The following evening, after eating her tea, Clara, in a state of feverish excitement, searched on Google Maps for the Golden Kettle: she discovered that it was a cafe about five miles away from her apartment. She then opened her chest of drawers, searching for her best dress, eventually settling on a polka-dot one. She then tied a ribbon in her hair, applied liberal amounts of lipstick and mascara, and put on her only pair of high heels. Leaving her apartment and stepping into the warm April evening, trembling with anticipation, Clara walked for about three minutes back along Hunter Street, before crossing the road for the bus stop: she had only about a five-minute wait for the bus.
Reaching her destination, Clara almost ran off the bus. She took a look round the street where she had arrived: the buildings all looked very grand, far grander than any she had ever seen. There were imposing office blocks, a flash casino and a palace-like dancing hall. She had barely had time to absorb these astounding sights when she heard a voice calling.
"Clara! Over here!".
She looked round. Devi was standing about six feet past the bus stop, dressed in a striking full-length blue dress, wearing two large round earrings, and, Clara thought, positively glowing in the dark. Clara half-walked, half-ran up to Devi, who, once more, kissed her on the cheek.
"So happy to see you, you look stunning in that dress", smiled Devi.
"Thanks", blushed Clara. "You look amazing too". She felt a surge of pride at Devi's compliment: no one had ever told her she looked stunning.
Devi smiled again, and taking Clara by the hand, led her into the building they were standing in front of.
The Golden Kettle was a very large place, about 60 feet long by 40 feet wide, over twice the size of the Good Time, with two floors. There were far fewer customers than there would ever be in the Good Time, and the music played over the PA system was mellow: very different from the raucous nights out Clara was used to.
Devi led Clara up a spiral staircase (Clara was intrigued by the large gaps between the steps) to a table for two by the window, with a candle burning in the middle - "It's my favourite spot", she explained. Barely had they taken their seats when a waitress came over.
"What would you like, Devi?", she asked.
"A Darjeeling, please, if you don't mind", Devi replied instantly.
"Jolly good", said the waitress. "And your friend?"
Clara thought for some time.
"Anything you would like, Clara?", prompted Devi.
"I think I'll just have coffee with milk, please", said Clara hastily.
"Coming up", smiled the waitress.
As soon as the waitress had gone, Devi leaned back in her chair and smiled broadly at Clara: she looked lovelier than ever when she smiled, Clara thought.
"Tell me about yourself, Clara", coaxed Devi.
"Well", said Clara tentatively, "I work in the County Line".
"What's that?", asked Devi.
"It's a bar about five miles from here," Clara explained.
"You work in a bar?". Devi sounded astonished. "Do you like it there?"
"Of course I do", said Clara. "Why wouldn't I? It's fun, moving about all the time, always having something to do, talking to the customers. And", she added with defiant pride, "the customers like me".
Devi looked awkward. "I mean", she said carefully, "don't you wish you could do something better? I mean", she added hastily, as Clara threw an angry expression, "a job that would pay you more? A job that will help you move up in life?"
At this moment, their drinks arrived, sparing Clara from having to reply. Clara was feeling quite annoyed as she took her first sip, while Devi looked uncomfortable and guilty.
"Well," said Devi, in an embarrassed and trying-to-be-friendly tone, "obviously, your parents must be happy with your career choice, and if it's fine for them, it must be fine for you".
Clara slowly put down her coffee cup. She was still not too happy, but she knew that Devi had not been deliberately rude.
"My Daddy died in the COVID pandemic. I was just 11 years old at the time. Me and my Momma had to say goodbye on Zoom", she whispered in a pained voice.
"I'm so sorry to hear that", said Devi, and she looked genuinely upset. Clara began to warm to her again.
"My Momma, well . . .", Clara began.
"What?", asked Devi, leaning closer.
"Nothing", said Clara hastily. Devi eyed her suspiciously, so Clara quickly changed the subject.
"What about you, Devi?", she asked. "What are your parents like?".
Devi took a sip of her Darjeeling and sat proudly upright in her chair.
"My parents came over from India", she announced.
"Oh, really, how interesting", exclaimed Clara.
Devi smiled broadly at her again: she had such a big, warm, generous smile, Clara thought.
"Yes", Devi continued, "I was born here, of course, and I've lived here my whole life, but my parents have always told me never to forget where I ultimately come from." She was getting increasingly excited now. "So I drink Indian tea" - pointing proudly to her cup - "I take part in Indian cultural events, and follow Indian cricket".
