The Full Moon Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

“It’ll be months before both parties will be able to agree on some things, but this is a good start—and much more generous than any others I’ve worked on.” He sounded like a man who’d been through similar cases many, many times.

  “Yes, and thank you so much.” I wasn’t so sure my client would like the idea of building fifteen homes instead of twenty-two, but I would deal with that later.

  “Now let’s go get some lunch, Counselor. Would you like hot or cold food?”

  “Let’s go to your deli, shall we? I’m in a mood for a sandwich. Must be that endless hike,” I said.

  This time Lou drove me in his personal vehicle, a black Ford Explorer. The deli in the heart of Pemberton was small and crowded, and to my starving body it smelled like heaven. I ordered a grilled vegetable sandwich and promptly discarded most of the bread, but kept the onions, zucchini, and the red and green peppers.

  While I ate my semi-sandwich and drank bottled water, Lou polished off a pile of roast beef shavings and horseradish on thick slices of rye bread, a plump kosher pickle, and a can of Dr Pepper.

  It was nearly three o’clock by the time I was ready to head back home. I realized I’d had a very tiring but wonderful day. Lou had been great company. As he walked me to my car, instead of shaking hands, he both surprised me and threw me off balance by placing a light kiss on my cheek. “Let me know how it goes with your client.”

  “I will,” I murmured. “And thanks for everything.”

  “My pleasure, Counselor.”

  As I drove out of the parking lot, I looked in my rearview mirror and noticed Lou still standing with his hands on his hips, watching the back of my car. He looked so alone standing there. His wife’s photograph came to mind. He must miss her a lot.

  He was a nice man—way too nice to lead a lonely life.

  The next day, I got in touch with my client about my meeting with Lou. They didn’t seem as pleased as I’d hoped. They were thoroughly opposed to the idea of only fifteen homes. They wanted me to negotiate for more—at least twenty.

  I had a feeling Lou would work something out for me in that direction. So far he’d proved to be a more of an ally than an adversary. He’d been more than kind and helpful. He had even mentioned that he’d never gone to such lengths for other law firms.

  But did other attorneys get to go on a private guided tour of the Pinelands?

  Chapter 14

  The next couple of days were spent in getting my homework done in preparation for my visit to DC to meet with Vasudev Rao. I was nervous, even more so than during my Seattle visit. In Seattle I had the indomitable Mac to guide me. He had been in charge.

  Now I was the one responsible for the ailing John Murzak’s business. Hundreds of folks’ careers and futures lay in my hands. It was a humbling thought.

  I’d made other trips to DC, where I’d conferred with lawyers, scientists, engineers, and administrators, but that was minor stuff, mostly groundwork I was doing for senior attorneys in our firm, work that didn’t place the entire onus on me.

  During the train ride, I furiously studied my notes. By now I had memorized all the statistics: pH levels, effluent water, surface water contamination, air quality, the flora and fauna surrounding Puget Sound, and sundry bits of information I considered useful.

  My research on Vasudev Rao said he had an undergrad degree in pharmacology from the University of Maryland and a law degree from the same institution. It was a good combination for his kind of job, but essentially bad news for me. A bunch of facts and figures would neither fool nor impress him.

  I couldn’t expect everyone to be as cooperative and helpful as Lou.

  Charm and beauty not being my strong points, I’d have to depend on my brains and quick wit. With any luck I’d have Rao recognizing the wisdom in saving a harmless pulp mill that provided jobs to so many. Fortunately, at this early phase, the case would go to an administrative law judge serving as a neutral and impartial party in deciding whether the case had enough substance to go into litigation.

  If the judge decided the case could be dismissed, it would end there, but if he didn’t, it would go to the next level. That could mean months, even years of proceedings, and in the end, our client would still suffer harsh penalties. I prayed it wouldn’t go that far.

  Vasudev Rao turned out to be a fortyish man with a lanky build and a cynical attitude. He reminded me of the men I’d come across in the Customs Department at India’s airports—abrupt, unsmiling, uncooperative, and aloof.

