Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake

by Preeti Shenoy

  Samir is fully dressed now and to my relief, he is smiling too.

  ‘Oh, Nisha, I am so sorry. I should have warned you. Most of these hotels have rooms which are interconnected. They give them out in pairs, on request,’ he says.

  ‘But why in the world would anyone want it?’ I ask naively and as soon as I ask, I realize my stupidity.

  ‘Maybe people want it so they can walk in on unsuspecting others when they are changing clothes,’ he smiles and winks.

  That sets me off again and I laugh and apologize profusely.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Meet me downstairs in an hour and get all the slides. We have to rock this presentation,’ he says.

  We rock it just fine. Samir seems to have done his homework thoroughly and his public speaking skills are exemplary. I oddly feel very proud of him, as he wraps up the presentation to a rapturous applause.

  The rest of the day goes by in a blur. I can see that art tourism is truly a big thing and everybody is very excited about it. It is the first time I am attending a conference like this, and I carefully make notes about everything that each speaker says for easy reference in the future. I look at some of the people in the audience who seem bored. A few have even dozed off in the back seats! I am surprised how they cannot find such a topic interesting. Then again, maybe they have been to a hundred conferences before and are not newbies like me. Whatever it is, I know I am learning a lot and soak it all in like a sponge.

  At night, there is a buffet dinner organized at the venue of the conference, but Samir has instead booked a private table for us by the oceanside. I am glad I am wearing a red dress with a plunging neckline. It perfectly accentuates my curves, making me look toned. I match it with red stilettos and a simple diamond bracelet on my wrist. I have never worn such bold colours before nor such jewellery, but I feel this occasion demands it. I feel a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman after she wears the designer stuff. I am rewarded when I see that Samir has a look of pure admiration on his face when he sees me. He says I look stunning and I thank him. He looks gorgeous himself—dressed in a white shirt tucked into a pair of faded denims. My heart beats faster as I gaze at him, getting increasingly drawn to his handsome face. I find all of this wonderfully romantic, but I have no idea what he feels. Why has he booked us a private table? Is he attracted to me as much as I am to him? I reason out that he has indeed asked me on a date twice, before I started working with Magellan. But I still don’t know what his intentions about me are and decide to just enjoy the grand time I am having without reading too much into the situation.

  The dinner is in a secluded gazebo and the table is set perfectly, down to the slightest of details. There is a lovely bottle of wine chilling and the candles have been lit for effect. The sound of the ocean waves adds to the whole atmosphere.

  ‘You can have a drink now, Nisha. We are outside office timings now,’ smiles Samir as he orders a whisky for himself. His tone definitely sounds flirtatious now, or am I wistfully imagining things because of the whole atmosphere of the place?

  ‘I am scared of tripping over like last time.’

  ‘I’ll be there to catch your fall, don’t worry. Besides, our rooms have an interconnected door, remember?’ he smiles wickedly.

  Of course he is flirting now.

  ‘How can I forget? But then, I may be too heavy for you.’ I smile back, as I remember how droolworthy he looked nearly naked. The guy does have a cute butt and a well-chiselled body.

  ‘Oh, I am a strong man Nisha. Try me!’ he says in a low baritone, making me smile.

  As dinner progresses, he keeps refilling my glass of wine and orders another whiskey for himself. Both of us are getting drunk beyond the sane limit—he on his whiskey and me on my wine. Slowly, our conversation turns more intimate.

  He starts talking about his previous relationship. ‘Her name is Jeena,’ he says, ‘and she taught me how to live. “Jeena sikhaya” as you say it.’ His tone is resigned, slightly bitter, and there is a trace of regret and longing in his voice.

  Funnily, I feel a stab of jealousy. But I want to know more.

  ‘Was she the one we saw at the party when you called me a witch for guessing?’ I pry.

  ‘Yes, the same.’

  ‘What happened between you two? Why did you split?’