"Cricket?", repeated Clara. "That's a very slow game isn't it? Don't they say that it can last five days and still end in a tie?"
"In a draw", Devi corrected her, looking slightly offended. "And you're wrong there, Clara, that type of cricket went out of fashion years ago. It's T20 that everyone follows now".
"What's T20?", inquired Clara
"It means there are 20 overs per side".
"Overs?"
So Devi began explaining to Clara the complex rules of the game of cricket; Clara leaned forward, intrigued, constantly asking questions, trying and failing to take all the information in.
"You're very curious, aren't you, Clara?", laughed Devi.
Clara sighed. "A lot of folks tell me that", she said. "They tell me I shouldn't be, that something bad will happen one day because of it, but I just can't help myself".
"But there's nothing wrong with being curious", Devi assured her. "It's a good thing, it means you like to broaden your mind".
Clara smiled: she felt very pleased and flattered. Devi was so kind to her, she thought, always making her feel good about herself.
"What do your parents do?", she asked.
"My Dad is a sociologist at New York University", replied Devi, "and my Mom works at the New York Department of Education".
"And what do you do?", inquired Clara.
"I'm an intern at the Washington Post", came the answer. "My parents generously pay my way."
"You're a reporter?", exclaimed Clara, both surprised and impressed.
Devi nodded. "I work under Holly MacIver, our White House correspondent."
"So I'll see you on TV then!", smiled Clara.
"What are you talking about, Clara?", inquired Devi.
"We have TV screens in the County Line, and they show the White House press briefing."
"I'm afraid not", said Devi with a sad smile. "As I'm only an intern, I don't have a pass to attend the briefing. However", here she brightened up significantly, "me and Holly are working on a real big story. It's going to be absolutely huge, it'll be all over the TV screens."
Devi was clearly very excited: her body was quivering, and her face was looking almost feverish.
"What's that?" asked Clara, on tenterhooks.
"$100bn has gone missing from the federal government. We believe the President is embezzling it". She spoke so fast that it was difficult for Clara to make out the words.
"So that's what they were talking about yesterday!", exclaimed Clara.
"What do you mean?", asked Devi, baffled.
Clara told Devi about her encounter with Trampler and Conti in the County Line: Devi looked disgusted.
". . . and he called me a ginger bitch", Clara finished, in a subdued tone. She looked at Devi almost pleadingly.
"He doesn't know what he'd talking about", said Devi. "Your hair is beautiful".
"You really think so?" Clara was both pleased and surprised.
"Of course", smiled Devi. "Why do you think I would say so if it wasn't? It's a lovely bright red colour, and your curls are very alluring as well".
She held some of Clara's curly hair between the index and middle fingers of her right hand, and gently stroked it. Clara felt a thrill of happiness and pride.
"Your eyes are beautiful as well", Devi resumed, looking Clara directly in the eyes as she whispered these words. "So sparkling and blue, and you have such a lovely smile".
"But my nose is, well, rather big", said Clara in a doubtful tone.
"Your nose is perfectly right for you", Devi insisted.
"But my cheekbones . . .", added Clara.
"Really Clara", laughed Devi, "You need to stop beating on yourself." She picked up a napkin and used it to gently brush the lipstick and mascara off Clara's face. "Be proud of how you look. In your own way, you are beautiful".
Clara felt very delicate inside. She leaned in close to Devi and took in the shining black hair, the inviting brown eyes and the smooth, soft skin. Clara moved closer, stroking Devi's lovely cheeks, and then, almost on instinct, she kissed Devi full on the mouth. Devi responded in kind, wrapping her lips around Clara's in the sweetest of embraces. For about two or three minutes their lips remained locked together, before they had to pause for breath. They smiled at each other, barely an inch apart, each gazing at the other's face.
"I love you, Devi", said Clara, half whispering, half panting.
"I think I've figured that one out", replied Devi, halfway between a laugh and a grin.
"Do you . . .", Clara began tentatively, but Devi abruptly cut her off.
"Of course I love you, Clara", she laughed. "Haven't I just proved it to you?"
