Bollywood Confidential (11 page)

Raveena was still in a spiritual mood after her sojourn to the
temple.

So she prayed for a miracle to keep Randy from arriving for their date.

Like a horde of rampaging elephants causing a traffic jam?

Unfortunately, Randy was on time.

Indian standard time, that is.

He was forty-five minutes late.

By the incessant honking of his horn, Raveena deduced Randy wasn't coming in to get her.

Uncle Heeru stood in the doorway peering suspiciously out at the night. “What is that noise?”

Raveena thought the least Randy could do was get out of the car and say hello to her uncle.

Then again, Uncle Heeru would most likely deem Randy the worst type of mischief-maker.

“I won't be late,” Raveena said. Not if she had anything to say about it.

She crossed the courtyard and opened the car door.
Randy was wearing a black leather beret, a white cotton tunic and turquoise velvet pants. He grinned. “Hey, baby.”

 

Somewhere between entering the restaurant and sitting down, Raveena decided that she hated Randy Kapoor.

Really and truly hated him.

Randy reached for the plate of shantung prawns and served Raveena a small amount while generously adding the rest to his plate. “I prefer working with first-time actresses. They have more at stake and are easier to convince into doing…things.” He winked.

Raveena aimed a sharp kick to his shin.

“Ouch!”

She blinked innocently. “I'm sorry. Bad leg cramps. Calcium deficiency, you know.”

They were at China Garden, the most popular Chinese eatery in Bombay.

Ordinarily, Raveena would have enjoyed herself tremendously. The food was fantastic.
The New York Times
had proclaimed China Garden one of the best restaurants in Asia.

If only Randy hadn't hogged all the crispy Golden Dragon duck.

Randy reached for her hand and began playfully tracing her palm with one of his sticky, stubby fingers, leaving a trail of plum sauce across her skin. “I love American women. They don't have all the hang-ups Indian women do. American women will have sex on the first date.” Randy giggled.

Raveena poked Randy's arm with her fork.

“Stop that!”

“Sorry,” she said with even more innocence. “Arm cramp. I really need to drink more milk.”

Randy gazed at her suspiciously.

The maître d' walked past their table and caused Raveena to look up. She stiffened as she saw Siddharth and Bani being seated.

Great, they probably thought she and Randy were on a date.

Bani caught Raveena's eye and smirked. Leaning over the table she whispered something to Siddharth. He turned and gazed at Raveena. His expression was blank.

Randy jumped up and practically ran to their table. “Sid! Bani!” he exclaimed.

Raveena longed to bury her face in the mound of spicy Shanghai noodles.

Then she heard Randy say her name and something about dating, and she shot out of her chair.

“Ah, here's your girlfriend, Randy,” Bani said with a cool look. “Nina, right?”

Why were people in India having such trouble with her name? “Raveena,” she corrected. “And I'm not Randy's girlfriend.”

“That's right. Raveena and I are dating. It's our first date,” he said suggestively. “These American women move fast.”

Raveena was so angry she could hear a peculiar rushing in her ears. But her career was more important than what that bitch Bani thought. The fact that Siddharth just sat staring at his plate instead of acknowledging her presence only exacerbated her anger.

“Randy,” she said with false sweetness. “Can we please leave?”

Randy nudged Siddharth. “See what I mean?”

Back in the car, Raveena decided she may as well fish for
information. “I didn't know Bani and Siddharth were such good friends.”

“Siddharth's a lucky man. Bani is sexy as hell and filthy rich. Her father is Bengali Sen, the steel tycoon. Both families are keen on a match between the kids.”

“They're engaged?” Raveena asked with disbelief. She didn't think Siddharth and Bani looked like a couple, but then that was Bollywood for you.

Seeing is disbelieving.

“Not yet, but everyone expects to hear an announcement soon. I don't want to talk about them,” Randy said with a touch of crankiness. “I want to talk about us. There's a lovely secluded spot on the Bandstand. Why don't I park the car and—”

Raveena recalled the
Lonely Planet
's description of the Bandstand becoming a veritable lover's paradise after dark.

She needed to think up an excuse fast and one that would not hurt Randy's feelings. A happy director proved for a happy working environment.

Raveena would have to use every shred of tact in her being to field Randy's nauseating advances.

