Bootie and the Beast

by Falguni Kothari

  The door to the flat opened as soon as he stepped off the elevator, and the women—his women—spilled out.

  “Welcome home, big, ugly sahodharan.” Alisha walked into his arms. She was dressed in a sari and had sindoor coloring her forehead and bangles clinking on her wrists—the marks of a married woman.

  He took his baby sister’s face between his hands and kissed her forehead. “Marriage seems to agree with you, sahodhari. You look domesticated,” he teased and laughed when she punched his arm.

  “I went to the temple with Aryan’s grandmother for a puja, you atheist,” she retorted.

  Krish hugged his mother next. “Amma.”

  He’d blamed her for his father’s decline. He’d hated her for a long time, but like Diya, his mother was quick to forgive his transgressions.

  Last, he turned to Vallima, and when she fell, weeping, into his arms, his sense of entitlement and homecoming was complete.

  Aryan and Alisha left soon, as they both had early starts in the morning. His mother, too, had an early start, driving back to Pune. She’d come to Mumbai only to welcome him home. So, they stayed up, talking for a while.

  Krish told his mother everything—about his work, the AA meetings, his fears, and Diya. Amma had plenty to say, too, not the least of which that she was proud of him, thrilled for him, and had complete faith in him. Then, she told him to stop being a fool and go get his girl.

  With a load off his chest, Krish slept for twenty-four hours straight. When he surfaced, Vallima pampered him with food and more food, garnished by a bolstering conversation.

  “In my eyes, you’ve never been anything but a prince,” she stated.

  He visited the Mathurs that very day and told them pretty much what he’d told his mother. He assured them he’d fix things. But, as the days passed, he began to doubt his own story. He grew despondent as Diya sorely tested his mettle. And, finally, a week from the night of his arrival in Mumbai, he cracked.

  “What the hell does she want from me?” he asked his sister, charging into the Chawla residence. “I’ve agreed to every demand she’s made so far, so what’s the problem?”

  Alisha gave him a look only a sister could give a brother—a blend of derision and pity. “I guess she wants you to suffer, my foolish sahodharan.”

  Following Alisha into the living room, he was taken aback by the total lack of chaos on the dining table. No papers, no law tomes, no files, and no laptops, such as he’d seen over the past week. Best of all, no Shankara Munshi with the weird laugh and creepy stare.

  “Suffer what? A nervous breakdown? Her idiocies? Believe me, I’m suffering.” He shoved his hands into his hair.

  “Oh, grow up!” Alisha plopped down on the sofa with a heavy sigh.

  There were bags under her eyes, and her cheeks were bloodless from fatigue. It was late. She was in pajamas, and Aryan was in bed already. He felt awful for keeping her up past her bedtime, but he needed answers. If anyone understood Diya’s mind, it was his sister.

  “Dee is right. You’re treating this whole thing like some childish game. You tag her. She tags you. You catch her. She runs off.”

  “That’s not true. I have made every effort to show her I’m serious. And why the hell wouldn’t I be serious? Do I look like the kind of man who goes around buying rings for women he doesn’t plan to marry?” He paced in circles. He couldn’t seem to sit still. His Zen had been shot to hell.

  “Don’t ask me. I believe you. And, in her heart of hearts, she believes you, too. But, Krish, it’s more the why you want to marry her that bothers her.”

  “But she knows why.” He loved her. He told her that every single day—or had until she stopped taking his calls and reading his texts or e-mails.

  “I don’t think she’s convinced of the quality of your emotions.”

  He sat down and slanted a look at his sister. “A trip to Disney World?”

  Alisha ruffled his hair in commiseration. “Afraid not, big, ugly sahodharan. She’s not six. You will have to battle the imaginary dragon, climb that mountain, leap over oceans, just like any normal prince. Don’t look so aghast. Aryan will help you. He’s really good with overly romantic gestures.”

  Krish scowled at his sister but remembered something his mother had told him the other night.

  “When I left your father, I fully expected him to come after me and beg me to come back. But he didn’t because he had his pride. And I couldn’t return because I had mine.”

