The Zoya Factor (36 page)

He laughed. 'You'll be lucky if he's still awake after a long day at the nets.'

I looked up and smiled demurely. 'Oh, but I
am
lucky,' I told him cockily.

***

16

The Super 8s began six days later. There were no surprise upsets in the teams that had made it through - all the usual suspects were in. Australia, South Africa, India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, England, West Indies, New Zealand. They would all play each other once (seven matches each) and the four teams that won the maximum number of encounters would make it to the knock-out semi-final stage.

'This is where the real fun begins,' Shanta Kalra told me, practically licking her chops as we chatted at the lunch table at our hotel in Melbourne. 'Now we'll see some world-class cricket!'

I smiled politely at Shanta and said, 'Can't wait.'

She put her hand upon my arm and said, 'Hey, Zoya, d'you girls want to go out pubbing with me and some journos tonight? We'll go up to St Kilda, you know, the boho district by the beach.'

It sounded like fun. Better than staying in the hotel and watching television. I looked at Mon and Chachi and they both nodded happily. So, at eleven in the evening, we left a sleeping Armaan in the room with the hotel babysitter and sneaked out, all duded up in our clubbing clothes.

'You know, girls,' Rinku Chachi said, tightening the clasps of her dangling earrings as we all piled into the hotel cab, 'this is the first time we're all three going out together for a night-out in Australia!'

'You're right, Rinku!' Mon said, adjusting the bosom of her clingy dress. 'Let's have a bloody blast!'

We followed Shanta's car all the way to St Kilda. It was a pretty hip quarter, full of people in purple and black clothes with piercings and spiky, odd-coloured hair. There was a winding main street full of cake shops, hat shops, painting galleries and lots and lots of pubs. Mon totally loved it. 'D'you know this is where the AWB office is, in Melbourne!' she told me. 'Think of us, stuck in Vanijya Nikunj, Phase 5!'

Shanta really seemed to know her way around. She swung us into this happening nightclub kind of place and snapped a finger very authoritatively at the burly-looking barmaid.

'Yeh toh badi
cool
nikli!'
Rinku Chachi muttered into my ear as she hauled her bulk onto the zany-looking bar stools. 'Beta, she must be my age only, no?'

I looked at Shanta carefully, even as I inhaled great gulps of the wet woody aroma of draft beer. Yes, she'd be about Chachi's age all right. Maybe a few years younger. 'No way, Chachi,' I said comfortingly. 'She looks
at least
ten years older than you!'

Soon we had all ordered naughtily named cocktails and had been introduced to Shanta's little gang. Most of them were younger boys, all vaguely familiar because they were cricket reporters from various television news channels. A couple of sporty-looking babes were there too, and - a bit of a surprise this - Ritu Raina, ravishing as always in a tight pair of jeans and an extremely abbreviated version of the India team tee shirt.

'Zoya!' she squealed excitedly, on seeing me. 'How are you,
baba?
You look so cute!'

'Hi, Ritu,' I said smiling. 'You definitely don't look
cute!'

She laughed, flicking her shiny long hair back over her gleaming bare shoulders. 'I know,' she twinkled back at me. 'I don't
do
cute.'

She greeted Rinku Chachi like an old friend and got into a giggly little huddle with her and Mon. And then Mon wanted to rate all the men in the bar on what she called 'The Return Gift' scale. 'You know, how we give kids return gifts at the end of birthday parties so they go home happy?' she yelled across at me above the din. 'They play with them in the car on the way home and forget about them by the next day? That's what I'm talking about here!'

According to Ritu, the place was littered with dishy return gifts whom she wouldn't mind playing in the car with but Mon insisted that she was doing 'lenient marking'. This got the boys who'd come in with us all worked up and they all demanded to know what kind of return gift was a 'good' one.

'Big. Expensively wrapped. Should feel heavy in the hand and make a noise when you shake it!' Mon yelled, making graphic thrusting movements.

One of the boys nudged me and asked wonderingly, 'Isn't she supposed to be your
chaperone?'

I nodded glumly.

And then Ritu drawled, 'How about
imported?'

She'd spotted what she claimed were some of the Aussie players by the pool table, but it was too dark and smoky to be sure really. Ritu wanted to get closer and make sure, saying large-heartedly that she had quite a crush on
all
of them and was rather taken aback when Rinku Chachi went:
'Chhee
... they're so pink arsed! Don't be
paagal,
beta!'

'Chachi!' I protested mildly. 'You can't just go around calling people pink arses in their very own country!'

'But why?' Chachi said, honestly surprised. 'It's true, isn't it?'

'I don't know,' Ritu said musingly. Then she added with a deep gurgling laugh, 'but I wouldn't mind finding out!' She nudged Mon in the ribs and both of them started giggling idiotically and making plans about how to approach the pink-butted boys.

We played a rowdy game of pool (very badly, Mon was the only decent player and I, of course, disgraced myself totally by scratching the baize). Then when Mon was chalking her cue (unnecessarily languorously, I thought), Ritu brightened up and nudged her saying, 'Look, awesome non-pink Return Gift! There, by the window.'

We all swivelled to squint through the wooden beams and saw this dude flanked by a posse of hot-looking babes and hopeful-looking guys. He had on interestingly ripped denims and a tight dark blue tee and was leaning at the bar, with his back to us, reading the menu or something while his buddies chattered around him noisily. There was a promising width to his shoulders, and sun-streaked copper curls at the back of his neck.