  Rao seemed to be steeped in India and his Indian-ness. He complained about the weather in DC, the parking situation, the people he worked with, his job, and just about everything. I wondered why he didn’t live in India if the U.S. made him so unhappy.

  Rao didn’t have one good thing to say about America or Americans. It was ironic that he worked for the federal government, a proud symbol and the embodiment of what America stood for. He didn’t even bother to shake hands, merely wishing me a good afternoon and asking me to take a seat in his austere office.

  Vasudev Rao was a complete antithesis to Lou Draper. So much for Mac’s and John Murzak’s assumptions that I’d be the perfect individual to bond with Rao. Desis were generally a warm bunch when it came to dealing with one of their own. But I didn’t know how to handle a guy like Rao.

  An image of Roger flashed through my mind. I could have used some of his brand of natural charm and ease of manner right about now. But it was bothersome that Roger was invading my thoughts when I was in the midst of a serious legal discussion.

  Considering Rao’s attitude, I got directly down to business. I put all the facts on the table—very methodically.

  In response Rao said, “Ms. Giri, let me tell you, American companies are sharks. The almighty dollar rules their actions. They think nothing of polluting rivers, lakes, even the deteriorating ozone layer. Profit is all they think about. Your client is no different. They should all be taught a lesson.”

  Secretly his tirade made me wonder if he’d been refused a position in the private sector sometime in his life, forcing him to take a government job, eventually turning him into this bitter, humorless individual. I went into a long-winded explanation, sticking to the facts.

  “Your facts and figures may very well be correct,” he said with grudging respect. “But this is still capitalism taken to extremes,” he pronounced with visible contempt. He seemed intent on punishment.

  The man was insufferable, and I was tempted to say a few unkind things myself, but I bit my tongue and took a few deep breaths. Antagonizing an already biased man would only get me in trouble. Besides, in my line of work, I was likely to bump into Rao again and again. I couldn’t afford to make an enemy out of him.

  Instead I focused my thoughts on Murzak and Rosemary. So I tried to put a slightly different and more human spin on my argument. “Mr. Rao, my client is one of the oldest pulp mills in the Northwest. The high penalties could drive them out of business and put several hundred people out of jobs.”

  Rao pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at me with about as much emotion as the antique Chinese jade dragon I had in my office. “Hundreds of companies go out of business in this country every month. The EPA cannot feel sorry for all of them, Ms. Giri.”

  “I realize that, sir, but my client has put in extensive control systems to avoid any kind of pollution—air, soil, or water.”

  “Not enough, Ms. Giri.” Rao shook his head and tucked my papers inside his already bulky folder.

  “Do you know that a lot of Indians work for this company, Mr. Rao?” That had slipped out somehow, but I regretted not having asked Rosemary for the exact number of Indian employees and hoped this disagreeable man wouldn’t ask me to substantiate my exaggerated claims.

  His thick eyebrows came together. “But don’t most of the Indians in that area work for Microsoft and other high-tech companies?”

  “No, sir. A number of them are in other fields. The pulp mills and the lumber industry do hire many Indians.
”

  “Hmm.” Rao’s frown became deeper. He appeared to digest my information for a moment. Then he started to flip the pages in his folder rapidly, as if to refresh his memory about certain facts. He looked up at me and asked me to give him a couple of days to go over the information I’d given him.

  Breathing a sigh of temporary relief, I nodded. We weren’t out of the woods yet. His love of India and Indians should have endeared me to him, but that hadn’t happened so far.

  He probably viewed me as the quintessential Indian-American coconut—a traitor to my culture. “I sincerely hope this doesn’t need to go to the next level, Mr. Rao,” I said. “You’ll see that my client’s chemical levels are well under the EPA’s safety guidelines.”

  Eventually, I left Rao’s office on an uneasy note, unsure of the outcome. Had I done everything I could for my client? Was there anything I’d left out? I didn’t think so. I had given it my very best.

  I took a cab to my hotel. As I registered at the desk and rode the elevator to my room, I tried to put the Murzak case out of my mind. The accommodations were ordinary compared to the ones in Seattle, but they were comfortable.

