Seducing Anjali

by Diana Persaud

  “Okay, Boss.”

  He stood a little taller, proud of his new title. Jimmy’s comment reminded him of his date with Anjali later that night.

  I should buy her some flowers.

  He grinned.

  And I know the perfect gift for my Honey.

  By the time he finished his errands and returned to his Shop, it was after five.

  Spying the roses in his hand, Jimmy asked, “So who’s the lucky lady? Anyone I know?”

  “I doubt it,” he replied. “Anjali moved here recently.”

  “Judging from that goofy look on your face, she must be something special.”

  He shrugged.

  Jimmy laughed.

  “Hoo-boy, I think I hear wedding bells.”

  “You should probably see a doctor about that.”

  “I think I touched a nerve. Enjoy your date, Boss. See you Monday.”

  He nodded then pulled down the heavy roller door. It glided close smoothly and quietly.

  Jimmy must have oiled it.

  He leaned the fire extinguisher against the wall and walked into this office. He set the roses down on his office desk and found a drill. He attached the Class B fire extinguisher to the wall then returned to his car to get the Class C fire extinguisher. After mounting the Class C to the wall, he carried the expired canister to his office.

  I have to fax over some papers to the insurance company. Then a quick shower and dinner with my Anjali.

  Yawning, he faxed over the first paper and waited for it to go through.

  Should I change the sheets? Maybe it’s better if she isn’t here when Mr. Wallace shows up in the morning.

  The thought of Mr. Wallace seeing her half naked in his shirt made his blood heat. He faxed over another paper then sat in the office chair.

  Beep. Beep. Beeeeep.

  The fax machine printed out an error message.

  He punched in the numbers again, then faxed the papers. The first paper went through. He leaned forward, waiting for it to process the second paper.

  His lids seemed to weigh a ton. He closed them for a moment and dreamed of Anjali.

  ***

  Bon, as the name implied, was a French restaurant. Understated elegance was the theme. And judging from the long waiting line, it was a successful one. Beyond the bright wall of the Maitre d', the dining room walls were a dark gray. Instead of being dreary, it provided intimacy. Soft light illuminated cream tablecloths and elegant chairs. Romantic tables for two, discreetly placed along the walls featured elegant Queen Anne chairs. Even larger tables seemed intimate, a lone island in a sea of darkness.

  “Happy Birthday, Beti!” her mother said.

  Her bangles jingled loudly as she opened her arms.

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  She hugged her mother then turned to her father. He kissed her on the cheek.

  “Happy Birthday, Beti,” he said, giving her arms a gentle squeeze. His eyes were misty. Full of suspicion, she glared at Jiji.

  Jiji glanced away, a guilty expression on her face.

  “Beti, where are the children?” her mother asked.

  “Dinesh’s parents are babysitting for us tonight,” Jiji said.

  “Everybody’s here. What are we waiting for?” Dinesh asked impatiently.

  “Beti?” her father asked.

  She plastered a smile on her face

  “I…invited someone to join us. He must be running late.”

  She turned to the Maitre d'.

  “But we can go ahead and be seated.”

  The Maitre d' led her family to their table. She walked behind the group. Her fingers reached for her phone.

  What am I doing? I’m his girlfriend, not his mommy. He knows it’s my birthday and we’re meeting at Mikey’s restaurant. Either he will show up or he won’t.

  She left the phone in her purse and smiled at Jiji.

  Tonight one of us is going to be proved right.

  Once they were seated, she gave in to the urge and discreetly checked her phone.

  No text.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, ignoring Jiji’s satisfied expression.

  The waiter presented them with menus then disappeared. Someone discreetly placed a basket of bread on the table. A sommelier appeared with a bottle of Merlot and offered a sample. She accepted with a curt nod. The wine barely registered on her taste buds. She downed the sample, ignoring her mother’s shocked expression.

  Jiji took a polite sip while Dinesh sniffed his wine as if he were a connoisseur. The sommelier raised his brow and she nodded. He refilled her glass then filled the others.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  She stared at the man standing to her right. He bowed his head with respect to her parents.

  “I’m Dr. Kumar. I was held up in surgery,” he explained.

  Nostrils flaring, she glared at Jiji.

  Jiji didn’t bother to hide her grin. Face flushed, she greeted Dr. Kumar with a warm smile.

  Ma clasped her hands together in front of her chest.

  “Beti—” Too choked up to speak, her mother fell silent, a single tear running down her face.

  The vein in her head throbbed painfully and she squeezed her eyes shut.

  Please let this be a dream.

  “Happy birthday, Anjali,” Dr. Kumar said as he sat next to her.

  That’s Tom’s seat, she wanted to scream. Instead, she nodded mutely.

  Dr. Kumar was polite. Knowledgeable. And boring. He droned on in a monotone that made her eyelids feel heavy.

  Is that how he puts his patients to sleep? By talking to them?

  Halfway through dinner, Dinesh received a phone call.

  “I’m needed in the ER,” he said, leaning over to kiss Jiji on the cheek.

  She leaned back, crossing her arms and raising her brow.

  Jiji shrugged.

  “At least he shows up for dinner.”

