Another bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating the thick clouds and loosing a window-rattling boom. Sushmita practically leapt into my arms, grabbing me around the waist. This time I was determined not to miss my chance.

“Let’s go into the other room,” I whispered in her ear.

She continued to hold me tight and seemed to give a curt nod. Was that her way of saying yes? Maybe I hadn’t been clear enough. What the hell did I mean by “the other room”?

She released me from her embrace and stared into my eyes. “No, Danny. Let’s go up to the penthouse instead.”

More lightning lit up the night and the side of her face. My patience wouldn’t last long enough to climb three flights of stairs, and forget about waiting for the lift. That sometimes took three or four minutes to arrive.

“We don’t need to go to Willy’s flat. We can stay here,” I said.

She pinched her lips together and drew a sharp breath through her nose. “Why do you say Willy’s flat?”

I didn’t understand. “It’s his place, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you think it might belong to both of us? Or to me?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Is … is it yours?”

She stepped away from the window and me. “Now you think to ask? A moment ago, you were happy to assume the worst about me.”

“No, really. I apologize. Please, don’t be angry.”

“It’s none of your business anyway,” she said, heading for the door.

“Sush, wait. Where are you going?”

“To Willy’s flat!”

I wondered how I’d managed it. How had I blown a sure thing? I thought about going after her, begging her to calm down and listen to my apology, but I sensed that would make matters worse. Sometimes you have to accept you’ve screwed up and leave it. Better to let the anger cool and try again another day.

I dragged myself into the “other room,” the bedroom, and tore off my clothes. Lying flat on my back, I gazed up at the clicking ceiling fan and cursed out loud. It wasn’t only that I hadn’t gotten laid. My frustration ran much deeper than that. I couldn’t stop thinking of her. I was fucking crazy about her.

MONDAY, JULY 7, 1975, 10:57 A.M.

With Vikky’s tea for my breakfast, I perused the news coming off the wire. In Pakistan, more than fifty people had been killed when their bus tumbled down a ravine. I couldn’t imagine the terror, given my acrophobia.

I thought I might propose a story on bus safety to Frank. Willy had told me trucks and buses sometimes took the hairpin turns in the Western Ghats too quickly and ended up plunging down the mountain. Maybe Frank would spring for the cost of a government tourist vehicle to take me there.