“Morning. New York treat you OK?” Michael took a sip of his coffee and wiped his bald head with his other hand. He was so pale that his white shirt looked like the color of his skin. He was in his late fifties, but he had one of those faces where you couldn’t gauge his age correctly. He called out to Crystal and then swept his arms in the direction of the conference room.
Crystal and I exchanged hurried looks on the way in, and Michael slammed the door behind us. With his hands on his hips, he paced up and down the room. If he was trying to watch his temper, then he was failing completely, because his each step got angrier and he pressed his foot into the floor. Crystal’s face tensed as I continued to maintain my poker face.
He finally paused. “We are fucked!” He slammed the table—the space between the projector and Crystal and me. I was glad the room had no glass windows because Michael would have probably put his fists through them.
I couldn’t take another tantrum. “What happened, Michael?”
Michael wiped his forehead. “Rohan was supposed to meet with Sarah Goldstein on Saturday at the UN headquarters. That was thirty-six fucking hours ago.” He punched the desk. “Sarah had set up meetings with government media liaisons.”
“Is she available another day?” I asked with a straight face as I tried to maintain the upper-hand vibe.
Michael adjusted his glasses. “She travels out to Ecuador tomorrow for the Annual South American Women’s Empowerment Summit. That’s why we needed the analytics delivered on Saturday when Rohan was scheduled to meet with her. Fuck, this meeting has already been rescheduled a few times.” Michael prodded the furniture with his fingertips. “It was all fucking Rohan’s idea and now he’s missing!”
Rohan had returned to NYC early because of his meeting. Why didn’t he say a word to Crystal or me about not being able to make it? Was he seriously sick or in trouble? There was no doubting Rohan’s commitment to the conference. My mind went in directions I didn’t want it to. My feelings ranged from concern to irritation, but I continued to stay calm in the face of Michael’s anger. I would deal with Rohan later, but right now, I had to do something. There was also the possibility that Hedick was overreacting to punish us.
I started to rub the gold and diamond pendant Mumma had gifted me on my eighteenth birthday. It was the first piece of white gold jewelry I had ever owned. Yellow gold is so loud and déclassé, Mumma. But now, it worked as a mnemonic device. Yellow gold reminded me of Sarah Goldstein. Sarah was Jewish. And I had learned while working with organizations in the United States that many Jewish people didn’t work from Friday sundown to Sunday morning. That was it: I had found the perfect excuse. “Rohan asked me to cover the meeting for him because he got sick, and I was supposed to deliver the analytics.”
“YOU?!” Hedick was angry and shocked at the same time.
From nowhere, I made myself sound very confident in my reasoning for not delivering the thumb drive—I was in charge, it was my call. “Yes, me.” I sounded more convincing the second time around. “I thought Ms. Goldstein shouldn’t be disturbed over the weekend because she is Jewish. I wanted to respect her faith.” I said it with a straight face, shocked at how smoothly I had lied.
Crystal just looked at me. Michael was gargling the insides of his mouth with coffee and then swallowed it in a loud, deliberate gulp.
“That is awfully nice of you to be considerate of Sarah’s religious faith. But nobody really cares.” His tone was harsh. Or maybe it was sarcastic. “I still don’t understand why Rohan wouldn’t tell you that Sarah is anything but religious. That woman eats bacon like other people eat chewing gum.” He was loud and crass and sweaty. And his comments sounded more insulting because Sarah was a large woman. Rohan was right; Michael Hedick was a dick.
I fake-laughed at his cruel comments and apologized for my lack of cultural understanding. I thanked Michael—my colleague, or was it my subordinate or my superior—for correcting me.
“You think too much.” Michael tucked his shirt into the waist of his pants and stared at me with cold eyes.
I tried to breathe. “Don’t worry about it, Michael. I will go now and deliver the analytics. We might have lost the opportunity to meet at the UN headquarters, but we can always Skype with Goldstein. I will reach out to her.”
