A Family Affair (11 page)

T
RISH CRANED HER NECK TO LOOK OUT THE WINDOW OF THE
private plane. She smiled from ear to ear when she saw Malik in his white robe, Rashid next to him. “They’re here!” she squealed in happiness. Soraya clapped her hands.

When the plane finally came to a dead stop, both women unbuckled their seat belts and were at the front of the plane in a nanosecond. The moment the door opened and the portable stairway was in place, Trish almost flew down the steps and into Malik’s arms. He held her close and swung her around before he kissed her until she gasped for breath.

Out of the corner of her eye Trish saw Soraya advance toward Rashid. In the blink of an eye her lips were on Rashid’s. Malik started to move in his sister’s direction. Trish pulled him back. “She’s practicing, Malik. She’s in love with him. Let them be.”

“But . . . but . . . ,” he sputtered. In the end, he capitulated and only shot his sister a look of disapproval, which she totally ignored.

Rashid, his face flaming, was unable to look at Malik. Finally, Malik took pity on his second in command and laughed out loud. “She’s all yours, Rashid. Now she is
your
responsibility. What? What? Did the cat swallow your tongue, brother?”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Malik?” Rashid hissed as he held the door open for Trish and Malik.

“Actually, Rashid, I am.” Malik grinned like the cat who had caught the canary.

“I’ll sit in the front with Rashid,” Soraya said sweetly.

“No, you won’t,” Rashid grumbled. “It is not seemly. Malik . . . ?”

Malik was otherwise occupied with kissing Trish. He waved his hand to show that Rashid was on his own. Soraya giggled. Rashid pretended to glower, and Malik and Trish continued with what they were doing.

Day one of Trish’s homecoming. As far as she was concerned, nothing could have been more perfect.

The minute Malik dropped Trish and Soraya off at the palace, they were surrounded by chattering women, who quickly spirited them away to what Soraya said was the room where the wedding preparations would begin for both of them.

They spent hours picking and choosing materials, threads, and ornate trim. Needles and scissors flashed as the ladies stripped down both women to take measurements.

“It is so hard to choose. I have never seen such beautiful fabrics,” Trish wailed. “How am I to choose?”

“Close your eyes, twirl around, and then just point.” Soraya laughed. “I cannot choose my fabric until you make your choice. Remember, we have just two weeks until your wedding day. Tomorrow we will go into town so you can choose your Christian wedding gown. Two weeks is not much time, Trish.”

Trish started to wail again as she contemplated the gorgeous materials laid out in front of her. She knew from all the reading she’d done that red was the color of choice for most Muslim weddings. She took a deep breath and pointed to an absolutely breathtaking red bolt of cloth that was shot through with gold threads. She looked at Soraya, and the ladies huddled together. She pointed her index finger at a luscious strawberry-red bolt of sheer material. A shout of approval went up, which told Trish she had made the right choice. Soraya chose gold fabric shot through with silver threads.

Hours later, they broke for a late lunch, during which the two women chattered and laughed like teenagers. They complimented one another endlessly until, as Trish put it, they got down to the good stuff. The
good stuff
meaning Soraya breaking Muslim protocol by kissing Rashid.

“Don’t you get it, Trish? Now he has to make an honest woman of me. I am so glad Ernie let me practice kissing him. Now Rashid knows what to expect. I did good, didn’t I?” she asked anxiously.

Trish choked on a date she was munching. “I think it’s safe to say you blew his socks off. Your brother’s as well.”

Soraya just laughed and laughed.

The following day was more of the same when the two women were taken to an exclusive bridal shop in the heart of Dubai, where Trish had to close her eyes, twirl, and point to a gorgeous Vera Wang creation that looked like it was made especially for her. It fit so perfectly, there was no need for alterations. She chose a veil of dotted swiss that was softer than a baby’s cheek.

“Malik is going to be over the moon when he sees you in this dress, Trish. Not that the red one isn’t going to be gorgeous. It will be, but everyone wears the same thing. It’s actually boring. This says it all,” she said, pointing to the Vera Wang. Trish agreed with her 100 percent.

