Busted in Bollywood Read online

  OK, gotta dash.

  Have an extra slurp on me!

  Hugs,

  Shari xoxo

  I’d debated not telling Rita about Drew discovering my identity—the poor girl would probably jump on the next plane out here—but thought better of it. I needed to offload to someone and I had a feeling following my outing this afternoon I was going to need it.

  By the time I’d showered and dressed, Rita had sent a response.

  TO: [email protected]

  FROM: [email protected]

  SUBJECT: WTF?

  Shari,

  WHAT THE FUCK is going on?????????????

  He KNOWS? Rakesh Rama KNOWS?

  I’m dead.

  My dad will kill me, my mom will help pile the wood on the funeral pyre and light the first match, while the entire Indian community in NYC will pelt me with stones as the fire toasts my tootsies.

  I can’t believe this. Freaking Internet! Freaking men! Freaking Indians and their arranged marriages!

  Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

  Mmmmmm……………

  OK, I’ve screamed, I’ve vented, I’ve downed a glass of the sweetest minty mojito ever put on this earth (hope you’re drooling!) and I’ve calmed down.

  Guess it isn’t so bad. I’ll meet Romeo whenever he pops up in New York. Who knows, it might never happen, right? RIGHT?

  As for this other guy knowing, what’s the story there? Can he keep his mouth shut? What does he want in exchange for silence?

  Shit, a taste of real Bombay bribery at its best.

  Keep me posted.

  Your friend indebted to you forever,

  With lots of love and a cherry on top,

  Rita xx

  (PS. Did you talk up Romeo to cushion the blow or is he really a hottie? Just curious.)

  Smiling, I closed Rita’s message. All in all, she took the news pretty well.

  If only my afternoon could go accordingly.

  …

  My trip to the studio known as Film City to the locals was taking on similar importance to Ivana attending the Red Door for a spa treatment, complete with entourage in tow.

  Rakesh and Anjali accompanied me, Anjali relishing her role as the dutiful chaperone—I thought I was a movie buff but Anjali put me to shame—and Rakesh going all-out to impress his parents with his devotion to his bride-to-be. Whatever their reasons, I was grateful for the company. Meeting Devious Drew had my insides tied up in knots—or was that the fiery vindaloo I’d toyed with for lunch?

  “Are you into movies?” Rakesh turned his head to peer at me, smirking when he noticed my position.

  I huddled in a corner of the backseat, trying to put as much distance possible between me and the garlic-infused folds of Anjali’s sari.

  “Love them,” I said, excited at the prospect of seeing how real films were made. Bollywood was mega business over here, producing about a thousand films a year, grossing close to $4 billion. And with releases like Monsoon Wedding, Bride and Prejudice, and Slumdog Millionaire in the States, the whole world had woken up to the razzle-dazzle of Bollywood at its best. (Despite Anjali chastising me those weren’t strictly Bollywood movies considering they were made by Westerners.).

  I adored the three-hour-long musical extravaganzas complete with songs, dances, love triangles, comedy, melodrama, and daredevil thrills.

  “What’s your favorite movie?”

  “Too many.” I deliberately kept my answer vague, knowing he’d laugh his head off if I told him. He’d been playing the devoted fiancé to extremes ever since we got in the car, pretending to know all kinds of crazy stuff about me and it’d started to grate.

  He wanted to know my favorite movie? Let him sweat.

  “I’ll guess, then. Pretty Woman?”

  “No.”

  “Titanic?”

  I adored Leo and cried buckets every time I watched Titanic but “No.”

  “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?”

  “Nope.”

  “Maid in Manhattan?”

  “No. JLO’s butt just doesn’t do it for me.”

  Anjali chirped up at this point. “Children, please. You’re giving me a headache with this bickering.”

  Rakesh gave me a thumbs-up sign of approval, thinking we were impressing her with our faux closeness. I hadn’t told him she was in on the original plan, too, and was enjoying having the upper hand for once.

  “When Harry Met Sally?”

  “No. I don’t fake it.”

  He raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘oh yeah? Then what the hell are you doing here?’ before continuing.

