Bad Austen (16 page)

Lydia glared at her sister once again. “The qualities you mention are womanly qualities. No man would admit to your list, especially on the Internet. Besides, as I told you before, a stupid man is probably better than an ugly man. To choose, look at the pictures, and later, when you are with one of them, you must use your imagination to make him a whole being. I have never met a living man comprised of all your qualities. No one man would appear in every category if you could search so.”

The next day, the sisters checked Elizabeth’s Matchmaker account. A Mr. Wickham, who looked handsome enough, invited her to dinner. He added, “Although I am often shy and awkward in crowds, those who know me the best, my servants and my sister, will attest that I am a kind, good man. My silence in public has been mistaken for pride, yet I hope for a fortunate chance to show my true self to you.”

A Mr. Darcy wrote, “Nothing pleases me more than a good amount of company. Please come with me to the upcoming ball.”

Lydia proclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Darcy’s countenance is pleasing.” Elizabeth rushed a reply before she lost her nerve. She accepted both invitations. To Mr. Darcy she wrote, “I should like to dance with a man handsome as you. Such a partner will keep me from feeling jealous of other women the entire evening.”

To Mr. Wickham she wrote, “In private, I should enjoy a man with depth of soul, for marital ongoings remain concealed by discreet people.”

Lydia was not unamused.

“We shall see,” Elizabeth answered, “which one is prideful, and against him I shall be prejudiced.”

S
amosas and
S
ensibility

S
AYANTANI
D
ASHGUPTA

The family of DashGupta had been long settled in Parsippany, New Jersey. Well, since Mr. DashGupta got sponsored for his green card back in 1988 and managed to convince the INS to grant Mrs. DashGupta a spousal visa, that is.

Their residence had initially been in the Indian enclave of the Sussex Gardens Apartment Complex off Route 46, but as Mrs. DashGupta was from a distinguished and old, if ridiculously impoverished, Bengali family, the rough society, marked by the sounds of Punjabi bhangra booming through souped-up car stereos, was quite more than her poor nerves could bear. Having a healthy respect for his wife’s nerves, Mr. DashGupta transferred his wife and infant daughters posthaste—or rather, as soon as he was financially able, to the decidedly middle class subdivision of Norland Estates. There, for almost two decades, the DashGuptas had lived in an unremarkable medium-sized McMansion, in so respectable a manner as to be completely unknown by their surrounding acquaintances.

On weekends, in the dank basements of South Jersey community centers, the DashGupta daughters acquired all the requisite accomplishments of young Bengali ladies. They gained a thorough knowledge of Rabindra Sangeet music, singing, and dancing; they learned to read, write, and naturally speak their mother tongue; but besides all this, they gained something in their air, their manner of walking, their tone of voice, and expressions so as to suggest an impeccably South Asian, if slightly anachronistic, capacity, application, and elegance. And while these traits may have left lesser young women adrift in the rigid society of American high school, the DashGupta girls had such a pleasantness of manner and address, such a generosity of spirit, as to endear them to at least a close circle of their classmates.

Which is not to say the sisters resembled one another entirely. Ellora, the elder daughter, possessed a strength of understanding and quickness of intellect that placed her consistently on the Parsippany High School honor roll, in addition to granting her the pleasant success of several state championships in debate, elocution, and mathematics. And while such qualities might have relegated most young ladies to guaranteed spinsterhood, Ellora possessed as well a pair of fine, dark eyes in a remarkably pretty face. Though only seventeen, her teachers predicted early admission to any of several distinguished universities. Her mother, meanwhile, rested her hopes on an early marriage to a man of rank and fortune, which, for Mrs. DashGupta, meant a doctor or an engineer, naturally.

