The Reluctant Matchmaker

by Shobhan Bantwal

  “I’m only a couple of miles from the Hyatt. I can pick you up in a matter of minutes.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Prajay. This trip was unexpected, so I need to study Paul’s notes. Besides, I’m not alone.”

  Prajay was quiet for a long time. “I see,” he said finally, clearly drawing the wrong conclusion.

  I would have liked to continue the farce, let him think I was with a man, sharing a hotel room with him. But I didn’t see any point in it, not even to make Prajay jealous. In any case, he had no interest in me.

  “It’s my great-aunt,” I explained. “She’s visiting from California, and my parents thought she could take in the sights in Washington while I’m working here. You know the usual desi routine, trying to cram business, relatives, shopping, and sightseeing into one short trip. She and I are sharing a room and ...” Why was I talking so much? He didn’t give a damn.

  “Your great-aunt? That’s wonderful,” said Prajay. “She’s welcome to go with us, of course. We can eat at an Indian restaurant so she can have vegetarian food.”

  I laughed. “You don’t know my great-aunt. We call her Akka. She likes meat dishes, and she loves to drink scotch and soda. She’s quite ... something.”

  Prajay chuckled. “How old is she?”

  “Seventy-eight,” I whispered when I heard the bathroom door open.

  “Sounds like an interesting lady. Please extend my invitation to her. What time do you want me to pick you two up?”

  Some nerve, taking Akka and me for granted. “I think we’ll just go downstairs to the lobby restaurant and make it an early night, Prajay. Thanks for the invitation anyway.”

  Akka settled herself in the chair by the window.

  “Oh, come on, Meena. Are you still angry at me? I thought you’d have gotten over it by now.”

  “I’m not angry, Prajay. I’m just tired. It’s been a long drive, and some of it in wet weather.” I noticed Akka studying me curiously.

  “We’ll make it a quick dinner, and then I’ll drop you off at the hotel,” Prajay insisted. “You can still have an early night. I’ll even save you the bother of reading Paul’s notes; I’ll fill you in on everything while we’re eating.”

  It was tempting to accept his invitation. I was eager to see him again, but I wanted to protect myself, too. I didn’t want to go through that long crying spell a second time. I didn’t want to experience that nagging ache anymore. I didn’t want to feel anything for Prajay.

  But then I looked at Akka, her hair combed once again and her sari perfectly pleated. I could smell her jasmine talc. She was thumbing through the hotel guide, pretending not to eavesdrop on my conversation. She’d appreciate eating at a nice Indian restaurant. Besides, Prajay was a Konkani man, and she’d probably enjoy meeting him, too.

  “All right, you twisted my arm,” I said to Prajay. “How about in fifteen minutes? We’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

  “Good. See you in a bit.”

  When I hung up, Akka quirked a brow at me. “We are meeting someone?”

  I rose from the edge of the bed and headed for the bathroom. “Prajay Nayak is picking us up. He’s taking you and me to an Indian restaurant for dinner.”

  Akka’s lips curved with joy. “That is so generous. You said his surname was Nayak. So he is a Konkani like us?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Is he married?”

  “No.” Just before I closed the bathroom door, I noticed the look on her face. I was very familiar with that look. The wheels in Akka’s head were turning faster than those on a bullet train.

  I shut the door, leaned against it for a moment, and closed my eyes. I shouldn’t have let Prajay talk me into going to dinner. Now that Akka knew he was single and available, she was going to put on her matchmaker’s hat and torture me all evening, maybe for the rest of her visit.

  But it was too late to change my mind.

  Chapter 21

  The minute Prajay walked into the lobby, all my resolve to keep this meeting cool and professional crumbled. My mouth turned dry when I saw those long, confident legs striding toward us. Droplets of rain clung to his trench coat and dark hair.

  Damn, but the man had some strange power over me that I just couldn’t shake off.

  With a fixed smile I rose from the lobby’s couch and held out my hand. But instead of merely taking my hand, he bent down and placed a light kiss on my cheek, making my heart thrash around like a beached fish. “Hi, Meena. Good to see you again.”

