Clarke Makes Ria Earns Her Breakfast, But What Goes In Must Come Out...

The stylish living room was adorned with photographs of Ria’s fancy wedding to Dan. They were married twice, one a traditional white wedding in the UK and a second a Hindu wedding full of colour both weddings in Sri Lanka. Ria walked in from the kitchen and saw Dan sitting on the couch watching the football, she slumped down on Dan’s knee then sank her head into the crux of his neck. “Dan, I have some bad news.”

“Oh dear… really?”

“Yes.”

Dan let out a sign as he knew this wasn’t going to be a short conversation. He picked up the TV remote control then lowered the volume. “What is it? Is it something I can help you with?”

“I’m going to India for a month. Back on 1st May."

“A month... Bloody hell. Why?” Dan raised his eyebrows in shock.” I thought you said you’d never be interested in going?”

“I’m not, but it’s for work.”

“When? And what for? You look troubled.” Dan rubbed Ria's shoulder as she battled her welling tears. "I love you. "

“Tomorrow.”

Dan gently slid Ria onto the cushion by his side, so he could look at her face. “Such late notice.”

“I know.” Ria then began to relay the excuse Clarke had told her tell Dan. “The HR director for South Asia has suddenly resigned for health reasons. He was in the middle of a big merger which is now in crisis.”

“Is there not someone else more local?”

“I’ve been told to see it as a test of my credentials and commitment as to whether I’m director material.”

Dan drifted into silence as he seemed to process the information for a moment. “Then I suppose you have to see this as an opportunity.” He embraced Ria who still looked less than enthusiastic. “I’m happy for you.”

Dan put his wife’s lack of joy down to nerves. But if only Dan knew what was really happening.

~

Ria spent all night packing for the month’s trip to the sub-continent. Clarke had advised her via email to only wear traditional Indian dress for their morning meeting at Euston Station in central London. She had hoped to be able to lie her way out of wearing her sari but the email said it was a direct order, and if she didn’t wear it, it would be seen as a break of contract.

Ria didn’t need reminding of the consequences.

Only at family weddings would Ria wear a sari. They were all brightly coloured and made of the finest silk, crepe, and satin and took a lot of time and effort to dress in one. Given the lurid circumstances, the last thing Ria wanted to do was draw attention to herself. But it was hard to do so wearing colourful Indian wear in the drab and dreariness of the UK.

Ria chose a pink sari outfit that she bought for her cousin's wedding two years before. Her delicate sleeveless pink blouse clung to her petite breasts. The blouse was tucked into a heavier petticoat complete with floor length pleats. Then on top of all this was perhaps the most distinguishing part of the sari, the pallu, which is a sort of heavy scarf that is draped over the left shoulder. The pallu was again pink but heavily embroided with gold thread in ornate floral patterns and a sprinkling of coloured beads and rhinestones.

As Dan carried the luggage down the stairs, he noted Ria’s Sari as she stood in the hallway fixing the finishing touches of her makeup in a mirror.

“Going native?”

“I have a formal dinner as soon as I get off the plane.”

“Oh… and that’s the dress code?”

“Yes.” Drying her lipstick, Ria bit down on a corner of folded tissue. “I just want to impress.”

“I always liked Indian Ria.” Dan winked then pecked her cheek before walking out of the house with her luggage.

Ria took a black trench coat off the coat rack, then threaded her arms through the sleeves. Buttoning up coated then fastening the belt, she planned on outwitting Clarke on a technicality.

~

Ria kissed Dan goodbye then wheeled her trolly full of cases from the multistorey carpark into the rail terminal. Despite being early Spring, the sun was out and the temperature felt mild, causing Ria began to sweat. I was as if the gods were against Ria keeping lowkey in her trench coat. Of course, it was also her anxiety which was causing her heart to race and her soft brown skin to moisten.

The cavernous concrete terminal was rammed pack full of commuters and tourists. Giant screens hung above ticket offices and food outlets, flicking between adverts and travel information. One large screen played rolling news which was filled with the growing COVID crisis that was spreading west across Europe. It was all people seemed to talk about these days, indeed many commuters were wearing masks, yet Ria had her own worries.

Through a break in the crowd Ria’s heart skipped a beat as she spotted Clark standing beneath a giant wrought-iron clock. He was wearing an expensive suit but oddly, also wearing a Stetson. Suddenly feeling sick with fear, Ria offered a meek, “Hi.”

“You’re wearing a coat? I ordered you to wear traditional Indian wear, but instead you’re wearing a Burberry trench coat.”

“I have a sari underneath, but I’m cold.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just breaking rules.”