Trish looked at the price tag on the gown and almost fainted. “Oh, my God, Soraya, I can’t afford this. It’s twenty thousand dollars. We have to go somewhere else.”

“Oh, you silly girl, this has all been taken care of. Don’t fret, Trish. It is our way. Please, don’t fight Malik on this. He’s trying to please you.”

Trish thought about the paid mortgage on her town house back in Vegas and winced. She felt as if a dark cloud had suddenly formed overhead. She looked down at the price tag on the Louboutin shoes—twelve hundred dollars. Soraya bought four pair. The cloud overhead got darker.

Trish stopped and looked down at her cell, where a text was coming in from Malik. It read, Hot dogs at seven in the cave?

Trish’s response read, You got it.

Life was beyond wonderful. Well, almost.

On the ride back to the palace, Soraya was busy on her BlackBerry. “It seems that only Zack will be able to make the wedding. Possibly Tobias and Max. Things can change on a dime, he said. Malik does not know this. It is to be a surprise. Oh, one other thing, the car should be in port in three days. I must talk with Rashid about where to have it taken and how to hide it. I don’t know if he can keep a secret of this magnitude. I might have to kiss him some more.”

“That sounds like a plan, Soraya. I must say, you are devious. Were you always like that, or are you going to say you learned that in the States?”

“Half and half. You must be relieved that the car is finally going to get here.”

“I am. I didn’t know you had invited Malik’s friends to the wedding. I’m sure he will be pleased if they can make it. I look forward to meeting them. Zack was so helpful with the car part of things.”

“Do you know the story of Zack and Malik’s friendship?”

“I guess I don’t. I just assumed they were roommates and grew close over the years.”

“Yes, that is true. Zack always took Malik home with him for holidays. He has a big family, and they have a huge farm. Zack is the only one in the family who went to college. The other children chose to stay home and work their farm with their father. Malik and Zack worked the farm with the others during summer vacations. Malik loved riding the tractors and baling the hay and all that.

“Zack’s father had a really bad accident, and Malik was with him. He knew what to do and had a medical team there within minutes, and they airlifted Zack’s father to a special hospital, where surgery was performed, and they were able to save his legs. Malik saved his life. He paid all the medical bills, and, you know Malik, he paid off the farm but made the parents swear never to tell Zack. He set up scholarship funds for Zack’s nephews and nieces, because Malik knows how important education is. Zack doesn’t know that, either.

“Nor do any of his other friends know what he’s done for them anonymously. My father told me all of this. Malik doesn’t even know I know, and you must not let on that you know, either. My father was so proud of Malik. He has such a big heart. He lives to give to others. So, do you understand about him paying off your town house, and all the rest?

“Trish, you have no idea how much good Malik does for the migrant workers here in Dubai. He does it anonymously. He helps the expats, too. Again, anonymously. Before we left for the States, I asked him if he would help me get involved in women’s rights issues, and he agreed. I took the liberty of telling him that you and I would be working on those issues on our return. After the wedding, of course. So, that’s something else he’s willing to do for you. But you must say nothing unless he mentions it to you first.”

Trish digested the information Soraya divulged and tried to put her betrothed’s generosity out of her mind. She loved Malik, so she had to learn to accept his ways in this new world she’d suddenly become a part of.

Either you loved unconditionally or you didn’t love at all.

And she loved.

The day finally arrived.

The palace buzzed and hummed with activity.

It seemed to Trish that the entire populace of Dubai had turned out for the wedding of Sheik Malik bin Al Mohammed.

Seated front row and center were Malik’s nine friends from the States. Soraya had confided two days before the wedding that Rashid had made all the arrangements for the guests as his personal wedding gift to Malik. Trish almost burst out laughing when she saw Malik’s reaction when he spotted his friends. She thought for one wild moment he would break with tradition and rush at them. Instead, he grinned from ear to ear and gave a thumbs-up.