  Picking up the phone, I called Brenda. It was nice to hear her voice after so long, still so full of spirit and adventure. We decided to meet in the lobby at six o’clock, then figure out where to go from there.

  Brenda Coleman had always been a lot of fun in college— bright, vivacious, and brimming with mischievous energy. I looked forward to the evening. I was going to forget my diet for one night and even drink a glass of wine.

  I needed something to chase the taste of Vasudev Rao out of my system.

  The following week, Vasudev Rao called me to say he had made a strong recommendation to the judge to dismiss the Murzak case. I didn’t ask him why. Whatever had made him soften up on my client, I was grateful.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Rao. I appreciate your efforts and your promptness,” I said. “So what are your feelings about the judge’s impending decision?”

  “That’s up to him, Ms. Giri. But usually our office’s recommendations are taken seriously.” He paused. “Chances of dismissal are generally about ninety-nine percent.”

  “My client and I really appreciate that, Mr. Rao. I’ll be in touch.”

  After I hung up the phone I quietly pumped the air with my fist and grinned to myself. Ninety-nine percent was as good as one hundred. Yeah! Mac would be proud.

  The framed picture of Lord Ganesh on my desk seemed to be staring at me expectantly, so I said a quick prayer to Him. He had taken care of a big obstacle. Thank you, Lord!

  Sure enough, four days later, Mac walked into my office and offered me his congratulations in person. John Murzak was apparently pleased with my work. Mac beamed at me. “Good work, Soorya. I knew I could count on you.”

  Coming from Mac, that was high praise, so I merely smiled and thanked him.

  That afternoon, a large floral arrangement arrived on my desk. The attached card read, Soorya: A very special thank you from John Murzak and the folks at Murzak Pulp & Paper.

  Chapter 15

  Just as I was packing my briefcase to go home and celebrate my little Murzak victory with my family, Sandy buzzed me. “Soorya, I know you’re getting ready to leave, but you have a visitor.”

  “Did I forget a late appointment?”

  Sandy cleared her throat. “The gentleman . . . has no appointment. He says it’s personal.”

  Personal? I racked my brain for possible names. Nobody came to my office for personal visits. “Who is it?”

  “Mr. Rajesh Vadepalli.” Her pronunciation was nearly perfect.

  Roger! A tingle raced through my bloodstream. What was he doing here? There was only one way to find out. “Send him in, Sandy,” I instructed and laid down my briefcase.

  What did he want? I wondered, despite the sense of elation at the prospect of seeing him again. Our accidental meeting at the Indian restaurant had been a while ago. All of a sudden he was here—with no appointment or even a phone call or e-mail.

  The door opened and Sandy ushered Roger in. He looked like his usual casual self. He also made my pulse shoot skyward.

  From what I could see, he’d charmed Sandy as well. Her eyes were twinkling in that special way when she genuinely took a liking to someone. Just before she left the room, she winked at me from behind his back, then mouthed, “Cute.”

  I gave her a bland look.

  Looking as comfortable in these business surroundings as he did at my house several weeks ago, Roger threw me his killer smile. “Hi, Soorya. Hope you don’t mind my coming over unannounced.”

  “No, not really,” I said. Despite the blood rushing through my veins, I gestured to one of the guest chairs, inviting him to sit. “What brings you to my neck of the woods today, Roger?” I could tell he was irritated by my calling him Roger, but it gave me some satisfaction. It was fair retaliation for the havoc he was wreaking on my system at the moment.

  He sauntered across the small room, sat down, and took in the surroundings at leisure. From his expression I could tell he liked what he saw. “I’m impressed, Soorya. This fits the image of a young and successful New York attorney’s office.” He pointed to the paintings on the wall. “Those landscapes are superb.”

  “Thanks.” His approval made me feel like a kitten basking on a sunny windowsill on a warm spring day.

  He moved closer to the wall to scrutinize the artwork. “This temple looks familiar. Are these all scenes from Andhra?”