  ‘Let’s just say we wanted different things from life. It’s a long story, Nisha. One night will not be enough. Let’s not talk about it,’ he says, and I can see that he is still hurting. I feel angry with Jeena for causing him pain, even though I have never really met her. I am surprised at the intensity of my emotion.

  ‘Tell me about your childhood, Nisha. I want to know,’ he says.

  The fact that he even bothers to ask, fills me with a kind of tenderness that I find hard to comprehend. My childhood was not a happy one at all. I have never spoken about it to anybody, as I have never had anyone close enough with whom I could share stuff like this. But when he asks, I want to tell him all. I want to tell him how lonely it was growing up without a mother, in the company of a father who didn’t seem to care much. I want to tell him how I used to long for some kind of praise when I did exceedingly well in school. I want to tell him that I badly wanted my parents around for all the school events, but my father never came. I want to tell him how it felt to be teased all my life for being plump. How it hurt and how I gradually learnt to shrug it all off with a smile. I want to tell him a lot of things. But I hold back.

  ‘There is nothing to tell,’ I say and sigh. ‘My mum died when I was five. My dad raised me with the help of a nanny. He hardly speaks to me. I guess I remind him too much of my mother. I am told he loved her a lot,’ I add as I clench my fists.

  Samir reaches over and holds my hand. Then he raises both my hands and kisses them. My heart nearly stops beating. I realize we have just crossed a line here, and I am not drunk enough to not figure that out. An inner voice inside me screams that it is not a good idea to enter into a relationship with your boss. But the sensation is too good to pass and I am left with an intense longing for more. I want more of it. Nobody has cared this much for me before this.

  We walk on the moonlit beach after dinner and it feels so right. My heart is thudding in its rib cage, making me feel giddy. I have had way too much wine. He puts his arm around me to steady me and I adore him for it.

  We walk in silence on the white sand in the moonlight, the waves splashing at our feet. It is just him and me and miles of white sand lit up by the light of the moon. I notice a few white crabs scuttling away and I laugh in delight.

  ‘Oh Nisha, how easily you laugh! And what tiny things amuse you!’ he says gently, looking so tenderly at me, as though seeing me for the first time.

  That statement of his does it. All my self-control melts. I want him more than anything else. Who knows, I might never get a chance like this again. We would go back to office and our real lives tomorrow, where I would be back to being Ms Efficiency, making sure his coffee is perfect. Here and now is my moment, where I can be Cinderella.

  Do what your heart tells you to. Life is short. Kiss him now.

  I look at his hard mouth and his cool eyes, the moonlight highlighting his perfect features. I yank him against me, and the only thing that registers is the surprised look in his eyes as my mouth reaches out to his. He responds with an intensity that takes me aback and his arms go around my waist, pulling me closer to him. He kisses me tenderly, and I feel the heat of his body pumping fire into me. My body trembles and I moan in pleasure.

  There is no stopping us now. His hands are caressing my breasts and he has slid them inside my dress. I cannot think straight at all. I am charged with a purely feminine rush, giddy with excitement, as every fibre in my body seems to respond to his touch. We are so hungry for each other. His hands are impatient and there is fire in his blood.

  Finally, he pulls away and says hoarsely, ‘Let’s go back to the room and finish what you started.’

  We enter the lift in silence
, breathing hard, and we can’t wait to get into his room. As soon as we are inside the room, he tugs at my dress and feasts on my breasts. His hands are quick and exploring. There is a trail of my clothes from the door to his bed. In the heat of the moment, I forget to be shy. I want him as badly as he wants me.

  He is on top of me, him panting and me moaning in delight. I am oblivious to any other sensation as he plunges into me and I arch back, acceding to his urgent demands. He drives into me and something inside me explodes. It is like a turbulent wave that has seared my very soul. He takes me higher and I call out his name in pure pleasure. And finally he melts and lies down beside me, running his hands through my hair. I am crying in joy, the kind of which I have never felt before.

