She heard the chastisement in his voice and flushed. But her anger rose again. “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated, I guess. I mean, she should’ve backed out yesterday. It’s going to be hard to find another translator on such short notice. What if the verdict comes—”
“There’s no need for that.”
“Yes, there is. I know Hindi, but I’m not fluent and I don’t particularly want to drive myself to Birwad,” Smita said, her voice rising. Another guest, a woman who was speaking on her phone, brushed up against her, not paying attention, and Smita glared at her. “Excuse me,” she hissed, and the woman glanced back, startled.
“Smita,” Mohan said, “I’m your new driver. And translator.”
“What? No way. I’m sorry, but no.”
Smita saw the hurt look that rippled across Mohan’s face. She opened her mouth to explain, but he raised his left hand to stop her, fishing his phone out of his pocket with his right. He dialed a number. “Here you go,” he said. She heard the note of impatience in his voice. “Talk to Shannon.” He walked away before she could react.
“Hello? Mohan?” Shannon’s voice was weak, groggy.
“It’s me,” Smita said quietly. “I’m sorry to trouble you.”
“Smits. I apologize for all this.” Shannon lowered her voice. “Nandini just stepped out to get me some ice water, so I’ll talk fast, okay? Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” Smita said. Already, it was beginning to feel as if the trip to Birwad with Mohan was yet another thing she had no control over.
Shannon sighed. “Great. Listen, between you and me, I’d rather have Mohan here and Nandini with you. But what can I do? Nan has been hysterical since you left yesterday, and I just don’t have the energy to deal with her theatrics. Also, she was up with me almost all night long. To be honest with you, I’d be afraid to let her drive in this state.”
“Mohan said you have a fever?”
“I’m fine,” Shannon said. “But here’s the thing—it’s actually better that you travel with a guy on this assignment. This is a very traditional area you’re going to, and they’ll respect you more if you’re with a man.”
Smita scoffed, “You travel with Nandini.”
“That’s different. I’m this big, white American broad. Men like Meena’s brothers don’t even see me as a woman. They’re a little afraid of me. You know what I mean?”
“Not really.”
“Hang on.” Smita could hear Nandini’s voice in the background, heard Shannon mutter, “Thank you,” and then let out a sharp “Fuck!”
“I’m back,” Shannon said. Her voice was hoarse, and Smita surmised that her pain level had shot up again. “Can I ask?” Shannon continued. “What’s the big deal about going with Mohan? He knows the area better than . . .”
Even though Mohan had wandered a good distance away, Smita whispered into the phone. “I hardly know him,” she said.
“Oh, come off it, Smits,” Shannon snapped. “Like you know most of the minders you travel with when you get to a new country?”
“That’s true, but . . .”
“Okay then,” Shannon said. “I guess we’re good?” She sounded as if the matter were settled. “Smits? Are we good?”
“We’re good.” Even as she said it, Smita marveled at how skillfully Shannon had played her. “Okay, I’ll see you soon. You keep getting better.”
“Thanks, love. Stay in touch. And remember, I owe you big.”
Smita looked in the rearview mirror as Mohan pulled out his wallet and handed a few bills to the elderly doorman who had insisted on placing her suitcase in the trunk. She had waved him off when he’d hurried up to them, but Mohan had shot her a disapproving look and asked her to get in the car. As he got in the driver’s seat and began to back up the car, she said, “It was just one bag. We could’ve handled it.”
He clucked at her. “Eh, what to do? He’s almost my father’s age and probably needs the tips. I didn’t want to insult him.”
She nodded, chastised by his generosity. “And you?” she asked. “Have you already packed, or do we need to . . .”
“Yes. My bag is in the trunk, also.” He fiddled with the air-conditioning dial. “I’m just glad that girl had the sense to call me before I had left home this morning.”