Curly dark hair, pinned back on either side, but not contained. An authoritative air, a commanding presence.
She knows the names of gems and stones, karats and settings. She demands a fair price, and then walks out.
She takes nude pictures of herself, posing in dingy hotel rooms.
She sips jasmine tea and says, “I’m a good lover. I’m not good at many things (but she is: dancing, poetry, yoga)…” The tea steams in her hand, and India’s horns play a cacophony of maddening music.
She winks and takes a sip. With her eyebrows raised, she continues.
“I’m not good at many things, but I know I’m a good lover.”