Club You to Death by Anuja Chauhan (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📗

Zumba class at the Club, after which I helped him with his yoga practice. People who lift a lot of weights – like Leo did – can become inflexible and stiff, so we were working on that. Sometimes we messaged – usually to share videos or music we liked. That’s it.’

‘Like this song, madam?’

He taps on Leo’s phone. ‘Secrets’ fills the room.

Urvashi smiles. ‘Yes,’ she says calmly. ‘That one too – it’s so cute and retro.’

His eyebrows rise. ‘No other reason, madam?’

She looks amused. ‘Like what?’

‘Like blackmail, madam,’ Bhavani says steadily.

She gives a perfectly pitched, exquisite little laugh. ‘That’s ridiculous, ACP!’

‘Is it? Because right after that song he sent you this link, madam. To an orphanage – and subsequently you sent a substantial donation to them.’

Now it’s her turn to raise her eyebrows. ‘Badshahpur? But that’s where Leo grew up! We had a long talk about it once … But please could you not tell the Club ladies he grew up there? He was terribly embarrassed about his humble roots.’

Inwardly impressed by how unflappable she is, Bhavani says, ‘We will do that – but, madam, if he was so embarrassed, how come he opened up to you?’

She turns her clear open gaze on him. ‘I didn’t fetishize him, ACP.’ Then, seeing his uncomprehending expression, she explains. ‘I didn’t see him as a sex object – I didn’t giggle about his abs or his shoulders. I just related to him as a person, a fellow athlete, and spiritual seeker.’

‘Understood, madam!’ Bhavani nods. ‘And the other ladies in the Zumba … Don’t mind, but are you implying that they saw him as just a fetish?’

She plays with the rings on her fingers. ‘I don’t want to criticize anybody, ACP. Our Zumba class is really very sweet, and the ladies there are mostly harmless – but they are sometimes remarkably immature for women over fifty. It’s like they have purposely infantilized themselves. I find that kind of thing ridiculous.’

‘But they’re all very supporting of your candidature in the election.’

She shrugs. ‘That’s what they say. Building up a business from scratch for the past sixteen years, I’ve learnt that people don’t always mean what they say.’

‘And these ladies …?’

She squares her shoulders. ‘I think they don’t wish me as well as they claim to. I think they wouldn’t mind seeing me fail.’

‘But surely they wouldn’t go so far as to poison Leo to do it!’

She shrugs. ‘They wouldn’t have to. I think the whole Club is in agreement that winding up my husband would be enough to get the job done.’ Her voice is very bitter.

They sit in silence for a while.

‘Madam, the tambola yesterday was your show of strength, you organized everything – and beautifully! Why didn’t you attend it?’

She sighs. ‘Well, little Bambi had the thoughtful idea of having somebody hold up the numbers for the benefit of the hearing impaired. Leo was really eager to do it – he was quite awed by the Club you know, though he tried to hide it. He only got to see it very early in the morning, when nobody was about, so being on stage in the packed lawns during lunch was a big deal for him. When Leo was nervous he tended to … overcompensate. Strutting and flexing and putting on an accent. I didn’t think Mukesh would like watching that, and I certainly didn’t want to be around to see Mukesh watching that! Especially with all these wretched rumours flying about. Besides, I was exhausted from all the canvassing I’d been doing – not asking for votes directly, of course, so crass, but talking about how much I loved the Club and wanted to serve and so on! So I went into that grubby parlour next to the pool and got a pedicure! Of course I regret doing it now – if I had been there I could have stopped the scene from getting so ugly!’

She shudders slightly.

‘Madam, we will keep this very confidential, of course, but is your husband on any kind of medication for a mental condition? Has he been diagnosed with something?’

Her eyes lose all dreaminess and blaze with sudden anger. ‘Of course not! Mukesh is absolutely sound mentally! Who has been suggesting such a thing?’

Bhavani throws the general under the bus deftly. ‘Mehra sa’ab did mention something of the sort …’

She makes a small scoffing sound. ‘Of course. Our local Donald Trump! How could it be anybody else?’

‘Donald Trump, madam?’

Her beautiful eyes glitter with anger. ‘He’s an oaf and a chauvinist! And a lecher! Always hanging around the Daily Needs, harassing the poor girl there! And he wants to hold a beauty pageant at the Club every year! A “Miss DTC” contest if you please!’ She gives a fastidious little shiver. ‘Naturally, all the randy old men are delighted – imagining themselves as judges, surrounded by pretty contestants, all buttering them up!’

‘But, madam, he is a war hero.’

She snorts. ‘He would thrive in a war situation! All crude machismo! Always boasting about how he got his nickname – let me tell you, officer, it suits him! The man has selective hearing! Anything that doesn’t agree with his particular view of the world – women’s rights, aesthetics, people with special needs, LGBTQ rights – he acts like he has never heard of it! He’s a human bulldozer!’

She pauses for a moment, too overwrought to continue. ‘Actually, all these male presidents – even the best of them, like Devender Bhatti – they just can’t see the DTC for the shining jewel it is. The building is historic. The legacy is historic! They see it as a cosy place to hang with their buddies and swim and play tennis and consume cheap whisky and chicken tikka and leer at each other’s granddaughters—’

‘And you, madam, how do you see it?’

Her eyes start to glow in her almost translucent face. ‘I see it … oh! As a place of tremendous beauty and influence and soft power! You see, ACP, beauty has the power