  She narrowed her eyes but didn’t respond.

  After Dinesh left, Jiji seemed more relaxed. More bold.

  “So what do you think of my sister, Dr. Kumar?”

  “She’s every bit as lovely as you promised.”

  He raised his glass in salute.

  Though her skin crawled, she forced a polite smile. Her glass was empty and she longed for another drink. Where is that sommelier?

  “You’ve barely touched your food. Or said a word,” Dr. Kumar said quietly. “Are you worried about your hobby?”

  “Hobby?”

  He nodded.

  “Nandini mentioned something about writing.”

  She set down her fork and turned to face him.

  “I’m an author.”

  “Of genre fiction. Nothing worth pursuing once we’re married,” he said.

  Her mouth hung open.

  “That’s right, Anjali. I’m as ready to be married as you are. Shall we inform your parents tonight?”

  His proposal was so ridiculous she couldn’t help but laugh. Three glasses of Merlot didn’t help, either.

  “No, Doctor. I’m not interested in getting married.”

  She cleared her throat.

  “Ma, Dad. Jiji. I’ve decided that I’m not getting married. I was thinking of adopting and I’m going to file the paperwork on Monday.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Awakened by loud banging on the side door, Tom jolted upright in his office chair. The chair rolled back as he scrambled to his feet.

  He blinked rapidly.

  Why is it so bright in here? It can’t be morning already.

  Something gnawed on the inside of his stomach.

  Anjali. Oh, fuck. I missed her birthday dinner.

  The insistent banging continued, drawing his attention to the side door. Through the dirty glass of the side door, he saw a familiar face.

  Fuck. It’s Wallace.

  He opened the door. Mr. Wallace frowned then glanced pointedly at his watch.

  “I’ve been waiting patiently for five minutes, Mr. Kelle
r. If you aren’t interested in—”

  “—I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Sir. I know that your time is valuable and I appreciate that you’re willing to work with me this morning. Come in.”

  He stepped aside and flicked on the lights.

  Mr. Wallace held up his clipboard and walked around, checking things off his list.

  He pulled out his cell phone. Mr. Wallace eyed his cell phone with disapproval. He shoved his cell into his back pocket.

  She’ll understand. I’ll make it up to her tonight.

  “Shop looks fairly organized. No tools on the floor or scattered around.”

  Mr. Wallace jotted down a note then asked, “Where is your eye protection?”

  He opened a tall cabinet and pointed to the safety glasses and welding goggles.

  Mr. Wallace made a mark on his clipboard then walked over to the large container labeled ‘Used Motor Oil ONLY’. He lifted off the lid and examined the used oil.

  “No obvious sign of contamination. Who’s picking up your oil?”

  “Auto Body Kleen Up.”

  He jotted down the name.

  “I’ll be following up with them. We do random testing of oil. Your company will be tested more often given this shop’s history.”

  While Mr. Wallace was busy checking the container marked Transmission Fluid, he pulled out his cell phone and sent a text message.

  Honey,

  Fell asleep. Sorry. Will make it up to you tonight.

  Tommy.

  Mr. Wallace checked the storage containers for refrigerant and antifreeze and asked for proof of disposal. While he searched through his file cabinet, he checked his cell phone, certain he had missed her return text.

  The screen was blank.

  No message.

  The gnawing feeling inside his stomach intensified.

  Mr. Wallace insisted on checking each used battery, ensuring they were properly stored.

  He checked his cell phone again.

  Still no text.

  She’s got every reason to be pissed off. But why won’t she return my message?

  By midday, convinced she didn’t receive his text, he dialed her number. Ignoring the glare from Mr. Wallace, he turned away, counting the rings.

  It went to voice mail.

  “Honey, call me. Please.”

  He slipped his cell into his front shirt pocket.

  Mr. Wallace seemed to slow his pace and time dragged. The click of the second hand echoed in the empty garage. His ears strained, hoping to hear her ring tone. Or the ding of an incoming text.

  How am I going to make this up to her? A dozen roses. A fancy dinner. The best sex she ever had. And I’ll buy her any damned thing she wants.

  Mr. Wallace finally finished his inspection. He barely paid attention as Mr. Wallace reminded him of regulations and told him he’d be keeping a close eye on his shop.

  “I’ll be stopping by for surprise checks,” Wallace said.

  “I’m not worried,” he said convincingly.

  Did Wallace see the bead of sweat on his brow? At the moment he didn’t care. He just wanted Mr. Wallace gone so he could take a shower and make things right with Anjali.

  He took the paperwork from Mr. Wallace and locked up his shop. He ran upstairs and hopped into the shower.

  He raced to the store to pick up a dozen roses before driving to her house. He pulled in the driveway, parking behind a flashy red Corvette.

  Gripping the bouquet of roses in his hand, he marched up to her front door and rang the doorbell.

  “Tommy. What are you doing here?” she asked.

  She was dressed for an evening out, yet she wasn’t expecting him?

  “I sent you a text this morning. I called—”

  “Anj?” a deep voice called.

  He pushed his way in.

  A well dressed Indian man stood in her living room.

  He had better be a relative.

  “You owe me an explanation. Who the fuck is he?” he demanded.

