A Bollywood Affair (15 page)

Ridhi ran up the stairs mumbling words Mili had never heard before. Ridhi’s mother slapped her forehead and turned to Mili. “Her in-laws are
South Indian,
” she said as if being South Indian was akin to being an alien species. “Doesn’t she know how old-fashioned those people are? Does she have any sense at all?”

Mili patted Ridhi’s mother’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Auntie, she’s changing.”

It wasn’t easy but she didn’t laugh until Mrs. Kapoor walked away.

“What’s so funny?” Samir asked as she entered the kitchen and walked up to the island. It was covered from end to end with food. Fluffy white
idli
rice cakes, rolled-up crepe
dosas,
round donut-shaped, deep-fried
vadas,
huge tureens filled with steaming sambar lentils, red, white, and green chutneys of coconut and mint and cilantro. Stuffed naans and
parathas,
freshly churned butter, yogurt, cut fruit, and all sorts of cakes and donuts and cheeses.

She had to be dead, or dying or something, because really, this had to be heaven.

He laughed next to her ear and she turned around.

“You didn’t even hear the question, did you?” He smiled as if she had done something truly amusing.

“Shush, don’t disturb me. I’m in heaven right now.” She looked back at the food, closed her eyes and inhaled. Her mouth watered. The aromas danced in her head, danced in her soul.

When she opened her eyes he was holding out a plate and watching her. But with all these aromas strumming her senses, she couldn’t analyze his expression. She reached over and picked up one hot, perfectly crisp stuffed
paratha.

She brought it to her nose and took a deep sniff before putting it on her plate. Then she added some seasoned yogurt, green chutney, and a shamelessly large serving of mango pickle. She broke off a piece of the
paratha
with her fingers, used it to scoop up some yogurt, dipped it in chutney, and then popped it in her mouth. The purest pleasure exploded in her mouth. She moaned and her eyes fluttered shut. She chewed, and chewed, and wanted to go on chewing for as long as she lived.

Just as the
paratha
melted on her tongue she picked up a piece of mango pickle and sucked on it.

Samir grabbed her elbow and led her away from the island, where for some reason a crowd was starting to gather.

“God, Samir, have you tried these
paneer parathas?
” She broke off a piece, dunked it in some yogurt and chutney, and brought it to his lips. He swallowed before he opened his mouth and took the food from her fingers.

His lips grazed her fingertips and the sensation stunned her so much she forgot to remove her hand fast enough.

But the smell of the food on her plate brought her back. “Incredible, isn’t it?” she asked, and took another bite.

He nodded and chewed and watched her wordlessly with suddenly shuttered eyes.

“Did you know we have ten thousand taste buds in our mouth?” she said, trying to hold the flavors on her tongue as she chewed.

He smiled. “Of course you would know that.”

She put another piece in her mouth. Then another piece in his mouth. “Wait, wait,” she said as he started to chew. His wide, lush mouth froze mid-chew. She picked up a piece of pickle and pushed it between his lips. His honey-brown eyes melted to that smoky amber.

“See?” she said, popping more food in her own mouth. “I told you. You’re in heaven, aren’t you?”

Before she knew it her plate was empty. “What should we get next?” she asked him.

He grinned, dropping his guard for the first time today, and she felt so light she thought she would float away. She was about to ask him what he was so amused about when his phone rang.

He wiped something off the edge of her lips before he answered.

His fingers stilled on her mouth. “Yes, Baiji. Hold on just a minute. I’m right here. Don’t go away.” His voice turned soft and respectful. Mili had never heard him sound like this. He spoke in the dialect of her village and it made her so light-headed with homesickness she had to focus to hear what he was saying.

He pulled his hand away, raised a finger to indicate he needed a minute, and walked out of the kitchen and into the backyard. The last thing she saw him do was wipe his fingers on his jeans. Her heart twisted painfully in her chest. He was wiping away her touch.

 

“How are you,
beta?
” His mother’s voice was exactly what Samir needed to hear after what had just happened. He had been feeling so restless and crazed in there he didn’t know what was wrong with him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen a woman eat before. It wasn’t like a woman had never slipped food into his mouth. He’d done some pretty creative things involving food and women. But having Mili slip food into his mouth was the most erotic thing he’d ever had happen to him.

