Mayūra

It was late September, and as Pallavi looked out the window at the changing leaves in the courtyard below, she realized how bored she was. She was desperately, hopelessly bored and absolutely could not show it. Being the dutiful Indian wife to her successful academic husband would drive her mad one day. She feared it might come sooner rather than later. She wandered around the engineering faculty party and engaged in idle talk with a few of the other wives. That's when she heard his voice behind her.

"That's an excellent mask you're wearing to hide your boredom," he said.

She turned, an emerald dress swishing around her knees. She was about to politely, but firmly, correct the voice when she found herself speechless. It was as if the man had walked off a movie set and made his way to their party. She remembered a movie she saw as a child that featured the actor George Clooney. He looked like he could be his brother. The man stood over 6 feet tall with salt and pepper hair and a well-groomed beard. Many men in the room wore suits with disdain or a rumpledness that seemed part of the academic uniform. Someone tailored his suit, which looked expensive. It was a tweed, which made sense as she detected a slight Irish accent.

But that wasn't the main selling point. It was the kind eyes and smile. He wasn't looming over her and being imposing. For a man she'd never seen before, he seemed concerned about her level of boredom.

"I, ah, well, university parties can lose some of their lustre after you've attended dozens of them. Engineering parties, doubly so," Pallavi replied. He was kind enough not to comment on her stumbling or staring at him like she was a star-struck girl.

"Oh, I know. I said it was unnecessary, but the department looks for any excuse to dip into the entertainment budget," he said. "Free alcohol always has an allure in academia."

"You're Dr. Whittaker, the Guest of Honor," she said. Rohan, her husband, had been excited to have his old mentor visit the university for over a week. He described him as older, so Pallavi imaged some wizened, incoherent elderly man. Or an old hippie regaling stories about the early environmental movement. Instead, he was in his early 50s, perhaps mid-50s, if he was taking good care of himself. That gave him a good 20 to 25 years on her.

The age difference didn't matter one little bit. Pallavi preferred older men. Given everything she saw so far, Dr. Whittaker was hitting all the right bells.

"Please, Christopher. Or Chris. And I'm just a guest and hardly an honourable one at that," he said. He had such a roguish smile when he said it; she knew he used that line on any number of facility wives over the years. She would bet it had the same effect on them as it was having on her now. She could feel her body tingling all the way down to her toes.

"My husband speaks highly of you. He said you helped change his life when he was a student," she said, sipping her red wine and making a little face. The facility had splurged on the finest boxed red wine Costco could provide for their guests. Undoubtedly, the Dean had the good stuff stashed away for private consumption later.

Chris noticed her face and smiled.

"I know where the Dean keeps the nicer stuff. He might be an old friend, but he's terrible for hoarding good alcohol. If you want to join me, I'm sure we can find something more to your liking," he said.

Pallavi looked around the room. It was bigger and fancier than other faculty lounges. But the university's engineers designed the building, so they built a lavish lounge for themselves. One wall was nothing but windows looking out over the green space. The large room contained many cozy chairs for people to sit and talk. And at the far end was a bar. Sometimes, there was a conference table as the university used the space for large meetings. But it was absent. Instead, over 100 people - staff and guests - mingled on a Friday night.

She looked to see where her husband was. He stood at the other end of the lounge, talking to the Dean and a few others. It was brazen and foolish, but boredom and this man made her want to do something rash. Pallavi placed the cup on a table and gestured with her hand. He laughed and led the way.

He remained a respectable distance from her—clearly a man who had been to a faculty party or two. People didn't need much of an excuse to gossip. He led her out of the main room, down the hall and into an office she recognized as the one belonging to the Dean. He made sure to leave the door open. It was an office assembled by a man who had seen too many English period dramas of what a Dean's office should look like. Books that still made a cracking noise if you dusted one off and opened it. Dark, with plenty of indirect light. In this case, it added to the tension she felt. It was atmospheric.

Sure enough, there were a couple of lovely reds, along with some scotch. He found a glass and poured a generous amount for her. He reached over and grabbed a bottle of Scotch. She didn't recognize the name, but it said it was 18 years old, so she assumed it was good...and expensive. The Dean always had expensive tastes.