  Was that what this was all about? Diya wanted him to prove that he loved her more than his pride, more than his reason, more than love itself?

  Krish stood up, reenergized at last. Could it really be as simple as not waiting for her but going after her?

  “Go wake your husband, sahodhari. I need his assistance.”

  Chapter 21

  It’d been theorized that beauty and brains were mutually exclusive charms, and Diya Mathur had just proven it conclusively.

  She wasn’t just shoepid; she was stupid. Also, her feet were sore from dancing all night in Lady Gaga shoes.

  O-M-jeez! If anyone had told her how wild and fun a traditional Saudi wedding could be, she wouldn’t have believed it.

  Hasaan and Saira’s nikaah had been solemnized that afternoon, and right after, the parties had started. The men were with Hasaan in a palace a few kilometers away, and the women were with Saira in this breathtakingly beautiful desert oasis in the middle of Ash Sharqiyah, the oil-rich Eastern Province of Saudi Arabia.

  Diya bounced about the glitzy ballroom she’d dubbed as Scheherazade’s Party Cave and regretted abjectly that she’d been such a bitch and not asked Krish to be her plus-one for the wedding. Not that he would have been allowed in here with her. He would have been with the men elsewhere. But close.

  “Diya jaan, taking a break?” Saira shimmied up to the wet bar that served only the best champagnes and liquors. She was radiant in an exclusive Scheherazade creation, a beautifully cut, one-shoulder gown in moonbeam white.

  “My feet are calling me stupid,” said Diya. And so was her head.

  Had she really run away from the love of her life because of some stupid fantasy checklist and a little bit of fear? Leesha was right. Gah! Shanky was right. Everyone in the whole damn world was right. What did it matter how or why Krish loved her as long as he did?

  She had to go to him now. She had to leap into his arms and be his doormat for the rest of her life. She scanned the room where twelve hundred fabulously dressed women partied away as if there were no tomorrow. Not a single one was wearing an abaya or a niqaab. They didn’t need to be veiled; there were no men at the party. But they would all be veiled tomorrow, for their men.

  “I have to go, Saira jaan,” Diya shouted over Bedouin D’Araba’s crooning.

  Saira grinned and blew her a kiss of complete understanding. Hasaan must have filled her in about the tale of Diya and the Beast.

  Diya grabbed a handful of her baby-pink sequined showstopper, hitched it off the floor, and made for the exit. It took her a while to navigate the labyrinth of tables decorated in rose red and gold, where dinner had been served earlier, and the sheer number of women boogying away, but she made it out before midnight. The merriment would go on until tomorrow night. Talk about a never-ending rave.

  She ran up the grand staircase to the second floor, too revved to wait for the elevators, and down the corridor of the palace hotel toward her suite at the other end. There was a gang of hotel personnel standing in front of her room; some were giggling while others argued in Arabic. The entire staff at the hotel was female, so the wedding guests could roam about as they wished and not get hampered by custom.

  “What’s going on?” Diya asked the two women who’d been allotted to her as her personal staff for the wedding.

  “Ma’am, there is a man inside your room,” Lelah, the older of the two, informed her.

  “What?” Was she being robbed? Her things. All her lovely, totally replaceable things were in danger? �
��Why are you standing here and giggling? Call security.”

  Diya opened the door a sliver and peeked in. The marble floors, gilded ceiling and fixtures, lush carpets—it all seemed as pristine as when she’d left them. Not ransacked at all. No sign of a robber robbing her things either.

  She slipped inside, looked about, and screamed when she finally caught sight of the robber in her balcony.

  Not a robber. A gargoyle. The ugly, misshapen creature was hunched over the balustrade with his chin on his fist as if he was thinking. And he was whistling? What kind of gargoyle whistled?

  She screamed for help. “Call security, Lelah!”

  The gargoyle looked straight at her. Moonlight spilled over his face, and it changed, turning even more hideous as he smiled. Then, he jumped to his feet and walked toward her.

  “Babe!” Krish said, opening his arms wide.

