you something? It’s personal, so if you want me to back off, I will.”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “Did you ever change your surname to Gandhi?”

  So he knew she was married to a Gandhi. He’d been doing his homework in that area, too. She shook her head. “I kept my maiden name.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “It was too much trouble to go through the legalities, and Vik didn’t think it was important. I personally don’t like hyphenated names either.”

  “I see. I’m sorry.”

  “About what? That I didn’t change my name?”

  “That your marriage lasted such a short time. You must have been devastated.” He seemed to ponder something for a long moment. Then his gaze came back to her. “Jeevan-kaka told me a bit about your husband.”

  It was hard to keep her emotions intact, especially since he sounded genuinely sympathetic. “Vik was a terrific guy.”

  “You were lucky to have found someone you loved.”

  “Lucky? Or unlucky to have lost him so quickly?”

  “I said lucky because although it was very short, yours was a happy marriage. There are couples who are married for fifty and sixty years and are miserable.”

  He almost sounded envious of her brief marriage. “Are you married?” she asked him, wondering how he’d react to her prying into his personal business.

  He shook his head.

  “Engaged?”

  “I was engaged once. Didn’t last long.”

  “Oh.”

  He looked amused. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

  “None of my business.”

  “I’ll tell you anyway, because you were candid in answering my questions. The woman I was engaged to wasn’t a particularly nice person.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She had a problem with a monogamous relationship.”

  Anjali frowned. “Hmm.”

  He let out a bit
ter laugh. “Laura was part British and part Italian, and beautiful. And she believed men and women are born to be promiscuous.”

  “So why did she want marriage? She could play as much as she wanted without the restrictions of marriage, couldn’t she?”

  “That’s where I came in. She wanted to marry me for my money. That way she could play in style and not have to work to pay for it.”

  “What a gold digger!” Anjali felt instant sympathy for him. No one deserved to be treated that way. “You must have been heartbroken.”

  “Young, hopelessly in love with a callous vixen—and yes, heartbroken. That was sixteen years ago.”

  “Looks like you glued your shattered heart back together just fine.”

  He remained silent.

  “I gather you’ve never trusted another woman after that?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “So you’ve had other…uh…relationships?”

  He was quiet for an awfully long time before he replied, “One or two. I have a girlfriend at the moment. Samantha and I stay together…have been for nearly five years.”

  So he had a live-in girlfriend: Samantha. To Anjali it was as good as being married. “So you decided to trust a woman after all.”

  “I didn’t say I was married to her.”

  “Isn’t living together the same thing?”

  “Not at all,” he replied. “Staying under the same roof doesn’t extend her the right to share in my assets or certain…private areas of my life. I’ve given up on marriage.”

  “Looking at it from that cynical viewpoint, I consider myself lucky. Vik was the best. He adored me. I don’t think I’ll ever find another man like him.”

  “Is that why you’re involved with Rowling…because you can’t find another marriageable chap like Vikram Gandhi?”

  She stiffened at his question. The camaraderie of the past hour was gone in an instant. God, he wouldn’t rest until he found out more about Kip. He’d probably figured out the nature of her relationship with Kip anyway.

  And honestly, she didn’t have an answer to his question, even for herself. She still didn’t know exactly why she was involved with Kip. It was one of those things that didn’t have any underlying logic. Impulsiveness and the deep physical need to feel a warm male body against hers were the only reasons she could think of, because all she derived from it on an emotional level was a sense of shame and mild regret.

  Rishi’s eyes had taken on the familiar laser look. But she wasn’t ready to discuss Kip with him. It was too personal. “Good night, Rishi,” she said quietly and headed for the staircase.

  All the way up the stairs she could feel those laser-beam eyes following her.

  Chapter 14

  Jerry Falcone, the architect-contractor from New York, showed up a couple of days later. Middle-aged, with a shaved head, a lean, well-maintained body, and a distinctive laugh, he was friendly and easy to work with.

  He seemed to know Rishi well. “Hey, Rishi Shah, how are you? Long time no see,” he said, pumping Rishi’s hand with the ease of a man who knew exactly whom he was dealing with. “How’s London, buddy? Good to see you doing business in the U.S. of A. for a change.”

  After the greetings and small talk were over, Rishi made the introductions. “Jerry and I met in London a couple of times on other projects,” he explained to the rest of them.

  Anjali and her mother spent most of the morning with the men, discussing ideas for refurbishing Tejmal’s store. After conferring over the preliminaries, the two women left the men to deal with Jerry Falcone and the technical aspects like building codes, insulation, roofing shingles, and load-bearing walls and beams. Besides, the daily business of taking care of regular customers was still very much the women’s job.

  Since summer was a popular time for weddings, there were some customers who stopped in for clothes and matching jewelry. But the sales weren’t as vigorous as in previous years, and Anjali found it depressing.

  Falcone stayed until the end of the day. By early evening it seemed everything had been worked out to their satisfaction. When Anjali heard the estimated cost of the renovations, her eyes went round with dismay. “That’s a king’s ransom!”

  Rishi merely shrugged. “That’s what a major restoration costs these days. When was the last time this store was redone?”

  “Over nine years ago, when I first joined my parents in the business and we went from a sari shop to a boutique.”

