The conversation was clearly leading to some sort of conclusion. It had all the signs. “Is this a way of saying good-bye, Prajay?”
“Not good-bye but so long. I’m leaving for Washington tomorrow. The negotiations here are completed, and the acquisition is going through nicely.”
“Good for you.” I said grudgingly.
“We’ll be adding all the new company’s employees on to our payroll as of next week. Nishant will take care of that. My job here is basically over.”
And I’m over, too. “I see.” My throat was closing up. I’d never see him again. If he happened to come back for other business-related trips, I might run into him. Maybe. There was nothing more to keep him here.
“I wanted to say a proper good-bye to you before I left,” he said. “I waited a whole week to let you cool off.”
“Good-bye, then.”
“Not like this, Meena. Too much has happened between us for a telephone farewell. May I stop by your house this evening?” He paused. “Or if it’s more convenient, can we meet somewhere?”
He was afraid to ask me over to his house. He was scared that I’d throw myself at him again. That’s why he wanted to meet in a public place. I wasn’t going to let him humiliate and hurt me further. “I have a date this evening.”
He remained silent for a second. “I understand. Take care of yourself and stay in touch. You know my e-mail address and my phone number in the Washington office.”
“Sure.” The Washington office, but not his home. He wouldn’t even share his home phone number for fear of being stalked by me. I swallowed the lump that felt as large and sour as a lemon in my throat. “Good luck in your quest for a six-foot bride.”
“ ’Bye, Meena.”
As I hung up the phone, the lump grew to the size of a grapefruit. I collapsed on my bed and cried. I’d been crying a lot lately. For years I hadn’t wept in the real sense, and now I was making up for it. Love was supposed to be an uplifting emotion, a time to smile, and yet for me it had turned out to be a surefire method of turning on the waterworks.
The first day I’d met Prajay Nayak I’d cried because of physical pain, and since then I’d been weeping from emotional agony.
I needed to put a stop to this sniveling at once—start behaving like a grown woman and a professional.
That evening I took extra care with my clothes and makeup. Deepak wasn’t taking me to a restaurant quite as formal as where Prajay had taken me, but I wanted to look my best. When I went downstairs, dressed in my pearl gray dress, Mom gave me a curious look. “Going to a party?”
I shook my head, the silver chandelier earrings swinging. “I have a date.” At her slight frown I quickly added, “He’s a South Indian systems analyst who moved here from India some years ago.”
The frown cleared. A little. “What’s his name?”
“Deepak Iyer.”
“Must be from Chennai. The name sounds like he’s from the south.” She waved at me while I got my jacket out of the closet and put it on. “Have fun.”
I chuckled as I closed the door behind me and walked toward my car. This business with Maneel and Naseem had probably made it easier for me to see a South Indian man. Mom had looked almost pleased about my date, even though Deepak wasn’t Konkani. In Mom’s book, the very fact that I had a date was a good thing; that Deepak Iyer was a Hindu man with a good job was as close to the proverbial icing on the cake as it would get—when compared to Maneel’s situation, anyway.
We met at Katmandu, a trendy waterfront restaurant along the Delaware River in Trenton. The place was mobbed, and Deepak and I had to wait for nearly twenty minutes before we were seated. With its laidback, Caribbean-island decor and eclectic cuisine, it was a popular eatery for the younger crowd.
Salsa music played in the background while waiters and waitresses dressed in skimpy, colorful outfits served the patrons. Later, they would clear the center of the floor, and there would be plenty of spirited dancing.
I ordered a strawberry daiquiri and Deepak ordered a dark beer to go with our appetizer of chips and warm artichoke dip. After a few sips of my cold and seriously sweet drink, I felt a whole lot better. Prajay Nayak was already sliding from the front toward the center of my brain. I intended to transport him to the very back and then eliminate him entirely.
