last guy I ran into at a train station tries to cut my throat and you want me to go up and ask this guy what the sign’s for?”
“Oh, get over it,” she said. “It’s not like that guy knew your name or something.”
Jason shuddered. “I’m not that curious.”
“Well, I am,” she said and before he could stop her she cut through the crowd to where the man was standing.
“Hi, I’m Rachel Talley and this is my husband, Jason.” She held her hand out as Jason caught up to her, Jason watching the man’s gloved hands on the sign.
The man stepped to the side and gave a slight bow. “Please. Your car is this way.”
“You must mean another Jason Talley. I didn’t order a car.”
“Shut up,” Rachel whispered through clenched teeth. “It’s a free ride.”
“There is no mistake,” the man said, pretending he didn’t hear Rachel’s comments. “The car is courtesy of Mr. Kumar. I have been instructed to take you to his home where you are to be his guests.”
“I don’t know a Mr. Kumar.”
The driver bowed again. “Mr. Kumar said you might know him as SFX Wizard at India Gate Films dot com.”
“Oh yeah,” Rachel said, hitching her backpack higher on her shoulders. “Good old SFX. Let’s go.” The driver took her cue and led them through the station and out the arch-shaped wooden doors.
“I have no idea who this Kumar guy is,” Jason said, trying to keep up to Rachel as she weaved around the clumps of baggage-heavy travelers who swam upstream to the station’s entrance. Ahead the driver held open the door of a black, American-sized SUV, the words Tata Safari emblazoned on the metal spare tire case. “He could be another lunatic.”
“If he is, at least he’s a rich lunatic. Come on, Jason,” she said, handing her backpack to the driver. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Chapter Eleven
“Now this is a vacation.” Jason sipped his gin and tonic, the frosted glass cold on his fingertips. He closed his eyes behind his sunglasses and listened to the ornamental waterfall that splashed into one of the concrete coves of the pool that wound through the palm trees, rock formations, and tropical plants that covered the terrace. Above, a white-hot sun inched across the cloudless blue sky.
He peeked out of the corner of his eye at the cedar chaise lounge at his side. The coconut sunscreen glistened on Rachel’s flat stomach and smooth, toned, and already tanned legs. The straps of her bikini top were pulled off her shoulders and he watched as a lucky rivulet of sweat and lotion disappeared between her round breasts. Behind them a blender whirled as a silver-haired servant in a white coat and bow tie blended another banana daiquiri. “You gotta admit this beats riding around in a train all day.”
“I’ll admit that it’s nice,” Rachel said, “but that’s as far as I’ll go.”
After picking them up at the station, it had taken the driver over an hour to negotiate the morning rush-hour traffic. It seemed that every one of the city’s sixteen million residents was on the road, all of them directly in front of the high-riding SUV.
The city was as crowded as Delhi and Jaipur combined, yet it seemed as if the drivers were making a valiant attempt to follow many of the traffic rules. Most waited a respectable amount of time at red lights before cutting through the wave of cars with the right of way. There were no rickshaws in Mumbai—either bicycle or auto—and drivers limited themselves to just a few ear-numbing horn blasts a minute. Even the pedestrians appeared willing to play along, and Jason saw more than one wait for the okay from the crosswalk signal before venturing off the curb.
Jason was surprised by the neat, modern office buildings, each as well maintained as any in Corning, only taller and better designed, and when the driver eased the black Safari onto the palm tree-lined Marine Drive and he could see the city’s skyline and the sandy beach and the blue
“Oh, get over it,” she said. “It’s not like that guy knew your name or something.”
Jason shuddered. “I’m not that curious.”
“Well, I am,” she said and before he could stop her she cut through the crowd to where the man was standing.
“Hi, I’m Rachel Talley and this is my husband, Jason.” She held her hand out as Jason caught up to her, Jason watching the man’s gloved hands on the sign.
The man stepped to the side and gave a slight bow. “Please. Your car is this way.”
“You must mean another Jason Talley. I didn’t order a car.”
“Shut up,” Rachel whispered through clenched teeth. “It’s a free ride.”
“There is no mistake,” the man said, pretending he didn’t hear Rachel’s comments. “The car is courtesy of Mr. Kumar. I have been instructed to take you to his home where you are to be his guests.”
“I don’t know a Mr. Kumar.”
The driver bowed again. “Mr. Kumar said you might know him as SFX Wizard at India Gate Films dot com.”
“Oh yeah,” Rachel said, hitching her backpack higher on her shoulders. “Good old SFX. Let’s go.” The driver took her cue and led them through the station and out the arch-shaped wooden doors.
“I have no idea who this Kumar guy is,” Jason said, trying to keep up to Rachel as she weaved around the clumps of baggage-heavy travelers who swam upstream to the station’s entrance. Ahead the driver held open the door of a black, American-sized SUV, the words Tata Safari emblazoned on the metal spare tire case. “He could be another lunatic.”
“If he is, at least he’s a rich lunatic. Come on, Jason,” she said, handing her backpack to the driver. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Chapter Eleven
“Now this is a vacation.” Jason sipped his gin and tonic, the frosted glass cold on his fingertips. He closed his eyes behind his sunglasses and listened to the ornamental waterfall that splashed into one of the concrete coves of the pool that wound through the palm trees, rock formations, and tropical plants that covered the terrace. Above, a white-hot sun inched across the cloudless blue sky.
He peeked out of the corner of his eye at the cedar chaise lounge at his side. The coconut sunscreen glistened on Rachel’s flat stomach and smooth, toned, and already tanned legs. The straps of her bikini top were pulled off her shoulders and he watched as a lucky rivulet of sweat and lotion disappeared between her round breasts. Behind them a blender whirled as a silver-haired servant in a white coat and bow tie blended another banana daiquiri. “You gotta admit this beats riding around in a train all day.”
“I’ll admit that it’s nice,” Rachel said, “but that’s as far as I’ll go.”
After picking them up at the station, it had taken the driver over an hour to negotiate the morning rush-hour traffic. It seemed that every one of the city’s sixteen million residents was on the road, all of them directly in front of the high-riding SUV.
The city was as crowded as Delhi and Jaipur combined, yet it seemed as if the drivers were making a valiant attempt to follow many of the traffic rules. Most waited a respectable amount of time at red lights before cutting through the wave of cars with the right of way. There were no rickshaws in Mumbai—either bicycle or auto—and drivers limited themselves to just a few ear-numbing horn blasts a minute. Even the pedestrians appeared willing to play along, and Jason saw more than one wait for the okay from the crosswalk signal before venturing off the curb.
Jason was surprised by the neat, modern office buildings, each as well maintained as any in Corning, only taller and better designed, and when the driver eased the black Safari onto the palm tree-lined Marine Drive and he could see the city’s skyline and the sandy beach and the blue
Similar Books
