Free Invisible Lives by Anjali Banerjee

leading man. Her English assistant wanting lunch.
    Here’s my chance. I open the briefcase on the table. In my frumpy getup, I look plain next to Asha. Her assistant watches me in silence. There’s a lot of shouting and moving of heavy objects going on down the hall. I want to be there, watching and listening.
    Asha thumbs through the fabric samples with a distracted air. “For my assistant Ella here, what do you recommend? Where are the chiffons?”
    “You told me to bring only silk,” I say. “I chose our best patterns.”
    The diminutive woman clears her throat.
    “She might look good in this,” I say as I produce a thin, tightly woven off-white piece with a matte texture.
    “Chiffon is slimming,” Asha says. “Try chiffon.”
    “I brought only the silks,” I say again, my heart pounding. I unroll the fabrics on the table, on the carpet, and Asha examines them all, asking questions about the slimming effects of the colors, how they’ll go with other colors. Ella disappears and returns with tea, and a bearded man pops his head in. “About twenty minutes, Ms. Rao, okay?”
    “You people are far too slow!” Asha waves a jewel-beringed hand, and the bangles on her wrist make a tinkling sound. The man disappears.
    “I’m stuck here with a group of lazy imbeciles who accomplish nothing all day,” Asha says, rolling her eyes at me. “I’m sure you understand.”
    I give her a weak smile. “So, the fabrics—”
    “I like these, but I was rather hoping for the chiffons—”
    “Those are for more casual occasions—”
    “Well, I want to see them,” she says and laughs. “You’ll go back and gather some of the other materials.”
    “Today? But—”
    “I’ll come by your shop. I have to practice my lines now. We’ve spent far too much time on this, and besides, Vijay should be with me to select the fabric and put in his share of the work. I have to prepare for the scene in which my American lover introduces me to his family. Can you imagine, we’re preparing a whole day for this five-minute scene?”
    “I didn’t realize!”
    “Shooting a film is all about preparation,” Asha says. “One must be patient, but I haven’t an ounce of patience left in my bones.”
    “Of course, that’s understandable.”
    “Is it? And they give us the most bland food—this salmon pâté and Northwest chocolates. And biscuits. I need some spice, something to sting the tongue! Ugh, what a bore.”
    “I could see about arranging—”
    “Nah, nah. This is not your concern.”
    I start to gather up the samples, and I realize that Asha could dismiss them all with the wave of her magic hand. She could order a feast for a hundred people, then send it to the garbage with a sneer, and nobody would complain.
    I know that these silks will work, but she doesn’t believe me, and really, my knowing is not what she wants. Asha is beautiful, talented, and slivers of honesty and generosity glimmer inside her, but she lacks…sensitivity. She looks at people and sees nothing but the reflection of herself. She doesn’t see the real Ella, hidden behind her competence, trapped inside the gray business suit. Ella admires Asha with a deep, respectful reverence. And Asha has no idea. She will keep yelling at Ella, abusing her, and she will never know.
    Frustration rises inside me. Ella helps Asha move from the couch to her wheelchair, then pushes her out of the room without a word, leaving me to gather up my fabric samples. I’m muttering angrily to myself when I notice Nick standing in the doorway.
    “How long have you been here?” I ask.
    “Long enough.” There’s a smile in his eyes. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the shop.”
    For once, I’m grateful for the lack of knowing when I’m around Nick. I can hide in a blissfully quiet room of my own.
    In the car, I throw the briefcase onto the seat, lean back, and close my eyes. The limousine is a lullaby.
    “Have a good visit?” he asks, pulling out into