by Sonia Singh
“Mom, please understand that I’m not against marriage. If a great guy comes along, I’m not going to turn him away, but neither am I going to rush into something I’m not ready for. I don’t feel like there’s this biological clock ticking away or anything.”
“Let’s call Gayatri,” my aunt said from the depths of the cushions.
“I already know the ovaries deal,” I said quickly. “But I’m not going to live my life by reproductive ability alone. And I’m not going to agree to a marriage for marriage’s sake. What about shakti? What about female power?”
My mom and aunt stared back at me. They obviously weren’t feeling the shakti.
“If you wait too long, all you’ll have left to choose from are widowers and divorcées,” Aunt Dimple pointed out helpfully.
Ganesh, get me out of here!
My mom sighed. “We’re at a loss, Maya. Your father and I have decided to give you thirty days to prove you’re serious about your life. Or”—she shook her head sadly—“you’re out of the house.”
Aunt Dimple finally sat up. “Don’t worry, you can stay with me.”
My mom glared at her. “No! This is her chance to prove I did not raise a lazy good-for-nothing.”
Great. Just great. I should never have let her buy that dumb Dr. Phil book.
Aunt Dimple winked at me, using half her face. “I could use a receptionist at the office. The pay is excellent.”
“Absolutely not,” my mom said. “There will be no help from the family. Maya must try on her own.”
There she sat. Knees together. Hands folded in her lap. Lips pressed into a straight line.
Instead of a coffee table, I felt like a chasm separated us. Somehow I needed to bridge that emotional divide.
Aunt Dimple caught my eye and smiled hopefully. “How about some tea?”
Too little caffeine.
Too late.
Chapter 34
MY PARENTS OPTED to have dinner at Aunt Dimple’s.
I opted to drive away like a bat out of hell.
Then I opted for In & Out.
Sitting alone at the kitchen table, staring at a french fry, I pondered my possibilities.
I’d never planned for anything in my life, preferring to coast along and deal with things as they came. I’d never had any ambitions or dreams.
I wasn’t like my brother Samir, who would cuddle up between my parents on the sofa to watch open-heart surgery on the Discovery Channel. There was never any question he would be a doctor.
Big surprise, we weren’t the closest of siblings.
I felt lost and confused. I felt as though I’d made a mess of my life. I wished I’d studied harder so I could have gone to Harvard or bicycled through Cambridge.
You know, interesting shit like that.
Now I was supposed to look for a career, prove to my parents I could take care of myself, and all in thirty days?
Between sleeping and fighting evil, I had like two or three hours a day free.
I still couldn’t believe my parents were kicking me out. There was nothing I could do for now but go along and hope something would happen in the next thirty days to make them change their minds—something other than my unnatural and painful death of course.
If not, I’d just move in with Ram and Sanjay. They were the ones who got me into this mess.
I wasn’t even going to entertain the idea of asking Tahir if he needed a roomie—regardless of how rich with enticing possibilities that scenario might prove to be.
It was dark outside, and my fries were cold.
Was that a killer beginning to a depressing novel or what?
That night I woke up shivering.
Somehow I’d kicked off all the covers. Then I remembered the dream. I was in an advanced kickboxing class. Only instead of a punching bag, I was practicing on Nadia.
Reaching for the comforter, I heard the sound of the television. I peered at the digital alarm clock—3:00 A.M.
Slipping into my robe, I went downstairs. My mom was curled up on the couch watching CNN.
She looked tired. She looked older than her age. I felt my throat tightening.
She was awake because of me.
“Mom?” I said softly, walking toward her.
She didn’t answer.
I moved closer and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mom…about Tahir. Please don’t worry.” I struggled to think of the right words to put her at ease. “I’m going to make some changes. Not just because of what we talked about earlier…I’ve been looking at my life lately and believe me, I’ve been seeing things in a whole new light. Just don’t worry, okay?”
She didn’t turn around. “Go to sleep, Maya. It’s late.”
I removed my hand and stepped back.
She didn’t believe me.
I felt my heart drop.
The Asha Patels of the world could take control of their lives, but not the Maya Mehras. Women like me had only one hope, marriage. We weren’t smart enough or strong enough to make it on our own.
I could see where she was coming from. My parents were getting older. She was afraid. Afraid of what would happen to me after they were gone. Who would take care of me? In her heart she truly felt I could not take care of myself.
I understood it. But her lack of faith hurt.
Hurt me in ways malevolence never could.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to convince her.
Then, silent and weightless, Ram’s words floated to the surface of my mind. Kali is bound with the terrifying, and she is unafraid.
Kali was part of me, too.
It was time to face my biggest fear.
It was time to grow up.
I would show my parents. I would show myself.
Can you imagine Maya Mehra doing that?
Damn straight!
Quietly, I left the room.
Chapter 35
NOW I’VE SEEN ENOUGH horror movies to know not to enter an abandoned warehouse alone and at night.
But I wasn’t some screaming bimbo with clothes torn in all the right places. I was the goddess.
