Imaginary Men (10 page)

“I must find a wife for Dev.”

“Your younger brother?” The one Kali met in India.

He nods. “Our father passed away some time ago. He's therefore unable to approve the match.”

“You told me. I'm very sorry.”

“Now that Dev has come to America, it's more difficult to
find a good Indian wife. He's tried online matrimonial services. Such sites flourish on the Internet, he says, but thus far, nothing has worked.”

“I'm glad you came to me.” I bite my bottom lip. I wonder what he means by “a good Indian wife.”

He shifts in the chair. “How many marriages have you successfully arranged?”

“I'm not sure how many couples are still together, but Donna and I have introduced hundreds of singles—”

“How long have you been in this line of work?”

“A little over five years,” I say. “I helped Lakshmi, the owner, and she grew to trust me.”

His lips turn down in a
wow, impressive
expression. “What's your fee?”

Sounds as though he's hiring a hit man. “Varies, depending on whether you want a date for Dev or a marriage partner—”

“Marriage. No time for dates.”

“Do you think Dev believes he has time for dates?”

“That is of no consequence,” Raja says.

I take a deep breath, give him my fee. I expect him to spit and leave, but he doesn't blink.

“I'll pay twice your price.”

My mouth goes dry. I suppose princes have access to gold bars and diamonds and endless wads of cash. “That's a lot of money, Mr. Prasad.”

“I said, call me Raja.”

“Well, I—”

“The woman must be found immediately. The auspicious date for his wedding approaches in less than six months.”

Less than six months? I sit up straight. “I need to check my schedule.”
I need to talk to Kali. Now
.

“The woman must be perfect and loyal.”

My heart rate picks up. I think of fickle Kali, falling in love every three months, wearing form-fitting dresses with her cleavage spilling out. “No woman is perfect, Mr. Prasad.”

“We'll find one who is. Dev must be married.”

I tap the eraser end of the pencil on my desk. “Aren't you going about this backward? I mean, isn't the older son supposed to find a wife first?”

“I'm close to my own engagement.” His voice is flat, but the words smack me in the face.

The room swirls. “Engaged? Congratulations.”

“Nearly. I worry about Dev. A good wife will help him settle.”

Questions crowd into my mind. Raja Prasad nearly engaged? I want to ask about his fiancée, but I don't want to seem too interested. I'm not interested. He's handsome, but not my type.

“Women can't change men, Mr. Prasad.” I wonder if this young Dev is a player. I think of Kali, starry-eyed, longing for her
desi
Indian wedding.

His eyes twinkle. I'm amusing him. “So do we have a deal?”

“You came all the way from India to ask me to arrange a match for your brother. Couldn't you find a real Bengali matchmaker?”

“You are real.”

I glance at the postcards, at the wilting daisies on the bookshelf. I'm not real. My life has become surreal, a soap opera. “Shouldn't we check with your brother? Does he even want to get married?”

“That's irrelevant.”

I think of Raja Prasad as a Borg drone on
Star Trek
. He's assimilating me, cell by cell.
Resistance is futile
. “I'm sure it's relevant to
him
. And maybe he's already found someone.”

“He's not mentioned anyone.”

“Nobody at all?”

Raja shakes his head. “The woman must be young—”

Eighteen to twenty-fourish
, I jot down.

“—fair-skinned, traditional. She must speak many languages, preferably Bengali, Hindi, English, and Kannada—”

“Why Kannada?” That rules out Kali.

“Our mother speaks Kannada.”

“But isn't this about your brother and his wife? What if he meets the perfect woman for
him
, but she doesn't speak your mother's language?”

“Then the woman is not appropriate.”

I can't be attracted to Raja, because his attitude is going to make me throw up. “Okay, Kannada and—”

“She must be educated in the sciences and the arts, interested in world affairs, and she must cook well.”

“A real Renaissance woman, huh?” Two strikes against Kali.

“She must excel in domestic affairs.” Three strikes.

“Housecleaning? Don't you hire domestic help?”

