by Divya Sood
She giggled and Anjali giggled with her. I think I forced myself to smile.
“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom,” I said as I got up.
“I’ll come with you,” Katherine said.
She followed me to the restroom. I could tell she was relieved for the distraction.
As I used the restroom, she stood by the sink, smothering her big lips with clear lip-gloss.
“You okay?” I asked her.
“Yeah, just get sick of the damn bullshit every time she goes to Nairobi. Don’t matter though.”
“Why not?” I asked as I unrolled the toilet paper and wiped myself.
“Cuz I’m leavin’.”
“You’re what?” I asked as I buckled my belt and flushed. I unlocked the stall and walked to the sink. Kat was looking in the mirror, rubbing her glossed lips together.
“I’m leavin’,” she said as she took out some perfume and sprayed a mist of citrus by her neck. Her skin glistened where she had sprayed the perfume.
I washed my hands. This is the most I had heard Katherine ever talk. This was also the first time I had heard her talk of leaving.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Don’t know. Just gonna go. Wherever the hell I wanna go. I’m gonna tell her as soon as I know when I’m leavin’.”
“What about Ish?” I asked foolishly.
Katherine looked at me as if to accuse me.
“You didn’t give a shit when you ate me out, Jess. Now you’re worried about Ish? Ish is a selfish goddamn mother fuckin’ whore. I don’t wanna be with her.”
I felt as if someone had slapped me. I had never, ever heard Katherine say more than a sentence in all the years I had tolerated Ish. And this mouthful of truth that she had just hurled at me shocked me.
She sighed.
“Look, it’s not that I haven’t tried. I’ve tried. But let me ask you somethin,’ okay? What the hell would I stay for? She’s gonna give in, she’s gonna come back married and shit. What the hell do I need all that drama for? I’m a waitress who grew up in the fuckin’ projects. I’ve had my drama. I have my drama. And I will have my drama. Fuck that.”
I swallowed very hard. It wasn’t what she was saying; it was just hearing Kat’s voice for more than a sentence that left me speechless. Actually, it was her anger that caught me off guard. She had been a portrait of composure as long as I had known her.
I did believe that Kat loved Ish. I did believe that Ish had wronged her by running off to Nairobi and calling to say she might be getting engaged to a stranger but not to worry, she would break the engagement off in a few weeks. I did not believe sleeping with me was the right answer, but I believed it was Kat’s answer when she realized that the love of her life was going to test her and try her and keep alive the duality of Ish and Yashika for as long as she could. I wondered what I would have done in Kat’s shoes. But then again, I didn’t have that intense a capacity to love anyone. I wondered if something was wrong with me. If there were something wrong with me, maybe it wasn’t a bad thing as it protected me from the foolishness of that magnitude of affection. “Love changes you.” Isn’t that what Vanessa had said? Maybe I just didn’t want to change. I turned my thoughts back to Kat and Ish.
“Well,” I finally said, “do what you have to do.”
“You won’t be tellin’ anybody will you?”
“No.”
“Not even Anjali? Especially not Anjali.”
“No,” I said.
“I’m so fucked up, Jess. I love her and I’m scared to lose her and then I want to leave her all at the same fucking time.”
I wanted to tell her that I understood more than she knew. I wanted to confide in her about my love for Anjali, my attraction for Vanessa, my confusion, my inability to write. But I didn’t know where to start or what to say. So I stayed quiet.
I held her to me and she hunched over so her head could find my shoulder. I felt the broken beat of Kat’s heart and I knew she loved Ish. I also realized she could never leave Ish. If Kat were going to leave, she wouldn’t have needed me to hold her. Kat needed to find her tenderness once again. She needed to find that place within her that loved Ish enough to forgive all trespasses and treat the most painful betrayals as moments of silly whim. Kat would, I knew, love Ish and resent Yashika until Ish left for different ground or until Yashika did. Either way, Kat was there for as long as Ish would allow her to be there. It killed me.
