Chapter 6
3:29 AM
Arnav always had faith in Khushi, more than she had in herself sometimes, or so it seemed. When the award for National Restaurant Associations of India Best Restaurateur of the Year was handed out, it was probably Arnav who had cheered the most - well, as much as a man like him could, anyway. Naivedyam he knew was her child, and Khushi finally got what she deserved from it - A golden star at school is usually less for the child and more for the parent, to let them know what they were doing was right and She finally got the mother of all gold stars to tell her what Arnav had known forever. She had been dazed, he’d seen, when she had gotten on the stage but the first person she thanked was him; his girl, thought Arnav sentimentally. He had quickly blinked away the moisture that had somehow appeared in his eyes then, and had stood up, smiling proudly as she posed for the Photographer- her Award in hand. She hadn’t done it alone though; No. Khushi had knitted her fingers to his and pulled him beside her when the photograph was being taken - “Our one more achievement together Arnav,” she had whispered happily. “I wonder how many more we have left,” she said cryptically, confusing him, a feeling he shrugged off when the restaurateurs around teasingly started doing shots to her name. Arnav would join in, after all - there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her tonight.
Later, when they’d finally gotten home, He had insisted that she place that Award in the place he’d told her he wanted to share with her. Right beside his Entrepreneur of the Year Award. And she’d smiled that moist big eyed, bright smile- making him feel like the King of the World. She’d placed it beside his Award- and they’d stood there, arm in arm, looking at their achievements together, as she’d called them, and reminiscing about the things they’d had to go through to reach this point. The past. Their past. Together. Always together.
“Khushi! Khushi!!” He yelled, as he raced into their small chawl room as he brandished what seemed to be a piece of paper in the air- a huge grin splitting his usually serious face. She looked up from the food she’d been making, and grinned at his smile. “Arnav? What happened?”
He almost ran to her, kneeling down beside her, and thrust the paper in her hands, his eyes eagerly searching her face for her reaction. His grin widened as she smiled brightly after she’d read it. It was a name tag. ‘Arnav’, it said, just below the name of the hotel he’d been working for, for the past five months now. And below his name, was written his achievement in that short span of time. “Head Waiter? You got promoted!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck as he smiled.
“Do you get a pay rise then?” she asked him eagerly, and he nodded his head, smiling all the time. She clapped her hands, and the smile lighting that small face couldn’t be brighter. “Arnav! You can apply for college now!” and his smile faded. He looked up as she cupped his face in her small hands, her eyes earnest.
“Arnav? I know you want to.” How did she do that? he wondered, as he gazed at her. How did she know all about what he wanted and try to get it for him? He sighed. This was not something she would be able to get him, though. He shook his head, and looked down, blinking back a few tears. “Why not?” she asked him, her hands tightening around his face, urging him to look into those big doe-eyes.
He shook his head again. He couldn’t waste that money on college, he had to see her through school first! She clucked her tongue impatiently when he told her that. “What’s wrong if both of us study?” He shook his head again, mumbling about the cost and trying to keep his hopeful heart at bay. He couldn’t go to college, he told himself. He couldn’t.
“We can do without some things for a few months Arnav.” she told him, her eyes already scouring the already scant holdings of their shelves, for something she could dispose off, or stop buying to save money, astounding him with her level of maturity. He had just opened his mouth to tell her to stop thinking about it so much, and just celebrate with him- when he was startled by her excited clap. Her eyes shone in glee as she bounced in sheer joy- as if she’d just won the lottery. “Arnav! I know what we’ll do! This way, you’ll be able to study too!” His already weak resolve weakening even more, he had asked her what it was, that made her so certain about this. She clutched at his hands and squeezed them, a warning that he might not like what she was about to say- but to listen it out before he exploded. He jerked his head to let her know he would listen.
“Remember you told me that Navin Prasadji, the cook at The Plaza, said he is getting old and needed an assistant? I could help him! I could make the sweets! I did that for Hari Prakashji na? So if we both earn, we can both study too!” Her eyes gleamed, her excitement palpable.