He shook his hand out, wiped it on his jeans again, but his fingers still tingled. He switched his phone from hand to hand and dragged his fingers through his hair.

“Baiji, I’m right here. Sorry. There was too much noise. I needed to get to a quieter spot. Can you hear me?”

“Very clearly, son. I haven’t heard from you in a week. I was starting to worry.”

“I’m sorry. I should have called. Is everything okay? How is Rima? Bhai?”

“Rima’s fine. She’s starting to show more and more every day.” He heard the smile in her voice, then sadness. “She’s still having cramps. I think the shock was too much. But Krishna is watching over us. Everything will be fine.” She went silent for a moment, and he knew she was saying a prayer. “She’s still not eating enough. And she spends all her time in the hospital with Virat.”

The
paratha
turned over in Samir’s stomach. “Baiji, she needs to be there. Bhai needs her there. Please don’t—” He swallowed the lump in his throat. He should’ve been by Virat’s side right now. “Have they said anything about—” But he couldn’t ask the question.

“Samir-
beta,
your brother is going to be fine. We are all fine. We all understand that work comes first.”

Samir and Virat had told Rima and their mother that Samir needed to work with some investors in America for his film.

Suddenly Baiji’s voice turned guarded. “
Beta,
it’s been three weeks. When are you coming home?”

“Soon, Baiji.”

“Okay, but don’t linger. Finish what you have to do and come home soon.” She kept her voice calm but Samir knew exactly what was running through her mind.

He had no business putting her through this. Especially not now with Virat in the hospital.

“Baiji, I can’t wait to come home. There’s nothing for me here—absolutely nothing. If you want I’ll come home today. You just have to say the word.”

His mother was silent for a long moment and he knew she was actually considering it. She had lost her husband to this country. The thought of her being afraid of losing him too made Samir sick.

“Finish what you need to,” she said finally. “But remember you are my whole life, Samir.”

“I know, Baiji, I love you too.”

“Blessings,
beta.
Hold on, Virat has some news for you.”

“
Oy,
Chintu! How are you, little brother?” Virat sounded like his old self and Samir dropped back on the patio wall with relief.

“You sound good, Bhai.”

“Not good, Chintu, I’m bloody fantastic! They’re letting me out of here
and
. . . are you sitting down because this is huge . . . I’m going to fly again. It’s going to be another six months. But I’m going to fly again! Can you believe that?”

“That’s amazing, Bhai.” Samir’s hands were shaking, all of him was shaking, his relief was so intense. The idea of Virat never being able to fly his beloved fighters again was a thought so preposterous Samir had refused to entertain it. Now he knew Virat had been just as worried.

“
Oy,
drama queen, you’re not crying, are you?” But it was Virat’s voice that cracked. “Baiji, you and Rima need to go get something to eat. I’m fine. My baby brother is sobbing, I need to take care of him.” Samir could imagine Virat hamming it up as he sent Rima and their mother off.

There was a beat of silence.

“What’s wrong, Bhai?”

“Well, did she sign yet?”

Samir rubbed his forehead and forced himself not to turn around and look for her. “I’m working on it. She will.”

“Of course she will. Which woman can say no to Sam Rathod?”

No woman. That was the fucking problem. “I’ve been a little distracted with finishing the script. I’ll get it done and be back home soon. Bhai . . . I’m sorry I’m not there with you.”

“Chintu, you’ll never change. Bastard, you travelled halfway across the earth for me. You’re doing something I should be doing myself and you’re apologizing? You’re everything to me, brother. You know that, right? Without you there’s nothing. Don’t ever apologize to me again. Got that?”

Samir couldn’t respond.
No, Bhai, you’re everything.

And he was. All the other shit that had been going on meant nothing.

“By the way, there was another letter. And another legal notice from her lawyer.”

Despair slammed like a fist into Samir’s gut. Another letter?

“Bhai, I don’t want you to worry about it. You focus on getting out of the hospital and getting back in the cockpit. Leave this to me. I’ll take care of it.”

After Virat hung up, Samir swung his legs over the patio wall he was perched on and faced the house. It was a crisp blue-sky day. Not enough sun for sunglasses, but just enough to warm the air. Across the patio, on the other side of the lead-glass French doors, Mili’s petite form was waving at him. Or at least that’s what he thought she was doing. The beaded glass broke her into little pieces and blurred her slender form into disjointed parts. Which one was the real her?

