*originals*
It was 9:30 pm PDT when we walked into the shoe shop in Planet Hollywood. We'd, I with my parents, walked a long distance from our hotel on the famous and infamous strip of Las Vegas showcasing its grandiose hotels and casinos. The whole path, with its untiring entertainers - Batman, Superman, Hulk, bikini-clad babes, made up statues, guitarists, drummers, pranksters and so much more - teamed up with the sheer magnanimity of the lightning and ad boards and fountains and cafes and showrooms, made up for a walk we can never forget, neither want to. We were oblivious to how sinisterly Las Vegas had soaked us in and all we wanted to do was keep walking. Until sense surfaced prevalence and we remembered we were to leave for The Grand Canyon the next morning at five.
Maa needed shoes so we decided to step into this humble shoe gallery inside Planet Hollywood before grabbing food. One healthy, black girl in her mid-twenties sat behind the counter and a younger blonde stood by her side. Both of them looked up when we entered. "Ha'ya guys doin' t'day?" shouted the black girl from the counter while the white strode confidently towards us and smiled. She had long, straight, golden hair that went so well with her unequivocal face. We all smiled back and my parents got down to business with her.
The girl had a really cute way of leaving each sentence she spoke with a linger in the end. I had to be following the conversation closely considering I could be of help for any accent problems my parents might face. When she directed a question at my father, he looked at me questioningly, and so did she, I noticed. "Aapko kuchh chahiye? She's asking if you need anything," I said in my heavy voice and my father looked at her and said, "No, thank you" in his, to which the blonde smiled and then looked at me. And smiled wider, for reasons unknown, and said, "How about you, sir?" I replied in the negative and moved the other direction of the shop, fiddling with my mobile phone.
To be fair, it's status quo was all of a camera, and all I was doing was checking out on the pictures I'd clicked. When I looked back over my shoulder after five minutes to where my parents were, I noticed that even Dad had indulged himself in shoes and the girl was heading towards what looked like the store room of the shop to get something.
Bored, I got up and pointed the camera to the mirror in front of me and feasted upon some intense looks on my screen. In the same mirror, right behind me, with two shoe boxes in her hand, stood the white girl, two inches short of me, beaming and looking extremely edible. Especially so, considering the amount of hunger that rung my bells then. "You look good," she teasingly said and puzzled, I looked back at her, "Huh?"
"India, right?"
"Yeah," I replied, "The United States of America, right?"
She scoffed. "Yes. Jessica's the name." And she thrust her hand forward. I wondered how I hadn't noticed when she kept the boxes aside.
I shook her hand, "Hi Jessica," and I looked left, "and..uh..thanks," spoke my afterthought as I looked the side of my parents where the black lady now kept them busy.
Her shining face, relentlessly smiling, brought me back to her even as she struggled to keep the conversation going, "So? You wanna go out or something?" That was pretty direct, this girl was a shocker. And I don't mean a shock-absorber but somebody who gave me recurrent shocks. Speaking of shocks, I turned my wrist and looked at my G-Shock watch. It was close to ten now.
Pretentiously thoughtfully, I said, "I don't think so, really, gonna leave for Grand Canyon early tomorrow. Plus, my parents are along, you know."
For a moment I thought she made a sad face, but the very next moment she was smiling again as her blissfully pink lips pronounced something I forgot to pay attention to. She, probably, was commenting on how wonderful the Grand Canyon was. By the time I regained my sense of comprehension, I only heard her say, "The shop is open till 11:30 anyway, in case you happen to change your mind."
I forced my line of sight off her lips and into her eyes and I spoke, "Sure, yeah. I'll keep that in mind." "Nice to meet you," she said while picking up the boxes and moving backwards. I carboned her statement adding a 'too' of my own as I turned back to the mirror wondering what was it about me that attracted this stranger.
I was wearing a check deep-blue shirt with two upper buttons open and sleeves folded up to the elbows with a light blue pair of jeans and likewise blue, sleek sneakers. My face was small, my body was thin barring my broad shoulders and my hair sported a crew cut. I thought I looked okay and the most likeable part about me must've been my shoes, maybe my watch. Having checked my whole profile out myself, I realised I hadn't gone beyond her face either.
Within the very scape of the mirror, I saw her wearing a peach, sleeveless crop top that really complimented her fair colour teamed with light blue denim shorts that matched the colour of my jeans. Thin, she was as much as I, and her top really outlined her figure well for me. Like my shirt must have - for her. She was beautiful.
We left the shop at ten past ten after my parents had bought three pairs of shoes for themselves and we exchanged those customary smiles - me and her - as I turned to leave. It was eleven fifteen by the time we had had a quick meal and were on the last hundred-meter stretch that would lead us to The Mirage. No metaphor here, that was the name of our hotel.
