The Full Moon Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  I picked up my suitcase and went upstairs to my room to unpack and change into something more comfortable. As I put on jeans I realized how wonderful it was to be in my own room. Lou Draper came to mind. He was the reason I was beginning to take a more objective look at my life. I was surrounded by love, laughter, and luxury, while Lou had grown up in hunger, despair, and hopelessness.

  It was time I appreciated my life more, enjoyed Pamma’s presence while she was still alive and relatively alert, soaked up the warmth and joy my parents laid at my door.

  I savored a hot meal with my family. After dinner, finding myself in the mood for some quiet time with Pamma, I went to her room and found she was awake. So I sat on her bed for a while.

  She seemed pleased but wary of my unusual behavior. “You feeling okay, baby?” she asked me suspiciously, picking up her hearing aid from the nightstand and placing it in her ear.

  “I’m fine. I missed you when I was in Seattle.”

  Pamma cackled. “Oh, you silly child, why are you missing your old Pamma? What you are needing is a good husband. Always nice for young ladies to have husband and children.”

  “That’s because women your age had no jobs outside the house. Having a husband and babies was the ultimate achievement.”

  “When I was thirty years old, I had four children—Prema, Pushpa, Pallavi, and Pramod. I was always busy-busy. No time for thinking too much,” she said and methodically soaked her dentures in the liquid sitting in the ceramic bowl.

  “Nice,” I agreed. In spite of its obvious lack of glamour, the simplicity of it sounded wonderful. Pamma had had a happy life until her husband had died and left her sad and lonely. She was married at fifteen, had given birth to my aunt Prema at sixteen, and then the other two girls and my dad had come along at regular intervals after that.

  I also knew Dad was the darling of the family, the precious boy who’d been born after three girls. And he was bright and successful and had done the family proud. To this day Pamma and Dad’s sisters talked about what a clever boy he was and what a super-clever man he’d turned out to be.

  “Pamma, did you ever have a chance to meet Ajja before you married him?” I asked.

  “Never! I don’t see him until marriage day. But my mother told me he was a good man.”

  “And that was enough for you?”

  “Oh yes. What more I want? Your Ajja was a very serious type person, but he had a good job and loving nature. He took nice care of me and the children. We had a big house, the children had education, good marriage . . . everything.”

  “Mom says you caught her sneaking a peek at Dad when he came to see her and that you didn’t mind.”

  Pamma laughed, the lines around her eyes and cheeks turning into deep creases. “Your mother’s generation is very different.” The laughter subsided into a fond smile. “I saw Viju hiding behind the screen to look at your daddy. Very pretty girl she was.”

  How sweet was that—and so nonjudgmental. “Did you ever think of going out and finding a job, Pamma? Have your own money and some independence?”

  “No. Why I need a job? Your grandfather gave me money. I had my children, cooking all day, taking care of big house, servants, and elderly in-laws. Where was the time for a job?”

  “I guess working outside the house wasn’t an option in those days.” I shot her a grin. “Did Ajja ever tell you he loved you?”

  Pamma’s face turned that funny shade of plum, making me laugh. It was such fun to embarrass her sometimes. Romantic love was an alien concept for an elderly Indian woman, but I’d always been curious about how old folks expressed themselves to their loved ones.

  I could only imagine what Pamma would do if I asked her about her sex life. She’d probably shoo me out of her room and never talk to me again. But she replied with a good-humored chuckle, “Why he will say love? That is only a silly-silly word, no? Love is inside the heart,” she remarked, patting her chest.

  I nodded, absorbing the fact that life was so simple for both Pamma and Mom. Their parents had picked a suitable man for them and that was plenty to keep them happy. They didn’t need to hear fancy words or receive flowers or birthday presents. And they had reason to be happy, too. Both my grandfather and my father were fine men, good providers who, despite their lack of sweet words, doted on their families.

  I’d sometimes wondered what kind of sex my parents and grandparents indulged in. Was it fun and playful, or was it serious and intense? How often did they do it? Did they ever talk about it to each other?

