I brushed off her suggestion. What I didn’t say was that I was thinking the same thing.

We ate in the main dining room on the ground floor. The fare was eclectic, certainly not haute cuisine, but I’d been subsisting on crumbs for a couple of days, so I dug in. First there was chili cheese toast, a kind of spicy toasted-cheese sandwich. That was good. Next came some soupy lasagna that tasted nothing like any lasagna I’d ever eaten. But it wasn’t bad. Then I had some Indian veg dishes that, though a little bland, filled me up. I topped it off with vanilla ice cream for dessert.

Janice was right at home in India. She knew her way around, spoke a good deal of the language, and had found herself a well-connected gentleman friend. Plus she was conversant about Hindi films and local politics. I, on the other hand, was the ugly American, expecting everyone to adapt to my needs. Well, not exactly, but I hadn’t really made an effort to embrace the Indians yet. If you didn’t count Sushmita. And maybe a Hindi film song or two on the radio.

An hour and a half later, we kissed Janice goodbye and thanked our host, Shirish, who’d signed the meal and drinks to his account. Janice squeezed my hand and whispered that I should make sure to win that wonderful girl. In the foyer, I borrowed an umbrella and told Sushmita I’d get the car while she waited inside, safe from the rain. I slipped the detached gearshift back into place and started the car. I had no intention of driving her Mercedes back to Cuffe Parade, even if it wasn’t far, but I could handle the right-hand drive long enough to fetch her at the door of Bombay Gym.

I pulled the car around and jumped out, umbrella at the ready, and scanned the porch for her. Where was she? I dashed through the rain, into the foyer, but still didn’t see her. The disapproving doorman directed me back inside the club. He seemed eager to see Sushmita and her jumpsuit leave the premises. There, about thirty feet away, I saw her. She was engaged in conversation with none other than Russ Harlan. What the hell? Was this guy following me?

“What did he want?” I asked as she shifted into gear and drove off.

“Who?”

I could barely conceal my annoyance. “Russ Harlan.”

“That bore? He tapped me on the shoulder while I was waiting for you.”

“What did he say?”

“Just that since he and I were friends now, maybe we should get together with Willy sometime.”

“He mentioned Willy? By name?”

She glanced at me as she drove. “No. He called him my boyfriend. I didn’t get the impression he was referring to you, my darling. But maybe he was.”

I coughed. “You should steer clear of him.”