"He made a pass at me — more than that really, it was violent and really scary."
"That's sad," Cynthia says. "He must be really angry."
"Of course he's angry, but it doesn't mean you try and rape your father," Richard says loudly, and the whole restaurant falls silent.
"Are you ever going to date?" she asks him in a whisper.
"I took your advice," he says. "I tried it."
"And?"
"That's what started this whole thing — I was out late at her house."
"How was it?"
"Good, weird." He's about to say more, but then looks at Cynthia, whose expression is pained. "And, by the way, it turns out I had polio as a child but my mother never told me."
"This was all this week?"
"In the last three days; I'm exhausted," he says.
"Have the ginger-ginseng smoothie," the person at the table behind him says. "It's restorative."
"Thank you," he says, and then talks more softly. "I feel like I'm on a roller coaster — never knowing what's going to happen next. Speaking of which, do you have any interest in donuts?"
"I just ate that whole salad," she says.
"Anhil, Nic, and I are looking for a place in Santa Monica to open a branch of the Donut Depot; we thought you might like to manage it."
"Would I have people working for me?"
"Yeah, I guess so, one or two."
"Would it be my own shop, would I be the donut lady of Twenty-third Street?"
"Pretty much."
"Are the donuts good?"
"Very good, fresh, new flavors every day — raspberry, peach, lemon."
"What's the time frame?"
"As soon as we can find a space and get it outfitted. Anhil will cook the donuts downtown and deliver them, and the new store will also sell Sylvia's cereal and snacks. It'll be sweet."
"Sounds good; as you know, I've been thinking retail."
After lunch he calls Sydney, the Gyrotonic date.
Her machine picks up; he starts to leave a message. "Hi, it's me, I just wanted to see how you were."
She picks up halfway through. "Sorry, I didn't hear — who's calling?"
"It's me," he says, "your date, the guy from last night. I just wanted to follow up." It sounds so professional. "See how you're doing."
"Oh, I'm pretty good, and you?"
"I'm fine," he says. "I got home and my kid was really mad, but I'm all right."
"How old is he?"
"Seventeen, but, you know, we've never really lived together, and he'd made dinner for me and then I didn't come home."
"What about Wednesday?" she says. "Could we get together on Wednesday?"
"Sure," he says.
"Why don't you come here and I'll make dinner. Come early, if you like."
"I'll be there," Richard says, hanging up.
ANHIL AND LIPI throw a celebration in honor of his sister-in-law's arrivaclass="underline" "Lipi has been cooking for a week." Richard is looking forward to it — looking forward to not having to deal with Ben one on one. Their house is a rented bungalow in the Hollywood flats. The surrounding homes alternate between the well-kept and others with ill-hung sheets for curtains, barking dogs, and bars on every window. At Anhil's, the ceilings are low, the rooms small and dark, but instead of feeling like a cave, it is a magical resting place, spotlessly clean, warm, the air filled with amazing spices, the heat of food steaming. Just breathing in, Richard is transported.
They are waiting for Lipi's sister to come from the airport. "Make my words," Anhil says, "she is a goddess."
And he's right, Lipi's younger sister, Lakshmi, is radiant. She is delivered from the airport by Anhil's brother, and when she comes into the house Lipi takes off her apron and hugs her.
Richard looks at the two sisters — on the one hand, they look alike, and on the other, Lakshmi is a thousand times more beautiful.
"She was born that way," Anhil says, seeing what Richard is seeing. "And she is very smart. She has come to America to finish her Ph.D. in mathematics and physics together."
"How long will you stay in America?" Richard asks her.
"The rest of my life," Lakshmi says.
Dish after dish, bowl after bowl is passed, foods filled with spice, hot and heavy, cool and creamy, chutneys, things with yogurt, chickpeas, and, incongruously, steamed lobsters. "Lakshmi's favorite food; don't ask," Anhil says, pinching himself with a claw.
"The rice is delicious," Richard says. "Everything is incredible."
"It's just rice," Lipi says.
"But it is perfect."
"Everything here is much more than it is — because it has passed through Lipi's hands," Anhil says, toasting her.
They eat until they are too full to push away from the table. And, still sitting there, plates before them, Barth stands and introduces some clips from his work in progress.
"I'm not going to say anything except thank you to Anhil and Lipi for inviting me into your life, into your home, and just that I've really had such a great time."
The film begins with a scene of Anhil as a swashbuckler a la Errol Flynn, Anhil" fighting an invisible villain, waving his sword back and forth. The background is a distant forest and blue sky; the camera pulls back to reveal that Anhil is fighting an inflatable figure — one of those men parked by the side of the road who dance on account of a fan blowing up his ass. The camera pulls farther back, and we see that the set is a painted cinder-block wall of a car wash. When Anhil's car comes out of the car wash, a bunch of guys dry it; the swashbuckler tips them and drives away. Everyone laughs.
And then there is Anhil in the donut shop, Anhil saying, "In America you have some immigrant people who are princes in their own country, but they come here and work in a parking lot and they are happier — what is a king without a kingdom?" His brother walks in carrying supplies for the donut shop. "I am like the lemon," he says. "I don't fall far from the tree."
There is a scene with Barth and Anhil test-driving a Mercedes in Bel Air, driving past the huge gated houses. "What do you think of these people?" Barth asks.
"They are very lucky and thin; it's cowboys and twins," Anhil says.
Later, standing at a hot-dog stand, Anhil addresses Barth and the camera: "I am eating this hot dog for you, to show you how American I am. This is not good for you, not something you should do at home. If you are going to eat a hot dog, make sure it's kosher."
Anhil and Barth drive back to the Mercedes dealer, and the salesman asks what they think of the car.
"What's not to love?" Anhil says. "How much a month?"
"On a three-year lease, we're looking at seven hundred and fifty dollars a month. Interested?"
"Thank you," Anhil says. "I will return your call."
"How many donuts is that, Anhil?" Barth asks as they're leaving the dealership.
"Is this a test question — if I answer correctly, do I win the car?"
Barth laughs. "Seriously, how many donuts do you sell a day?"
"Sometimes four hundred; it's the standing orders — the firehouse, the hairdresser, the senior center, people who buy two dozen at a time. Tomorrow I raise my prices. Up ten cents a donut. I cannot live by Toyota forever." The film cuts back to the opening scene.
"This is my America," Anhil says, sweeping his sword through the air, accidentally knocking the antenna off his car. "I hate it when that happens…" There is laughter in the background.
"Thank you, thank you," Anhil says, bowing at the table. They all clap and turn to applaud Barth, who of course is filming.
"How much of the film have you finished?" Richard asks.
"We're alternating between shooting the documentary parts and some fantasy stuff that Anhil and I have been developing about mythologies — cowboys, Hollywood, the promise of America, the dream."
"It's great," Richard says. "It really captures something."
On the way home, Richard goes on about the film. "I didn't realize how talented Barth is; he managed to get the dissonance of Anhil's experience, his fantasy versus the reality, and simultaneously capture Anhil both as he sees himself and as others experience him."