  “Sleepless in Seattle?”

  “Cute, but no cigar.”

  “Runaway Bride?”

  I lowered my voice so only he could hear. “Could be the story of your life, but no.”

  He made a gun with his thumb and forefinger, cocked it, and mock fired at me.

  “Shall We Dance?” He smirked.

  “No, thanks.”

  “You’ve Got Mail?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Two Weeks Notice?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Has to be Saturday Night Fever. All those Travolta hip thrusts.”

  “Loser.”

  “Tell him this instant!” We both jumped at Anjali’s sharp tone, and feeling all of twelve years old, I bowed my head and muttered, “Dirty Dancing.”

  Rakesh grinned and cupped one hand behind his ear. “Sorry? What was that? Didn’t quite hear you.”

  Pouting, I crossed my arms. “Dirty Dancing. There, satisfied, you big baby?”

  “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” His perfect imitation of Patrick Swayze made me smile. Anyone who could quote a line from Dirty Dancing was okay in my book.

  “What about you?”

  By the mischievous glimmer in his dark eyes, I could tell the game was about to start all over again but Anjali put a stop to it.

  “Yes, tell us, Rakesh. Now.” Anjali frowned and pursed her lips. With her overly made-up face, black-kohled eyes, and orange-coated lips, she looked scarier than the pictures I’d seen of the Indian goddess Kali who had four arms, hair braided with serpents, and a face that could make a grown man quiver.

  “It’s an oldie,” he said, intimidated by Anjali at her most ferocious. I’d have to add lily-livered to the list of attributes I’d given Rita. It wasn’t entirely fair, though—I’d be downright terrified if Anjali looked at me like that. “Casablanca.”

  My eyebrows shot upward. No way. That was Rita’s fave film, too. Spooky.

  “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…” Looked like it was one of Anjali’s favorites, too, and her expression softened.

  “What’s yours, Auntie?”

  Anjali sighed theatrically, her double chin quivering with intensity. “An Affair to Remember. Now that’s a movie.” She swiped at her eyes and Rakesh lifted a questioning eyebrow in my direction.

  I shook my head. My nerves were shot, courtesy of confronting Drew shortly. I wasn’t in the mood for Anjali to regale us with whatever tale had elicited those tears.

  “Are we there yet?” I changed the subject, glancing out the window on endless barren land, people foraging on the roadside, and an all-pervading dust that covered everything in a red haze.

  Rakesh chuckled. “You sure know how to impress a guy. Name-this-movie games, are we there yet? conversation, and that sullen pout.”

  “Who said I’m trying to impress you?”

  He blew me a kiss and I couldn’t help but smile. “Is that any way to talk to your number one guy? Your betrothed? Your fiancé? The man of your dreams? Your—”

  “Okay, okay. I get the picture.” Wiseass, I mouthed, aware
we had to maintain the façade for Buddy—loose lips sink ships and I had no intention of letting Rita’s ship go the way of the Titanic—and wondering exactly how far I’d have to go before the end of this trip.

  “Isn’t that Film City now?” Anjali craned her neck and pointed through the dusty windshield, bringing an end to the briefest round two on record when I was getting warmed up for the bout.

  “Uh-huh.” Rakesh smirked at me and directed Buddy to a back gate, my first glimpse of Mumbai’s movie mecca somewhat disappointing.

  I’d been to Universal Studios in California once as a kid, and I’d envisioned India’s movie-making capital as similar, but on a grander scale. Instead, a nondescript short man wearing a uniform from the Sixties opened a solid wrought iron gate by hand and ushered us through with a brisk wave and a frown.

  Once past the gate, my head swiveled every which way, taking in the giant sets, enough electrical equipment to rival Sony’s head office, and the mandatory thousand people swarming everywhere, give or take a few hundred.

  “Pretty cool, huh?” Rakesh beamed like he owned the joint. Given the home he lived in—paid for by him, a snippet I’d learned courtesy of mommy Anu last night—the casual Armani pants and shirt he wore, and the gold Rolex on his left wrist, he probably did.