It killed me more to think here I was, consoling Kat over someone who didn’t value her or love her. And there was Anjali loving me every moment of every day in all the ways I needed and wanted to be loved. And what the hell was I doing? I was an ingrate at best, an asshole at worst. Truth was, I knew somewhere within me that I didn’t deserve Anjali. But there she was, day after day, choosing me. Valuing the little I gave her. Loving me. And doing it well.
Kat straightened herself up and towered over me.
“So, Jess, how’re things with you?”
“Okay, same shit, different girl,” I said, “Actually, in my case, different shit, same girl.”
“You guys together yet?”
“I’m trying, Kat. I really am.”
“That’s just it, though. You shouldn’t have to fuckin’ try.”
“But Kat, seriously, in my case, I’m the fuck up.”
“So what you gonna do?”
I turned and looked in the mirror, stroked my eyebrows with my thumb, tried to decide whether or not to tell Kat about Vanessa. I decided it was not a good idea. What if she slipped and told Ish?
“Listen,” I finally said, “we should get back to the table so they don’t think we’re screwing in a bathroom stall.”
“The sad thing, Jess, is that they would think it.”
We laughed together.
It was amazing to me that no one had entered the bathroom the entire time we had been there.
Kat leaned in to kiss my mouth and I pulled away.
“Remember, Kat, I’m trying. I can’t fuck this up this time.”
“You’re adorable, Jess,” she said. “I hope it all works out.”
“For you too” I said, “for you too.”
We walked back to the table and Anjali and Ish were laughing. I was sure it was a stupid joke or a land of make believe that they were discussing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Nothing babe,” Anjali said. “Ish was just telling me about the last SALGA party she went to.”
“SALGA?” I said surprised.
“South Asian Lesbian and Gay Association,” Ish clarified.
“I know what it stands for, dumb ass. I just didn’t think you would go to a SALGA anything.”
“Why not?”
“Jess—” Anjali said as if to tell me not to say anything.
“Because I don’t think of you as one of us, Ish. Because I think you’re full of shit.”
“Really?” Ish retorted.
“Really.”
“Let me tell you about ‘one of us’ Jess. You judge me as if you know what it’s like to be in my skin. How about I judge you for a change?”
“Ish, calm down,” Anjali tried. She placed her hand on Ish’s arm but she shook it away.
“Let her talk,” I said, eager to hear what Ish had to say, already planning my retaliation without even having heard her words.
“So I’m Jasbir Banerjee,” Ish started. “I never came out to my parents but my life is convenient and I don’t have to worry about that because my parents live in bubblefuck, India. But I judge other people whose lives aren’t as convenient, who actually interact with their parents who have to deal with the arranged marriage bullshit and have to find a way to not lose the love of their life or the love of their family. But you know the worst thing? The worst thing is that I’m a fucking writer and I don’t have the balls to write about ‘one of us.’ No, I don’t have the courage to tell this story. And I probably never will.”
“Who tells this
story, Ish? Who tells this story? Nobody.”
“And why is that, Jess? Because they’re fucking cowards like you.”
“Guys, calm down,” Kat said. “Just relax.”
“No, I said, “No. I want to know how I’m a coward.”
“Because you’ll go to the parties, Jess. SALGA. Trikone. Masala. You’re there. You party like it matters to you. But when the sun comes up and the party’s over, you won’t tell the world about it. You won’t risk your perfect little world. You keep looking for a story. What about all the stories around you? What about us? Write about us if you’re not afraid that everyone will know you’re ‘one of us.’ Scary isn’t it? So then how are you any more honest, any braver than me?”
I made sure to look into her brown eyes, to hold her gaze. I said nothing. She finally flinched and I smiled.
“I’m going to the bar,” I said.
“I’ll come with you,” Katherine said.
“We should do shots!” Anjali nearly screamed.
“You know what, that’s a fantastic idea,” I said.
If I couldn’t escape the torture of this evening, I would endure it drunk.
When Kat and I were at the bar, we looked at each other. She placed her hand over mine.
“Don’t pay her no mind,” Kat said.
