Bollywood Confidential (14 page)

Too soon it was dark out, and they were heading back to Uncle
Heeru's.

Raveena didn't want the day to end. She couldn't invite Siddharth up to her place because she didn't have a place. What would her uncle think? What would Siddharth think of Uncle Heeru?

Besides, the vibes Siddharth was giving her were friendly but hardly sexual.

She didn't even catch him glancing at her boobs, for god's sake!

Raveena had never, ever made the first move with a guy. But now she wondered…

There was a first time for everything.

 

“You know, I've never been to the Bandra Bandstand at night,” Raveena said, in what she hoped was a casual voice.

Great, now she was taking cues from Randy the letch.

“We can drive alongside it,” Siddharth replied, “it's on the way to your uncle's place anyway.”

Not exactly the response she was going for.

Thinking furiously, as they seemed to zoom by the Bandstand far too quickly, Raveena cried out, “Ooh! Stop here! Look at the view!”

Siddharth stopped the car.

The area around them was too dark to see anything. They could barely make out the water from the seawall.

“Isn't it beautiful?” Raveena gasped.

“You can't see anything,” Siddharth pointed out. “Maybe if we head back to the lighted—”

“No!” Raveena shouted. Siddharth stared at her in surprise. “I mean,” she said gently, “someone might see you, and the next thing you know we'll have a horde of fans surrounding the car. Let's just…sit here for a while.”

They sat in silence.

And sat.

Raveena needed to try harder. Obviously the ambiance wasn't cutting it. She reached for his hand and in a flirtatious voice said, “I never noticed your watch before. Is it a Rolex?” She let her fingers run lightly against the inside of his wrist.

Siddharth looked down at his watch. “No, it's a Tag. I do have a Rolex, though. I collect watches.” He pressed the side of the watch and the dial lit up. “We should be heading back.”

It was now or never.

“Siddharth,” she said.

He turned to her.

She put a hand on either side of his face and kissed him.

He didn't pull away, but he didn't exactly kiss her back either.

Still kissing him, she sat up on her knees, wrapped her arms around him and put every ounce of passion into her kiss.

One of her knees hit the lever against Siddharth's seat and the entire seat went back, along with Siddharth and Raveena on top of him.

She pulled away and stared down into his face. What had she done? The Bombay heat was obviously making her crazy! “I'm so sorry,” she said. “Maybe I have a brain disease. I didn't mean—”

Siddharth reached up and pulled her back down against him and kissed her.

Yes! Raveena thought.

Siddharth pulled away. “I can't do this.”

No!

“I understand,” she whispered and began to slide over to her seat.

“Where are you going?” he said and pulled her back. He flipped them around so she was under him and he was on top, his arms against her sides, supporting his weight. “Your elbow was digging into my spleen,” he explained. “This is much better, no?”

“Much,” she murmured.

Siddharth began to kiss her softly, on her mouth, along her face, her neck…

Time ceased to exist.

Well, technically, since the dial on Siddharth's watch was still lit up, she knew exactly how much time had gone by.

Still…

She wanted him to take her right then and there. Wanted to feel his hands on her breasts, her vulva…

Vulva?

Before Raveena could wonder where that thought had come from—

There was a loud tap against the window and a light shone in their eyes. Siddharth lifted his head and Raveena pushed back her mane of hair.

“Shit!” Siddharth cursed.

Two policemen stood outside the car.

In a flash, Raveena was back in her seat and Siddharth opened his window.

“This is not allowed,” the policeman said sternly. “Residents have complained about couples parking their cars and engaging in dirty acts.”

Siddharth and the officer began arguing in Hindi. The second officer, silent, was shooting Raveena leering looks.

Then with an angry thump of the wheel, Siddharth started the car.

“Are they letting us go?” she asked.

“No. We have to follow them to the station.”

“But,” Raveena protested, “don't they know who you are?”

