Free Invisible Lives by Anjali Banerjee Page B

“Who?”
    “Your son—what’s his name? Chelsea told me you have a son.”
    Her face softens. “Jeremy. He’s difficult, and…I’ve had a hard time getting through to him lately.” Her mind closes, desperation extinguishing the image of the boy.
    How can I help her? An odd feeling comes to me, as if an invisible hook is pulling me out of the store, to Lillian’s house. “Let me come to your place,” I say. “I’ll bring some samples.”
    “Really, it’s not necessary.”
    “I insist. I can measure your windows. I know someone who can sew the curtains for you.”
    “I don’t know, I—”
    “It will be no problem for me. Really.”
    “All right. How about next week?”
    I nod and take down her address. As she leaves, I wonder what I’m getting myself into.
    I spend the rest of the day working on Asha’s account and gathering fabric samples for Lillian. Just after noon, Mitra’s special Kathak costume arrives by UPS from the seamstress. It’s exactly what I envisioned. I call Mitra, and she arrives just before closing. I take her into the office and unfold the costume for her. The yellow shimmers, the paisley pattern just as I pictured it.
    Mitra’s mouth opens in awe. “The costume—where did you get this pattern?” Tears slip down her cheeks. “This is exactly what I wore—”
    “When you were little, on the beach, with your father.”
    “But a much smaller version. How did you know? Can you see such things so clearly?”
    “It was fuzzy at first, but I had a feeling. The images, they just came to me.”
    “Oh, Lakshmi. But why?”
    “Will you wear this to the dance performance? I know it will bring you good luck.”
    “How do you know? How can it possibly?” Her hope spreads across the yellow Banarasi silk, sinking into the long choli shirt, slipping into the folds of the ghaghara, the flared skirt.
    “Please trust me, Mitra. You have to invite your father. Will you promise? Before it’s too late.”
    “Oh, Lakshmi.” She bursts into tears and wraps me in a tight, desperate hug.

Eleven
    N ear closing time, Nick and Asha show up at the shop with a woman who can only be Asha’s sister. She has Asha’s eyes, but her body is slim, and her beauty lies in her smooth movements as she adjusts the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. She’s understated, dressed in jeans and a white blouse. Asha introduces her as Chitra, but the name dissolves and I’m aware only of Nick, who’s decked out in a perfect black suit today. Now I know why Pooja thinks he’s cute. A heavenly tailor must’ve measured every inch of muscle, and now the fabric drapes over his limbs in harmony with his stride. He gives me a slight, professional nod, the glint in his eye betraying our secret.
    I barely register Asha in her navy blue sari, her face made up, her luminous eyes rimmed with kohl. Enormous gold earrings dangle from her ears.
    “We must clothe Chitra for the wedding,” Asha announces. “Look at these jeans she’s always wearing!”
    A flash of knowing makes a last-ditch attempt to warn me. Ravi Ganguli appears like a watery mirage, handsome and polished. Don’t do it, he says, and then the knowing spins away.
    Don’t do what?
    “Nick, take me to the jewelry, will you?” Asha says in a theatrical voice. “I must have only the best gold. I’m having some family heirlooms brought from Mumbai, but I must have more bangles.”
    “Sanjay!” Ma screeches at Mr. Basu. “Show her only the good bangles, not the costume fashion jewelry you always show, nah?”
    Mr. Basu reddens. “We have many fine bangles from Orissa,” he tells Asha.
    “Vijay will come one day soon,” Asha says. “We must find a perfect kurta for him.”
    “Bring him anytime,” Ma says, doing the sideways head nod.
    Pooja waits on Chitra while Ma glides around, working the room. A strange buzzing fills my ears.
    Nick glances at me and I quiver, inflating into a delicate balloon while he wheels Asha to the glass case of