"To Ro," he said, using her husband's nickname and holding up his glass. She tapped it with her wine glass and sipped. If he noticed she had the same smile on her face now as she did in the faculty lounge, he was discreet enough not to say.

"When I spoke to him earlier, he pointed you out across the room. I confess I'm a little shocked to discover that he's married, let alone managing to woo a woman like yourself," he said. "How did he manage that?"

Pallavi stepped back from him, leaning on the Dean's ridiculously ornate desk. Part of it was to give herself some distance because the closer she was to him, the dizzier she got. He wasn't even wearing cologne; being close to him could affect a woman. But also, if Pallavi was honest with herself, she wanted Christopher to look at and appreciate her.

She'd drawn enough stares over the years to know she was attractive. Her skin was the colour of amber honey. Her long, dark, wavy hair went halfway down her back and framed around her face to highlight her eyes. She had lips that made men wonder what it would be like to kiss them. The red silk top and flowing skirt highlighted her curves without being sexual. The only average thing about her was her height. She was glad she'd gone with minimal jewelry this evening. She wore her mother's earrings, a simple gold necklace, some bracelets, and an anklet around her left foot. Pallavi had it slightly before her, and she had already caught him looking at it.

She knew he was interested. But was it something he did to any attractive woman, or was it something more? Would he make a play on his friend's wife? And what would she do if he did?

"It was an arranged marriage," she said. "Our families are old friends."

"Ah, of course," he said, as if it made all the sense in the world now. "When I taught Ro, he rarely had time for anything other than his studies in school. I encouraged him to take a break from them occasionally. His other classmates had girlfriends and boyfriends. But he was never interested in people unless they could teach him something. I guess you must have taught him a few things."

"God, the innuendo," she thought. Yes, she had tried to teach Ro a few things. After four years of marriage, Pallavi still tried to show him how to be intimate. But she was beginning to give up. He wasn't great at sex.

Early on, there had at least been an enthusiasm for her, no matter the lack of skill. An eagerness to at least be in bed with her that she found endearing. She hoped Ro's skill as a lover would develop into the same passion and talent she saw academically.

But the transition never happened. Ro's academic career continued to grow as their sex life withered. Sex only happened once a month and coincided with the most fertile time in her cycle. When she might finally give their parents the grandchild they desperately wanted.

So far, they had no luck. In Indian terms, the clock was not so much ticking as making a sound like a gong. Pallavi's mother wondered what she was doing wrong. She had neither the heart nor the patience to explain the problem wasn't her. It was with the husband they forced on her.

"He continues to be a work in progress," she said diplomatically. "As all men are."

He laughed out loud this time. "Well, that's quite true. I admire women's patience for putting up with men's foolishness."

"And what foolishness would a woman interested in you have to put up with," Pallavi said. My God, that was not even subtle. She wished she could blame it on the wine, but hadn't had that much yet.

"Wanderlust, I'm afraid," he said, sitting on the desk next to her but a discreet distance away in case anyone walked in. "I discovered years ago that I enjoy wandering the world far too much to settle down in one place for long. It's a big world. Environmental Engineers are in demand, allowing me to travel comfortably. So I do.

"But most women don't have much patience for a man who is never around or are envious that they can't join me in my travels. I haven't been in a serious relationship in a long time."

"Sounds lonely," she said, shifting a few inches closer. A small part of her brain was telling her she was being very, very foolish right now. A louder part of her brain told her to shut up because this was the most excited she'd been in a long time.

"It can be, but I often find some company along the way."

Pallavi mentally ran through the building's blueprints to find somewhere private to take this man. She was also calculating how long they could get away with being absent. Which was the exact moment her husband walked into the room.

"Ah good, you two found each other. Saves me the introductions," Ro said, oblivious to the sexual tension in the room. Chris shifted a few inches away from Pallavi, and she did the same with him.

"You said she was the most beautiful woman in the room. She was pretty easy to find," Chris said.

