Tattoo

Chapter Five

 Savita walked into the restaurant. She wore a red dress, clingy but not so tight as to look cheap. Every movement was suggestive. Her hair was up, dark and shimmering as a raven’s wing. She turned slightly, talking to the Maitre D’, and we saw the dress was cut to expose an expanse of dusky, luminous skin from the nape of her neck to the dimples we could see in her lower back.

I heard a small sound from a table close to ours and saw Howard staring. Like everyone else in the restaurant. I took a drink and glanced at Ned, currently disguised as a remarkably stylish-looking businessman. He’d done a nice job on his face - he looked like his younger, plumper brother. Self-satisfied rather than haunted, and with a voice that was filled with aggrieved entitlement. The waitresses didn’t even like him, and usually he was a favourite, always getting the best service. 

“She’s got style, eh?” he remarked, his voice even rankling me, who knew better. “No matter who she’s wearing.” 

I nodded, not trusting my voice. She was flawless in both her poise and voice. She was both Pitch and not Pitch, and she was perfect. It was obvious that Howard found her equally captivating, though not for quite the same reasons. He stood, almost to attention, as Savita swayed towards him. He gave her a slightly awkward welcome kiss on each cheek and remained standing until the Maitre D’ had pulled out a chair for her to take her place at the table. 

“Wow, Savita, you look great,” Howard managed. I was impressed; I wasn’t even verbal yet.

“Why, thank you Richard. How nice of you to say so,” she said, gazing at him through her long eyelashes.

Howard was lost again. The restaurant, which had gone rather quiet with Savita’s entrance, started to buzz again with the hum of conversation. We watched the silence at their table. Savita waited, smiling, until Howard managed to pull himself from his reverie. That was our Pitch, always knowing when to let the moment be - it reminded me of when she was on stage, bathing in the roar of the crowd, how they loved to adore her.

“You’ve let your hair grow,” he said.  “It suits you.” 

Pitch spent a moment fussing with her curly locks. “You think so? Well, perhaps I’ll keep it just for you.” 

“I thought you said you disapproved of long hair on Indian women,” said Howard. I believe you said that you considered it too stereotypical.”

“Oh, well, a woman does have the right to change her mind, don’t you think? Still, it’s a bit of a trial.” She smiled sweetly. “But I’m glad you like it, after all this time.” 

I  know it was stupid, but I really didn’t like the way she was flirting with Howard. It all seemed a bit too… sincere.

“Well, I didn’t really think I’d see you again, despite my hopes,” said Howard. “You were always affectionate, but I rather thought that I misunderstood the situation in Mumbai.”

“Oh?” said Savita, with a wicked smile. “And what situation was that?”

“Ahhh, well, we… umm.” said Howard eloquently.

“Oh, Richard,” laughed Savita. It was a good laugh, which we’d based on one call where we’d interrupted a dinner party. Boy, had that died quick on the phone. “You always were so easy to fluster about these things. I never thought I’d see you again either. After all, you left Mumbai in rather a hurry, so I assumed things went poorly for you, which is why I never really responded. And while I’m terribly fond of you, I’ve never been one to dwell on things I can’t have. I am a realist after all. But I’m here now, so…”

“So, what does bring you here?” asked Howard.

“Work. A possible deal with one of the film studios here,” said Savita. “Apparently there’s some sort of magic special effect coming to market from a government agent gone rogue, and I’m trying to broker a deal with some folks out of L.A.”