Even Deepak started to look good in his Indian shirt of indigo silk and with lots of extra gel in his hair. His cologne was a bit potent, but mixed in with the scents of sizzling onions, peppers, and barbecued ribs being served at the neighboring table, it didn’t smell bad at all.
While we waited for my blackened tilapia and Deepak’s jerk chicken to arrive, we sipped our drinks and talked. Deepak filled me in on some of the new employees who would be joining him and his coworkers soon. He didn’t seem happy about the prospect of sharing space with the newcomers.
“Bloody stupid of Nayak and Rathod to go out and buy one more company, yaar,” he grumbled. “We were already crowded in that building; now they’re making the cubicles even smaller.”
“It’s all part of a growing business, Deepak,” I said, scooping up some of the artichoke dip with a chip and popping it in my mouth.
“Corporate greed is what it is.” He took a swig of beer and made a face. “These two guys have more money than all of us put together, and yet they go out and look for more.”
“Nothing wrong with wanting to get rich—as long as they’re doing it legally and honestly.”
“Doing it on the workers’ backs.”
“Both Nishant and Prajay work long hours, and they’re very hands-on in their management style. You can’t accuse them of laziness while making their employees work like dogs.”
“I don’t know about that, Meena. At least Nishant we see every day, but the other fellow—who knows what he does in Washington to justify that kind of income?”
Despite Prajay’s current number one status on my black list, I was annoyed at Deepak’s assumption that Prajay was some sort of capitalist menace. “That’s not a fair depiction of Prajay Nayak, you know. He works very hard and treats his employees well.”
“That is a matter for debate. He keeps bagging these big contracts in Washington, and yet our salary increase was a mere three percent last year. If that’s not corporate greed, then what is?”
Deepak’s habit of talking with his mouth full was beginning to irritate me as much as his denigration of Prajay and Nishant. “Do I detect a hint of envy here?”
“I’m only stating a fact.”
I made some quick calculations in my head and narrowed my eyes at Deepak. “Tell me something: If you had the exact same job at another New Jersey company of comparable size and reputation, would you be making more money?”
Deepak chewed on his chip and took a second or two to answer. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Deepak, be honest. You make a better salary than any of your counterparts in other companies in the tri-state area. I did plenty of research on salaries and benefits before I interviewed with Rathnaya, so I know for a fact that they pay very well. Even with the three percent, we all earn a lot more than others in the industry. What other company gives such hefty bonuses to their salespeople? Last year, Prajay and Nishant gave away three new cars to their top producers.”
“Wait.” Deepak held up a finger to make his point. “That is for publicity purposes—photos in the newspapers and all that. Do you think it’s because they care about their employees?”
I paused while our waiter placed our steaming plates of food on the table. With a polite thank-you to him, I turned my gaze back to Deepak. “Yes, I believe they care about their employees. We get a fair number of holidays, flextime hours, and vacation and sick days, plus generous medical and dental benefits.”
“All major companies give those.”
“And, because our employees are nearly ninety percent Indian, we even get a day off for Diwali in addition to the traditional American holidays,” I argued, referring to the Hindu fes
tival of lights.
He chuckled. “You sound like a commercial for Rathnaya.”
“I am Rathnaya’s PR manager, remember?”
Deepak was a fast eater and nearly a quarter of the way into his meal while I continued talking. But he looked up now. “Those two fellows are still too damn rich for their own good. You should have sued them for the accident you suffered.”
With my fork held midway between the plate and my mouth, I stared at him. “It was an accident. Most people don’t go suing someone over an accident.”
“Of course they do, if it happens at their place of work—especially if the employer himself caused it.”
“It’s just not right.” My sense of outrage simmered. “It’s not decent behavior, period.”
“When that big fellow pushes someone your size and you get hurt, you should get compensated for it, don’t you think?”
Suddenly I lost my appetite and put my fork down. Most of my meal was still on the plate. “Whatever gave you the idea that he pushed me?”