Clara felt an enormous rush of happiness inside her: she leaned forward and kissed Devi again, this time with more enthusiasm, tightly gripping Devi's top lip between hers as though she would never let it go. Devi meanwhile caressed Clara's bottom lip gently with her lips, and they kept on kissing until they could manage no more. By the time they had finished, their drinks had gone cold, but what did that matter? Devi quickly paid the bill, and invited Clara back to her apartment, an invitation Clara eagerly accepted. Hand in hand, they left the Golden Kettle, boarded the next bus, setting off in the opposite direction to Hunter Street, and spent the whole journey in each other's arms, kissing frequently.
They alighted after a 10-minute journey, outside a tall and ornate-looking apartment block, skipping off the bus together, still hand in hand. They ran up three flights of steps, barely stopping to draw breath, before finally reaching the door of Devi's apartment. Devi turned and kissed Clara again before unlocking the door to her apartment, and they rushed in together.
Clara gave a gasp of surprise: Devi's apartment was huge compared with her own. The living room itself was about the same size as Clara's entire apartment. There was a large sofa on the wall opposite the door, and a television just inside the door. In between the sofa and the TV was a fancy coffee table, taking up about half the room, on top of a bright orange carpet. Next to the sofa, the rest of the back wall was taken up with a window that provided a wonderful view of the city. Devi took Clara on a brief tour of the remaining rooms. The kitchen, which lay to the right of the living room, was also very large: it had the same layout as Clara's kitchen, but also included a table and a couple of chairs, to double up as a dining room. Further to the right was the bathroom. Clara's eyes widened when she saw the bath: it was twice the size of her own, and she had fantasies about her and Devi climbing in there together one day. The last room that Devi showed Clara was the bedroom, to the left of the living room: it had a double bed, soft red curtains, a large wardrobe, and bookshelves and posters on the walls. Clara spent some time gazing at the bookshelves: titles included The Discovery of India, The First National War of Independence - A New History, The Rise of the Mughal Empire and Virat Kohli - The Definitive Biography. Clara then turned her attention to the two posters on the wall opposite the bed. One of them, she noticed, showed Kamala Harris.
"The former Vice-President?", she exclaimed in surprise.
"Of course", smiled Devi. "Showed what was possible for an Indian-American woman. Shame about 2024 though", she added, a slight sadness in her voice.
"And who is that?", asked Clara, pointing at the poster next to it. It depicted a man with a small square face, and black hair and beard: he was wearing a strange type of helmet, with some metal bars in front of his face and next to his cheeks, and in his hand he was holding a small wooden cylinder, with a large wooden rectangular structure at the end of it.
"Oh, it's Virat Kohli", said Devi casually. "Greatest cricketer ever, in my honest opinion".
"He plays cricket?" Clara was surprised.
"He used to", replied Devi. "Retired a few years ago. Great player, though. Shame about the team he played for".
"Who did he play for?", Clara inquired.
"Royal Challengers Bangalore."
"And which team do you root for?"
"Chennai Super Kings. Are you also into sports, Clara?"
"Yes", replied Clara excitedly. "I support the Nationals".
"I should have known", Devi laughed. "They all seem to do in this place. But now for what really matters . . ."
She gently took hold of Clara's head, one hand squeezing each of Clara's cheeks, and kissed her: Clara kissed her back passionately. After a couple of minutes, they broke apart again. Devi gestured her head towards the bed.
"Shall we?"
"Yes, please", replied Clara feverishly.
The two women climbed onto the bed, sitting opposite one another. Devi reached her arms around Clara's back and unzipped her dress, while Clara pulled Devi's dress off her. They quickly took the rest of their clothes off, and Devi started caressing Clara's naked body.
"You have a lovely figure, Clara", she whispered.
"I'm a bit small . . ." began Clara feebly.
"Really, Clara, you don't have to be a supermodel, you know", laughed Devi. "Small is beautiful".
Devi then encouraged Clara to lie down with her legs spread out. Clara was by now tingling with an excitement greater than anything she had felt before. Devi approached Clara on her hands and knees, leaned forward onto Clara's body and began rubbing herself against Clara.
"Are you enjoying it, Clara?", she asked.
But it was a pointless question. Clara was panting and moaning loudly: she felt an electrical current coursing through her body, and had never had so much enjoyment before in her life. Devi's body felt so soft and warm against her own. After a while, Devi lay down on the bed and allowed Clara to start rubbing her in the same way, which Clara did with almost reckless abandon. As she was doing so, Devi leaned her head up and kissed Clara again: Clara responded by virtually grabbing Devi's lips with her own.