The girl who had gone flying into a tree to protect her friend of four months. The girl who had deviously worked her friend’s family to save her friend’s love. The girl who ate food like she was making love to it. The girl whose body beat out music in the exact rhythm as his. Or the girl who threatened a wounded man for his ancestral estate.

Looking through that crystal window, across that sparkling afternoon sunshine, Samir had to reach deep into his cynicism, into his disillusionment with the world, into his distrust of human nature to find his anger, to find the belief that Mili, like everyone else, was capable of greed and deviousness.

He was sure she had her reasons. He knew without doubt that they would be good reasons. But he couldn’t concern himself with her reasons. He had a debt to pay. A debt to a brother who had jumped into a dark well and let his little brother climb onto his shoulders while he clung to the protruding well stones and waited hours to be rescued. A debt to a mother who had packed up her boys in the middle of the night and fled the safety of her home to protect a little boy from the beatings that had gouged the skin off his back, before the beatings that had killed his spirit took his body too.

17

A
ll day Samir had blown hot and cold. Mili knew he was struggling with something. She also knew with absolute certainty that it had something to do with her. It was just as well. After last night she knew what she had to do. The time had come to tell him that she was married. This warmth, this friendship between them, she had no right to any of it. It was time for it to end.

“A lie has only one face,” her
naani
always said, “but a liar has several.” She had always had only one face. And now there were too many faces; some she recognized, some were entirely alien. And yet with him she had never been someone she wasn’t. She was just all the things she never thought she could be, no matter how badly she wanted to.

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time making eyes at Romeo recently.” How Ridhi had the time to make useless observations in the middle of her own wedding Mili would never know.

“I see you changed,” she said, taking in the sleeveless white
kurti
that fit Ridhi like a glove. “And it covers your mangoes and everything.”

Ridhi grinned. “I can’t believe Mummy said that. But I’m glad she did. Don’t know what I was thinking. Ravi’s parents really are conservative. Did you meet them yet? His mother is actually wearing one of those stereotypical orange-and-green silk saris with that huge gold border. I mean, I thought they only dressed like that in those calendars they hang at South Indian grocery stores.” She lowered her voice and looked around to make sure no one was listening. “I mean, how did someone like
that
give birth to someone as hot as Ravi? Speaking of hot, I have some dirt on Romeo. Did you know he’s a big hotshot Bollywood director?”

“Hotshot?” No, he wasn’t. He had told her he was a small artsytype director.

“Haven’t you watched
Love Lights
? It was like the biggest hit last year and like the most romantic film ever!”

“Really? The one with the human bomb? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. My cousin Nimi is like a Bollywood encyclopedia.” Ridhi waved to her cousin, who was standing with a group of giggling girls. “She’s the one who told me. Nimi, hey, Nimi, over here.”

The entire gaggle of cousins sauntered across the kitchen to the arched entrance of the family room, from where they had a clear view of Samir, Ravi, and a few other cousins drinking beer.

“Nice view, ha?” Nimi whispered, coming to stand next to Ridhi.

“No kidding,” someone else said.

Samir raised a questioning eyebrow at Mili from across the room and she looked away self-consciously.

“Holy shit!” One of the cousins Mili had not yet met gripped her chest as if she were having a heart attack. “Is that who I think it is?”

“That depends on who you think it is,” Ridhi responded.

“That’s that bastard director guy.” She said it so loudly all the guys including Samir looked at them.

“Reena, shut up,” Ridhi said, and Mili wanted to hug her.

“No, seriously, you guys have to see this.” She ran into the kitchen and fished a glossy magazine out of a big leather bag. “That man is wanted by the police for beating Neha Pratap up.”

A collective gasp rose across the room. The guys turned to look at Samir. He took a sip from his beer bottle, his face an unreadable mask.

Reena started to flip furiously through the magazine. “Here, see here!” She held the magazine up.

Splattered across the page were several close-up shots of a woman’s face. She appeared to have been brutally beaten. One side of her face was swollen and purple, one eye was puffed shut. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her eyes had a hollow, pained look that made Mili’s stomach cramp with sympathy. Across the middle of the page was a larger picture of a very beautiful girl in a very short, very tight dress hanging on the arm of a heartbreakingly handsome Samir dressed in a dark suit with a crisp white shirt, his hair gelled back, his breathtaking face smiling down at the girl as if she were the only girl in the world.