  “Sanjay, could you excuse us?”

  Sanjay frowned then replied, “I’ll be right outside.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shoving the bouquet of roses at her chest. Her eyes avoided him as she took the roses and laid them on her coffee table.

  “You’ve chosen him then?” he accused.

  Silence.

  “Do you…care for him?”

  He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat nearly choking him.

  “Don’t do this, Tommy,” she begged.

  “Answer me, damn it.”

  He gripped her arm.

  “Do you love him?”

  She twisted away from him.

  “Tommy, this can’t work between us. We want different things.”

  “I just need a little more time—”

  “—time? How much time? A week, a month, a year?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why can’t you wait—”

  “Why should I have to wait?” she demanded. “What exactly am I waiting for?”

  “Once my business is successful—”

  “Most businesses fail.”

  “Most marriages fail.”

  “Who said anything about marriage?”

  Bitterness seeped into his voice.

  “How could I forget? You’re not interested in men, only what they have to offer.”

  “Maybe if men weren’t so stingy with their time, they’d have more to offer than just a quick roll—”

  “—I’ve never had a complaint before.”

  “That’s because you’re not around to hear it,” she countered.

  “That wicked tongue isn’t worth the trouble,” he snarled then stomped out of the house.

  His fingers curled into a tight fist when he saw Sanjay on her porch. He brushed past him and returned to his car. Tires screeched as he pealed out of her driveway.

  I knew this would happen. At the first sign of trouble, she bails.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  FUCK.

  He sped up as the light changed to yellow.

  She doesn’t want me. Or maybe I’m not worth the effort.

  He stopped at a red light. He blasted his horn when the driver didn’t move the second the light turned green.

  I’m not good enough for her. Just a dumb, useless jock.

  His foot slammed on the accelerator. He sped along the highway, desperate to find a bar and get drunk before he was forced to admit the truth.

  I’m in love with her.

  It was early and there were plenty of parking spots available. He parked and slammed his fist on the steering wheel. His horn honked loudly. Muttering under his breath, he slammed the door, shoving his keys into his pocket.

  He marched to the bar and sat on the barstool. The bartender moved in front of him, drying a glass with a white rag.

  “Double Whiskey. Neat.”

  “Ah…woman troubles.”

  He glared at the bartender, who calmly poured his drink and set it in front of him.

  He slapped down a twenty dollar bill.

  “Keep it coming,” he growled.

  He swallowed the amber liquid in one long gulp. His throat burned as fiery heat raced down to his empty stomach.

  Now I understand why Dad drank so much.

  A handful of salty peanuts separated his first drink from the second.

  “Tommy?”

  Mother of Christ. I don’t need her shit right now.

  “What do you want, Janice?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  She slid on the stool next to him. Her legs brushed his thigh. He tried not to recoil from her touch.

  “How’s business going?” Janice asked. The syrupy sweetness of her voice grated on his nerves.

  “Fine.”

  The bartender poured another Whiskey double. He toyed with the glass, ignoring her.

  “That’s some heavy drinking for ‘fine’.”

  She
shifted on the barstool.

  “I’ll have a Cosmopolitan,” she told the bartender.

  The bartender mixed her drink and poured it into a Martini glass. He walked off with her credit card, leaving them alone.

  “So how’s…what’s her name again?” She took a sip.

  “Anjali,” he replied tersely.

  “Oh, Dear. What has Anjali done to upset you?”

  “It’s none of your business, Janice.”

  Her smug grin was almost too much to bear.

  “Where’s your husband?”

  “He’s at work. You know how lawyers are. Busy busy busy all the time,” she whined. “Did you know he worked on our Honeymoon?”

  She rambled on about how he had neglected her. He didn’t care.

  She finished her drink then placed her hand on his arm, leaning in close.

  “I know what you need, Tommy,” she whispered seductively. “Take me home and let me satisfy your every desire.”

  “Janice—”

  “Just this once. No one will ever have to know,” she promised.

  Is she fucking Sanjay right now? It would serve her right if I—

  The glint from her diamond ring distracted him.

  “I’ll know,” he replied, pushing her hand away.

  The stale air in the bar felt suffocating. He finished his drink then swung off the stool.

  ***

  Janice glared at Tom’s retreating back. Her delicate hands clenched and unclenched.

  I can’t believe he’d rather go home alone than fuck me.

  By the time she reached the front door, his car was pulling out of the parking lot. Nostrils flaring, she hurried to her BMW.

  He’s too angry to go to her house. Which means he’s probably going to the garage.

  Unfamiliar with this side of town, she pulled out her phone and asked SIRI to find Everett’s Auto Body Shop.

  She parked on the street then walked to the Auto Shop.

  Where’s his car?

  A heavy metallic door slammed shut.

  Her heels clacked loudly on the concrete sidewalk. She walked around to the back of the building on tiptoe so her heels wouldn’t give her away. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she spotted the back door. She tried the handle.

  It was unlocked.

  He must really be worked up over that bitch to forget to lock his door.

  With a snarl on her face, she entered the shop.

  He was moving around upstairs, slamming cabinets and muttering. She paused by the stairwell.