Mallika’s abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to her sister’s. She was sensible and clever, although her extracurricular activities tended toward the dramatic and performing arts. At sixteen, she had an excessive fondness for vixenish nail polish, glittery body powder, and temporary henna tattoos. Although her face and form held less classical grace than Ellora’s, she made up for this potential deficit with extravagant joie de vivre and a violence of emotion. She either loved or despaired, delighted or wept. In other words, she was quite at the mercy of her hormones, much to the affliction of the less-likely-to-get-pregnant Ellora.

And so the sisters might have finished their high school careers—one full of sense, the other, sensibility—if fate had not intervened in the form of a massive myocardial infarction that resulted in the ill-timed death of their beloved father, Mr. DashGupta, whilst at his software company desk. To compound the family’s bereavement, it was soon discovered that, consistent with extended family traditions, the house and all their worldly assets had been left, not to Mrs. DashGupta or her daughters, but rather, to her porcine-proportioned brother-in-law, one Mr. Mohondash DashGupta—to whom his younger brother had naively entrusted the care of his beloved wife and offspring.

But the elder Mr. DashGupta was a man of mean understanding and meaner temperament, whose fortune had been made in the unseemly business of (gasp) trade. Indeed, although Mrs. DashGupta was loath to mention it in her decidedly white-collar social circles, her brother-in-law in fact owned the largest chain of Indian beauty salons in the tristate area.

No sooner were the funerary rituals over than did Mr. Mohondash DashGupta arrive at Norland Estates, with his dyspeptic wife, delinquent children, and cantankerous mother-in-law in tow. So acutely did Mrs. DashGupta feel this ungracious behavior, and so did she despise the mother-in-law for making her cook all the time, that she determined to quit the house immediately.

“It was my brother’s last request to me,” said Mr. Mohondash DashGupta with something like a leer in his eye, “to assist his widow and daughters.”

“He did not know what he was talking about, that lightheaded loafer!” exclaimed the mother-in-law with a gaseous belch. “What better assistance than jobs for these three good-for-nothings in one of your beauty salons?”

And so it was that Ellora, Mallika, and their distraught mother became employed as beauticians at Eyebrows-R-Us, the latest of their uncle’s empire of beauty salons, specializing in eyebrow (and, for the exceedingly hirsute, upper-lip, chin, and whole face) threading.

Beauty was indeed in the eye(brow) of the beholder.

D
estitute in
D
ubai

R
ABAB
H
AMZA

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Dubai building, in possession of a superlative height, must be the most sought-after address in town.

However little known the merits or conveniences of such a building may be on its first entering the market, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the jet set, that no sooner were plans for the world’s tallest building, the Burj khalifa, announced than it was considered as the rightful property of one or other of Dubai’s elite.

It was the year 2006, and among the more glittering of Dubai’s haut monde was a young couple by the name of elton. Brad and Angie elton, clever, handsome, and rich, in possession of lucrative jobs and indulgent bosses, and always on the lookout for ways to best showcase their wealth and standing, were just the kind of people to be impressed by the marketing campaign for the world’s highest man-made structure.

“My dear soul mate,” said his lord to Angie one day, “have you heard that Burj khalifa apartments are to be sold at last? Though the building is not to be completed until 2009, they have put up the residential units for sale.”

Mrs. Elton replied that she had not heard.

“But they have,” returned he, “and the Burj is being described as a vertical city; an engineering marvel. What a fine thing for our reputation.”

“How so? How can our reputation be affected?”

“My dear angel,” replied her husband, “how can you be so tiresome? You must know that I am thinking of our buying one of them.”

Mrs. Elton readily agreed, and happy for all their material feelings was the day they got rid of the best part of their fortune and became the proud off-the-plan owners of a one-bedroom apartment at the most prestigious address in Dubai, and consequently the whole of the UAe.

With what delighted pride they afterward visited their friends, and talked of the design plans for their newest acquisition, may be guessed. “It is just what an apartment ought to be,” said Mrs. elton, “grand, spacious, luxurious, and I never saw such happy surroundings! So many swimming pools and amenities, with such perfect architecture!”