Eventually, they stopped, through sheer exhaustion, and after changing the bedsheets, they lay down naked on the bed, holding and kissing each other until they fell asleep.
Clara woke in the morning to find herself gazing into Devi's smiling brown eyes. Clara felt another surge of happiness, but then she looked at her watch: it was half past seven.
"Oh gosh I'm gonna be late for work!", she exclaimed.
She jumped off the bed and hastily put her clothes back on, though continuing to throw a few glances at the still-naked Devi.
"Well", smiled Devi, sitting up, "I suppose all good things must come to an end - for now at least". She giggled, and Clara did too.
"If you would like, Devi", suggested Clara quietly, "you could come to the County Line with me and I could introduce you to my friends, Angela Brown and Lily Watkins".
"I've already met Lily", Devi reminded her.
"But not Angela", pointed out Clara. "I mean", she added, "If you don't want to, that's OK, but I would love to introduce you, I'm sure you'd get on fine".
"Of course I'd like to", answered Devi, sliding off the bed as she said it. "I have to go to work too this morning, but I'd be happy to see you and your friends in the afternoon. When do you finish?"
"About five", replied Clara. "And when we've seen them, I could take you to my Mom's house."
"Sorted", announced Devi, as though she were announcing a speech by the President. "But first, I'm afraid I can't let you go without this . . ."
She walked over to Clara, who knew instinctively what Devi was intending: even before Devi had moved her head an inch towards Clara's, Clara's lips met hers, and they shared another passionate kiss. When they had finished, Clara said goodbye, and ran down the steps. She travelled back to Hunter Street on the bus, giddy with excitement over what had without a doubt been the best night of her life by far. On the journey, she took out her phone, changed her relationship status on Facebook from "Single" to "In a Relationship", and texted her mother to expect her and her new girlfriend after finishing work. Back in her apartment, she took the ribbon out of her hair, quickly changed into a shirt and trousers, and then dashed all the way to the County Line.
Angela and Lily had all but completed the opening up of the County Line when Clara turned up breathlessly on the threshold.
"There you are", exclaimed Angela with surprise. "I was starting to worry about you".
She looked with some alarm at the dreamy expression on Clara's face.
"She's found love!", chortled Lily.
Clara nodded. Angela smiled.
"That's wonderful, I'm so pleased for you", she said. "Who with?"
Clara animatedly explained all about Devi: by the time she had finished, Angela was frowning.
"I'm not sure about this woman", she said cautiously, "She sounds a bit uppity to me".
"Uppity?" Clara was puzzled. How could Angela not see how perfect Devi was?
"Well, from what you tell me", Angela replied, "she seems like one of those snooty types, wanting to 'get on in life' ", here Angela used air quotes, "despising us working folks at the bottom".
"Don't say that, Angela." Clara was shocked. "I've arranged for us to meet her outside the County Line after we finish, and I promise you will like her when you get to know her".
"Well, we'll see", said Angela doubtfully. She then recommenced drying out the glasses.
Clara spent the whole of the working day in a sort of semi-trance: she kept thinking about Devi, about the lovely time she had had the previous evening, and how excited she was to introduce her to her friends. Once, she was so full of thoughts about Devi that she spilled a glass all over the customer that she attempting to give it to, and on another occasion forgot to give a customer the bill. She received a rare rebuke from the manager for this, but she didn't care.
As soon as Clara had left her apartment, Devi quickly got dressed, took off her earrings and boarded a bus, leaving Valentine Road in the opposite direction that Clara had. All the way she thought about Clara: she seemed quite an odd soul, Devi thought, not realising how attractive she was, but she was without doubt lively and friendly, an excellent dancer, and very passionate too. She also seemed to have a thirst for knowledge: always a good sign, in Devi's estimation. Devi had had plenty of experience with other women, but she knew that Clara was the one for her.
After about a quarter of an hour bus ride, Devi's thought process was interrupted, as the bus arrived at K Street. She got off and entered One Franklin Square, the headquarters of the Washington Post. She made her straight for Holly MacIver's desk, still flush with excitement over the night before.
Holly looked up at her.
"Morning, Devi", she said. "What's up with you?" She looked quite disconcerted at Devi's facial expression.
"Oh, nothing", said Devi airily.
Holly eyed Devi suspiciously. "You need to act a bit more professional, Devi", she said sternly. "You won't get much of a career if you come bounding into the office looking like you're on drugs".