Pallavi's hormones were see-sawing back and forth. Ro's arrival threw so much cold water on her sex drive that she felt her thighs clench in frustration. Yet, Chris calling her the most beautiful woman in the room made something inside her liquefy. She wondered if Ro would be oblivious if she offered to give Chris a tour.

"Well, it's good I found you both. Come along; there are a few other people I'd like you both to meet," he said.

Pallavi sighed, got up from the desk and left the office. Chris followed, and she gave her hips a little extra movement as she walked. He touched her shoulder, and she looked up. Sympathetic green eyes looked down at her as he mouthed, "Another time." He moved on, smiling and shaking hands with another faculty member.

But there hadn't been another time. Not at that party, where Chris never had another spare moment. And not for the rest of the month, when there was never a time she could see him again. He always had lectures, professional meetings, consulting, and nights out with the faculty. And wives were never invited out for those nights. Before she knew it, the month was up. Ro casually mentioned Chris had wrapped up at the university and was off on his next adventure.

Pallavi found herself irrationally depressed for weeks afterwards. It's not like she was going to run away with him. That was craziness. And getting involved with him sexually with a whole other kind of madness. But for one moment, Chris pulled her out of her routine, boring life—one of housework, cooking and cleaning. Her entertainment was shopping and gossiping. There was a spark and energy between them, the kind she hadn't had since she lived in India before her marriage to Ro. He felt it too; she was sure of it. And now it was gone as if a breeze had blown out the candle.

Until one day, a card came in the mail addressed to her. The postmark said Japan. She opened it, and it was a picture of cherry blossoms. Inside was a short note.

"Sorry we didn't see more of each other. We'll catch up next time I'm through. - Chris"

She pressed the card to her chest and felt an unnatural burst of hope. It acted as a talisman. When things with her husband wore her down, or her family blamed her for the lack of children, she took the card from its hiding place and pressed it against her chest. She remembered green eyes and a smile.

Then Pallavi's hope was restored.

"Mmmm, I almost forgot, Chris is visiting next week," her husband said over breakfast one September morning.

Pallavi caught herself clutching her spoon a little tighter and did a sharp intake of breath. Her husband remained oblivious, staring at his phone and catching up on the news.

"Really? That's nice. Will the university be throwing another party for him?" she asked, trying hard to sound disinterested.

"Oh, probably. The department likes doing that sort of thing," Ro said. Then he looked up from his phone. "If you're ok with it, I was hoping he could stay here for the next month."

Pallavi felt she should have won an award for how passive she kept her face when getting this news. Inside, it felt like butterflies had woken up from a long slumber.

"Well, I can tidy up the guest room for him. It's no problem," she said.

"I appreciate that. It's my fault you didn't see more of Chris last time, but things got crazy. But he means a lot to me. Last year, they put him in a guest room in the student residence, and that's not acceptable. I insisted he stay with us this time, and he agreed."

"That's fine. Chris seems like a nice man and I'm sure he won't be any trouble," she said, which was wrong. He was going to be all kinds of trouble. She could feel it.

Pallavi was never the type to wish time away. One day, she would have cause to regret it, wanting back precious days or hours all because of momentary boredom or a casual whim. But she was fervently wishing away time now. There would be another time to deal with the karma of her actions. She knew what she wanted now.

As a distraction, she kept herself busy during that week. The guest room and the rest of the house were spotless. She spent money on herself: hair, manicure and pedicure. Pallavi spent a lot of time ensuring her feet looked good as she hoped her hunch about Chris was correct. Pallavi feared she'd overdone it when even Ro noticed and complimented her appearance. But he never put two and two together.

The hour before Ro and Chris came home, Pallavi felt like she was crawling out of her skin. She reminded herself that she'd spent 15 minutes alone with him over a year ago. Everything might be in her imagination. Then she took a deep breath and composed herself. No, he felt it, too. He wouldn't have sent the card otherwise. She looked at herself in the mirror for the hundredth time. It was a fine line for dressing. She wanted to look a little sexy but nothing over the top. It was dinner with an old friend of her husband's, not a formal night out.