He couldn’t let her do that, he argued with himself even as his mind presented him with hopeful images of him getting a graduate degree, a job which paid more than his meagre waiter paycheck did and a small house of their own which wasn’t in such a bad place. His heart fluttered with hope, and he hesitated.
Khushi pounced on that one moment of hesitation and pleaded with him to at least consider the possibilities when he would be a graduate! And that had done it. He had relented. Shoulders slumping a little in defeat, he had given in and promised her that he would enroll in college. She had hugged him then, after she had extracted a “Serious Promise” from him, and treated him to a delicious dinner of Dal dhokli. His favorite dish.
Today, he was grateful for that incredible level of maturity and foresight that 14 years old girl had shown and if he could, he would go down on his knees to thank her for it. Arnav knew even if Khushi refused to believe it - When they say that behind every successful man is a woman, it’s true. Especially in his case. Everything he was, it was this particular woman who had driven him to it. Arnav would never forget what he owed to her. He could never pay her back for it, because you couldn’t put price on life itself but, you could try. In that particular spirit of things, Arnav had thrown her the party of the season - It would have been the party to overshadow all else - It was all that and more too. Of course it was, Arnav Singh Raizada never did anything half - assedly, but it was also the party that brought about the turning point in Arnav Singh Raizada and Khushi Kumari Gupta’s tale. Had he known it, would Arnav had still thrown it? He didn’t know, he thought moodily, sitting at the dining table at 4am in the morning; he really didn’t know.
He hadn’t arranged the party but it was almost as if he had - A firm he had hired had arranged the Oro Bar at the Radisson Blu to resemble a time warp right out of the 1940s. The guests were encouraged to dress the part, the red carpet was rolled out. The atmosphere was smokey, intentionally and the Bar stocked drinks so popular at that time - Martinis, Manhattans, mint juleps, daiquiris, whiskey sours, highballs and hot buttered rum with a barkeeper in sleeves and suspenders to suit the atmosphere. The servers wore double breasted suits and flapper dresses and the food had been catered by Naivedyam. The walls were done up in gauzy purple and grey fabrics and in the blue light, it looked like they had stepped into a film noir, ready for the next drama unfolding. The tables covered with purple-blue damask, with 1940s classic centerpieces of Calla Lilies and pearls and the air smelled of cigar smoke and Chanel no. 5; Arnav had given Khushi a night out into the era she so loved. Would she realize it? he had wondered.
Arnav had gone into the venue early, realizing that the guest of honor would need some time dressing up for her big entry tonight. What would she wear, he wondered idly, talking to some clients who congratulated him on Naivedyam, another plume for his hat. Arnav made it clear that the Restaurant, although he had an interest in it, wasn’t his in anyway, it was Khushi Kumari Gupta’s - and Arnav was just a proud friend throwing her the bash. The women still wondered slyly while the men idly looked around for the intrepid Ms. Gupta, she was easy on the eyes. Would she wear one of those vintage cocktail dresses by Coco Chanel? He wondered, smiling as a pretty young thing walked by winking at him. She never wore any other brands he thought, smiling, as the girl walked over to him and boldly slipped him her number and walked back to her father; another client. Arnav knew he would never call her, not only was she too young for him but also, he was a man who never mixed business with pleasure but he could admire the pretty little thing so easy on the eyes and flirt with her - admiring her chops for what she had done, and done so smoothly.
Men in tailored suits, women dressed like Madhubala, like Joan Crawford. There were the bold ones who had dressed like Hedy Lamarr and Vivien Leigh. Some had dressed like Nutan, some like Nalini Jaywant. There was Nargis. Jane Russell and Marilyn Monroe too showed up. It was a night for the women... and among the glittering ones who came in droves, Arnav’s eyes sought only one - the one who wouldn’t show up for some reason yet - Khushi Kumari Gupta. Arnav’s eyes wandered over a Rita Hayworth tribute when a leg made an entrance.
