He showered and wore the purple shirt she had admired at the mall.

"Where are we going?" He settled into her spotlessly clean car.

"You'll see." She was wearing a silky dark blue dress that clung softly to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She held his gaze until he started to lose himself in those perfect half-moon eyes, and then she looked away.

She drove expertly, skimming in and out of lanes. They seemed to be heading for Cleveland, and he sat back to enjoy himself. The sky was dimming, and the rows of headlights and taillights up and down the freeway began to glow in the dusk. Lush cla.s.sical piano music filled the car. He tried to place the composer, and had the urge, for a moment, to ask her for the details. He let it pa.s.s, and let the music wash over him. The road unfurled in front of them. The other cars and the people within them became mere curiosities, outside the scope of his world. He and Rasika were in a self-contained capsule heading into a future just as cool and comfortable as this car.

She stopped the car in front of a tall redbrick building. "Here we are."

"The Renaissance Hotel?"

She hopped out, handed her keys to the valet, and from the backseat of the car swung out a tapestry-covered suitcase. "Would you grab this, please?" She set the suitcase on the sidewalk and pulled up the handle for him.

He followed her, bewildered, into the lobby, rolling her very light suitcase behind him.

She stopped in the center of the lobby and looked up at the balconies. "I love the renovation they did on this place. I'm so glad they didn't let this wonderful building go to waste."

He was glad in a way, too. Now this hotel was on the National Trust for Historic Preservation's list of historic hotels. Certainly it was better to preserve than to destroy old, historic buildings. Yet he distrusted opulence. The lobby walls were done in a dull yellow, as though to suggest gold. A huge potted tree graced the center of the lobby, implying that nature, when tamed and brought inside, was so much better than when left to its own devices. Above the potted tree was an artificial sun: a yellow dome with a huge round light fixture in the center of it.

"Wait here." She strode off toward the check-in desk. Her dress was not at all revealing, but he couldn't take his eyes away from the way it swished around her legs as she walked. On her feet were navy blue Indian chappals.

He felt silly standing there, holding her suitcase. A part of him wanted to take on the traditional masculine role and be in charge of everything. Yet he certainly didn't have money for a room here, if that was what she was intending. He couldn't quite believe it. Had she done this before with other men? She seemed perfectly at home in this situation.

In a moment she was back holding a key-card. "Room seven forty-five," she murmured, leading the way to the elevator. Once they were enclosed in the mirrored s.p.a.ce, zooming upstairs, she said, "I hope you don't mind that I've made these arrangements."

"Oh, no." He shook his head vigorously.

"Are you surprised?"

"Well, yeah. You tried so hard to get me to believe-"

"I'm a good liar. Just remember that." She arched her perfect eyebrows at him.

He followed her down the long, carpeted hallway. The door unlocked with a dull click, closed with a metallic thud, and they were alone in the silent room. He set Rasika's suitcase in a corner and stood beside it, watching as she slipped off her chappals and walked around the room, turning on bedside lamps, peeking out the window at the view, opening the bathroom door. Like the lobby, the room was painted gold. The king-size bed was covered in a red velvet spread, and the carpeting was a textured royal blue.

She opened a minifridge under the television set and took out a bottle of champagne. "Would you like some?"

He sprang into action, found a corkscrew on the dresser, and twisted it firmly, carefully, into the cork. He didn't want to look incompetent and leave part of the cork behind, or worse yet, be unable to extract it. He wrenched the cork out with a pop and poured the pale liquid into two winegla.s.ses, which were also on the dresser. Rasika was on the loveseat near the window, and he carried the gla.s.ses over there and sat down next to her.

"I love hotels." She sighed. She sat with her feet tucked under her dress. "Don't you?"

Actually, he didn't like hotels very much, but he didn't think this was the right time to bring it up. The whole atmosphere here was of a minipalace, tightly sealed to guard against the outside world seeping in. That was probably why the windows had sheer curtains in front of them, so you didn't have to see the gory details of real life going on outside, the traffic, the wires, the industrial flotsam on the tops of other buildings.

They clinked gla.s.ses and drank. She slipped one of her feet out from under her dress and laid it on his lap. He stroked her smooth sole. He wiggled her small, soft toes, and she giggled.

"Doesn't it seem like we're playing a game?" she asked. "Hiding from the rest of the world?"

"Where are your parents?"

"Out of town." She leaned back, holding her gla.s.s carefully. "They went to Pittsburgh to see some concert at the Hindu temple. They're staying with friends tonight. And Pramod is at his apartment. He said he had a lot of studying to do."

The mention of Pramod reminded Abhay that he was in a hotel room with the daughter of old family friends. How would he explain to his parents where he'd been for the night? He ought to come up with a good excuse and call them before it got too late.

Rasika removed her foot from his lap and set her gla.s.s on the end table. "I'm going to give you my cell number, so next time you can call me on that."

