‘To hell with that. Dress like you are. Act like you are. People will talk to you, just like I’m talking to you, and you’ll be good at this. If Didier hassles you, tell him I ordered you not to dress like a slave.’
‘He’s right, Kesh,’ Karla said. ‘Just be yourself, and everything will be fine.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Go and pay those debts tonight, man. Get yourself clear.’
He took each downward step on the stairway as if it was a new level of consideration, pausing before taking the next pondered step. His head bobbed out of sight around the curved staircase.
I watched him out of sight thoughtfully, and then turned to see Karla smiling at me.
‘I love you, Shantaram,’ she said, kissing me.
Some time later, Kesh solved two cases within two weeks, and became the star of the Lost Love Bureau. His attention to detail, and retention of detail, proved decisive in solving cases, and no interview proceeded without him.
Half-Moon Auntie and her intrepid clerk did the accounts for the bureau, and safeguarded sums of money for clients from time to time. She was an astute businesswoman, and spent long hours redesigning the business plan, saving money and hours for everyone else.
Her private sessions in Randall’s limousine kept her lunar-starved visitors content. A talent is how you use it, she said to me once, using her talents to illustrate the point.
Vinson and Rannveig returned from the ashram bleached of pride, but we didn’t see them often, because they were busy with their plans to open a coffee shop, and the necessary renovations.
When we did manage to catch them mid-renovation for a few minutes, Karla took Rannveig’s arm, leading her to girl talk, and leaving me with Vinson in the unfinished coffee shop.
‘It’s . . . like, you know that wave, that perfect wave, that just keeps on going, and won’t let you fall?’ Vinson said.
‘No, but I ride a motorcycle, and that’s like surfing civilisation.’
‘You know that totally, like, forever wave?’
‘I have a gas tank. I know how far forever is.’
‘No, I mean, it’s like that tendency field jelly that Idriss was talking about.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I’m, like, surfing the superposition, you know, between equally surfable waves. Rannveig and Idriss, they really opened my mind up so much, man. Sometimes, I feel like I’m so full of ideas they’re falling out of my head.’
‘I’m glad you’re happy, Vinson. And it’s great, the coffee bar thing. Really happy, for you and Rannveig. Well, guess I’d better be getting along. We –’
‘This coffee thing is amazing,’ he said, gesturing toward large sacks, arranged against a wall. ‘I mean, like, if I just explain the difference between Colombian and Ghanaian blends to you, it’ll blow your mind wide open.’
‘Thanks for the warning. But you know, Karla will be along any minute, so I doubt we’ll have time to get into a big story like that.’
‘If she comes back, I’ll start it again,’ he said unhelpfully.
‘How’s Rannveig?’ I asked helpfully.
‘You know that wave, man, the perfect wave that, like, won’t let you fall?’
‘So glad you’re happy. Where do you think Karla and Rannveig got to?’
‘Just smell these fresh beans up close once,’ Vinson said, opening a sack. ‘They’re so good, you’ll never drink another cup of coffee again.’
‘Is that your slogan?’
‘No, man, our slogan is our name, man. Love & Faith, that’s the name of the place, and that’s the slogan.’
There was an innocence in Vinson that Rannveig had lost, when her boyfriend had died from the same drugs Vinson unthinkingly sold. And the innocence she found again, in his willingness to change, was the tender truth in the name they’d chosen for their business, Love & Faith.
‘Smell my beans,’ he insisted.
‘Ah . . . I’m good.’
‘Smell them!’ Vinson said urgently, dragging a dead body of beans toward me.
‘I’m not smelling your beans, Vinson, no matter how Colombian they are. Stop dragging that carcass.’
He shoved the bag against the wall again, just as Karla and Rannveig came back to join us.
‘He won’t smell my beans,’ Vinson complained.
‘He won’t?’ Karla scoffed. ‘The Lin I know is a bean fanatic.’
‘Stuart made a special blend,’ Rannveig said proudly. ‘I think it’s the best coffee I ever tasted.’
‘I’ve got it in the other room,’ Vinson said, ready to leave. ‘You can smell it, if you like.’
