“I love it, Mini!” Vinnie said.
Whew!
We had just gotten back to the Carriage House, where we were to meet everyone, when Vir drove up! In, of all things, an Indian-built hybrid—a Mirchandani Mirage.
He looked incredibly nice in khakis and a linen shirt. I’d only seen him in shorts (or pajamas!) before—and dressed up, he looked, if possible, more gorgeous.
“Vinnie, this is Vir,” I said with impressive calm. “Vir, my sister, Vinnie.”
“Dr. Yashasvini Kapoor, right?” he said with a smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you!”
“And I’d heard nothing about you before yesterday,” Vinnie said. “Strange, huh?” But she smiled at him anyway.
I really should have given her a heads-up about Vir before she landed, I guess. I nearly did the day I called to tell her about my SAT score, but then I ended up not.
“So how did Mini find you?”
“I just, um… ran into him,” I said.
“Literally!” Vir said. The memory seemed to amuse him.
“And where did you run into him?” Vinnie raised an eyebrow.
“Near Lake Waban,” I said, answering with geographical precision.
“The first time, Yogi was chasing Roshan, my mum’s cat,” Vir said. “And then another time, Mini lost her k—”
“Way!” I said hurriedly. “I lost my way! While walking Yogi!” I’d kept the losing-my-keys episode under wraps so far. I’d never hear the end of it if it all came out. “And Vir showed me how to get back to the lake trail,” I finished.
“Exactly!” Vir said, covering for me. “The trails can be really confusing.”
“How do you know the trails so well?” Vinnie said. “Do you live around here? Doesn’t sound like it by your accent!”
Wow, Vinnie was totally grilling the guy! I turned my back on Vir and gave her the Look. Vinnie ignored me.
“It’s British, I’m afraid,” Vir said. “I lived there until seventh grade, and I think it’s permanent.”
“His mom is the dean of Fellsway,” I said. “She’s amazing!”
“Oh, nice!” Vinnie said. “Have you met her?”
“No,” I said, at the same time as Vir said, “Not yet!”
“Uh-huh!” Vinnie said thoughtfully. “Funny what you miss when you don’t live in the same state anymore!”
“Cool ride, by the way,” I said, changing the subject. “I didn’t even know you could get these things in the US.”
“It’s my mum’s car,” Vir explained. “She’s pretty committed to being green.”
“But how did you even import an Indian model here?” I asked. “Mirchandani Motors is Indian, isn’t it?”
Vir waved a hand vaguely. “It was a gift from—the Indian embassy, I think? She didn’t have to deal with bringing it over.”
“That’s awesome!” I said. “Bet Dad would love to take a look at it!”
“I’ll bring it around if you like,” Vir said immediately. “I’d like to meet him again anyway.”
“Again?” Vinnie asked, eyebrow hitched to her hairline once more.
“Yeah, we met at the British car show,” Vir said.
“Really?” Vinnie said.
“There’s Shoma Moorty!” I spotted a four-wheel-drive in the distance.
“I’ll go look at the power outlets in the hall,” Vir said. “And measure the walls and stuff.”
“Hello, beta!” Shoma Moorty leapt out of her Jeep, exuding energy. “I had forgotten what a beautiful venue this was! Only last year we had two weddings here.”
“Hi, Shoma!” Jen Courtney, the event manager, opened the door to the Carriage House. “It’s great to see you again!”
I guess those two did know each other. What a small world this wedding business was!
Meanwhile, Vinnie was still looking at me with a how-could-you-not-tell-me-everything-about-that-guy stare.
“Mini,” she said, arms crossed. “We need to talk!”
“No we don’t,” I said. “And don’t jump to conclusions!”
“Yeah, right!” Vinnie said.
Three o’clock, and we were still waiting.
Jen Courtney, Vinnie, Shoma Moorty, and even poor Vir had gone over the tables, the chairs, the dance floor, the restrooms, the rain plan (we’d use the tent attached to the Carriage House—it could seat 180 people), the mandap, the aisle design, the fire extinguishers that had to be on hand before the ceremonial fire could be lit.