'That
is not a
Return Gift,'
Mon said, pointing at the jean-encased butt with drunken emphasis
, 'that
is a fully loaded
Khoeee
bag
!'

'What's
Khoeee bag
?' Ritu asked, hiccupping gently. She was not on the mommy circuit, obviously.

Mon turned to look at her reproachfully, her big dark eyes appalled at this ignorance. She made a large mystic gesture with her hands. 'Ahhh...the
Khoeee bag
!' she intoned reverentially. 'A
massive
bag, full of goodies, that
bursts
upon the thankful public at the end of the celebration. The
climax
of the birthday party, baby!'

They giggled again. Ritu let out a piercing wolf whistle, then chickened out and ducked quickly under the table. The perfect Return Gift turned around to look at us, and all our jaws dropped at once.

It was Zahid. Zahid Pathan.

Zahid Pathan, India's ace-in-the-hole, the man everybody was depending upon to quash the Kiwis tomorrow.

'It's Zahid,' Mon said rather unnecessarily.

'What's he doing out of bed?' Rinku Chachi wanted to know.

'He looks drunk,' Shanta said, squinting a little.

'Zoya, go talk to him,' Ritu said, emerging from under the table to give me a little push.

I started to protest, but they all chorused so loudly that everybody in the bar turned to look at us. So I got up from my stool, tripping a little, smiled stupidly, and walked over to Zahid's gang of friends, who didn't even notice me; they were so busy trying to talk him into something.

'It's a
great
proposition I'm putting to you, mate,' one of them, with flashing rimless glasses and a vaguely medical air, was saying. 'I mean, look at that babe, Evalene Adams, she really wanted to have a top-level sportsman's baby...and she got it for free! Your captain's a fool, man. You guys have superior DNA - you should capitalize on it.'

Zahid, looking a little bewildered, said, '
Matlab ki
? I don't understand...' The bookish guy looked about furtively, then lowered his voice and said, 'A Sportstar Spermbank. If you want a piece of that best-quality, Alpha-male, baby-making stuff, lady, you have to pay for it!'

'
Kya
?' Zahid started to say, but the rimless dude kept talking, faster now.

'You'll be surprised to know how many sportstars have already signed on with me, dude! I have a freezer compartment right here, so take these sterilized vials and
Playboy
magazines and go to the men's room right there and think sweet thoughts...'

Zahid's blank look was slowly replaced by one of complete horror halfway through this speech, but before he could go on from there to anger and full-scale violence, ending with the rimless guy's face being embedded in the oakwood bar top, he spotted me and complete consternation spread across his face. 'Z...Zoya,' he said weakly.

'It's an
awesome
proposition,' I told him. 'Hey, you'll be making money hand over fist.'

A couple of the guys in the gang tittered nervously, but Zahid didn't look too amused. Or maybe he didn't get the joke - he's not really all that bright - or maybe, who knows, he has a different technique. Anyway, he turned his back on the lot of us and started watching the dance floor.

A little pause followed, broken by the rimless-glasses guy asking, 'Sorry? I didn't get your name? I'm Jag, are you a friend of Zahid's?' In this really proprietorial way, like I was a pile on or something.

'Never mind me,' I told him, shaking a slightly wavering finger into his face. 'The question is, are
you
a friend of Zahid's?'

Jag backed down a little then and had the decency to look embarrassed. 'Listen Jag
dish,'
I told him roundly, 'he should be in
bed.'

The dude shrugged, backed off a bit and said, 'Yeah...
good point.
Listen, whyn't
you
tell him that, babe. Read him the Riot Act, go on!'

He was being sarcastic of course, but I squared my shoulders and rounded on the Pathan. 'Zahid!' I yelled above the music.

He said something then but I couldn't quite make it out.

'What?' I yelled.

His lips tightened and he suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me out through the long windows and onto a little balcony outside. It was very cold and quiet there. I said, stupidly, 'Hello.'

He didn't say anything, just turned away from me and grabbed the railing and glowered down at the street below. His knuckles were almost white.

I said, 'It's eleven-thirty, Zahid. Why are you out of bed?'

He tossed his head violently, copper curls tumbling every which way. 'My wish,' he said.

This rather childish crack gave me hope. I took a step closer to him. '
Dekho
, Zahid,' I said persuasively, 'this place is full of Indian journalists. They'll report they saw you here, on the night before a big match.
Bahut
negative publicity
hogi
.'

He turned around to look at me suddenly. 'Negative publicity
toh
already
hai
!' he said. 'Last ball
pe
six needed
tha
and I couldn't do it!'

Oh, shit, this was about Wes bawling him out
.

'Zahid, you're talking crap,' I said firmly. 'It wasn't an important match, we're through anyway. Who cares?'

The next moment, the entire street below that balcony knew that Zahid Pathan did. He yelled it out so loudly my eardrums vibrated and hummed. Really.

Then he turned and glared at me, panting lightly. I managed to look unimpressed though actually I was shaking in my shoes. 'Okay, so you care,' I told him placatingly. Then, feeling like a student helpline operator giving
dilaasa
to suicidal kids during the tenth class board exams, I added, 'So why don't you stop thinking about the
last
match and start focusing on the
next
one, hmmm?'

Zahid patted my hand and assured me, slurring slightly, that he would play
superbly
tomorrow, not to worry.