He said leg because, the dress slit that high, the first thing he noticed was a beautiful leg, gleaming with health, no pantyhose - He smiled, the 1940s vixen makes an entry. He knew he was about to have fun. The legs were encased in dancing shoes in candy apple red, with ice-pick heels of at least 4 inches. He smiled again, liking what he saw so far. She had immediately turned around, talking to some people and he saw her dress from the back. It was made up of sheer black lace, that wouldn’t look out of place in some of the raciest film noirs of that time. He could see skin peeking out from all over, only strategically placed density of the ivy-like work in black hid her beautifully shaped buttocks from him and all the men whose eyes were currently glued to the domes of the beautiful derriere of hers, trying to get a peek. He could see the line of her spine, ending just over the shadowed area, Arnav grinned, he had to introduce himself to her. Her hair was, from what he could see, pulled over the shoulder that was bare, in Veronica Lake like curls, pinned behind the opposite hair, he could see a pin of some kind holding it up. As he walked closer, to do his duty as a host, he thought with a smirk, he noticed the pin - peonies? Were they...? She turned around.
The dress, covering her neck in a very Japanese Inspired style, covered her one hand to full sleeve, while left the other shoulder bare. The lace, covering nothing, hinting at everything covered her breasts as well...what kind of bra was she wearing he thought, panicked. There was no way she could have worn one - it looked... Real. The leg he had so admired was too exposed, the cut nearly reaching one hip. She had worn Ruby drops in her ears, and nothing else but the pin he had brought back for her from Hong Kong. Khushi had clutched one red Givenchy clutch in her arms and Arnav just remembered where he had seen the dress before - in Hong Kong, at a Zuhair Murad Fashion show he had gone to, with friends. Why was she dressed like this? His eyes automatically drew toward her glistening ruby lips, sultrily darkened eyes. This woman was dressed to kill and Arnav had the uncomfortable feeling that he was the victim intended on her list.
Khushi strode towards him, lips quirked and did a quick turn - “What do you think Arnav?” did her voice sound huskier? He drew in a panicked breath. Why? “Isn’t it a bit too... much?” he said, weakly. She laughed. Laughed! Khushi motioned for a Manhattan to the bartender and said, “Of course not, it’s film noir Arnav! There has to be a dame up to no good. Tonight, I’m her...” With that, she flitted away, hips swaying in those mankiller heels and Arnav downed his whiskey sour in a gulp. He needed more to drink, way more.
He had watched her all night. Dancing on the floor with a bunch of different men, all hooligans, he thought sourly, all of them dancing way too close to her. He had never felt so frustrated in his entire life. She had downed glasses upon glasses of alcohol, her dance moves getting even more provoking after every drink. He had been unable to pay his full attention to Adita when she had come around, demanding a dance. He had whirled her around on the floor, all the time keeping his eyes on Khushi. What did the girl think she was doing? He had caught sight of her, leaning towards some or the other idiot, sultrily, seductively, talking in his ears because of the loud music- and had almost tripped Adita up. He had heard Adita saying something, and looked at her, confused for a moment as to what the woman was doing with her hands around his neck and her lips skimming his jaw. “Your place or mine, Arnav?” she had asked, and in the time it had taken him to smirk and accept, Khushi had vanished.
He had searched for her, and when he hadn’t found her after a solid fifteen minute search- he had informed a server to give her his message. Telling her to go home when she wanted to. He would be late. And for once, he had wished that she went home early that night.
But it wasn’t to be his night, apparently. Because, after his very enjoyable but final romp with Adita at her place, when he had returned home- He’d found it empty. It was 3.30am for Christ’s sake! He had, since then, been calling her up every few seconds only to be directed to her voicemail. And he was furious. Where in hell was she?
He had paced, drank cups upon cups of coffee, tried to watch the television- and paced some more- all the while calling her, hoping that she would pick up the damn phone every time, and using some very innovative and colorful swear words after every failed call.
That had been two hours ago. Five am found a very frustrated Arnav sitting at the dining table- his hair in total disarray from the many times that he’d run his hands through it, still dressed in his now rumpled clothes from the party, eyes red, lips thin, and nose flared. That young woman was going to be told off. He decided sternly, all the while hoping that she wasn’t in any problem- wishing that she was just at some or the other friend’s house... hoping that that bloody dress of hers hadn’t landed her in something she couldn’t take. He called her again, his hand tightening around the phone as he was directed to her voicemail yet again.
