An Infidel in Paradise (25 page)

“We thought you weren’t coming.” She links her arm through mine and leads me back to where she was sitting. “Tahira has to be home at ten, and I’m staying over at her house, so we both have to leave soon. It’s been no fun anyway. All of Tira’s brothers are here,” she continues, lowering her voice as we near
the table, “and they won’t let poor Tira out of their sight.”

“Look who’s finally arrived,” says Leela brightly as Faarooq stands up to fetch another chair so I can join them. There’s half a dozen kids at the table I don’t recognize, but I know who Tahira’s brothers are without being told. They surround her like fortress walls.

Tahira looks pathetically thrilled to see me and orders Faarooq to put my chair next to hers, which forces one of her scowling brothers to shift. I plop down next to her and surreptitiously look around for Mustapha.

“There’s a dance floor,” whispers Tahira in a voice that lets me know this is somewhat scandalous, which I suppose explains why no one’s dancing. “There’s alcohol too,” she confides.

“Really? Where?” I match her disapproving tone so she doesn’t know how much I’d like to get totally wasted right now.

“The bar is inside,” she says suspiciously.

Perhaps I’m not quite the actress I think I am.

“Do you know where Mustapha is?” I ask.

“I think he’s inside as well,” she says even more suspiciously.

Booze and Boy in one location. I definitely know where I need to be. Now I just have to extricate myself from my righteous companions. But I need to sound cool and casual.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I say and jump up, knocking over my chair.

Okay, not as cool as I was hoping for, but the bathroom excuse was inspired.

“I’ll go with you,” says Leela.

Damn
.

“Me too,” says Tahira.

Are you kidding me?

“You can go when you get home, Tahira. We’re leaving soon,” says one of her brothers.

I feel a sudden rush of warmth for this overbearing, brutish boy.

Leela stands up with the gracefulness that eluded me earlier and pulls Tahira to her feet. “We need to go before we get in the car,” she says. The air becomes thick with barely concealed dislike as all three brothers eye Leela and exchange glances among themselves.

Leela stands her ground and raises a heavily bangled arm to adjust the drape of Tahira’s dupatta in a proprietary way.

Tahira’s oldest brother gets to his feet. “I’ll walk you over,” he says. “I should say good-bye to Mustapha.”

Leela links one arm through mine and the other through Tahira’s and hustles us off, leaving the brother to trail after us. When we get to the house, Leela actually does head for the bathroom, and since it was my idea, I have to go along. All three of us go in together, which Tahira’s brother seems to think is totally normal, and he mumbles something about going to look for Mustapha.

The bathroom is almost as large as my bedroom, with
a full-size vanity, an upholstered bench, a double sink carved from gleaming marble, and a sparkling toilet and bidet.

“Sit down,” Leela says to me, pointing to the vanity bench. But because it’s the only nice place to sit and I’m the only one in jeans, I hop up on the wide marble counter next to the sink.

Leela orders Tahira to the bench, and taking a large wad of toilet paper to protect her hands, she puts down the toilet cover. She damps a second wad to wipe it and a third to dry it. After thoroughly washing her hands, she perches on the edge.

I chew on a nail. I have a pretty good idea what’s coming. I don’t think Leela knows exactly what happened between Mustapha and me this morning – even after she specifically told me to end it – but she can’t have missed our outrageous flirting through lunch and on the car ride home.

“We thought you might need some help talking to Mustapha,” begins Leela.

“No,” I say, biting down hard on a cuticle. “I’ve got it covered.”

“You really like him, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” It crosses my mind to lie, but I just watched her take down Tahira’s three brothers without breaking a sweat. She’s my new hero, and I’m a little scared of her.

“Then you should declare yourself,” she says.

I drop my hand from my mouth and stare.

“He and Aisha haven’t had the
Mangni
yet – that’s the formal engagement ceremony – so technically he can still get out of it. Isn’t that right, Tira?”

