The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(43)

Striding along the platform, she weighed the risks. The stairs looked a long way off, and quite steep. The distance was longer than before—this platform lay farther away from the new entrance. She set a three-minute timer on her phone, to start at a click. She needed proof to show Shetty, just in case: not that he would take it into account—it was her word against the client’s. Her stomach churned, same as her last assignment more than ten years ago.

Arnav has a right to know, a voice had chanted inside her, making her nausea worse. Right when she had thought she might vomit, the car had jerked to a halt.

“Talk.” Someone held a phone to her left ear.

“The client changed his mind,” Shetty had said, his voice deeper than usual.

“So I’ll go back?”

“No.” Shetty had paused. “They want you to decide on an offer.”

Tara hadn’t replied.

“They’re willing to pay a lot more. Five lakhs. Five lakhs, and you must obey all instructions.”

Obey all instructions. Zoya had warned her against any situation where she could not say no. Five lakhs. Double the amount she’d earned for all her night-work assignments combined. Almost enough for her to quit bar dancing. She’d rested her hand on her belly. She’d need to make up her mind soon, the doctor had warned, or it would be too late.

“Tara?”

“Too late,” Tara had blurted out.

“You will do it? Should I confirm?”

Five lakhs. Which meant Shetty would draw at least ten. Why would the jackal who ogled her from the dark agree to spend fifteen lakhs on her, a commonplace bar girl? He wouldn’t. She wanted the money, but not when she didn’t know the risks to herself and the new life growing within her. Her father may not have been a father, but her mother had striven to protect her.

“Can you hear me? Tara?”

“Yes,” Tara said. “I mean, no. Ask them to take me back.”

“Think it over. You may not get another chance like this one.”

“I want to go back.”

“Will it help if they raise the price? Six lakhs.”

Tara’s breath caught, and her nausea returned. Shetty had added a lakh. Like it meant nothing. If the jackal was indeed a policeman, as that cap seemed to show, he was worse than a Bhai. He could make her vanish and ensure no one ever looked for her.

“No,” she’d said, her voice firm. “Take me back.”

She had relaxed her fingers, her hands, her arms, like Zoya had taught her to do right before a difficult routine. She, Noyontara Mondal, would succeed where her mother had failed: she would make a new person who needn’t know lack, who wouldn’t be sold off, who could aim high without fear.

Calling up that old resolve, Tara touched her midsection once more. She’d left Mumbai for Pia’s sake, and she would do this for Pia, too, despite her fears. She added a deliberate spring in her step. This was an enactment in broad daylight—she refused to back away or reveal her terror. She would show him the finger and take his money. She had escaped earlier. She would do it again.

When the phone rang, she was ready. She let go of her shawl. Standing at the end of the platform, keeping her expression neutral, she did not let her body tremble. It was all very well to feign confidence, but she felt stripped. Exposed. She imagined that whiff of old wood and cinnamon, and steeled herself not to turn around. The jackal wouldn’t venture close.

After endless minutes, when the phone squealed a second time, she clicked the timer on, grabbed her shawl, and dashed off. She flew up the stairs, her fingers skimming the railing for balance so she wouldn’t crash on the high heels. Her years of dancing had not been without injuries. She collided with others in her mad gallop across the main bridge, and though her chest burned and her legs threatened to collapse, she pushed on.

She’d nearly cleared the outer stairs when she ended up darting two steps down instead of one. Her weight landed on her right ankle. A jolt of agony shot up when she righted herself, and each step made her bite back screams. She didn’t pause, but when she stumbled out of the station, the timer had gone beyond three minutes. The jackal had watched her fail. She would soon discover the consequences.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


TARA

A few final touches to her hair and makeup, and Tara was ready to go onstage. Her phone beeped, but she ignored it. Was that Shetty, doling out the consequences for missing the three-minute deadline? Or worse, the jackal himself, from an unknown number? In either case, her hands were tied—no one would believe her if she told them she’d done such a strange thing at a railway station, and if they did, they would point fingers at her greed. Other girls had disappeared after such assignments. Could she tell Arnav? No. Especially not him, because she didn’t need him digging around her life and finding out about Pia.

She made herself take a peek at her messages, and sagged when she saw the name. Arnav. In her relief, she forgot to hesitate, typing out a yes to seeing him once again that night.

\If yesterday was anything to go by, she’d finish by 2:00 a.m. Too late to call Zoya and Pia. After meeting Arnav, she’d been longing all day for her daughter’s voice. Arnav had taken her phone to key in his number—had he noticed the screen saver with Pia on it? He wouldn’t know who it was, but he might be curious. At the corridor behind the greenroom, she pulled up two chairs, sat on one, and put her feet up on the other. The ankle hadn’t been sprained during her adventure this afternoon, and icing it had helped. She must dance on elastic-bandaged feet, so she’d worn the ghaghra skirt lower.