Bollywood Confidential (9 page)

Raveena was attending her first Bollywood bash.

Randy Kapoor was throwing a huge party at his family's Juhu Beach estate. The crème de la crème of Bombay society would be there: stars, models, fashion designers, industrialists and socialites.

She had gotten her hair blown out earlier at the Rapunzel Salon—the one she passed by every day on her way to the studio. Unfortunately, just as she was led over to the basin for a wash, the power went out, and she sat in the dark while she was shampooed and conditioned with very cold water.

Raveena blessed the fact that she had not chosen a full body wax for the very same day.

Sitting in the dark, towels wrapped around their dripping hair, the patrons waited as various people fiddled with the generator struggling to start it. Finally, just as the generator sprang to life, the power came back on and the same people struggled to turn the generator off before it burned out.

Raveena's hair was then blown out by three dusky young
women—one to hold the dryer, another to hold the brush, and a third to divide the drying hair into sections. Well, there was an excess of labor in the country. Why use one person when you could use three? But the results were worth it, and she left the salon with a sleek mane of black silk.

Hair and makeup done, Raveena stood in front of the wardrobe wondering what to wear.

Uncle Heeru chose that moment to knock on the door and come in.

“Hi,” she said over her shoulder, her arms filled with clothes.

Heeru walked over to the bedside table and picked up the copy of
Hurray for Bollywood
. “Is this book any good?” he asked.

“Yes. I'm almost finished if you'd like to read it.” She dumped the pile of clothes on her bed.

Uncle Heeru frowned and set the book down. “This book will not help you while you are here. You must read the
Bhagavad Gita
. In it are all the lessons one needs to know about life. I have read it seven hundred times.”

Raveena's mother had a beautifully bound copy of the
Bhagavad Gita
at home. The
Gita
was sort of like the Hindu Bible, a written volume of Lord Krishna's words detailing the nature of consciousness, the self, the universe and the ultimate path to self-realization.

One who truly understood and had studied the
Gita
would live a life of transcendence.

Earlier, Raveena had seen Uncle Heeru nearly run over the neighbors in his battered white Ambassador, then speed off without apologizing.

Hmm.

“I'll read it when I get home,” Raveena said, picking out a black cocktail dress and shaking it out. It was a sweet little number by Marc Jacobs. She would need to iron it.

For some reason, Uncle Heeru was still hanging around her room, so she showed him the dress. “What do you think? It'll impress the Bombay bigwigs, right?”

Uncle Heeru looked aghast. “That dress is not appropriate! You will surely become the target of mischief-makers.”

Raveena raised an eyebrow at the garment. It was sleeveless but was neither low-cut nor backless. She thought it was classy.

However, Uncle Heeru's eyes were bulging out in a way that was decidedly trout-like.

“Don't worry Uncle Heeru,” she reassured. “I'll be wearing a light shawl over the dress.” She didn't mention that the shawl was really a gauzy black length of chiffon.

Raveena was determined to look fabulous. She wanted to do LA proud. She had no intention of showing up at the party looking like the offspring of a hag and a country bumpkin.

It really had nothing to do with the fact that Siddharth would be there.

Really.

Uncle Heeru mumbled something and pulled at his hair. “I would like you to come with me to the temple on Tuesday. It will be a most auspicious day.”

“Of course,” Raveena answered. “I'd love to.”

He nodded as if in agreement. “You will need Ganesh's blessings if you continue to remain in the film line. The industry is an ungodly place.”

Raveena smiled politely and ushered him out of the room. “I really enjoyed our chat, Uncle Heeru.”

Shutting the door, she returned to the wardrobe and prayed she hadn't forgotten her black lace Victoria's Secret bra.

Ungodly was the look she was going for.

 

“This is definitely a Page Three party.”

Raveena turned to the young woman behind her in line at the bar. “Page Three?”

She had a short cap of dark hair and was dressed in low-slung cropped pants and a beaded turquoise bustier. Her belly button was pierced. “In Bombay, our Page Three is like New York's Page Six. If you want the latest in cocktail parties and glitterati gossip, that's what you read.”

“Thanks,” Raveena said and reached for her vodka tonic. Uncle Heeru subscribed to
Bombay Times
. She decided it was time to start reading Page Three.

