If I could recollect that day for you, then, it was an indolent Saturday. I had woken up to a wet and sticky morning. It had just finished raining outside and the AC had tripped. The only thing anyone could do is blame faith or the government. Being pissed with the electricity department or your father for buying that house wouldn’t have solved the problem.
Don’t bother mentioning that last one on the dinner table. Ever.
Here's what happened.
All bathed and out of the house, driving down to a client’s office - for a meeting - I took one left and two rights at the junction where I wasn’t supposed to. The results of that are thirty minutes wasted. Any how, I finally reach the dilapidated factory, next to my client's office. It was supposedly the landmark mentioned in his email.
How silly. I should have used the GPS on my iPhone.
I walk in hoping God somehow squeezed in ten minutes, so I’d be on time. Really? I guess I was expecting too much.
At the reception, I’m greeted by the secretary, who directed me towards the hallway on the left and the sixth door on the right.
Sure. Got it. I reach the door. Knock.
No, I wouldn’t barge in like the rest of you. A peon steps out, shows me the way. I walk into an office thats well-done. I mean - wall carpet, wooden flooring, LCD, overlooking the sea, rest assured this was the bosses office. As I took my place in-front of a huge table, the spartan like leather chair slowly revolved to face me.
My client, Mr. Kluter was not in his chair.
Ahem, sigh* Cough. I’m restless all of a sudden. Its my client's wife in the throne.
**She is a nuclear bomb.
“Hello! I’m Sunita. You must be Peter, from that advertising agency.”
Cough. Ahem. I clear my throat so I can let out a manly voice.
A minor chair shift later and a squeaky, slightly impoverished ‘yes,’ fumbles out.
Sweat begins to trickle down my spine, hands start shaking, all I can think of is Sunita's Greek Goddess looks.
“Are you OK?”
-”Mm... I don’t see Mr. Kluter around. Will he be coming today?”
“No. He is away to Pune. I will oversee things for today.”
“Are you sure you’re ok?”
-”Yes. I’m fine. Had gotten lost on the way here.”
I can barely breath.
Sunita gets up and walks over to the mini fridge at the corner, next to the 42 inch LCD. She pulls out a can of juice for me.
“Here. This will make you feel better. It has come in from Greece last week.”
She takes her place on the sofa, next to the window.
Sunita is the trophy wife that only men like Mr. Kluter can take home. After all, who can afford the Bentley, diamonds, 5 acre - beach side - home, and the list that never ends.
As Sunita’s perfume circumvolves me, my brain goes on screensaver mode. By now I have completely forgotten the purpose of my visit.
It’s been long since I said anything. Worried. I collect my breath.
- ”Is that the Marine Drive?”
“Yes it is, Peter.”
Thank god, I said something. I'm sure she must get this Men-On-Pause look all the time. She knows what she does to men.
- ”Lovely! You must love this serene office view.”
“It’s OK. I’m more of a mountains type.”
“Why don’t you come and sit here on this sofa. The view is much better from here.”
- “Ok.”
As I walk over towards the sofa where Sunita purrs, all I can think of is one thing. I’m sorry, she is sitting. Her long legs are crossed over one another. You can be sure of one thing. This will not be just a meeting.
I put my rear in the couch next to her. I can see up her skirt.
“You like what you see?”
Oh shit. Damn it. She saw me ogling.
- “No. I mean. Yes. No. Ah. Yes.”
She relaxes the muscles on her face and a smile appears on her soft lips.
I can hardly feel my legs.
“Don’t worry. Relax. My husband is away. He won’t know.”
After those words, all I can remember is the morning.