Michael didn’t say a word. He wiped his forehead and smiled. “Crystal, figure out how sick that son of a bitch Brady is.”
I smiled back, but my mind was elsewhere: yes, Rohan had looked quieter than usual at the engagement party. He had held a drink but hadn’t sipped it. His body had felt a little warm when he hugged me to say a bye, but Rohan had shrugged. “It’s the exhaustion catching up or maybe I am just that hot.” Typical Rohan. Where was he? Gosh, Michael was right. I thought too much.
Crystal and I walked out of the conference room together. “Rohan says you are rare and exceptional.” Crystal pressed my hand gently. “Now I understand why.”
Since I didn’t handle compliments well, I withdrew my hand and changed the topic. “OK, we’ve got to figure out how to reach Rohan. Michael thinks I have the analytics and wants me to deliver them.” I spoke faster than usual.
“I’ll try to call him.”
I thought of what I needed to do next. How much time would it take to go see Ms. Goldstein? And, if she was angry about Rohan missing the meeting as well as the delayed delivery, would that impact her level of involvement in the conference?
“Got Rohan’s voicemail, again.” Crystal hung up.
I picked up my cellphone and readjusted my handbag on the shoulder.
“Where are you going?’
“Damage control. I’m going to Rohan’s service apartment to find out what happened.”
“Don’t leave me alone with Dracula.”
“You’ll be fine.” I squeezed her shoulders. “Call me if you need anything.” I pointed toward my phone. “Can I get the address to Rohan’s apartment, please?” I knew Rohan stayed in an apartment on the upper west side in Manhattan.
Crystal tore a sheet of paper and wrote down Rohan’s address.
- 22 -
Sometimes, we need a random person to show us a fresh perspective on old abscesses and issues.
As I sat in the cab, I browsed through the posts and messages of my online therapy group. Amanda and Tanya were unusually quiet. How violated they must feel, sharing their vulnerabilities, knowing their perpetrator was still reading everything and they could do nothing about it. Or had they made the choice not to act on it? I was familiar with that stance.
There was an email from Jay. Oh no, there were multiple. He had replied to his own emails where he sounded like a broken record.
“Sorry if you thought I was a jerk.” That was the first email.
“Here is the thing: I’ll just say it. I am not at my best these days.”
“Maybe you are sick of this whiny friend and don’t want to be friends anymore. I get it.”
“See, I knitted a new blanket for Cat. Awesome, right?” There was a picture of Jay holding the blanket.
Why did Jay insist on continuously messaging me and making everything more complicated and annoying? Because Jay was a pathological narcissist. He had no sense of obligation to people in his life. It was always about him and his problems or his hobbies. Not once did he ask about Naina’s engagement or the conference or me or anything else. Not surprised!
I couldn’t even bring myself to read all his emails. “Ugh, whiny, hormonal high schooler.”
The cab driver looked at me in the rearview mirror. “You all right, miss?”
“I don’t understand people.” I hated talking to strangers and here I was venting to a taxi driver.
“Some boy troubling you?” he said in an accent I hadn’t heard before. It was singsong, and so relaxed. “Life is too short to give another minute to anyone or anything that doesn’t make you happy.”
I hesitated.
The cabbie pressed the brake and pointed to the entrance of a fancy b
uilding on the upper west side in Manhattan. “Here is your address.” He printed the receipt.
I don’t know what it was about the stranger’s words, but they made sense to me. I handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
“That’s too much.”
“Consider it your fee for the wisdom you just shared.”
We both smiled.
I walked to the lobby and asked the doorman to buzz Rohan’s apartment, which was on the eighteenth floor.
“Your name?” He dialed 1802 on the building intercom.
“Good evening, sir. A-hannah is here.” He spoke into the phone nervously looking at me for pronunciation assurance.
My phone pinged. It was Jay with his abrupt message, “I am so afraid we are losing our connection.”