Still…
This smelled fishy. But that could be due to the close proximity of the Long Beach docks.
The rusted sign hanging above the entrance read: BROWNFIELD & COMPANY. I wondered what happened to old Brownfield. Located conveniently next to the port and freeway, and away from residential areas, abandoned warehouses like this one had once provided a service.
Personally, I thought the area had potential. Convert the derelict buildings into a series of trendy lofts. With the fabulous ocean view, they’d fetch quite a price. Of course there was the dead fish smell, but that could be handled by gearing the place toward stuffy-nosed allergy sufferers.
Oh well, it wasn’t like some real estate development committee was hanging on my every word.
I turned my attention back to the door. The perps were inside, and I was spoiling for a fight.
Another Saturday night sans plans—of the social variety—had put me in a grumpy mood. The fact that I had sent my résumé out to companies all across the board with no response hadn’t helped either. Apparently a BA in anthropology and no work experience didn’t exactly open any doors.
I called the Goddess Within, waited for the lightning, then kicked the door down.
And Tahir thought I needed to go to the gym?
Two guys—one white, one black—whirled to face me, guns outstretched.
Maybe next time I should try stealth.
My divine instincts kicked in, and I dived to the floor just as they fired.
Guns. Why did it always have to be guns?
The NRA was seriously making my job harder than it had to be.
I was already irritated, and the fluorescent lighting was doing nothing for my complexion.
From my position on the floor, I thrust up with the sword and swung at the guns, knocking them out of their hands.
Then I had another idea
.
In the two weeks since the Kathak concert, I’d become quite adept at handling the sword. The more I used it, the more it seemed like an extension of my arm.
I sliced out again, in a move straight out of Zorro.
Their pants dropped, tangled up with their feet, and they simultaneously tripped and fell.
Hmm, so they both preferred boxers.
I tied them up, back to back, with some rope I found in the warehouse. Seated on the floor, the black guy and the white guy stared up at me with extreme dislike.
Ebony and Ivory live together in perfect malevolency…
I used one of their cell phones to call the police.
While I waited for the sound of sirens, I examined the contents of the dozens of boxes stacked everywhere. I still had no idea why I’d followed these guys all the way from Newport to Long Beach.
The boxes were filled with guns.
Of course.
Speaking of firearms, I decided to dump theirs into the harbor. Not exactly an environmentally friendly plan but efficient. As I leaned over to scoop up his gun from the floor, the white guy snarled in my face. “Fucking camel jockey.”
How original.
“Technically that slur would apply to Bedouins since only about half a percent of Indians actually travel by camel,” I pointed out.
They both stared at me blankly.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Finally! I was so ready to be gone.
Back in the car, I realized my cell phone had been turned off all day. I switched it on.
Not one call.
Okay, I hadn’t expected any calls from home. Ever since the ultimatum at Aunt Dimple’s, my mom wasn’t exactly speaking to me.
I scrolled down my list of numbers. Tahir’s name popped up.
He’d called once, since moving out, wanting to know if there was a Neiman Marcus in Santa Monica. Before I could inform him the closest was in Beverly Hills, he received another call and put me on hold.
After three minutes I hung up.
But saved his number.
Instead of examining my motives behind that decision, I scrolled up to Ram. I’d left him numerous messages, but he hadn’t called me back in days. Instead of feeling worried about the old man, I was irritated. The last time we’d spoken Ram had been in the middle of his current favorite TV show, The Sopranos. Apparently the fate of the world could wait, and he asked me to call back.
The pundit had a penchant for prime time.
Screw that! I needed to talk. I felt like I was operating in a vacuum. I had no feedback. No way of knowing whether I was doing a good job or not. Wondering if what I was doing had any relevance in the long term.
I dialed Ram.
After five rings Sanjay’s voice came on the machine. This time I was going to speak my mind. I didn’t care who overheard. If Sanjay was entertaining Maury Povich at the moment, that was his goddamn problem.
“Hi, Ram, this is Maya. The goddess, remember? I want to know how stopping all these individual crimes is supposed to save the world from destruction? I don’t see the pattern.” I paused. “Oh yeah, and the Kali-hating fanatic seems to have gone underground. No attempts to murder me in a week. Ciao.” I hung up and sat back.
Apparently, even my archenemy had plans on a Saturday night.
Along with the rest of the world.
Lately I’d been engaging in a lot of serious soul-searching and basic internal delving. I’d been examining those issues in my life that were holding me back. Issues that kept me from having fulfilling relationships with men, women, my family, God, animals, and the Starbucks employees I saw every morning.
You know, meditating on my misconceptions.
Maybe I’d spend the rest of the night doing some more of that?
Nah.
I’d rather feel sorry for myself.
Here I was saving the world, and no one cared. There was only one thing to do at a time like this.
Drink.
After all, what went better with self-pity than alcohol?
Chapter 36
THE GODDESS was an alcoholic.
How else could you explain the fact that I’d knocked back three dirty vodka martinis and wasn’t feeling a thing?
The bartender pointed at my glass. “Another?”
