IPKKND FF: JALEBI by Jalebi Jane Thread 1: EPISODE 001-042 - Page 27

JALEBI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 013)

"WHERE WAS HE?" Where was Arnav Singh Raizada? And what was he doing while Buaji's protege, Shyam Jha, was in the Gupta front room begging for our Heroine's hand and heart?

My response to this question requires some care. It approaches upon a matter which my delicate pen cannot quite detail, so let me begin with the end and trust my Sisters to work out the rest:

"Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?" Anita Sharma made the standard offer as Arnav emerged from the bedroom.

She offered by rote. She knew he would decline. He never stayed. He used the bed. He used the shower. But he never used all the time he was allotted.

In fact, of her very-exclusive client list, Arnav was the only one who actually treated her like a sex worker. Granted, that is what she was. She held no sentiment nor shame about it. But even in her trade there were echelons, and she belonged to that level for which our society reserves the euphemism escort.'

She viewed her apartment as a refuge for those gentlemen who required something more [or something different!] than what they received at home. And required it in an environment where discretion was assured. She was deliberately lodged in the Capital because all her clients were associated with the political engine and the diplomatic corps.

But, in this too, Arnav was the exception. He was the only businessman she saw. When they had made their financial arrangement, he had expressly stipulated that she would not see any men involved in his industry. He had been made to pay handsomely for that privilege, of course. Anita Sharma was no fool.

"Coffee," he replied.

She was surprised that he agreed to take refreshment. But perhaps she ought not to have been. For this particular session had already held several surprises.

She turned towards the kitchen---stopped, turned back and asked, "milk? sugar?" It cost her to ask, Sisters, as she prided herself on knowing her clients' every preference. But how could she help it, in this case? Arnav had never before taken as much as a drop of water from her hands!

"Black," he replied.

When she returned to the lounge with the coffee tray, he was standing at the window, looking out. From her penthouse, one had a rare unobstructed view of Parliament House and the Rajpath. With those clients who lingered apres-sex for a drink, she sometimes pointed at the vista and joked. "My local bank," she would say with a saucy smile.

And the bureaucrats would laugh heartily. For, after all, they were not spending their own money.

But with this particular client---this difficult customer---she had never shared a laugh.

Though she had been seeing him once every month or two, for nearly two years, she knew almost nothing of him. Naturally, she researched all her clients, as she had to be aware of who was in favour and who was out-of-favour. She couldn't afford to be saddled upon a horse which was limping around the racecourse.

And yes, she had also researched Arnav; however, her study had revealed nothing. When the media praised him, Arnav said nothing. When they criticized him, Arnav still said nothing. Nobody knew what was myth and what was reality.

And though having serviced his body all this while, Anita had gained no advantageous information from him. With her, as with the press, he was dispassionate and silent.

Until today.

Anita placed the tray on the low table and poured him a cup. He received it, and half-sat on the arm of the sofa.

He sipped the coffee without interest, and as he did, she understood why he had stayed. The coffee was an excuse to gain some time. He had something to tell her and she realized that she had already guessed it in the bedroom:

He had fallen in love with someone and was ending their arrangement.

Oh, this irked her! No, not because of ego---but because she had recently made investment plans based upon the longevity of her high-paying clients. And Arnav headed that list. Moreover, she had always hoped that in time she would be able to put aside an insurance policy. Learn something incriminating about him. Something with which she could influence him if she suffered a financial setback. She knew he must have secrets, for no man could be so successful, so early in life, without some skeletons and shades. But she had not managed to find anything out.

Nor had he ever made any unusual bedroom requests which she could trot out as a future threat to compromise his reputation. Most of her clients had some predilection which the righteous public would find distasteful. But truth be told, as exceptional as Arnav was in every other field, in bed, he had been quite ordinary.

Until today.

Today she had glimpsed passion. Dark aggression. Today he had behaved as though he wanted her---nay, needed her!---whereas generally he appeared like a man who came to her only when he was weary of managing his own physical needs. He always appeared reluctant.

And now it appeared he was ending this lucrative arrangement because of that most unstable of emotions. Love.

Alas, a woman in her profession couldn't kick up dust over such things. She couldn't treat it as a break-up. For one thing, it was not an emotional relationship. Especially not between herself and this particular client. Secondly, and more importantly, men always returned. And a gracious goodbye facilitated that return.

The door must always be left ajar.

However, she could at least take some satisfaction from speaking the w---ords before he spoke them, so she said, "this is farewell, isn't it?" She added a smile calculated to show interest and indifference in equal measure.

"Yes," he said, without emotion.

But he said no more. Damn him! Was he not going to provide her with any explanation?

Some of her repressed resentment filtered into her words. "You can't be ending it because of marriage, so it must be that---"

"---Why do you assume I'm not getting married?" he interrupted.

"Oh, Arnav!" she laughed, "you are very eligible but---how shall I put it?" she paused deliberately, and then continued, "---you are too self-involved. That is why you come to see me. Otherwise you would have to date in order to enjoy occasional sex, and that requires effort. And even so, you are not interested in marriage, are you?"

Anita did not receive any reply. Nothing! Neither verbal nor non-verbal.

This silence, along with the irritation that her purse was soon to be much lighter, provoked her to score a point against him. But to score that point she would have to refer to something that had occurred in the bedroom. And that was strictly against the rulebook. It would be unforgiveable.

Yet she was in the mood to be cruel.

So she did it. She did the unforgiveable.

She came to her feet to signal it was time for him to leave, and at the same time, she asked, in the most casual tone, "does Khushi mind that you are not the marrying type?"

If Anita had ever bewailed not having seen more passion in Arnav, she regretted that desire now. For his eyes flashed at her, like points of blackness.

"What!?"

"You called out her name earlier," she indicated the bedroom. "Khushi. Twice. I think you got a bit lost in the moment and thought you were in bed with her." And as he now rose, looking almost livid, she quickly added in a soothing voice, "don't be embarrassed, darling, it happens. Though I don't know whether I should envy or pity this Khushi person. You seem to be very much in love with her, but it's the love of someone who doesn't wish to be in love, isn't it? You intend to possess her so you can get her out of your system and then return to business as usual."

She had gone too far, Sisters. Much further than she had planned. But Anita had expressed only what she knew to be true. The frenzy with which Arnav had f**ked her earlier had told her everything. She could read men. She could read the nature of their desire. And she had discerned all this about Arnav from that one act.

Wasn't she allowed some professional hubris?

Arnav leaned over to place his coffee cup on the table. Somehow the cup hit the edge. Glass and porcelain met with such force that the cup, still quite full, shattered and the contents splashed over the open neck of his shirt front.

Though Anita was aware that he wore an undershirt, the hot coffee would have still scalded the areas unprotected by the layers of clothing. She ran to the kitchen to fetch a cloth and some ice, but when she returned, he was gone.

The door was not left ajar. And all that Anita Sharma had left of Arnav Singh Raizada was a stained white shirt, which lay crumpled on the rug.

Jalebi Jane

Originally posted by: amus5

The door was not left ajar. And all that Anita Sharma had left of Arnav Singh Raizada was a stained white shirt, which lay crumpled on the rug.

the inevitable close of a non-descript chapter in the private life of Arnav Singh Raizada. Well, does that imply the next chapter is a plunge into an abyss or a soar to the zenith...only time would tell.

Originally posted by: mansi0606

Anita here hit a nerve. Love of someone who doesnt wish to be in love. Beautiful!