After my bath, I splashed some Aqua Velva on my freshly shaven face. I’d understood it was to be a casual dinner. Still, I wanted to look my best, not for Ash Pethe, but for Sushmita. I wasn’t thinking beyond the dinner and drinks, but I figured you couldn’t score if you weren’t in the game.

Jesus, I had to make up my mind. Was I trying to get laid or not?

“It’s tonight?” asked Sushmita once Sandip had ushered me into the drawing room. He switched on the ceiling fan and was gone.

She was dressed in cotton pajama bottoms, white T-shirt, and chappals—sandals. Her jet-black hair was mussed, as if she’d just risen from a nap. Taking a seat quite close to me on the sofa, she scratched her head, then rested it on my shoulder. It was a hot, wet evening and the intimate gesture set me to sweating like a horse.

I wiped my brow, worried she’d be turned off by my perspiration. She didn’t seem to notice. I didn’t dare budge, for one thing, because I didn’t want her to move away from me, and for another, because I was scared. Scared of her, of what I might foolishly try to do, of what Sandip would think if he came back into the room.

“Do we have to go?” she asked in a feigned whine. “Let’s stay here and have drinks and dinner and to hell with Ash Pethe and his party.”

“Come on,” I said, wanting to call her “Sush” but not daring. If she was “Mita” to Willy, she could be “Sush” to me. “It would be impolite to stand him up after I accepted the invitation.”

We sat in silence for a minute after that, until she finally raised her head and pouted at me. Then she smiled and laughed.

“Okay, I’ll go. But you owe me, Danny. And you smell nice. What’s that aftershave you’re wearing?”

I must have blushed scarlet. Aqua Velva, for God’s sake …

She disappeared down the corridor to her room to get ready. We were going to be quite late for Ash’s dinner, but I wasn’t about to barge in on her bath to tell her to make it quick.

Sandip brought me a fresh lime soda with salt. I hadn’t asked for it, but he pointed down the hall and said, “From Didi, Danny sahib.”

I had to smile. Didi was a term of respect for an older woman. Like sister. Familiar yet respectful. And this skinny kid had found his name for me. I was “Danny sahib.” He must have got it from Didi, from Sush, and that gave me the warmest of feelings a red-blooded young man can have.