From there on in, it was all a blur to Trish. She knew that later she would be able to watch the video of her wedding. All she knew was that she was married to the most wonderful man in the world, whom she loved more than life itself, and she had the wedding ring to prove it. She was now officially Mrs. Malik bin Al Mohammed. She didn’t know if she was a princess, a royal highness, a
shaykhah—
pronounced “cha cha”—or something else, and she didn’t care.

When the wedding was over, and the bride and groom left the festivities, it was Rashid and Soraya’s job to entertain the American friends, which they did till all hours of the night.

The Christian wedding was to take place the following day, with a candlelight ceremony at sundown.

It was a small private wedding in the church of Trish’s choosing. She loved it when she got to walk down the aisle and saw Malik waiting for her. Even from the back of the church, she heard his gasp of approval.

Over and over, under her breath, she kept repeating, “Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Please, always let me be as happy as I am at this moment.”

All through the wedding dinner at the Burj Khalifa, or Khalifa Tower, a 2,716-foot-high hotel that had cost $650 million to build, Trish was so nervous and fidgety, Rashid finally took pity on her. He tapped his spoon against the glass in front of him for silence. When he had everyone’s attention, he looked around the wedding table, his gaze finally settling on Malik. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the bride wishes to present her new husband with a wedding gift. A gift from the heart, I might add.”

What followed was a lot of hooting and hollering, with Malik’s friends doing it along with Soraya, who had magically in the past few days learned to whistle between her teeth, thanks to Tobias, who, with the patience of a saint, had taught her.

Rashid made a low, sweeping bow as Trish got up and led the parade from the private dining room out to the hall, then to the special door with a huge EXIT sign in bright red letters.

Trish turned until she was just inches from her husband’s face. She winked at him and whispered, “Don’t you dare blow this one, Malik. A lot of work and effort went into this. I hope you can accept it in the spirit in which I’m giving it to you. Now, close your eyes, take my hand, and do not open your eyes until I tell you. Promise!”

His heart beating trip-hammer fast, Malik did as he was told. Rashid opened the door. Warm evening air swirled inward. It seemed in that moment in time, everyone’s hearts stopped beating.

“Open your eyes!”

Soraya, unable to contain herself, shouted at the top of her lungs. “It’s the rattletrap!”

Malik swayed on his feet. Zack caught one arm; Rashid the other.

“Get in! Get in!” everyone shouted at once. “Turn on the engine!”

There wasn’t a dry eye among the group as Malik walked around the front of the car. He gathered his pristine white robe about him and climbed into the driver’s seat. It took him three tries before he could get his hands to stop shaking long enough to get the engine to turn over. It purred like a contented cat. His eyes were so wet, he couldn’t see out of the windshield. As she watched him, tears rolled down Trish’s cheeks.

Zack leaned closer. Trish liked the scent wafting off him. “We did good, Trish. Real good!” he whispered.

“All thanks to you,” Trish blubbered as she looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her life. She’d been so busy since the Americans’ arrival, she had barely had a chance to get to know them. What she knew in that instant was that she had a friend for life in the man standing next to her. She smiled, and he smiled in return and gave her shoulder a little squeeze. Trish felt like an electric current passed through her. Zack, as well, because he stepped backward, a strange look on his face.

And then Malik was scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the passenger side of the rattletrap. It took some doing, but with everyone’s help, they managed to get the yards of material on her wedding dress secure inside the car.

“The game plan is you drive your car to the airport, we’ll bring it back, and off you go to Switzerland for your honeymoon. We’ll say good-bye now, bud. Your turn to visit the States,” Zack said, a catch in his voice.

There were manly hugs, a lot of backslapping and handshaking before Malik climbed behind the wheel again.

As he peeled away, horn blaring, there were more hoots and hollers as the tin cans and trash lids that the American contingent had tied to the back bumper clanged and clanked. The sign on the back window said
JUST MARRIED
.

Malik laughed so hard, he had a hard time keeping the car on the road. “Do you believe those guys? Aren’t they the greatest!”

“They are,” Trish said, nestling close to her new husband.

