Goddess for Hire Read Free Page B

remembers incredibly vital information she somehow coincidentally forgot, until prodded, but that’s how it was. After all, most people can explain away coincidences faster than Joan Rivers reaching for a Botox-laden syringe. “We’d just moved to Newport Beach,” I began, “and some of the neighborhood kids started calling me Gandhi girl.”
    Sanjay handed me a bag of pretzels and a Pepsi from the minibar. “Kids can be cruel.”
    â€œAnd surprisingly knowledgeable about historical figures.” I crossed my legs and flicked open the can of soda. “But what do you expect? When you bring chicken tandoori sandwiches to school and everyone else is packing bologna on white, you’re bound to have some peer-adjustment problems.”
    A sharp ringing startled me into stopping. Sanjay reached inside his windbreaker and pulled out his cell phone. “Hello?” His face broke out into a huge smile. “Indira! No I’m not busy.”
    Ram cleared his throat, his face stern. “Sanjay.”
    Sanjay turned away and dropped his voice. “Friday then? It’s a date.” He hung up and straightened, shooting me an apologetic smile.
    â€œWhatever.” I shrugged and took a sip of Pepsi. “One day the kids were having a contest to see who could jump off the highest point. Determined to prove I was as good, if not better than they were, I shimmied up the side of our house, stood on the top of the garage and yelled, ’Hey losers! Did you know Gandhi could fly?’ They came running.”
    I paused to see if my audience was still paying attention, they were. “I was about to jump when I decided to do something a little more risky and pulled myself up until I was standing on top of our second-story roof. The kids were staring up at me with a mixture of fear and awe. This was my moment. I jumped and landed smoothly on the driveway.”
    A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “I became sort of a hero after that. I had full access to all the Atari games in the neighborhood.”
    Ram scratched his chin. With his protruding jaw, shock of white hair, and chocolate-colored skin, he resembled a wizened old monkey. “I see.”
    Obviously my story wasn’t the heavenly example he was expecting. So maybe it didn’t compare to Clark Kent twirling tractors at the age of five, but at least it was something. I jumped up. “Hey! That’s a distance of like, twenty-five feet! No one can do that without protectionand not get hurt, but that day I knew I could. It was weird.”
    â€œI think it sounds somewhat miraculous,” Sanjay said in a comforting voice.
    â€œDamn straight it does!” I was about to continue when it occurred to me my stance had changed from arguing why I wasn’t a goddess to why I was. I shot Ram a suspicious look. He was smiling. I placed a hand on my hip and tossed back my hair. No one could do sassy and outraged better. “You tricked me!”
    Ram blinked his eyes innocently. “The priests of my temple do not indulge in trickery.”
    I picked up my bag. “I don’t know why I’m still here. This is all a mistake. Birthmark aside, you’ve got the wrong chick.”
    Ram opened his mouth to protest, but I held up my hand and silenced him. “In sixth grade Dana Padilla called my mom a clown because she picked me up from school dressed in a sari. Know what I did? I paid Stephanie Dawson, the tallest and widest girl in our class, twenty bucks to beat the shit out of Dana while I watched. Aren’t divine beings supposed to be gentle and nurturing? I totally enjoyed watching Dana get her ass kicked, and that hardly sounds like the actions of a goddess.”
    Ram leaped to his feet, his voice booming out. “Not the actions of a goddess? Kali-Ma is the Goddess of Destruction! She is the bringer of death so that life may resurrect!” He threw out his arms. “Kali is womb and