"I'm not . . .", Devi began to protest.
"I didn't say you were", Holly cut her off. "I'm just saying you need to be more sensible".
Devi said nothing. She looked abashed.
"Anyway", said Holly, in a friendlier tone this time, "I've got some very big news. I've just discovered that the President has bought a 500-acre ranch in California. It's all a big secret, and apparently it's sealed off with high walls and locked gates. My source told me that only the President and his family are allowed to use the ranch. The ranch seems too expensive to have come from the President's personal fortune . . ."
"So it was bought with the missing $100bn?", asked Devi, quivering with excitement once again.
"That's exactly what I suspect", said Holly solemnly.
"Wow", breathed Devi, "that's a huge story".
"Devi, please will you get a grip", insisted Holly, a note of impatience in her voice. "This story isn't about advancing your career, it's about exposing a serious case of corruption."
"I'm sorry", said Devi humbly.
"So", Holly continued, "I'm definitely going to ask him about it today. The truth won't hide forever".
"Excuse me."
Both women turned round to see a fat, bald man.
"Yes, Curtis", said Holly, trying to be polite but with a small amount of steel in her voice.
"I want you in my office. Now", insisted Curtis.
He strode away from them in a manner that made it clear they had no choice in the matter. Sighing, Holly followed him, with Devi trailing in her wake. Eventually, they reached a glass room with the words "OFFICE OF THE EDITOR-IN-CHIEF" inscribed on the walls. Curtis pushed the door open with some venom and sat down behind his desk.
"You need to dump this story about the President", he said firmly.
"But it's gonna be real big, Mr. White", blurted out Devi. Curtis and Holly both gave her reproving looks.
"Big it certainly will be", pressed on Curtis. "The White House will be furious. Trampler has just been on the phone, and he's not happy at all about what's going on. He wants us to stop."
"I don't see", said Holly, still doing her best to remain polite, "why we should dance to the White House's tune. We're supposed to hold them to account, not be cheerleaders. And", she added, with a hint of anger, "Trampler's not happy? May I remind you he threatened to rape me two days ago. I don't suppose you raised that with him, did you?"
"You don't understand, do you?" Curtis was furious now. "If you carry on, our pass will be revoked. Our rivals will still have access, and they'll get all the big stories while we'll miss out. Doesn't that matter to you?"
"What matters to me", replied Holly, her anger constantly rising, "is exposing corruption by our leaders".
"There are more important things than making unsubstantiated allegations!", shouted Curtis, dramatically waving his arms in the air. "Our reputation! Our access to the White House! You're a Post employee! Show some loyalty!"
"My loyalty is to our readers and to the truth", said Holly coldly.
"Your loyalty should be to us who pay your wages!", bellowed Curtis. "Now get out of my office and don't you dare write any more claims against the President!"
Holly and Devi beat a hasty retreat: Devi looking over her shoulder at Curtis with a haughty expression, Holly's face grimly determined. They made their way back to Holly's desk, where Holly told Devi that they would carry on the investigation regardless.
Eventually it was time for the White House press briefing. Holly listened with growing irritation at the usual back-and-forth between the joking Crawley and his sycophantic questioners:
"Think you'll win in November, Mr. President?"
"Well, if the people want me, and I can't see why not!"
"Is your wife going to run for the Senate, Mr. President?"
"You know I can't answer that, family business and all that!"
"How do you rate the chances of a free trade deal with England and Wales, Mr. President?"
"I'm afraid they're still chickening out! Get it!"
When Crawley finally picked out Holly, after answering at least one - and in some cases more than one - question from every other journalist present, she fixed him with a purposeful stare as she asked him, as politely as she could manage:
"Mr. President, my intern Devi Bose and I have discovered that you have bought a ranch, stretching to 500 acres, in California. Mr. President, was that ranch bought with the money that has gone missing?"
Crawley smiled his usual jovial smile.
"Now, now, Holly", he said, in his customary charming tone but with the merest hint of annoyance, "you seem to be auditioning to be the Republicans' spokeswoman! I wonder why you never ask me about Back to Work. Next question."
Holly had anticipated this: she had also half-anticipated Trampler's reaction, but still it was no less unnerving when he strode up to her at the end of the briefing.
"You never fucking listen do you, bitch", he growled, thrusting his face into hers as he had done two days before. "Will nothing ever stop you doing this shit?"
