Free If You Could Be Mine by Sara Farizan Page B

wrists. I nod in compliance. It will be nice to see Daughter again, at least.
    “What are you talking about?” Nasrin asks.
    “Some girls who work for me. They’re in sales,” Ali says. I don’t know whether I should laugh or be disappointed. When did Ali become this? “They won’t be here for a while. Why don’t we enjoy some dinner, hmm?” He signals the waiters and they scurry into the kitchen. They come out quickly with steaming plates of saffron rice and chicken with dried mulberries. When a plate of kabob is placed in front of Ali, he grins at me affectionately. I try to do the same back. I’m suddenly not hungry.
    “Are you okay?” Nasrin asks. She always knows when I’m upset, or at least when it’s convenient for her to notice. Ali chews on a morsel of kabob with the genteel, delicate manners of an aristocrat.
    “Sahar does not approve of my livelihood,” he states with indifference.
    “You don’t need to have a livelihood! You’re a student,” I say through gritted teeth.
    Ali looks amused by my out-of-character nerve. “Careful with your tone of voice with me in here. The others are watching,” he says in a mocking tone. The others. Others like me. He can’t even say in public what these people are. What we are.
    “Why do they treat you so wonderfully here, anyway?” Nasrin asks. Ali looks at her with amusement.
    “Nasrin joon, these are my people.” The way he says it screams both arrogance and pride.
    Nasrin shrugs. “So what, you peddle bootleg CDs to this crowd?” She’s really testing his patience. I love her for it. He motions to a neighboring table. Two older women sit with each other, and even though they are not touching, the love in their eyes for each other is evident.
    “Like looking in a mirror, isn’t it?” Ali asks. “Hopefully, you two will age better than those poor souls over there.” There’s a bit of malice beneath his words. Nasrin looks at the women. Like I said, she is anything but stupid. She glances around the room, and suddenly she sees the knowing glances men are giving one another. Her eyes land on a woman with a prominent Adam’s apple.
    “Oh my god,” she gasps, and Ali laughs. Nasrin’s mortified expression upsets me. Those women sitting at that table, looking at each other longingly, are no different than us. Nasrin has no right to be prejudiced. She starts hyperventilating, and I tell her to breathe.
    “Oh, you are always so dramatic,” Ali tells Nasrin. “I’m surprised you two get along at all.”
    “Leave her alone,” I plead with him. “She’s not used to this.” I wonder if I ever would have been as ridiculous as Nasrin is being right now. I touch her shoulder, and I don’t care what it looks like. “Nasrin, it’s okay. We’ll go home soon. I tried to tell you earlier, but it’s not so bad, is it? No one cares who we are in here.” I don’t know if that’s true. There could be a secret police officer in here, but Ali is so relaxed, I doubt that’s an issue. I don’t know how Ali does what he does, or even what he does, but he’s like Iran’s gay messiah. I’m not sure if that’s an honor or not.
    “What do you mean who we are?” She’s angry.
    I let her comment wash over me. She doesn’t want to mix with anyone here. She doesn’t want to be like anyone here. This evening is full of disappointments. Ali drops his fork with a loud clink and stares at Nasrin with fierce eyes.
    “You’re a guest here because of Sahar. That is the only reason I am tolerating your backwards thinking.”
    “It isn’t backwards if it’s against the law,” Nasrin snaps, and I wish I could disintegrate into my seat. Ali slowly leans forward on the table, until he is almost over Nasrin’s plate, making direct eye contact.
    “In here is my law. Don’t forget it.” Nasrin cowers under Ali’s gaze.
    He’s right. When he’s decided she’s uncomfortable enough, he leans back in his chair and picks up his cutlery. He cuts into his