‘I’m good,’ I said quickly. ‘I can smell it from here.’
‘I told you, my Easter Bunny,’ Vinson said, hugging Rannveig. ‘People will smell our coffee from the street outside, and they’ll be, like, hypnotised or something.’
‘Good luck, guys,’ I said, drawing Karla out of the renovated shop.
‘Opening is at full moon,’ Rannveig said, mid-hug. ‘Don’t forget.’
On the street, we climbed onto the bike, but Karla stopped me before I could start the engine.
‘What did you feel from Vinson?’ she asked, her arm on my shoulder.
‘Waves of beans,’ I said. ‘What did you feel from Rannveig?’
‘Did he tell you what they’re calling the place?’
‘Yeah. Love & Faith. Why?’
‘Far as I can see,’ Karla said, ‘he’s the love, and she’s the faith.’
A car pulled up beside us, blocking the way. It was a hearse, in fact, with Dennis, the Not-Sleeping Baba, at the wheel. Concannon was in the passenger seat. Billy Bhasu and Jamal, the One Man Show, were sitting in the back, beside a shop window mannequin laid out in what looked like a clear plastic coffin.
Concannon had his elbow on the window.
‘Wanted,’ he said, grinning at Karla. ‘Dead or alive.’
‘Move,’ I said.
‘Hello, Karla,’ Dennis said. ‘So nice to meet you, awake. Did we meet, when I was on the other side?’
‘Hi, Dennis,’ she laughed, her arm around my shoulder. ‘You were certainly high, the first time I saw you. What the hell are you doing?’
‘We are testing the movements of Sleepers, while they are transported in a sleeping chamber,’ he said patiently. ‘I have attached sensitive strips to the mannequin. They will indicate bruises, of varying degree. That will help us to determine the most comfortable inner cushioning of the sleeping chambers we will have made for them.’
‘You’re making your own coffins?’ Karla asked.
‘Indeed,’ he said, passing a chillum to Concannon. ‘We must do it. Current sleeping chambers force the Sleepers to have their legs pressed together. Our sleeping chambers will have a wider stance. It’s very important for the comfort of Sleepers.’
‘I see,’ Karla smiled.
‘They will have the softest silk lining, padded with feathers,’ Dennis continued, his hands on the steering wheel. ‘And they will be made of glass, so that the Sleepers can have plants, small animals and insects roaming about in the earth, all around them, to keep them company while they sleep.’
‘Nice,’ Karla smiled.
‘May I present Billy Bhasu and Jamal, the One Man Show?’ Dennis said. ‘Boys, this is Karla-Madame.’
Billy Bhasu waved a smile at Karla, while Jamal wagged his head, jangling chained gods.
I couldn’t help myself.
‘One Man Show,’ I said, nodding at Jamal.
‘One Man Show,’ he repeated.
I looked at Karla, and she understood.
‘One Man Show,’ she said, smiling at him.
‘One Man Show,’ Jamal replied on cue, smiling back.
I looked at Concannon, wanting him to leave, but he was talking, instead.
/> ‘The dead can dance, you know,’ he said conversationally.
I moved my eyes to Dennis, at the wheel of the hearse.
‘Are you sure you should be driving, Dennis?’ I asked, trying to shut Concannon down.
‘I must drive,’ Dennis intoned, his rumbling voice echoing in the hearse. ‘Concannon is not stoned enough to drive a hearse.’
‘The dead can dance,’ Concannon repeated, smiling happily. ‘They really can, you know.’
‘You don’t say,’ Karla said, leaning against me.
‘I do say,’ Concannon grinned. ‘I’ve learned a lot on this job. It’s been a real education. I usually walked away, you see, while they were still twitchin’, and never looked back.’
‘Concannon,’ Dennis said. ‘You’re killing my high, man.’
‘I’m only havin’ a conversation, Dennis. Just because we’re undertakers, doesn’t mean we can’t be sociable.’
‘True,’ Dennis said. ‘But how do you expect me to test-drive this new hearse, if I’m not high?’
