Goddess for Hire by Sonia Singh Read Free Book Online Page B

shrugged. “This happens three or four times a week.”
    I scrambled to my feet. The clerk surveyed me. “Are you Indian?”
    â€œYeah.” I looked closely at his name tag. It read: ALI . “Are you?”
    â€œPakistani.”
    â€œMy mom was born in Pakistan, before India was split up.”
    â€œDo you know where?”
    â€œLahore.”
    â€œI was born there, too.”
    The bald bandit curled his lip. “Damn immigrants.”
    Ali leveled his rifle. “Shut up, bastard. If not for immigrants like me, you bastards would have no one to rob.”
    The dark-skinned robber nudged his friend. “Hey, asshole, my family’s from Mexico.”
    â€œThey are?”
    Well my work there was done.
    I removed a piece of Twinkie from my hair. “Do you want me to stick around, Ali? Talk to the cops?”
    â€œNo.” He waved me away. “I know how to handle their bastard questions.”
    â€œThanks again.” I headed for the door, giving the two men in the corner a well-deserved finger.
    â€œIs that your Hummer outside?” Ali said.
    â€œYeah,” I said proudly.
    â€œYou owe me forty dollars.”
    Oh, right, the gas. I smiled sheepishly and whipped out my wallet.
    The white thug snorted. “What’s a little girl like you doin’ in a big car like that?”
    I opened my mouth.
    Forget it.

Chapter 17
    I HAD TO CLEAR my throat several times before anyone noticed I was in the room.
    My mom was the first to react. “Maya, you’re back. We just finished eating.” The table was scattered with remnants of dinner: a half-empty tureen of lentil soup or dal, a plate of chapattis, a nearly devoured vegetable dish of cauliflower and potatoes, heavily seasoned with black pepper, cumin, cardamom, nutmeg, cloves, and cinnamon. A bottle of wine rested in the center.
    Wine?
    My parents never drank wine. Occasionally my dad indulged in a scotch and soda before dinner, and my mom would nurse a rum and Coke (only at parties mind you), but wine?
    Tahir poured a glass and set it down across from him. “Here, have a taste, Maya. It’s an Australian wine, Shiraz. The selection at the shop was excellent.”
    â€œI like it,” my mom said with a fond smile at Tahir. Her cheeks were tinged pink.
    My dad was shoveling food into his mouth and barely nodded at me as I took a seat. He was wearing his favorite T-shirt with the logo: Urologists do it in a cup .
    What I really wanted was a shower. I smelled like skinhead.
    But I was never one to turn down wine.
    I took a sip, and I couldn’t keep a sound of pleasure from escaping my lips. Shiraz, huh? Merlot had just gone down a notch in my opinion.
    Then Tahir smiled, and the wine nearly shot out of my mouth. The man should be prohibited from smiling. The effect was indecently attractive.
    â€œYou know your wines,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.
    I suppose if “knowing” wines meant consuming them to great extent, then I did. “I know what I like.”
    Tahir was staring at me. I found this disconcerting. I preferred him rude. He moved to top off my glass, which had somehow emptied itself. I took a sip and chanced another look over.
    Tahir’s eyes were still fixed on my face.
    â€œPass the dal,” my dad said. I nearly jumped, forgetting he was there. Tahir really had me unsettled, or maybe it was the fact that, hours earlier, I had turned the sky black with my divine power? I passed the bowl, and my dad poured a few spoonfuls over his rice. “Did anyone notice the strange weather today?”
    I nearly spit out my wine again. “No,” I said a little too loudly.
    My mom shook her head. “I was in the office all day.”
    Tahir scratched the side of his mouth. “Oh, you mean the momentary darkness and wind. Is that unusual for Southern California?”
    My dad’s attention was back on the food, and he didn’t answer.
    My