"No, Mr. Trampler, nothing ever will", replied Holly, doing her best to remain calm. "Good day to you".
And with that she strode smartly from the room.
Clara was feeling very excited when her shift came to an end. Leaving the County Line with Angela and Lily as always, she saw Devi (who had taken a leaf out of Clara's book and searched Google Maps for the location) standing just outside the door. She ran into Devi's welcoming arms and, after a brief kiss, Clara turned round and indicated her friends.
"You already know Lily, of course".
"Certainly", answered Devi in her grandest tone: she shook hands with Lily, who half smiled, half laughed in response.
"And this", said Clara, feeling more excited than ever, "is Angela Brown".
"How do you do, Angela?", asked Devi, boisterously shaking Angela's hand.
Angela managed only a weak smile in response.
"Clara's told us all about you", she said cautiously.
"Of course she would", laughed Devi.
"And you love her, do you?", prodded Angela.
"What makes you think I wouldn't?", asked Devi, part laughing but part puzzled.
"Well . . .", replied Angela slowly, "It's just that . . . you know . . . you're very different than her. Than us."
"And what do you mean by that?", inquired Devi, a slight edge to her voice.
"I mean", explained Angela, "while we three are working folks, having to struggle through a long shift, scraping barely enough to pay the bills, life is easy for you. Your parents can simply buy you an internship and set you on your merry way." There was a slight hint of bitterness in those last seven words.
Clara's smile faded: she looked from Devi to Angela and back again, with an anxious and pleading expression on her face. Neither of them noticed, however, as each was eyeing the other, Angela looking defiant, Devi angry.
"I don't see what my parents have got to do with any of this", she said finally, in a superior tone. "My parents worked hard and saved to get where they are. Maybe your parents didn't work hard enough".
"See?", proclaimed Angela, her tone a mix of fury and vindication, "You've just proved my point. You look down on people like us."
"That was not my meaning at all!", shouted Devi.
Clara hung her head. Lily rolled her eyes in amusement.
"Your mask just slipped", persisted Angela. "However smooth and sophisticated and charming your lot like to appear as, I know what you're like! You think you're better than us! I knew it all along!"
"Please, Angela", interjected an upset Clara, "don't say that, she's not like that at all."
"She is. They all are", admonished Angela.
"You just don't understand, Angela", said Devi in her haughtiest voice. "I don't think I'm better than you, I love Clara . . ."
"You do not", said Angela shortly.
"I beg your pardon?" Devi could hardly believe what she had just heard, while Clara, for the first time, had an angry expression.
"You do not love Clara", repeated Angela, "She's just a bit of fun to you, until you find your handsome prince in his fancy castle".
For a fleeting moment Clara felt the urge to hit Angela.
"How dare you!", raged Devi: her face had turned from brown to purple. "What the Hell would you know about these things!"
"I know a lot more than you ever will", rapped Angela. "While your wonderful parents get rich off the backs of working folk, my parents, my 'lazy', 'Welfare Queen' parents", again she made use of air quotes here, "were out on the barricades fighting for civil rights and social justice. I've seen young black kids in the ghettos, not knowing when their next meal will come. I've seen people die of preventable diseases because they have no health insurance. I've seen whole generations of young African Americans who can't go to college, or", she added with more than a hint of spite, "get internships. What's more, nearly every day I get called the N-word, or I get people asking, 'Can I have a joint?', or 'When did you shoot your parents?' Experiences that you, living your privileged life as part of Reagan's Model Minority, will never have!"
If Devi had been furious before, she was now on the verge of boiling over.
"I'll have you know", she shouted at the top of her voice, "that I get told on a regular basis to get back to the slums, that because of my cultural tastes people tell me, 'You're in America now' or 'It's about where you are, not where you come from'. Come on, Clara, let's get out of here!"
And she stormed off without waiting for Clara to reply. She then turned round, realising that Clara had not followed her. "Are you coming or not?"
"Please wait a minute", urged Clara, who was on the verge of tears by now. "I'd like to talk to Angela".
"All right, but make it quick, will you?", said Devi.
"Wow, Angela, that was some political manifesto", guffawed Lily. "And you managed to offend the love of Clara's life, well done to you!"
"How could you, Angela?", asked Clara, trying as hard as she could not to cry.
"Because I don't want her taking advantage of you", replied Angela.