  Akka’s eyes went round with wonder and most likely happy speculation. I doubt she’d ever seen a man and woman kiss, other than on screen. It was only a cordial peck on the cheek, but I wanted to smack Prajay’s face for doing that in front of my elderly aunt. Or had he done that on purpose? If so, what was the purpose?

  He shook hands politely with Akka. In turn, Akka seemed to be fascinated by him. She raised her chin all the way up to meet his eyes. “My goodness, you are so tall. Meena didn’t tell me,” she said.

  “Didn’t she?” he said, his quiet tone and eyes telling me nothing.

  Without a comment I started walking toward the exit. He ran ahead of me to hold the door for Akka and me. I came to a stop when he opened both the front and rear passenger doors of a gleaming black BMW. “What happened to your Corvette?”

  “I left it at home when you said your aunt was with you. This is my other car.”

  “Oh.” I should have known a rich man would have more than one car—another fancy one, no less. This one was obviously to wow the old folks. He probably had a few elderly aunts and uncles in his own family. Who didn’t?

  I let Akka occupy the front seat beside him. The interior of the car smelled of his cologne and the faintly pungent scent of the leather upholstery. Something about the profoundly male smell sent a sensual tremor through me. Some lucky six-foot woman was going to have all this someday soon.

  While I sat in the backseat thinking glum thoughts, Akka happily carried on a conversation with Prajay. He politely answered her inquisitive questions about his business and his family and everything else the nosy old lady wanted to know. If she was bothering him, he didn’t show it. Anyway, he deserved it. He’d insisted on taking us out despite my protests, so he’d have to put up with Akka’s prying.

  I didn’t pay much attention to their conversation since Akka could talk to a rock if left alone with one. What caught my attention was her gasp of delight. “Oh my, you are Gopal and Pandhari Nayak’s grandson? Ayyo, what a small world.”

  She turned around to address me. “Listen to this, Meena. This young man’s grandparents were people I used to know back in Mangalore. Such lovely and warm people they were. What a nice coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “Very nice,” I said, hoping my eye-roll would go unnoticed in the dark. All of us Konkanis were somehow related since we were a very small community. Why hadn’t I thought of that when I’d allowed Prajay to take Akka and me out to dinner? I should’ve known Akka would find a friend or relative somewhere on this planet who was in some way related to Prajay.

  Thank goodness the restaurant was pleasant. Since it was a weeknight, it was quiet, with few other tables occupied. The place wasn’t much different from most Indian restaurants: ethnic paintings, framed embroideries featuring a lot of beads and sequins, classical music playing in the background, and the two waiters dressed in cream kurtas that reached mid-thigh level.

  When our waiter seated us and asked what we wanted to drink, Prajay turned to Akka. “Would you like a scotch and soda, Akka?”

  So he was already calling her Akka, instead of Chandra-pachi or Mrs. Kamat. And naturally Akka looked pleasantly astonished at his question. “How do you know I like scotch and soda?”

  “Lucky guess,” he said with a smile, and nodded at the waiter to get Akka her favorite drink.

  I sent Prajay a derisive glance. The man was shamelessly using an old lady to try and soften me up. I was still bristling at him. Earlier, when I’d told
him I wasn’t angry, I hadn’t been altogether honest with him. He continued to pay attention to Akka, who was still busy asking him about this aunt and that uncle, and some cousin in Australia.

  When the waiter turned to me, I asked for a glass of chardonnay, and Prajay ordered a merlot.

  Ultimately the evening didn’t turn out so bad, because the food was excellent. Akka seemed pleased with her favorite lamb roghan josh curry, and my shrimp saag was perfect, with the spinach saag velvety and fragrant, and the shrimp tender and juicy. Prajay’s vinegary hot chicken vindaloo was equally good. He made Akka and me taste some of it.

  We were too stuffed for dessert, so Prajay and I talked about the next day’s meeting over masala chai. Spiced tea. Akka quietly observed us while we talked shop. I could feel her eyes on us, summing us up. The crafty old woman was making some quick calculations in her mind.

