It's a go!

Two hours later, Riya is out of the dirty motel room and unpacking her large suitcase in her room. I suspect that the relieved young woman would prefer to unpack her belongings in privacy, but I position myself in the doorway to her tiny bedroom and she is too polite to send me off. I see her hesitate when she gets to a folded layer of red and gold silk. Then with a silent sigh she pulls out a full-length tunic and yards and yards of sparkling silk. I've only ever seen sarees worn, not in pieces like this, and I can't wait to see Riya dressed up like an ancient Gupta princess.

“That's beautiful.” If anything, the compliment only makes Riya more embarrassed, but she smiles timidly as she relates a little more of her misfortune.

“The man in the pawnshop only offered me twenty dollars for it.”

“I hate pawnshops.” I sympathize, “They're like cockroaches that feed on the misfortune of others. I'm glad you had the sense not to take his offer.”

“I did a little better with my jewelry, Mr. P. Gold is gold after all.” Riya, hangs the saree in the closet and reaches for another one, this one a mixture of coral and pinks that brings out the caramel color of her skin.

“Wait,” I pretend to be surprised to learn that this unfortunate thing pawned her jewelry, “you sold your gold?”

“Well, I pawned it,” I see a little fire in her big eyes, but it fades quickly, “but if I can't make my first payment next week, it will be gone.”

About one hour and $620 later we are driving back from Hartford with a heavy bag of bracelets, necklaces and all sorts of other jewelry. Many of the pieces glittered with diamonds, rubies and all sorts of other semiprecious gemstones. I'm no expert, but there must be close to $10,000 of jewelry in the bag, and the scumbag in the pawn shop gave Riya just over $500 dollars when she pawned it. Asshole.

“Thank-you, Mr. Patterson.” Riya's uncertain smile warmed my heart much like Alison's bright smile used to.

“I'll be the best personal helper ever, Sir.” Riya presses her palms together under her chin in what looked like a formal, maybe even religious, gesture. “I promise.”

I have to believe that this naïve young woman has no idea what a promise like that might lead to, but I'm more than a little distracted as we finish driving back to my house. If all it takes to buy her devoted obedience is $620 and a trip into a seedy section of Hartford, that is money well spent.

“Wow, I'm beat.” I announce as we climb out of my SUV, “Do you think you can get some dinner together while I take a nap?”

“Yes, Sir.” Riya's lips tighten just slightly before resting her hand on my upper arm again. “I hope you like biryani.” Biryani huh, maybe I misjudged this coed's cooking skills.

“The rice is in the pantry, the onions and garlic are here, and you should find some ginger in the crisper.” I point to the top of the refrigerator, “There's chicken in the freezer; if you want to use that.”