I knew what he meant, but I pretended not to. I noticed how urgently he felt the need to reel me back in. “The signal seems fine at my end. And unless one was speaking over the phone, the signal strength doesn’t make a difference. Wi-fi works.” I made a smiley.
“Wow! You won’t stop harping about us not talking on the phone and keep mentioning it passive-aggressively. Yes, I am a fuckup. But I own my mistakes. You pretend to be this perfect thing, Ahana, with no faults. You call yourself empathetic when you are anything but that. Do you even have a heart?”
Jay was chronically unwilling to see his shortcomings. He wasn’t going to break me. Instead of taking Jay’s tirade personally, I distanced myself and observed what set him off and what the pattern was. I had to make a more calculating approach to our correspondence. I just had to tell him what he wanted to hear. “Jay, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to come across like that. I get crazy sometimes. Are you mad?”
I was disgusted by him, but I knew I had to do this if I wanted to find out why he wouldn’t leave me alone and whether he was dangerous.
The doorman pointed me in the direction of the elevator banks. “Please make a left at the water fountain and any of the elevators on the right will take you to the eighteenth floor. Mr. Brady’s apartment is the third one to the left of the elevator banks.”
Before I put my phone inside the bag, I wrote to Jay, purposely playing along with the emotional charade. “Clearly, you are disappointed in our friendship. I have been there for you whenever you needed me—even when others weren’t, from what you’ve said. Looks like that’s not enough. I’ll let you be.”
As I entered the elevator, my phone pinged. Predictably, Jay was all sweet again. “Oh, hon, c’mon. Your friendship is one of the few things I am thankful for. I have lost so much in this life and that’s why I lose it when you doubt my integrity.”
Jay wasn’t getting any more of my time today. I locked my emotions inside.
* * *
I took a deep breath and walked toward Rohan’s apartment, unsure what I’d find.
Draped in a housecoat, eyes droopy and puffy, Rohan opened the door. “Sorry you had to wait downstairs.” He sounded weak. “Eric, the doorman, he is new.”
“You don’t look good.” I stepped inside the apartment and took off my shoes. I noticed the unfinished brick wall behind the television and home theatre system, with three artworks hung on it.
Rohan showed me inside and walked toward the kitchen. I looked around and quickly scanned the apartment—whatever else I could see. There was a ceiling fan. Classy, modern furniture. Pictures of his dog. There was a picture of Rohan with his dad. An in-built library. Everything was neat and folded up. So much sunlight.
Rohan remembered the first thing I did whenever I entered any office, restaurant, bar, or theatre: he brought me a glass of water.
“Thank you.” I settled on the sofa and took a sip.
“I am surprised to see you.” He sounded weak.
It would seem I had finished my quota of patience with Jay. “Surprised? You flew down to NOLA for the engagement party despite your fever. You didn’t show up to your meeting with Sarah. You didn’t deliver the analytics to Ms. Goldstein. You didn’t inform me you were unable to make the delivery.” I stood up. “You look so pale but won’t say a word about what’s going on.”
“I got sick the day before Naina and Josh’s engagement party, but I didn’t think it was anything big. But by the time I returned to New York, I was running a fever of 105.” Rohan blew his nose into a tissue. “I tried calling Ms. Goldstein a few times, got voicemail, but then felt so sick I went to the ER. Time moved differently there, and then it was already midnight on Sunday.”
“You could have at least told one of us to make the delivery and meet with her.” I waved my hand as if swatting away his words.
“Don’t make it sound like an unforgivable sin, Matron.”
“You can’t take everything lightly, yaar. You know how things have been at work with Hedick. He hounded us this morning because Ms. Goldstein doesn’t have the analytics. Apparently, she was upset you didn’t show up to the meeting. How will she connect with the women in Latin America?”
“It sucks you had to butt heads with that asshat Hedick! I’m sorry if I made things harder at the office.” Rohan grabbed his face with both his palms and sank in the sofa. “I emailed Sarah on Saturday afternoon and mentioned I was sick. I sent her the analytics with the encryption code and told her I would drop off the hard copy by Monday evening—she would still have everything before catching her flight to Ecuador.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Well, looks like she didn’t get your email.”
