Bootie and the Beast

by Falguni Kothari

  “You sound like a dictator, not a delirious suitor,” she said, her own resolve hardening. If she gave in now, she would never gain her footing with him. “I explicitly told you the kind of proposal I’d be willing to accept.”

  “Babe, you know you’re going to marry me. I know you’re going to marry me. Hell, the whole world knows it by now. Give me your hand.”

  “Babe,” she echoed, hoping the sarcasm would blitz him good and nasty where the sun didn’t shine. “I know no such thing. As for the ‘whole world’ knowing, whose fault is that, you blabbermouth?”

  Krish pulled his glasses off and pinched his nose. “Be reasonable. Going down on one knee in a tuxedo with a rose shoved between my teeth is stupid. It’s not our custom.”

  Neither was the engagement ring, but he seemed adamant to put one on her.

  She shrugged. “The tuxedo is optional.”

  He hopped off the bed, and for a second, she thought he was going to kneel before her, that he was going to give her the fairy tale. Her heart lifted, only to come crashing down when he stalked off into the bathroom and slammed the door in his wake. The shower came on a second later. He was going to brood in there and think up methods to bully her. Beastly control freak.

  Diya flounced down on the bed and pouted until she got the heebie-jeebies again. She pulled the quilt over her head and tried to sleep.

  What was she doing, saying no to Krish? And what was he doing, saying yes to her?

  Why was her life all topsy-turvy all of a sudden?

  * * *

  Krish found the entire rigmarole of deciphering and communicating emotions a complete waste of time. Once he decided on a goal, he went after it. The why didn’t matter, only the how did.

  If a negotiation wasn’t going as expected, he pressed down on an opponent’s jugular—not hard and not to harm, only to warn—until it did. If that failed—and it rarely did—he felt no qualms about using underhanded tactics to come out on top. With Diya, he’d learned to use the latter.

  He spent a long time in the shower, and by the time he came out of the bathroom, she was sound asleep, surrounded by her guardian cats. Europa lay, curled around her head, like a strange, animated hairband. Sam slept between her quilt-covered feet, and black-pelted Nora lolled alertly by her hip, tail swishing in slow motion.

  Krish stood by the bed, looking down at his sleeping Beauty, trying to get the myriad of emotions she triggered in him under control. His mind took him back years to another night he’d been roiling mad and guilt-ridden like this.

  He’d stolen into his sister’s room, armed with a penlight and permanent marker, where both girls were sleeping side by side on Alisha’s bed where he’d drawn impressive Mahabharata hero-type mustaches on their faces—thick black handlebars ending in circles on their cheeks. He’d done it in retaliation for them ratting him out.

  Diya had found out that he’d forced Priya to smoke a Marlboro and have a beer with his gang of rowdy friends. He’d thought it was such a dashing, grown-up thing to do and not realized that his sister and Diya were spying on him. Both girls had run straight to Diya’s father and reported him. Priya had been grounded for a month while Krish had been lambasted for a good three hours and then put to work at the dental clinic after school hours and on weekends. He’d thought he’d gotten off lightly at the time. He’d soon learned better.

  “It’s the devil’s job to tempt,” Kamal Uncle had said, comparing Krish to a devil, “but to give in to temptation is a far worse crime in my eyes, especially for my daughter.” He’d gone on to say he would’ve grounded Krish, too, had he thought the action would have any positive effect on the misguided young man.

  Priya hadn’t spoken to any of them for the whole month she’d been grounded. And Krish had silently nursed his anger until the night Alisha and Diya had a sleepover and he had the perfect opportunity for retribution.

  The permanent marker hadn’t washed off their faces for weeks. Diya had refused to be seen in public until it did and hadn’t gone to school for two whole weeks, missing tests and a throwball tournament she’d been training for.

  Krish had been in gargantuan trouble for the stunt. More so when his mother had realized he’d been under the influence that night and disclosed the ugly truth to the Mathurs. There had been other repercussions to his actions. His mother and sister had moved to Pune that summer, leaving him behind with the Mathurs because he’d been adamant not to change schools in his final two years of high school. He hadn’t expected his mother to leave him behind. He’d thought, if he put his foot down, she’d change her mind and stay in Mumbai.

