“I’d like to complain about my room partner,” she said dramatically.
Nita gave her an exaggerated eye roll. Dao loved to voice her “complaints” whenever Nita was covering a shift. Seemed the joke was funny to her every time, although Nita had to admit she enjoyed the banter as well. Le Canard Volant was not exactly a hotbed of activity, so the job was rather dull, but Nita was grateful for any amount of money she could earn. She was at the point where she was practically surviving only on the wine and cigarettes that she shared with Mathieu and was growing rather thin.
“You off to work?” Nita asked her.
She nodded. “In a bit. Haven’t seen much of you around lately, though. Seems you have to be doing a shift for me to find you!” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke.
“I’ve been working on my art projects.”
Dao laughed. “Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”
Nita blushed, knowing what she meant but wanting to set the record straight—for herself as much as Dao.
“Yes,” she said definitively. “I know you love a good intrigue, but that’s really all I’m doing. It’s the reason I came here, and if I’m not focused on my art, then I may as well go back to India.”
Dao leaned over to see the magazine Nita had in front of her. “Whatever suits your narrative,” she said.
Nita knew there was no use convincing her. Dao saw the world as a never-ending romantic comedy. She’d confessed how stifling it had been for her when she lived with her parents in London and her immigrant parents had expected her to be laser focused on her schooling so she could get a good job and had frowned upon any sort of dating. Dao said she had fallen in love a thousand times with the characters on her television screen because they were all she had. But now that she was out from under her family’s watchful stares, in a city that was entirely her own, she was going to turn each of those romances she’d watched into a real story in her life. While Nita could relate to the freedom of being in a city without fear of her family seeing and judging her actions, she could not imagine having such a rosy outlook about love and romance. Still, she was grateful to have someone in her life who saw so much good in the world around her. Nita had been having some very low moments as she contemplated what her future looked like, and Dao’s energy often helped her pick herself up and try again the next day.
“And what about you?” Nita asked. “Is there not a young Frenchman at the bar who has caught your eye?”
Dao laughed again. “Please. There are several! It would be easier to count the ones I don’t fancy.”
Nita didn’t think she could ever be that carefree with her heart, especially at this late stage in life. Dao’s perspective seemed like one that had to be ingrained in a person from childhood. And it was so interesting to Nita that, given that Dao’s parents sounded similar to hers when it came to tradition and a woman’s place, Dao still managed to have that natural way about her when she dealt with dating. Nita couldn’t imagine herself being anything other than awkward.
“I do think you should bring these friends of yours to the bar one day. I’d love to meet them. You never know, if you don’t want them, then maybe I will have a go!”
Nita knew she was joking, but the thought of Dao and Mathieu or Simon together did not sit well with her. In just a few moments, she planned their entire life together. They and Dao had all been raised in the West, so they had similar backgrounds, even if Dao was Thai and they were white and there might be a racial caste disparity. They all understood the same jokes and cultural references to television shows and songs, and Dao knew all the foods they ate and wine they drank. And above all else, Nita had spent enough time in Paris to notice the numbers of white men holding hands with striking, slender Asian women with features and hair like Dao’s and knew that Dao’s type of Asian was a prize greater than Nita’s. The thought of one of them with Dao unnerved her so much that she vowed not to introduce them. She couldn’t give up her friendship with any of them, and the best way to keep things the same was to ensure they never met.
15
SOPHIE
2019
Sophie does not cry as she lugs her suitcase through the streets of Paris, unsure of where to go. She does some quick calculations and knows her remaining rupees are worth only about €200. She has put her cash and engagement ring into her money belt, vowing not to wear the ring again in this city and attract would-be thieves. She refuses to cry. Her tears lately have been reserved for Papa’s passing. She will not let those two horrible people elicit the same reaction as her beloved Papa. “Bhagwan will take care of those who are bad,” he would always say, and she remembers those words now as she stands at a busy intersection, waiting for the light to change so she can cross.
She has always believed these words. Lived her entire life according to them. Convinced herself that she always had to take the high road and never degrade herself to the lower levels of others. But now she wonders if that is true. If there is any justice in the world. If there were, surely Papa would not have been taken from her. Her mummy would not have left her. It’s hard to believe the universe has a plan when everything around her feels random.
She cannot believe that people from her home country would scam her the way that Saumil and Anjali had. She could never even think of doing such a thing to another person. They must have made her their mark straight from the airport, and she cannot believe she had been so gullible. Her desperation had clouded her judgment, but she cannot be the doe-eyed victim again. Before, she hadn’t been aware, but now she is, and she must start to take responsibility for herself. And she learned enough today about Nita that she needs to stay and discover the rest. They have already spent too much time apart and have a lifetime of stories to learn about each other. Nita owes her answers, and Sophie is determined to get them. Determined in a way she never was before. She convinces herself this is a simple equation, just like any other, and it is up to her to find the solution.
Sophie knows nothing of this city, and the only place she can think to go is the same place Nita had sought refuge when she first came to Paris. She knows the path this time and can get there quickly, which is good, given that her luggage is beginning to strain her arms after she’d hauled it behind her for thirty minutes.
Cecile is seated exactly as she had been earlier that day, her phone very close to her face. She smiles when Sophie enters.
“Did you find her already?” she asks. “How is our dear artist?”
Sophie shakes her head. “I’m afraid I was sidetracked. I came across some very bad people, and they took my money from me.”
Cecile rushes to Sophie and puts her hands on Sophie’s slumped shoulders to look at her carefully. “Are you hurt? Shall I call the police?”
Sophie shakes her head again. “It was my fault. I should not have trusted them. And I don’t know what I could tell the police that would be helpful. I probably don’t even know their real names.” Sophie takes a deep breath, and her eyes meet Cecile’s. She breaks from her Indian upbringing to never share problems outside of the home, and says, “Do you have a small room I can rent until I can figure out my finances? I have a little money left, but not much.”