‘I’m only sayin’, like,’ Concannon persisted. ‘They wriggle around, dead bodies, long after they’re gone, shakin’ about on the table all of a sudden like. One body we had, yesterday, danced better than I do. But I was never the one for dancin’, truth be told, when there was fightin’ or kissin’ to be had.’
‘Light the next chillum,’ Dennis said, putting the hearse into gear. ‘If you don’t care for my high, listen to the mannequin. He’s screaming for it.’
They pulled away, the slogan of their company streaming past us slowly on the long windows of the hearse: Peace In Rest.
‘Now, that’s an interesting team.’
‘A marriage made in Limbo,’ I said. ‘But the mannequin seemed like a nice guy.’
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Diva Devnani called us to a meeting at her corporate office. It was on the Worli Seaface, a long slow smile of buildings beaming at the sea from a wide, curved boulevard. Diva’s building was like the upper deck of an ocean liner, with tall, rounded windows in full sail, and a continuous balcony serving as the rail.
When the elevator doors closed, I offered Karla my flask. She took a swig, and handed it back. The elevator operator glanced at me. I offered him the flask, and he took a swig, dripping the rum into his mouth without touching it to his lips. He passed it back, wagging his head.
‘God bless everyone,’ he said.
‘Speaking for everyone,’ Karla said, ‘God bless you back.’
The doors opened onto a marble and glass prairie, with several very pretty girls in very tight skirts grazing at desks of distraction.
While Karla spoke to the receptionist, I wandered among the glass and steel desks, glancing over shoulders. The girls were listening to music on their headphones, playing video games and reading magazines.
One of the girls looked up at me mid-flip in her magazine. She turned down the volume on her headset.
‘Can I help you?’ she threatened, her eyes fierce.
‘I’ll . . . you know . . . I’ll just be over there,’ I said, backing away.
The receptionist took us to an alcove with a view of the door to Diva’s office, where we sat in plush chairs. There was a side table, with business newspapers and magazines, soda water in a glass jug, and some peanuts, offered in a bronze cast of a human hand.
The palm of peanuts drew my eye as we sat down. I pointed at it, trying to figure out the message.
‘This is what we’re gonna pay you?’ I whispered to Karla. ‘Or maybe, this is what happened to the last guy who asked for a raise?’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Karla said.
‘Damn good,’ I smiled, my eyes applauding.
A tall, pretty girl appeared at our side.
‘Can I get you a cup of coffee?’ the girl asked.
‘Maybe later, with Diva,’ Karla said. ‘Thanks.’
The girl left, and I turned to Karla.
‘It’s pretty weird, out there in reception.’
‘It’s still a marble tile or two short of weird.’
‘No, I mean the girls. They’re not doing anything.’
‘What do you mean, they’re not doing anything?’
‘It’s a jive of inactivity.’
‘So? Maybe it’s a slow day.’
‘Karla, come on. There are seven very pretty girls out there, and not one of them is doing anything. It’s kinda weird.’
‘It’s kinda weird that you counted them,’ she smiled.
‘I –’
The door to Diva’s office opened. It was exactly one minute before our meeting. A grasp of businessmen filed out, wearing similar suits and identical stares of ambition, fed.
‘Punctuality is the time of thieves,’ Karla said, glancing at the clock, and standing.
Diva came to the door of the office, her hands on her hips.
‘Come in,’ she said, kissing Karla on both cheeks. ‘I’ve missed you both so much. Thanks for coming.’
She flopped into an immense chair, behind the curve of a black grand piano that she’d shortened, and converted into a desk.
A photograph of her father in a silver frame rested on the piano-desk. Flowers trailed over the picture, spilling yellow against lacquered black. Incense burned in a tray shaped like a peacock’s tail.
It was a big room, but there were only two chairs facing her desk. All those blank-eyed businessmen had stood, during the meeting with Diva. Tough girl, I thought, and who can blame her?
‘That was something,’ she said. ‘Can I get you guys a drink? God knows, I need one.’
