The Vibrant Years(10)
That couldn’t be true, could it? Their ratings weren’t terrible, and their sponsorships were up.
“Unless,” Joyce added, “Tropical Juices renews their sponsorship.” Before Aly could respond, Joyce put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know why they’re thinking about dropping us, but I cannot afford to make any sudden moves right now. Their sponsorship is up for renewal, and if they don’t renew, we all lose our jobs. And you know there’s no segment to be had for a woman your age on any other station.”
Wow.
“But maybe if you let me leverage this story, it will push them to renew.” She leaned closer. “Seriously, good job with this lead. I’m confident it can save our behinds. I mean, it’s Meryl!” The first genuine smile brightened her eyes. “Let’s use it to get Tropical in the bag. Then, as soon as they’ve signed, we’ll announce the new arts and entertainment segment, with you as the anchor. Every Friday, a weekend-recommendations piece like you’ve been asking for. Weekend Plans with Aly Menezes Desai.”
Aly swallowed. Weekend Plans with Aly Menezes Desai.
“Has quite a ring to it, ha?”
It did. It had the best ring to it, and Aly wanted to nod and hand over the story. A fair exchange. But she didn’t move.
“Take some time to think about it,” Joyce said carefully. “Let me run a few things by the powers that be, and you get started on the story. Sound good?”
Aly nodded. Time to figure things out was always a good thing.
CHAPTER FOUR
BINDU
The actor’s craft demands walking through the flames of your fear. It’s getting naked so the world might see itself in you. It’s violating your own boundaries. When Bhanu looked at me, I saw everything. And I wanted to be the camera.
From the journal of Oscar Seth
Bindu had never imagined that winning a game of pickleball could be so satisfying. Not that she was delusional enough to take credit for the victory. Jane, her doubles partner, had been a gym teacher for forty years. Any doubles team with Jane on it was unbeatable.
“The skort is lovely on you!” Bindu said as they left the courts. Jane and Connie, the two friends Bindu had made at Shady Palms, had dressed mostly in tracksuits when she met them, but they’d loved Bindu’s style, so she had helped them love their own clothes too with a few marathon online shopping sessions.
“You’re right. Winning while looking cute is so much more fun,” Jane said, patting down her white athletic skort.
Bindu quite liked her new friends. Debbie Romano had chosen not to move into Shady Palms, and Bindu would never know why, because she hadn’t spoken to Debbie since the open house.
“By the way, I got you something.” Jane slipped a brown paper package out of her gym bag and handed it to Bindu.
Bindu had to laugh. “You didn’t!” she said without having to open it.
Jane, Connie, and Bindu met for dinner and wine every Wednesday, and Jane and Connie had spent their last gathering dissecting, in thorough detail, the pros and cons of various lubes. It was a subject Bindu had no experience with, which the two women found hilarious. Bindu hadn’t shared with them that a man hadn’t been involved in her physical pleasures since her husband. There were plenty of ways to skin that particular horny cat on one’s own. But everyone didn’t need to know everything.
Her new friends, it would seem, had done quite a bit of indulging in the very eager pool of lustfulness that was Shady Palms.
“It might be time to put Richard out of his misery. The man has been following you around like a puppy dog the entire time you’ve been here.”
“Maybe,” Bindu said as they came to Jane’s building and parted ways. But not before Jane wiggled her brows and declared that cute clothes weren’t the only way for a woman to celebrate herself.
Bindu knew that. She also knew that she was listening to all the voices inside her—her mother, Rajendra, every person who’d ever looked at her and seen a slut unless she shrank herself into a tight little ball. But living life on her own terms meant she had to be intentional about it. She refused to let her choices be mere acts of rebellion. Freedom meant she’d do things for the right reasons, when she was good and ready for them. Because now she could.
Which didn’t mean she didn’t utterly revel in Richard’s pursuit. After a long hot shower in her jewel-toned bathroom, she made herself a cup of chai in her quartz and glass kitchen and took it to her lanai. The roar of the ocean mixed with the melodic notes of old Bollywood ballads playing on the Bluetooth speaker Cullie had given her as sunshine poured life into her skin. She sank into her papasan chair and opened her email, anticipation making her heart race in the most exhilarating way.
As the sixty-five-year-old grandmother of a coding genius, Bindu was proud to admit how very much she loved technology. Who would have believed human beings could do this? Communicate across distance in real time, all the time? It was the kind of magic that had colored her grandmother’s stories.
As a little girl, growing up in Goa, Bindu had wanted nothing more than to burrow into her grandmother’s soft cotton sari and fall into her stories. She’d dreamed them into existence every night with herself as the hero, those worlds alive inside her in Technicolor like the movies her grandmother sneaked her into.