“I don’t know what to say other than thank you, Trish.”

“That’ll do it, husband. That’ll do it!”

T
RISH WOKE IN THE HUGE BED
,
HER ARM STRETCHING OUT
, only to find an empty space. Malik was gone. He’d been gone for four days now. She lay quietly, her thoughts ricocheting every which way before they settled on one thought. Eleven months and fourteen days to give birth to a child or be banished from Malik’s life.

It wasn’t going to happen, and she knew it. Four years of trying and four years of doctors’ visits and four years of tests and more tests were all the proof she needed to know she was not going to bear a child. No matter how many times she brought up the subject to Malik, all he would say was, “Time will tell.” Well, time was certainly not on her side. Malik had done everything she asked; they had traveled far and wide to the best doctors in the world with no results.

Her eyes burned when she thought of Soraya’s three lovely cherubs running around the palace, laughing and squealing. She was such a good mother, and Rashid was a doting father. Malik loved chasing the little ones, then swooping them up and swinging them high in the air. And they loved their uncle Malik and aunt Trish, as well. Often, Soraya allowed her to bathe the children, powder them, and tell them bedtime stories. And then she would cry when she had to return to her own quarters.

More often than not, these past months, she was alone. Malik seemed forever to be going somewhere and staying days, sometimes weeks at a time. He always called or would send text messages, but they, too, sounded
off
somehow to Trish. Not for the first time, she wondered if her husband was having an affair and looking for her replacement. That thought alone always brought a flood of tears.

Trish squeezed her eyes shut. She hated, absolutely hated, starting her day out by crying. She’d promised herself there would be no more tears, what would be would be. Still, she didn’t understand how something so wonderful, so perfect could be destroyed by a stupid man-made rule.
Produce a child, an heir, or you’re gone. With a time limit, no less.
None of the high-priced doctors would say definitively it was she who had a problem; nor would they say it was Malik’s problem. Almost all of them had rendered the same opinion: “When it’s time, nature will either grace you with a child or not.” How did you fight something like that?

In the space of four years, Soraya had gotten married and given birth to three beautiful children, and she was once again pregnant, with her fourth child. It just boggled Trish’s mind.

Trish swung her legs over the side of the bed as she thought about the day she was facing. Her days were all the same lately. She went to her language class for two hours. She was now as fluent in Arabic as Malik, and he constantly praised her. He would always hug her when she recited the Koran to him. She’d done her part. After her classes, she would go into town, meet with some of the expats with whom she had become friendly. She’d check in with some of the migrant families, with baskets of food and toys for the children. And when no one was looking, she’d slip money into the hands of the wives. Then, perhaps, she would have lunch, possibly shop a little, then return to the palace, swim by herself in the pool, and wait for Malik to return. She spent the waiting time either calling her sister or her friends back in Vegas to catch up on the stateside news, even though she read Dubai’s English-language newspaper, the
Khaleej Times.
Her sister, Emma, was always doom and gloom, and it depressed her to talk at great length about her problems. Her friends were always upbeat, because, as Connie said, when you lived in the city that never slept, how could you not be upbeat?

Maybe what she should do was plan a trip back home. Malik constantly encouraged her to do so, but she’d never taken him up on the offer. This was her home; this was where she belonged. Although now she did have a reason to return. The friend she’d rented her town house to these past years was getting married and had moved to Seattle three days ago. She had assured Trish that she’d left the town house in impeccable condition. Connie had checked and had said that indeed, the town house was in excellent shape and asked if she wanted her to find a new renter. If she returned, she could stay in her old town house. She could see all her friends and make a trip to Princeton to see her sister.

Trish walked over to her little desk, where Malik always left notes for her. There was no note this morning. There hadn’t been notes for many days now. For weeks and months, if she wanted to be accurate.

In the bathroom, Trish stripped down and made a point not to look at her naked body. She was thin, way too thin. There were dark shadows under her eyes that no amount of makeup could cover. Her hair was lusterless, where once it had really been her shining glory. It had been so many months since Malik had run his fingers through her hair.

