Walking to the counter he handed over the bottle of perfume to the heavily made up, young cashier. She waved the bar code past the scanner and said, “That will be 4,200 baht, sir.”
‘That’s about $140’ he thought as he handed over his credit card. She swiped it, then printed the slip and gave it to him for his signature. Using his own pen he scrawled across the paper and handed it back to a perfectly manicured hand. “Thank you,” he smiled at the woman as he slipped the pen and card into the pocket of his blazer.
“Have a nice day, Mr. Ghosh,” she said handing over the bag with his purchase.
Turning around he almost bumped into another shopper, caught her eye, noticed the deep cleavage, apologized and walked around her. A few steps away he turned to take another look. She had a very attractive face and figure but her unkempt, disheveled look seemed rather incongruous in a shop selling international brand name perfumes. Instinctively, he patted his pocket feeling the wallet inside. Briefly a thought came to him: some of Bangkok’s duty-free shops were notorious for framing innocent passengers of shoplifting. He hoped this voluptuous, young woman didn’t get into trouble.
Boarding time was still over an hour away and he strolled towards a bookshop. The shelves were full of glossy, forgettable trash. He mused that the more unreadable a book, the more attractive its cover. Jacket artists and designers were obviously more creative, or skilful, than writers. Or they worked harder.
He moved deeper into the shop browsing through the more serious stuff. As he flipped through book after book he noticed the same woman that he had seen earlier in the perfume shop, leafing through a magazine near the cash counter. He caught her eye and they smiled at each other in recognition.
After a while she walked up to him with a book in her hand. “Aren’t you the author?”
He stared back at her blankly. She held out the book in her hand, ‘The Sea of Poppies’ by Amitav Ghosh. She turned the book over, looked at the picture of the author on the back cover, and stared back at him. He took the book from her and looked at the photograph of a man with a thick mop of hair. Except for the grey hair and the complexion there was very little resemblance.
“Didn’t you write this book?” she looked at him quizzically. “I heard the salesgirl at the perfume shop call you ‘Mr. Ghosh’.”
Comprehension dawned on him and he threw his head back with a laugh. Another coincidence he thought: the surname. “No, I’m not,” he smiled. “In India, Ghosh is a very common surname,” he explained, “almost like a Smith.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” she flushed.
“That’s OK,” he touched her arm gently, but quite deliberately.
She bit her lip and went to put the book back in its place. Suddenly, she walked back with it. “Excuse me, Mr. Ghosh, could I ask you a favour?”
“Yes?” he smiled curiously.
“My father’s a great fan of Amitav Ghosh,” she said mispronouncing the surname as ‘gosh’. “It’s his 75th birthday next week. Could I take a picture with you? You look a lot like the author,” she smiled. “I’ll say I took a picture with Mr. Ghosh. Technically, I wouldn’t be lying,” she added mischievously.
He hesitated for a while but those large, limpid eyes dispelled any misgivings. Despite the unwashed look, she carried herself with a certain sensuousness that he found attractive and he gave in quite willingly. She quickly handed her camera to one of the staff standing by idly and requested her to photograph them. The salesgirl wondered who the man was. For good measure, positions were changed and a few more pictures were clicked. He felt his heart beat faster as she held his arm, pressing it against the side of her breast.
“Thank you so much,” she giggled and he smiled back caught up in the prank. Then she bit her lip thoughtfully. “One more favour please,” and without waiting for an answer rushed to the counter and bought the book. Dashing back to the man, she floored him with a smile as she asked him to autograph the novel.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” he protested. “I’m not the author.”
“Why not?” she asked, giving him a look that made his heart skip a beat, “you are a Ghosh, aren’t you?” For the first time he realised what a husky voice she had. “You have a beautiful smile, Mr. Ghosh,” she said. Her blouse had shifted exposing more cleavage and he noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra. She handed the book to him and he took the pen from his pocket. Despite his doubts, he smiled at the young woman’s craftiness.
“What’s your father’s name?” he asked, “what should I write?”
She thought for a while, and then said, “Just put ‘Happy Birthday, with best wishes’ and sign Amitav Ghosh.”
As he flipped the cover his misgivings returned and he paused for a moment. Then quickly writing, what she had asked for, he signed ‘a Ghosh,’ using a largish small ‘a’. He was a Ghosh after all. He was sure that she wouldn’t notice that. He felt better not being 100% part of her prank.
“Thank you so much,” she gushed, “this will really make my dad’s day. That’s so kind of you,” she went on, “thank you very much for being so sporting.” Taking the book and the pen from his hands, she surprised him with a moist kiss on the mouth and a hug.
He didn’t want the encounter to end and would have invited her for a drink but realised that he didn’t have the time. Seeing him look at his watch, she picked up her backpack, “Oh my God! I’m going to miss my flight too,” and rushed out of the shop.
After a quick visit to the toilet, he walked hurriedly towards boarding gate 8C with a smile on his face. The taste of the woman was still on his lips. They were making final calls for his flight and he threw his attaché on the x-ray machine and queued for the body search.
As he hurried past Gate 8A, his eyes caught the young woman through the glass enclosure. She was sitting next to an older unshaven man chatting animatedly as she flipped through the novel he had ‘autographed’ a short while ago. The man had a black pen in his hand which he was looking at closely. Instinctively, he patted the pocket of his blazer. His Montblanc Meisterstück wasn’t there. He checked all his pockets. The pen was missing.
“Bitch,” he muttered to himself angrily when he realised that he had been had. He was furious with himself. His wife had given him the pen for his birthday, two months ago. And from the credit card statements he had seen that it had cost a fortune. How was he going to explain this? He knocked furiously on the thick glass trying to draw her attention but it was useless. He had to let it go or he would miss his flight. He cursed her in all the three languages he knew.
In enclosure 8A, the woman smiled as she stared at the picture of the author. ‘Sucker’ she thought as her mind went back to the man who had signed the book. Her companion looked at her wondering whether it was the author’s ego at being recognized by an attractive, young woman or had she deliberately flaunted her sexuality? Either way, he mused, it was going to be quite profitable for him. “And he let you keep his pen?” he asked.
“I think he liked me. He even asked for my email address,” she lied looking at her companion turning the pen around in his hand. “That’s a Montblanc Meisterstück, worth about $800,” she emphasized. After a while she asked, “So, do we have a deal, $500 for the pen and an autographed bestseller?”
The man calculated that he could still turn a profit but feigned disinterest. “$150 is all I’m willing to pay,” he said with a take-it-or-leave-it shrug. “Besides,” he added, ‘if he gave it to you so easily, it couldn’t be a genuine Montblanc.” To disconcert her further he very noticeably moved his hand up and down, feeling the weight of the pen. “I’ll need to check it out. There are some excellent fakes around.”
She bit her lip suddenly deflated. “I’m not willing to go below $200,” she said after some thought.
With an exaggerated sigh of reluctance, he replied, “$175 is my last offer, though I think you’re really squeezing me.”
“Done,” she quickly replied before he changed his mind again.
COMMENTS
GHOSHAL
Its a very unusual story set on a background in the Orient,but it kept my interest going till the end, in fact I just wanted the story to carry on….
Devinder
Excellent read.
Melody Kemp
Percy its grown up.. The story is now developed, rounded and gone is the
nudge wink aspect.. I really liked it.
© Percy Aaron
Wow Laos 