‘Polka dots,’ I said, and we were laughing again.
‘I’m proud of you. You’re handling this well,’ Chhaya said.
She was sitting up now, determined to give her alcohol-infused words a backbone. ‘I know Meena’s actions were apocalyptic in that she transgressed a trust. I also get that since you have Ravi now… Still, Myra Rai!’ Chhaya said, picking up her empty glass.
I swallowed something back. It wasn’t the drink; there was none of that left.
‘By the way, I like this new shade of lipstick.’
It was Dior’s 999. Chhaya had bought it for herself but found it too heady. She had forced it on me, insisting I ditch my pink and brown tubes, which I had refused to do until now.
‘Like you’ve tasted blood,’ she said.
Chapter 13
I was just settling into my seat when Andrew’s cabin called out to me. It was a luminous space. Unmellow yellow at a little over 11 a.m.
My legs have a mind of their own. They were bounding along towards that incandescent stretch even before I had placed my tote on my desk. It was now lying on the floor agape.
That was the angle of my jaw seconds later when my eyes clapped on a wholly distasteful sight. Below the belt in more ways than one, especially at this hour. And that was my mien when I arrived at Andrew Brown’s cabin door. I took a few seconds to bring my lips together.
I didn’t knock. The light beckoned.
My evening out with Chhaya had reminded me of unfinished business. Andrew and I had been lovers once, but we were colleagues now. I was determined that the old association wouldn’t resurface like some architectural palimpsest in my professional life now. He had crossed lines.
‘This is a whole different pin code,’ I said as I walked in.
Andrew had barely raised his head. A benign smile was playing across his face. His eyes shifted across the room.
There was someone else in his cabin. I smelt her before I saw her. I couldn’t turn my neck; it was suddenly stiff.
Andrew was on his feet; his hands were in the pockets of his cargoes. The black hoodie hadn’t met an iron box in this life.
‘This is Pooja,’ Andrew said to me. He was smiling. He had more kinds of smiles than warm breads in a bakery. ‘And this is Myraah, our–’
Pooja didn’t let Andrew complete his introduction. ‘Of course, I know who she is. She follows me on Instagram!’
I wanted to say that was only because Sudha followed her, but fortunately, I wasn’t allowed to speak.
‘She was following me even before you modelled for me,’ Pooja told Andrew as she crossed and uncrossed her long legs. Her skirt finished where her thighs began. ‘I followed you, too,’ she said in that sing-song way of the carefree. Or was it the careless?
‘Lovely shoot!’ What else could I say?
‘You won’t believe it! I chased him for a month. Called him every day, knocked on his door every day.’ She was swaying now. ‘He was kind of rude, too!’ She was simpering.
I wanted to ask her what this shoot had achieved, but that would be hard on the kid. Unfortunately, I couldn’t manufacture a gentle question at this point. I had different thoughts in my head. I wanted to make a video of this scene and send it to Chhaya.
‘All my friends were asking me, “Why Andrew?”’ Pooja said.
I was determined not to look at Andrew. At least she wasn’t calling him Andy! I sent up a prayer of gratitude.
‘Obviously, he’s eye candy and all, and there’s no need to be shy about that.’ She had turned to Andrew now. ‘You’re obviously more than eye candy, you know that!’
I wanted to laugh so badly, I was scared I’d pee in my pants. I bit my lip instead. The four incisors from my upper jaw had sunk into my bottom lip.
‘He needs that approval,’ I said kindly.
I heard a rumble; it came from my right.