  Drew had mentioned backing a film in his email and I wondered if that meant the company he ran with Rakesh, or him personally. Either way, these guys were loaded. Not that I cared. Drew didn’t impress me despite the whole smart, sexy thing he had going on. The fact I’d noticed his sexiness? Probably some long-suppressed media mogul fantasy. My excuse, and I was sticking to it.

  Besides, his high-handedness annoyed the shit out of me, and the only reason I’d come today was to tell him exactly that. And advise him to leave me the hell alone.

  Anjali clapped her hands like an excited kid before collapsing back in her seat and clutching her heart. “Isn’t that Hrithik Roshan?”

  I’d seen my fair share of Bollywood movies while living with Rita the last three months but couldn’t remember Hrithik. “Who?”

  I followed her line of vision, wondering who had turned her into a swooning, sighing fangirl.

  “India’s equivalent to Gerard Butler,” Rakesh said dryly, rolling his eyes at Anjali’s antics but grinning nonetheless.

  Gerard Butler’s equal? This I had to see.

  “Which one is he?”

  “The tall one over there trying to beat off those seven girls with a stick.”

  “Jealous?” Not that he needed to be. From what I could see, he could hold his own against Indian Gerard.

  “Of a pretty boy like that? Not bloody likely.”

  I beamed as Rakesh tugged at his shirt-sleeves and straightened his collar in a fair impression of a guy afraid of the competition.

  “It’s that extra thumb, you know. Drives the girls wild, apparently.”

  If he’d said extra inch I could’ve understood.

  Rakesh guffawed at my dumbfounded expression. “Go figure.”

  Before I got a proper glimpse of Anjali’s latest crush, Buddy steered the car down an alley and braked hard as hundreds of dancing women swarmed in front of us, a swirling mass of vibrant topaz, mulberry, magenta, and tangerine as they clapped, stomped, and jumped.

  Once the dancers had passed, Buddy edged the car forward, his head swiveling side to side as he stared, goggle-eyed. Several turbaned men brandishing swords gestured at the car to move but Buddy waved at the extras like a celebrity. When one of them tapped on the car’s roof, Buddy shook his fist, tooted the horn, and shot forward, sending actors scattering.

  “Missy, look. Buddy famous.”

  I craned my neck and caught sight of a producer giving us the finger for ruining his movie sequence while gesturing with his other hand to move our car.

  Anjali reached over the seat to twist Buddy’s ear. “Move, you fool, before you get us thrown out. This is my big chance and I won’t have you ruin it.”

  Buddy reversed so fast our necks snapped back, ensuring whiplash all around. Rakesh and I exchanged grins while I pondered Anjali’s ‘big chance.’ Surely she didn’t think she’d be discovered on her first trip to Bollywood?

  Who needed movie stars to make this day interesting? With Drew’s assured prying and Anjali’s secret movie star yearnings, I already had my own masala movie script playing out right before my eyes. (I love learning the lingo. Bollywood productions are often called masala movies after the Hindi word for spice mixture, masala, because they’re a mixture of many things. Cool, huh?)

  Rakesh pointed to a huge white marquee resembling a giant circus tent. “Pull over there, thanks.”

  “Oh my.” Anjali mopped the perspiration from her brow. “Look at all these men.”

  I followed Anjali’s line of vision and apart from a few guys lolling around, some behind cameras, the rest on giant metal boxes, I couldn’t see much to get excited about.

  Until Drew stepped into view.

  Despite the fact he knew I was a phony and rubbed me the wrong way after one meeting, an irrational, inexplicable, intense, mind-numbing lust stabbed through my veneer of indifference and made me want to fling open the car door and run toward him.

  Sheesh, I think the drama of being here was getting to me already.

  “There’s Drew.” Rakesh waved madly, his excitement contagious. His perpetual enthusiasm irritated me a tad but my pretend-fiancé was also endearing. I couldn’t wait for Rita to meet him.

