Falling into Place Page 3

  “Cool, thank you. And you know what? Early next month we’ll be having a grand launch for Loveleen Bing’s damn book. You must come—it’ll be super-fancy, five-star hotel, cocktails, and maybe even dinner.”

  “I don’t know. Not sure it’s my scene.”

  “I’ll send you the invite and you can decide later if you want to come.” Sameen took out her phone. “Give me your contact details.”

  Tara rattled off her number as Sameen typed it in and tapped the dial button. A musical tone sounded from Tara’s pocket. “There, now you have my number too.”

  The conversation flowed easily as they finished their coffee and cake and moved on to comparing notes on the kind of films they liked, the books they read, and how it was getting progressively hotter every year. Sameen only noticed the time when her phone rang. It was Rohan calling to ask if she’d forgotten that they were going to Milind and Ashish’s place for dinner.

  She had and now they were late.

  “I’d better get going,” Sameen said, counting out the money for the bill.

  “So should I,” Tara said. “It was nice chatting, and thanks for the coffee.”

  “You’re welcome. I had fun too.” Sameen realized she meant it. “See you around?”

  “Definitely.” Tara smiled back at her.

  Sameen walked home, trying to feel suitably guilty for forgetting about the dinner. But it was difficult, because she’d had a good time. She’d been expecting it to be nothing more than an obligation, a thank you for giving her a lift despite the, well, circumstances, but somehow she’d managed to lose track of time chatting with Tara. She was a weird bird, this Tara—sort of reserved, almost shy, but she had warmed up after a bit. Sameen wondered about her father—was it a recent loss? She froze mid-step. Tara hadn’t actually said her father was dead. Had she?

  Oh shit! thought Sameen. What did I say? Did I say something stupid?

  An autorickshaw honked persistently behind her and Sameen stepped out of the way, absently heading towards home. Only when she reached the gate did she remember she’d forgotten to pick up the wine Rohan had asked her to.

  Tara jumped when a hand appeared between her keyboard and computer screen. She blinked up at Barkha.

  “Hello, still here?” Barkha gave a theatrical wave.

  Tara rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t looked away from her screen for two hours. “This stupid deadline.”

  “Yes, yes, I know, but deadlines will still be there long after you’ve ruined your eyes.”

  Tara stretched. “I heard of this app that reminds you to take breaks from your screen.” She got up and crossed over to the next cubicle, where the printer was. It spewed out two pages, which she grabbed before coming back.

  “You really need it,” Barkha said. “Anyway, coming for lunch? Mike’s birthday treat.”

  “Sure.” Tara thrust the pages at her. “Proof this for me. I need fresh eyes.”

  Barkha made a face. “I’m not a proofreader.”

  “Oh, just do it.”

  “Fine, email it to me. You know I hate hard copies.”

  “Always some drama with you,” Tara grumbled, reaching for her purse. “So where are we going for lunch?”

  “No idea, but somewhere close by, so we’re walking.”

  Tara’s phone pinged as they followed the large office group outside. She glanced at it and groaned.

  “What? Don’t tell me you have to go back and write another story.”

  “Remember that crazy woman who jumped into my cab last month?”

  “Oh right, the one you were convinced was stalking you?”

  Tara ignored the jibe. “She’s been at me to attend this book launch. Just sent me an invite.”

  “What sort of book launch? Will there be booze?”

  “Sure to be. It’s something fancy, at the Taj, this Friday. The launch of Loveleen Bing’s autobiography.”

  “Whoa!” Barkha caught Tara’s arm. “Loveleen Bing? I love her. We have to go!”

  “We? No way.”

  “Pleeeease. It’s at the Taj. The food there is amaaaazing.”

  “Didn’t you go there just yesterday with Kunal?”

  “The food is still amazing.”

  “Fine, you go. I’ll forward the invite to you.”

  “Oh, come on. These things are no fun alone.”

  “Barkha, you know I hate this sort of thing. It’ll be so la-di-da.”

  “So what? We can be la-di-da for an evening too. And anyway, Loveleen is so stunning. Come on, Tara.”

  “Take your husband.”

  “He hates hotel food.” Which was funny because Kunal was in the restaurant business. “Please come.”

  “No.”

  Barkha opened her mouth to plead some more, but Tara’s phone rang. The ringtone told her it was her mother.

  She held up a warning finger at Barkha and answered. “Hello, Mama, what’s up?”

  “Nothing’s up. I wanted to ask if palak paneer is okay for dinner.”

  “It’s great.” Tara’s stomach growled at the thought of the rich, spinach-y taste, especially the way her mother made it. But her antenna went up. “Why?”

  “What do you mean why? We have to eat, no?”

  “Ri-ight. Okay.”

  Barkha raised her eyebrows.

  Her mother cleared her throat. “Tara, listen, there’s someone you must meet. It’s your uncle’s colleague’s sister’s nephew. His name is Prashant and he’s the CEO of—”

  “Mama, I’m not going to—”

  “Just listen. I’m not asking you to marry him. Just meet him. He’s a good boy.”

  “A good boy? You know child marriage is a crime, right?”

