Tap Dance (Dance Series)

chapter Twenty Six



Ram was angry.

Ram was so angry that he felt the heat of his anger deep inside.

But he was still.

Still as if he was carved out of ice.

Peripherally, he was aware of the well-wishes and that Marianne had left the room.

But his eyes never left his father.

His, son of a bitch, Baba.

When he felt like he had a lock on both his body and his emotions, when he felt like he could move without physically throwing his father out the front door, he growled, "My room, now, Baba!" and left the table.

His long legs took him to the back of the house, his f*cking house, to his f*cking bedroom.

The room that now had his parent's suitcases in them.

Oh, hell, no!

He stood in the middle of the room, his back to the door, his hands on his hips as he waited for his father, his Baba, to join him. The English words for father, of the man that helped create him, didn't convey the fullness of the Hindu idea of what a father actually was in the Indian, Sub-Asian Culture.

He heard the door close and he turned around.

But his father wasn't by himself.

Oh, no.

He had dragged his uncle and both of Ram's brothers in with him.

Which Ram was certain was a play to control him.

F*ck, that!

When his father started speaking, it was in Hindi. A language that was much more emotional, much wordier, than English.

"As my son, you will respect both me and my wishes…"

"I want all of you out of my house immediately," Ram interrupted quietly in English, his voice very firm.

"Ramjet, you must respect your father who has given you and your family…" his uncle, Chacha Balaji, stated his two cents, again in Hindi.

"Can it, Uncle," Ram said firmly cutting off his uncle's diatribe. His uncle could speak for days, wearing his opponent down from the sheer volume of words.

Ram's eyes roamed over the other male relatives standing there in his bedroom.

It hurt to know they had schemed behind his back, without his knowledge but he would never reveal his pain to any of them.

He loved them, they were his family.

He was raised in America, with a white mother.

At times, that would only benefit them, they played the Hindu card.

Like now.

"I will say this only once more," Ram said, his eyes moving over his father, uncle and his brothers.

"Get out. Immediately. Please know you have not only worn out your welcome on this visit but all of the locks will be changed as soon as you leave. Do not EVER, f*cking, ever come here again without my knowledge, my consent or my direct invitation." His voice was the roughest of rough as his eyes raked each man in turn.

"You, Baba, will explain to the Mistry family that I have absolutely NO intention of marrying their daughter. None," he said, his voice like steel.

He switched to Hindi, so that everyone would know and understand going forward.

"I'm sorry to ask you to do this. And I know that you were only looking out for me. But, this is America, Baba. The land that you came to, found a wife that you have treasured for more than thirty years, and have loved and respected as a country. I have become my own man, Baba, much like you were at my age. But I absolutely and unequivocally reject the Mistry daughter as a wife."

Ram hung his head.

This was not a conversation any child wants to have with their parent, no matter what their age, culture or country of origin.

But, in his case, it was needed.

He half-turned, hands still on hip.

"Please go. All of you. Know that I love you, but also know that I will guard myself against you going forward," Ram said, his throat hurting as his emotions threatened to overcome him.

They left.

His brothers led his father out, who had aged another twenty years as Ram had spoke.

Cha Cha Balaji kept throwing damning glances Ram's way as they all left the room.

Ram couldn't give a f*ck.

His heart was destroyed.

By his father's nefarious actions, who thought he was doing the right thing, but killing Ram with his thoughtless and even more careless words, Ram's heart was shredded.

What kind of people were these that could barter their children with such ruthlessness?

Ram pulled his cellphone from his pocket to reach MG.

No answer.

He knew he would be lucky to speak to her alone, just the two of them, again in this lifetime.

Especially when he tried to put himself in her place.

Oh, God.

Ram recognized that, if their roles were reversed, he wouldn't answer his phone either.



*.*.*.*.*

He'd tried everything he knew to reach her but it was almost as if she never read her text messages or listened to her voicemails. It was as if she didn't even have her cell phone any longer.

Ram didn't know what to do.

He saw her in and about town over the next few days, but there was always something that precluded them from getting together.

He wanted her.

He needed to be with her.

His heart was hers, so every night they weren't together was an ache, a chasm between them that he didn't want.

That he couldn't cross.

That Ram didn't know how to…how he was gonna f*cking repair it. In his mind, it was almost irreparable, what she must have heard, spoken by his father.



*.*.*.*.*

Aaron, my long-suffering boss, pulled me into his office.

Wanted to have a word with me, he said.

That my work, during this time of year--our busiest time of year--was not good.

That I need to make a decision if I wanted to work for D & J or continue on being excused because I was the niece of the old boss--who was no longer the boss, but had known Aaron. But Aaron now directly reported to Jake and Dale.

He suggested if I couldn't get my act together, I should consider taking a leave of absence. Only with the thought of getting my life back on track, right?

You know how I read Aaron's talk with me?

Get your billing ass on board, girlie, or you'll be fired by Spring.

…and the horse he rode in on.

It was official.

My life was crap.

*.*.*.*.*

"Hello. My name is Agent Jeremy Grant and this is my partner, Agent Freeman. I'm here to meet with Chief Patel?"

Ram welcomed the Federal Agents into his office.

Agent Grant explained that he had been following the activities of the Milosevic family for many years and that Steve Quinlan's behavior in recent weeks had led him and his team to Grantham.

"We're still trying to find the connection that Steve Quinlan must have with your town."

"I'm sorry?"

"Steve Quinlan was the accountant to the Milosevic family in New Mexico. Then, he wasn't. He fell off the radar but when we finally pinpointed his movements, he had been showing up in Grantham."

A small smile, a thin lipped smile was given by Agent Grant to Police Chief Patel. It was not a gesture that recognized a co-worker on a level playing field.

But as a bureaucrat who was lording his job over the local law officials.

Ram thought if he didn't know better, his father would've found the perfect venue to extract his revenge via Agent Grant.

"We will, naturally, provide you and your men every resource that is available to us."

Agent Grant, popping his cuffs to some internal exact measurements smiled softly before saying, "Of course you will."