They crossed from the shopping lanes into the parking lot.
She squinted at him in the sun. “Can I ask you a serious question?”
“Sure.”
“Why are you so eager?”
He stopped, looked at her.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
His smile said the rest.
Then she was saved. His driver saw them coming, came running, began to fret over the boxes, dashed back to the Land Cruiser, and popped the rear door. Sunny had clearly bought more than the driver or the SUV could handle.
“Besides,” Sunny went on, “there’s no room in my car. I need you to give me a lift.”
* * *
—
It felt strange to have Sunny Wadia squashed in the passenger seat of her beat-up little red Maruti. His knees pressed against the plastic dash. Just ahead, his driver was guiding the box-cramped SUV through the streets.
“I like your car,” he said.
She pressed a tender hand on the horn, gave it a little pip. “I know you’re being sarcastic, but I love her. She’s temperamental, she gets me from A to B, what more could you ask?”
“A bit more legroom,” he smiled, trying to work the seat back.
“Oh yeah, that’s broken.”
He looked awkward and it amused her a little. This was her domain now.
“You like old things, don’t you?”
“I like good things.”
“That’s more subjective.”
“You don’t think this car is good?”
“Let’s put it this way, I couldn’t pull it off. To do that, you have to be at the top of the food chain.”
“So says the Crown Prince of Delhi.”
“No, no. You’re so far above me. I’m nowhere near your level.”
“Rubbish.”
“I mean it. You can get away with just about everything. I bet you insult cops when they pull you over, don’t you?” Her silence told him he was right. “And you don’t even need money. You have it rooted into you. Look at this shitty car.”
“What about it?”
“I bet you can drive it right up to a five-star and jump out and swan inside and no one bats an eyelid.”
“I never really thought about it.”
“One look at you, in this shitty car, and everyone knows. You’re right up there at the top. You don’t know how lucky you are.”
“I know I’m lucky,” she said.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he went on, “I admire it. How easy it is for you. For me, no. I’ve had to construct myself. I’m reminded daily, in the mirror, I’m nothing without my suit, without my car, without my watch. Without these props, I barely exist.”
“Speaking of props,” she said, “do you have any more of those delightful cigarettes?”
“Sure.”
“I finished all yours, by the way.”
He took out his pack. Held one out for her. “You changed the subject.”
She placed the cigarette in her mouth.
“I guess I was uncomfortable.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
She gazed out at the road.
“It’s hard for me to believe,” she said, “that you’re just a construct. I don’t think of people that way.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I feel like you’re . . . like you’re purposely devaluing yourself.”
“No, I value myself.”
“Like it’s false humility.”
“I never said I was humble.”
She tried to follow the train of thought, to think of something witty to say. I mean, this was flirting, right?
“So how does it feel,” she finally asked, “riding in this shitty car?”
“Honestly?” he grinned. “It makes me kind of nervous.”
She laughed. “I can let you out anytime you want.”
They fell silent.
Things had been reset.
She took a plastic lighter from the tray and lit her cigarette. “Oh, shit,” she cried, slapping her head. “I needed to give your lighter back. It’s in my drawer at work.”
“It’s OK,” he replied smoothly. “I gave it to you as a gift.”
She thought this over.
Took a short breath as if to speak, tilted her head, stopped herself.
But he caught it.
“What?”
“Just checking,” she started. “But you’re dating Kriti, right?”
He lit a cigarette for himself. “Where did you hear that?”