But no discussions about the food, the kitchens, or the serving staff could happen because there was still no sign of Mr. Sunny Sondhi of Curry Cuisine.
I called his main office and his son at least three times. They promised me he was on his way, but I was beginning to have my doubts.
“He’ll be here!” I smiled manically at the assembled group. “He will!”
“Why are you booking this guy?” Vir asked quietly when no one was looking. “He seems flaky.”
“Vinnie wants him to cater,” I whispered back. “He did Manish’s sister’s wedding too, and the Iyers really liked him. Manish is Vinnie’s fiancé,” I added, since Vir was looking lost.
My cell phone rang.
“This is Sunny Sondhi,” said an irritated-sounding voice.
It’s him, I mimed to Vinnie. “Mr. Sondhi! How far away are you? We’re all waiting for you to arrive!” A car turned the corner as I spoke. That had to be him!
“I think I see you,” he said. “I’ll park and be there in a minute. Just wait.”
Sunny Sondhi was tall and dapperly dressed. We’d been waiting around for him for hours, but he showed up with an annoyed expression as if we had kept him waiting. No apology either.
I knew he was busy—of the five or so Indian caterers to pick from in the Boston area, Curry Cuisine was the biggest name—but this was ridiculous.
“Hello, Mr. Sondhi.” At least one of us seemed to know the Curry Cuisine guy well. He actually cracked a smile at Shoma Moorty.
“Hello, hello!” he said. “I didn’t think we had catered here before, but I remember this kitchen. So, do the catering vans have to pull up here? And where are the tables?” We went over the table and dance floor setup, where we would put the buffet table, where the dosa chef could set up his dosa station—outdoors only, as per the fire marshal. “That’s all I need to see,” Mr. Sondhi said. “Thank you, I have another appointment.”
And we were done!
“I’ll call about the music selection,” Vir said. “It was nice meeting you, Vinnie.”
“Likewise,” said Vinnie.
The questions started before we’d pulled out of the rambling wooded drive.
“Why didn’t you tell me about that guy?” Vinnie asked.
“Vir?” I asked. “No reason. Just because he’s cute, you don’t have to jump to conclusions.”
“You’re so cute and awkward around each other,” Vinnie said. “Something has to be up!”
“Wait!” I lifted a finger because my cell phone was ringing. “Can you grab that?”
“Sure.” Vinnie pulled my phone out of my satchel. It was Shayla. Her car was in the shop and I was supposed to give her a ride home from River Bend. Only, what with all the waiting around, I had forgotten.
“We’ll be there in a minute, Shayla,” Vinnie said. “Sorry we forgot you!”
When we picked Shayla up, Vinnie started interrogating her about Vir instead.
Shayla, being Shayla, was only too happy to spill.
“He went to school in the UK,” she said. “Then he moved here with his mom and went to school in Cambridge. Then he went to boarding school in India. He’s going to MIT in the fall. And his parents are divorced. I don’t think he has any siblings.”
“Thank you!” Vinnie was suddenly grinning. “Smart too, huh? Did we pay him a deposit yet?”
“No!” We hadn’t as yet officially signed up with Vir. “He doesn’t have any references! I don’t know how we can trust him to do a good job. This could be
a disaster!”
“Nah,” Vinnie said. “DJ’ing isn’t rocket science. He can handle it.”
“Hey, Rachel needs a DJ too!” Shayla said. “For Jason’s Bar Mitzvah. Didn’t you hear about that?”
“Rachel is back?” I asked. “I thought she was still in Israel!”
“She’s been back for ten days,” Shayla said. “And you’d know this if you weren’t so busy with this whole wedding thing—sorry, Vinnie, but it’s true. Everyone’s been talking about Jason’s Bar Mitzvah disaster!”
Yikes! I really hadn’t been to Turnabout for two whole weekends? Amy would be well within her rights to revoke my staff discount! And I hadn’t even heard what Rachel had gotten up to in Israel. I guess they’d been busy grappling with Jason’s Bar Mitzvah situation.
“What happened?” I asked, feeling horrible for not having known.
