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client. Surely Laleh knew better. He tried to catch her eye but she was staring directly at Girish.
    “We used to picket outside his textile mills,” he heard Laleh say. Her dark eyes searched Girish’s face. “Your father refused his workers a twelve-paisa-an-hour raise. Can you imagine?”
    Girish blanched. Then he laughed nervously. Bindu, who had gone back to talking to her friends, turned around to look at them curiously. “Your wife is a funny lady,” Girish said to Adish.
    “She is,” Adish said grimly. He touched Laleh’s elbow in warning, but she shook him away.
    “In any case, my dad is now retired,” Girish said. His voice was cheery, as if that fact explained away all past misdeeds.
    “I know,” Laleh said. “He made even more money developing the land the mills sat on than if he’d kept running the factories. That’s where your high-rises are now being built.”
    “It was the bloody labor unions,” Girish said. “Made it impossible for a businessman to earn a decent living.”
    Laleh let out a short laugh. “Oh, come on. Your dad did all right for himself,” she said. “It’s the workers who lost their jobs when your father closed the mills that we should worry about, no?”
    Bindu spoke. “Hey, what are you?” she giggled. “A terrorist or something?”
    There was a short silence. Then Girish said, “A Communist. Bindu means, ‘Are you a Communist or something?’ ” He laughed, his eyes imploring his entourage to follow. They snickered dutifully.
    Adish heard Laleh make a low growling sound and hastily put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed a warning. “I’m sorry. I apologize. My wife . . .” Girish was looking at him curiously. “We have to go. . . . She’s not well. Had some dental work done today. Sorry. I’ll phone you tomorrow, Girish. Okay?”
    He hurried a protesting Laleh out of the roof-top apartment and into the elevator. He waited grim-faced until the doors shut behind them. Then he turned toward her. “What the hell was that performance about? What on earth is the matter with you?”
    She was silent.
    “Laleh. I want an answer. How dare you insult my client in this manner? What bhoot has gotten into you this evening?”
    She looked up, her eyes flashing and dangerous. “I’ve told you a million times not to drag me to your work parties. You know how I get around these people.”
    “These people?” he snapped. “These people?” He grabbed her by her shoulder and spun her around so that they both faced the mirror in the back panel of the elevator. “Take a good look at yourself, Laleh. You—we—are these people. You have a maid and a chauffeur, you live in a huge flat at Cuffe Parade, you spend money as your heart desires. Who the hell do you think you are? The proletariat? You’re no longer twenty years old, Laleh. You’re no longer a rebel giving your old man conniptions. So give it up. Just give it up.”
    “It’s not what you own, Adish. It’s who you are. What values you have.”
    Adish banged his fist against the steel of the elevator. “Dammit, Laleh. Do you know how holier-than-thou you sound? What are you saying? That we’re better people than the Chandanis? How dare you?”
    “I should’ve known better than to expect you to understand.” She was quiet for a second, and when she spoke again her voice was placating. “In any case, I was being semifacetious, when I compared his wife to our nonexistent dog.”
    He was about to say, That’s redundant. Either you are facetious or you’re not , but he stopped himself. He did not want to engage in his usual banter with Laleh tonight. He knew where it would lead—Laleh would say something impossibly witty and he would laugh, and his anger would fade. But she had crossed a line tonight and he wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily. “You know what, Laleh?” he said. “You’ve done enough damage for one evening. So just shut up, okay?”
    His anger thinned into melancholy as