“So you’re not going to give this job to me, because fifteen years ago, in some really stupid play, I said some of your lines?” Rajan said. He leaned forward in the black, cushion chair, not too surprised that she still remembered the play. He stroked his French beard, thinking what to say next.

“That’s right Rajan, fifteen years ago, and I still haven’t forgotten about it,” Mallika said, leaning forward in her chair, fuming. She put her elbows on the table and looked him in the eye. In her mind, she could still hear the audience booing and laughing at her.  “Get off that stage”, “You are pathetic”, “Actress eh! Tch.” She covered her face, as if she was on that stage again. She removed her hand and reached for the glass of water kept on an Elvis Presley coaster. She drank it all in two big gulps.

Rajan made a face, as if to convey that she was being childish. When Mallika saw that expression on his face, she wanted to defenestrate him. 

“Do you even know how it feels like when someone says the lines you were supposed to say?” she said. She spoke so fast that a little spit came out of her mouth.  “I mean, I practiced my dialogues over and over again, and on the day of the play, you choose to say my, no, no, steal my lines.” She picked up the glass again, but it was empty. She slammed in on the table. Usually, she would not place the glass anywhere except on the coaster, so that it would not leave a mark, but now, she did not care.  She removed her glasses, threw them on the table, and pushed her hair behind her ears. The glasses slid across the table and stopped short of falling over.  

Rajan’s hands instinctively went up to stop her spectacles from crashing to the floor, but somehow they didn’t. He moved closer to the table. “I am sorry. I don’t know what else to say,” Rajan said, wiping the spit on his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Mallika didn’t say anything. She picked up the round paper weight from her desk and began to toss it. Now and then she would stop and think, as if she was contemplating breaking Rajan’s skull with it, and also looking at her painted nails.

His thoughts drifted to that evening. He vividly remembered the play and his feelings right before it was to start – nervous and tense. He had smoked ten cigarettes in a span of fifteen minutes. It was his first play. When he was finished with his make-up, he had looked like a drag queen. His curly hair had been painted white, for his role as an old doctor. When they both got on the stage, he saw the crowd sitting in front of him and he lost his nerve. In his panic, he started saying her lines. He saw her face losing color, but he couldn’t help it. She was staring at him – shell shocked - her face the color of white peach. She cast a side glance at the audience and then looked back at Rajan with eyes as wide as a fish. By the time he managed to recollect his original dialogues, she had forgotten all of hers. For the rest of the play, he had to say his and her dialogues, while she responded only in monosyllables. Now that he thought about it, it was hysterical.   

“You made me look like an idiot.  My father had brought along a director friend of his, and it might have taken me somewhere, but you ruined it for me.” Mallika   said. She picked up her glass and went, “Stupid empty glass.” The glass landed on the desk with a thud.  

“Okay, I apologize once again.” he said. He needed this job. It was his last hope. He had applied almost everywhere, without any success. The reasons varied – at some places, the pay wasn’t good, and at others, the clients weren’t all that impressive.

Just yesterday he was talking to a copywriter friend of his, who was jobless, just like him. Both of them had joined the same advertising agency a few months back. But it got bought by a large American agency, which decided to cut some flab, and Rajan and Harish happened to be a part of the flab that they decided to chop off. They were sitting at a roadside shop and having tea.

“I don’t know man. I don’t what’s going to happen. You know, all the major agencies are in Mumbai or Delhi or Bangalore,” Rajan said. He had finished his tea and called for another glass.  “No big agencies, even with a little bit of sense, want to set shop in Pune.  I mean, I understand, it’s a small town, already overcrowded with agencies running out of tin shacks and all that jazz. But come on. I don’t want to move to Mumbai. I hate that city. It’s huge and I don’t know; I just don’t want to.” Rajan impatiently looked for the little boy who was serving the tables. “One tea over here please, be quick,” he said.

Harish was still on his first cup. He was a slow drinker. He never had his tea hot. It always burned his lips. So he let the glass rest on the table to cool for a bit. “But I don’t think any agency is doing all that well. Why do you think agencies are merging with others or getting acquired? This is the right time. I mean, the margins were dwindling; the clients aren’t as loyal as they used to before, and the competition is just phenomenal. As you said, there is an advertising agency in every fucking lane.” Harish tried to sip from his glass, but it was still hot, so he let it be. Rajan had told Harish several times that he should rather order juice or buttermilk or something. Tea wasn’t for him, he thought.