  When the meal was over, I had to admit the idea of eating out had been a good one. I felt warm and mellow with the wine and food nicely settled in my stomach. And talking about tomorrow’s meeting with the advertisers had eased my anger to some extent. Work was always an effective calming agent.

  It was well after nine o’clock when Prajay dropped us off at the hotel. This time I made sure I kept my distance from him while Akka and I thanked him for a wonderful meal. I wasn’t going to allow him to kiss me again. Ever. It played havoc with my sense of balance. I was determined to keep our relationship on an impersonal level.

  When we got into the elevator, Akka came straight to the point. “Why do you dislike him, Meena? He is such a nice fellow.”

  “I don’t dislike him.”

  “Then why were you so cold and abrupt with him? Is it because he is dark-skinned and not very handsome?”

  “His looks have nothing to do with it.”

  “He was being friendly to you, but you were sort of ... detached.”

  “I like to keep my business and personal lives separate, Akka,” I said, hoping my eyes wouldn’t give me away. “That’s the way it is in this country. You wouldn’t understand that.”

  “Of course I understand that. But I get the feeling that you two had some kind of misunderstanding or something.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Shabari told me about your falling down and hurting your leg and your boss driving you to work. She was talking about this same man, wasn’t she?”

  “Shabari-pachi reads too much into everything. You know how melodramatic she is, and so desperate to set me up with a Konkani guy.”

  By the time we got to our room, Akka had it all figured out. “Meena, in spite of your aloofness I can tell that you actually like Prajay.”

  “I don’t deny he’s a nice guy,” I said, taking off my jacket and hanging it in the closet. I took Akka’s coat and did the same.

  “Also very decent and smart.” Akka was studying my face closely.

  “Yes, he’s all that.” I gave her a candid look. “Listen, if you’re getting romantic ideas about him and me, you can forget them.”

  Akka sat on the edge of one of the beds and took off her sneakers. “He is perfect for you even though he is very much taller than you. Height does not mean anything. Fate has brought you two together so conveniently.” She went quiet for a second. “He even kissed you. So why are you fighting it?”

  “A peck on the cheek is an acceptable way of greeting a friend in American society. It doesn’t mean anything.” I should have realized she’d make a big deal out of that kiss. Tossing aside my own shoes, I stretched out on the other bed, with my street clothes still on. “Akka, if I tell you something, will you promise to keep it to yourself?”

  Akka nodded. “Of course, charda. You don’t want me to tell your mummy and daddy that you are dating Prajay Nayak? Is that it?”

  “Dating Prajay? Good Lord, what am I going to do with you?” I gave a brittle laugh. “Nothing could be further from the truth. And I’ll tell you what the truth is: Prajay Nayak is not the least bit interested in me. In fact, he asked me to help him find the perfect wife.”

  “What?” Akka stood to get changed. I watched while she pulled off her coral sari and wrapped herself in a soft, white cotton one, more suitable for sleeping in. Then she took off her coral blouse, exposing her plain white bra, before putting on a white blouse. “Is that boy stupid or what? When the perfect girl is right under his nose, he is looking elsewhere?”

  “Not just looking but actively seeking. With my assistance. He asked me to help him place ads for a six-foot woman.”

  “He wants what?” Akka frowned while she loosened the bun on her head and placed the hairpins on the nightstand. Her long, waist-length hair was impressive for her age.

  “You heard it right. He wants a woman who’s about six feet—someone he can look in the eye. He says looks don’t matter to him, and yet he wants her to be tall.”

  Akka started braiding her hair. “Very silly of him.”

  “He paid me well for helping him, though. I made a list for him from all the responses that came in. By now he must have met at least a couple of those tall women.”

  “So you are working not only in his company as a manager but also as his ...”

  “Consultant.”

  She nodded. “You are his marriage consultant, then?”

  “Something like that.” I turned to look at her. “You have to promise not to tell anybody, not even Mom, and certainly not my aunts. I promised Prajay not to tell anyone. This is strictly confidential.”

  “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.” Akka clucked in dismay as she retrieved her toothbrush from her toilet kit. “Paap.”

