She was also seething about her uncle’s remark. “Anju, what kind of clothes are you wearing?” he’d asked. “Why did you change from salwar-kameez to pants?”
“This is typical American attire, Jeevan-kaka,” she’d replied. “Most women my age wear clothes like these.” All she had on was a simple navy silk shirt and ecru slacks. What was wrong with that? After her brusque response she’d braced herself for a scathing comeback from her uncle.
Instead Jeevan had stunned them all once again when he’d laughed and patted her head. “Young lady, you have become very naughty lately or what?”
She’d let that one go with a smile.
Jeevan had some comments about how much the neighborhood had changed since his last visit. “Oh, how many Desi restaurants do you have here, Mohan? This is so pukka Mumbai and Ahmedabad.” His eyes went wide at the number of clothing stores that had sprung up within the last couple of years. “So many sari shops!”
“That’s precisely our problem, Jeevan-bhai,” Usha said to him. “Excessive competition.”
Shah was quietly surveying the neighborhood, his eyes hidden behind super-dark sunglasses. Anjali was curious to know how he viewed this ethnic landscape that looked like a piece of India transplanted into the United States. How did it compare with the Desi neighborhoods in London and other cities?
They parked behind the store as usual. While the rest of them went toward the back door, Anjali noticed Shah stayed by the van. Ignoring the door held open by her father, he crossed the parking lot instead, and sauntered up to the sidewalk. Then he stood with his hands in his trouser pockets to study Silk & Sapphires’ storefront, or at least that’s what it looked like from the angle of his head. From his posture she could tell he was looking critically at the display, the store sign, just about everything.
He didn’t look impressed.
Well, she wouldn’t let that bother her. She couldn’t put stock in what some stranger who had arrived in New Jersey less than two hours ago thought about her boutique.
Jeevan-kaka, after waiting impatiently at the door for Shah, gave up and crossed the street to join him. Anjali and her parents went inside the store and left the two men to their devices.
Immediately Anjali crossed the length of the store and gravitated toward the glass panel in the front door to observe the men outside. The two of them started to gesture and talk. Shah had to bend his head low to be on a level with her uncle’s.
She couldn’t hear a word of their conversation, but she could imagine what it was. They were probably analyzing her store bit by bit and wondering how they could transform it, or worse, make it theirs. Her uncle acquired businesses at about the same frequency he bought underwear.
The thought sent a mild tremor of alarm through her. She’d have to find some way to keep what was hers.
Her father interrupted her thoughts. “Can you unlock the front door, Anju? They can come inside that way instead of walking all the way to the back.”
“Sure, Dad.” She unlocked the front door and watched her father head directly to the back office, probably to pull out the financial reports for his brother’s review.
Then she got busy tidying up the shop. Hastily she stowed away the empty sari carton she had left behind the previous night. She picked up the odds and ends she and her parents had inadvertently left here and there and shoved all the items into the appropriate drawers behind the cash register.
It was a good thing today was Monday and the store was officially closed. At least they didn’t have to worry about customers in addition to giving Jeevan-kaka and Shah the grand tour. From all indications her uncle’s inspection was already getting off to a bad start. She glanced out the window again and found the two men still standing in the same spot, deep in discussion.
Her mother came up behind her, took a peek outside, and shook her head. “I don’t know what those two are doing out there. Let’s make sure everything is neat before they come in.”
Anjali shot her mother a reassuring look. “I took care of it. I haven’t had a chance to look at the back rooms, though.”
“Then let’s get to it.”
In five minutes flat the women had the two small fitting rooms and the restroom looking as neat as they could manage. Anjali observed her father sitting at the computer, furiously clicking away, a slight frown on his face. The laser printer on the desk was spitting out page after page of reports. Despite his earlier elation at having his brother here, her father now seemed just as nervous as Anjali and her mother.
A moment later the security bell attached to the front door chimed, announcing the arrival of Jeevan and Shah. Anjali heard them talking.
“But what if that fellow refuses to sell, Rishi?” her uncle asked.
“We’ll offer him a fair price. No one refuses a good offer.” Anjali heard cool confidence in Shah’s voice. “You know that as well as I.”
And what exactly did that mean, she wondered? Offer someone a fair price? All of a sudden her stomach lurched. Was Shah talking about her father? Were her uncle and Shah planning to buy the boutique from them? But then her uncle had mentioned some fellow.
Meaning to question them about their intentions, Anjali stepped out of the office and onto the sales floor. She came to a standstill when she noticed the men stopping at one of the displays. They were studying it carefully. It was a bride-and-groom duo of mannequins sporting Anjali’s latest bridal wear. She had the mannequins posing under a wedding mandap—the ceremonial Hindu marriage canopy.
The bride was dressed in traditional red and gold, with a chunni over her head, but the dress was designed somewhat like an American bridal gown, with slightly puffed sleeves and a low neckline that showed a hint of cleavage and showcased the ruby-and-pearl necklace to perfection. The groom wore a cream silk, tuxedo-style jacket over matching trousers paired with cream and gold hand-sewn mojdis, the traditional formal shoes.
Anjali was particularly proud of those designs. She’d had at least three bridal couples who’d fallen in love with that display and ordered similar outfits in recent months.
Itching to hear the men’s comments, she hid behind one of the tall clothing racks to eavesdrop on their conversation. From her vantage point she could just about see their profiles.
Shah had his dark glasses hooked over his shirt pocket. He touched the embroidered sleeve on the bride’s outfit. “This is good, Jeevan-kaka, elegant…clever.”
“All designed by our Anju, Rishi. She is very talented in these things, you know.”
A brief smile touched Anjali’s face at the warm pride in Jeevan-kaka’s voice. She had to admit that despite his cantankerous ways, he was genuinely fond of his nieces and nephews. He was a true family man.
“I can see that,” said Shah. “Everything here is quite impressive. But design and display are not the problem, are they? We have to come up with a plan to expand this into something that’s even better, a more one-stop, one-of-a-kind type of store. Right now it appears to be competing with a dozen or more stores that do more or less similar things and sell similar products.”
Anjali nearly gave herself away by gasping. Do similar things and sell similar products? Hardly! There was no comparison between her boutique and those other shops. And what was that remark about one-stop shopping? She reflected over it for a moment. Then it sank in.
They were going to buy her and her parents out and then turn her exclusive boutique into a run-of-the-mill department store. Good grief!
How could a man who dressed like a million dollars and spoke impeccable English dream up such bourgeois ideas? Jeevan-kaka was capable of coming up with classless notions, but Shah seemed urbane—a man who shopped at the best stores. He had the aura of money about him. Even the way he held