Bollywood Confidential (7 page)

Not surprisingly, Raveena didn't care for the director.

And it wasn't because he grabbed her ass as soon as they entered his private office.

Randy Kapoor was, in the words of philosopher Thomas Hobbes, nasty, brutish and short.

“I consider myself the Quentin Tarantino of India,” Randy said with a smug smile. “Or maybe a cross between Tarantino and Coppola.” He laughed loudly.

Since Chris Rock wasn't in the room, Raveena didn't know what the hell was so funny.

Randy was about thirty, five-five and slightly on the chubby side. He was dressed head to toe in Polo Sport: Polo baseball cap, Polo sunglasses, Polo track pants and a Polo T-shirt.

Privately, she decided to refer to him as Mr. Polo Sport from now on.

Mr. Polo Sport didn't bring up the accommodations or her flight.

Instead, Randy fixed her with what he probably thought was a seductive smile.

Raveena thought he looked constipated.

“The moment I saw your ad in Singapore, I knew you were the one,” he said. “You were very voluptuous and seductive.”

“Err, thank you.”

He leaned back in his chair. “My last film was nearly screened in Cannes. I suppose you saw it. It was a super hit.”

“Oh, the remake of
Runaway Bride
?” Raveena asked.

Honestly, she said that without any sarcasm.

Randy narrowed his eyes. “My film was
inspired
by
Runaway Bride.
Why can't anyone see that?” He sat forward and stared directly at her. “Let me ask you a question. You don't hate the Japanese, do you?”

“Of course not!”

Randy threw out his hands. “Well, I'm like the Japanese; I take something American and make it better. Don't you use Japanese products? Well, that's me. I'm like Sony and Hollywood is Panasonic. We both exist in the same market.” He sat back in his chair and beamed.

Raveena shifted in her chair, and for the umpteenth time since arriving at Randy's office, she questioned what the hell she was doing peddling her acting prowess in Bombay.

Oh right, because she didn't have any other offers.

To distract herself, Raveena checked out the office artwork and felt oddly comforted.

Glossy posters of sexy Bollywood heroines and studly Bollywood heroes in blockbuster Bollywood films graced the walls.

Movies starring people who looked just like her.

Okay, so maybe her boobs weren't as uplifting as the actress's in the poster to her right, and she'd yet to see an Indian guy who looked as good as the actor featured in the poster to her left…

And yet that wasn't the point.

The only Indian face Raveena had regularly seen on TV while growing up was Apu from
The Simpsons.

God, how she loved Apu.

Randy interrupted her reverie. “I knew you would be perfect for my film.”

No one had ever told Raveena she was perfect for a film.

Well, no one other than Griffin, and he was usually talking out of his ass.

She felt herself softening a bit towards the randy Randy.

Crossing her legs, Raveena flashed him a smile. “Well, considering your main character is a girl from America. I'd say I'm absolutely perfect.”

“We're not doing
that
film any longer,” Randy corrected.

Raveena sat forward. “Excuse me?”

“Romantic films are out.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The audience wants action. They want lavish sets. They want larger than life.”

She gripped the arms of her chair. “No one told me about this. Does my agent know? I was never sent a new script.”

“There is no script as of yet,” Randy said. “I'll begin working on one after we start shooting.”

Did she just hear correctly?

Randy took note of her shocked look. “The story is the least important aspect of the film.”

“Am I still the lead?”

Randy was about to say something when he paused, and
placed his hand on a piece of paper, pushing it towards her. “Confidentiality agreement. No word of my film can leave this room. If it does, I will have you before the Bombay High Court.”

Randy Kapoor, who had remade
Runaway Bride
without permission, was afraid of someone stealing his idea?

Raveena grabbed the paper and signed her name with a flourish. “I'd like to hear about this new film now.”

Randy framed his hands as though he were looking through a camera lens. “Picture the Taj Mahal. Who in the world has not heard of it? The Taj is a world wonder and synonymous with India.”

Yeah, she'd read the guidebook and been there with her parents. “Go on.”