“Khushi, where the fuck are you? Get back home right now! I’m warning you Khush, If you’re not home in the next hour, or so help me god...!” he closed his eyes, trying to calm down, and started again, softer this time. “Khushi where are you? Call me As soon as Possible. And come home. Now. I’m waiting.”
He cut the phone, and swore again. His eyes sliding to the Wall clock worriedly noting that it had been almost seven hours since he’d last seen Khushi now.
Then she walked in, he had been about to call the police, the military, the national guards and the chief minister to the boot and she walks in, cool as you please except, Khushi Kumari Gupta was wearing a fucking Shirt. A men’s shirt, and nothing else that he could see. It covered her to her knees, she had secured it around her waist with a narrow black silk tie and was holding that thrice damned dress in a paper sack in her hands. He could see laces peeping out. Her hair, those gorgeous curls were mussed, the pin still stuck in - sagging to one side. Her makeup had faded, lipstick eaten away what looked like hours ago, leaving behind a hint of red, or was it from being bitten? Arnav suppressed a shudder. Eyes were red, and if Arnav wasn’t mistaken, his little girl was very very very drunk.
“Khushi! WHAT-” he had just started shouting, when she walked right past him, pushing him to one side. He followed her, dumbfounded as she swayed into her room. She had never behaved like this before! He had just started to enter her room, when she turned around and blocked him, “Arnav I am very tired, I think I’ll go to bed now. Won’t come to office today, obviously, I’m taking the day off”. One hand rubbing her eyes, she closed the door with a snap in his face, leaving a very shocked Arnav in her wake, muttering dire consequences to himself as he turned around and stamped into his own room- stopping as he heard her door open once again. “Oh, And Thank You for the Party Arnavv! I had a lot of fun!”she shouted at him, before closing the door again. He could have puked right then! Why, oh why had he thrown her that goddamned party? He should have taken her out to dinner! Given her a fucking gift and brought her to the bloody apartment himself. What the fuck happened tonight? Arnav couldn’t help wondering - thinking about the obvious. Knowing the answer, blocking it out. There was only one answer and it was curious why it tore his heart to bits.
He walked back to his room, as if in a daze, picking up his drink from the table. Something told him that anesthesia was the way to go tonight - or this morning. He had finished three-fifth of a bottle of rum, showered and had dressed for office, in the filthiest mood he had been in since... had he ever felt this way? He could cheerfully have killed someone right now, maimed him, destroyed some properties. Arnav walked out of his room, peeped into hers; still locked. Fuck that, he thought viciously as he jumped into his car , his baby until now - The Porsche Panamera. A beautiful silver finish. No, he thought violently, not a baby. His was sleeping off a night out in town in her room, fuck it! Arnav’s foot landed heavily on the gas and he kept going, keeping his eyes off the speedometer. The wind hit him in the face as he had the windows rolled down, and he slipped on his sunnies. Not until had the airbags hit him in the face, bruising it, had he known what he had done. Something stung and trickled down from his cheekbone; blood. Arnav Singh Raizada had wrapped his brand new car around a lamp post. He looked around with a slight smile, and picked up his phone, while the mangled seatbelt held him tight, stuck, “Aman, I need you to do something for me now...”
Aman cursed the day he had joined the AR Group as ASR’s Executive Assistant. He could have gotten a job anywhere else- but no! He had to have the highest paying one didn’t he? He cursed his fates and all the gods that his old mother worshipped under his breath as he heard the Lion, a very pissed off Lion, call him to his den- for the forty fifth time that day. Khushiji had not come in, and it was left to Aman to control his boss and endure the tantrums- that had seemed to grow thricefold in number since last evening. Why the fuck was he still stuck in this place?
“AMAN!”
