The Last Taxi Ride by A. X. Ahmad

Author:A. X. Ahmad [Ahmad, A. X.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781250016850
Google: nEzoAgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00HBQEVYM
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 2014-06-24T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Leela says that soon after she came to live with her father in Richmond Hill she found herself alone all day, while he drove his cab. She was supposed to study for a nursing degree, but stuck in that stuffy house, she couldn’t concentrate; she was used to the bustle of Guyana, and the silence here unnerved her. Besides, America was out there, far away in Manhattan. A lot of young girls from the neighborhood worked there as nannies, and she saw them walk to the train each day, wearing their tight designer jeans, their hair done up in weaves and braids.

One older girl told her that she was leaving her job at the Dakota, and that Leela could interview as her replacement. The hours were long, the girl said—the mother worked as an editor, and the banker father traveled—but the child had been potty trained, was well behaved, and even understood Creole. Leela fought with her father to let her take the job. At first he wouldn’t hear of it; only when she threatened to go back to Guyana did he agree.

At first she was thrilled by her job. The Dakota, with its hushed corridors and high-ceilinged apartments, seemed like another world, filled with rich people and celebrities—she bragged to her friends about how she once took the elevator down with Connie Chung. Even the air on the Upper West Side seemed sweeter, perfumed with luxury and money. The little boy she looked after, long-lashed and blond, was adorable, and they soon fell into a good routine of playtime, naps, and trips to the park.

The child was only four, and often asleep when his parents came home at nine or ten at night. But then the mother started working even later, and the father—tall and gym fit, with Scotch on his breath—stared at Leela. One night he pushed her up against the wall and squeezed her breasts so hard that she almost passed out. This, Leela found out from the other nannies, was part of the reason for her generous hourly rate.

Having fought so hard to work here, Leela felt as though she couldn’t leave, but now, the apartment—with its dark wood paneling, chandeliers, and shining parquet floors—felt like a trap. To fend off the man’s advances, she kept the child up later and later, or got into bed with him and locked the door. The little boy, sensing something was wrong, became whiny and insecure, and when she went to the bathroom he stood outside and banged on the door.

It was only when Leela walked out to Central Park that she felt free. And every time she passed the young Indian doorman, Mohan, he instinctively sensed her mood, and cheered her up with a joke or a piece of gossip. He said that she reminded him of his younger sister, and, with his swagger and charm, he reminded her of the boys back home. When he was off duty he would walk over to the park and sit next to her, and she began to confide in him.

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