“She’s right,” I said.
Kat was silent.
“But it’s not just me,” I said, “I mean thousands of people just like us and no one writes the story. I can’t pick up a book and read about me. Why?”
“Why don’t you write it?”
“Because…”
“Because?”
“Because…just because.”
“Tell me,” Kat said. “I won’t be telling nobody.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of?”
I tried to form the words, to say aloud what was screaming in my mind. But at the end of it all, I couldn’t.
“Nothing,” I finally said, “nothing.”
Kat touched my hand with hers.
“Listen,” Kat said, “Let’s do a shot of tequila before we take the shots back. Clear our heads and try to enjoy the rest of the evening.”
I agreed. We did two shots of tequila each before we carried four shots back to the table.
As I set the shots down, Ish grabbed a glass.
“We should toast,” she said.
“To what?” Anjali asked.
“To the one true love you never meet.”
I looked at Kat to see if she would do the right thing and slap the shit out of Ish. She didn’t.
“I think,” I said, “We should toast to the one true love we are fortunate enough to recognize.”
I saw the corners of Kat’s lips turn upwards in a small smile.
We toasted.
“Where’s the salt and lemon?” Anjali asked.
“No training wheels, baby,” I said, “Just do it.”
We did the shot. I was feeling happier than before, a little buzzed, a little warm.
“So,” Ish said. I knew she was about to say something really stupid. “I think we should each say who our true love is.”
I now wanted to help Kat slap the shit out of her.
“Well, I’ll go first,” Ish said.
She tossed back her mess of a haircut and said, “Katherine is the true love I was fortunate enough to recognize. What about you, Anjali?”
Anjali inhaled deeply and I knew I would need another shot after she spoke.
“Jess,” she said softly, “Jess is the love of my life.”
We were silent as we stared at empty shot glasses.
I had the urge to say something but then I remembered Vanessa telling me not to fill full spaces with empty words. I wondered what she was doing as I was staring at empty shot glasses, feeling as empty and confused as I ever had.
“Jess, what’s your answer?” Ish asked.
“I don’t talk about my life with strangers, Ish.”
“I’m no stranger, Jess.”
I glared at her. I had never been more certain that I hated her.
“I’ll tell you when you tell me who you fucked in Nairobi.”
She laughed a laugh so haughty and so fake that I knew I had her in a corner.
“Jess, you really think…”
“Tell us you didn’t then. In fact, I can almost bet you’re engaged to some man who thinks you’re crazy about him. And, Ish, if you sucked my dick night after night, I would think the same fucking thing.”
She looked at me as if I had torn her secret from the darkest part of her. Truth was, I was so buzzed and so annoyed, I didn’t know where all that came from. All I knew was that sometime over a year ago, Ish had called Kat to tell her she might have to get engaged and then break it off before she returned. If there was more to that story, I didn’t know it.
Ish looked at Kat now. I wondered if Kat would call her bluff or pretend that she hadn’t figured out that I was right. Kat kept staring at the empty glasses and then got up.
“I think it’s time to get home. I gotta work a double tomorrow an’ I’m tired.”
She quietly walked past the rest of us and then Ish got up.
“Well I guess it is getting late,” Ish said so meekly that I wanted to laugh. I felt like I had finally won with her. Why that mattered to me I don’t know but I enjoyed her discomfort, her sullen face, her quiet voice.
Ish hugged Anjali and kissed her cheek before leaving. Dior red stained my girlfriend and I wasn’t happy.
Anjali said bye and call me and all the things that made her a socialite and me an anti-social creature. After they had left, I looked at Anjali to see what she would say about anything. I licked my thumb and rubbed her cheek hard, making sure the red dissolved, erasing all traces of Ish.
“Is it off, Jess?”
“Yes.”
“You happy?” she asked as if she knew how much I hated Ish, how I detested her lipstick.
“I just don’t want you walking around with lipstick on your cheek,” I lied.