The purple satin skirt was ankle length, which was hardly scandalous. But it hugged Pallavi's hips and showed off her ass. It flared well, so the skirt moved and drew attention. She wore a simple black top, but there was a hint of cleavage, and it flashed her belly. Gold earrings, a gold necklace that acted as more of a choker and some bangles on her wrists. She wore nothing on her feet but had her toenails painted a vibrant purple when she got a pedicure.

She nodded. It was a good look. That's when she heard the front door open, and any last-minute adjustments went out the window. She gave her hair one last run-through with her fingers, walked down the hall to the porch, and there they were. Her husband, who, under ordinary circumstances, was a pleasant-looking man. A couple of inches taller than her, glasses, and a little paunch. This was often the case when you spent a lot of time in the university's library and not enough in its gym.

And then there was Chris. He wore a black wool overcoat that came down to mid-thigh, a white dress shirt, jeans and boots he was taking off. He looked a little older, maybe more salt than pepper now in his hair and beard. But she still felt a thrill seeing him again. Besides him, Ro was trying to deal with Chris's suitcase, against his protests.

"Ro, I don't need anything in it right away. I'll take it upstairs when I head to bed," he said, placing a hand on her husband's shoulder.

"Oh, I can manage," he said, grunting as he maneuvered it from the porch.

"Ro, listen to our guest," she said, gently removing her husband's hand from the bag. "You don't want to spend his entire time here nursing a thrown-out back."

He grumbled but settled for moving the bag to the foot of the stairs. As he removed his coat, Pallavi extended her hand towards Chris. He took her hand and gently shook it. She could tell from the look on his face he wanted to kiss her hand but didn't think it was the right moment.

"It's nice to see you again, Chris. Welcome to our home," she said.

"It's my pleasure. Thank you for allowing me to stay. The university's guest room last year was a little depressing. Your home is a most welcome upgrade," he said.

"Well, come in and make yourself comfortable. Our home is your home for the next month. I would think much better than a dorm room," she said, turning and walking down the hall. It had the benefit of making her skirt swish and giving Chris the first glimpse of her ass. She didn't need to glance behind to know he was looking.

"Supper will be ready in 15 minutes if you want to freshen up."

"It smells incredible. What are we having?"

"Nothing fancy, some butter chicken and naan," she said, entering the kitchen.

"She undersells it," Ro said. "It's based on her mother's recipe, using different spices. It's amazing."

For a moment, Pallavi basked in the warm glow of her husband's compliment. She felt unease at the lustful thoughts she'd nurtured towards Chris for the last week. Well, last year, if she was being honest.

"It's almost as good as her mother's," he added. And there went her kindly thoughts towards him.

She sighed as she went into the kitchen. Of course, her mātā's was better, but then again, her nani's was better than her mātā's. She was sure hers would continue the trend if she ever had a daughter. She put back on her apron, not risking any sauce getting on things. A quick stir of the chicken showed it was ready. The jeera rice was all set and she had some vegetables on the side. And naan, of course.

Christoper wouldn't be getting this every evening. She could do this in a rush if she had to, but it wouldn't be right. But for the first night, it would do fine. Besides, the cliche about the way to a man's heart was through his stomach was true. She wasn't particularly interested in his heart, but a well-fed man was always good. Although she hoped the food and travel didn't put him into a coma. She had hopes for this evening.

She brought the food out and set the table. Some wine, but also some water. In case Chris had the usual Irish intolerance towards anything vaguely spicy.

As she finished bringing out the butter chicken and rice, she heard the two men approach the dining room. Good timing on her part. She returned to the kitchen, took off the apron and grabbed the naan. They all entered the dining room at the same time. Christopher's eyes got large as he saw the food.

"I've been travelling for a day with nothing but airport food. This is one of the greatest meals I've ever seen," he said. Well, flattering the cook will win you points. She flashed a smile at him and waved at them to sit down. Only then did she notice he had a gift bag in his hands. Curious, she decided to wait until he wanted to do his big reveal.