“Yessh pleashe.”
Okay, maybe I was feeling something.
Either that or I was unintentionally doing a really bad impersonation of Sean Connery.
The White Lotus, my favorite LA nightspot, was packed. The tables were draped with trendy types and striving starlets. In the center of a fountain an enormous statue of Buddha gazed benevolently down at the scene.
The Goddess Gaze had worked wonders on the bouncer.
Normally I didn’t have a problem getting in, but this was Saturday night, and I was dressed in jeans—the better to fight malevolence with. Cameron Diaz, whom I’d spotted earlier, might have been able to gain entrance dressed in flip-flops and a sack made out of hemp, but I wasn’t some pampered celebrity.
As much as I wanted to be.
“Hard day?” the guy next to me said, taking a seat. He had wide blue eyes, red hair, and perfect eyebrows.
This was LA. Men waxed, plucked, and highlighted with the best of us.
Even though Orange County was a mere forty-five minutes away, I’d left the land of Christian Conservatives far behind, having crossed into the territory of Celebrity Culture.
Both regions had their plus points.
LA had hipness. Orange County had parking.
I checked out Perfect Brows, as the bartender set another frosty glass in front of me. “Today was a bitch. I had to work.”
He was checking me out as well. “What do you do?”
“I’m Kali. Goddess of Death and Destruction. Giver of Life and Devourer of Children.”
Oops.
Alcohol hadn’t loosened my tongue; it had completely unhinged it.
“Kali, huh. The chick with all the arms, right?” He nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “My guru mentioned her. Have you heard of the Art of Living? My guru says…”
I tuned out.
Another Hare Krishna Hippie Freak, as Nadia would say.
I popped an olive into my mouth and blinked at my glass. It was empty. I picked up the glass and turned it upside down, staring in puzzlement as not a single drop fell out.
Perfect Brows was saying something. “So do you have a one-woman show?”
“Huh?” I was having trouble focusing. What the hell was he talking about? And then my alcohol-imbibing brain cells got it. He thought I was an actress. As in, I’m not a goddess but I play one on TV. “No, I’m the real deal. Really.”
He stared at me.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” I said.
“Not at all. You know the guy on the corner of La Cienega and Sunset? The one who’s always screaming he’s Jesus? Everyone ignores him, but one day I started to think, what if the dude’s telling the truth? I mean, if Jesus really did come back and stood on a street corner sermoning away, of course people would think he’s Michael-Jackson-mental.” He signaled the bartender. “One more round.”
Between the two of us we were shelling out quite a bit for drinks. The White Lotus wasn’t cheap.
Cheaper than therapy though.
Perfect Brows was staring at me with a definite glint in his eye. He had superb taste. I’d give him that. And since I wasn’t Michael-Jackson-mental, he’d probably try to get in my pants.
“Wanna dance?” he said.
“Sure.” I slid off the stool.
And promptly fell to the floor.
The next morning my head was hammering and my throat was drier than British humor.
Divine healing, my ass.
And then I forgot about all that.
I was in a strange bed, in a strange room.
Naked.
The body beside me shifted and pressed against my side.
Very definitely male.
/> I covered my face with my hands. Shit! I’d gone home with Perfect Brows.
And I couldn’t remember any of it.
“Morning-after regrets? It’s a bit too early for a cliché, don’t you think?” a familiar voice drawled.
My hands flew off my face and I turned to stare at the very sleepy, very sexy man next to me.
Tahir.
Oh, Goddess!
It was worse than I thought.
Chapter 37
“I CAN FEEL your heartbeat,” Tahir murmured.
“I didn’t realize it was between my legs,” I snapped, and leaped off the bed, wrapping the sheet around me so fast the room whirled.
“How did this happen?” I demanded.
Arms crossed behind his head, Tahir watched me with amusement. “Girl meets boy. Girl gets piss drunk. Girl calls boy to pick her up. Girl jumps boy and tears his clothes off.”
I forced myself to remember. Dancing in a crowd. Losing sight of Perfect Brows. Calling Tahir because I was too drunk to drive.
Calling Tahir…
Cell phones were a nuisance and should definitely be banned. I would take up the cause immediately.
Girl suddenly recalls intimate details of the night before.
I sneaked a sideways glance at Tahir. He lounged on the bed like a well-sated Mughal emperor and stared back at me with frank approval.
I couldn’t help the spark of pride that flared up inside me.
Maybe I’d been channeling Kali. Maybe I’d been feeling the shakti. Or maybe it was true that a woman’s libido went into overdrive after the age of thirty. But I’d never been that uninhibited or abandoned before.
Whatever the case—
The goddess was pretty damn good in the sack!
Soothed by thoughts of my sexual prowess, I was able to take in the details of the room around me. White walls. Black furniture. Hardwood floor. Atop the dresser, a collection of photos in elegant silver frames caught my eye.
Affecting an air of French sophistication—so we had sex, big deal—I strolled over to the dresser.
In the first one, Tahir was wearing a cap and gown and standing between two older people. “Your parents?” I asked.