“The epic of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal is a great love story. When Mumtaz died Shah Jahan threw himself into building the greatest testament to love the world has ever seen.”

From what Raveena's dad—a history buff—had told her, Mumtaz Mahal had been a beautiful shy bride, gentle and sweet.

It wouldn't be that much of a stretch for Raveena to play her.

“So, I'm going to play Mumtaz Mahal?”

“Well,” Randy hesitated, “my vision of her. I don't want to turn this into a romance.”

He didn't want to turn the greatest love story ever told into a romantic movie? She waited for him to clarify.

“In my vision, Mumtaz Mahal is like Xena, the warrior princess. Xena was very popular in India. Instead of coming to Shah Jahan a shy bride, Mumtaz meets him on the
battlefield where she defeats him in hand-to-hand combat. Eventually their hate turns to love. I plan to use Hong Kong–style action sequences.”

Raveena could feel an ache building in her temples. “Let me get this straight. Mumtaz Mahal is now a warrior-princess who kicks the emperor's ass and then falls in love with him?”

Randy nodded excitedly.

The ache in her temples began to pound. “And what is this ah, movie, going to be called?”

Randy rubbed his hands gleefully. “
Taj Mahal 3000…Unleashed!
”

Jesus Christ!

She needed some Advil.

Half an hour later, Raveena found herself at Sahara Studios. She
was sitting in the shade of a coconut tree drinking a Thums Up and waiting for the rest of the cast and crew to arrive.

She'd decided to be positive about
Taj Mahal 3000: Unleashed.
It was her first shot at a leading role, and she was determined to throw herself whole-heartedly into the project.

Randy was pacing up and down the walkway blabbing into his cell phone.

Raveena took another swig and gazed around.

Sahara Studios was made up of a long dirt drive and several low-slung, one-story whitewashed buildings. Coconut trees were everywhere.

A door opened in one of the buildings, and a man walked towards them. She recognized him from his picture in the film magazine. The producer of the film.

Daddy.

Raveena didn't know whether it was the suit he wore that reminded her of her father or his gentle yet welcoming smile, but she instantly liked him.

“How are you
beti
?” he asked.

Beti
was the Hindi word for daughter. Raveena was touched and liked him even more.

“I'm fine Mr. Kapoor. Thank you.”

He shook his head. “No, you must call me Daddy. Everyone does.”

“Okay…Daddy.”

“Your accommodations are good?”

“Yes. I'm staying with my uncle.”

For a moment he looked puzzled. “But I thought the Holiday Inn…” He shot a glance at Randy, who was still on his cell. Daddy turned back to her. “Never mind. It is always better to stay with family, no?”

Raveena was tempted to ask him about the Holiday Inn. Was that where Daddy had arranged for her to stay? Could she be basking in air-conditioned bliss instead of perspiring at Uncle Heeru's? She was about to open her mouth and tell Daddy all about how his son had booked a room at the Officer's Club instead, but then thought better of it.

Raveena would complain, and then Daddy would confront Randy. Randy would be on the defensive and probably take it out on her. He might even find some way to kick Raveena off his film.

She kept her mouth shut. After all, she'd be spending most of her time at the studio anyway.

Daddy took a seat in the lawn chair next to her as two cars pulled up and parked beside Randy's dark green BMW. A short, very fat man tumbled out of the first car, and a tall, rugged Sikh wearing cowboy boots and a turban exited the second.

Randy finally got off the phone. “Raveena,” he said, “Let
me perform introductions.” He gestured to the round man. “This is the choreographer, Lollipop. He'll handle all six song sequences.”

Lollipop? Raveena struggled not to burst into giggles. As if sensing her amusement, Lollipop shot her a challenging look. She immediately sobered up.

Randy indicated the other man who lounged against the hood of his car. “This is Dharamveer Sandhu, the cinematographer.”

Dharamveer lit up a cigarette. “Everyone calls me Veer.”

“Veer is the best cinematographer in India,” Randy boasted.