He was still marveling that there would be a "next time" when all thoughts went out of his head. Rasika took his gla.s.s away from him and put her hand on his chest, stroking him through his shirt. He touched her silky dress. She was warm and firm under his hands, and her softness pressed against him. They kissed, and she tasted of wine. He was enveloped in her scent, musky and floral at the same time. She pressed herself against him. He attempted to hold on to her and slide himself down to become more horizontal, but the seat was too short, and her dress was too slippery, and they both tipped onto the floor. She giggled and wrestled with him, rolling over and under him. He had the idea that they ought to get into the bed. She pulled his shirt out of his pants and unbuckled his belt. He was breathless with excitement. He ran his fingers over the back of her dress but couldn't figure out how it unfastened. Finally she pulled the dress over her head.

"Should we get in bed?" he whispered.

"Don't talk," she murmured. "I don't want to think."

Afterward they did get into bed and lay curled together under the covers.

"I can't believe this," he murmured.

"Shh." She kept her eyes closed as he stroked her. They snuggled together, dozed, and woke up hungry. They sat up in bed, and she looked rosy and rumpled. "Let's call out for room service!" She seemed as excited as a child. "Don't worry. It's totally on me."

They ordered fried calamari, bruschetta with chopped tomatoes, and carrots with an herb dressing. Before the food arrived Rasika opened her suitcase and wrapped herself in a pink fluffy robe. Abhay found a towel in the bathroom and draped it around his waist. They ate in bed, shoulders touching. She refilled their gla.s.ses.

"What happened with that guy you were supposed to marry?"

She stiffened. "I can't talk about that now." She shifted her body so she was no longer touching him. He put a hand on her arm, and she pushed him away. She had seemed so different this evening-alive and confident. He'd felt like he could talk to her about anything, yet now she was retreating back into her aloofness. After several minutes, she relaxed against him again.

"So what are you going to do with yourself?" she asked. "Now that you're home."

He thought it was safer to talk about himself than to talk about her situation, so he launched into a description of his problem. "I had the idea that I should allow myself to fully explore all options. But so far, I've just gotten more confused. Back in high school, I was sure I wanted to be a doctor. I thought it was n.o.ble to save lives, and of course Indian parents tend to pressure their kids to head in that direction." From the platter on the blanket between them, he brought a slice of bruschetta to his mouth and took a bite, being careful not to spill any of the chopped tomatoes. "Once I got into studying biology, I felt like it wasn't really about life. You kill fetal pigs so you can dissect them. And you cla.s.sify plants and animals, into a human-made system."

She nodded, holding a napkin below her chin to catch any drips.

"It's not that I'm not willing to work. I do want to do something good for the world, but sometimes it just seems so pointless."

Her lips glistened with olive oil. He waited for her to give him advice, as she had at the campus memorial. That's what most people did when he talked about this stuff. They said things like: "You'll have to face reality someday."

Rasika patted her lips with the thick white napkin and considered the carrots, her fork poised above them. She carefully speared one carrot disk and held it up, examining its glossy surface flecked with dark green herbs. She chewed slowly. She swallowed. She picked up her champagne gla.s.s and drank. "Tell me more," she said.

"Aren't you annoyed by what I'm saying? I mean, most people don't want to hear me go on and on."

"It's your life. If you want to be confused, I guess that's your business."

"Does it make you feel nervous, or afraid, to hear me be so undecided about everything? About life itself?"

She shook her head. "Why should I be afraid?"

"I think a lot of people have thoughts like mine, but they don't want to admit it. They have their steady job, their benefits, their comfortable homes. And if they start questioning things, they're afraid they won't have anything."

"You're either having your midlife crisis really early or you don't want to grow up."

"That's what my dad thinks-that I don't want to grow up. But that's not it. I want to figure it out. The other day, I went over to the KSU career center and did a couple of career and personality tests. And you know what? The counselor said I either had no strong interests or inclinations, or I was interested in just about everything. So that didn't help at all."

"You're so smart, you could choose almost anything and make it work." It was dark outside, and the bedside lamps threw a warm glow over her skin. He put out a hand and touched her cheek, ran his fingers along her jaw, feeling the hard bone beneath the skin. She looked at him.

"I had the impression for a minute that you weren't real." He smiled. "I can't believe I'm sitting here with you. On the one hand, I feel like I hardly know who you are. And then, I feel like I've known you forever."

"You have known me forever."

"Not like this. I never knew you were so uninhibited."

Her face grew hard again, as though something had closed. "I don't want to be like this," she whispered.

"Why not? I've never seen you so alive. I think you love being in charge. You love having your own money and spending it any way you choose. You love picking out the men you want to seduce. That's who you really are. Why not admit it?"

"Whenever I ask you about your life, you end up telling me what I should do with mine." She threw the napkin on the floor and kicked the covers off her legs. "I'm going to shower."

He stacked the plates and silverware on the tray and put it outside the door. He considered what she had said. Was it true that he didn't want to grow up? He straightened the sheets and blankets. He folded his clothes. It was ten o'clock. He called home and left a message that he'd decided to spend the night at a friend's house. He knew his mother would be worried, especially since he didn't leave a phone number. Oh, well. It couldn't be helped.

