“Do you want to go somewhere to talk?” he asked, smirking at the sight of me being held aloft by two men. “Not now, whenever you’re done. Don’t want to interrupt the work you’re doing here.”
I blushed, embarrassed, and Felicia led him away, whispering in his ear.
Before Kai and his group were set to join us, Felicia, Stavros, and I did our “huddle” in the restaurant, which was essentially one huge, open veranda overlooking the beach and the shimmering sea beyond it. Now, just after sunset, the air had cooled and a fresh breeze blew in from over the ocean. Diners reclined on daybeds overflowing with cushions, low tables in front of them holding large platters of freshly caught fish grilled with lemon and crisp salads drizzled with aged balsamic.
“You like, no?” Felicia asked, lighting up a cigarette. “He’s a hottie. What’d I tell ya?”
That night, after dinner, during which our respective camps would discuss a nonexistent project between us, I should suggest that Kai take me for a walk on the grounds, Felicia said.
“That’ll give me and his people a chance to talk,” she said, eyeing a tray of rum-laced cocktails as it went by. “We may as well come out with it.”
Nana, had he still been a witness to my life, would have been impressed by this. This was, after all, exactly how things would have been done had I remained in India and agreed to wed. He would have summoned some prospects, his friend’s grandson Tariq being on the top of the list, and then casually suggested after dinner that the boy and I take a walk around the building. By the time the boy and I would have returned from the walk, we would be engaged.
To me, sitting there in a gauzy poncho and sequined sarong at a five-star resort hotel on the Jamaican bay, that all seemed like a lifetime ago.
Chapter Twenty-one
We flew back to New York together on Kai’s private plane.
He sat across from me in a caramel-colored seat, his slender frame almost dwarfed by its depth and plushness. He had one leg crossed over the other, and his left hand cupped his chin. He had been staring at me for at least five minutes, all the way through our take-off, as I nervously tried to drink a glass of iced tea. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was in love with me.
“Want to try one of these?” he asked, holding up a can of Red Bull, something he said he drank several times a day.
“Thank you, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m happy with what I have.”
“So, you know what all this is about, right?” he asked. “You know what we’re doing here?”
I nodded.
“I know why I’m doing it,” I said. “But what do you get out of it?”
“Please, don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m supposedly the hottest thing in music since the Beatles, and I’ve never had a proper girl-friend. My agent had to remind me that rock and sex go pretty much hand-in-hand, and that without gossip about groupies, I may as well throw it all in and become a book-keeper. I’ve had a few beards over the past couple of years-you know, female friends I call on to hit the clubs with, get my picture taken. It keeps my gayness at bay, as far as my fans are concerned. But my team thought it was time for something a bit more established. Or at least they thought it once your people proposed it after dinner last night. You know, it’s not a bad idea. I have a record coming out soon, and if I want to continue living like this,” he said, indicating the plane, “then I’m going to need all the help I can get. You’re a great wagon to hitch my ride to.”
I suddenly felt soiled, as if I had allowed Felicia to talk me into something that was, fundamentally, unethical. Felicia’s words about this whole business being built on image still smoldered in my ears. But now, agreeing to this sham of a relationship, I was giving in to it. Now I really was going to be lost in the celebrity shuffle.
But it was too late to do anything about it. Before Kai and I boarded the flight earlier that day, we both signed documents stipulating the terms of our relationship. There were confidentiality clauses and endless paragraphs devoted to financial details. I was amazed at how the people who worked with us managed to get it all together-legalese intact-less than twelve hours after first discussing it.
I hadn’t fully read all of the small print, quite happy to take Felicia’s word for it that everything was in order. I had skimmed over the section that outlined how we would both respond to queries from magazine editors and talk-show hosts about how we met, and if we were in love, and where the relationship was headed. We were to be seen a certain number of times together every week, the exact nature of which meetings were to be determined by us, but would definitely have to include awards shows or nightclub openings. We had to be photographed kissing wherever and whenever possible. We had to have the appearance of living together, even if we both maintained our own apartments. And we had to keep it going no less than a year, at which time we could release a statement saying we had split amicably. By then, both our careers would be soaring.
If my nana hadn’t died of shock by now, this would definitely do it.
Our plane landed on a private airstrip just outside New York. As the stairs lowered, Kai grabbed his bag with one hand, and took my hand in the other. He had put on a pair of dark glasses, pulled out his shirt from his pants, removed his socks. He looked scruffy, relaxed, sexy. He suggested I leave my sunglasses off, that they needed to get a really good look at my face, and I agreed.
As we descended the stairs, I noticed that the airstrip was completely bare, except for a car that was there to pick us up. And then, popping out from behind a van like a gopher, I spotted a photographer, a camera slung around his neck, a cell phone attached to his belt loop. He smiled, took the picture, gave us a thumbs-up, and drove off.
Felicia, as always, knew just who to call. We were the lead item on Page Six the next morning, on the inside page of USA Today, and on seven different Internet gossip sites.
MUSLIM SUPERMODEL FINALLY HOOKS UP! screamed one headline.
ROCK DUDE SWEEPS AWAY FASHION’S LATEST HOTTIE! said another.
KAI AND TANAYA: FORBIDDEN LOVE? speculated an online column.
At my apartment, alone, I slammed shut my laptop, set the newspapers aside, and took the phone off the hook. I went into my bedroom and opened the top drawer in my bedside table. I rummaged around for something that Stavros had given me not long after I got here. I finally found it, held it tight in the palm of my hand, and went back outside to the living room.
Staring at the compass, I located the direction that, thousands of miles away across oceans, lay Mecca, our big, glorious, historic place of worship. Then, for the first time in months, I lowered myself to the ground, closed my eyes, and prayed.
Shazia, an avid reader of all things gossipy, was on the phone in no time. She was always fascinated by where I had gone the previous night, whom I’d had lunch with, what I was wearing, which country I was traveling to next. She had asked me to lobby Stavros to find me something in Los Angeles. She said she really missed me and wanted to see me again, but I think she wanted me around so she could latch on to the vague aura of stardom that seemed to have enveloped me.
“Kai… you’re going out with Kai?” she asked, sounding more excited about it than I was. “He’s so yummy! How’d you score that? Come on, seriously, tell me. Oh, and what’s he like in the sack? I’m dying to know. I told the girls at work I’d find out from you.”