"How's it going?"

"Great," she smiled. "Lettie loves every minute of it. She deals with all the studios and the booking agents now. She's better at it than me. She drives a better deal for us every time. And I do the tourists. I like that part better. I like meeting them and working with them."

"And you like it that sooner or later, no matter how nice they are, they always go away?"

"Yeah. That, too."

"How's Vikram? I haven't seen him since-since the last time I saw you and Lettie."

"He's cool. You know Vikram. He's got a lot more time on his hands now. He misses the stunt thing. He was really big on that, and he was great at it. But it drove Lettie crazy. He was always jumping off moving trucks and crashing through windows and stuff.

And she worried a lot. So she made him give it up."

"What's he doing now?"

"He's kind of the boss, you know? Like the executive vice president of the company-the one Lettie started, with Kavita and Karla and Jeet. And me." She paused, on the verge of saying something, and then plunged on. "She was asking after you."

I stared back at her, saying nothing. "Karla," she explained. "She wants to see you, I think."

I held the silence. I was enjoying it, a little, that so many emotions were chasing one another across the soft, unblemished landscape of her face.

"Have you seen any of his stunts?" she asked.

"Vikram's?"

"Yeah. He did a whole lot before Lettie made him stop."

"I've been busy. But I really want to catch up with Vikram."

"Why don't you?"

"I will. I heard he's hanging out at the Colaba Market every day, and I've been wanting to see him. I'm working a lot of nights, so I haven't been to Leopold's lately. It's just... I've been... busy."

"I know," she said softly. "Maybe too busy, Lin. You don't look too good."

"Gimme a break," I sighed, trying to laugh. "I work out every day. I do boxing or karate every other day. I can't get any fitter than this."

"You know what I mean," she insisted.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Listen, I should let you go..."

"No. You shouldn't."

"I shouldn't?" I asked, faking a smile.

"No. You should come with me, now, to my room. We can have coffee sent up. Come on. Let's go."

And she was right: it was a spectacular view. Tourist ferries bound for the caves on Elephanta Island, or returning to shore, rose up the wavelets and rolled over them in proud, practised glissades. Hundreds of smaller craft dipped and nodded like preening birds in the shallow water while huge cargo vessels, anchored to the horizon, lay motionless on that cusp of calm where the ocean became the bay. On the street below us, parading tourists wove coloured garlands with their movements through and around the tall, stony gallery of the Gateway Monument.

She kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged on the bed. I sat near her on the edge of the bed. I stared at the floor near the door. We were quiet for a while, listening to the noises that pushed their way into the room with a breeze that caused the curtains to riffle, swell, and fall.

"I think," she began, taking a deep breath, "you should come and live with me."

"Well, that's-"

"Hear me out," she cut in, raising both palms to silence me.

"Please."

"I just don't think-"

"Please."

"Okay," I smiled, sitting further along the bed to rest my back against the bed-head.

"I found a new place. It's in Tardeo. I know you like Tardeo. So do I. And I know you'll like the apartment, because it's exactly the kind of place we both like. And I think that's what I'm trying to get at, or trying to say-we like the same things, Lin.

And we got a lot in common. We both beat the dope. That's a fuckin' hard thing to do, and you know it. And not many people do it. But we did-we both did-and I think that's because we're alike, you and me. We'd be good, Lin. We'd be... we'd be real good."

"I can't say... for sure... that I beat the dope, Lisa."

"You did, Lin."

"No. I can't say I won't ever touch it again, so I can't say I beat it."

"But that's even more reason to get together, don't you see?" she insisted, her eyes pleading and close to tears. "I'll keep you straight. I can say I won't ever touch it again, because I hate the stuff. If we're together, we can work the movie business, and have fun, and watch out for each other."

"There's too much..."

"Listen, if you're worried about Australia, and jail, we could go somewhere else-somewhere they'll never find us."

"Who told you about that?" I asked, keeping my face straight.

"Karla did," she answered evenly. "It was in the same little conversation we had once, where she told me to look after you."

"Karla said that?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"A long time ago. I asked her about you-about what her feelings were, and what she wanted to do."

"Why?"

"Whaddaya mean, why?"

"I mean," I replied slowly, reaching out to cover her hand with mine, "why did you ask Karla about her feelings?"

"Because I had a crush on you, stupid!" she explained, holding my eye for a second and then looking away again. "That's why I went with Abdullah-to make you jealous, or interested, and just to be close to you, through him, because he was your friend."

"Jesus," I sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Is it still Karla?" she asked, her eyes following the rise and breathless fall of the curtains at the window. "Are you still in love with her?"

"No."

"But you still love her."

"Yes."

"And... how about me?" she asked.

I didn't answer because I didn't want her to know the truth. I didn't want to know the truth myself. And the silence thickened and swelled until I could feel the tingling pressure of it on my skin.

"I've got this friend," she said at last. "He's an artist. A sculptor. His name's Jason. Have you ever met him?"

"No, I don't think so."

"He's an English guy, and he's got a real English way of looking at things. It's different than our way, our American way, I mean.

He's got a big studio out near Juhu Beach. I go there sometimes."

She was silent again. We sat there, feeling the breeze alternately warm and cool as the air from the street and the bay swirled into the room. I could feel her eyes on me like a blush of shame. I stared at our two hands joined and resting on the bed.

"The last time I went there, he was working on this new idea. He was filling empty packaging with plaster, using the bubble packs that used to have toys in them, you know, and the foam boxes you get packed around a new T.V set. He calls them negative spaces.

He uses them like a mould, and he makes a sculpture out of them.

He had a hundred things there-shapes made out of egg cartons, and the blister-pack that a new toothbrush came in, and the empty package that had a set of headphones in it."

I turned to look at her. The sky in her eyes held tiny storms.

Her lips, embossed with secret thoughts, were swollen to the truth she was trying to tell me.

"I walked around there, in his studio, you know, looking at all these white sculptures, and I thought, that's what I am. That's what I've always been. All my life. Negative space. Always waiting for someone, or something, or some kind of real feeling to fill me up and give me a reason..."

When I kissed her, the storm from her blue eyes came into our mouths, and the tears that slid across her lemon-scented skin were sweeter than honey from the sacred bees in Mombadevi's Jasmine Temple garden. I let her cry for us. I let her live and die for us in the long, slow stories our bodies told. Then, when the tears stopped, she surrounded us with poised and fluent beauty-a beauty that was hers alone: born in her brave heart, and substantialised in the truth of her love and her flesh. And it almost worked.