“You want another drink?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She went and got us dirty martinis. We sat, in silence, side by side, as we sipped the liquor and were lost in worlds that were so separate yet forced together by chance or luck or our own unwillingness to change the little in our lives that was stable. Anjali leaned on my shoulder and I kissed the top of her head. I kept my mouth in the curls of her hair and smelled faint hints of freesia.
“I don’t ever want to be like that,” she said.
“No, baby,” I said, “We won’t.”
And we wouldn’t. As far as I could see, Anjali and I didn’t need anyone else’s rendition of drama or heartbreak. We’d done a great job of creating our own drama full of its own climaxes and denouements. I looked around the lounge and then back at Anjali, the curls of her hair catching glints of dim light at certain angles.
“This is going to sound really weird, babe, but I’m really turned on at the moment,” I said.
She laughed and it was the cutest sound I had ever heard from her.
“Call me Anjali, Jess. Don’t call me anything else.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s you. And I love hearing you say my name. It makes me feel like royalty. Shall I tell you a story, Jasbir C. Banerjee?”
I laughed despite myself.
“Sure, tell me a story, Dr. Anjali Chopra.”
Anjali took my hand and held it in hers. She looked into my eyes.
“Once upon a time, very long ago, there lived a young girl named Anjali. Now what Anjali wanted more than anything was?”
“To be unforgettable,” I whispered.
“Yes. But she became a doctor instead, lived in NYC and drank martinis. But you know what makes her feel unforgettable, Jasbir C. Banerjee?”
“What’s that?”
“Hearing you say her name.”
“Then I’ll keep saying it,” I said.
I leaned t
owards her and kissed her. When I sat back, a flash of light caught the metal glass the bartender was shaking and I thought of a thumb ring glistening in sunshine.
Hadn’t Vanessa just told me the same thing, that she loved hearing me say her name? She had.
I wondered if my voice changed when I said the names of my lovers because on a day-to-day basis, my voice was a little too low, had a little too much bass and was nothing exceptional.
Anjali placed her head on my shoulder and brought my thoughts back to the lounge and to her.
“What are you thinking, Jess?”
She kissed my mouth softly.
“About what Ish was saying. About unwritten stories.”
“The way you guys go at each other, I don’t know if I can have you in the same room again.”
“But this time she’s right,” I whispered to myself.
I don’t know what Anjali was thinking but we were quiet for a long time.
“Do you want to go?” I asked.
“I actually just want to sit here for a while,” she said.
I didn’t move. I sat with her, both of us swimming in oceans of different thoughts. Except I knew that regardless of how different our thoughts were, we were both terrified of drowning, alone, without ever knowing the feel of ground beneath our feet, the certainty of a lover at our door, waiting, sometime, to renew our faith that there existed somewhere, someone to mend our broken wings.
Chapter Eleven
Vanessa called me that Thursday just as I was leaving the apartment to go to work.
“I just wanted to know if you could come out and play, princess.”
I could have told her I had things to do but I called out of work instead. I changed from my work clothes into my jeans and my black kurta. It no longer smelled like sandalwood soap or Queen of the Night incense but I believed it had brought me luck once with Vanessa and so it would bring me luck again. Superstition and all that. As I was leaving, my gaze caught a photo of Anjali and me that was above the sofa. We were toasting glasses of champagne, her sari glittering gold, the same color as the champagne in her glass, my salwar kameez a soft pink, catching the light in glints. I stopped. I remembered the photo, taken at a friend’s wedding, Anjali and me dancing, laughing, loving each other as if there were no tomorrow. I sighed. I sat on the sofa. And I prayed. I prayed so hard I began to cry. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I just lost it. It was all too hard. And it was all too confusing. I loved Anjali I did. But I felt something for Vanessa too. I told myself that I was just going to see what she wanted to talk about. Maybe she also realized that her “situational partner” meant something and she was going to tell me we could maybe be friends but that’s all. But would I be happy about her decision or disappointed? I didn’t know but it was worth finding out. I washed my face, stroked my eyebrows with my thumb making a mental note that I needed to get them threaded, made myself smile in front of the mirror and left the apartment.