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"Hello," I said, "Shekhar here, you never told me your name."Thank god it was me, who answered the call, perhaps wouldn't havemattered, he would have cut and tried again later. "How did you get thisnumber?" I asked. "from the directory, dear," he quipped. "You can't callme that," I complained, "Well, if you don't tell me your name, what elsecan I do?" he was not letting go that easily. "Aasha, call me Aasha, butdon't call me here. My parents won't like it." I was trying to find anexcuse to avoid him calling here. And avoid him telling the name of adaughter which my parents never heard. Even if they did, they might justdismiss it as a mistake, or a prank call; but still I needed to becareful. He said "Okay, on one condition, you call me," and he shared hisnumber. It was not needed as we had a brand new telephone device thatshowed the caller's phone number. I cut the call abruptly as I heard myparents talk, dismissing it as a wrong number.A few days later when I was alone at home, I. ..I was so shocked that I wanted to make sure that they were really talking and that she'd hadn't just given him the brush off. Therefore, I walked round the outskirts of the room until I got to a position where I could clearly see the two of them.Sure enough they were talking and what's more Angie looked like she was enjoying his company and she started to laugh at something he'd said.The man was well into his sixties short with a balding head with a narrow white moustache along his top lip. What drew your attention most though was his large potbelly that hung well over his trousers. He was dressed in a suit but from where I was standing not in a good state of repair. He really looked like a travelling salesman on bad times. Angie was sitting on the bar stool while her new friend was standing in front of her with a pint glass half full in his hand. What I notice most was whenever Angie looked away from him he would look at her legs. It was then I became aware of her skirt had ridden.
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