The lime soda was refreshing. Its tang and salt helped me regain my cool. Stop thinking of this as a date. Sushmita was fond of me, nothing more. A friend.

Emerging from the darkened corridor, she appeared like a vision, dressed in a sparkling deep blue-and-black sari. She was twisting the screw of an earring into place.

“Danny, be an angel and fasten me up?” she asked, presenting her back to me.

I leapt to my feet and obliged, buttoning the top three hooks of her blouse. I confess I took my time, pretending to fumble with the last one as I savored the closeness. Eventually, she fidgeted. Asked if I was finished. I closed the last hook and pronounced her beautiful.

“Finally,” she said, turning to face me as she draped the sari over her shoulder. “Poor Danny. No experience with blouses or brassieres, I see.”

We didn’t make it to Ash’s until 9:45. Sushmita drove us in Willy’s white Mercedes, a 280SE. One or two years old, but just about the nicest car I’d seen in Bombay. She parked it in the compound of Ash’s place, where a security guard and two loiterers eyed the big car with interest.

“Here,” she said to me, pulling the gearshift right out of its cradle and handing it to me. “Keep it in your pocket if it’s not too big.”

I chuckled. “But why?”

“To prevent theft. Willy’s idea. I always take the shift handle with me when I park the car.”

I apologized to our host, taking the blame for our tardiness. He brushed off my concerns and said we were among the early birds. Sushmita informed Ash in an indulgent tone of voice that I was new to Bombay and didn’t understand that a nine o’clock invitation meant ten. Or ten thirty.

Ash might have been exaggerating a bit about the early birds. There were seven other guests present when we were shown into the parlor, a large room with a bank of ten windows looking out on Marine Drive and the Arabian Sea. I suddenly felt my little place in Sagar Darshan wouldn’t do if I were to stay in Bombay for more than a year.

“Listen, Ash. I wanted to thank you again for your help with the scotch,” I said. “I have the money I owe you.”

“Rubbish,” he said. “Buy me a drink at the Taj sometime. By the way, how did it go?”

“Go?”

“Your big scoop. Did you get it?”

I frowned. “Actually, no. My flight was canceled the next morning. That was the day they declared the Emergency.”

He nodded and sipped his drink. “What’ll you have, Dan?” he asked. “Vat-69?”

I blushed.

“Just kidding,” he said. “How about Red Label?”

“This is a great place you’ve got,” I said once we were provisioned. “What does a workingman like me need to do to find digs like this?”