“Amy had hired a band, like, last year or something,” Shayla said. “But half of them just got the flu—in the middle of summer—and they can’t perform. They’ve been calling around, but all the good DJs already have gigs for this weekend.”
“This weekend!” I said.
“Yeah, they’re kind of desperate,” Shayla said. “Do you think Vir is free?”
“We could ask…,” I said. “But how would he know anything about Bar Mitzvahs? He’s been in India for the past four years.”
Chapter Fourteen
So, apparently, during the two years of middle school Vir spent in the US, he went to no fewer than nine Bar and Bat Mitzvahs.
“My mom graduated from Brandeis,” Vir said. “What can I say? All her friends in the US have kids my age, and we moved here when I was thirteen. And a lot of my friends at Nobles and in Newton were Jewish too. I’m kind of an expert on Bar Mitzvahs.”
He went to Noble and Greenough while he was here. Figures that he’d be at a prep school instead of Newton North.
“I thought she went to Fellsway,” I said. “Isn’t she an alumna or something?”
“She went to Brandeis for grad school,” Vir said. “Dude, she has a lot of degrees.”
“So, you’ll do it?” I asked.
“That depends,” Vir said. “Are you going?”
Now, what did that have to do with it?
“Of course,” I said. “Rachel is one of my oldest friends, and Jason’s practically like my little brother!”
“Sign me up, then,” Vir said. “That way you can see if I’m good enough for Vinnie’s wedding.”
“You’ll have to get the kids to do party games and teach them dance moves,” I warned. “The limbo, the Chicken Dance, ‘YMCA,’ and the—”
“Electric Slide?” Vir said. “Sure, no problem. Whatever gets them moving, right?”
“Right,” I said. I had a feeling he was laughing at me again.
Rachel and I had caught up before the party. She looked great—natural tan, cool new cut from Tel Aviv, and she’d brought back enough Dead Sea mineral creams and potions to last a decade. Shayla must have briefed her about Vinnie’s wedding and about Vir, because she was up to speed with everything.
She was up on the bimah now, radiant in a retro fit-and-flare dress, reading in fluent Hebrew. I smoothed down my dress nervously—it was a periwinkle lace frock.
Throughout the temple service I had had butterflies thinking about Vir setting up at the sports club where the party was scheduled. Amy had hired him on my recommendation. What if he wasn’t good?
“Dad, I’m going to go ahead in case Amy needs help,” I said. Dad looked cute with a yarmulke tilting precariously on his graying head.
“I’m not going to the party, Mini,” he said, pushing his glasses up. “I have a conference call set up in an hour. I’ll see you back home.”
The sports club was a great venue for the party. The kids would have their choice of activities—swimming in the pool, climbing on the indoor rock wall, playing mini-golf, or shooting hoops on the basketball court. The staff directed me to where the dinner tables and dance floor had been set up—the indoor tennis courts, which had been transformed with decorations, balloons, and lights.
Vir was already there, setting up his DJ gear. It seemed to consist of a MacBook, a complicated-looking deck with tons of dials and buttons, and a pen drive. He was deep in conversation with Amy, going over the music, games, and announcements, but they stopped when they caught sight of me.
“Mini, thanks for telling us about Vir,” Amy said. “He’s been amazing. It was so nice of him to step in on such short notice.”
“Just good luck, I guess,” I said. “Vir, is that everything you need?”
“Yes,” Vir said. “I’ve set up the speakers and done a sound check. And the lights too—do you like them?”
The roof of the tennis court was lit up in blue and pink pastels—it looked awesome. I was impressed.
“I have to go make sure the appetizers are being served, honey,” Amy said, “but stay and chat with Vir. Rachel and Shayla will be down here soon!” She had the happy glow of a mom who has made it through half of a long-planned Bar Mitzvah and has full confidence that the second half will go off without a hitch.
“You look nice,” Vir said after she left. “Nice hat.”
I put my hand up to my twenties-style beaded fascinator in the same periwinkle as my dress. “You think? I made it, you know.”
There was that amused look again. “You did not!”