“Gargi Bansal told me Prajay Nayak knocked you down.”
I should have known Gargi had been running around the office making up outrageous stories. “Why would he deliberately knock me down?”
Deepak threw me a meaningful smile. “I don’t know. Maybe he had his eye on you? This was his way of getting to know you better?”
“That’s ridiculous.” I was seething, and I let Deepak know it. “You can tell Gargi Bansal that I was the one who was careless. I was the one who rushed out of the elevator like a fool and fell on my ... Never mind.” I didn’t owe him any details.
“Oh, I see now: You fell to get his attention.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. It was an accident, pure and simple. Poor Prajay was beside himself with worry. And he’s been very kind to me since the incident.”
“I heard about his offering you a lift in his car. Perfect opportunity to get to know you even better?” Deepak had the gall to wink at me.
“He was being generous. And you can tell your friend Gargi to keep her nose out of other people’s business.”
Deepak cleaned up the last morsel on his plate and raised his brows at me. “Looks like you don’t like Gargi very much.”
“Very perceptive of you.” I gulped my water and looked down at my plate. What a shame. The tilapia was excellent, but I was in no mood to eat it. “If you’re finished eating, I’d like to leave, Deepak.”
He studied my plate. “But you haven’t eaten yet.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“No dessert or coffee either?” When I shook my head, he glanced at the dance floor, which was just being set up. “Little bit of dancing at least?”
“My ankle is still not up to it, thank you.”
“All right, then.” He signaled the waiter for our check and turned his attention back to me. “All the more reason why you should sue Nayak. If several weeks after your fall you’re still experiencing pain, then you have a legitimate reason for a lawsuit.”
“I don’t want to sue anyone. And I don’t want to discuss it anymore. Case closed.”
“Are you angry with me or something, yaar?” He looked genuinely perplexed.
“I’m livid!” I gave Deepak a fuming look and turned my face toward the dance floor. Couples were already getting ready to shake their hips to some hot Caribbean music. Under ordinary circumstances I liked that sort of energetic dancing, but today I didn’t want to dance, and honestly couldn’t. I didn’t want to injure my ankle once again, and I felt no desire to rub my body up against Deepak’s.
And all this time he had had no idea that his words had enraged me. What did he think I was going to do? Smile and agree that a lawsuit was a brilliant idea and then dance with him? What a jerk.
Until now I’d thought of him as a not-too-bad sort of guy, a little grating at times, but this evening he had revealed a few other qualities. He was petty, covetous, a bit vicious. I’d seen a distinct gleam of devilish pleasure in his eyes when he’d talked about the lawsuit.
He wanted to use me to get his revenge on two decent men he envied and disliked. How could a man enjoy a good salary and then sit there calmly drinking and eating while dreaming up ways of making his employer’s life miserable?
Deepak Iyer was not a nice man. Well, I was sure about one thing. I wasn’t going out with him again. He and Gargi Bansal were perfectly suited to each other. Maybe they’d hook up and start their own company someday. Then they could go out and hire folks like themselves.
When our check arrived I insisted on paying for my half of the meal. I didn’t want to be obligated to Deepak for anything. When he protested, I merely held up my hand. “This is the twenty-first century, Deepak. We girls do pay our way at times.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a resigned shrug and accepted the cash I handed him. We waited a few more minutes while our waiter processed Deepak’s credit card and then brought it back to the table for his signature.
Outside the restaurant, I said a polite good night and got into my car. I was still bristling and didn’t want to make the mistake of saying anything more to antagonize Deepak Iyer. Now that I’d had a glimpse of his mean streak, I didn’t want to give him a weapon for wreaking future vengeance on me.
I got the unpleasant feeling that I’d already angered him enough to make him a potential enemy.
As I observed Deepak driving away in his black Honda, I picked up my cell phone. It was a little after nine o’clock, and I didn’t want to go home yet. The prospect of spending a Saturday night alone or with my parents was depressing, in case they happened to be home. I wondered if Rita and Anoop would mind my company for an hour or so.
