At night Anand Geet sometimes didn't show up till Tate. I'd be enraged—not because I wanted to be with him, but because I knew he was on nine, having a great time at the party chez Neal and Eve.

Two weeks passed, and Eve was still in India, and baby Mahara was still in India, and I was still on the eleventh floor while the parties continued on nine. I hated Neal.

'Meet me?' he asked over the phone one day.

Furious at myself for being excited at the thought of seeing him, I then became furious at him as I sat on the steps a long, long time waiting for his appearance.

'Sorry I'm late,' he said, bursting through the stairwell door with a happy, bouncing face. I'd been waiting an hour and twenty minutes and could only growl in response. When he leaned over to kiss me, I didn't kiss back. 'What's the matter?' he said, laughing. 'Aren't you glad to see me?' I gave him a dirty look. 'I have news for you,' he continued. 'Want to hear it? Don't be mad at me.' He kneeled on the step below me. 'Want to hear the news? Yoo hoo. Hello, hello. Well, I'll tell you anyway. Eve's leaving tomorrow.'

And then, she was gone.

Neal and I moved in together.

But really, it was too late. I hated him too much by that time. Too much rage lurked beneath my moments of passion, and too much mistrust overlay whatever love was left. The morning after we moved, I noticed the chance during our room-service breakfast. As I waited for him to scoop mango jam from a plastic container, it hit me. I couldn't reach a positive feeling for him. I no longer smiled inside when I looked at him. I no longer wanted to touch his face or rub my toe across his foot. In fact, he turned me off.

I stared at him and concentrated on the feeling. What was it? Revulsion? No, not that strong. It was nothing. I felt nothing. Nothing, tinged with a bit of resentment. A bit of impatience. And yes, perhaps a dash of revulsion after all.

I loved it!

How absolutely wonderful! I felt so free. I revelled in no longer being in love with him. Great. Great.

'Don't touch me.' 'Leave me alone.' 'I don't love you anymore.'

I had a terrific time rejecting him. Neal didn't seem to take me seriously, though.

I counted the days till my scam would be ready and I could leave. I kept in contact with Aunt Sathe, and she awaited the signal to depart for Bermuda.

Anand Geet had moved to another hotel with the suitcases, and little by little I transferred clothes to his room and packed them. Soon, I was sure. I'd have a new supply of finances.

The day was at hand. I sent the confirming telegram to Aunt Sathe, told Neal I was going shopping, and checked into the Horizon Hotel near the airport. That night, Anand Geet delivered the cases. Everything was set to go down the next afternoon. I had the ticket—British Airways to London, trans Heathrow, on to Bermuda. I was leaving India, the heat, the monsoon, and Neal. Hallelujah.

The next morning, I searched for a beauty parlour to coif my hair into the straight look.

I couldn't find one!

Oh, shit!

All those hotels by the airport and no hairdresser? Not possible! I phoned everywhere. Nothing open, or at least nobody answered. What to do? I couldn't go with my straight, stringy hair. No matter what I wore, I'd look like a hippie. I HAD to find a beauty parlour. Hours went by as I waited for the bell captain to call me back with information. Nothing.

By the time I resigned myself to the fact I'd have to trek back into town to the salon at the Taj Mahal Hotel, I was thoroughly discouraged. I probably could have made the flight, but it no longer felt right.

I didn't go.

It was wrong. All wrong. I called Anand Geet. 'I didn't go.'

'What happened?'

'I couldn't find a hairdresser. Nothing went right. It wouldn't have worked.'

I thought I was deranged.

And so I returned to Neal.

After dropping the cases at Anand Geet's, I picked up the room key in the Lobby and entered our room.

'Well, hi cutie,' said Neal. 'Nice to see you again.'

I told him about the scam.

'You're crazy for going yourself,' he said. 'You should have sent a runner.' He didn't mention my walking out on him.

'But I trust myself better than anyone else,' I told him. 'Unless you act right and say the right thing to the Customs man, hell be suspicious. I know I can get through.'

'It's still taking a chance. We'll find someone to go instead. Where are the cases now?'

'At Geet's. I planned to try again next week.'

'No, you don't want to carry them yourself. There are plenty of people in need of money who can do that.'

'It’s MY scam!'

It was no longer my scam. It became OUR scam. Within a week Neal found us a runner named Lila and bought her a ticket. She was all set to go to Bermuda with MY cases, to meet MY aunt. I cabled Aunt Sathe about the change.

Now we just had to wait for Aunt Sathe's telegram.

'NO telegram,' I told Neal two days later, after returning from American Express.

'No? There should be something by now.'

When a week went by with no news, we became anxious.

After two weeks, depressed.

'Something must have happened.'

'Her telegram might be lost. You know how bad American Express mail.'

'Did you send your Aunt those cables?'

'Either Lila arrived or she didn't. We should have heard something either way. There has to be a message for us someplace.'

'There has to be, but there isn't. I hope nothing happened to Aunt Sathe.'

'Well, we can't do anything till we get an answer. Meanwhile, if the didn't go down, we can't afford Bombay. I think we should go back to Goa till we hear something.'

'We MUST receive some kind of news. They couldn't both have shed. And we know Aunt Sathe wouldn't run off with our cargo.'

We waited another week and then, reluctantly boarded one of the Bombay-Goa flights. Air India discontinued the service during the monsoon, and the rains began as we landed.

Hardly a soul remained in Anjuna. Only the failures who couldn't get themselves together stayed in during the monsoon. Everything in the house had been packed by maid and her father after I'd left, as per my instructions. The weather destroyed anything not protected. I dragged a couple of mattresses down where they'd been stacked atop the platform and laid out carpets for da« living room.

That night, Apolon told me his daughter couldn't clean every day as she had during the, season. During, the monsoon, the paddy fields needed the Goans to plant rice.

'The chai shop is closed,' he also told us. 'Now and then, maybe my wife will roast you a chicken, but you must cook for yourself otherwise.'

Cook? Us? We'd starve first. No, things wouldn't be easy. I hoped we'd hear from Aunt Sathe soon.

Neal and I climbed onto the pile of mattresses and snorted coke. CLICK, CLICK, SCRAPE, SQUEAK, SQUEAK.

'Oh, no,' I exclaimed. 'I just thought of something.'

'What?'

'The lamps. Without the maid, who'll fill the lamps? I don't even know where the kerosene is. And water. We'll need water.'

'And Coca-Cola.'

'I don't think I've ever drawn my own water from the well.'

'It's not hard.'