  Krish had lost both his parents—his whole family—in one year. He’d been festering his aloneness ever since. That year had taught him self-reliance; you could only depend on yourself.

  Diya had forgiven him the minute the ink washed off her face—she wasn’t one to let things fester. The sparkly, stuffed pink poodle he’d bought her as a peace offering had also helped. Un-bribable Alisha still held a grudge against him and probably would until the end of days.

  Krish opened his fist, and the diamond ring on his palm caught fire as it refracted light spilling from the night lamp. He went to his knees by the bed and groped under the blanket for Diya’s left hand. Her palm was soft and warm and dainty; her long, shapely fingers were topped with a glittery pink-gold nail polish.

  He slid his ring on her ring finger and kissed her hand to seal the deal.

  Diya slept on, undisturbed. But Nora watched him with cat-eyed disapproval. It was a sneaky move on his part—one for the gallows, for sure. But he also knew Diya would never take the ring off. She believed in omens. To remove her engagement ring, except to shower, would not bode well in her heart or mind.

  So, that was that. The deal was done. It had never been a negotiation, not on his part. They were engaged, and there was no need to pretend otherwise. Now, he could only hope she’d forgive this stunt as easily as she’d forgiven the mustache one. He’d take her shopping tomorrow, just in case.

  With a sigh, Krish gathered up his clothes and left the room. They both needed their beauty sleep.

  * * *

  Diya would never, ever, ever talk to the rat bastard again.

  She did seek him out for boot camp late in the morning though and put him through the mother of all workouts that sorely tested even her awesome stamina. But she did not speak to him. She didn’t so much as even breathe in his direction. Kudos to him, he didn’t try to make excuses for his rat-bastard behavior.

  She wasn’t angry he’d taken the coward’s way out of expressing his feelings. Honestly, she’d known he’d do something like this—oh, all right! She had NOT expected him to shove his ring up her finger in the middle of the night like some kind of thief in reverse. But she should have.

  In lieu of a chewable breakfast that she was too irritated to cook or consume, Diya whipped up a whey protein, yogurt, berry, and banana smoothie and poured it into two glasses. She picked her glass and slurped it down while trying to voodoo summon the Beast, so she wouldn’t have to break her vow of silence and call him into the kitchen and throw his smoothie in his face.

  He didn’t appear. The cowardly beast was hiding in the office.

  Well, she was not going to allow him to cower in peace. She was going to confront him … nonverbally. She would smite him with her mute displeasure.

  Smoothie in hand, she stomped into the office and stopped short with a gasp when she saw that he was video-chatting with the parents. All three of them. Apparently, his mother was in Mumbai and at Diya’s house. O-M-jeez!

  Okay. Be cool. You can handle this.

  She sashayed around the desk, making sure to keep out of the laptop’s camera range while setting his smoothie down on top of the plastic-protected OSP file since there weren’t any coasters handy. Then, she strolled over to the window and took a seat, smoothing a hand down her butt as she did so to preserve the wrinkle-freeness of her diaphanous, handkerchief-hem dress that Maria had
ironed for her. She casually crossed her legs and pinned a hostile glare on the Beast as he spoke to the parental trio.

  “The date at the end of March is fine. I’ll wind up work as soon as possible, and we can be there in the next couple of weeks,” he said without looking at her.

  Diya’s entire body clenched in horror. What date?

  “There are several auspicious dates throughout the year, Krishu. Isn’t next month a little too soon?” What’s the hurry? was implied but not expressed out loud.

  “We don’t want to wait, Amma. We’ve waited long enough,” Krish said.

  Diya sprang up then and ran to the laptop before he could do more damage.

  “Hello, hello, you guys. Oh, I miss you so, so much.” She blew kisses at all three parents, her heart melting as she saw their happy but confused faces. God, she really, really missed them. Missed home. Oh, she wanted to hug all three of them. But first things first. She had to repair the damage.

