Sounds of grumbling rose from the crew. Someone whispered, “Oh my god.”
“Wait, you two know each other?” Bindu asked.
“Yes,” Prem responded.
“No,” Kareena said at the same time.
Prem held up his hands in surrender. “I think there has been a bit of a misunderstanding about what happened, Rina—”
“Her name is Kareena,” Bindu interjected.
Prem glanced at her sister over his shoulder before turning back to Kareena. “Oh?”
“I was protecting myself,” Kareena replied. “Obviously not well enough.”
Dr. Dil stepped off the platform stage to stand next to her. He was as tall as she remembered and made her feel dainty standing next to his broad-shouldered, six-feet-plus height. Damn it, he smelled great again, too. Even in her hungover pissed-off state, she wanted to crawl all over him.
“I would love to drive you home, but since I’m on call, I can’t leave Jersey City,” he said. “But would you be comfortable coming over to my place?”
Kareena remembered her last hookup and the guy’s porn studio camera set up in the bedroom. She couldn’t risk it again until she got to know Prem better. “Maybe we could just find a quieter spot away from the bar?”
Prem nodded. “You know what? My friend Benjamin actually owns this place. He has couches in his office in the back where we can sit . . . and get to know each other better. Is that okay with you?”
That sounded great, Kareena thought. She didn’t care that she was going to be in a stranger’s office. She just wanted more time with Prem.
“Lead the way,” she said.
“I got an SOS call.” Prem interrupted her train of thought. He looked back at his producers and then at Kareena. “I came back to find you after I hung up, but you were already gone.”
“Because I was in a private office stuck with my sweater vest over my head,” she hissed.
Prem leaned in until their noses were practically touching. “I’m sorry about that. I was an idiot, but that doesn’t make me a liar.”
“But you are,” she said, louder now. She took a step back for distance and clarity. “You are on a network targeting older South Asians, telling a bunch of aunties that marriages based on compatibility, not love, are the only ones that can work, while you’re duping younger generations into thinking their feelings are misleading. You’re gaslighting people by using Bindu Mann as an example. Hell, you duped me last night, too! Do your viewers know that you use romance to get your way in your personal life?”
His eyes widened and his mouth gaped like a fish. “We didn’t talk about love at all! And this has nothing to do with arranged versus love marriages,” he snapped.
She waved at his long, tapered torso. “You told me that you fix broken hearts, and that you believe in something greater than love, while you’re onstage here saying that love is bad for heart health.”
The crew gasped again.
“You are a fraud, Dr. Dil,” Kareena said.
“Oh no,” Bindu whispered.
“There are real doctors who actually have done extensive studies on love.”
Dr. Dil’s shoulder’s straightened, and he moved closer until they were practically chest to breast. Her nipples tightened into peaks, and she swayed on her feet. Damn it, it was as if her body recognized him.
“Do you have any idea how ludicrous you sound right now?” Prem replied. “You are visiting my show, interrupting my team, just because you disagree with a point I’m making? Oh wait, I know what this is. You’re the type of bitter old single woman who blames her lack of a love life on people who view relationships practically. Is that why you were out last night? Hoping for lightning to strike?”
“There are countless relationships that are based on love that last the test of time,” Kareena said evenly. “Don’t you have people in your life that love you? I bet there is a woman who left—”
The heat in his expression iced over from one blink to the next. He stepped back and motioned for the producers. “I’m sorry about yesterday, Rina, but like I said, I had an emergency call. And thank god, because we would’ve had more regrets than we do now.” He turned to the nearest person with a headset. “Can we please get security to take this woman out of the studio? Some of us have work to do. Work based on fucking science. Bindu, if she’s with you, you can go with her, or stay.”
“Running away just like you did last time,” Kareena said. She motioned for her sister to follow her out, but Bindu was already shaking her head.
“I’m so sorry about her unprofessionalism, Dr. Verma.”
“Bindu.” The knife that Dr. Dil had shoved into her chest was only twisted and pushed in harder by her sister’s insensitivity. Bindu turned her back on Kareena and walked onto the stage.
Kareena looked around, and for the first time since she opened her mouth, she felt embarrassment from the whole experience. It was like a double dose of shame and humiliation, and both at the hands of this desi fuckboy.
“Fine, then!” she snapped, holding her chin up by sheer determination. “But just remember that you benefit from the parts of our culture that are oppressive. Which is why you hit on women and promise love and romance, when in actuality, you’re just another asshole.”
She stormed over to her seat to pick up her clutch and her Pedialyte. As she turned away from the pitying, horrified expressions of everyone in the studio, rage began to consume her.
How dare he? How dare everyone?
She uncapped her Pedialyte and in a moment of spontaneity, tossed it at Dr. Dil like a grenade.
A collective shriek filled the room.
“And that’s for ruining my sweater vest, fuckboy!”
Interstitial
Indians Abroad News
Dr. Prem Verma, a cardiologist and host of the TV talk show The Dr. Dil Show on Jersey City’s South Asians News Network, found himself in a very public argument during a commercial break last weekend when a woman named Kareena accused him of making promises of love and romance in his personal life while also preaching unorthodox views on love marriages. Dr. Verma is a health-care advocate for the South Asian community working toward building a clinic supporting South Asians in Jersey City. However, many residents in the area aren’t too pleased with the altercation aired on the Mann Your Business YouTube channel by his guest, Bindu Mann.
Chapter Five
Prem
Prem rubbed at the tension in his temples as he collapsed on the edge of his bed to unlace his shoes. It took him a few minutes before he was able to get back up and stack them in his closet. His suit coat went next, along with his tie and slacks. Whatever needed to be dry-cleaned was put in a separate wicker basket, which he’d have to remember to drop off on Saturday.
He’d never looked forward to something so mundane as dry cleaning before.
After dressing in athletic shorts and a Columbia T-shirt, he walked through his apartment to the kitchen. He immediately headed toward the corner cabinet, where he took out the ibuprofen bottle and swallowed three pills dry.
Regretting his life choices, Prem called out to his smart home device. “Google, play Dudes’ Night playlist.”