5 A Meal with the Devil #2
What an ass , I thought. He hadn’t even had the decency to show up on time after changing my entire schedule. I took a few photos of the bar, listening to Jerry talk about the different cocktails they were thinking of curating for the menu.
‘You’ll have to run the bar menu by Stellar Spirits. They’re sponsoring the alcohol for the event,’ I said, proceeding to explain that someone from their team was supposed to be here today.
‘Oh yes, I met with Aadar sir right before you arrived,’ he said.
‘Oh? Has he left already?’ I asked, trying to hide the hopefulness in my voice.
Jerry looked around and said, ‘I think he went out to take a call.’
A few seconds later, Aadar walked in from the alley, slipping his phone inside his black trousers.
He wore a white slim-fit shirt, identical to the one his brother had worn at Saurav’s party.
I wondered if they shared clothes the way sisters usually did.
He had a polite smile plastered on his face as he met us at the bar, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
‘You’re late,’ he said to me as Jerry excused himself to help with the podium rearrangement.
I scoffed. ‘I’ve been here for like fifteen minutes.’
He checked his watch and said, ‘And it’s 6:25. Which means you’re late.’
I rolled my eyes at him, asking him where he’d been if he was so punctual. He ignored me, leaning on the bar top to peek at the bottles placed behind the counter.
‘We can’t have more than two bartenders here,’ he said, switching to business mode.
‘That shouldn’t be a problem. It’s a small event, and the guests will be busy promoting the car for the most part anyway,’ I said.
A part of me was still irked by his presence, but I had to remind myself that I was representing TheManJournal.
‘And our whisky,’ he said.
‘Hmm?’
He turned to look at me and said, ‘They also have to promote our whisky.’
The light cast by the chandeliers gave his brown eyes an appealing golden glow. In fact, they looked like they’d been dipped in single malt.
‘Well, they obviously can’t directly promote whisky or alcohol in general. But we’ll shoot them drinking at the bar, cheering, having fun and all that with your branding in the background,’ I explained, and he nodded his approval.
I left him to study the details of the bar and went on to explore the rest of the space.
A chunk of the furniture would have to be cleared from the middle of the restaurant where the car would be displayed.
Jerry showed me the wide back entrance through which the car would be brought inside.
I documented every nook and corner of the restaurant on my phone, knowing I’d have to create digital maps for Ryan’s reference so he could brief the logistics team.
He should’ve ideally been here, but he was apparently still sick.
I dreamt of the day when hangovers would be openly accepted as valid reasons for sick leaves.
A waiter showed me the food menu as I sat down at a table.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten anything solid all day, which was probably why my headache had persisted.
I was drooling over the names of the fancy French dishes when the chair opposite me was pulled back.
I looked up to find a waiter ushering Aadar into the seat.
‘All good?’ I asked, hoping he wouldn’t complain about things I couldn’t fix.
‘Yeah, we can make it work,’ he said.
‘Perfect. So if you could just hand me the signed paperwork, I’ll let you be on your way,’ I said, eager for him to leave me alone with my fancy food.
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head lightly.
‘I’d love to be rid of you too, but I’m not quite done here yet,’ he said, dropping the facade of politeness.
I leaned back and crossed my arms. Be rid of me?
‘Please. You’re the one who insisted on coming.’ I didn’t say it, but the word ‘stalker’ hung in the air between us.
‘Trust me, I have no interest in hanging out with you. This visit was purely professional.’ He placed his right ankle on his knee, looking irritatingly comfortable in his seat.
‘So why are you still here?’ I raised an eyebrow accusingly.
‘I haven’t tried out the bar menu yet.’ He shrugged.
I stared at him, feeling the insides of my stomach rumble with post-hangover hunger.
‘Wait, you’re going to drink right now?’ I asked.
‘Why not? Aren’t you sampling their food? Perks of the job,’ he said, beaming.
It took my overburdened brain a few seconds to realise what this meant.
I was stuck with him for at least another hour, in what felt like a grey area.
Technically, we were both still working, but we didn’t have any obligation to do it together.
I could’ve asked him to sit at a different table or, better still, just stand at the bar, but I knew our lack of interaction would seem odd to the restaurant staff.
The best option was to focus on my food and get out of here as soon as possible.
Jerry came to our table a few minutes later with a bar menu, which he placed in front of Aadar.
‘We’re going to open for dinner to regular customers now, but I’ll make sure we get your orders on priority,’ he said to us, his eyes twinkling in the light.
‘Thank you, Jerry. Could you get me a taster for each of these five appetisers?’ I traced a finger down the ‘small plates’ section.
‘And in veg?’
I flipped the page and pointed out two more appetisers.
‘Do keep the servings bite-sized. I don’t have a huge appetite.’ I smiled at him.
Aadar raised his eyebrows without looking at me and mumbled, ‘Clearly.’
I wanted to tell him off for slyly commenting on my body, but Jerry was still standing there, peering over Aadar’s shoulder as he contemplated between the cocktails.
‘Get me a 30 ml of a Whisky Sour and a Manhattan, and a whisky cocktail of the bartender’s choice,’ he said, handing the menu back to Jerry.