My voice must have sounded a little forlorn because Rita said, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I said with a laugh. “Are you and Anoop still honeymooning or could you spare me an hour? I am at loose ends tonight and thought I’d spend some time with you.”
“Of course we can spare you an hour. Are you in the mood for a movie?”
“Umm ...” A movie didn’t appeal at the moment.
“We have a Netflix DVD we haven’t seen yet.” Rita must have pitied my plight—a single woman alone on a Saturday night, so desperate as to beg to foist herself upon her honeymooning friends.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just hang out with you for a while and talk.”
“Then come right over. We were just about to open a container of mango-pineapple ice cream.”
“Sounds delicious. Save me a scoop.”
I started the car and headed for Rita’s house. I needed a friend tonight. My heart was aching from thinking about Prajay. He was leaving tomorrow. Gone from my life.
Chapter 17
Visiting with Rita and Anoop was a good decision. The ice cream was sheer heaven. Since I’d eaten very little at the restaurant—no thanks to Deepak Iyer—I ate two helpings.
Rita and Anoop looked like a comfortably married couple already. He was in faded jeans and a T-shirt while Rita wore baggy pajamas.
“I feel bad about encroaching on your Saturday night plans,” I said to them, putting on my contrite face.
“Don’t be silly. We love having you here.”
“But it’s your honeymoon.”
Anoop smiled and squeezed Rita’s shoulder. They were about the same height, so their shoulders were almost on a level. “We can’t be honeymooning every minute of the day.”
Rita licked the ice cream off her spoon. “If I eat like this every night, I’m likely to get as fat as a tub, and the honeymoon will be over before I know it.”
“Baby, you can get as fat as you want. I’ll love you just the same,” said Anoop, and he smacked a kiss on Rita’s head.
I grinned at their silliness. “That’s what all men say, and then they change their minds when it really happens.”
Anoop rose to collect the empty bowls. “Then I’ll eat more and get fat, too. We’ll get fat together.”
Rita nodded approvingly. “That’s the spirit, honey.”
“He’s such a sweetheart,” I said as we watched him disappear into the kitchen. He was a really nice guy—average height and weight, average looks, superior brain. But he had a big heart.
“He sure is,” sighed Rita. The most blissful expression came over her round face surrounded by masses of naturally curly hair. She had the look of a contented angel sitting on her very own cloud. It was a look that sent a stab of envy right through my belly.
While Anoop loaded the dishwasher, Rita looked at me and lowered her voice. “What’s wrong?”
I brushed it off with a shrug. “Nothing’s wrong. In fact I was on a date earlier. He turned out to be a jerk, so I got out of it as fast as I could.”
“Anyone I know?”
“No. It’s the same guy from work who I went out with the other day.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to date FOBs? They have such antiquated views on everything.”
“He’s modern enough, but I told him off when he suggested that I bring a lawsuit against my employer.”
“What for?”
“My accident.”
“Oh.” Rita made a face. “Why is it that everyone in the world thinks America is one big courtroom?”
“You have to admit we have a disproportionate number of frivolous lawsuits.”
“I suppose.”
“But I told this guy to get lost. I wouldn’t dream of suing nice guys like Prajay and Nishant. They’ve been good to me. Since my accident Prajay has been exceptionally kind and thoughtful.”
I noticed Rita’s interest perk up. “Isn’t he Konkani like you?”
“Yeah.”
“So, what else about him interests you?
“That’s about it.”
Rita had been my best friend far too long not to see through my nonchalance. “You’re interested in him, aren’t you?”
It was no use pretending. I took a deep breath. “I am, but—” Just then Anoop returned to the living room and sat down. Although I’d known him for a while now, it would be embarrassing to bare my soul in front of him. I shot to my feet. “I really should be going home.”
The Reluctant Matchmaker Page 16
