She looked up at him. “To follow your next pipe dream, you mean.”

But Murthy wasn’t looking at her. “What the… what is this gang doing here?”

Sukanya resisted the urge to turn around. She only hoped it wasn’t anyone that Murthy owed money to. That was the reason she had left Bangalore. Running into people who had lent money to Murthy had become unnerving for her. When she began to worry about Nalini’s safety, she took the next train to Madras and left Murthy in Bangalore with only his dreams.     

“My, my, look at these two love-birds,” came a booming voice. Sivarajan’s voice. Sukanya closed her eyes in momentary relief. She opened them to find their close friends at the table - three couples who had been part of their circle until Murthy rocked her boat and cast her into sea alone.

“Just waiting for a client for dinner,” Murthy said.

“With your dear wife all dressed to the T? Who are you trying to fool?” Sivarajan asked. “This is a rare occasion, indeed. It is easier to get a darshan of Lord Venkatachalapathi in Tirupati than see Murthy and Sukanya together. Why don’t we join you?”

Murthy and Sukanya watched in bewilderment as Sivarajan took over the evening from them in one fell swoop. Tables were rearranged, protests of “Mr.Richardson” were brushed away. “It’s past eight. If he was coming he would’ve been here by 7:30,” Sivarajan said.

“How do you know we were meeting him at 7:30?” Murthy asked.

Someone leaned over the back of Murthy’s chair and covered his eyes. The fingers were cool and soft and smelled faintly of cigarettes. A feminine voice whispered in his ear: “Neeta. It’s Parineeta. My folks are originally from Calcutta, but I’ve lived forever in Chicago. But call me Neeta, it’s not such a tongue twister.”

Murthy pried the fingers away from his eyes and looked around. Sivarajan’s twenty-year-old niece was grinning at him. “Call center training, uncle. Good accent training they give us. Enjoy your dinner,” she said and walked out of the restaurant. Murthy’s eyes followed her in puzzlement until she disappeared from view. Conned by a chit of a girl he had tutored in math for her high school exams! Murthy turned to the table to find his other two friends counting money from a wad of notes.

“Five hundred, six, seven, eight, nine, one thousand. Here you go, Siva, you win the bet,” said one. 

“Damn you, Siva, don’t you have enough money already? Eight, nine, one thousand — take it you scoundrel,” said the other.

“What about me?” asked Malathi, Sivarajan’s wife. “I said Sukanya would come. It’s one way of spending her wedding anniversary with Murthy.”

In the shuffle of rearranging tables, Murthy found himself seated next to Sukanya. He looked at her. “It’s our wedding anniversary?”

She didn’t answer him. Her confused gaze darted around the table. Her eyes paused to take in Malathi collecting five hundred rupees each from the other two wives for her part in the bet. “So, there is no Mr. Richardson?” she asked.

“I’m sure there is,” Sivarajan said. “But he just isn’t here today. Don’t worry, when he really contacts your husband, I’m sure Murthy will cinch the deal.”