“His parents made a commitment,” Tahira says, choosing her words carefully. “Not honoring that commitment is a very big decision.”

“But he could do it?” Leela persists.

“He could,” says Tahira. “He should still have his parents’ permission –”

“But there would be no shame,” Leela interrupts.

“What about Aisha?” asks Tahira.

Leela makes a sweeping motion with her hand at the mention of Aisha. “What about her? She’s never given you a moment’s thought, Tira. She’s a spoiled snob.”

“We just have different friends,” says Tahira, though we all know Tahira’s neither pretty nor stuck-up enough to fit in with Aisha’s crowd.

“Tira, you can’t say a bad thing about anyone, can you?” says Leela affectionately.

“Aisha isn’t so bad,” I say, shifting uncomfortably on the cold marble. Whatever Leela thinks, I can’t pretend Aisha deserves to have me wreck her life.

“The point is, if you and Mustapha love each other, it’s not fair to anyone, even Aisha, to pretend you don’t,” insists Leela. “Would you want to marry someone who was in love with someone else?”

She has a point. Maybe I’m rescuing Aisha from making a bad marriage. But if that’s true, I’d have to believe Zenny rescued Mom from a bad marriage too. I
hop down from the counter and check my makeup in the mirror over the sink. I don’t want to think about this anymore. I turn back to them and lean on the counter, my arms crossed over my chest.

“Some families do allow love matches,” Tahira concedes.

Tahira’s brow is ridged with worry, but Leela’s eyes shine triumphantly. She stands up, crosses the room, and hugs me. It’s an Angie move, and it immediately makes me tear up. I close my eyes for a moment and try to pretend it is Angie, but Leela smells of jasmine, which Angie never did, and Leela is about a foot taller.
Well, who isn’t?

“You go after what you want,” Leela whispers. “Don’t let anyone stop you.”

But what do I want?
I wonder, as we leave the bathroom together. Tahira’s brother is standing vigil outside the door.
Has he been there the whole time?

“They really need to find a hobby,” says Leela under her breath as she looks at him irritably, but Tahira just smiles as if she’s genuinely happy to see her brother.

It takes all kinds.

I say my good-byes because they’re heading home, then go in search of Mustapha.

I
try the games room first because it seems the most likely hangout. Ali lounges on the floor exactly where he was last weekend, and I’m pretty sure he’s playing the same game. I don’t know the boy he’s playing with, but Johan is half-reclined on the couch behind them, watching. He looks up cheerfully when I walk in and raises an almost empty bottle of some amber liquid, whisky or something like it. I’m not an authority on alcohol.

Johan gets unsteadily to his feet and weaves over to me.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks. He sounds surprisingly articulate for someone who’s obviously had too many himself.

“Sure,” I say, taking the bottle. “Are there glasses?”

“Glasses?” His brow furrows exactly as it does when he’s called on in math.

“Maybe in the dining room? Do you know where that is?”

“Certainly,” says Johan, pointing vaguely in the direction of the ceiling, which seems an unlikely spot, but as he staggers to the door, I figure I may as well follow.

He crosses the hall to the huge double doors that I know lead to the dead-animal room. I try to warn him, but he’s already pushed them open and stumbled through. I really don’t want to go in there, but he’s too drunk to leave on his own. I look down the hall in both directions, hoping Mustapha will suddenly materialize, but he’s nowhere in sight. After a moment’s hesitation, I join Johan and the animals.

The room is in almost total darkness, the only light coming from the hallway and filtering in through tall windows along one wall. In this half-light, the room is even more sinister than last week. Shining eyes peer out from the shadows, and I think I see movement behind the ottoman where I remember a forlorn herd of mouse deer.

“Shhh,” says Johan, putting his finger to his lips. He tiptoes past me toward the hallway. I think he’s going to make a break for it, and I’m right behind him. No way am I staying in this room alone to get attacked by a herd of zombie mouse deer, but Johan closes the huge doors and we’re left in the silver glimmer of moonlight.

