At The Plaza

 Yet another story with a female lead role. Just learning the trade. Do be honest with your comments.

It was unlike him to reserve a table at an expensive restaurant like ‘The Plaza’. Infact he had been acting strange for the past few weeks. Something was troubling him but he refused to say anything. Was this it? The end of the road. Was my panicking uncalled for? Something Shruti said last week kept ringing in my ears – “It’s only fun for them when we are elusive. The moment you give in, their interest ends. After a while we are nothing but a head ache.”

I got inside and caught him looking around uneasily. He was definitely troubled by something. I waved at him and conveyed the need to use the washroom, to which he nodded. The uber rich group that had seemed to be in a deep debate of things of national importance (like the colour of cousin’s wedding gown) did not appreciate my idiosyncrasy but thankfully did nothing more than put up a frown on their faces that needed another shot of Botox.

“What were you thinking?” I asked my reflection on the mirror at the washroom.
“Look at yourself.  Dark skinned, thin. 30 sized breasts. Of course he has lost all his interest in you! I would’ve done the same.”
“ Oh come on. You are one of India’s most popular TV journalists. Stop being a baby.”
“Unfortunately, size of breast and colour of skin matters more to people in our country.”
“It’s their loss then. Go and face him.”
“You are probably right. And maybe I’m just imagining things. Like my reflection talking to me.”
I removed the ‘eye shadow’ not wanting the trails of tears to leave a mark on my face.

“Hei big man! You got a promotion or something? The plaza?”
A half hearted smile accompanied by a faint moan which I believe meant NO. I wasn't in my senses anyway.

“So how are you Jen?”
Why did the ‘Jen’ sound so cold? Sidharth and mom were the only two persons in this planet who could call me Jen and keep me happy. It did not work today though.
“Sid what’s happening? What’s wrong with Raju’s Dhaba? I feel so alien inside this place!”
“Just wanted to make you feel comfortable”, he said as the waiter came in with the bowls of soup.
He had a habit of blinking a lot when he had something to say..
“What is it?”
“You stick to your promise first.  Eat and drink whatever I buy you when I take out.”
“I’m not feeling all that well.”
“Something bothering you?”
“Yes. You!”

He seemed bemused by my answer and turned his head away from me as if he was keener on conversing with the waiter who (strangely) had taken a particular interest in us.
“I want to end this”, he finally murmured.
I took a long breath. The whole room was going topsy turvy around me. Don’t faint Jennifer. Don’t give up. Be strong..
“Baby are you ok? Did I rush things?”
No  you sonnofabitch. I’m not ok. To expect something is totally different from actually experiencing it. A meager “why” was all I could come up with.

“It’s been three years now. I thought it was the right time. I’ve been harbouring this thought for some months now. I had to do it. And I assumed you would want it as well.”
“But I..” I was interrupted when “the waiter” placed a slice of good looking dish (Lord knows what it’s name was) on our table.
“It’s a decision I made after a lot of serious thinking honey.”
In my anger I dug the fork deep into the slice. Initially I thought it was the sound of fork hitting the ceramic but then I saw something glowing inside.
“Honey. I want you to help me end this bachelorhood. Think you can tolerate me for the rest of your life?”