“Crap!” His face darkened. “The email must be in her spam folder because of the attachment.”
“Did you not follow up with her?”
“I could barely think. I completely passed out after that.”
I sat next to him. “Why didn’t you ask either Crystal or me to drop off the analytics?”
“Crystal’s son was in town for a day yesterday to visit her. You were in NOLA; I didn’t want to ruin your trip. Sarah had the electronic copy of the document in any case.”
“One last thing.”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
Rohan’s nose was red. His eyes looked weak. He massaged his temples gently in circular motion and rested his head on the backrest of the sofa. “I’m used to being on my own, Ahana. I have never had anyone take care of me ever since I was a kid.”
He got up and went into the kitchen. I followed. As Rohan warmed up water to drink, my heart melted. How could any mother abandon their child? How did he grow up without a mother to pamper or dote on him? He read the perplexed look on my face as he took a sip of the water. “Don’t worry; it’s not a big deal. I shut down and rest until I feel better.”
“In India, this would never happen.” I shook my head. “People would cook for you and take you for doctor appointments. We all need TLC when sick.”
“How about I move to India with you, so you can give me TLC when I fall sick?” Rohan elbowed me.
“Paagal.” I looked at the floor. “Have you eaten anything?”
“Nope.”
“That’s not OK. How about I go down and get you some chicken noodle soup?”
“You really don’t need to, Ahana.”
“I know, but I want to.” I smiled at him. “Mumma would make me chicken noodle soup with loads of vegetables when I was sick. It would always work like magic. The cook did the daily cooking based on what she asked him to make. But when I got sick, no one could touch my food. Mumma made everything with her own hands despite her long hours at the hospital.”
“Spoiled brat,” Rohan teased me.
“Nah, more like very loved.”
“All right, lady love. You are spoiling me. Continue doing so and I won’t let you go back to India.” He smiled.
I looked at him shyly. “Will you let me leave your apartment, at least?” I started to walk toward the main door.
“If I had my way, never.” Rohan let out the biggest grin.
I poked his third eye.
; Rohan held my hand. “I’m so sorry you and Crystal had to deal with Dracula.”
“No worries. Rest up. I’ll bring you something to eat so you have your strength back right away.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I touched Rohan’s forehead to see whether he had any fever. “Do you have any acetaminophen?”
“English, please.” He sat on a chair.
“Fever-reducing-medication.” I purposefully stressed every syllable to tease Rohan.
“Haha, yes. Tylenol.”
“I need to check the date of expiration.”
“All right, Dr. Ahana.” He handed me the bottle of Tylenol.
I inspected it and threw it in the dustbin. “I am a doctor’s daughter.” Before pulling the main door close, I said to Rohan, “Freshen up; you’ll feel better. Also, can you bring me the analytics—I will personally go and deliver it to Sarah Goldstein.”
He saluted me.
“Paagal, I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
I was wearing stilettos and a fitted dress and didn’t realize until now that walking anywhere would take me double the amount of time. From an organic deli, I bought a carton of eggs, fruits, energy drinks, ginger root, cough drops, Tylenol, hot soups, hearty salads, stir fry chicken with vegetables, lamb shawarma, and picked up a copy of the Economist.
When I returned forty-five minutes later, Rohan opened the door in a fresh set of clothes. He looked better.
“Did you rob the grocery stores on the Upper West Side?” Rohan took the bags from my hands and walked toward the kitchen.
As I took off my heels and placed them on the shoe rack, I peeped into the hallway. “Aah, you missed me.” I winked. The entranceway gave the intimate, welcoming feeling of a historic townhouse, which I hadn’t noticed when I visited him earlier that day.
“Well, actually, I did.” Rohan’s face was serious. I had never seen him this way.
Louisiana Catch Page 22
