her wrists. She smelled deliciously of Chanel No. 5. Her makeup was skillfully applied, and while it couldn't disguise the fact that she was old, she looked a hundred times better than before. The effect was that of a snake shedding its dull gray outer skin and emerging newly encased in brilliant, jeweled colors.
We couldn't help staring. She looked like a different person. She moved like a different person. Headheld high, she swayed confidently across the room and sat down on the sofa, arranging her silky, sequined skirt around her feet.
Auntie looked more stunned than any of us. “That's one of my suits,” she began in a dazed voice.
“And I'm very grateful to you for letting me borrow it,” Molly said graciously. Suddenly, her whole personality seemed to have changed. It was as if
she
was doing
us
a favor by being here, rather than the other way round. “Thank you
so
much. I do appreciate it.”
Auntie was speechless. I looked down to hide a smile. What could Auntie say now without looking mean and nasty? Molly Mahal was
smart
.
Molly glanced around the room, her gaze coming to rest on the video recorder and the tape that had been ejected but not removed. “
Amir Ladka, Garib Ladka
,” she said in a thrilled voice. “A wonderful film.”
“She's only saying that because she's in it,” Jazz muttered.
“Shall we watch it now?” Molly went on, fluttering her eyelashes at Dad. It was more of a command than a request.
Geena and I looked at each other, aghast. We'd already sat through forty terrible minutes of it. I couldn't imagine that it would get any better on a second showing.
“What about lunch?” Jazz wailed.
“Oh, surely we have time to watch just a little before we eat?” Molly inquired in a sweet but steely voice.
“Certainly,” said Dad politely. He'd already slotted the videotape into the machine. Gloomily we sat back and prepared for a second showing of probably one of the worst films ever to come out of Bollywood.
Molly beamed as the credits began. She then swung round to stare accusingly at me as I wiggled into a more comfortable position on the sofa, the leather cushion squeaking ever so slightly.
“Do you think we're allowed to breathe?” Geena whispered in my ear.
The film began. To our dismay, Molly took charge of the remote control, and whenever there was a part she thought was particularly good, she reran the tape and watched it again. This made the film seem twice as long. Predictably, the bits she thought were good were only ever the bits that she was in.
When we got to the scene with the mad cook and the frying pan, Jazz could stand it no longer. She got quietly to her feet and sidled out of the room.
Molly Mahal sent a laser-beam stare after her. “We're just coming to a very exciting part,” she remarked coolly. “I hope she won't be long.”
“Just as long as it takes to eat her way through the entire contents of the fridge,” I whispered to Geena, which earned me another look.
Jazz wasn't very long, however. She reappeared afew minutes later and edged her way back into the room, casting nervous glances at Molly Mahal.
“Auntie,” she mouthed.
“What?” Auntie mouthed back.
Molly shot them both a “this had better be important” look.
“I've set the grill on fire,” Jazz whispered.
“What!” Auntie shrieked. She leapt to her feet and dashed out of the room.
“Well, really!” Molly Mahal looked mightily annoyed. “Some of us are trying to watch a good film in peace.”
Geena and I took the opportunity to leave the room as quietly as we could, too. Jazz trailed along behind us, muttering to herself.
Auntie was beating out the flames in the grill pan with a wet towel. Luckily there didn't seem to be any damage done.
“I was trying to make cheese on toast,” Jazz said dismally.
“Well done.” I slapped her on the back. “You saved us from having to watch the rest of
Amir Ladka, Garib Ladka
.”
Auntie was banging round the kitchen,
We couldn't help staring. She looked like a different person. She moved like a different person. Headheld high, she swayed confidently across the room and sat down on the sofa, arranging her silky, sequined skirt around her feet.
Auntie looked more stunned than any of us. “That's one of my suits,” she began in a dazed voice.
“And I'm very grateful to you for letting me borrow it,” Molly said graciously. Suddenly, her whole personality seemed to have changed. It was as if
she
was doing
us
a favor by being here, rather than the other way round. “Thank you
so
much. I do appreciate it.”
Auntie was speechless. I looked down to hide a smile. What could Auntie say now without looking mean and nasty? Molly Mahal was
smart
.
Molly glanced around the room, her gaze coming to rest on the video recorder and the tape that had been ejected but not removed. “
Amir Ladka, Garib Ladka
,” she said in a thrilled voice. “A wonderful film.”
“She's only saying that because she's in it,” Jazz muttered.
“Shall we watch it now?” Molly went on, fluttering her eyelashes at Dad. It was more of a command than a request.
Geena and I looked at each other, aghast. We'd already sat through forty terrible minutes of it. I couldn't imagine that it would get any better on a second showing.
“What about lunch?” Jazz wailed.
“Oh, surely we have time to watch just a little before we eat?” Molly inquired in a sweet but steely voice.
“Certainly,” said Dad politely. He'd already slotted the videotape into the machine. Gloomily we sat back and prepared for a second showing of probably one of the worst films ever to come out of Bollywood.
Molly beamed as the credits began. She then swung round to stare accusingly at me as I wiggled into a more comfortable position on the sofa, the leather cushion squeaking ever so slightly.
“Do you think we're allowed to breathe?” Geena whispered in my ear.
The film began. To our dismay, Molly took charge of the remote control, and whenever there was a part she thought was particularly good, she reran the tape and watched it again. This made the film seem twice as long. Predictably, the bits she thought were good were only ever the bits that she was in.
When we got to the scene with the mad cook and the frying pan, Jazz could stand it no longer. She got quietly to her feet and sidled out of the room.
Molly Mahal sent a laser-beam stare after her. “We're just coming to a very exciting part,” she remarked coolly. “I hope she won't be long.”
“Just as long as it takes to eat her way through the entire contents of the fridge,” I whispered to Geena, which earned me another look.
Jazz wasn't very long, however. She reappeared afew minutes later and edged her way back into the room, casting nervous glances at Molly Mahal.
“Auntie,” she mouthed.
“What?” Auntie mouthed back.
Molly shot them both a “this had better be important” look.
“I've set the grill on fire,” Jazz whispered.
“What!” Auntie shrieked. She leapt to her feet and dashed out of the room.
“Well, really!” Molly Mahal looked mightily annoyed. “Some of us are trying to watch a good film in peace.”
Geena and I took the opportunity to leave the room as quietly as we could, too. Jazz trailed along behind us, muttering to herself.
Auntie was beating out the flames in the grill pan with a wet towel. Luckily there didn't seem to be any damage done.
“I was trying to make cheese on toast,” Jazz said dismally.
“Well done.” I slapped her on the back. “You saved us from having to watch the rest of
Amir Ladka, Garib Ladka
.”
Auntie was banging round the kitchen,
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