Wandering around, Raveena didn't know what she'd expected from a party thrown by a Bollywood director. It seemed to be no different from an A-list Hollywood party. Not that she'd attended many of those.

The Kapoors' sprawling seaside villa, with a 180-degree view of the Arabian Sea, was enormous. A large Olympic-size pool complete with two waterfalls ran the entire length of the house. The decor was a mix of European tapestries, Mughal artwork and marble statues of Greek gods and goddesses.

Personally, Raveena thought it looked as though the Louvre had vomited up several of its collections.

Speaking of vomit…Randy appeared at Raveena's elbow and promptly offered to give her a tour of his bedroom.

Raveena promptly declined.

For a moment, Raveena thought she saw anger flash across Randy's eyes, but she was too distracted by his outfit to give it much thought.

Randy was wearing a black tank top, a black leather jacket—so much for the sacred cow—and black leather chaps with the crotch and seat cut out. Thankfully, he had on a tight pair of blue jeans underneath.

Well, truthfully, Raveena wasn't that thankful. His blue jeans were
very
tight.

To complete the outfit, Randy had hooked Bono-style sunglasses over the silver studded belt at his waist. His black hair had recently been highlighted with blond streaks.

Raveena was relieved to see Daddy, who greeted her warmly with his usual, “How are you,
beti
?” But then had to rush off when there was a crisis in the kitchen involving a platter of mushroom turnovers.

“I don't see Veer or Lollipop,” Raveena said to Randy. She'd hoped to run into at least two people she knew.

“Celebrities only,” Randy said. “Like me.”

Raveena could see a suggestive leer forming around his lips and decided it was time to partake of some party food.

A trendy Bandra restaurant called the Olive Bar & Kitchen had done the catering, and the food was a blend of European and Asian cuisines. Raveena helped herself to vegetarian risotto and roasted pepper salad with feta cheese.

Spotting an empty chair, she sat down with her plate. The small group of women sitting around her were all in their
twenties and early thirties. All were either beautiful, rich or both. And she couldn't help listening in on these glamorous creatures with their light, flirtatious, slightly exaggerated way of speaking.

She recognized the woman with flowing burgundy-tinted black hair and supermodel-like cheekbones sitting closest to her. Bani Sen. Currently the “it” girl in town, Bani had the distinction of being part of both the high society and the Bollywood scene.

As Raveena had learned, not everyone made the transition.

Bani had recently starred in one of Raveena's mother's favorite movies. Bani had played a sexy but virtuous woman who wins the heart of a serial playboy with her traditional values and high morals.

Next to Raveena, Bani laughed gaily and made several snide remarks about butt-fucking and blowjobs. She then demanded to know if anyone would share a line of coke.

Raveena wasn't a prude, but she had an image of her mother's face, happily watching Bani's movie, and she had to get out of there.

She was about to get up when Bani turned and smiled, her dark eyes cool and assessing. “So you're the one starring in Randy's new flick?”

Several of Bani's friends exchanged knowing glances.

Raveena didn't need to read the
Bhagavad Gita
seven hundred times to know what their looks meant.

They assumed she was sleeping with Randy.

She nearly spewed risotto.

“Yeah,” Raveena said. “With
Siddharth,
” she emphasized.
So she was bragging. She couldn't help it. These women were getting to her.

Bani's gaze turned mocking. “Oh, I know why Sid's doing it. He feels guilty. His father and Daddy were good friends…but what's your excuse? Shouldn't you be off in Hollywood making a film with Colin Farrell? I know that if I were from
LA,
” she mimicked Raveena and emphasized the last word, “I would consider it a step down to come and work in India.”

Raveena considered bitch-slapping Bani—surely that would put her on Page Three—but she respected Daddy too much and knew a WWF-type shakedown would surely cause the gentle man some embarrassment.

Instead, she smiled back at Bani. “You know, I never really thought of Bollywood as a step down.” So she was lying. “But after meeting you, I really do feel like I'm slumming it.”

And with that, she stood and walked away, her heart pounding.

She was close to tears. She wasn't a socialite or a glamorous creature, and she couldn't throw her head back, laugh gaily and discuss which was worse—an enema or anal sex.

Or at least not without a few drinks in her.

She went outside and stood at the railing, looking out at the sea. Moonlight glistened on the water. The gardens to her right beckoned, and she followed the small path leading away from the house, wanting to get far away from the party.

