Meena rattled off her address, and Sabina typed it in her phone.
“How are you settling in?” Sabina asked.
“I’m used to navigating new places,” Meena said. “It doesn’t take me long to get situated.”
“That’s a great skill.” Sabina stood and washed out her water glass. “I’ve traveled a bit myself, but I’m very susceptible to jet lag.”
“Some time zones are easier than others.”
“Oh, before I forget . . .” Sabina tapped a finger to her chin. “What about your utilities? I was surprised to not get any bills these last few months, and yet everything seems to be in order.”
“Yes,” Meena said. “It was taken care of by the attorneys until I was able to get here.”
“I see.”
Sabina’s eyes didn’t give anything away, but Meena could tell that she didn’t like not knowing what was happening. It would be easy to fill Sabina in on the terms, make her an ally of sorts. She held off. She wanted to know more. Not just about Neha but also about Sabina. Meena could tell when someone was angling for information, and Sabina wanted to know something. Meena wasn’t sure what that was.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The moaning was her cue. Meena fussed with her hair in the oval mirror next to the front door. The gilded frame added structure to the glass. The distressed sepia-toned console table under it matched in style.
She pursed her lips to set the pink gloss as another moan pealed out from the hall. It was alternately soft and loud. Meena blew away the loose hair that brushed her forehead. This was the best she’d been able to do. The pumpkin-colored beret she’d picked up at the local market tilted to the right, and with a slight shake of her head, it slid off. She gave up and gathered all her hair with the fingers on her casted hand and bound it in a hair tie with her right hand. It was messy, but in an acceptable way.
The moaning reached a crescendo.
“I feel you, robotic ghost,” Meena mumbled. She brushed on mascara, then rose on her toes to see as much of her black-clad reflection as possible. She looked like a beatnik from the sixties. She gave one more wistful glance at the beret, shrugged, and accepted that this was the best she could hope for tonight.
It was showtime. She slung her camera on her shoulder, grabbed the package of two hundred small paper cups (recycled), and headed out the door. She ran into Wally in the hall and went to her knees to give him rubs as he jumped around her. She was as excited to see him as he was to play with her.
“Hi!” Meena gave him scratches around his ears. “Oh, I know. I missed you too. It’s been a whole six hours since you ran into my apartment and chewed on the strap of my camera bag.”
His yips were getting deeper. He was growing up.
“What are you supposed to be?” Meena assessed the dog’s costume. He was wrapped in a light-gray blanket with his legs sticking out. A thick fabric cone was wrapped around his neck, and above his ear was a green ball stuck to the inside of the cone.
Wally tilted his head as if puzzled by her curiosity.
“Hey.”
She glanced up as Sam closed the door behind him. Meena caught her jaw before it fell. He was in a tuxedo, and his usually messy hair was slicked back. He was clean shaven and smelled like soap and musk. She wanted to rub under his chin instead of Wally’s. Meena stood back up. “Hi.”
“Mime without a face?” Sam asked.
Meena, confused by his question, tilted her head the same way Wally had.
“Your costume,” Sam said.
“A cat without a tail, ears, or whiskers.”
“When the aunties ask, say deconstructed mime, or you’ll be forced into one of their old outfits,” Sam advised. “You definitely do not want that.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Meena said. “Why so fancy, Sam?”
He picked up Wally, then held out his hand to her as if to shake. “Vora. Sam Vora.” His face was serious.
She frowned and shook his hand. It was warm, and she held on a second longer than she should have. “I don’t understand.”
“Double oh seven,” he said. “And Wally is my martini. Shaken, not stirred. One olive.”
“Ah, OK.”
“You do know what I’m talking about, right?”
“You’re James Bond,” Meena guessed.
“Exactly,” Sam said. “Not impressed?”
“Very fancy.”
“I know I’m not Daniel Craig.” Sam sighed. “But I think I can pull off Bond. Maybe if I tried for a British accent.”
Meena tapped her finger to her chin. “Let’s hear it.”
“Sounds a bit old-fashioned, doesn’t it?” Sam said in an exaggerated British accent. “I mean, pistols at dawn.”
“Oh no. No. Don’t do that.” Meena shook her head.
“It’s not that bad, but you have to admit, that’s a classic line,” Sam said. “The Man with the Golden Gun?”
Meena raised her eyebrows.
“What’s your favorite Bond movie?” Sam asked. “Please don’t say Die Another Day.”
“I haven’t seen any of them.” Meena laughed at Sam’s shocked face. “I’m not a movie person.”
His face fell, his shoulders drooped. “That is possibly the saddest thing you could say to me.” Wally barked. “My dog agrees.”
They both turned as they heard footfalls from above.
“Sam, Meena,” Tanvi called out. “Open the door, we’re ready.”
Meena silently asked Sam to translate.
“Let’s get outside.” Sam ushered her down the steps. “The aunties make an entrance, or in this case an exit.”
He clipped a leash to Wally and handed it to Meena. She followed him out to the front stoop and watched as Sam opened both sides of the front doors. It was the first time she’d seen the space’s full width. It made the building seem more welcoming. Meena took Wally down to the path. From where she stood, the Engineer’s House was warm yet mighty. The decorations, the lights, the smoke that mimicked fog, all of it gave the house an aura of grandness. She glanced around as the neighbors from other buildings came forward on the sidewalk.