Right, he thought, as he scurried towards ASR’s cabin, because he wanted to have the best wedding with Rita, and he needed this job so that he could afford his poor fiance’s dream wedding. He only hoped he would be alive until then.
“Aman, does Khushi know about the accident?” the devil asked conversationally. Was that a trick question? Aman thought, knowing full well that ASR would skin him alive if he told Ms. Gupta about the accident and worried her on her day off following a very prestigious award. “No sir,” he muttered, “I figured you wouldn’t want her disturbed in any capacity today,” Aman watched ASR’s eyes shutter. The man was plotting something. When you work very very closely with a person as Aman did with ASR, you got to know about his patterns. In Arnav Singh Raizada, his face wiped clean of all emotions, his eyes shuttered. Aman didn’t like it one bit, because usually it meant that heads would roll and ASR was a man who took no prisoners - as he watched the man look him straight in the eyes, motioning for him to sit down (a rarity), he just knew, it would be a mass genocide.
The phone rang around 12, Khushi’s private line because her phone had been turned off and she lazily reached for it, swearing at whoever felt the need to call her on her day off. “Khushi... Khushiji! Where have you been? I have been calling your cell for hours! It’s ASR!” Khushi groggily sat up, trying to make sense of it all, “Aman, slow down!” she snapped, “Start from the beginning. I was asleep. My brain needs to catch up,” and she heard the man who coolly handled AR’s most classified secrets gulp and then breathe in heavily, “Ms. Gupta,” he continued formally, “It’s ASR. He has been in an accident...” and every other thought fled from her mind. “WHAT?” she shouted into the receiver, already up and scrambling around the room trying to assemble something that she could wear without looking like a tramp, “Where is he now? Is he okay? AMAN WHY THE HELL ARE YOU QUIET NOW?!” she closed her eyes, trying to make sense of things over the pounding in her head. Hangover, she thought sourly, gulping down air. Arnav. Accident. “Khushiji, he’s fine. Just a few superficial cuts and bruises, but the Porsche Panamera had been totalled, a few miles away from your apartment complex in fact. I think there’s a lot on his mind Ms. Gupta, ASR seemed preoccupied, even after the accident,” Khushi quickly threw on some jeans, and a Grey T-shirt. Preoccupied. Oh God! She thought, horrified, eyes leaking like it had sprouted another few holes in the tank. It was all her fault! In her attempt to get back at ASR for Adita, for comments others made about her old lady fashion sense, she had driven Arnav out of his comfort zone. She knew he was up all night. She knew, she thought panicked, that he had drank. She also knew what he had automatically assumed. What she wanted him to assume. It was all too much for the guy, and now, she was indirectly responsible for almost losing the most precious thing in her life. Khushi drew in a deep breath. She needed to see him, she dashed away the tears that came in droves, she had to make sure that he was okay. As she jumped into her car, having the foresight to get Prajapati to drive it in her stead, Khushi leaned back against her seat at the back, trying to stop herself from shaking. Arnav. Arnav!
She had jumped out the car before it had stopped in front of the AR building and dashed full tilt into it, ignoring the admiring as well as confused looks her employees shot her, as she raced up the stairs- not bothering with the elevator, three steps at a time. She pushed past a terrified looking D’Souza, who wasn’t able to get past a stuttered “Ma’am! What-?” and threw his cabin door open.
There he was. Sitting in his chair, his head leant back, his eyes closed even as he pressed an ice pack to his face. She could see some cuts and scrapes on his face and arms- and her heart did a terrifying somersault as she gulped back her tears. He was alive. That was all that ran through her mind, then. He was well.