He blinks, then regains his composure. “She must be willing to run the household.”

Superwoman
. “If she's educated in the arts and sciences, and she's this amazing scholar, how will she find time for cooking, cleaning, and taking care of a family?”

His lips tighten.

I write furiously, my handwriting messier by the minute.

“She must be capable of bearing children.”

“Aren't most women?” I look up at him, we lock gazes, and suddenly there's an embarrassing intimacy between us. I glance at the automatic writing on the page, my cheeks hot.

I feel him watching my hand move across the paper as I write. “And we do not want a woman who was previously married or who already has children. This creates complications.”

“Complications. Of course.” When I clobber him, he'll have real complications.

“Very well. I shall expect your results in two days.” He stands.

“Wait a minute. I haven't agreed to do this. What about what the woman wants? What do I tell her? You didn't fill out a questionnaire. What are Dev's interests, hobbies, his stats”

“He loves food, wine, reading, movies. Finishing his MBA, as I mentioned. He speaks five languages.”

“Impressive. What does he want to do after college?”

“He'll join the family business.”

“What if he doesn't want to?”

“That is not an issue.”

“Maybe he should come in with you next time. Then I can ask him a few questions.”

“Not necessary.” A veil of darkness crosses Raja's face. He's about to speak when Donna pops her head in the door. “Lina—” Then she sees Raja Prasad, and her mouth drops open. “Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“You aren't interrupting.” I shove my chair back, and it tips over. I'm on the floor. Raja stands quickly but gracefully. In two strides he's beside me, reaching out a hand to help me up. I smooth my hair. “I don't make a habit of falling over like that.”

“Perhaps the chair needs repair.” Raja gives a pleasant smile.

“Oh, right! The chair. Of course. It's old and decrepit.” My ears must be on fire.

Donna sidles in, watching Raja Prasad in awe. “Mrs. Mukerjee is coming today—”

“This is Raja Prasad,” I say. “Prince Raja Prasad. We met at my sister's wedding in Kolkata.”

Raja glances at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Whoops—I wasn't supposed to know he was a prince. Now he knows I've been inquiring about him. He probably pictures me giggling and gossiping with my girlfriends.

Donna shakes Raja's hand too long. “I'm really, really incredibly happy to meet you. You don't know how happy—”

“The pleasure is mine.” He's diplomatic to the molecule.

“Oh, wow.” She sways before withdrawing her hand.

Raja turns to me. “Dinner Friday evening. You can give me your decision then.”

Donna smiles widely.

“If you need to reach me for any reason, I'm staying at the Hilton,” Raja says.

“Fine … the Hilton.” I shuffle the papers around on my desk, and a couple of file folders slip onto the floor. Dinner?

“Seven o'clock? I have a car in the city. Where should I pick you up?” He strides to the door, waits for my answer.

In desperation, I search my mind for excuses.
I have a big date with the TV. I have to paint my toenails. Clean my windows
. I can't bring myself to tell him I have a fiancé. I would have to lie, and for some unfathomable reason, I can't lie to Raja Prasad. He's a walking truth serum.

“Seven o'clock will be fine,” I hear myself say, and then, to my horror, I give him my address.

After he leaves, Donna deflates in the chair and fans herself with a file. “Whoa, I can still smell his cologne, Lina. The man is hot.”

“He's not all
that
.” My heart is still racing. I feel as though I've just run a marathon.

“Oh, yes, he is.”

“He makes a lot of assumptions about people. It's infuriating.”

“Did you tell him about Mr. Phantom?” She nods toward the line of gifts and flowers on my shelves.

“It's none of his business. Besides, this isn't a date.”

“Think about why you didn't tell him, Lina.”

My cheeks heat up again. “I have no interest in Raja Prasad. He's practically engaged.”

“Then why did you agree to have dinner with him?”

“I told you. It's business. This is about his brother.”

“Yeah, right. If you don't want to go, I'll go. God, I'll go. What should I wear?”