  Barkha sniggered, catching on. Tara smacked her arm.

  Her mother made an impatient sound. “Fine, man. A good man. He lives in the US. He’s in town and he would love to meet you on Friday for dinner. It’s the only day he’s free.”

  “This Friday?” asked Tara, looking at Barkha.

  “Yes. You said you had the day off on Friday, didn’t you?”

  “I do, but I have an important book launch to attend.”

  Barkha punched the air in triumph, making her dangly earrings dance.

  Chapter 5

  Sameen shuffled her cue cards nervously and rubbed her clammy hands on her sides. She patted her hair and checked her blurry outline in the polished wooden door of the Durbar banquet hall. This was certainly not her first time moderating a discussion between highly opinionated people, but she’d never been in the limelight in this manner before. There were even going to be TV cameras.

  Loveleen Bing, after all, was a household name, an international celebrity, some would say. The fact that Sameen had been able to persuade this renowned journalist to publish her much-anticipated autobiography with Stone Apple had greatly increased her stock among her colleagues, not to mention bosses.

  This launch was a fancy do, organized by Bing’s PR people. One of them came running down the hall and stopped when she saw Sameen.

  “Sameen, ma’am, hello, all set? You know your cue, no?”

  “Hi, Bindu. Yes, I’m good.”

  “Great. I’m going to start with the introductions in a minute.”

  Sameen knew that “a minute” meant nothing would happen for at least another ten or fifteen, and decided to go to the bathroom to check her hair and make-up one last time. When she got there, she discovered the loo was as five-star as the hotel—it actually had a sofa. Her hair and face checked—all good—she sat down to go through her points once again. But she was too restless to sit and decided to pace instead. The attendant looked at her curiously but didn’t say anything.

  The door swung open and two women came in, talking among themselves.

  “Tara?”

 
Tara seemed momentarily confused. Then her face broke into a smile. “Oh, hi, Sameen.”

  “I’m so glad you came.”

  Tara introduced her companion, Barkha. They shook hands. “You’re the cab, er, friend, right?” Barkha said. She had a naughty glint in her eye.

  Sameen had the grace to look abashed. “So you know the story.”

  “Thanks for the invite. You even got this hermit,” Barkha nodded in Tara’s direction, “to dress up and come out. I usually have to drag her to these things. Now excuse me, I have to pee.”

  As Barkha stepped away towards the cubicles, Tara pointed at Sameen’s cue cards. “Are you going to be speaking?”

  Sameen made a face. “I have to moderate the panel.”

  “Wow. Are you nervous?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m dying.”

  Tara smiled. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you look stunning. That sari is beautiful. I love this colour.”

  “Really?” Sameen asked. “It’s my mother’s. Are you sure I don’t look like an aunty?”

  “You look nothing like an aunty.”

  “Phew.”

  Barkha came out of the bathroom, and she and Tara went on their way. The mic screeched, which meant things were getting under way. Sameen checked one last time that her sari wasn’t going to trip her and hurried down the hall. The interlude with Tara and her friend had broken the tension.

  Tara stifled a yawn and checked her watch. She crossed and then uncrossed her legs, and tapped her feet, trying to ignore the balding old man droning on behind the lectern. Her top felt a little tight around the armpits. She wondered if she had put on some weight. She hadn’t been running regularly this year, after all. Her mobile vibrated. It was one of her aunts on the family WhatsApp group with a stupid joke that she probably didn’t realize was highly offensive on multiple counts.

  The CEO of Stone Apple Books continued his boring speech. Even Barkha seemed restless. The only saving grace so far had been the servers circulating with trays of drinks and snacks. Tara had armed herself with a glass of red wine and helped herself from every tray of mini quiches and bruschetta that passed her.

  There was a smattering of applause as the CEO left the stage. The MC, a tall, thin woman—made even taller by her tottering heels, and thinner thanks to the tiny black dress she’d squeezed herself into—introduced Loveleen Bing with the usual rubbish about her needing no introduction.

  “She looks incredible, doesn’t she?” Barkha whispered.

  Tara had to agree. Loveleen Bing definitely had presence and she knew how to dress to make it even larger. She came onstage to thunderous applause. She was a controversial figure, no doubt, but she did roam in exalted circles. She’d had the ear of the men and women who ran the country, and had never shied away from speaking her mind. She commanded importance and exuded authority. In the course of her career, she had had death threats, been almost stabbed and shot at, and once even abducted. Tara had never seen her in person before, but found her to be much more impressive than her photographs.

  The MC went on to introduce the chief guest who would officially release the book and two others who were going to discuss its background. Finally, she introduced Sameen as the publisher and moderator of the panel.

  After another speech, the book was unveiled. By the time the MC called the panel to the stage, Tara was on her third glass of wine and the servers were inexplicably not coming her way anymore. Sameen picked up the mic, but before she could speak, there was a screech of feedback.

  She held the mic away from her face. “Everyone has an opinion these days.”

