Ayesha At Last(93)

Still Farzana said nothing.

Khalid followed her to her room. His mother reached for something at the back of her closet, standing on tiptoe to remove a heavy silver picture frame from the top shelf before she took a seat on the bed. Khalid recognized himself and his sister in the picture.

Zareena was nine years old in the photo, a laughing, happy girl, her hair in two long braids, dressed in a bright-pink frock that appeared hand-stitched. Khalid was five years old, solemn and frowning at the camera, holding a red toy car tightly in his hand.

“I was afraid of the shame, afraid of what others would think,” she said quietly. “I don’t know how else to be. Now I am ruined.”

Khalid took a deep breath. He wanted to ask her if Video-Tarek was telling the truth. Had she really arranged his marriage to Hafsa, knowing that he wanted to marry Ayesha? But when he opened his mouth, he said, “I’m moving out.”

Farzana nodded, her face frozen and expressionless. “Nani Laik was right: I have lost everything.”

IT was Hafsa’s turn to cry on the family room couch. “He told me he loved me!” she sobbed. “We were getting married. I was organizing the wedding and you were all invited.”

“Hafsa, why didn’t you call us?” Samira Aunty asked, stroking her daughter’s hair.

Hafsa sat up, lower lip trembling. A week in hiding with her lover had left her unchanged. “I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said. “Tarek thought it would be such good fun. No one has ever done a surprise wedding before. It might have become a thing. We were going to film it, like a commercial for my business!” She burst into tears again and her sisters crowded around, comforting her and offering tissues.

Ayesha left the family commiserating with Hafsa and headed to the front door. She took a seat on the marble porch steps. Idris found her there a few minutes later and they sat in silence, breathing in the fresh air of spring.

“I can’t believe Tarek got away with everything,” Ayesha said.

“He’ll get what’s coming to him,” Idris said.

“You mean in the afterlife?”

Idris shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure Hafs was all right. Tell Mom I’ll be back late.”

“Where are you going?”

Idris shrugged again. “Some things can’t wait for the afterlife.”

KHALID was sipping his double-double when Amir and Idris slouched into the Tim Hortons. He waved them over. Amir sidled into the plastic booth and gave Khalid a side-hug. “I got the info on Mr. Shady. He tried to use a proxy address, but when I contacted the web hosting company and explained he didn’t have the models’ permission to post those pictures, they told me what I wanted to know. They don’t want any trouble with the law.”

Idris slouched low in his seat. “I’ve been digging through his business. Tarek was pulling in some serious cash with his ethnic porn. He launched Unveiled Hotties a few years ago, and it’s popular. The Hafsa pics are still up, but only the ones where she’s clothed. He wants a bidding war for the other ones.” Idris’ tone was flat, but his eyes flashed with anger.

“Have you come up with the interface and nag screen?” Khalid asked and Idris nodded.

They went over the plan once more as they finished their coffee and donuts.

Amir pulled Khalid aside at the door. “Clara wants to talk to you about your job,” he said. “She’s got some ideas about how to use the video footage.”

Khalid was surprised. “Clara wants to help?”

“It was her idea. When I told her what really happened, she felt awful. The Shark is cold, man. She’s got to be put down.”

Khalid shook his head. “I just want to move forward and forget about Livetech.”

“If you don’t stop Sheila, she’ll do the same thing to the next socially awkward religious nut who tries to get a job there,” Amir said.

Khalid smiled. “Who are you calling socially awkward?”

Amir returned Khalid’s smile, then gave his friend a long, considering look, one that took in his wrinkled white robe, crumpled track pants and full beard. “No offence, Khalid, but if you walk into Livetech dressed like that, they’ll probably call CSIS.”

“What do you suggest?”

Amir clapped Khalid on the shoulder. “Brother, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to say this: You need a makeover. Right after Operation Vengeance.”





Chapter Forty-Two

Tarek sat in his apartment, wearing grey boxer shorts and a ratty white T-shirt, enjoying the silence. Hafsa was finally gone, but the pictures he’d taken of her had generated a lot of interest on his website. Life was good.

His new idea, inspired by Hafsa, was a stroke of genius: Get local Muslim women to take their clothes off for money in front of the camera. Or at least, women posing as local Muslims. A sort of “Girls Gone Wild,” except with frolicking, veiled women. It would add to his current product line of exotic girls from around the world. He would be rich!

Tarek had never thought he would make his mark peddling porn, but the Islamic conference scene was turning out to be a complicated front. He should just stick to porn, which was a comfortable, discreet way to make money. He made a mental note to send Hafsa a gift basket for her contribution to his empire.

His phone pinged. It was an email notification, sent to his private account.