  Sex was never talked about in traditional Hindu households, at least not as a subject for discussion. But judging from the contented look on Mom’s face and her caring attitude toward Dad, I could only presume that my parents had a healthy sex life.

  If I could only find a small measure of the happiness Mom and Pamma had, I’d be content, too.

  Pamma startled me when she asked, “Why you don’t like Rajesh?”

  Why was Roger featuring in our conversation all of a sudden? She peered at me through her glasses with a scowl. Naturally she was thrilled with Roger, because he’d charmed her out of her mind by touching her feet and speaking a couple of sentences in the mother tongue. Now she was obsessed with how nice-nice he was.

  I responded with a question of my own. “Who said I don’t like him?”

  “You go to cinema together, you go for walk together, but he don’t telephone you. And you don’t talk about Rajesh.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Pamma. He hasn’t called and neither have his parents. I really don’t know what’s going on.” I didn’t want to share with her that he had e-mailed me, but that it was only a brief message and nothing more.

  But Pamma was a shrewd woman. She smiled a toothless smile that looked both serene and wise. “Ah, but he is a nice boy. Venki and Sharda are good people also.” She picked up my hand and stroked it with her rough, gnarled fingers. “Don’t worry, baby. You wait and see. He will telephone you, and then everything will be good.”

  I didn’t want to discuss Roger anymore, and it was well past Pamma’s bedtime, so I got to my feet. “Whatever you say, Pamma. Now try and get some rest.”

  Pamma had an uncanny instinct. Maybe she was right. If there was no news from the Vadepallis, perhaps I would get a phone call or another e-mail from Roger—a more promising one. The only thing was, supposing he did, what was I going to say to him? His circumstances had still not changed. He was still a penniless writer-producer wannabe.

  Nevertheless I booted up my computer, my foolish heart full of hope.

  Chapter 12

  There was no message from Roger. My e-mail was crammed with notes from my girlfriends about the bachelorette party we were planning for Amy.

  Since Amy’s parents were divorced and finances were tight for her single mother, Amy and David had decided to buy one of those small, private Jamaican resort wedding packages that included the ceremony, the champagne and cake, and the honeymoon. It meant there would be no reception or any of the hoopla associated with big weddings.

  For me it was a good thing because I dreaded going to friends’ weddings. I was the only one who went alone while my friends brought a significant other.

  My idea about having the bachelorette party at my house was shot down unanimously. Instead they all opted for a popular strip club in Manhattan, Monk’s Hunks. Oh well, so much for clean, wholesome fun. Manhattan and the Hunks it was.

  There’d be lots of drinking, ogling at men in thongs, and generally going crazy. But a girl got married only once in her life—hopefully. And Amy deserved a great bachelorette bash. She’d waited long enough to decide to tie the knot and she’d have a roaring party.

  We had the logistics figured out within the hour. Amy was in on the plans since this wasn’t going to be a surprise. “I’m expecting a funky bachelorette party since I’m not having a big wedding, you guys,” she’d told us with unabashed glee. “And you better tell me when and where, since I’m going to go out and
splurge on a slutty dress for my last big hurrah before I become Mrs. Levine. And don’t even think of inviting David’s sister,” she’d added as a warning. “Sara is an old fuddy-duddy—and she hates slutty dresses.”

  I made a mental note about not inviting David’s older sister Sara. It was an awkward situation, but we had to honor Amy’s wishes. Thankfully David’s mother was deceased—one less person to worry about.

  The rain stopped the following morning and a fog descended, but it was a relief to drive to the train station in relatively dry weather. The forecast called for a sunny day after the fog burned itself out.

  At the office, I went through my messages and started returning calls in the order of importance. Lou was toward the top of my list. It was pleasant to hear him—better than pleasant, since his greeting was warm and smooth. “Hello there, busy lady.”

  “Hi, Lou.” I tried to keep the pleased purr out of my voice.

  “So the weary attorney is back from her travels?”