It was there in the center of a gazebo dripping with star jasmine blossoms that she ran into Siddharth.

He was sitting on a white marble bench with his head in his hands.

At the sight of her he grimaced. “Shit. You didn't follow me, did you?”

Raveena burst into tears.

Siddharth wondered if the rumors were true
.

Was Raveena sleeping with Randy Kapoor?

Well, that would explain the crying.

She sat down next to him on the marble bench and wiped ineffectually at the tears with the back of her hand.

Siddharth reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a handkerchief. Silently, he handed it to her.

“Thanks,” Raveena muttered and dabbed at her face. “I know why I left the party, but why did you?

What was he going to tell her? That India's answer to Brad Pitt felt uncomfortable in a room full of people?

His aloofness was in actuality a painful shyness. And that shyness was especially evident around members of the opposite sex. They expected him to be a stud like in the movies, a consummate lover.

Immediately after his first brush with success, Siddharth had been set up with the niece of a family friend. His recent success had given him some newfound confidence. After dinner, while walking the girl to her door, Siddharth had
prepared to take his leave when the girl threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. “Oh, Siddharth,” she moaned.

Siddharth had had a good time that night and decided to kiss the girl back. After a moment, she pulled back and stared up at him with disbelief. “You're a horrible kisser,” she'd exclaimed. “What are you, a virgin or something?”

Flushing red, he'd turned around and ran to the lift, the girl's mocking laughter following him.

He'd noticed the way the female guests stared at him, their gazes full of expectation. The men in the room shot him looks laced with jealousy. Siddharth felt like a fraud. That was why he'd left the party.

“I needed some fresh air,” he told Raveena.

“I'm feeling homesick,” she said quietly. “God, what am I—six?”

“It can't be easy,” he said. “Away from your family and friends. Thrown into the masala moviemaking.”

“Masala?”

He smiled. “Another word for mainstream Indian filmmaking.”

“Oh.” She laughed. “I like that.”

Siddharth liked her laugh. For some reason, it made the tension in him ease away.

“How do you like working on this film?” Raveena asked.

Siddharth shrugged. “It's the same kind of role I'm used to. I'm tired of being typecast.”

Raveena snorted.

Siddharth turned to her in surprise.

“Sorry,” she said, “but you don't know the first thing about being typecast. You're the biggest actor in India. This
is the first leading role I've ever been offered in my entire career, and it's not even in the same hemisphere.”

“I have my pick of roles?” Siddharth said, outraged. “The audience, the producers, the directors only want me to play the same character over and over again. The strong romantic hero. I want to play drug dealers and mafia dons or maybe even a transsexual who dresses in saris and sings at weddings.”

“So what's stopping you?”

Siddharth hesitated. He wasn't used to spilling his secrets, but Raveena seemed truly interested, not just pretending. “I played a man who seduces young women and then forces them into prostitution,” Siddharth smiled in remembrance. “It was wonderful fun.”

“What happened?”

He was suddenly bitter. “The movie failed miserably. It was a total bomb.”

Raveena crossed her legs and adjusted her dress. Siddharth was distracted by the smooth curve of her thigh. There was something very sexy about that dress, the way it seemed so conservative but then revealed a sudden flash of creamy skin. He gazed at Raveena thoughtfully.

“Big deal,” she said. “So the movie bombed.”

“So? So people in Bihar actually began rioting and threatened to burn down the theater. They didn't spend their hard-earned money to see me play a villain.”

“What I mean is…didn't you ever have one of your so-called formulaic films flop?”

He thought about it. “Yes, two or three actually.”

“Well, see!”

“See what?” he demanded.

“Maybe your villainous film just sucked? Maybe it had nothing to do with your performance.” she said. “But that was one film! Even Tom Hanks doesn't have a super hit with each and every film.”

Raveena had a point, Siddharth thought. He'd enjoyed Tom Hanks's film
The Terminal,
but it hadn't struck a chord with audiences, and it had been directed by Steven Spielberg! “Now, this is what my manager Javed should be telling me,” he said aloud.

Raveena laughed. “You know,” she mused. “I can't remember what I was crying about before.”

“Sid! What are you doing out here?”

Bani Sen stood before them.

“Oh, right,” Raveena murmured. “Now I remember.”