"But she isn't doing that", pleaded Clara. "She loves me".
"You are so naive, Clara", said Angela. "You really think that goddamn social climber loves you? Just because she tells you so? She's pretty, yes, but apart from that, what do you see in her?"
"That's so unfair", said Clara, starting to get angry again. "She makes me feel good about myself, tells me I'm beautiful . . ."
"She is playing on your weak points", said Angela remorselessly. "She knows you're not confident about yourself, so she plays on that to get what she wants".
"Are you coming, Clara?", came Devi's impatient voice.
"Soon", Clara called, before turning back to Angela. "But if she's a social climber, why would she go for a poor girl like me?"
"Because", Angela ploughed on, "She sees a naive young girl that she can exploit for her own gratification, before dumping you and marrying a rich man. That's what people like her do all the time. Plus the fact it's so unfair that she can afford that internship while working folks can't".
"But that's not her fault", replied Clara spiritedly, "it's the system's fault. Why shouldn't her parents help her if they can?"
"Because they're cheating, that's why", replied Angela.
"Are you coming, Clara?", called Devi again: Clara could hear her rapidly tapping her foot on the pavement.
"Just wait a bit more, and I'll be with you", answered Clara. She faced Angela once again. "You're totally wrong and unfair in what you say about Devi. I love her and I know that she loves me. You'll see that one day."
And with that she turned on her heel and walked over to Devi.
Devi was looking murderous: her expression softened only slightly as Clara approached.
"What a rude person she is!", exclaimed Devi, her voice a mix of fury and condescension, as the two women walked down Hunter Street.
Clara looked down at her shoelaces.
"Speaking to me like that!", Devi continued. "Attacking me and my parents, the sheer arrogance of claiming she knows my true feelings . . ."
"I know, Devi, she was totally out of order", said Clara quietly.
"I wonder how you're even friends with her", Devi went on, in a slightly softer tone. "You're so friendly and polite, while she's . . ."
"That's not the whole story", insisted Clara, looking up at Devi now. "I know it wasn't right, what she said to you, but she's good to me, always concerned about how I'm doing. We've known each other since school, and she was very kind to me when Daddy died. She was also kind to me two days ago, after that guy insulted me."
"Then why . . .", began Devi in a slightly disbelieving tone.
"Because", sighed Clara, "she's very political, very passionate about social justice, about poor people. She thinks it's unfair that some folks get chances that others don't have."
"But that's not . . .", argued Devi.
"I know it isn't your fault", said Clara earnestly, "and I said that to her just now. It's just that she thinks you're part of the unfair system, she can't see that you didn't create the system".
"Why not?", wondered Devi. Despite her bafflement, a small hint of a smile had returned to her lips: she was grateful for Clara's defence of her.
"It's just . . . the way she is", said Clara. "I can't explain it any other way. But please believe me, she's a good person."
Devi stopped walking and thought for a minute or two.
"Well", she said finally, "I just hope she never comes with us to the Good Time".
"She doesn't go there", Clara explained, and she was smiling too now. "A bit too frivolous for her".
Devi laughed: Clara did too.
"Anyway", said Clara, "let's go to my Mom's, she'll like you, she likes high achievers".
They walked on a little further to reach the bus stop. The bus set off, initially in the direction of the Golden Kettle, but then took a turn to the right: after a few more turnings, they got off, Clara almost dragging Devi off the bus by the hand in her eagerness.
Clara knocked on the door of a small two-storey house: while they waited for an answer, Devi looked around the front yard and was delighted by the sight of a number of pots with lovely flowers in them. The door opened, and a woman stood there, smiling on the threshold. She had Clara's hair and eyes, but was significantly taller than either Clara or Devi: quite a striking woman, Devi thought.
"Hi, there, Clara honey", said the woman. "How thoughtful of you! And this young lady, I assume, is your new girlfriend?"
"Yes", smiled Clara. "Mom, this is Devi Bose. Devi, my Mom".
"So delighted to meet you, Mrs. Hewson", announced Devi, warmly shaking Clara's mother's hand and speaking in the same tone she had used to greet Lily and Angela.
"Clementina", insisted the other, beckoning Clara and Devi to enter the house.