  Adopting her most horrified expression—she didn’t have to reach far—she placed a hand on her chest. “Goodness me, Aunty. I don’t know how to tell you this, but your son is stark raving mad! He belongs in a mental institution. We are NOT engaged. He is making it up. And I’m so sorry for putting you all through this again.”

  The parents froze inside the laptop. The mothers looked at each other, and her father went beetroot red in the face. Uh-oh. He was about to blow a gasket. Maybe she shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.

  Krish tried to shove her out of the conversation. Diya didn’t budge.

  “What’s on your finger then?” He pried her left hand off her hip and shoved it at the camera. It filled the tiny picture-in-picture window on the top right corner of the screen. “We are engaged, people. This is not a discussion.”

  “See? I told you he’s mad. Krishu aann, please remember, this is not an engagement ring. It’s my birthday present. A very generous one, I admit, but appropriate since you’ve forgotten so many of my birthdays,” Diya lied and elbowed Krish in the oblique when he pinched her butt in warning. “I know; I know,” she re-addressed the parents. “A thirty-thousand-dollar birthday ring is a bit much. It’s like … wow! I’m so touched. Actually, he’s touched in the head, but he’s super generous, so I’ll overlook that.” She’d taken a wild guess at the price tag, but it sounded like a reasonable amount for a two carat diamond. Gosh, it was so pretty.

  God, Diya. Focus!

  Krish muttered behind her in Malayalam. She wanted to step on his bare feet in her house slippers, but she refrained. The mothers no longer looked stunned, just resigned. They’d witnessed enough spats among the M Brigade to understand what this was. It was about supremacy. In the dog-eat-dog world, only the kitty cat could survive.

  “Call me on the landline now,” Daddy bellowed and moved out of camera range.

  “I’ll speak to him,” Krish said. But, before he left the room for the oh-so-private man-to-man, he threw down an order. “The first date on the list, Amma. Don’t listen to this fool. We are getting married.”

  Neither of the mothers looked pleased by his attitude. Yay for understated matriarchy! Err … not that the matriarchs were especially pleased with her either.

  “Kindly explain what’s going on,” her mother ordered, and Savitri Aunty gave a terse nod of agreement.

  Diya sat down on the office chair, suddenly tired of fighting. She gave the moms a brief, censored version of what had happened in Dallas so far. “I’m sorry we got your hopes up, but this won’t work if he won’t relent even a little. I’m dearly hoping he does. But do you understand why I can’t give in?”

  The crazy thing was that, when her mother asked, “Give in to what, baby?” Diya had no answer. Just that her gut felt un-joyous and queasy, and to her, it was indication enough that something was majorly wrong.

  Chapter 16

  “It’s not about the stupid proposal … or not only. But he doesn’t get it,” Diya spoke into the wireless ether while she rolled the grocery cart down the canned goods aisle.

  She’d slipped out of the house as soon as the phone call with the mothers ended. Avoiding the Beast had been the primary reason, but they also needed fresh groceries that would carry them over for the next few days. The most pertinent reason for leaving the house had been to clear her head. As soon as she’d roared down the driveway in Krish’s Porsche, she’d called her voice of reason.

  “He can’t keep bullying me into doing things his way. We’re not children anymore. Marriage is supposed to be a partnership. He needs to understand that,” Diya went on.

  “And yet, both of you are behaving exactly like children,” Leesha said, brutally. “Besides, we both know that Krish has never truly succeeded in bullying any of us into anything. So, stop with the I’m such a doormat act. Did you talk to him, Dee? Have you expressed your concerns, your feelings in clear words?”

  Diya felt only marginally bad for putting Leesha on the spot against her brother. “No.”

  “Dee, you’re the one who told me that, unless women spell things out loudly and clearly, men will never get it. Quote, ‘Men are not equipped to deal with life’s vicissitudes.’ Unquote.”

  Diya remembered the quote from a self-help book. She’d cited it last May when Leesha and Aryan were on the verge of breaking up. “I know exactly what kind of vicissitudes Krish is equipped to handle. Zilch. I know he won’t be comfortable unless he’s controlling the whole relationship by himself. Gah! He’s you in the masculine. You know that as well as I do. I know him and how he thinks.”