Something was wrong.

Eleven months and fourteen days was all she had left.

Suddenly, a bolt of anger ripped through her.
Enough of this bullshit.
If she was back in the States, she’d take the bull by the horns and swing it around and around until the bull was so dazed, it would wander back to its pen. When had she become this
wuss,
this person who didn’t speak her mind?

Trish took the quickest shower of her life. She washed her hair only once, added conditioner, then dressed in one of her prettiest sundresses. She piled her wet hair on top of her head, lathered her face with some sweet-smelling moisturizer, and left her apartment. Her stride was long and purposeful as she waved off her maid, who was carrying her breakfast tray.

When she reached Soraya’s apartment, she rapped once and burst through the door. Soraya, still in her nightclothes, her hair standing on end, just gaped at her sister-in-law. “What’s wrong, Trish?”

“Everything! That’s what’s wrong, and do not stand there and tell me you don’t know what it is. Rashid cannot keep a secret from you, and we both know it. I want to know what’s going on. I have eleven months and fourteen days to become pregnant, which is one of the stupidest rules I have ever heard of. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to agree to such a barbaric rule. My only defense is I was so in love with your brother, I would have agreed to anything.

“So, my question to you right now, this minute, is, are the advisers and the council preparing my walking papers? Where is Malik? Where does he go every day? His routine has changed. He’s been gone this time now for four days, with only several texts. He’s now gone days, weeks at a time. He doesn’t call like he used to, doesn’t text like he used to, and he no longer leaves me notes. We haven’t been to the cave together in months and months. I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“Trish, I don’t know. I didn’t know anything was wrong. Rashid tells me nothing about my brother. He’s away as much as Malik. All he says is, it is palace business and not my concern,” Soraya said, waving her hands about. “As you know, the little ones keep me busy, and I’m not feeling all that well with this pregnancy. I swear to you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s get some coffee and go into the garden.”

Her back ramrod stiff, Trish followed as Soraya waddled ahead of her, out of earshot of the servants.

After they were seated and a servant brought coffee for Trish and pear nectar for Soraya, it was Soraya who spoke first. “It breaks my heart to see you crying like this. Please, dry your tears, and let’s talk. What can I do? I feel terrible that I wasn’t able to be there for you. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Because . . . because it is so personal. I think Malik is looking for my successor, someone who will give him an heir so that when they shoo me off, this new person will step in. How cruel and unjust is that? I have had every medical test there is, as has Malik. I don’t know why I haven’t been able to conceive, because it isn’t for lack of trying on both our parts. Look at you. Fertile Myrtle. Married four years and you have three children and another one on the way. You and Malik had the same parents, and you’re the one with the children. The doctors said there is nothing wrong with me or Malik. If you were me, how would you feel?”

Soraya burst into tears. “I can go to the council, to the advisers, and plead your case, but it won’t do any good. Still, I will do it. My father set that rule in stone. As I told you, he never married again after my mother died. If they do indeed banish you, Malik will never take another wife, so get that idea out of your head.”

“God, what should I do, Soraya?”

Soraya rushed to Trish and took her in her arms and held her as close as her protruding stomach would allow. Trish sobbed into her shoulder.

“Where is he today? Do you know?” Trish asked through her tears.

“Malik didn’t tell you that they were going to France? Rashid left at four this morning. He was very . . . grumpy. Very out of sorts, even though he is a morning person. Usually, I am the grumpy one. We need to put our heads together. Now, dry your eyes and let us see what we can come up with. But first, allow me to shower and kiss my babies good morning. And then I am yours for whatever good I can do.”

Trish rang a little gold bell and asked Lily to fetch more coffee. “And would you mind going to my apartment and fetching my cigarettes?” Such a silly, stupid question. No servant would ever admit they minded. As silly and stupid as smoking cigarettes. She had never really smoked except under stress. The last time she’d had a cigarette was before her wedding. Sometimes, she thought, swiping at her eyes, a girl needed something to carry her through the trying times, and, for sure, this was a trying time.