  Diya yelled even louder. “O-M-jeez! What are you doing here, Krish?”

  She ran to him, grabbed his arm, and pulled him inside her room. Quickly, she shut the ornate balcony doors and yelled for Krish to draw the curtains as she ran back to the main doors and locked them tight. They were shut already.

  Thank you, Lelah!

  She spun around to look at him, her heart prancing like a victorious racehorse. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? And what in heaven’s name are you wearing?”

  He was outfitted in an embroidered suit with a matching headdress like an Arab. He looked ridiculous.

  He came. For me!!!

  “I was at Hasaan’s wedding celebration. Apparently, jeans are taboo at such a shindig.” He removed the headdress and threw it in the general direction of an oak wood armchair inlaid with pearl. He didn’t stop there. He started removing all of his clothes.

  “Damn thing itches,” he grumbled. He smelled weird, like rosy-sweet akhtar.

  Diya was mesmerized by the Beast’s striptease. She’d missed him so much.

  The banging on the door brought her back to her senses.

  “We are in so much trouble by this stunt of yours. You can’t be here. This is a female-only palace. If they find you here, they will turn you into a eunuch.” She gathered up his clothes and tried to shove them in his hands. “Put them back on. We have to figure out how to smuggle you out of here before they castrate you.”

  “Don’t exaggerate, drama queen,” he said, grinning at her in a pair of black boxers with glowing neon-pink lips.

  “I’m not exaggerating. There are strict rules of behavior in this country and severe punishments for the infidels.”

  He dismissed her words with a flick of his hand.

  “You are going to be of no use to me as a eunuch. Put your clothes back on!” Diya moaned.

  He laughed.

  The idiot!

  The banging finally stopped. But she still went to check what was happening outside. They were going to hang him for a robber or castrate him as a molester. She was never going to lose her virginity now. Life was so unfair.

  Lelah stood guard at the door, but most of the other guards and personnel had dispersed. One other security officer remained. She was talking on the phone. Was she calling the police? Panic was making Diya delirious. Or was it Krish? She was finding it hard to breathe, to think.

  Krish tugged her inside and locked the door. “It’s okay. Hasaan fixed it, so we won’t be disturbed tonight. I can’t leave this room until the hotel empties of guests tomorrow evening.”

  Diya looked at Krish in shock. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. What was he doing here?

  He drew her to the center of the room. Right above them was an enormous chandelier with a thousand crystal drops bursting with light. The walls and panels around them were carved in intricate frescoes of doves and peacocks and veils of jasmine. Without the clothes, he no longer smelled of incense. He smelled like himself.

  Krish raised both her hands to his lips and kissed them one by one. His eyes glittered behind his glasses, love pulsing out of them.

  She felt undone. Completely, utterly undone.

  She also felt very tall. Her feet throbbed in her Lady Gaga shoes. She kicked them off without taking her eyes off him. The broad planes of his face were relaxed, happy. A thick stubble had erupted across the lower half of his face.

  She licked her lips and shivered when his eyes dropped to her mouth.

  “So, you were never in any danger? You didn’t battle any dragons for me?” she asked because her stomach was bloated even though she hadn’t eaten anything all evening—a sure sign of PMS. They didn’t have much time.

  His eyes gleamed with laughter, but his face grew solemn. “I will battle dragons for you every day for the rest of my life. I will cherish you, all of you, every day for the rest of my life. I will love every pink inch of you every day for the rest of my life.”

  The whole world knew she was a big crybaby. She should be wailing by now. But, tonight, she could not cry, did not want to. She wanted to remain clear-eyed to see her Krish, to memorize every expression on his beloved face as he spoke his vows to her.

  “I don’t care where we live as long as we’re together. I will care for my body and my health. Yours, too. I will wear tuxedos and skintight leather pants if you want me to. I will wax my eyebrows and my chest for you … but I draw the line at a Brazilian. I want babies, lots of them, whenever you are ready. If I falter, I expect you to steady me. If you falter …” He paused there, his eyes darkening into hard rocks. “If you falter—and by that, I mean, if you ever … ever kiss another man again—I will spank your ass until it is permanently tattooed red,” he growled.