  “Yes—from the town of Arasavalli, where my father’s eldest sister lives. Do you know the place?”

  Roger shrugged. “Heard the name from my parents, but I’ve never been there.”

  I decided to give Roger a quick social studies lesson. “It has the only sun temple in the state. The Sooryanarayana temple is dedicated to the sun god. The shrine is in a unique location and constructed with such astronomical precision that the rays of the rising sun fall directly at the feet of the deity exactly twice a year, in February and June. And on those two days the temple attracts hundreds of thousands of pilgrims from all over the country.”

  “Amazing! Imagine the accuracy that goes into building an architectural and religious marvel like that.” He turned back to the painting. “Who’s the artist?”

  “No one well-known. He’s an old local guy from Arasavalli. His name is Reddy. He’s brilliant, but other than a few people like my parents, mainly Indian-Americans and Indo-Europeans, I don’t think he has too many customers.”

  “That’s a shame. Maybe during my next trip I’ll look him up and buy a painting or two myself.” He looked speculatively at the landscape and then at me, with narrowed eyes. “Sooryanarayana? Does your name have something to do with it?”

  I threw him an approving smile. “Apparently Mom and Dad visited the temple just before I was conceived. That particular deity is known to dispel infertility, so when Mom gave birth to me successfully after having suffered a couple of miscarriages previously, they felt compelled to name me Soorya. Some people believe the sun is a goddess and not a god.”

  “Your parents picked a great name. You’re brilliant and bright as sunshine.”

  “Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere with me, Roger.” Although immensely tickled at his comments, I wasn’t naïve enough to believe all of it. I looked at him. “You still haven’t told me what brought you here today.”

  Instead of answering me he threw a meaningful glance at my elaborate arrangement of flowers. “Must be from a rich admirer, huh?” I smiled, allowing him to draw his own conclusions. His eyes moved to my briefcase. “I figured you must be getting ready to leave, so I came over to see if you’d like to have dinner with me.”

  Dinner with Roger sounded quaint and wonderful, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to subject myself to the misery of drooling over his bedroom eyes and listening to him talk about his new fiancée or about-to-be fiancée. “Aren’t you engaged to be married or something?” I asked,
trying to keep my voice sufficiently aloof.

  “Um . . . not yet.” He had the decency to blush. “There’s nothing wrong with a friendly dinner, is there? I mean, we both work in the city and all that. We could be friends.”

  I shrugged. “It’s late and I have to get home. My folks worry if I’m too late.”

  “So tell them you’re meeting a friend.” He touched one of the flowers, then glanced at me. “Unless . . . it’s not your parents but someone else who’s waiting for you?”

  It took me a second to realize what he meant. Could he be jealous? Nonetheless I decided to tell him the truth. “Those are from a grateful client, Roger. Don’t read something into nothing.”

  “Then call your parents. I’m buying dinner this time, Soorya.”

  “Well, in that case I accept.” I picked up the phone to inform my mother that I wouldn’t be home for dinner. Mom asked me half a dozen questions, her voice taking on that mildly hopeful tone, but I assured her it was strictly business.

  Roger, who’d been paying close attention to my conversation, widened his eyes in mock disbelief. “Business?” When I frowned at him, he grinned. “I thought you disliked lies and liars.”

  “For a good cause I don’t mind a little fibbing. Once in a while.”

  His grin turned into a pleased chuckle. “I’m honored to be the good cause for some old-fashioned fibbing.”

  “Don’t get carried away, Roger. If your ego swelled up any more it’s likely to explode and I’d have to clean up the mess on the ceiling.” I bit my twitching lip when his chuckle turned into roaring laughter.

  We walked to Tandoor India, where we’d bumped into each other recently. Only one other table was occupied, so we had our choice of tables. Roger picked a quiet corner and we settled down to a drink before looking at the menu. He ordered Indian Kingfisher beer and I surprised myself and him by ordering a glass of white wine.

  His eyebrows rose. “Off your special diet?”

  I shook my head. “I’m celebrating something—a small victory of sorts.”