I would have argued his first impression wasn’t all that great either. But, upon consideration, I had to admit it had been stellar compared with what I’d witnessed since. Succumbing to his seemingly sincere pleas, I agreed to give him a fourth chance. At the door he wished me good night, shaking my hand as if priming a pump. He called the lift and, as he waited, he turned to ask me one last question.

“That pretty girl,” he said. “Sushmilla. She’s your girlfriend? Good for you. She’s a keeper.”

I sighed. “Sushmita. And I told you already she’s not my girlfriend.”

He looked surprised. “Sorry. So she has a boyfriend?”

I closed my door and bolted the lock. What an asshole.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SATURDAY, JULY 5, 1975, 5:14 A.M.

Something about Harlan’s stubborn desire to insult, aggravate, and pry got my goat. He’d ingratiate himself through apologies and humility, only to outdo himself with his next bigoted salvo or intrusive question. I hated the guy. What I couldn’t shake was the suspicion he was doing it on purpose.

I ran five miles, stewing about Harlan the whole time. If nothing else, I was working my way into top shape. Back at Sagar Darshan, I took my cold bucket bath and got ready for the office. Nothing to eat in the flat, so I was looking forward to one or two of Vikky’s sweet, milky teas. I was a twenty-six-year-old man who couldn’t seem to feed himself. That had to change or I’d starve. I needed to find a new servant and soon.

“Indians can either be the obstacles to your happiness or the means to achieve it.”

SATURDAY, JULY 5, 1975, 10:47 A.M.

The office was mostly empty; it was just Vikky, Onkar, Janice, the guard, and me. By noon, I’d finished a couple of stories that Onkar sliced up like Zorro on a rampage. He offered a sheepish look of apology. I filed the censored stories with New York anyway, thinking there goes my Pulitzer. Maybe I should have started on something new, but I wasn’t feeling it. And Onkar would have blocked it anyway. It was Saturday afternoon. For me, almost Sunday—my day off—and I would have killed to get an early start.

I hadn’t seen or heard from Sushmita since early Thursday morning after Ash Pethe’s dinner party. Was she free? And where was Willy? If he was back from Poona, that was the end of that. Me alone in my flat, with no food in the house. There was always the President Hotel across the road. Plenty to eat and drink there. But also Russ Harlan.

I wandered over to Janice’s desk. “Hello, Miss Spenser. What are you doing here on a Saturday? I thought you mirrored Frank’s hours.”