One Indian Girl(29)

‘I have not tried. Was waiting for you.’

Debu picked up pita bread and had it with the hummus dip. I ate some salad. His hunger satiated after a few bites, Debu spoke again.

‘Anyway, how are you? Big day?’ he said.

I smiled. He continued, ‘Not telling me on the phone. Dinner out on a weekday. You do like your suspense.’

‘Nothing like that. I wanted to share it in person.’

He rubbed his hands together. ‘So, what is it?’

‘Jon called me this morning to his room. I told you about Jon, right? The partner.’

‘Yes.’

‘So he told me I had received good reviews from other people.’

‘See, I told you. You are a star.’

‘Well, it’s nice when a partner praises you.’

‘What’s the number, babe?’

‘I will tell you. . .’

‘I can’t wait anymore.’

‘My bonus for the year is. . .don’t tell anyone, okay?’

‘Whom will I tell?’

‘A hundred and fifty.’

‘A hundred and fifty what?’ he said, sounding confused.

‘150,000 dollars.’

‘150,000 dollars?’ he repeated my words.

‘Yeah.’

‘You mean total compensation? You get 120 already, so thirty more bonus?’

‘No. One-fifty is the bonus. Total comp is 270.’

Debu’s mouth fell open. It stayed like that for a few seconds before he spoke again, one deliberate word at a time.

‘You made 270,000 dollars last year?’ he said. His big eyes seemed even bigger.

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Holy fuck! These banks.’

‘Well, not everyone had this number. They told me it is one of the highest for associates of my level. I had a five rating.’

‘Nice,’ he said in a muted voice.

The waiter arrived to take Debu’s order. He opened the menu and took five minutes selecting his dish; probably figuring out which item offered the best value.

‘One lamb kebab and one falafel, please.’

The waiter left.

‘You okay with the order, baby? Wanted anything else?’ Debu said to me.

‘No. Though you seem more interested in the menu than listening to me.’

‘No, no. Anyway. You were saying?’

I smiled. ‘That I had the highest bonus among the associates.’

‘That’s nice, babe. I mean, I can’t even imagine that kind of money. You know, I barely reached an 80,000 compensation even after the promotion.’

Why does he have to tell me his salary now? I already know it.

‘You are doing very well too,’ I said. I regretted saying it the next instant.

Why did I have to add a reassuring and patronizing, ‘You are doing very well too’? As if telling a kid who is second in a race, ‘You ran well too.’

Thankfully, I don’t think he noticed. I continued, ‘There’s no doubt you are awesome at BBDO. You are one of their best.’

‘People are stupid in my company. You won’t believe what happened in this campaign.’

Okay, what just happened here? Why has it become about him? Isn’t this, like, my big moment?

The waiter arrived with a bottle of red wine. Debu looked at him, surprised.

‘I ordered Greek wine to celebrate my big bonus. A whole bottle!’ I signalled the waiter to pour us two glasses.

‘Cool,’ he said. ‘Nice.’

Cool. Nice. Will this guy ever move on from these words to say something more substantial?

The food arrived. His face lit up.

‘This lamb smells so good. Baby, you pick the best places. Really, nobody picks restaurants in New York like you do. This is so close to my office too. Will come here with my team.’

Mr Debashish Sen, I do other things besides pick restaurants. Like make a ton of money for a girl my age. Heck, I make a lot of money for anyone any age. I also got a top rating in my reviews. Can you at least praise me a little for it?

‘This is yum. Try the lamb. It’s so soft. Outstanding,’ Debu said, ten times more enthusiasm in his voice than the ‘nice’ he’d uttered for my bonus.

I served myself. I wondered why I didn’t feel ecstatic about my bonus anymore.

Why am I so keen for his praise? I have earned that bonus. Jon, one of the most senior partners at Goldman Sachs, has recognized my work. Still, I want Debu to also acknowledge it. Why? Why do we girls have this defect? Why do we need our men to praise and validate us in order for us to feel accomplished?

‘How is it? Lamb is so tender, no?’ he said.

‘It’s nice,’ I said. ‘Fuck you’ is what I wanted to say.

So even if it is a defect, even if I do need him to praise me, why can’t he? When he got a promotion I’d jumped up and down and thrown a surprise party for him. He can’t get past the tenderness of his lamb?

I kept silent and did not meet his eye. He had known me long enough—a year and a half, to be precise—to figure out I was upset.

‘I am proud of you, baby. So proud of you. You worked hard for it. I know it,’ he said.

‘That does feel nice to hear. Thanks,’ I said and squeezed his hand on the table.