Tara nodded. She, the Madonna? Aura of deep peace? He was wrong, of course. He had equated silence with peace. Little did he know that the sea was calm in the doldrums. Perhaps this was a dream. She’d wake up any minute and see that none of this had actually happened, that it was her heart’s yearnings creating foolish fantasies while she slept. She kept her eyes closed.
“Will you be in touch?” she heard him say. She nodded. The gentle pressure of his fingers moved back up to her cheek. Then she felt his breath on her face, warm and moist. She snapped her eyes open in alarm. His face was just an inch away from hers. She looked straight into those eyes, the magnificent prisms that reflected light so eloquently, and then turned and fled down Morgan Hill. She didn’t look back once.
She had the rest of her life to replay this scene a million times in her head, each time with a different ending.
The photographer’s eyes danced with hope when she said a definitive okay to his request.
“Okay? You mean, you will work on the campaign?”
“Yes.”
Shyamala, Anita, and Yasmin looked at her in surprise, while Abhi punched the table in triumph, his lips cracking wide open to reveal glistening teeth.
The photo session lasted several hours on a Saturday afternoon. Abhi’s wife, Sania, who was a beautician and owned a salon at the mall, worked on Tara’s makeup and clothes. Shyamala and Yasmin could not make it to the shoot, but Anita stood guard outside the dressing room. The clothes were from the nearby Hi Fashion Boutique. Tara posed in a variety of saris and salwars, Abhi gently goading her to pull her shoulders back, to stand erect, to look into the camera, to get the expression right. Then they dressed her as a demure north Indian bride, a red silk embellished chunni over her head, gold jewelry in the parting of her hair, a large nose ring. After they were done with the second shoot, Sania washed Tara’s face, wiped off all the residual makeup, and worked afresh to create glamour. She held out a royal blue off-shoulder gown, causing Tara to almost back off from the shoot.
“I-I’m sorry, but can I wear something else?”
Sania sensed Tara’s problem. “Don’t worry, this is not revealing, just off-shoulder to show off the jewelry.”
Tara hesitated, stalled. She couldn’t imagine leaving her shoulders uncovered.
“Don’t be a prude, Tara!” Anita urged, from outside the door. “You are so slim, you can carry it off. Even I wear off-shoulder dresses.”
The majority opinion won, and Tara surrendered her inhibitions to the camera. During the shoot, she kept pulling her dress up at the bust, much to Sania’s chagrin. “Your dress is hiding the choker, stop pulling it up.” She glowered at Tara, like a teacher would a disobedient child, while Abhi only laughed.
“Focus here,” he said, tapping at the camera on the tripod. “Forget everything else. Trust me, you are going to look beautiful. Who knows, Hollywood might come calling.” He guffawed at his own joke, as he moved the spotlights closer to his subject.
Chapter 16
The girl on the billboard smiled coyly, a thick, ruby encrusted, twenty-two-carat gold choker around her long, swan-like neck. She looked striking. Hair perfectly coiffed into a top knot. Nose sharp under the spotlight. Rosebud lips painted red. Doe-like eyes highlighted with mascara, kohl, and blue-black shades of perfectly blended eye shadow. Her face and creamy bare shoulders dominated the billboard, with the advertiser’s message occupying minimal space in the right-hand corner. “Shop our new collection at Raj Jewelers,” it said, fancy white font against a dark background, then the address and phone number, in smaller size.
Tara cupped her hand over her mouth and squealed, “Oh my God, oh my God! No!”
Alyona, who stood next to her in the parking lot of the strip adjacent to the large billboard in Decatur, laughed excitedly. “No? You mean yes. You look like Cleopatra!”
Tara cracked her right eye open, and all she could see was her bare shoulders and the tiny hint of cleavage. “I wish they hadn’t chosen this photo. Oh my God, I look like I have no clothes on.”
“Don’t be silly. Nothing is seen except your shoulders. You look like a million dollars, my dear. And look at that nose. You have perfect nose.”
Alyona grabbed Tara by her shoulders, shook her excitedly. “You are going places, girl. You are a model now.”
“You think Sanjay will see it?”
“Of course he will see it. A lot of other handsome, rich men will see it, too.” Alyona winked.
Tara cupped her cheeks, shook her head. “I still can’t believe how all this happened.” She hoped Sanjay would see her, looking alluring. She tried her best to make that happen. When the same ad appeared in all the Indian publications in town, she picked up a copy of the largest circulated magazine, where her face stared out of the glossy back page. She laid the magazine on the coffee table. She agonized over whether she ought to leave it backside up. Would that seem too obvious? A tug-of-war ensued, in which humility finally triumphed over vanity. She left the magazine face up, but cleared her coffee table of recent issues of Time. Surely, Sanjay would pick it up, read it, then turn over to look at the back. Surely, he would.
That morning, at the institute, Samuel had been a little more attentive toward her, turning in her direction often during class, smiling widely, even a little lustily, said the girls afterward. If Samuel’s attention embarrassed her, there was more to come at the Indian mall, where people turned around to look at her a second time.
“We are in the company of Atlanta’s celebrity,” said Anita. “Soon people will be asking you for your autograph.”
“Stop,” Tara laughed. An elderly man sitting adjacent to them at the food court held up the back page of the magazine for the girls to see.
“You are in the magazine,” he said loudly, pointing to the page, causing everybody else within hearing range to look in their direction. He grinned broadly.
“Old man is letching after you,” whispered Anita. The girls broke into peals of laughter. Tara’s cheeks turned warm. She kept her gaze on her plate through the rest of the meal. This was all so unreal.
Not that she ever wanted or expected Hollywood to come calling, but the attention felt so good. She desperately wanted Sanjay to see the advertisement, preferably on the billboard, where she looked larger than life.
He did. On a Thursday afternoon. Tara, who had just reached home from the institute, was warming up a Lean Cuisine sandwich in the microwave for lunch. The girls had decided not to go to the Indian mall that day because Shyamala’s daughter was sick, so she had to rush home after class. Tara thought she heard the creak of the front door, then footsteps in the corridor. She stood still, listening, preparing to take flight into her room. But he was at the open kitchen doorway in no time, blocking it with his towering presence. He looked ominous, furrowed brows on a dark face, arms by his side, fingers curled tightly into his palms.
“Why are you on the billboard?”
She should have been thrilled that he had finally seen her in her glamour avatar, but the hiss in his voice caused her heart to flutter nervously.
“I was selected to model for Raj Jewelers.”
“Did it occur to you to ask me first?”
Tara looked away. She could think of several sharply worded retorts, but none came to her lips. She shook her head.