“That's exactly why we have to go with them,” Siddharth answered tightly. “Usually they're looking for a bribe, but thanks to the new police commissioner, they intend to make an example of me.”

Raveena felt awful. “I'm so sorry, Siddharth.”

He didn't answer.

Life seemed to go downhill after that.

Siddharth paid the 1200 rupee fine—40 bucks—and they were allowed to leave.

Naturally, the head officer on duty had called a reporter from the
Times,
and Siddharth and Raveena were photographed exiting the station.

Their ride home was silent.

The next morning, sipping her Nescafe, Raveena saw she had finally made Page Three.

B-movie actress?

Well, it was several letters up from her normal D-list status.

She'd tried all morning to call Siddharth, but no one picked up at his flat, not even Juggu.

She'd even tried Sachi's cell phone, but it had gone immediately to voicemail.

Sachi…Poonam…Raveena wondered what they thought.

Even though Siddharth had reciprocated her romantic advances, she felt horribly guilty. It was her idea to stop at the Bandstand. Why couldn't she have seduced him at the Taj Hotel? In one of those gorgeous private rooms?

Randy's secretary, Millie, called to say the shoot was canceled, as Siddharth was unavailable.

At least Millie was sympathetic. “I'm so sorry, ma'am; the police have harassed many couples at the Bandstand. Smooching should not be considered indecent behavior.”

“Thank you, Millie,” Raveena said.

She spent the rest of the day hanging around the bungalow. In the afternoon, another newspaper was delivered, the
Mid-day
. Raveena had never checked it out before, but she did now, standing on the porch.

On the front page:

Raveena nearly fainted.

Raveena put her hair in a ponytail and slipped on sunglasses,
though she doubted anyone would recognize her. It was just her name that was spread out over the gossip pages.

At the Internet Café she sent out numerous emails to Maza, Jai, Rahul and her parents, begging for guidance, reassurance, comfort, anything.

She would have called, but it was almost three in the morning back in the States, and she couldn't get ahold of Rahul in Brussels.

Depressed, she trudged back to Uncle Heeru's. Not even a cold bottle of Thums Up could rouse her spirits.

Desperate and still depressed, she finally sought out Uncle Heeru. She needed someone, anyone, to talk to.

Heeru was upstairs feeding the birds. She took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Uncle Heeru, there's something I have to tell you.”

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and waited.

Off topic: As soon as she got home, Raveena was sending her uncle a new pair of eyeglasses from Lens-Crafter.

Raveena took a deep breath. “You're going to read some pretty bad things about me in the paper. See, I made a mistake. I, ah, found myself liking Siddharth—the actor—and I thought he liked me too. But it turns out he's engaged. And yesterday we were arrested—it was a trumped-up charge—but some reporter took a photo of us exiting the police station.”

Uncle Heeru sat down in a chair across from her, the bag of birdseed in his lap. A pigeon flew in and perched on his head. “I told you this is a bad country. First I am arrested as a spy for Pakistan, and now my niece is arrested. But then you should not have gotten involved with this actor. They are the worst, raping young girls in the studios…but then, you will not find success with any man.”

“Why?”

Uncle Heeru shifted and the bag of birdseed fell off his lap and spilled across the floor.

Suddenly the floor was covered in pecking pigeons.

Raveena tucked her feet under her. “Why, Uncle Heeru?”

“What?” He stared at her puzzled. “Oh yes,” he nodded. “You see there is a curse on our family.”

A curse? Was he for real?

Oh, right, this was Uncle Heeru.

“Thirty years ago, my mother owned a beautiful flat on Marine Drive. However, before she could rent it out, squatters took possession of it. Nothing could get rid of them. Not a court ordinance, not the duffers who called themselves
police, nothing. Finally, she hired
goondas
to take care of the problem.”

“Criminals?” Raveena asked.

“Yes, yes, hired guns,” Uncle Heeru said nonchalantly.

If Raveena weren't so depressed she would have laughed at her uncle's use of the term “hired guns.”