Thoughts of her hadn't left me for a minute since. My mind kept pestering me that it was only going to take a half-hour to walk back to Planet Hollywood and that I could still make it in time if I ran a little. This was the only chance I had to make my Vegas trip worth it. She would be waiting, said my mind to me and "Can I go for a walk? I'm not so sleepy," said I to my parents. We stopped in our path and my parents looked bewildered at my statement. Even before my mother could throw properly at me her questioning look, I began, "The Mirage is at the centre of the strip. We're here for a very little time and we've seen only one side of the strip, which bothers me because tomorrow, as such, we'll be tired from the Canyon and there'll be no time after that. And my thirst will remain unquenched - for seeing the other side of the strip, I mean." The whole of my statement was a lie. When we had landed the previous night, I had been allowed to go for a walk alone and the other side of the strip was what I had seen. I had come back only by 2 am and my parents knew that was the tentative time they were looking at for that night too. They looked at each other and then they looked at me. Finally, "Don't be too long," said mom and added, "The bus to the Grand Canyon leaves at five."
I smiled. "I know, I won't." How much more coolness can you expect out of your parents? I walked till prudence said my parents could see me and started to run once out of their line of sight. One good thing about the sin-city so far had been that nobody cared, no matter what you were up to, what you wore or whatever. But a seventeen-year-old foreigner, running like mad, trying to make his way through the thick crowd still appeared a sight to behold and I felt piercing stares all over my body. All over, yes. Nevertheless, I stopped running only once I reached the entrance of the hotel. Then I started walking, brisk, taking deeper breaths to regulate them. My watch said it was 11:40 pm to my grief and I could only hope she would still be there. Most of the other shops had shut down - in the manner that the lights had not been turned off, only the glass doors had been locked and you could still look into the desolated shops through them if you so pleased. I hoped I would not have to do that and that she would still be there.
When I reached the shop, there was nobody inside. I moved in closer and attempted looking behind the apparent pillar at the centre of the shop - just in case, but soon disappointment poured and I took a step back. And then she rose up with a jerk, pulling her top down, her back towards me. I looked down from where she had risen and realised she had been fastening the lock which happened to be at the bottom of the door. I also noticed that she wore pinkish bellies, matching, vaguely, her top, still pointing the shop; and that they soon turned to confront my feet. I looked up at her face. It instantaneously lit up.
"Hi Jessica, again." I smiled.
"Hi Mr. Indian. My name is Jessica Mathews, not Jessica Again," she laughed, "and friends call me Jess."
"Oh!" I said, "Do I qualify already?"
She laughed again, charmed, "You can call me Jess." Her voice was a chime. "So finally changed your mind, eh, Mr. Indian?"
"I guess."
"Do you want me to continue calling you Mr. Indian, or do you possess a name?"
Even though I didn't mind her continuing to call me that, I told her, "My name is Sahej."
"That's such a unique name!" She exclaimed.
"Yeah I'm sure no one in America names their kids that," I commented and she showed me all her teeth. "So are we going to stand here all night and guard the uber-precious shoes?"
She laughed again before she spoke. "Where do you want to go?"
"What if you come to India, to my city?" I snapped promptly. "Won't I be responsible for the event managing part?"
"Okay I get it, come let's start walking." And we did, start walking, towards the hotel exit. Once out, we started walking further ahead on the strip, away from Hollywood, away from The Mirage, metaphorically yet not. The pimps of the city were bountifully active at this time in their gaudy yellow, green and red t-shirts all with the slogan 'Direct to your room,' distributing trump size cards featuring near-nude girls and the numbers of the agencies. Of course I'd been a recipient to a few but only when I was alone, the previous night.
Jess and I got talking after few moments of silent, observant walking. I told her I was from Punjab, in the north of India and that this was my first visit to Vegas, the US too. She told me she was from Indiana, midwest America, here for work. I told her about my visit to Mexico before this, about how fascinating and dreamlike it had been; and I told her how I found Vegas even more fascinating and dreamlike. She laughed.
We passed the Harley Davidson Café which had this giant Harley Davidson motorbike tearing out of the façade; we passed the M&M's world and post the MGM Grand, we turned left just when she stopped, turned to look at me and said, "Hey! I hope you know the rules."
"What rules?"
"What happens in Vegas," she said dramatically, "stays in Vegas," and winked.
She said it so cutely, I poked her nose lightly. "Well, I'm a writer, so I can't really assure you of that."
"Man! I've been wondering all this while!" She exclaimed. "What?" I asked.
"You're not normal," she said plainly.