“Are you crazy?” I hiss as the zombie mouse deer shift restlessly in the corner. I keep them in my peripheral vision as I scowl at Johan.

“Do you like me?” he asks, leaning – or, to be more
accurate, falling back – on the closed doors.

“At this moment,” I snap, “I’d have to say no. Now move so we can get out of here.”

“I like you,” he slurs.

Oh my God
. I’m trapped in a dead-animal room with zombie mouse deer and a crazy Swedish boy.
Where the heck is Mustapha?

“Can I kiss you?”

Jazzy was right. This boy really is dense.

“Johan,” I say as sternly as I can under the unblinking stare of dozens of eyes. “You’re wasted. Now step aside and let me out of here.”

“Jazzy left,” he says. And as if that single statement releases the last bit of resolve holding him up, he slumps down to the floor, his head flopping back against the door. His eyes shine with tears in the eerie nightglow.

“Oh, Johan,” I sigh. I walk over to him and slide down beside him, taking one of his hands.

“I was going to ask her out, you know?” His disembodied voice echoes in the darkness. “I’ve been wanting to for over a year, but you don’t just ask a girl like Jazzy out. Did you know she has thirteen piercings?”

“Thirteen, huh?”

“And three tattoos.”

“Wow.”

“She’s like an Amazon or something. Nothing scares her. So different from me. But I had this whole plan worked out.”

I’m really afraid he’s going to start crying.

“Tell me about it,” I say, and the mouse deer, from their resting place behind the ottoman, lean in to listen.

“I was going to ask her to this party. Tonight was going to be our first date.”

How long was this party planned before I was invited?
I really
was
an afterthought.

“Do you think she would have said yes?” he asks, his voice cracking.

I smile into the darkness, and the mouse deer smile back.

“I think she would have,” I say.

We sit quietly, hand in hand, side by side, and when Johan’s head slides sideways, settling on my shoulder, I don’t ask him to move. Gradually his breathing slows and deepens, and I realize he’s fallen asleep or passed out. Whichever it is, he’s going to have a wicked headache in the morning, but the heartache will be worse. It’s that thought that has me still sitting there thirty minutes later, when Mustapha finally shows up.

I blink as the harsh overhead light fills the room. Mustapha glares at me, his hand still on the light switch.

“Am I interrupting something?” he demands.

By now, Johan’s whole body has slid into my lap, and I imagine we probably look like a romantic couple, like Romeo and Juliet after she downed the poison and before he offed himself. And I can understand how Romeo thought she was really dead and not just sleeping because Johan’s a total deadweight on my
legs. I’ve lost all feeling below the hips, and I’m in no mood for a jealous scene.

“Help me get him to a couch,” I order.

I’m starting to worry about how long I’ve been here. My confidence that Mandy won’t wake up and I can slip back home undetected is disintegrating with each passing minute.

Mustapha crosses the room and heaves Johan off me a little more roughly than necessary, but I’m so grateful to be freed that I don’t comment. He half-carries, half-drags him to the sofa in the middle of the room and drops him down, arranging his legs and putting a pillow under his head.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, turning to look at me struggle to stand up on tingly legs. He doesn’t offer to help.

“That’s exactly what I’d like to know,” I snap. “Do you even have a right to ask me that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What exactly is going on between you and me?”

He blinks. I can almost see the anger seep out of him as he contemplates my question. Coming over to where I’m now leaning on the doors, he reaches out and lifts a strand of my hair, curling it round his fingers. It looks blonder, paler, against his skin.

“I don’t know,” he says, letting the strand drop. “There is something between us. Every time I’m near you, I want to touch you.”

“Do you love Aisha?”

It’s a coward’s question. What I really want to ask is if he loves me.

“I’ve known Aisha all my life.” He runs a hand over his eyes. “She’s smart and beautiful. And she’s kind, though you may not have seen that. She’ll make a good mother. A good wife.”