  He kisses me again, and this time gently on my mouth. I love him so very much at that moment, that if he had asked me to cut out my heart and give it to him, I would gladly have done it. He is tracing my nose with his fingers now, and all I can do is shyly tug the sheet and cover my nakedness. Now that it is over, I want to be covered, as I am aware my body is far from perfect, whereas he is like Adonis.

  ‘You are gorgeous,’ he says, his fingers still tracing my features. He is lying on his side, with one arm supporting his head.

  ‘It was my first time,’ I say softly.

  ‘Oh, Nisha! I am so darn sorry. I would have been gentler had I known any better.’

  Oh, if he only knew how happy he has made me! Nobody has ever made me feel the way he has. I feel whole and complete. I feel satisfied. I feel content. I have never known such joy, such serenity before this. He makes me feel like I am truly gorgeous. He makes me feel loved, something that I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

  ‘You are perfect, Samir,’ I say, and I mean it completely.

  And at that moment, I know that it is truly what I believe with my entire heart and soul.

  Slave to Love

  The next morning, we do it all over again before the break of dawn. And this time too it is as urgent, as demanding as the previous night. Like a broken dam whose flood of water submerges the both of us, the force is too powerful to resist. When we finish, I scramble hurriedly for the covers, wrapping the bed sheet around me protectively, much to Samir’s amusement.

  ‘Hurry, or we will get late for the first session today,’ I call out, as I go back to my room through the interconnected door.

  ‘Relax Nisha, we can afford to miss the first session. Come back here right now!’ he says with affection.

  ‘No! I do want to listen to the head of Cruise Line Corporation speak. I have only read about him in magazines. This is a real opportunity for me.’

  ‘That’s what I like about you, Nisha. You do grab every single opportunity, don’t you?’

  ‘Get out of bed right now and get ready. And please stop staring at me!’

  ‘Yes boss,’ he says and laughs heartily.

  It is only when I am by myself, I realize what Chetana meant all those months ago, when she said ‘You never know,’ while helping me with the dress for my date with Prashant. I rummage through my bag and her morningafter pills are still there. I thank her silently as I pop one into my mouth.

  Later, as we walk towards the conference room, I feel really awkward. It’s like I am carrying a large banner which reads, ‘I had awesome sex last night and this morning too.’ Of course, no one can tell, but I still feel very awkward, as though they can guess for themselves.

  I push my emotions aside and try hard to not stare at Samir. The presentation scheduled for the day is really interesting and time soon flies. I make notes and catch Samir smiling at me. I smile back and then do my best to ignore him. By the end of the day, we just can’t wait to be with each other again. As soon as the programme for the day is over, we rush into the hotel room.

  I do not know if it is plain lust or the ambience of this place that is making me desire him so much. Is it because ‘Nisha-the-plain-Jane’ has bagged herself an Adonis?

  Hold on, you haven’t bagged him. You have only had casual sex and there is a difference, you know. He hasn’t made any promises, nor has he even indicated or implied that it is anything more than sex.

  Go away. Let me have my Cinderella moments in peace. You know I deserve it.

  And when we are alone by ourselves, he does make me feel like a princess. He treats me like I am the only woman on earth. Nobody has treated me with such reverence before. He kisses my toes and then sucks on them. I gasp in pleasure. He touches all of me gently, light butterfly strokes, and makes me literally beg for more. Later, he holds me close and says he is going to make me very happy soon. He already has. We stay in bed that night and order dinner in. I stare at the bedside clock, wishing for time to come to a standstill. I do not want these moments to end. I don’t want to go back to Mumbai. I wish we could stay in this cocooned space of our own forever. It is so darn comforting, and I feel so content in his arms.

  Our flight is only for the next evening. There is a cycling tour organized in the morning for all the visiting delegates. The brochure, which came along with the programme schedule for the day, says that one can cycle into the traditional Balinese village, explore the carved temples set amidst breathtaking natural beauty, and stop for a sip of tender coconut water while chatting with farmers and wood carvers. The route is along a mountain trail and is an insight into the lives of the local farmers, away from the tame package tourism that most resorts offer.

