FOR THE PAST YEAR, RANJANA had worked as one of two receptionists in the office of a proctologist. Technically, the term was “colorectal surgeon,” but nobody seemed to say this. The doctor, being from north India, had a very common last name for that part of the country, but Ranjana wondered why, oh, why he couldn’t have opted for the less offensive spelling of Bhatt. True, the spelling that he had chosen was closer to the actual Indian pronunciation, but how had he come to this country knowing what his profession would be and still chosen to spell it Butt?
Dr. Butt was a slight, easily excitable man with a head of tight curls and almost no chin. He had the type of nasally whine that seemed to strike Indian men who adopted the timbre of their own mother’s voice. He bore a striking resemblance to the title character of Fantastic Mr. Fox, one of the first books that Ranjana had ever purchased for Prashant. She hadn’t noticed this until one day when her car was in the shop and Prashant had come to pick her up. Prashant had pointed out the resemblance right away, and it was something that Ranjana always remembered fondly—a time when she and her son had burst out in laughter together.
Ranjana had found the job through Seema, who had seen it posted in the lobby of her yoga studio. It wasn’t financial necessity that had spurred Ranjana to pursue the opportunity. The truth was that she was bored and wanted something to occupy her, especially as Prashant’s college years approached. At first, Ranjana applied for the job secretly, without telling Mohan; she knew that he didn’t want his wife working, even if they needed the extra money. He was of the firm belief that a working wife indicated weakness and financial instability on the part of her husband, even if that wife were a neurosurgeon like their friend Sateja Datta.
“Poor Raneshwar,” Mohan said one evening while slurping his tea. “It is so humiliating that Sateja has to work all of those hours. And she missed Avnish’s Ganesh puja the other night—humiliating.” Avnish Doshi was one of Mohan’s tennis buddies, and Ranjana was friendly with his wife, Manjeet.
“Sateja was operating on an eleven-year-old’s brain,” Ranjana said. “And she was successful.” Ranjana didn’t mention how it had technically been Manjeet’s Ganesh puja, not Avnish’s, since Manjeet had done all of the work.
“And what of her own children? They spent Ganesh puja without their ma. What about their brains?”
For her interview with Dr. Butt, Ranjana spoke for about five minutes with the other receptionist, Cheryl, who asked whether Ranjana had ever stolen from an employer. Then Dr. Butt gave a short head nod to indicate that she would suffice.
Afterward, Ranjana found herself flipping roti on the stove and wondering how to tell Mohan about her new job. In the adjoining sitting room, Mohan was eating from a TV tray and watching Wimbledon on their flatscreen. Then Ranjana remembered: Dr. Butt had a gold membership to the racquet club. Gold members could bring a friend to the club whenever they wanted to, free of charge. Only a handful of the Indians, even the wealthier ones, held this distinction, and Mohan would be very interested in joining Dr. Butt’s ranks.
“I have some very good news for you, ji,” Ranjana said.
Mohan didn’t say anything but looked up. Ranjana had made idli sambar, and Mohan’s fingertips were stained brownish green. An uneaten idli rested in his right hand.
“I have been offered a receptionist position in Suneel Butt’s office.”
Mohan had the ability to turn his entire face into a frown. His bushy eyebrows furrowed, threatening to eclipse his eyes. His cheeks dropped; even his nose seemed to elongate. It was some cruel trick of nature that he looked handsomer like this, a thinness restored to his face from years ago.
“Why were you offered this?” he asked.
“Because I applied for it. Seema’s friend recommended me.”
Already he was sputtering. The idli fell back onto his stainless steel plate. He did not care for Seema, obviously. She was too wanton for him, and the only reason why he hadn’t threatened to put an end to Ranjana’s friendship with her was because he was too lazy. “I do not care what Seema—”
He stopped. Oh, how simple it was to see his face contort into revelation. Ranjana could see the exact workings of his mind: he was making the connection between Seema and Dr. Butt, then making the connection between Dr. Butt and the racket club, then making the connection between the racket club and himself. “Hm. Well.”
“And you know this will help with the expenses for Prashant’s books,” Ranjana said. “The cost for this semester alone was eight hundred dollars. We cannot ignore that.” She sighed. She saw that she was going to have to broach the tennis subject directly, to solidify it in his mind. “And you know what? Dr. Butt has a gold membership to the club. I am sure he would welcome the opportunity to treat his receptionist’s husband to a match or two from time to time.”
The frown was back, the nose stretching. Ranjana understood the inner tennis match of her husband’s mind: on the north end of the court, Allowing His Wife to Work and Therefore Signaling Financial Distress to Their Friends; on the south end of the court, Mohan Chaudhury, Suited and Booted, a Truly Golden Boy in the Club. Would his nose keep stretching, a toucan husband? Or would it retract?
“How many hours would you be working?” he asked, his nose shrinking.
*
Cheryl, Ranjana’s coworker, was not very organized. She was a sweet woman, a fact reinforced by how well stocked she kept the candy dish, but she was also that rare, most dangerous thing: a receptionist with a faulty sense of alphabetical order. J, K, L, and M were particularly perilous, and she could never figure out if Mc- preceded Mac. Her disposition was perfect for the job (in a proctologist’s office, it was especially necessary to put patients at ease), but even though Cheryl was always ready with a comforting or amusing comment, she made innumerable mistakes that Ranjana always had to correct.
At first, Ranjana wondered why Dr. Butt had even hired Cheryl in the first place. Ranjana found out during lunch one day.