territories.’ How he'd like to keep an eye on you no matter where you go. I got the impression that he'll have you watched.”
* * *
The next evening, despite that threat from Adi hanging over her, Mitra took time to dress up. Her cool Deutscher was taking her to Ponti Seafood Grill. She coiled up her collarbone-length hair for added height. The white sequined top draped gently over her shoulders. The black pencil-thin skirt gave her more shape than she believed she had. A gold necklace and high-heels completed her look. Kareena would approve of this outfit, this hairdo, and the restaurant.
Ulrich parked two blocks away from the place, a pleasant walk, except that the night had smoothed out the sharp edges of the street. Happily careless, Mitra tripped when one of her heels caught on a crack on the sidewalk. Her quick and observant date grabbed her arm. She stood up straight and laughed. He hung on to her until they reached the restaurant door.
They talked over a leisurely five-course meal made richer by soft light, unobtrusive staff, and the most terrific marinated asparagus she'd ever tasted. He told her his last name is Schultheiss. She liked the consonants or rather the way his lips curled and plumped as he pronounced them.
Halfway through the meal, he looked in the direction of a departing family of four—father, mother, and two quarreling teenage princesses.
“I'm of the opinion,” Ulrich said, “the family as a nuclear unit is dead.” He blamed mechanization and human greed, and expressed fear that the demise of the nuclear family signaled the demise of civilization.
“I disagree,” Mitra replied, taking a sip of the jaunty mint tea. “We'll revert to larger units of living and sharing like our ancestors did. That's my hope.”
“Hope makes you look beautiful,” he said. “And I like your new hair-do.”
They returned to her house and watched the full moon from her back yard as their “nightcap,” surrounded by greenery tinged with a silver sheen. Together, they speculated on the makeup of the moon's core.
“Molten rock,” Ulrich said, “nothing more.”
“But there's more.” Mitra spoke of an age-old Indian belief that the moon's benevolent shine, the life force inside it, nourished the plants.
Clouds obscured the moon and soon the first drops of rain anointed Mitra's skin. They went inside and danced first to Bhangra-pop, then cello music, laughing like teenagers, working up sleepy muscles. After a few songs, he begged off and grimaced, one arm going across the opposite shoulder and rubbing.
“I love to dance, but my back hurts,” he said.
“Would you like a back rub?”
He nodded. She stood behind him, as he perched on a chair. She started at the spine, her fingers gliding outward and making deep circles to loose the tension knots. Her fingers adjusted the pressure as needed; no thinking required. Nothing else existed for her but the warm touch of his skin, the strong resistance of the bones, the rise and fall of his chest as he took a breath. She melted, and watched him yielding to the workings of her hand, as though similarly giving in to the moment.
He smiled at her when she finished. “You make me feel so much at home. This will get me through the night. I should have had the pain medication with me, but I forgot.”
Mitra did a rewind and went back to that morning to that yellow pill lying on the bedroom floor, the first time he was here. Casually, she mentioned it to him and asked what the med was meant for.
He startled and looked away. Then, after a brief pause, “Oh, it's for a sinus condition I have.”
She didn't believe him. What might he be avoiding to discuss? Her thought pattern was interrupted when he rose, turned, drew her to his arms, and kissed her deeply. He put himself so much into the kiss that her concerns faded. Later, they made love, which happened naturally and rhythmically, going slower, longer, and deeper than before. Mitra sank, floated, and
* * *
The next evening, despite that threat from Adi hanging over her, Mitra took time to dress up. Her cool Deutscher was taking her to Ponti Seafood Grill. She coiled up her collarbone-length hair for added height. The white sequined top draped gently over her shoulders. The black pencil-thin skirt gave her more shape than she believed she had. A gold necklace and high-heels completed her look. Kareena would approve of this outfit, this hairdo, and the restaurant.
Ulrich parked two blocks away from the place, a pleasant walk, except that the night had smoothed out the sharp edges of the street. Happily careless, Mitra tripped when one of her heels caught on a crack on the sidewalk. Her quick and observant date grabbed her arm. She stood up straight and laughed. He hung on to her until they reached the restaurant door.
They talked over a leisurely five-course meal made richer by soft light, unobtrusive staff, and the most terrific marinated asparagus she'd ever tasted. He told her his last name is Schultheiss. She liked the consonants or rather the way his lips curled and plumped as he pronounced them.
Halfway through the meal, he looked in the direction of a departing family of four—father, mother, and two quarreling teenage princesses.
“I'm of the opinion,” Ulrich said, “the family as a nuclear unit is dead.” He blamed mechanization and human greed, and expressed fear that the demise of the nuclear family signaled the demise of civilization.
“I disagree,” Mitra replied, taking a sip of the jaunty mint tea. “We'll revert to larger units of living and sharing like our ancestors did. That's my hope.”
“Hope makes you look beautiful,” he said. “And I like your new hair-do.”
They returned to her house and watched the full moon from her back yard as their “nightcap,” surrounded by greenery tinged with a silver sheen. Together, they speculated on the makeup of the moon's core.
“Molten rock,” Ulrich said, “nothing more.”
“But there's more.” Mitra spoke of an age-old Indian belief that the moon's benevolent shine, the life force inside it, nourished the plants.
Clouds obscured the moon and soon the first drops of rain anointed Mitra's skin. They went inside and danced first to Bhangra-pop, then cello music, laughing like teenagers, working up sleepy muscles. After a few songs, he begged off and grimaced, one arm going across the opposite shoulder and rubbing.
“I love to dance, but my back hurts,” he said.
“Would you like a back rub?”
He nodded. She stood behind him, as he perched on a chair. She started at the spine, her fingers gliding outward and making deep circles to loose the tension knots. Her fingers adjusted the pressure as needed; no thinking required. Nothing else existed for her but the warm touch of his skin, the strong resistance of the bones, the rise and fall of his chest as he took a breath. She melted, and watched him yielding to the workings of her hand, as though similarly giving in to the moment.
He smiled at her when she finished. “You make me feel so much at home. This will get me through the night. I should have had the pain medication with me, but I forgot.”
Mitra did a rewind and went back to that morning to that yellow pill lying on the bedroom floor, the first time he was here. Casually, she mentioned it to him and asked what the med was meant for.
He startled and looked away. Then, after a brief pause, “Oh, it's for a sinus condition I have.”
She didn't believe him. What might he be avoiding to discuss? Her thought pattern was interrupted when he rose, turned, drew her to his arms, and kissed her deeply. He put himself so much into the kiss that her concerns faded. Later, they made love, which happened naturally and rhythmically, going slower, longer, and deeper than before. Mitra sank, floated, and
Similar Books