The house was modest but very tidy: Devi thought to herself that Clara must have had a good upbringing. They walked through a kitchen with a small table and four old but pretty wooden chairs around it. Clementina offered her guests cups of tea, which they accepted. Clara and Devi continued into the living room, sitting down on the sofa. There was a small table in front of the sofa, and on the opposite wall was the mantlepiece, which had on it photographs of a young Clara, Clementina and a short, smiling man whom, Devi realised, must be Clara's late father.
Clementina came in with a tray with three cups of tea, placed the tray on the table, and sat down on the sofa next to Clara.
"Well, Clara", she said, taking the first sip from her cup, "I must say this is a surprise, you dating a woman. Was it just something you decided to try out?"
Devi looked put out by this comment, but Clara smiled.
"Not exactly", she said, and she told her mother all about how she and Devi had met. Clementina was especially impressed when she learned of Devi's family background.
"You've certainly chosen well there, Clara," she pronounced. "An aspirational young woman, and, if you don't mind my saying so, Devi, a very pretty one too".
She leaned over and smiled at Devi: Devi smiled a flattered and knowing smile, before taking a deep sip.
"Seriously, though, Clara", Clementina continued, "I'm pleased you've found someone like Devi. I hope now that you'll start showing more ambition in life. She'll be able to show you the way".
Clara and Devi smiled awkwardly at each other. Suddenly, Devi noticed something else: directly above the mantlepiece was a large poster displaying the President's face.
"You like the President?", asked Devi in some surprise.
Clara's grip on her cup tightened
"Of course", answered Clementina primly.
"A corrupt President", asserted Devi loudly.
"Really? You don't believe all that fake news, do you?", asked Clementina in an astonished tone.
Clara was alarmed to see an ominous expression on Devi's face.
"For your information, I'm an intern at the Washington Post and I am one of the journalists looking into the President's dirty dealings", Devi announced.
"Yes, but it's all fake news", said Clementina, though she also looked shocked at Devi's revelation.
Devi was about to argue back when Clara desperately whispered in her ear, "Please don't, Devi". Devi sighed and rested her back against the sofa.
Clara tried to change the subject by talking about family matters: the rest of the conversation passed pleasantly enough, but there was always an uncomfortable feeling in the air and Clara felt relieved when the time came to leave. The euphoria of the previous night seemed like centuries ago.
"Goodbye, then", said Clementina, "It's been - shall we say - a pleasant evening. I'm pleased to have met you, Devi, and you're a good example to Clara, but on the President, it looks like we'll have to agree to disagree."
Clara and Devi travelled by bus back to Hunter Street, where Clara showed Devi her apartment for the first time: Devi was privately very struck by how small it was, by the lack of books, and by the posters of baseball players on the bedroom wall. They enjoyed another very pleasurable evening, and the awkward encounters with Angela and Clementina were soon forgotten: no matter what anybody else said, they would always have each other.
The weeks went by, and Clara and Devi's bond only grew. They had a few courteous disagreements about baseball and cricket: Devi was baffled by the double play rule ("What a stupid rule that is!"), while Clara could never get her head around the lbw law ("So it's not out if it pitches outside off stump?"), but they never let these differences get out of hand. Devi also carefully avoided criticising Clara's career choices, much to Clara's relief. Angela continued to disapprove of Devi, but Clara would always, as politely as she was able, defend her girlfriend. Lily on the other hand found Devi good for a laugh, and the three of them had many enjoyable nights together at the Good Time. But nothing could surpass the nights when Clara and Devi were alone together, whether their happy conversations in the Golden Kettle or making passionate love at each other's apartments.
It was 30th April, Clara's birthday. She was sitting in her apartment after work, feeling very excited: Devi had promised her a wonderful present. Soon enough, Clara heard a knock on the door, then a pause, followed by three other knocks in quick succession: she knew who it must be, as no else knocked like that, and sure enough, there was Devi, smiling as broadly as ever.
"Happy birthday, Clara!", she shouted, and she then wrapped her arms around Clara, singing, "23 today! 23 today!"
Once inside Clara's bedroom, Devi gave her small parcel, which Clara hastily unwrapped, her hands trembling. Clara gasped: there was a beautiful gold-coloured necklace, and hanging from it were the letters of Clara's own name. Clara turned the necklace over in her hands several times, as if to make sure that it was real. Then she looked up at the beaming Devi.
"Do you like it, Clara?", Devi asked.
In reply Clara flung herself upon Devi and kissed her passionately. The necklace made Clara tremendously happy and proud, and from that moment she wore it every day.