“Mr Carlisle. Please. I just… I just didn’t want to draw attention to myself.” Ria whispered, “I’m conscious of being thought of as Indian.”

“You better start dancing.” Clarke took off his hat and left it upturned on the tiled floor. He then took out his smartphone. “Give me your best Bollywood song.”

“I don’t know. I'm not dancing.”

“Slumdog Millionaire is the only one I've seen. Let’s go with that.” Clarke began playing the official soundtrack to the popular Danny Boyle crossover film through his speakers. “Dance for the crowd. “

“Mr. Carlisle, I beg you.”

Clarke advised. “You’re going to learn over the next month that every discretion has a serious consequence.” He then ordered. “Now take of your fancy heels and dance like a little Punjabi girl. Oh, and make sure you do that freaky shit with your head that Indians are famous for.”

“Freaky shit?”

“Yeah, the sort of head wobble thing.”

Ria rolled her eyes. “You mean this?” She placed the palms of her hands together then did a exaggerated Indian head shake.

“Yeah. That’s it. Fit that into your routine. Oh, and another thing. Lose your International accent. I know you must have your real one under it. From now on, you're Ria the Indian refugee.”

"I hate you."

"Good. But say it in a South Asian tongue"

"OK, Mr. Sir." Ria slipped out of her coat, and unstrapped her open toed stiletto heels before sliding them off one at a time. The tiles felt cold on the soft soles of her little brown feet. Fortunately, Ria’s sari was loose fitting and flowing, so it allowed her to move freely as she began kicking her legs and flicking her arms. Her routine was far from perfect, but it shouldn’t have been a surprise as she was trying to remember a dance she used to perform with her old classmates at school.

Clarke then began shouting at the top of his voice. “Ladies and Gentlemen. Please spare us your change.” Clarke picked up his hat and waved it around. “Ria is raising money for street children back in her native India.” He gestured for passers-by to throw money into his hat “And believe me, ladies and gentlemen, Ria should know the hardships as she came from the streets herself…”

Ria felt the rage build inside as she continued to dance her Bollywood routine.

Clarke continued to call out. “… but Ria knew there was more to life than selling herself for food. So danced her way to fame and fortune until she was able to buy a ticket on the back of a lorry carrying oranges to Europe. “

Although the sari was full length with a long silk Pallu scarf that trailed down to the floor, the light fabric clung to her long, elegant limbs as she moved in time with the rhythmic South Asian beats.

Despite making up a lot of the routine on the spot, Ria was convincing on the floor. She swung her hips and hopped and skipped to the dramatic music. She was a natural performer.

Clarke soon had people throwing coins and banknotes into his hat and went around drumming up business. Within minutes Ria had an audience all watching and recording her dace on their smartphones. She had a mixed crowd, there dirty old drunks, families with young children, and businessmen all watching.

Ria danced for the entire soundtrack. The music stopped and Ria sank to her knees to catch her breath. Clarke shouted, "That’s all folks, Ria suffers from asthma, a side effect of living on crowded streets.

The crowd clapped and some even whooped for Ria, tossing more money into Clarke's hat before beginning to carry on their journeys.

Clarke peered into his hat then switched off the music. He gestured to a hot and sweaty Ria to follow him. “Come on, we now have enough for breakfast… you’ve earned it.”

Walking off towards a station café Clarke glanced over his shoulders. “Don’t forget our luggage.”

Ria turned towards the two trolls and wondered how she could lift his luggage on her trolly, but felt too exhausted to ask for help.

~

Sat at a table inside a busy commuter cafe, Clarke ordered coffee while they both inspected the breakfast menu. He glanced above the laminated page towards Ria, loving the fact her face was still flush after her impromptu dance for charity.

Clarke also enjoyed the way Ria constantly avoided eye contact, as it was usually he who struggled in the company of beautiful women… even if they were paid escorts.

He then broke from his stare by the arrival of the waitress with their coffee.

Thirsty after her earlier excursions, Ria added more milk than she usually preferred to allow her to quickly drink from her mug.

Clarke meanwhile ordered a full English from the plump waitress. "... And I like my eggs well done, ma'am."

"I'll have…" Ria was going to order a continental breakfast, but Clarke interjected.

"My dear, don't forget you have already cooked your breakfast this morning."

"What do you mean?"

Clarke ducked under the table then unzipped his hand luggage. He then lifted out a thermal lunch box. "Your curries."

"But..."

"Now, now… I'm sure the good lady will let you eat them in the cafe. After all, we Brits do like to make foreigners feel at home here in the UK."

Ria scowled with indignation. But there was little she could do. Nothing in fact. So she unzipped the thermal bag then unpacked the small metal tiffin tubs which she opened to see each contained either a curry, sauteed veg and rice. She then went to pick up her knife and fork.