“It's just business. He's traditional. He has no idea what an independent American woman is like.”

“You can show him.”

“Uh-uh. Not me. I may come up with a few prospects for his brother, and that's it.”

I have to talk to Kali.

K
ali drives me to Golden Gate Park for an emergency jog.

“Dev's brother wants to find him a suitable wife,” she shouts. “I could shoot them both in the pills!”

In the language of Austin Powers, she means a swift kick in the balls.

“So … you spoke to Dev again?”

“Once, for five minutes. He's still in India, returning to the States next week. It was a bad connection. If only he would meet me again, he'd know. We have chemistry, cross-mojonation.” She picks up the pace. Her banana-yellow
shorts and tank top leave no curve to the imagination. Her breasts jiggle with each step.

I'm sticking to a T-shirt and fleece jogging pants. “A cross-cultural relationship might not work out, especially because he's a prince. And who knows—he could be a chauvinist. You remember the guy I met at Durga's wedding?”

She nods.

I tell her more about my first meeting with Raja.

“You spoke to Dev's brother? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Raja's sexist. Dev probably is too.”

She waves an arm and turns left past the Japanese Tea Garden. “Dev's a good guy. His family runs two orphanages.”

I try not to show my shock. Orphanages? I remember the scruffy kitten, and I wonder what else I don't know about Raja Prasad. “Kali, have you told Dev about my engagement?”

She frowns. “It didn't come up. We didn't talk for long. I'm sorry, should I have told him?”

Okay, time to take a risk, go for broke. Kali must know the truth. She's my sister. I share everything with her. I have to come clean. As I talk, weight lifts from my shoulders.

She stops, her chest heaving, hands on her hips. “You made up everything? What about the call from Raja? His stuff all over your apartment?”

I tell her about Harry.

“But Lina, why did you lie?”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, and then I couldn't take it back. Everyone's so happy. Ma, Baba—”

“You're too much. Auntie Kiki's coming soon. What will you do?”

“I've been trying to find a suitable man.” I tell her about my disastrous dates. “Please don't tell Dev, or Raja Prasad. Until I figure this out. I do want to find someone, but—”

“They're bound to find out. What if your suitable man isn't named Raja?”

“I'll gracefully inform the family that I've broken off my engagement with Raja, and now I have a new fiancé.”

“What about Raja Prasad?” Kali asks. “Do you like him?”

My face heats. “We're from different worlds. He came to my office and asked me to find Dev a wife.”

“He
what ?
”

“He wants me to arrange the match.”

“Did you tell him about Dev and me?”

“You haven't even dated him. Besides, Kali, your relationships pass like tropical storms.”

“Whoa. Tell me what you really think.” She strides past me toward the parking lot. I run after her.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. If you really like this Dev, then you should meet him again.”

She stops at her red Toyota Corolla and jabs the key into the lock. “You'll be introducing him to other women.”

“Don't you think his brother ought to know about you? If
Dev really likes you? Raja says he wants a Renaissance woman who speaks five languages, but who'll have babies and stay home and care for the family.”

She yanks open the door. I run around to the passenger side and jump in before she drives off without me.

She rests her head on the steering wheel. “I wouldn't mind all that.”

I sit back. “All what?”

“Maybe I want kids. Dev says he might move back to India after his MBA. Maybe I want to live in India.”

“I didn't know—”

“I never did that well in school. I can barely speak two words in Bengali.”

I wrap my arms around her. “Neither can I. Look, maybe you don't speak five languages, but if you and Dev have cross-mojonation, then you ought to meet him again. Go for it.”

She straightens up. “Really?”

“What if I arrange the meeting? Between you and Dev Prasad? Then you could meet Raja as well.”

“Would you really do that?”

“Yes, I'll do it. If you two are meant to be together, then I'm fulfilling my obligation as a matchmaker.”

O
n Friday, the phone won't leave me alone. I send the calls to voice mail. I'm jumpy. By four o'clock, I'm a basket case. I've all but forgotten I need to find my own real fiancé.