“Did too! And it’s a fascinator, actually,” I said, “not a hat.”
“Fascinating!” he said. “Though it does look a bit like a cat toy—my mum’s cat would love it.”
No one had ever compared my handiwork to a kitty toy before. Though I had to admit that Bobbin had swatted one around at Turnabout once or twice.
“He has nice taste, then,” I said. “And how can you have lived in England and not know about fascinators?”
“Very easily, it seems. There are a lot of them here today, aren’t there?” Vir said, looking around. Other guests had started filtering in, holding drinks and snacking on appetizers.
“Uh-huh,” I said, surveying the headbands, cocktail hats, and fascinators bobbing around on the dance floor with quiet pride. “I made most of them.”
“No way!” he said.
“It was for a fundraiser,” I explained, “for the American Cancer Society. I have an online Etsy store that I sell stuff on. The money goes to my favorite charities—the American Cancer Society, the Jimmy Fund, the MSPCA. And the royal wedding was a great time for a fascinator sale. I sold everything I had in five days. Lots of local people bought some.”
“I think my mum might like one,” he said. “How do I find the store?”
“Just Google ‘Megha & Me’—that’s the name of my Etsy store,” I said. “There isn’t much left right now, but I could make her a custom one!”
“Thanks,” Vir said. “You’d better go—I think they’re serving dinner. I’ll see you after the party.”
“Listen, Vir,” I said, suddenly panicking about his upcoming performance. I mean, Vir wasn’t really the loud, high-energy emcee type, was he? He was more kind of… laid-back. “Please do your best? It’s not like I don’t trust you, but this is a BIG deal for Jason.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, completely unfazed. “I’ve got this.”
“How’re you guys doing?” Vir said, mike in hand. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night!”
It’s all in the attitude, I guess. He made even something as overplayed as the Black Eyed Peas—Jason’s pick, if I had to guess—feel fresh.
In the end I felt really stupid for worrying—because, honestly, he was outstanding. You couldn’t have asked for a better emcee. Limbo, twist, conga line, hora, he made that group of kids do everything, Brit accent and all. And the candle-lighting ceremony was so incredibly touching—Jason spoke about his grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends, and his parents and Rachel, of course—and they all came up to h
elp him around his spectacular Bar Mitzvah cake. I swear I cried. And I wasn’t the only one.
“You can’t just stand there!” Rachel grabbed me from the edge of the dance floor. “You’ve got to dance!”
“Okay, okay,” I said. Dancing wasn’t really my thing, actually. “I’m doing it, aren’t I?” Even I had a silly grin on my face, just like everyone else on the dance floor.
The music had changed to a slow, sweet song. Perfect for shy middle school kids—including our new Bar Mitzvah, Jason Siegel—to muddle through their first slow dance.
Vir left the console and came over to where I was standing.
He held out a hand. “Would you like to dance?”
“Sure,” I said. I was glad the lights were low because I’m pretty sure I looked horribly self-conscious—is it actually possible to have a whole-body blush? Then both his hands were around my waist, and both mine were on his shoulders. Breathe, Mini, I told myself.
“Do you have grandparents?” Vir asked as a sweet old couple—Jason’s grandparents—swept by on the dance floor looking blissfully happy. He was a good dancer; I looked like I knew what I was doing just by following his lead.
“I have three grandparents,” I said. “My Nanaji is an old army man. He retired back in the eighties, around the time Mom and Dad got married. He’s off traveling half the time, visiting old friends, doing his own thing, though he’s based in Delhi… Gurgaon, actually. So I don’t see him that often, but when he does surface—he’s awesome. But my Nani passed away when I was four.”
I was aware that I was babbling, but I couldn’t stop—sheer nerves, I guess.
“Who else?” Vir asked.
“Dad’s parents, Beeji and Bauji,” I said. “They moved here when Dad was two.”
“Do they still live here?” he asked.
“They moved back to India four years ago,” I said. “To help Bade Bauji, my great-grandfather, with his business. Have you heard of KDH Spices?”
Sister of the Bollywood Bride Page 10