  He had completely, utterly bewitched her.

  He took hold of her left hand and caressed the diamond ring she hadn’t taken off since he hustled it on her. On the stroke of midnight, he went down on one knee, wearing only pink-lipstick boxers and his spectacles. He should have looked moronic. He looked simply perfect.

  “Princess Diya Kamal Mathur,” Krish said loudly and clearly, “will you grant me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  “Yes, Krish Chandra Menon, my Beast, I will.”

  She did not cry even then.

  * * *

  He told her how their personal fairy tale had come about when they retired to the suite’s ginormous bed. They couldn’t stop touching, kissing, talking, and cherishing each other.

  Naturally, they were naked and beyond ready for the glass-slipper final act. She still hadn’t told him she was as chaste as the fabled Snow White. She didn’t want him to feel performance pressure or worry about causing her pain. Maybe there wouldn’t be any pain. Maybe, by now, her hymen had dried up and dissolved on its own.

  “What do you mean, I didn’t battle any dragons for you?” He came up on an elbow to frown at her. “I faced the formidable Sheikh Al-Hanna for you. I climbed that flimsy trellis outside and nearly fell off four times before I reached the safety of your balcony. If I’d fallen, I would have broken many bones. Look!” He held up his hand. It had angry red welts on it. “I scraped these raw. And look at my chin where I banged it against the balustrade.”

  “Aw! Poor baby.” She dutifully kissed his chin. “So, you were just going to wait for me to come back to my room? What if I hadn’t come until tomorrow?”

  He waved a hand at the door. “Hasaan is there with Saira. Apparently, the groom is allowed inside the haloed feminine halls for the reception. He was going to send you to your room under some pretext.”

  “Clever,” she said, impressed by the convoluted planning. A couple more adventures like this, and he’d overtake Romeo and Rapunzel’s prince in romance.

  “Thanks.” Krish buffed his nails on his naked chest.

  “Do you know Hasaan has never seen Saira unveiled? He has no clue what she looks like. She told him, if he wanted to see her face, he had to marry her. And Hasaan agreed because he was completely in love with her by then.” Diya sighed at the unbelievably romantic story. She’d always known brains could be as attractive as
beauty, and now, Hasaan knew it, too.

  “It’s a good thing she’s pretty, or we’d be attending a divorce tomorrow,” Krish said in his usual unromantic way.

  “Love is blind, you beastly man.” Diya poked him on his firmer stomach. He’d kept up his core exercises.

  “Of course it is. If it wasn’t, I certainly wouldn’t have fallen for you,” he teased. “You’re too tall, too skinny, too beautiful.” He squeezed the firm globes of her butt. “Too much of a handful.”

  “In other words, I’m not your type.” Oddly, the thought didn’t bother her anymore.

  Krish didn’t deny her statement. He just smiled like the wicked beast he was.

  “I might not be your type. I might be a super bitch. And I’ve been promiscuous in the past. But, Krish, I have never been unfaithful to you.” It was time for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  His smile disappeared. “Diya, I didn’t mean—”

  “Shush!” She leaned in close and at long last confessed the truth to him.

  “What?” He stretched back and peered at her in confusion.

  She rolled onto her back and gave him a smoldering smile. “I’ve been saving all my shivers for you.”

  “You’ve never …” he croaked. His shock gave way to hilarity instead of amorous intent, and he howled with laughter.

  “It’s not funny, you beast. I tried very hard to get rid of it. It’s just that no one—” She broke off as the enormity of what she felt for him hit her again. “There has never been anyone but you, Krish. There can never be anyone but you.”

  He cupped her face in his hands, and he made her look at him. Their eyes met through the see-through barrier of his glasses.

  Then, the Beast said the most romantic thing Beauty had ever heard or read or imagined in her life, “Our fairy tale won’t end with true love’s kiss, my heart. It will begin with one.”

  And then he kissed her.

  Epilogue