“Before we hit the Bandstand, do you mind stopping at a shop? I need to pick up some sanitary napkins—my flow is extra heavy tonight.”

Randy slammed on the brakes. “Your flow? Maybe I should just drop you home. You probably want to be alone at a time like this.”

Men and menstrual cycles.

The two did not mix.

“Oh, no,” Raveena said cheerfully. “I'm having a fabulous time. Do you think you could run in and pick up the
pads for me? Oh, and some Vagitsu tampons as well? I seem to be out of cash. And please ask the clerk if they carry any feminine rinses.” She added a line straight from Uncle Heeru. “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

Without another word, Randy drove her straight home and sped off before she was fully out the door.

Swinging her purse, Raveena sauntered through the front door.

Hadn't she told her uncle she'd be home early?

The next few weeks began to take on a weird sort of regularity,
even if masala filmmaking was anything but regular.

Raveena would email her family and friends from the Internet Café every morning and then head to the studio around eleven.

Back in America, her father had bought some new three-piece gabardine suits, her mother had won the last kitty at her card game, Jai was mulling over switching from MAC cosmetics to Urban Decay, and Maza had dumped her gynecologist and was deep into her second novel, titled
If These Vaginal Walls Could Talk
. And there was good news from Brussels. Rahul and Brigitta were engaged. Brigitta had gone from girlfriend to Flemish fiancée.

Raveena had also begun reading Page Three every morning while drinking her Nescafe coffee. As it turned out, she wasn't the only American actress in town working on a Bollywood film. Bo Derek was there with her bikini along with two former
Baywatch
babes.

Raveena was the only one whose name wasn't in print, though.

However, she was putting in numerous hours swiveling her hips, enacting bizarre situations, exaggerating her emoting and fulfilling every other basic requirement of a Bollywood box office bonanza.

Dialogue turned out to be remarkably easy—even if she was handed her lines while in makeup—because it seemed all of her dialogue in the movie put together totaled two sheets.

Meanwhile, in one week of shooting, Raveena had fifty-seven costume changes and wore sixteen different wigs.

The last wig gave her a rash.

But what really itched was Siddharth's aloofness.

And after she'd given him such brilliant career advice!

On screen, Siddharth, the idol of the silver screen, seduced the industry and the women of India in a flurry of triceps and biceps, tight T-shirts, and slick dance moves. But as soon as the cameras stopped, Siddharth closed up emotionally and retreated to his trailer.

Raveena decided she may as well return to her dressing room. On set, Randy was demanding a big chase scene with Siddharth behind the wheel of a Ferrari. Veer reminded him that the story was supposed to take place during the 1600s.

Raveena was just getting out of her chair when the studio doors opened and a gaggle of schoolgirls in Sacred Heart school uniforms spilled into the studio.

“Where's Siddharth?” they demanded in unison.

“This is a closed set,” Randy said angrily and was nearly trampled by the girls as they rushed towards him like a school of fish.

“He's in his trailer,” one of the girls said, and the shrieking mass of fans filed out.

One girl was left behind—the one who'd known where Siddharth was. Her black hair was tied in two braids and her small face was dominated by a thick black unibrow. Her hazel eyes were beautiful, though, clear and wide. In fact, something about the young girl's gaze struck Raveena as very familiar.

The girl saw her staring and managed a tentative smile.

Raveena instantly smiled back. She hated to make a generalization—okay, she didn't really mind—but she found the women in India rather distant and cool. It wasn't unfriendliness. Raveena was just used to people back home in the States being more approachable.

Besides, she hadn't made a single friend since she'd been in Bombay and was lonely for company. “Hi, I'm Raveena.”

“I know,” the girl said. “My brother told me about you.”

“Brother?”

“Siddharth. He doesn't usually talk about his costars, but he's mentioned you a few times. I'm Sachi.”

Raveena forced herself not to grab Sachi and demand to know verbatim what Siddharth had said about her. Instead, she tucked her hair behind her ear and affected an air of indifference. “He talks about me? How interesting.”

Sachi's gaze was amused. “It's fine if you're in love with my brother. All the girls in my school are mad about him.”

Quickly, Raveena changed the topic. “So, were those your friends you came in with?”