  The audience tittered, and Sameen waited for them to settle before she started on the funny story of how she had pursued Loveleen Bing until she had agreed to sign with Stone Apple. The panel was to discuss something to do with freedom of expression, and Tara was quite impressed at how Sameen steered the jokey banter between the speakers to a serious discussion on intolerance. Despite being the only relatively unknown person on the panel, she managed to hold her own, and the speakers followed her lead with good grace. The elegance with which she wore the shimmery silk sari—a huge contrast from her attire when they’d bumped into each other at the Safal store—only added to her air of authority.

  Tara jumped when Barkha elbowed her. “Hmm, what?”

  “You’re not listening.”

  “Sorry, I was…”

  “Yes, you were rapt in the discussion. Still bored, are we? Anyway, I was asking if they’re going to serve dinner.”

  “Yeah…I don’t know. Hush, I want to listen to this.”

  “Your ditzy friend is doing a great job.”

  “She is.” A happy warmth filled Tara. It was probably the wine.

  Chapter 6

  Sameen sat on the sofa in the bathroom, letting out relief wash over her. Loveleen Bing and her entourage had left, all the big shots had gone, and the evening had been a resounding success. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She was worn out—public speaking did that to her. It started with a dose of nerves, followed by the high of the performance, and the feeling of having the life sucked out of her when it was over.

  “Hello again,” a voice said.

  Sameen opened her eyes. “Oh, we must stop meeting like this,” she said to Tara.

  “Well, it’s better than you jumping into my cab.” Tara sat beside Sameen. “You were fantastic tonight. The way you handled those squabbling men was—” Tara put her thumb and forefinger together in an O of appreciation.

  “Why, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You look worn out, though.”

  “I am. I was thinking of running away quietly.”

  “Well, I was going to call for a taxi. Can I give you a lift?”

  “I have an office car. It’s my turn to give you a lift.” Sameen jumped up and picked up her bag. “Come, let’s run away together.”

  It was a nice September evening, and Sameen asked the driver to switch off the AC so they could keep the windows down.

  “Where’s your friend?” she asked Tara, who was squinting into the breeze, letting her hair blow backwards.

  “She left—she had to go in the other direction. She said to say thank you—she had a great time.”

  “She’s very welcome. And I should thank you, and also on behalf of Rohan, for the cricket passes. We had a great time too.”

  “Oh, any time.”

  The car stopped at a red light. Tara, whose hair had blown all over her face, tried to get it back in some sort of order. She seemed to have had a haircut. It was short, shorter than shoulder-length, cut in a way that the front was longer than the back, and it fell in a straight, silky sheet, framing her face. Sameen envied that sort of hair. Hers was wild and frizzy.

  “I love your hair,” she said. “Where do you get it done?”

  “My mother does it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, she trained as a hairdresser and she uses me to practise on.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Only when I get to choose my own hairstyle.”

  The light turned green and they started to move. Then the engine sputtered and died.

  “What happened?” Sameen called out.

  The driver, muttering under his breath, tried to start the car again, but it just wouldn’t cooperate. Impatient horns sounded from behind them. The car started finally, but it coughed and went out again by the time they had crossed the traffic light. The driver managed to steer it to the edge of the road. Then he got out and went to examine things inside the bonnet.

  “Uh-oh, this doesn’t look good,” Sameen said.

  “It’s not that far,” Tara pointed out. “Want to walk home?”

  Sameen looked at her feet doubtfully. Her heels had torn a strap that evening and she’d had to wear her backup shoes,
which were quite flat. “It’s your lucky day; I’m in my walking shoes.”

  “Come on, then.”

  “Driver-ji, we’re going to walk from here,” Sameen called to the driver, who was on the phone, yelling at someone.

  He looked aghast. “But madam, I’m getting another car.”

  “It’s all right, don’t worry.”

  “But madam,” he called again as Tara and Sameen started to cross the road. “Madam, come back, the car is coming!”

  The road cleared and they ran across the street, giggling like errant schoolgirls.

  “I feel a bit light-headed,” Sameen confessed. “I don’t remember how much wine I had.”

  “Me neither,” Tara said. “Your boss was so boring, I had to drown my sorrows.”

  Sameen snorted with laughter.

  A light drizzle started. Sameen didn’t mind it, and it didn’t seem to bother Tara at all, if her lazy smile was anything to go by. There was a wide enough footpath to walk abreast, and as they did, they started to talk. The wine had clearly let down Tara’s walls, and she was much more garrulous than ever before.

  “I have a confession to make,” she said.

  Sameen turned towards her. “Is it the kind that will make me an accomplice?”

  Tara narrowed her eyes, as though pretending to think. Raindrops had settled on her head, making it seem like tiny diamonds were woven into her hair, which glittered as they moved in and out of the streetlights. “Definitely. If I go down, you’re coming with me.”

  “All right, then, I guess I have no option but to take my chances.”

  “Well, the only reason I came tonight was because my mother was sending me on a blind date with some guy she hopes I’ll marry.”

  For a moment Sameen was sure Tara was winding her up. Then she caught a glimpse of her serious face and burst out laughing. The next thing she knew, she had stumbled on a broken tile. The paper bag full of books she was carrying flew out of her arms and split open on the footpath before them.

  Tara caught her arm. “Careful.”