by MK Schiller
“I’ll pay you back.”
He laughed. “You’re new here.”
“It’s that obvious?”
“Oh yeah, you might as well have a sign flashing H1-B.”
“H1-B?”
“Your visa status.”
“I’m here on a visitor visa actually.”
“I see. Don’t worry. Many of us were new here once. You’re Indian?”
“Yes.” I held out my hand. “Mary Costa.”
“Chetan Singh. Everyone calls me Chet.”
I took in his brown skin and dark hair. “You’re Indian, too.”
His smile flashed brightly, a row of blindingly brilliant white teeth. “From Toronto actually, but I am of Indian descent. So my nani keeps reminding me.”
“Canada, right?”
“Right.” He looked down at his watch and back at me. “I have a few minutes. Let’s sit.”
I looked out at the cold street, involuntarily shivering at the prospect of walking outside again. “Okay.”
We found a booth by the window. I gripped my coffee with both hands, thankful for its warmth against my trembling fingers. I looked at his plate with the sugar-covered rectangle. He slid it forward and handed me a fork.
“Oh no, I couldn’t.”
He stood and fetched another fork for himself. “I shouldn’t have the whole thing, anyway. Do me a favor and share it with me.”
My stomach rumbled, and it smelled divine. I cut into a corner. The sweetened fried dough melted inside my mouth. “Does this magic have a name?”
He grinned. “I know, right? It’s called a beignet.”
He must have sensed his answer puzzled me. “A fancy French doughnut.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t know what a doughnut is, do you?”
“Afraid not.”
“Think gulab jamon with powdered sugar.”
Now that I knew.
“I see the resemblance, but it’s more like a distant cousin, no?”
“I suppose.” His face turned wistful. “What I wouldn’t give for fresh gulab jamon soaked in sweet syrup.”
“You don’t get that here? I thought you could get anything in New York.”
“The Indian restaurants serve it, but it’s from a can. My nani makes it from scratch. Once you’ve had it like that, anything pales in comparison.”
“Yeah, I would agree.”
“So Miss Visitor Visa, you here with your family?”
“No.” He waited for me to add to the sentence. “I met a man,” I blurted out.
“I met a man,” he repeated, his grin widening. “Are there four more dangerous words in all the English language?”
“I don’t think so.” The disappearance of my money and independence shrank as I talked about Liam.
“This man let you leave without any money today?”
“No, that’s my own fault. I hadn’t planned to go out. He definitely would not approve. I’ll be fine as soon as I figure out what’s going on with my bank account.”
“Tell me about this man.”
My mouth curved into a smile. “He’s an artist. Well, he’s really a businessman, but an artist, too. We are as opposite as two people could be, or at least it seems so on the surface. In fact, we’re very similar. I recognized a part of me in him. I think he did the same.”
“And you came here to tell him this?”
“Oh no, he asked me to come here. We met while he was doing business in India. He’s leaving the choice to me.”
“Choice?”
“To figure out if I can find my place here. I have ninety days…well, a little less than that now.”
“So you’re kind of a ticking bomb? You’re giving yourself ninety days to figure out if you belong together.”
“Actually, Liam is giving me time to decide if I want to have this life with him here. The U.S. government is giving us ninety days.” Truthfully, we’d had many expiration dates. We’d surpassed them all. I promised myself we would pass this one as well. “I love him. You would think that’s enough, right?” I wasn’t sure if I was asking myself or Chet. Or why I was even having such a deep conversation with a stranger. I guess once you started letting people into your life, all the walls chipped and cracked, making the entire façade easier to expose. That and Chet was easy to talk to. And I was really desperate for someone to talk to.
“Honey, I’d sure love to say yes. Things are never so easy though, are they?”
“No.” I had been tense since we arrived yesterday. My muscles relaxed slowly, grateful for someone else who understood.
“That’s a very long exhale for such a diminutive girl.”
“I’ve been holding it in for a while now. I’m not exactly worldly, but I know I have to work on some things for myself. I’ve kind of been hiding away for a while. I’m not even sure who I am. Before I can make him any promises about our future, I want to make sure I can live in the present. He makes me happy, but I have to make sure I can make myself happy, too. Does that make sense?” I didn’t want to think of Liam as the man who saved me. I wanted to think of him as the man who cherished me.
“Absolutely.” He lifted his coffee toward me in a mock toast. “What an interesting dilemma for you.”
“Indeed.”
I looked down at our empty plate. I rifled thought my purse. “Chet, can you do me a favor?”
“Loaded question but shoot anyway.”
I pulled out my card. “Can you help me find this bank? I believe they have a branch here.”
“Yeah, they do.” His expression turned disapproving. “Mary, don’t hold out your plastic for anyone to snatch. I’m gonna teach you a few things, and that’s your first lesson. Now, as for the bank, it’s a bit of a walk but we can take the subway. It’s not far from my office.”
I tried to match Chet’s confident strides as we left the café. We walked down a staircase and emerged inside a tunnel. Chet bought me tokens.