“The
goondas
banged into the flat and scared the squatters into leaving. Unfortunately, they caused more damage to the property than the squatters. The head of the squatting family was an old woman. She had the face of a
churail,
a witch. She placed a curse on my family. None of my mother's granddaughters would ever marry. They would stay spinsters forever.”

Raveena found the curse sexist.

“So, did the witch's words pan out?”

Heeru nodded. “My brothers and sisters have a total of ten girls. All are of marriageable age. All have circled the globe looking for mates. All are still searching. Of course, my nieces are also spoiled, bad-tempered, unattractive girls.”

“But Uncle Heeru, I'm not really your niece,” Raveena pointed out. “I mean, we're very distantly related.”

“You are unlucky in love, no?”

“Yeah.”

He held out his hands, palms facing upwards, as if to say, “see?”

Raveena rose. “Thanks for the talk.”

Uncle Heeru stood as well, nearly stepping on a pigeon. Said pigeon began angrily pecking on his bare toe.

“When you first arrived, Lavinia, I knew…”

“Knew what?”

“That you should never have come. Bombay is a bad place. The film industry is no place for a young woman.”

Biting down on her lip, sidestepping pigeons, Raveena quietly left the room.

Shooting resumed a week later.

Raveena was surprised at not having received a single email from any friends or family members.

Veer and Lollipop showed their support with kind words and, in Lollipop's case, multiple exuberant hugs. Audrey, the makeup artist, kept bringing Raveena bottles of Thums Up while she sat in the makeup chair.

Randy was the same as ever.

She'd been a bit nervous at facing Daddy, but he was in London attending the wedding of a relative.

And Siddharth…

Siddharth completely ignored her.

She knocked on his trailer to no avail. He avoided her on the set. And even during their scenes together, he remained as aloof in character as he was out of it.

Randy didn't even notice.

To make matters worse, Bani Sen was a regular visitor to the set.

When she wasn't with Siddharth, she was keeping an eagle eye on him.

It was especially humiliating for Raveena to watch as studio personnel asked Bani for autographs, and Randy practically tripped over himself trying to make her comfortable.

Bani didn't say anything to Raveena. Her triumphant look was statement enough.

Once, while Raveena was practicing her lines, she overheard Bani remarking to Siddharth, “Her Hindi is terrible…what an accent. Did you hear the way she said, Alladin? It's Allah-din, not A-lad-in.”

Yes, Randy had added a magic carpet ride to the script, with Alladin making a guest appearance at Shah Jahan's palace.

Even though Siddharth didn't respond to Bani's comment, it still stung.

Raveena would have loved to have made fun of Bani's English, but it was perfect.

Damn colonialism!

At the end of the week, Veer and Randy got into a big argument. The tall Sikh stood his ground, insisting there were continuity problems and they needed to re-shoot several scenes. Randy refused, saying they would go over budget. When Veer demanded Randy call up Daddy in London, Randy refused.

Veer quit.

Raveena ran outside where Veer was leaning against the wall and having a cigarette.

“You can't quit,” she cried out. “You're the only one who can save this film.”

“I can't work with the man. The relationship between the director and cinematographer needs to be one of communication and shared vision. That chubby bastard doesn't know what the hell he's doing.”

“Veer,” Raveena protested.

“I'm sorry,” he sighed. “My wife will be happy, though. I've been wanting to direct my own film, and she's encouraging me to do so. Looks like I'll have my chance now. I'm in talks with a producer down South.”

Raveena sighed and leaned on the wall next to him. “Well, I'm glad I had the chance to work with you. I know you'll make a wonderful director.”

“And you, Raveena,” Veer turned and faced her, his expression serious, “are a good actress. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You're leagues above Bani Sen.”

“Thank you, Veer.”

As he walked away, Raveena called out the traditional Sikh farewell, “
Sat-sri-akal.
”

Veer turned back and folded his hands. “
Sat-sri-akal.
”