I wasn’t bothered by the fact that he didn’t ask me if I wanted a drink. Discourteous behaviour fit perfectly with his personality. Besides, I was swearing off drinking, or at least mid-week drinking, until further notice.
We sat without speaking as guests began to trickle in. The chatter from the nearby tables heightened the silence between us. But we just sat there, willing each other to speak first. It was almost as if we were in a staring contest, waiting for our opponent to blink. I caved first.
‘So, arranged marriage, huh?’ I said, clearing my throat.
He gave me a blank stare as he took a sip of water and said, ‘Really? That’s what you decided to bring up?’
‘What would you rather discuss? My one-night stand with your brother?’ I asked curtly.
He refused to take the bait. ‘We don’t have to talk at all,’ he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He began typing out a message, unbothered by the dirty look I was throwing his way.
Fine. Two can play at this game.
With a casual flick of my thumb, I unlocked my phone screen and pretended to look busy.
But the barren wasteland of my notifications couldn’t offer the distraction I desperately sought.
There were no urgent emails demanding my attention, no frantic texts clamouring for a response.
It was as if the Universe had hit the mute button on my social life, leaving me stranded in this awkward tête-à-tête with nothing but the sound of Aadar’s incessant tapping to keep me company.
After a few agonising minutes of silence, I gave up.
I sighed loudly to get his attention, and he finally looked up from his phone.
‘I’m genuinely curious. How did your parents convince you for this matchmaking gig?’ I asked, broaching the subject again, this time with more amiability.
I half expected him not to respond, but he asked, ‘What makes you think I had to be convinced?’
I exhaled a gust of air in surprise and placed my elbows on the table.
‘Are you telling me that you, a modern, successful, debatably attractive guy, actually believe in the evils of an age-old patriarchal tradition?’
‘You find me attractive, huh?’ he asked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
‘I said debatably attractive.’ I huffed, feeling my cheeks grow hot.
A waiter brought us a serving of pigs in a blanket, fish fingers and mini avocado toast, and I was grateful for the interruption.
He placed the drinks in the centre, not knowing which one belonged to whom.
Aadar picked up the Whisky Sour and took a sip, while I wasted no time in pouncing on the food.
‘Mmm, this is really good,’ I said more to myself than him, as I took a bite of the pork sausage.
Aadar reached for one, and without thinking, I slapped his hand away.
‘What? What are you doing?’ he asked, still eyeing the food.
‘Why should I share my food if you’re not sharing your drinks?’ I said before I could stop myself.
Aadar let out a chuckle, and I stuffed my mouth with a fish finger, knowing how stupid this was. I sounded like a child, a bratty one.
‘Obviously you can drink the whisky. I’m not finishing all of this by myself on a weekday,’ he said, gesturing to the three glasses between us.
Was this the way responsible adults behaved? I drank a lot more than 90 ml last night, without a single ounce of worry about it being a weekday.
‘No, thank you. I’m a little hungover,’ I admitted.
‘Well, a good whisky is a great cure for a hangover,’ he said, nudging the glass of Manhattan towards me. Was he calling for a ceasefire?
I made a great show of reluctance but took a sip anyway. The spirit warmed my throat, and I cherished the taste for a microsecond.
‘Now can I eat? I’m starving,’ he asked as his hand hovered dramatically over the food.
Between the two of us, we wiped off the appetisers within minutes. I gestured to a waiter to order the main course tasters. He noted down my order and assured us he’d be back soon.
‘What about you? How does a girl like you agree to an arranged marriage?’ he asked when the waiter had left.
‘What do you mean, a girl like me?’ I demanded, my guard shooting back up.
‘You know … modern, successful, etc.,’ he said, carefully leaving out my attractiveness from the equation.
His words surprised me and left my skin feeling tingly.
‘Well, I didn’t agree to it. It was just that one time, and I only did it to get my parents off my back,’ I said, downing my drink to claim the remaining cocktail.
So much for no mid-week drinking.
‘So, what, you don’t believe in marriage?’ he asked.
‘When did I say that? Arranged marriage, yeah, definitely not. But I do want to get married someday,’ I accepted.
I wondered if the alcohol had any part to play in this turn in the conversation.
‘And how do you expect to meet someone?’ he asked, displaying an odd amount of interest in my personal life.
‘Um, I meet plenty of people. Off dating apps,’ I said, mimicking a swiping motion with my hand.
He let out a dry laugh, the judgement in his tone returning as he said, ‘Dating apps, right. The latest addiction for millennials.’
Before I could offer a retort, his phone started to ring loudly. He excused himself and walked away to receive the call.
As I waited for him to return, I couldn’t help but wonder what we must have looked like to the other customers in the restaurant. Would they assume we were a couple? Perhaps we seemed like we were on a first date, drinking together and debating our differing views on love and life.
If my life was a romcom, this would’ve been a classic ‘opposites attract’ story.
We would’ve mocked and teased each other, insisting on how much we hated spending time together without realising that we’d been sitting in the restaurant past closing hours.
We would’ve gotten drunk, bantered while we waited for our cabs and somehow ended up getting into the first one that arrived, together.
But of course, none of that happened. Aadar’s phone call lasted for the most part of an hour. When he got back, I’d finished the food and was saying goodbye to Jerry. We exchanged the paperwork and went our separate ways, holding onto the distaste we had for each other.