"Whhaaaat?" I made a face and she had a hearty laugh. We continued walking; off the strip now. Less lights, no crowd. No people, in fact. It was as if all life there was found solace only on the strip. I was aware there were smaller inns and motels off the strip in Vegas but here, it looked like either the people who stayed in motels believed in sleeping early or they just did not believe in sleeping and spent their nights getting wasted in one of the casinos or nightclubs of the sin city. I liked this newfound milieu, it smelt less of sin and more of oxygen. And being here was fascinating considering being in Vegas at the same time. It was like finding a flower garden in a coal factory. Weather was humid, nonetheless, for Las Vegas, Nevada is quintessentially a desert, you should know.
A little more walking, a few more turns which I lost track of to her bittersweet anecdotes, from back home and from here, we reached an unknown open space. Unknown to me, of course. Benches, green and yellow, lay aligned along the curb on one side and right across the benches were at least ten little synthetic shacks serving an array of local cuisine. In the centre were cheap plastic tables with few chairs around them, arranged in a straight line all parallel to the shacks and the benches. In the backdrop, I could see the giant high roller wheel. This, she later told me, was recently built and was the largest observation wheel in the world. It was post-midnight but the shacks still didn't look out of business. Most people around here were in some or the other uniform, few of which I recognised from the hotels I'd visited, and nothing looked anything but American. So this, I was made to understand, was a humble, cheap eatery for the employees in unforgivingly expensive Vegas. And it ran twenty four hours. A flower garden in a coal factory - and pink roses there to top it.
She asked me what I'd have and I said almost instantly, "Anything that's not American!"
She made a face and in her signature cute fashion asked, "Why?"
"Because American food is bland," I candidly said.
"Spices?"
"My tongue craves."
"Mexican!"
"Sure."
She moved to the Mexican food bar and I followed, we ordered two chicken burritos - for she had this stubborn policy of "I'll have what you'll have" no matter how much I insisted she have something of her taste - which, by rule came with tortilla chips and salsa. Tortilla are nothing but the spice-less version of nachos and burritos are a jumbo version of the Indian Kathi Rolls. I paid, insistently, and by the time she occupied one of the tables I got two hot coffees.
The food was delicious, undoubtedly delicious. We ate slowly amidst wholesome conversation. On occasions, she laughed heartily at my attempts to take giant bites from the burrito and I laughed at her cuteness. I asked her what drove her to talk to me and "India," she replied. Patriotism burst as a reflex and then, I talked at stretch about how much I loved my country and how my country was not bad at all and how I was proud for there was so much to be proud of and I talked about my concerned ambitions regarding my nation. When I was finished and I looked at her, she just kept staring at me, her face in her hands. "What?" I said.
"You. Are. Sooooo cute," she lingered and paused and thought and added, "Can I kiss you?"
She caught me in an awkward moment, I must admit, and I didn't really have an answer. And when there's no option, honesty holds your hand, and throat, so I said, "I have a girlfriend."
The sole awkward pause of the entire evening; her sad face was not the best of sights. "But hey, aren't we having such a wonderful time here?" This gave her a halfhearted smile. I added, "Smile sweetie, they stopped making such heavenly smiles long back. Yours is limited addition." So she was beaming again, gleaming, shining bright; dawn in the night.
We sat there, without realising, for two hours, talking and laughing and smiling and talking. One look at the watch and I panicked. I exclaimed how doomed I was and how much my parents would be worrying and how much scolding this would account for. Her hand crawled over the table and held mine. I looked at her and she said, "Coming to Las Vegas daily, are we? Don't spoil your trip, Sahej, don't spoil the moment. Calm! Calm! Caaaalm!" And like magic, a sudden calm was transferred from her eyes to mine, from her hands to mine, and from under the table. "Come, I'll walk you home."
So we got up, smiling, and walked back, smiling. "Hey what's your age, by the way?" I questioned.
"20." My face must have given it out, for she said, "Don't say it, I know, kiddo."
On the way, she pointed to a set of apartments and told me she lived there. Her face spoke a million hopes and my face just sheepishly wore the expression of I-can't-do-anything-I-gotta-go! Once back on the strip, we hugged, agreed we'd both had a great time and promised to stay in contact. Then she saw me running away and not looking back.
I reached my room at 3.15 am and my father woke and groggily said, "Ass! Got any contacts?"
So that's when it struck me. We'd not, in the least, exchanged e-mail IDs.
The End.
~
This is one story I guarantee I can recite better than I can write. So if you ever meet me, dear stranger, ask me. :)
Also (this can be disappointing, so read at your own risk) - this story is adulterated (not 'pure') fiction. Obviously fiction is inspired by reality, but, you know, very little part of this is real, so... Forgive me?
No comments:
Post a Comment