  ‘Would you like to go?’ asks Samir.

  First, there is a confession I have to make,’ I say. ‘I cannot ride a bicycle.’

  ‘What? You cannot ride a bicycle?’ He sounds genuinely surprised.

  ‘Most people learn bicycle riding in childhood, but the thing is that I had no one to teach me as a child,’ I say.

  It brings back painful memories of when I would watch the children in my apartment go riding on their bicycles. I would watch longingly and get teased with taunts like, ‘Ugly fatso can’t ride a bike’ or ‘Big pig can’t ride a bike.’ I wanted to ride a bicycle like them more than anything else in the world. I even asked my father if he would get me one, to which he replied, ‘A bicycle? What for?’, and that had been the end of the conversation. I had been dismissed. I remember the years of loneliness, the years of pain, and it all comes back to haunt me like it happened yesterday. How can one feel so alone and so helpless? Funny how it still has the power to hurt this much, even when one is a full-grown adult.

  ‘Oh Nisha, there are better things to do in life than go on a silly bike ride,’ says Samir. He walks over to me and hugs me.

  ‘You know, your eyes are so expressive. They reflect what you feel immediately. I hate the look of sadness in them. Wipe them away,’ he says and kisses me tenderly on my forehead.

  I promptly burst into tears, startling him with my action. I have no idea why. Maybe it is because I had thought that this was just about sex for him, and had not in the least expected him to care about me. Tenderness is something I have never had in my life, and receiving it so suddenly has totally taken me by surprise.

  The Bali trip has indeed been a crossover point in my relationship with him. At that moment, I am too overwhelmed, too excited, and it is all too new to even analyse and consider where it is heading.

  When we get back to office, it is really hard to hide my feeling for him from others.

  Smriti asks me, ‘So how was your first trip abroad? As exciting as you thought?’

  Even more exciting than I could ever possibly imagine. You have no idea!

  ‘Yeah, it was okay. I did learn a lot. Made a lot of notes.’

  ‘Well, good for you, girl!’ she says, and gets back to work.

  I sigh with relief. Had she asked me a few more questions, she would have probably started to notice how uncomfortable I was discussing the Bali trip.

  Later, it occurs to me that when Samir and I had absolutely nothing between us, I wanted to boast and imply there was something more. But now that there is indeed something more
(whether it is lust or love, I really cannot tell at this point), I want to hide it, tuck away my little secret, hug it close to my heart, and not share it with anybody.

  I try to be as professional at work as possible. Samir is a really busy man, and I throw myself full throttle into my work. But now, on most days, he wants me to have lunch with him and when he does ask, I can hardly refuse. We spend a lot of time together. A lot more than is strictly necessary, really.

  Samir has another trip scheduled to Hyderabad for a branch appraisal visit and he wants me to accompany him for that as well. It is a two-day trip. At work, we conduct ourselves in a very professional manner. We meet the branch manager and discuss business plans, strategies, and the issues which need focussing. The Hyderabad branch is lacking in some areas, and Samir gives some really good suggestions as to what they can do. He tells me to draw up a detailed plan of action. I give my inputs and the branch manager gives his. It is a fruitful meeting, and Samir is happy with the outcome and the systems which have been put in place.

  Of course, we have dinner together in the hotel room straight after the meetings, and of course we have sex. Really good ‘can’t-wait-to-get-my-hands-on-you’ sex. What I find amazing is that he is as hungry for me as I am for him. It is as good as the time we had in Bali. Prashant’s taunting words come back to haunt me at times. But I push them aside because this is something so powerful and so addictive, almost like a drug. I am old enough to know my own mind, and I know I want to be with him, more than anything else in the world. Also, there is no one to whom I can speak about it, although once or twice after sex, I am indeed tempted to tell Samir about what Prashant had said. But the moments are too tender and too passionate to spoil with such off-putting talk, and talking about what he said would be like throwing a bag of rotten garbage in a beautiful, calm sanctorum. So I push aside his hurtful words and carry on.