“Tch! This is frustrating man,” Rajan said.

“I’ll tell you what’s frustrating,” Harish said.  “Remember that girl, Mallika?” He continued, with the air of someone who was about to give away the biggest secret of them all.

Rajan smiled. “The one who I did a play with?”

“Yeah. I heard that she has joined Bates’s sister concern, David & Goliath, here in Pune. They have just opened their office in Koregaon Park. She’s joined as the Head of Copy,” Harish said and looked at Rajan as if to say that he didn’t have a shot. “Head of copy man,” he repeated.

“Jesus! Wow. Fucking hell. Let’s apply man,” Rajan said. He hoped for her to have forgotten that evening.

“Seriously? She will roast you alive, dude,” Harish had said.

But here he was. “I am really sorry. Tell me how do I make it up to you?” Rajan said. D & G was by far the biggest agency in Pune. Some of the gold and silver Cannes that the agency had won in the last year’s Cannes festival was lined up on a little shelf, above the reception table. A little bulb threw its golden light on the awards and they gleamed. He had drooled over them while he was waiting to meet Mallika.

“Okay. I know what you can do to make it up to me,” she said, continuously nodding her head. She drew out two sets of papers and handed one to Rajan. The moment he looked at the sheets, he knew what it was.

“Memorize the script in half an hour and meet me in my office. I took copies of the script when I saw that you were one of the applicants.” 

“But it’s a three-act play Mallika. I can’t possibly memorize it all in half an hour. It took us two months to prepare,” he said, hoping she would change her mind.

“Well, two months it was. I slogged and slogged and slogged. I had stopped going out. I had stopped eating to lose weight for the role. I cut my hair for this role. And then, you took it away,” She said. Her hair had since grown back to its original length.  

“So I’ll meet you in half an hour,” he said and sprung to his feet.

“And remember,” she said, when he was at the door, “if you forget even one line, I will physically kick you out of my office.” She gestured to him to leave the room.

Rajan couldn’t believe the situation he had got himself into. He rushed into the men’s room and slid into one of the cubicles. He shut the door, took out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and banged the script on his head several times. He knew it was humanly impossible to memorize forty pages, but he had to at least try. Not only did he have to know his lines, but hers as well. His time was up, sooner then he had thought. He had got through only five pages, and couldn’t memorize even half of it. He got up, threw the cigarette butt in the pot and flushed it. He closed his eyes, and raised his head towards heaven and said a quick prayer. His plan was to say his lines as slowly as possible, in the hope that may be, she would get bored and let him go.        

He knocked on her door and heard a sharp “come in.” He opened the door and stood at the entrance.

“Is it really you or is it just your shadow that I see?” she said, getting up from her chair, her head slightly tilted.

“Yes my darling, it is me,” he said, closing the door behind him. He held the script in his hands, and put it down on the chair the moment she glared at him.

“If you are here, then come and embrace me.” Mallika moved closer and stood with her arms outstretched.

“I if embrace you my love, it will all be over. I am not allowed to touch you for forty days. That’s the word of the Witch of Lamarkan.”

“Oh, how I yearn to feel your arms around me,” she said, and clasped her arms with her hands, looked down and shook her head. 

“Me too my love, me too. I think, I will die if I don’t touch you,” he said and clasped his hands and struck his forehead with it.

“Please, don’t talk like that. It pains my heart,” she said. She put her palms, one on top of the other, on her chest.

“Oh, when will I feel your lips on mine, your head on my chest,” he said. He came closer and looked at her with yearning in his eyes. 

“I can’t take it anymore. Please, please, Albert, hold me in your arms.” She stood within an arm’s distance from him.

“Please, tell me, you love me. Your voice sounds so sweet when you say those words to me,” he said.

Immediately, she stood upright and moved back a few steps. The expression in her eyes vanished. Her nostrils flared up. She crossed her arms. Her breathing was so loud, that he couldn’t hear his. Her lips quivered. Her whole face shook like a vibrator. The nerves on her temples twitched.

“Okay. I am leaving. I am sorry,” he said and dashed out of the room.