  “Then, what’s the problem? If you know him, you know he would never take advantage of your … ahem … doormat nature. You also know he wouldn’t have taken this step unless he was one hundred percent committed to it.”

  Diya stopped at the fruit section, wondering if her anxieties were baseless. Here, she’d been offered the one thing she’d spent her whole life wanting, and yet she was hesitating to accept the goodies. But how could she not be suspicious? She’d bitten the apple once before and been poisoned in the heart and soul in return. The Beast did not have a great track record in the relationship department.

  “The problem is, I know him too well,” Diya confessed.

  The past would always be present between them, the good and the bad—his sweetness and his rejection. She didn’t know if she could get past it. Truly forgive him.

  “Rubbish,” Leesha scoffed. “You’re being just as stubborn as him. How much can anyone truly know another person? How well do you know me? You know I’m not the type of woman to go on a blind date with a stranger I’d met online. Yet I did. You know I didn’t believe in love and marriage and babies. Yet here I am, in love and married and trying to get pregnant. People can change, Dee. That’s the beauty of us. We change constantly. You’ve changed. I certainly have. Krish has changed, too, especially in the last couple of years. You just don’t want to see it.”

  Leesha’s words rang a very loud bell in Diya’s head. Oh, she’d noticed the changes. His temper had mellowed. He’d become less impatient with his mother, with all of them. He spoke to his mother and Leesha and Vallima nearly every day now when, a few years ago, he hadn’t called even once a week. And then there was the midlife-crisis thing.

  Diya sighed. She knew Krish had changed. It was only that she wasn’t sure she approved of the change. She’d loved Krish from afar for most of her life. Could she love him close-up? And what about him? He’d never approved of her or her lifestyle. He’d never desired her before, and suddenly, he did? Could a person change that much?

  After promising Leesha she’d think long and hard about it, Diya hung up the phone and called Hasaan. It was a relief to talk about something other than the Beast. She made Hasaan tell her all about Saira.

  He gleefully admitted that they’d met thrice already and had plans to meet again. Apparently, Saira was a riot to talk to and had intrigued him with her radical views on extremism and how it related to existentialism. Hasaan hadn’t yet met her p
rivately and without her veil. Saira’s father had very strict rules about courtship and customs, and no one was allowed to violate them. Not knowing what Saira looked like did seem to aggravate Hasaan but not enough for him to walk away like he’d planned. Hasaan was wooing Saira in earnest. So sweet.

  And, so totally unlike her courtship.

  Diya huffed out a breath. What courtship? Wham, no bam, and yet she was engaged.

  She began to select fruits at random—apples, oranges, pears, bananas, and a bag of seedless red grapes.

  “Gina will get in touch with you on Friday with a new itinerary,” Hasaan said as their conversation wound toward work.

  Gina was Hasaan’s assistant, and until Diya hired one of her own, she managed Diya’s scheduling and travel arrangements when it pertained to Scheherazade business. Her agent, Rocky, handled everything else.

  “The jet will pick you up on Sunday, chérie. It should be sometime in the morning.”

  Sunday. She’d be gone in five days. She didn’t want to go without hashing it all out with Krish, but she had commitments that couldn’t be postponed any longer. It had been hard enough juggling and rearranging her existing engagements because she’d taken these unexpected ten days off.

  That reminded her, she really needed to look for an assistant before either Gina or Rocky threw a tantrum and quit on her. Rocky had started signing his emails like so: Yours truly, Overworked Agent/Undercompensated Manager/Handmaiden-in-Waiting.

  While she was at it, Diya also needed to look into hiring a financial manager now that her finances had exploded into the megastar range. She would’ve asked Krish for references had she been on speaking terms with him. She needed a new lawyer, too, one familiar with international business law, as Hasaan and Leesha had advised. Several interviews and meetings had been lined up to that end and postponed, but Diya would have to sink her teeth into all of the above once she got home. And she had to make a decision about the apartment in Istanbul.