  While mulling the bizarre night I’d had at the Ramas’ welcome party in the wee small hours this morning, I’d come to the conclusion maybe there was such a thing as fate. For others, not me. In my case, fate and the other four-letter F-word were freely interchangeable to describe my life.

  What if Rita and Rakesh hit it off and by some weird cosmic twist fell in love? Did stuff like that happen, or were my views of romance tainted by my infatuation with rom-coms? Life wasn’t a movie, though I could’ve debated the fact as I stepped out of the car and into one.

  While Anjali gave Buddy instructions to move the car and wait in the parking lot near the entrance, I shifted my weight from foot to foot, my bravado ebbing. Fine and dandy to want a confrontation when I’d received Drew’s supercilious email last night, but now I was here, with the man in question striding toward us, focused and formidable, I wish I’d told him where he could stick his summons.

  “Glad you could make it.” Drew smiled at our group as his gaze met mine in an unmistakable challenge and I resisted the urge to poke out my tongue. “I’ve taken the liberty of organizing a tour of the studios.”

  Anjali’s eyes lit up like a true movie connoisseur. “Maybe Rakesh could show me the music side of things? His dad and I are old friends.”

  Pity she couldn’t extend the friendship to Anu. I’d get to the bottom of that mystery by the end of this trip if it killed me.

  “Fine by me.” Rakesh darted a fond glance at Anjali and I respected him all the more. If he knew about her vendetta with his mom, he didn’t let on.

  “Great.” Drew rubbed his hands together like a mastermind before pinning me with a glare that meant business. “Amrita, there’s a distant cousin of the Ramas who would love to meet you. Or would you prefer to go with your fiancé?”

  I noted the clenched jaw as he said ‘Amrita’ and ‘fiancé,’ realizing it must take superhuman effort for a control freak like him not to blurt the truth. Not that the truth would shock anyone in our little foursome.

  As for Drew being controlling, call it a gut instinct. Guys like him—mega wealthy, well-put-together, the whole package—thrived on power and his peremptory email summons last night reinforced the fact. Not to mention the tour he’d deliberately organized to get Anjali and Rakesh out of the way.

  I’d come to realize one small gesture in this c
ity had a ripple effect: pose as fake fiancée, get blackmailed by guy to meet real fiancée, meet intriguing guy, can’t do anything with intriguing guy because of stupid role-playing and the fact I couldn’t—and didn’t—like him, etc… etc… It went on and on. If I didn’t confront him now, the fallout would be disastrous.

  I could toy with him and tag along on the tour, but why prolong the inevitable? If he didn’t interrogate me here he’d arrange some other time. Best to get it over with.

  I rubbed at my temples, not needing to feign the tension squeezing my skull in a vice. “I’m actually feeling a bit light-headed from the heat. Maybe I could have a cup of chai and catch up with the tour later?”

  Rakesh smirked at my ploy to be alone with Drew. If he only knew. “You sure, honey—”

  “She’s fine.” Anjali slipped her hand through the crook of Rakesh’s elbow so fast she almost toppled both of them. “You rest, my dear, we’ll see you later.”

  Anjali dragged Rakesh—who gave a helpless shrug—as they left the marquee and disappeared from view.

  Despite the bustle of people moving around us running errands, reading scripts, and toting refreshment trays, risking a glance at Drew only exacerbated my feeling of loneliness. His dour expression, compressed lips, and deep frown made him a formidable adversary.

  One I had every intention of taking down.

  “If you’d like chai, I’ve got afternoon tea waiting.”

  “How very civilized,” I muttered, trying to pick up the pace when he insisted on sticking to my side like I was a fugitive about to bolt.

  Normally, I would’ve loved having a cute guy cozying up to me but I knew he was after one thing and it wasn’t my body—he wanted the truth and I’d be damned if I gave him either.

  Not that I should be viewing him as anything other than the enemy. If his resemblance to Brad Stoddard wasn’t enough of a warning, the fact I’d been dumped three months ago should boost my immunity against guys, attractive or otherwise.

  We reached the refreshment trestle in a corner of the marquee, quiet and far from eavesdropping ears, and I braced for the incoming inquisition.