  “Two days of rain and gloom in Seattle was really exhausting. It made me appreciate good old New Jersey all over again.” Now that the small talk was over, I was dying to hear what kind of news he had for me. “So, you called yesterday with good tidings or bad?”

  “Both, but mostly good.”

  A small smile played inside my mind. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “It’s a bit complicated to discuss over the phone.”

  “Uh-oh, it sounds ominous.”

  “No, I think you and your client are going to like the compromise we’ve worked out.”

  I wondered what his idea of a compromise was. “So when can you come here to discuss it?”

  “You know, I was thinking,” Lou said. “Why don’t you come over to my office this time and I could fill you in?”

  I generally disliked leaving my comfortable office, but since Lou had come all the way to the city the last time, despite the fact that it was my client who was on the defensive, it seemed only fair that I reciprocate. “Is this so-called compromise worth driving all the way down to south Jersey?” I inquired nonetheless. Lou’s hedging was making me suspicious.

  “Always the cautious attorney.” He gave a full-throated laugh that sounded like tribal war drums. “It could be worth your while. Why don’t you come in casual clothes? I could take you around the Pinelands and you can see for yourself what wilderness preservation is about.”

  “Sounds very attractive, Lou, but I can’t get away until early next week. I have to work on the Seattle case right now.” I flipped the pages on my daily planner while I listened absently to Lou go on about the virtues of the Pinelands. “How about next Tuesday?”

  “Okay with me, except I hope the weather’s nice enough to walk. Rain isn’t exactly conducive to a hike in the Pinelands.”

  “We’re going hiking?” Exercise of any kind was a bit of a drag for me, but hiking amongst snakes and raccoons sounded worse than three straight hours on that awesome torture machine I’d glimpsed at the hotel gym in Seattle.

  “Come on, Soorya, a brave, modern woman like you shouldn’t be afraid of a tiny walk amongst a few pine trees. You’re an environmental attorney, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be in tune with the environment?” Lou’s voice held all kinds of amused sarcasm.

  “My bravery is confined to Manhattan and its urban perils. I’ll leave the reptiles to you.”

  “Listen, it’s actually quite beautiful. We’ll drive up there and walk only around the nice and safe areas, all right?”

  It sounded harmless enough. “I suppose we could. . . .”

  “I promise to keep the wild animals away from you. I’ll even show you a couple of neat lunch places around our backwoods. Not exactly Joseph’s Sicilian Kitchen, but we do eat civilized food besides roots and wild berries and rabbit stew.”

  “You don’t say!”

  “We’ve got a rather nice deli that makes great sandwiches and salads.”

  I chuckled. Lou’s kind of humor was exactly what I needed after the last couple of days. And food always did it for me. I hadn’t even glanced at a good sandwich in ages. I’d have to find out if they had anything with red, white, and green—and vegetarian. “All right, you twisted my arm. I’ll come in jeans and sweatshirt, so we can explore the boonies.”

  Lou sounded pleased. “I’ll e-mail you the directions to my office. I’ll see you Tuesday. And don’t forget to wear walking shoes,” he added with a mocking laugh.

  I hung up the phone feeling good. Snakes or not, I was looking forward to seeing Lou again. The man was an inspiration. And he was . . . good-looking.

  My last call was to Vasudev Rao. A little nervous, I waited for him to answer his phone. He sounded stiff and formal. He probably had to be, in his position. He had an Indian-American accent like my father’s, and spoke good English. That meant he’d been educated in an English school in India. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. He could be as bright and charismatically slick as my dad or as uninspiring as some bureaucrats I’d come across.

  After going back and forth on our respective calendars, we decided that I would meet with him on the following Friday afternoon.

  I figured Friday would be perfect for the trip. Perhaps I could stay in DC that night and see if my friend and classmate from law school, Brenda Coleman, was free to meet me for dinner. She had just started working for a law firm in Northern Virginia, in the DC area.

  When I called Brenda, she was surprised but happy to hear from me. We agreed to meet at my hotel on Friday after work. It would be a girls’ night out and a chance to catch up on our lives since law school.