"Ria, don't forget."

"What is it this time?"

Clarke wiggled his fingers. "Use your fingers."

"This is just ridiculous."

"Is it? Just imagine what your dad would think if I sent him your sex video. Or, if Dan found out about your one night stand."

"Me and Dan were on a break at the time. Plus... I was drunk, broken and very stupid."

"Does Dan know?" Clarke didn't need Ria's answer. Her expression was enough. Her one night stand was definitely a dirty secret. Clark snickered."I didn't think so."

Ria dropped her knife and fork on the table. She then broke a corner off her naan bread and dipped it in her vegetable curry. "Happy?

"That's better. More authentic."

Ria ate with her fingers, scooping the curry and rice up with the naan. It was something she hadn't done since she was a child but soon got to grips with it. Of course, back in Sri Lanka it was tradition to eat with the fingers of the right hand, although nowadays the practice was only now for special meals.

The curry was spicy but there was an undeniable sweetness of coconut milk. Despite the dire circumstances and the bad company, Ria enjoyed the food as it reminded her of youth.

Ria reached the end of her meal and wiped her hands clean on a wet wipe. She glanced at Clarke who was still enjoying his bacon, and noticed he smiled at her… which made her hate him even more.

All of a sudden Ria's stomach rumbled, then flipped. The coconut and coffee was mixing with the spices… and bubbling violently deep inside.

Ria was thrown into a crisis. She dashed to the restroom. But within a minute she was back. "Have you got 20p for the toilet?"

"Do you only carry Indian rupees or something?"

"Very funny. No, seriously, I need to go to the restroom."

"I once watched a documentary where Indian villagers use the railway tracks to poo."

Ria couldn't believe what Clarke was saying. "Are you seriously can't be suggesting that I shit on the tracks?"

"Well, it would solve your crisis."

"As if I would do such a thing."

"What? Are English railway tracks not good enough for your Indian bottom?"

"Clarke, stop being a dick. I'm serious." Ria rested her hand on her belly, she then doubled over as she felt a crippling cramp. "I have an emergency."

"I'm sorry but I'm not giving you the change for the toilet."

"If you don't, I'm going to have an accident."

"Platform 11 isn't in use."

"I hate you." Rita belly rumbled loudly and she let out a wet bubbling fart. "I hate you so much."

Clarke handed Ria his paper napkin from the table. "Platform 11 is that way."

Ria scooted away, her gait shorter than usual to avoid premature leakage. She wasn't in a position to question Clarke's wisdom and found platform 11. It was empty so there was no one to stop her climbing down onto the tracks.

However, there was a small crowd on the opposite platform who we're now all watching as Ria bunched up her pink sari exposing her long sleek legs, white panties and high heels. She then pulled down her cotton panties displaying her plump brown bottom cheeks.

The watching crowd soon grew to over a dozen. Two young mischievous teens were recording Ria on their smartphones as Ria bent her knees and took a shitting position.

Ria was too far gone to worry. She squinted her eyes as she felt her anus open up. Poor Ria didn't even need to heave or push as a loud ripping torrent exploded from her behind.

She felt like a human storm drain. But as the pressure was released it felt good, and she let out a sigh then smiled in relief.

Yet sadly within a few seconds reality returned and Ria felt overcome with shame. She could hear peoples disgust. One even called her dirty Paki.

Using Clarke's napkin Ria wiped her bottom, it felt rough and not very absorbent, as if it didn't properly clean her. But Ria was in a rush, so she tossed the soiled tissue onto the gravel rail bed. But as she pulled up her panties she heard a man's voice.

Clarke stepped onto platform 11 then began shooing away the gathered crowd some of who were now taunting Ria. “Move on people, move on. Give the poor girl some privacy.” He glanced down at the foul-smelling mess slopped over the rails which Ria now was desperately trying to distance herself from. “She doesn’t know any better. She's only doing what she does back in her own country.” He climbed down off the platform then took off his blazer to wrap around a distraught Ria as if to shelter her. “Come with me, Ria.”

“I don’t know why you’re acting all concerned. You caused this.”

“Shush, shush. You’re just in shock.”

Clarke climbed up onto the edge of the terminal then reached back for Ria’s hand, helping her up. He then led her through the disgusted crowd. Feeling Ria shaking in his embrace, he whispered, “I’m impressed. You did well. Now, let’s get out of here.”

“I can’t get out of here quick enough.”

Clarke sniffed the air. “I’ll give you twenty pence first, to go and wash that shit of your hands.”

"But fucking late."

"Fine, keep the shit on hands."

"I'm sorry."