Rasika emerged from the bathroom wearing a pink nightgown, looking as fresh as Botticelli's Venus emerging from the sea. He watched her arrange her soap and shampoo in her suitcase.

"They have soap here, you know."

"I'm particular about what I put on my body." She smiled across the room at him as she toweled her hair dry. She sashayed over to him, sat down on the bed, and kissed him. "I don't have to tell you to keep all this to yourself."

He nodded and reached for her.

"We can meet every once in a while," she said in between kisses, "but only if I can completely trust you. I'll give you my e-mail at work."

He felt her hand traveling over his chest, and put his hand over hers to stop it. "I don't have e-mail."

"Why not?" She pulled her hand away. "You can't be opposed to e-mail. It saves paper."

"We didn't have personal e-mail addresses at Rising Star, and I just haven't signed myself up for anything yet. I thought I might as well keep myself out of that whole loop for a while. I don't want to be an electronic slave, constantly obsessing about checking my messages no matter where I am."

Rasika rolled her eyes.

"And more importantly," he continued, "what's the idea here? Are you going to keep pretending to your parents that you want an arranged marriage, and then see me on the sly?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I do want an arranged marriage. I'm not pretending."

"You've done this before with other men, haven't you? Lots of times." He saw her face close again, yet he kept talking. "I'm not interested in sneaking around with you. If you want to have a relationship with me, that's great. But I'm not going to play your game." He thought his words sounded fine and courageous. He also knew that if Rasika wanted to whisk him off to a hotel again, he'd let her.

"If I'm playing a silly game, then so are you. You pretend like you're so mature, but all you can talk about is that you don't know what to do with your life. You're only one person. You can't do everything all by yourself. Just pick something and start doing it. Get into the stream of things. How long are you going to wait to start living?"

He rubbed a hand over his hair. "I just need a break after the move home."

She pressed her fingers into the velvet bedspread, making light fingertip impressions. "That's how I look at it, too. When the time is right I'll get married, and I won't have to do this kind of thing anymore."

"So why don't you marry that guy? The one I saw you with the other day."

She kept pressing and rubbing away her finger-marks. "I ruined things. Everything was going well until I saw you. He was really angry, which made him look funny, and I couldn't help laughing." She laughed just thinking about it.

"He seemed like a complete jerk," Abhay said. "How could you even think about marrying him?"

"He fit all my criteria. I don't know why I went and ruined things."

"Maybe your subconscious knows what you really want and isn't willing to abandon you to an a.s.shole."

"Maybe." Rasika crossed her ankles and tossed her wet hair over her shoulder. "So, Mr. Know-It-All. What does your subconscious want for you?"

"I don't know."

"Are you waiting for another clue? Like the dreams or signs you told me about?"

"I don't think that'll work anymore. I feel like I'm done with that phase of my life. I was naive to believe that I could run my life based on those kinds of signs. I want to try being logical. Try being reasonable. That's what my dad always told me to do."

Faint, tinny music sounded from a corner of the room. Rasika leaped up. "My phone. What did I do with it?"

"In your purse?"

"Where'd I put my purse?"

The music came from the area near the refrigerator/TV cabinet. Rasika stuck her arm between the cabinet and dresser, and pulled out a tiny black leather purse. The music stopped.

"Whoever it is will call back." Abhay leaned against the dresser. He wanted a dessert. Something creamy, like the key lime pie he'd seen on the menu, or maybe some cheesecake. Or even some ice cream. He wondered if he could order it up and pay for it himself, or if it would all go on the room bill. He wondered if Rasika wanted anything.

"It's probably my mother." Rasika opened the purse, took out the phone, and peered at it. "Yes, it was my mom. She'll definitely call back. She's probably already tried me at home. If I don't answer my cell phone the second time she calls, she'll start to panic."

The phone burst into life again. "h.e.l.lo?" Rasika sat down on the edge of a chair.

Abhay threw himself back on the bed and examined the room-service dessert menu.

Rasika was saying something in Tamil. He had forgotten she was fluent in Tamil, which he didn't understand. He remembered that she had grown up in India until she was seven or eight. As she spoke with her mother, Rasika's voice became high and childlike, a pitch Abhay hadn't heard before. She sat with her legs together, her feet flat on the floor, as though to prove to her mother, by her unseen body language, that she hadn't been doing anything wrong.

He thought about going out into the hallway to find a vending machine. Or maybe there was a convenience store in the lobby where he could get something sweet. Besides, he didn't like hearing Rasika lie, even if it was in a language he didn't understand. He dressed quietly and left the room in his socks.

When he returned with two gourmet ice cream bars, Rasika was completely dressed in jeans and a blouse. "We gotta leave," she said. Her hair, still wet, was mussed. She was trying to lift the handle of her suitcase, but the suitcase kept rolling out from under her hand.

"What happened?"

"My parents are bringing another eligible bachelor home. Tomorrow." She yanked the handle up.

"So we can stay the night, can't we?"

"I can't. I have to get some distance from this."

"Rasika, sit down. You don't have to just follow your parents' lead." He tried to hand her an ice cream bar.