“What is this?”
“There’s no such thing as a free ride, darling.”
I held the odd coin in my hand and deposited it into the receptacle. He used a card he explained was a metro card. We walked into the open doors of the long underground train. I looked around at the signs, shocked to be traveling below the ground.
He took a silver case from his jacket. He wrote on the small square inside before handing me the card and a crisp twenty-dollar bill. “This is my business card. I’ve listed my personal number on the back. Call me if you need anything. Even if it’s just to chat or vent.” He instructed me about a few more things, like holding my purse over my shoulder and across my body. Also, to stand up before my stop so I could get out.
“Thank you for your kindness. I’ll be sure to pay you back once I get my situation straightened out.”
“Don’t bother, honey. I’m serious. Just consider yourself one friend richer today.”
“I am lucky.” I heard the call of many conversations, some heavily accented and others in foreign languages. “Are there any native New Yorkers?”
He laughed. “You bet there are. When you meet one, they’ll be sure to broadcast it.” The car started slowing down. “This is where I leave you, Mary Costa. Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be just fine.”
“I have no doubt you will.”
He held his hand out to me. I shook it, almost wanting to hug him. Then he gave me a quick peck on the check before standing up and heading toward the exit.
“Chet?”
“Yes, dear?”
“You never told me why you moved here from Toronto. What brought you to New York?”
He tightened his scarf and did a flourishing bow. “I met a man.”
I sat like a loon, smiling widely as the doors closed behind him.
What a crazy wonderful world.
Chapter 34
Mary
The queue at the bank was long. But
unlike the café, I prepared myself and had my documents ready when it was my turn at the window. I discovered my account was intact but frozen since I never bothered to tell them I was leaving the country. The lady switched it back on and issued me a new card. All good news.
Bad news. I was lost. I searched for the subway tunnel, but I couldn’t find the mysterious staircase. I had cash now, but no idea where I lived. No doubt, this would earn me an award for the worst immigrant ever. To make matters worse, I didn’t know Liam’s phone number, nor did I have a phone in which to contact him. I considered taking a cab to Chet’s office, but that seemed silly. How had I managed to get lost on my first day here?
Finally, I located a payphone. In the large phonebook, I searched for Liam’s number, but there was no listing. I managed to find the corporate headquarters for the Wilshire Corporation, though. I entered a ridiculous amount of change and dialed the number.
“Liam Montgomery, please,” I said to the girl who answered. She transferred me several times. I held so long, I memorized the pattern of music playing on the other line. At one point, the mechanical voice of the phone demanded more money. I prayed someone would answer before I ran out of change.
A woman finally came on the line. “He’s in meetings. I can take a message.”
I didn’t want to leave him a message. After all, what sense did that make since he couldn’t contact me back?
“It’s all right.” I hung up. I looked down at the address. It said 58th Street, and I was on 52nd, so it wasn’t that far. I hailed my first cab in the new world. I gave the man the address with a fake bravado as if I did this all the time.
When I reached my destination, I leaned my head back to take in the tall skyscraper of a building. The lobby with its huge ceiling and marble floors made me feel like a miniature version of myself. People passed in and out of the revolving doors. I was tentative, almost being swept through rather than pushing. Pointed heels clicked on the fancy floors, while my shoes created a dull shuffle, followed by an embarrassing squeak or two.
“Liam Montgomery, please,” I said to the security guard.
He looked at me suspiciously. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Who are you?”
“Mary Costa.”
“Wait there,” he instructed, pointing to a sofa. I took a seat. There were magazines. I leafed through their glossy pages and skimmed a few articles.
An hour later, a woman with shiny blond hair done in a tight knot approached me. “I understand you’re here to see Mr. Montgomery.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I just received the message. I’m one of his assistants. I’m afraid he doesn’t see people without an appointment. He’s a very important man. If you tell me what this is about, I can try to schedule something and get back to you.”
“I’m his girlfriend, actually.”
She crossed her arms as her heel tapped against the marble. “You are?”
“I am.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
Yes, why didn’t I?
“I am saying so. Can you tell him I’m here?”
“I’m afraid he left about twenty minutes ago. I’m sure you’ll catch him at home.”
I dropped the magazine. I didn’t want to admit I had no idea where home was. I looked at the huge ornate clock behind her. “It’s only three. He said he’d be here until six.”
“Perhaps he had a date.”
I didn’t entertain the poisoned dart of doubt she threw in my direction, although it hurt just the same. Not because I believed her, but because I couldn’t understand why she was being so cruel. “Can you call him and tell him I’m here waiting?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why can’t you call him? Surely, his girlfriend has his phone number.” She thought I was a fraud…an imposter.
“Will you just ring him, please?”
She gave me a cold smile. “No, I won’t. However, if you don’t leave, I might just call the police.”
I’d simmered all day until this boiling point. I stood. She was taller than me, but I met her eyes. “All you have to do is call him for confirmation of who I am. Do you really want to risk embarrassment with simple assumption on your part? Please understand when I’m speaking about embarrassment, I’m speaking of yours, not mine. Now, please call him.”