  A little past noon, I stepped out from my office and wandered out into the street to get some lunch and a wedding card for Amy. Twenty minutes later, with my Hallmark card tucked in my bag, I headed for the nearest Indian restaurant, Tandoor India, to pick up something to eat. I ordered a takeout veggie burger with no bread.

  While I waited for my order, I stood at the window and looked out on the hustle and bustle of Lexington Avenue. I felt at home here despite the crowds and traffic jams. The morning’s fog was gone and the warm sunshine bounced off the chrome and glass of the buildings across the street. Even with my dark glasses, the glare was blinding.

  A one-legged man in an electric wheelchair made his way past the window and my mind automatically went to the ailing John Murzak.

  As I stood rocking on my heels, waiting for my lunch to arrive, I heard someone call my name and whirled around.

  My heart skipped a long, painful beat. Oh my God!

  Roger stood before me, smiling that oddly crooked smile. He had on a black T-shirt with Bombay Dreams printed on the front. His hair looked longer and wavier. I swallowed hard. “Roger!” I managed to choke out. “What are you doing here?”

  “Buying lunch, just like you.” His eyes looked luminescent in the sunlight slanting in through the floor-to-ceiling window. Lots of girls would give an arm to have such gorgeous eyes.

  “Yeah, but what are you doing in Manhattan?”

  His smile widened. “I found an investor for my play, Soorya. I’ve been in Manhattan for the last two weeks, getting a crew and cast together.”

  “That was fast.” He’d been in town for two weeks and yet he hadn’t bothered to get in touch. The message was clear as Windex-cleaned glass: He hadn’t wanted to get in touch. I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, that he had indeed e-mailed me, but I had chosen not to respond.

  The problem was, he had shown no special interest in me. It had been just a casual and friendly electronic message, with no hint of wanting to get together or anything remotely like that. And now, although I was happy for him in a way, my stomach sank. He’d found a nice rich girl who’d agreed to marry him and fund his career. Investor indeed.

  “Remember what you said about full moons bringing good luck sometimes? I think you were right,” he said. “Things have been going rather well since that moon.”

  Sure, things seemed to be going well
for him. But I wanted to turn around and run from there—from him. I didn’t want to hear about his marriage plans or his play. The front desk guy came around carrying a brown bag, and thank goodness it turned out to be my lunch. I paid for it and turned to Roger. “So, looks like you’ll be following your dream after all.”

  “I hope so,” he said. “So, how are things with you, Soorya?”

  “Fine, thanks. I just returned from a business trip to Seattle last night.” I awkwardly shifted the brown bag from one hand to the other. I wasn’t sure if it would be too rude to walk out of there without an explanation. “I’ve got to run, Roger. My lunch break ended a while ago.”

  “Uh . . . maybe we could get together for lunch or a drink one day?” He seemed a little unsure of himself—rather unexpected for this highly confident man.

  “Maybe. Why don’t you give me a call sometime?” I said a hasty good-bye and hurried down the street to my office. By the time I reached my desk, my hands were trembling and my heart was pounding madly.

  Soorya, old girl, don’t walk so fast the next time, I scolded myself. When you’re out of shape, jogging causes your heart to go a little crazy.

  But this girl’s mind refused to accept the logic. Why did he have to be so charming and so damn cute? Now he’d gone and spoiled my day. I’d have to work twice as hard to focus on my work. The rest of the week and the weekend were pretty much ruined, too.

  It was all Roger’s fault.

  Chapter 13

  To prevent myself from thinking too much about Roger, I spent a good part of Saturday with Amy, helping her shop for clothes for her honeymoon. On Sunday I worked on my Seattle case. After debating over whether I should tell my parents about Roger’s move to New York, I decided to keep it to myself.

  No sense in getting them excited over nothing.

  Monday was too busy to think about anything but the staff meeting where I had to present my two latest projects. The afternoon flew by with so much work that both Sandy and I had to work very late.