Instead of acknowledging the compliment, Veer blew out a perfect ring of smoke and ignored Randy completely.

“Where's Siddharth?” Lollipop asked in a high-pitched voice.

Raveena giggled. Everyone looked at her.

Struggling to contain herself, she cleared her throat. “Who's Siddharth?”

Lollipop turned towards Raveena in disbelief. “You don't know who Siddharth is?”

Veer looked at Daddy in surprise. “We have Siddharth? How did you manage that?”

“Oh, Siddharth and I are great friends,” Randy said, butting in. “He's doing this as a personal favor to me.”

Raveena was definitely intrigued. Siddharth hadn't starred in any of the Bollywood films she'd seen. Although, admittedly, the ones she'd borrowed had been a few years old.

“Will Siddharth be playing the Emperor then?” she asked.

Lollipop was practically jumping up and down. “I can't wait to work with Siddharth! The man moves like a dream!”

Veer flicked the ash from his cigarette and continued to muse. “We have Siddharth…”

Daddy answered Raveena's question. “Yes
beti,
Siddharth is the biggest star in India. We are very blessed to have him in our film.”

“There he is!” Randy crowed, pointing to a black Mercedes pulling into the drive.

The windows were tinted, so Raveena couldn't get a look inside.

The car stopped, the driver side door opened, and it was as though time stood still.

Raveena was
so
not kidding.

Conversation ceased. Various men and women going about their own studio business moved closer and stared.

And no wonder.

Siddharth was the Adonis of the East.

He was around six feet tall, lean and muscled. His skin was a golden bronze and his hair a rich dark brown. He had that perfect Roman nose, and his eyes were hazel.

And if that weren't enough, as he reached out and shook Daddy's hand with a smile, Raveena saw the dimples.

Michelangelo couldn't have sculpted a better male.

At that moment the only thought running through her mind was:

How many love scenes were in the movie?

And…

Could they possibly add more?

Siddharth nearly tripped as he got out of his car
.

He managed to regain his balance in time and looked to see if anyone had noticed.

They hadn't.

Embarrassed, he arranged his features into a cool arrogant look—the one he'd perfected in many of his films—and started towards the group.

There was the annoying Randy Kapoor, Lollipop, with whom he'd worked in the past, and Veer. Veer was the best in the biz and a good man to boot. When he saw Daddy, his smile was natural and not forced like usual.

Although he only glanced quickly at the young woman, he took in everything about her from head to toe.

Siddharth was curious about what had brought his co-star all the way to Bombay. Many of his fellow actors and actresses in India dreamt of a Hollywood offer. Aishwariya, the highest paid actress in Bollywood, had two Hollywood offers on her plate. There was even talk she might be in the running to play one of the Bond girls in 007's next movie.

Siddharth stiffened as Randy patted his shoulder. “Sid, this is Raveena, your costar. Raveena, meet the biggest star in India.”

Raveena smiled. “I'm looking forward to working with you.”

Siddharth was a bit taken aback by Raveena's easy friendliness. Suddenly he was struck by a painful attack of shyness. He'd been affected by the problem since he was a kid. Because of his looks, he was often singled out. Women would come up to him on the street and pinch his cheeks and stroke his hair. Siddharth, a natural introvert, had dreaded these encounters.

As an adult, he still did.

Outside the studio gate, a crowd of female fans was openly goggling at him. Half of them looked as though their eyes would bulge out of their faces.

When he spoke, his words came out stiff and forced. “How are you enjoying Bombay, Raveena?”

“I'm still absorbing everything. Bombay is…so much.”

Siddharth nodded at her response, and then quickly turned away. He wasn't good at polite conversation and preferred not to indulge in it.

Randy clapped his hands. “Come on everyone! I've ordered a lavish South Indian lunch.”

Siddharth wanted to say something to Raveena, something witty and urbane, but he couldn't think of anything other than “How was your flight?” or “What's your favorite movie?” and those questions sounded dumb. So instead, he took a seat at the table inside next to Veer, and the two started up a conversation about location shoots.