I still couldn’t believe that Trishala was calling me. But when my brain registered the fact that I was speaking to the once-anonymous Virgin Bride, all sorts of images exploded in my head. Images to go with all her blog posts I’d read; still faceless images but now with a voice.

Comma physically shook me and mouthed ‘What?’

I quickly scribbled ‘Excl. intview’ on the notepad. Comma’s eyes went round again and she nodded, ‘Yes’ rather emphatically.

‘Polly? Are you still there?’ Trishala asked over the phone.

‘Er, yes, sorry,’ I replied.

‘Good. While you’re considering, think about this as well—I want you to do the exclusive interview first for Tabloid—or any major newspaper or magazine that will pay for it. The highest bidder gets the first interview. After that, I will answer five exclusive questions for every other publication—you be my agent—I’ll split the money with you. We can figure out the exact share and all that later. Tell them I’ll answer anything—from my bra size to how I like my bananas,’ Trishala said.

My head was reeling—the logistics of what she was suggesting was going to be a nightmare to figure out. But I was more intrigued about something else.

‘Why don’t you do this yourself?’ I asked. ‘You can write.’

Comma slapped her forehead and scribbled on the notepad—Are you mad?

‘Why me?’ I asked.

‘Writing it myself will make it a biography—that’s a book deal, love—if at all I write a column for anyone, it will be double the price of an interview. I also don’t want to deal with too many people. I am not in the country—and calling people so they interview me or giving them my number is not something I wish to do. The best way to avoid both is to have you interview me and act as my agent,’ Trishala explained. She’d been expecting my questions.

‘As for choosing you, it’s mostly because you’re her friend. Ragini’s an ace bitch who’s been nasty to both of us. I know what happened between you two yesterday. Don’t worry about how I know, I just know. I want her to be absolutely, entirely lonely. I also feel strangely affectionate towards you—you’re like me, Polly, only you aren’t fucked up yet. So—interested?’ Trishala asked.

‘I don’t … No,’ I said, deciding on the spot.

Comma was doing her best to get my attention, throwing her hands in the air and furiously writing in the notepad. I refused to look at her.

‘You’re refusing. Why?’ Trishala asked, some of the assurance leaving her voice.

‘Mostly because it’s my choice and because Ragini is my friend and—’