She rushed to him, falling on her knees beside him. “Ar- Arnav?” she whispered, and he opened his eyes. “Khushi?” he asked her, his voice sounded weak! Oh Poor Baby! He hadn’t slept at all had he? She cursed herself again for her risque actions that had driven him to this state. This was a man who stayed awake, even now, if she was ever ill. How could she have done this to him? The man who had raised her since she was 13, given her every opportunity in her life. From Khushi Kumari Gupta the halwai’s assistant and whore’s daughter to Khushi Kumari Gupta the entrepreneur; the Restaurateur who had just been awarded the best Restaurateur award the day before yesterday. Everything she was, everything she had ever been was because Arnav had made sure of it. How could she have hurt a man like that, ever? He had taught her during her exams all night, and had gone to work in the mornings. Stayed up with her when she had been scared of the dark, called her every night - when he would go abroad so that she wouldn’t feel lonely. What had she been thinking? The tears again trailed down her face, what the hell have you been thinking you dumb bitch? Your actions caused you to almost lose the man who was it all! The man who was her life. She sighed. She’d make it up to him. She would.
She couldn’t hold back her tears anymore as she hugged him fiercely, mumbling apologies and concerns for his health into his shoulder as he held her- reassuring her that he was okay- just a few cuts and scrapes- that his only regret was the Porsche he’d lost. He had been so proud of that car, she remembered, and vowed to buy him a new one silently, as she let go of her grip around him and touched his cut gingerly.
“You’re coming home with me.” she told him firmly, as she helped him stand up and dragged his protesting self towards the door, telling him that he needed to be taken care of and that Aman could look after AR for the day.
This was the first time Arnav Singh Raizada had ever left work willingly. He walked behind Khushi, as she mumbled incoherently about his poor driving abilities and about how he should take care of himself more, a small smirk playing across his face before he controlled himself and his expressions drowned again into those of pain and fatigue. He obediently sat in the backseat of her car, and leant his head back, allowing her to press the ice pack to his cheek, blowing at it after every few seconds as Prajapati was ordered to drive them back home as fast as he possibly could.
He smiled at her gratefully as she told him that she was going to make him some soup and then he was to sleep till she could feed him his Lunch. His Girl, he thought, faintly, as she smiled back at him uncertainly. He still was the most important person in her world. And that thought, brought the smile back to his face and peace to his mind.
Aman looked on, eyes squinted as he saw ASR leave work without much of a fuss. The fuss he did, Aman knew was for show. This was a man who had put a full day’s work with 103* fever with nothing but Tylenol for company. Khushi hadn’t been able to drag him out of the office then. The same went when he had been injured in a basketball match with friends and had sprained his ankle; ASR had still worked. Even when it has swollen double its own size, leaving ASR weak from pain, sweating with every movement. So why did it seem suspicious to Aman that ASR would leave like the proverbial lamb out of Mary’s tale just because Khushi had asked him to? Something he had never ever done before? Moreover, why had he asked him to call Khushi? This was a man who would usually die before he disturbed anybody - mostly Khushi. How was it that he had Aman call Khushi, indirectly telling him - prompting him with what to say? No, Aman had no proof but he knew how ASR’s mind works. What was he up to? Why did Aman feel like he had done Khushi no favor at all by calling her? Aman shook his head. His employers had a complicated relationship but very platonic. He saw a change coming, would that involve status quo as well?
Arnav leaned back against his bed’s headrest. Forced inactivity drove him insane. Sitting still doubly so. He would normally in this position feel like clawing walls until his fingers were reduced to bloody stubs but then, today was different he thought with a smile. Today was a day when he had his girl back to himself. Whatever nameless faceless man had taken her away from him, taken her, he thought screwing his eyes shut - will be gone. When time came, Arnav himself would pick out the perfect man for her. A man who deserved her. Understood that she was a creature of light and joy and that she was meant to be loved and taken care of. But that time had not come yet. Not yet, he assured himself. Not quite yet. After all, he mused, looking at her as she harriedly ran about searching for something, he had saved her life - didn’t that mean he owned it? She was his, and he was not ready to give her away yet - something told him that he probably never would be. But, they would handle one hurdle at a time.
For now, everything was as it was supposed to be. But for how long? Asked a sly voice in his head. Arnav shook his head and motioned for her to sit down beside him, “So,” he said, voice shaking with laughter, “How was your day?”.
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1 comments
Hey! Beautifully written story! I think i have read it once before and this is my second time rereadin it! Btw, ur description of that dress had me googling the designer's name and guess what i saw. Something similar to ur description
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