Before she knew it, Trish was gulping at the freshly brewed coffee and puffing out smoke rings, one after the other, from cigarettes she didn’t even want.

Soraya stood at the entrance to the private garden, her eyes wet as she stared at her sister. She had considered Trish her sister from the day she first set foot in the palace. In her opinion, they were closer than blood siblings. Right now, her heart was breaking for her sister because she knew there was nothing she could do to ease the hurt and pain Trish was feeling.

“That bad, huh?” Soraya said, motioning to the cigarette.

“Does the smoke bother you?”

Soraya smiled. “It is going the other way on the breeze, but no, it does not bother me. I called Rashid, but my call went to voice mail. I was not nice to my husband, and my message was . . . How should I say this? . . . It was threatening. I know how to get under his skin and what nerves to pinch. So far, he has not responded, and so this may require one more phone call. I never, as in never, give Rashid two chances, so he knows I am serious. His first loyalty, I’m sad to say, is to Malik, not me. Do you have any idea how hard that is for me to swallow?”

Trish just nodded. “Where are the children?” she asked listlessly.

“At the little pool. They are like little fish,” Soraya said proudly. “Ah, here is a text from my husband. I shall read it to you, Trish.

Dear wife, ha! It is never wise to threaten one’s husband. I regret my inability to respond to you immediately. I ask your indulgence. You know I cannot discuss palace business with you. Suffice it to say I am here with Malik on personal business. I cannot discuss that with you, either. Our return is scheduled for three days from today. Tell me now if I should make other arrangements if I am not welcome. That is what your threat meant, is it not? My undying love, Rashid.

Soraya reread the text to herself again. She made a very unladylike sound in her throat, and to Trish, it sounded like she said, “Personal business, my ass.”

She fired off a text in response. That’s exactly what it meant, my husband. When it comes to us, there is nothing personal that I cannot know. I cannot bear my sister’s unhappiness, and a pox on you and on Malik for thinking such a thing. I am not a forgiving creature, as you well know. I can have your belongings transferred to the bowels of the palace within minutes.

“That was rather harsh, wasn’t it, Soraya?” Trish said, when Soraya handed her her cell phone so that Trish could read the text messages. She fired up another cigarette.

“We’ll know the answer to that when we see how long it takes him to respond.” Soraya eyed the peach nectar in the glass on the table. She alternated between pear and peach nectar all day long. “I’m sick of it!” she blurted.

The minutes ticked by. Both women tapped their manicured nails on the shiny glass-topped table. When Trish started to tap her foot on the colored flagstones, Soraya reared up and rang the bell on the table. Lily came on the run, breathless.

“Listen to me carefully, Lily. Pack up all my husband’s belongings and transfer them to the . . . whatever it is that’s under the palace floor. Set up a bed. Do not leave so much as a paper clip behind. Also, you may take all the silver-framed photos that have my husband in them. Leave none behind for me to glare at. Why are you still here? Go! Go and tend to this immediately.”

Trish opened her mouth to say something, but Soraya held up a finger to shush her. “I learned this from you, my sister. Never make idle threats, and never give ultimatums unless you are prepared to carry them out. It’s the only thing I can do for you, Trish. It will do Rashid good to spend some time reflecting.”

Trish tried smiling to show her appreciation, but her heart wasn’t in it. She toyed with the spoon in her cup as she stared off into the lush gardens.

“Ha!” Soraya said dramatically. “Wait till you hear this one!

So, my wife, you have ejected me from our quarters. That is so unkind of you. What will our children think? The whole palace is jabbering about it. How am I to face anyone on my return?

“You see, Trish, someone here in the palace has already notified my husband that he is to be relocated. He responded to that but not to my text. Men are such . . . What is that animal that stinks, Trish?”

“Skunks.”

“Yes, skunks. Well . . . now I am angry. Angry for myself and angry for you. It is time for you to make a trip back to your home. I will arrange everything. All you need to do is get your things together. One way or another, we will find out what is going on. I want you to trust me on this. Can you do that?”