Chapter 13
My legs have a mind of their own. They were bounding along towards that incandescent stretch even before I had placed my tote on my desk. It was now lying on the floor agape.
That was the angle of my jaw seconds later when my eyes clapped on a wholly distasteful sight. Below the belt in more ways than one, especially at this hour. And that was my mien when I arrived at Andrew Brown’s cabin door. I took a few seconds to bring my lips together.
I didn’t knock. The light beckoned.
My evening out with Chhaya had reminded me of unfinished business. Andrew and I had been lovers once, but we were colleagues now. I was determined that the old association wouldn’t resurface like some architectural palimpsest in my professional life now. He had crossed lines.
‘This is a whole different pin code,’ I said as I walked in.
Andrew had barely raised his head. A benign smile was playing across his face. His eyes shifted across the room.
There was someone else in his cabin. I smelt her before I saw her. I couldn’t turn my neck; it was suddenly stiff.
Andrew was on his feet; his hands were in the pockets of his cargoes. The black hoodie hadn’t met an iron box in this life.
‘This is Pooja,’ Andrew said to me. He was smiling. He had more kinds of smiles than warm breads in a bakery. ‘And this is Myraah, our–’
Pooja didn’t let Andrew complete his introduction. ‘Of course, I know who she is. She follows me on Instagram!’
I wanted to say that was only because Sudha followed her, but fortunately, I wasn’t allowed to speak.
‘She was following me even before you modelled for me,’ Pooja told Andrew as she crossed and uncrossed her long legs. Her skirt finished where her thighs began. ‘I followed you, too,’ she said in that sing-song way of the carefree. Or was it the careless?
‘Lovely shoot!’ What else could I say?
‘You won’t believe it! I chased him for a month. Called him every day, knocked on his door every day.’ She was swaying now. ‘He was kind of rude, too!’ She was simpering.
I wanted to ask her what this shoot had achieved, but that would be hard on the kid. Unfortunately, I couldn’t manufacture a gentle question at this point. I had different thoughts in my head. I wanted to make a video of this scene and send it to Chhaya.
‘All my friends were asking me, “Why Andrew?”’ Pooja said.
I was determined not to look at Andrew. At least she wasn’t calling him Andy! I sent up a prayer of gratitude.
‘Obviously, he’s eye candy and all, and there’s no need to be shy about that.’ She had turned to Andrew now. ‘You’re obviously more than eye candy, you know that!’
I wanted to laugh so badly, I was scared I’d pee in my pants. I bit my lip instead. The four incisors from my upper jaw had sunk into my bottom lip.
‘He needs that approval,’ I said kindly.
I heard a rumble; it came from my right.
‘So, when you take two beautiful things, an unlikely combination of things, and put them together, the effect is magic! I cannot tell you the number of calls I got.’
I heard the door open behind me. I heard Sudha before I wheeled around. It was the rustle of the business chief’s crisply starched sari.
‘Auntie,’ Pooja said and picked up her bag that wasn’t any bigger than her skirt. ‘I was getting ready to come to you when Myra walked in. She follows me, too, you know.’
‘Cool beans!’ That was for me.
Sudha waved Pooja out of Andrew’s cabin and followed her, winking at me before she turned.
I waited for a whole minute after the door closed, and then I laughed.
Andrew’s eyes were on my face, his hands were in his pockets.
‘Entertaining,’ I said, sitting on the sofa before which he was now positioned. ‘You’re more than eye candy, you know that, right?’
Andrew shrugged.
I was back on my feet. ‘I could kill for confidence like that! Oh to be 21!’
‘How do you know she’s 21?’ Andrew was quick on the buzzer.
‘That was a guess.’ I shrugged.
‘You were close; she’s 22.’ Andrew smirked.
A lot of information. ‘Anyway,’ I said.
Andrew nodded.
‘You didn’t ask me to write the Venkamma Achar follow-up. We are clear on that.’ I stated my case.
‘I did ask you to write–’
I did an Andrew Brown and interrupted him. ‘Yeah, but not the follow-up.’
‘I asked you to write a piece on Venkamma Achar’s death,’ he said.
‘I’m not a crime reporter.’
‘I asked you to write a piece on Venkamma Achar’s death,’ he repeated. ‘I decide where it goes.’
He turned and walked back to his seat behind his desk.
Wow! The arrogance. I took my time walking around the only chair that faced him and seated myself carelessly.
‘Let me explain to you how these physical spaces in journalism work,’ I said, pulling out a newspaper that was on his table. It knocked down a couple of books. Neither of us moved to retrieve them.
Andrew’s smile mocked me.
‘This is the masthead.’ I pointed at the upper deck holding up the newsprint. ‘There are various sections in here, including city, nation, business, culture and sports. Later in the week, we have weekend spreads, pull-outs; eight pages, but we’ve even gone up to 16.’
‘Thanks,’ Andrew said. His eyes were cold. Dead winter.
‘Now, a business story cannot figure in the city page even if the corporate is headquartered in Bengaluru, just like, how do I say this simply, you cannot hang lingerie in the men’s section of a store.’
‘Not even if I owned it?’
‘You could, of course! If you don’t want to sell it,’ I said, adding, ‘which is exactly what I’m coming to – poor business practices.’
Andrew didn’t like what he was hearing and was on his feet. It was his way of telling me it was time to leave.
I leaned into the chair and put an order to my posture. ‘It would be unbecoming of the editor-in-waiting to indulge in amateur praxes.’
I looked around his space one more time before getting back on my feet. ‘The devil is in the details, Brown.’