“Hello, beta!” Shoma Moorty leapt out of her Jeep, exuding energy. “I had forgotten what a beautiful venue this was! Only last year we had two weddings here.”
“Hi, Shoma!” Jen Courtney, the event manager, opened the door to the Carriage House. “It’s great to see you again!”
I guess those two did know each other. What a small world this wedding business was!
Meanwhile, Vinnie was still looking at me with a how-could-you-not-tell-me-everything-about-that-guy stare.
“Mini,” she said, arms crossed. “We need to talk!”
“No we don’t,” I said. “And don’t jump to conclusions!”
“Yeah, right!” Vinnie said.
Three o’clock, and we were still waiting.
Jen Courtney, Vinnie, Shoma Moorty, and even poor Vir had gone over the tables, the chairs, the dance floor, the restrooms, the rain plan (we’d use the tent attached to the Carriage House—it could seat 180 people), the mandap, the aisle design, the fire extinguishers that had to be on hand before the ceremonial fire could be lit.
But no discussions about the food, the kitchens, or the serving staff could happen because there was still no sign of Mr. Sunny Sondhi of Curry Cuisine.
I called his main office and his son at least three times. They promised me he was on his way, but I was beginning to have my doubts.
“He’ll be here!” I smiled manically at the assembled group. “He will!”
“Why are you booking this guy?” Vir asked quietly when no one was looking. “He seems flaky.”
“Vinnie wants him to cater,” I whispered back. “He did Manish’s sister’s wedding too, and the Iyers really liked him. Manish is Vinnie’s fiancé,” I added, since Vir was looking lost.
My cell phone rang.
“This is Sunny Sondhi,” said an irritated-sounding voice.
It’s him, I mimed to Vinnie. “Mr. Sondhi! How far away are you? We’re all waiting for you to arrive!” A car turned the corner as I spoke. That had to be him!
“I think I see you,” he said. “I’ll park and be there in a minute. Just wait.”
Sunny Sondhi was tall and dapperly dressed. We’d been waiting around for him for hours, but he showed up with an annoyed expression as if we had kept him waiting. No apology either.
I knew he was busy—of the five or so Indian caterers to pick from in the Boston area, Curry Cuisine was the biggest name—but this was ridiculous.
“Hello, Mr. Sondhi.” At least one of us seemed to know the Curry Cuisine guy well. He actually cracked a smile at Shoma Moorty.
“Hello, hello!” he said. “I didn’t think we had catered here before, but I remember this kitchen. So, do the catering vans have to pull up here? And where are the tables?” We went over the table and dance floor setup, where we would put the buffet table, where the dosa chef could set up his dosa station—outdoors only, as per the fire marshal. “That’s all I need to see,” Mr. Sondhi said. “Thank you, I have another appointment.”
And we were done!
“I’ll call about the music selection,” Vir said. “It was nice meeting you, Vinnie.”
“Likewise,” said Vinnie.
The questions started before we’d pulled out of the rambling wooded drive.
“Why didn’t you tell me about that guy?” Vinnie asked.
“Vir?” I asked. “No reason. Just because he’s cute, you don’t have to jump to conclusions.”
“You’re so cute and awkward around each other,” Vinnie said. “Something has to be up!”
“Wait!” I lifted a finger because my cell phone was ringing. “Can you grab that?”
“Sure.” Vinnie pulled my phone out of my satchel. It was Shayla. Her car was in the shop and I was supposed to give her a ride home from River Bend. Only, what with all the waiting around, I had forgotten.
“We’ll be there in a minute, Shayla,” Vinnie said. “Sorry we forgot you!”
When we picked Shayla up, Vinnie started interrogating her about Vir instead.
Shayla, being Shayla, was only too happy to spill.
“He went to school in the UK,” she said. “Then he moved here with his mom and went to school in Cambridge. Then he went to boarding school in India. He’s going to MIT in the fall. And his parents are divorced. I don’t think he has any siblings.”
“Thank you!” Vinnie was suddenly grinning. “Smart too, huh? Did we pay him a deposit yet?”
“No!” We hadn’t as yet officially signed up with Vir. “He doesn’t have any references! I don’t know how we can trust him to do a good job. This could be a disaster!”
“Nah,” Vinnie said. “DJ’ing isn’t rocket science. He can handle it.”
“Hey, Rachel needs a DJ too!” Shayla said. “For Jason’s Bar Mitzvah. Didn’t you hear about that?”
“Rachel is back?” I asked. “I thought she was still in Israel!”
“She’s been back for ten days,” Shayla said. “And you’d know this if you weren’t so busy with this whole wedding thing—sorry, Vinnie, but it’s true. Everyone’s been talking about Jason’s Bar Mitzvah disaster!”
Yikes! I really hadn’t been to Turnabout for two whole weekends? Amy would be well within her rights to revoke my staff discount! And I hadn’t even heard what Rachel had gotten up to in Israel. I guess they’d been busy grappling with Jason’s Bar Mitzvah situation.
“What happened?” I asked, feeling horrible for not having known.
“Amy had hired a band, like, last year or something,” Shayla said. “But half of them just got the flu—in the middle of summer—and they can’t perform. They’ve been calling around, but all the good DJs already have gigs for this weekend.”
“This weekend!” I said.
“Yeah, they’re kind of desperate,” Shayla said. “Do you think Vir is free?”
“We could ask…,” I said. “But how would he know anything about Bar Mitzvahs? He’s been in India for the past four years.”
Chapter Fourteen
So, apparently, during the two years of middle school Vir spent in the US, he went to no fewer than nine Bar and Bat Mitzvahs.
“My mom graduated from Brandeis,” Vir said. “What can I say? All her friends in the US have kids my age, and we moved here when