  “In nine years things have changed and become twice as costly.” He shook his head at Anjali. “Don’t worry about the expenses. Jeevan-kaka and I will take care of that end.”

  That was the problem. The more those two invested in her business, the more uncomfortable she became. But it wasn’t like she had any other choices at the moment.

  The preliminary cleanup started in earnest on Tejmal’s store the very next day. Rishi, Mohan, and Anjali began the cleaning process while Usha and Sejal were left in charge of the business. Jeevan-kaka was told to sit in the boutique’s office and help with the paperwork since he was in no shape to handle manual labor.

  Although Tejmal had succeeded in selling all his inventory to another wholesaler in town, there were empty crates, shelves, old, yellowed paperwork, tattered plastic bags, and a whole lot of spilled grains and debris littering the store.

  Dressed in jeans, sneakers, and T-shirts, they arrived early to tackle the job. Seeing Rishi dressed in casual denim instead of his usual business attire was a pleasant surprise. He looked wonderful. She’d have to be blind not to notice what those snug jeans did for his body. The dark blue of his T-shirt also made his eyes look blue-gray, like the Atlantic on a sultry summer afternoon.

  When they reached the storage room in the back, they came to an abrupt stop. “Good God, the old man left this place filthy!” Rishi stood with his hands on his hips and grimaced. “I’d hoped he’d have the decency to leave the building in better condition than this.”

  “Didn’t he promise to clean out the premises before we took over?” Anjali sniffed the moldy odor combined with something that smelled like rotting onions.

  “I suppose this is his idea of cleaning,” said her father. “He sold his entire inventory and that’s obviously all he cared about.”

  “It’s too late to complain. Get ready for some hard work,” said Rishi with a resigned look.

  Anjali bent down to pick up an old mousetrap covered with lint and dangled it over one finger. “Look what we have here.”

  Mohan shook his head. “Let’s be grateful there’s no dead mouse in it. But maybe there are roaches?”

  “Eww!” Anjali looked at both men in turn. “We better get this place professionally fumigated before we expand. I’m positively not going to display my merchandise in this dump.”

  Rishi placed a giant pack of trash bags on the counter and pulled on a pair of latex gloves taken from the box he’d purchased earlier. “Okay, folks, put on a pair of gloves and let’s get to work. Meanwhile,” he said, looking at Mohan, “Uncle, why don’t you have Auntie arrange for an exterminator to treat the place immediately?”

  “Okay.” Looking relieved, Mohan hastened out the back door to carry out Rishi’s instructions.

  Anjali had a sneaking suspicion her father was going to take his time returning. He disliked housework, and cleaning was something he never did. In fact, she was surprised to see the immaculate Rishi getting ready to apply some old-fashioned elbow grease to the task. She doubted if he’d ever handled a broom in his life. As if he’d read her mind, he picked up a broom and started to sweep the floor.

  It turned into a long, hot day of hard manual labor. Despite the air-conditioning running on high, it was a sweaty job. By early afternoon, Rishi had hauled out something like eleven jumbo-sized bags of trash, assorted crates, broken shelves, and boxes to the Dumpster behind the building.

  By late evening, they had the place pretty much cleaned out and it was possible to take a breath without inhaling dust and going into
a sneezing fit. They placed a few fresh mousetraps, just in case. The place smelled a lot cleaner, too, after Anjali finished mopping the linoleum floors with an industrial-strength disinfectant cleaner.

  Mohan soon left to go next door to take care of the day’s receipts, leaving Rishi and Anjali to handle the rest.

  When Anjali finally put down the mop and Rishi was ready to haul the bucket of dirty water out to dump it, he turned to her with a concerned look. “Go home, Anjali. You look beat. You’ve been working nearly nonstop since dawn.” He tucked a stray lock of her hair back into her ponytail. The gesture was so unexpected and sweet, it upset Anjali’s balance a little and he grabbed her arm to steady her. “You are tired.”

  “So are you, I’m sure. Thank you for everything, Rishi.”

  “No need for thanks. We’re partners, remember?”

  “I know.” He had worked like a demon. Being the largest and strongest of the three of them, he’d automatically taken on the heavier load. This was a side of him she hadn’t seen yet—a more down-to-earth and likeable side. She’d only been exposed to the polished Londoner. “This must be quite an experience for you,” she said. “I bet you have cleaning crews for such things.”

  He looked amused. “I’ve done more than my share of hard labor. I wasn’t always a businessman.”

  “So what were you before you became a millionaire?”

  He tapped her nose with a fingertip in a playful gesture. “One of these days, I’ll tell you all about it, Miss Kapadia.”

  “Never mind, if you have to be that mysterious about it.”

  “Let’s call it a day and go home, shall we?” He carried the bucket out to the back and returned a minute later. Perspiration stains darkened his T-shirt in patches. His jeans looked dirty and a dark evening shadow was clearly visible on his face. She was almost tempted to run her hand through his hair and muss it a little, make him look dangerous.

  But she didn’t. Instead she agreed with him. “Sounds like a brilliant idea. I’m dying for a shower and a decent meal.”

  “Come on, then.” He reached for her hand. Without a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand as he switched off the lights and engaged the burglar alarm. Together they went next door to tell the others that they were heading home in Rishi’s car.