  “Why are you pitying Prajay? He’s rich; he’s successful; he’s got everything.” I slid off the bed and opened my suitcase to look for my nightclothes. “One of these days he’ll find the tall woman he wants.”

  Akka squeezed a glob of toothpaste onto her brush and looked at me. “I’m not pitying him; I’m pitying you.”

  I stopped in the middle of unpacking. “Why?”

  “Because you are in love with that man.”

  I pulled out my pajamas from the suitcase and stared at Akka. “What are you talking about?” I should’ve known she’d figure it out. Not much escaped those sharp eyes and ears. I should never have let her meet Prajay. Now she’d go tell the entire family. I couldn’t stand their pity. Oh, dear God, not that. I sank onto the bed again.

  “I know you, Meena,” said Akka as she put down her toothbrush on the dresser. She came to sit beside me. “I have known you since you were a little baby. I know your personality well. I was watching you talk to him, first on the phone, and then at the restaurant. You care about him, don’t you?”

  I saw no point in hiding it anymore. Akka was too perceptive to lie to. “Okay, I’m in love with him,” I admitted. “But he doesn’t even know I exist. To him I’m a good PR consultant. That’s all I’m good for, consulting.” Despite my trying hard to avoid it, my lips were trembling. Any moment now the floodgates would burst open.

  Akka put her arms around me and held me close. Her special scent and the warm feel of the wrinkled skin on her neck were my undoing. The tears gushed out. “It’s awful. I don’t want to work for him ... and yet I want to be near him. What am I going to do?”

  “Shh, it’s okay, Meena.” Akka held me close while I wept all over her.

  I cried for a long time, and all the while Akka remained silent, offering me strength and comfort. And tissues from the box on the nightstand. As the sobs subsided, I realized it felt good to get it out of my system, just like the other day when I’d cried with Rita.

  But this was different. Akka’s was the maternal comfort I needed. I could never do this with Mom; she’d never understand the concept of falling in love. For her, love happened after one got married. On the other hand, Akka understood. Although it had been a long time since she’d been in a similar situation, she had experienced it.

  When I finally stopped sobbing, Akka gave me another wad of tiss
ues to blow my nose. “If that boy is too stupid to recognize what’s good for him, he deserves some crude six-foot woman with a mustache and chest hair,” she declared.

  Despite my crying fit, I had to smile. “Chest hair?”

  “Sure,” snorted Akka. “Any woman who grows that big has to have too much male hormone, and she will grow hair everywhere. If a hairy horse is what he wants, then let him have it. It will serve him right.”

  “That’s right, a Clydesdale with fat hooves,” I said and headed for the bathroom. Looking at my face in the mirror, I recoiled. My nose looked like an overripe cherry tomato. My eyelids were swollen. I decided to take a long, hot shower to clear my head.

  By the time I came out, Akka was fast asleep, snoring lightly, huddled under her blanket. The toothpaste glob on her toothbrush had lost its shiny glaze. Her book of religious verses lay on the nightstand. The poor thing had probably gotten tired of waiting for me to come out of the bathroom. I’d been hogging it forever.

  I decided to read the stuff Paul had put together. Sitting on the bed, with my back resting against the headboard, I scanned the notes and realized there wasn’t much there I didn’t already know. An hour later, I shut off the bedside light, lay down on my side, and watched Akka sleeping.

  I was glad to have her with me.

  Chapter 22

  When I opened my eyes the next morning, I found Akka sitting beside the window, reading by the light of a floor lamp. She looked fresh as a dewdrop, bathed and dressed in a blue and white-print sari, the freshwater pearls around her neck.

  She looked at me over the rim of her reading glasses. “You must have been tired. You slept well.”

  I pushed the covers aside, sat up, and stretched. “What time is it?”

  “Five minutes after six.”

  “Oh no!” I shot out of bed. “What time does your tour start?”

  “8:30 from Union Station.” Akka looked unruffled. “Don’t worry, we have plenty of time.”

  “No, we don’t—not in rush-hour traffic. Union Station’s in Washington, and we’re in Virginia.”