“Some of them are. The rest…” Sachi furrowed her brows in an expression that was rather ferocious. Raveena
almost stepped back. “The rest are just using me to get to my brother. Girls are so stupid!” she said angrily.

Raveena felt a pang of sympathy for Sachi. “Listen, I was about to go for a Thums Up. Join me?”

Sachi looked at her with surprise. “You like that drink? It tastes like cough medicine to me. Anyway, I have to go home. Mummy's sending the driver to pick me up from the studio.”

Raveena shrugged. “Okay, maybe next time.”

“Wait,” Sachi said. “Would you like to come with me? Have dinner with us?”

“I'd love to.”

Honestly, Raveena's motives were pure. She already liked Sachi. And she was tired of dinners spent conversing with Uncle Heeru.

And really, truly, her answer had nothing to do with the off chance she might run into Siddharth at home, enjoying a shower.

A hot, steamy shower…

Siddharth's mother, Poonam, reached for Raveena's plate. “Have
some more rice pilaf, darling.”

Even Raveena, with her new rock-hard bowels, couldn't take another helping of food. She held up her hand. “I'm ready to burst.”

“Very well,” Poonam said. “But darling, you're much too thin. How do you expect to carry children without extra padding?”

Raveena had never in her life been called thin. She wasn't overweight, but the closest she had ever come to thin was the term “healthy.”

But Siddharth's mother thought she was thin.

Even though the woman was a food-forcer, Raveena quickly found herself liking her.

Raveena had been slightly disappointed to discover Siddharth wouldn't be joining them for dinner. She had wanted to ask his family where he was, where he was going and whether he really was dating Bani Sen, but she thought that might look a bit tacky.

Nevertheless, she was glad to have met Sachi. The girl was a spitfire.

“Mummy,” Sachi fumed, “why do you talk to every single woman about children? Why don't you ask them about their careers or their dreams or even what their favorite color is? You're inhibiting my emotional growth. Bloody hell, it's the twenty-first century!”

Poonam wagged a finger. “Your brother would never talk to me like that.”

“That's because you don't bother him with talk of marriage and children,” Sachi argued.

“Actually, darling, I do. I nag him about it incessantly.”

“Oh, right,” Sachi said glumly.

Poonam sat back as the family servant, Juggu, entered to clear away the dishes. “Thank you, Juggu,” she said and lit up a cigarette with a fancy gold Zippo.

Raveena was surprised by Siddharth and Sachi's mother. In Bollywood films, widows were always portrayed as subdued, white sari-wearing women whose only purpose in life was to see to their children's happiness.

Poonam's social calendar was full, she was very attractive, wore makeup, cut her hair short and wore a beautifully cut
salwaar kameez
that highlighted her trim figure.

When Raveena had commented on the lovely outfit, Poonam had patted Raveena's cheek and said, “Thank you, darling, it's a Ritu.”

Raveena's Page Three reading was coming in handy. She knew Ritu Kumar was one of the top designers in India and regularly designed the outfits for India's entry into the Miss Universe pageant.

“Sachi, I can't stand it,” Poonam said, tapping her cigarette
into the ashtray. “Please, darling, thread those eyebrows of yours.”

Sachi folded her arms across her thin chest. “Why? So I can become a sexual object like Siddharth? No thank you, Mummy.”

Mother and daughter continued to argue.

Meanwhile, Raveena realized the numerous Thums Ups she'd consumed at the studio were catching up with her.

“May I use your restroom?” she asked and then wondered if she should have waited for a gap in conversation before asking.

“Of course,” Sachi said. “But you'll have to go upstairs. The downstairs loo isn't working.” She pushed back her chair. “I'll show you.”

“Finish your dinner,” Raveena said. “I'll find it.”

“Darling, it's up the stairs and the first door on your right. Directly across from Siddharth's bedroom,” Poonam added.

Hmm.

After washing her hands, Raveena really had every intention of going back downstairs.

Well, maybe she'd only take a quick peek at Siddharth's room.

She was only human.

In fact, she'd be considered rather odd if she were
totally
devoid of curiosity.

Ten minutes later Raveena was taking a casual peek into Siddharth's closet to see if he favored the preppy or club look when his bedroom door swung wide open.

Damn.

Caught in the act.

How clichéd could you get?