She pressed a button on a console, and the door opened a second later. A very pretty girl walked across the large room, stalking the slippery floor on hysterical heels. She stopped at the desk with a flourish of her short skirt, long legs stiff.
‘Martini,’ Diva said, ‘I want you to meet Miss Karla and Mr Shantaram.’
Karla waved hello. I stood, put my right hand over my chest, and inclined my head. It’s the most polite way to greet any woman in India, because many women don’t like to shake hands. Martini inclined her head at me, and I sat down again.
‘I’ll have a Manhattan,’ Diva said. ‘What about you, Karla?’
‘Two jiggers of vodka over two cubes, please.’
‘A lime soda, for me.’
Martini spun on a fifty-calibre heel, and stalked away slowly, a giraffe in a glass zoo.
‘I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here,’ Diva said, giving me a different wondering, because I wasn’t.
‘I’m wondering,’ Karla said, ‘but not about that. You’ll get to the point when it’s sharp enough, right? How are you, Diva? It’s been weeks.’
‘I’m good,’ she smiled, straightening up in the chair that looked like half a bed for her small frame. ‘I’m tired, but I’ve been working on that. I sold everything today. Just about everything. That was the last, in a very long line of meetings I’ve had, yesterday and today.’
‘Sold everything how?’ Karla asked.
‘All the men who actually run the companies, in my portfolios, have tranches of shares as bonuses. I told them that if I sold my portfolio in one hit, their shares would be worthless. But if they gave the shares back to me, they could take the companies and run them with their own boards, and give themselves sweaty-palm bonuses, without spending a dollar, and I would resign.’
‘Smart move,’ Karla said. ‘As principal shareholder, you have an annual general meeting to use against them. But you skip the day-to-day. It’s like getting drunk without the hangover.’
‘Precisely,’ Diva said, as Martini arrived with the drinks.
‘Have you got a joint?’ Diva asked.
‘Yes,’ Karla and Martini said at the same time, turning their heads instantly to look
at one another.
It looked tense, to me. But silent struggles between beautiful women are feminal magician’s tricks, faster and subtler than male eyes and instincts can follow. I couldn’t be sure what was going on, so I smiled at everybody.
Karla took a slender joint from her case, and passed it to Diva. Martini glowered, all legs and no pockets, and whirled away, the frills of her skirt like a creature designed by a reef.
‘Thanks, Karla,’ Diva said. ‘I’m a free woman, as of this minute. If the sun was down, I’d be drinking champagne. I can drink cocktails all day, but when I start on champagne my IQ drops twenty points, and that’s a stupidity I’m keeping in reserve, for later tonight. Meanwhile, to freedom for women!’
‘Freedom for women!’ Karla toasted.
Diva was silent for a while. Karla brought her back.
‘How bad was it?’
‘They all wanted control,’ Diva said, turning her drink in her hands. ‘They couldn’t bear to see it, a woman in control, when they’d all happily licked a man’s boot.’
‘They let you know?’ Karla asked.
‘I saw it in their eyes, at every meeting. And the whispering always came back to me, from men who betrayed men. Power, in my hands, was a declaration of war to them. These parasites that my father let infest the companies, these men who looked the other way when black money almost ruined us, they started getting nasty. Even threatening. You know what I mean, Karla?’
‘Men like that you crush, or you leave behind,’ Karla said. ‘You could’ve crushed them, Diva, because your father left you the power to do it. Why are you walking away?’
‘My dad was into energy stocks in a big way. That’s all we’ve got left, while the construction business pays off debts, and those stocks are still paying well. I wouldn’t have made those bets on oil and coal, but he did, and he locked me onto a wheel that thousands of people are running on. I can’t just turn it off.’
‘So you’re still in the game?’ Karla asked.
‘I’m stepping out, but I told the new managers that for every year they get cleaner, and better at what they do, they get a tranche of their shares back.’
‘What are your plans?’ I asked.
‘I kept one company, and quarantined it from the sale. I kept the combined modelling agency and bridal boutique, the one I told you about. I added a wedding advice service, and I’ve renamed it. I’m going to run it.’
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