She took a moment to consider it. “Wait here.”
It felt as if all I’d done today was wait. This time, though, it only took two minutes until she hurried back to me, a huge smile on her face. “Miss Costa, I apologize for the misunderstanding. One can’t be too careful these days.” Before I could respond, she helped me up. “Let me take your coat.” She took it without my response. “He requested I bring you upstairs. Mr. Montgomery is rushing back to the office at this very moment.” Even as she made the statement, I could hear the inflection in her own voice like it surprised her. “Can I get you something? Coffee, tea, perhaps some wine?”
“No, thank you.” We walked past the guard’s station and slipped into one of the six lifts.
She pushed the button for the top floor. “I hope you understand where I was coming from earlier.”
Yes, from the land of bitchdom. “Of course.”
The lift opened into a plush room of creams and beige. She gestured toward a sofa. “His office is down the hall if you’d rather wait there.”
“I’ll be fine here.”
She nodded and took the seat opposite me. She began chatting about the weather and upcoming holidays. This I didn’t need. “I’d prefer to wait alone.”
“Of course.”
After she left, I stood and stretched. It was warm, so I took off Liam’s sweater. I walked along the corridor. I told myself it was just to stretch. I was curious, though, and I went deeper until I reached another a set of ornate desks outside of two doors. Neither of them was marked, but one was ajar. I pushed it open. It didn’t make any sound. The carpet was so thick my feet sank. I wanted to take off my shoes and run across it in my bare feet. There was a bank of windows here, too. All the lights and chaos of the city bounced inside, conflicting with the calm space. I sank into the large leather chair, its surface as smooth and soft as butter. Leaning my head back, I swiveled a few times until I got dizzy. All the photos on Liam’s desk were promotional shots of the hotels he owned.
I picked them up, one by one, and studied them. The picture in the last frame was off-center. There was another snapshot behind it, peeking out. Really, I shouldn’t have opened it. This was trespass on my part, but I found myself prying the clips on the back. Under the picture of the hotel was a photo of a gorgeous woman with hair the color of ripe strawberries. She was in a sundress on the beach and smiling at whomever took the photo. The kind of smile you reserved for a lover.
Was this Melanie?
“Well, well, you sure don’t look like Goldilocks, so what are you doing sitting in my chair?”
I spun around, dropping the frame and picture. It hit the edge of the table where the glass cracked.
“Sorry,” I said. “Who are you?”
He had broad shoulders, blond hair, blue eyes, and a smug expression.
“That’s my question, sweetheart. I asked the agency to send a redhead. Looks like they messed up again. Don’t get me wrong, you’re nice to look at, but I have my preferences. I’m pretty set on it.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t negotiate.” He came around the desk and looked at the shattered glass on the floor. “Jesus, what did you do?”
“I’m sorry.” I shifted to the floor and began picking up the pieces of glass.
He picked up the picture and ran his hand over it, almost reverently. Tiny bits of glass fell on the carpet. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I thought this was Liam’s office.”
“It’s not. Are you illiterate? Did you not read the sign outside the d
oor that said Stephen Wilshire in big bold letters?”
“There is no sign.”
He scratched his head. “There’s not?”
“No.”
He walked out the door and came back in. “Well, whatdaya know? I guess we’ll have to fix that.” I felt his eyes on me as I continued to gather the shards of glass, many of them embedded into the thick carpet. His polished black shoes were right next to my face. “Who the hell are you?”
“Mary Costa.”
He got on the floor, but he didn’t help me. Instead, he grabbed my wrist. “Mary Costa…the nurse? Wait, no…you’re the maid. Prabhat told me you’d left with Liam, but what the hell are you doing here? If he’s looking for a new maid, surely he didn’t have to outsource.”
“Liam…” I said, unsure how to finish that sentence under the cold glare of his blazing eyes.
He laughed. “Seriously, you are talented. How does a maid in a third-world country nab a billionaire? What is your secret? You could make a killing marketing your program.”
I pried my wrist away, but he held on. His eyes narrowed in on my scar. In my haste to leave the flat, I had forgotten my bracelet.
No. No. No.
He stared at my scar, his hand curling around my wrist. “Get him to feel sorry for you, did you?”
“Shut up. You don’t know anything about us.”
He pulled my wrist down, almost painfully. His eyes searched my face as if he could find the answers to his questions there.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Your brother’s girlfriend. Let go of me.”
He did. I scrambled to stand and backed away from him.
“What the hell is going on?” Liam’s voice boomed from the doorway.
Stephen stood. He smirked at me, then turned to Liam, his smile widening. “Just getting acquainted with your girl. Why didn’t you tell me about her, bro?”
Liam crossed the room in two seconds. He grabbed Stephen’s shirt. “Because it’s none of your business.”
“Were you embarrassed?”
“Yes,” he seethed. “Of you.”