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Anna said I looked really good in the dress and showed me in the mirror.I had to admit she had a point. Then she kissed me to get my lips red.The girl in the mirror looked better, and my lips had that bewitchingtaste. I never found the clothes I had worn that day. Anna was always after meto wear the dress. She gave me a bra with little padded cups and said itwould make the dress look even better. I tried it on when I was at home.My mother said it looked great and it wouldn't take much from here tomake me a great-looking girl.Why would I want to be a great-looking girl?Anna and I were out with her friends. She said, "Did you know that Lennyloves the taste of lipstick." She kissed me as she said it, leaving alittle stain. "I gave him a dress to wear that looks smashing on him butI can't get him to wear it." Anna's friends clustered around, getting meto taste their lipstick. One of them was Louisa. Kissing Louisa gave me apang in my heart. But most of them were clamoring for me to go. He might get laid if he plays his cards right and he would certainly remember it for the rest of his life. She wished him luck. As Cindy babbled on, Maya stood by politely, but Sue caught her occasional eye roll. Suddenly Sue heard a beep from her bag. It wasn’t her phone. It must be the remote. There was no way she could pull it out to check. It would raise too many questions instantly. The white plastic looked more medical than cell phone or tech gadget. She had no idea what it would be beeping about. Cindy paused in her story for a moment in reaction then kept going like nothing happened. Did she need to breathe? After about half a minute or so, the remote beeped again. Cindy looked like she might say something but still kept right on going about the other driver, the cute cop and the bitch female cop. At least the fact that Cindy got a ticket was a small vindication. Once again there was a beep, then Sue finally had a chance to explain how she had an experiment running and the.
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”He closed his eyes as they drove through the inanimate streets of Lahore. The blurs of the eroded buildings fluttered by.“Vasilla, stop by the side of the road.”He opened the door. With a short heave and tears in his eyes, the plane food along with several cups of lukewarm tea tumbled out of him. The backlash stained his kurta. Vasilla handed him a pile of silk handkerchiefs and a small cosmetic mirror.“I do not feel well. Stop by someplace.”Before Vasilla parked in front of the hotel lobby, Tariq removed his turban so no one would recognize him. In the hotel room he washed away the dirt and vomit of the flight and changed into a fresh kurta. He sat on a comfortable double bed facing the balcony. The room gave him a limited view of a busy avenue split down the middle by a lawn of burnt grass. Imported violets and daisies, wilting in the heat, marked the edges of the road. Cars and rickshaws raced past.His prayers seemed to be coming up blank, as though some spirit snatched them.

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