Scrawled across the bottom of the picture were the words, “
Sam did this!
”
Neha admits to their love affair going violent.

“See.” Reena smiled like a smug cow.

Anger exploded inside Mili’s head with such force she snatched the magazine out of Reena’s hand and shoved her hard. “Shut up. Just shut the heck up, you stupidhead witch. What is wrong with you? This is a gossip magazine. A stupid, donkey-faced gossip magazine. They write whatever they need to write to sell copies. Shame on you for buying this nonsense. Don’t you have anything better to do with your life?”

 

Samir leaned forward in his chair, but he didn’t get up. The other girl was at least half a foot taller than Mili and exactly three times as wide. And yet Mili went for her, lunging at her and practically toppling her over. This crazy household was definitely getting to her.

Or maybe it was just who she was.

Ridhi pulled Mili back before she did herself some serious damage against the mountainous woman who looked so shocked Samir had to suppress a smile.

“Mill, calm down. Reena was just showing us what she found.”

“What she found in that . . . in that stupidhead magazine?” Mili stuttered, so angry she was having a hard time speaking.

“What do you mean, ‘stupidhead magazine’? It’s
Filmfare.
It’s India’s best—” The “stupidhead witch” was stupid enough to argue.

Mili charged at her, knocking the wind out of her. She burst into tears.

“Mili, stop it. What’s wrong with you?” Ridhi held Mili back. “Samir’s not even saying anything. Why are you so angry? Let him defend himself.” Bizarrely enough, Ridhi sounded like the voice of reason.

But Mili hissed and sputtered, turning on Ridhi, incensed beyond reason. “Why? Why should Samir defend himself? Why should he dignify this nonsense with an explanation?”

Samir stood. Time to fight his own battles. Although, he could spend the rest of his life watching Mili go to bat for him like this.

Ridhi and her nasal whine still had some wisdom left to go. “Mill, how do you even know it’s not true? You’ve only just met the man, he doesn’t even know—”

Mili shoved Ridhi. “Shut up, Ridhi. Just shut your mouth. I might have just met him but I can tell you this: I might beat someone up.” She jabbed a finger into her own chest. “You might beat someone up.” She jabbed a finger at Ridhi’s chest. “But Samir would never, ever hit a woman.”

Fireworks burst in Samir’s heart. Sweet pain shot through his entire body.

Mili turned on her heel, saw the magazine lying on the floor, and swooped down on it. She grabbed it with both hands and tried to rip it in half. She struggled with it for a good minute, but the darned thing wouldn’t give. Finally she flung it across the room and stormed to his side. Then, grabbing his hand, she dragged him out of the room, pushing Ridhi, Ravi, and four gaping cousins out of the way. And of course when she stepped up from the den to the kitchen she tripped.

His hand pushed into her back, holding her up. She straightened with the kind of dignity only she could muster and out into the backyard they went. They walked past the impeccable manicured lawn onto a wooden walkway that led into a wooded area. She was in no mood to stop and he was in no mood to question her.

They walked like that in silence for a while. Maybe it was an hour, maybe it was longer. Somehow he found her hand in his and he couldn’t bring himself to let it go. The sweetest ache burned in his chest. He kept thinking of the gargantuan girl’s crying face and wanting to smile. But Mili was still fuming and he didn’t think this was a good time to annoy her any further. He was only too happy to stand by and watch her cool at her own pace, as long as he had her tiny hand grasped in his.

When they came to a wooden bridge that led nowhere, Mili turned onto it. She stopped at the highest point on the curving surface, pulled her hand from his, and rested her elbows on the stained wood. He did the same. His arm brushed hers. Her scent filled his lungs. Jasmine and sweet herbs. They stared out at the sprawling manicured yards laid out in front of them like a greeting card landscape. A profusion of blooms spilled from stepped terraces and gazebos. Looming mansions surrounded the clipped paradise like fortresses, protecting it from the outside world.

“Thanks,” she said suddenly, turning her head to look at him. “It would’ve been very embarrassing to fall on my face after that.” An impish grin bloomed across her face.

If he leaned just a little bit closer he could touch her lips with his. He would know what it felt like to taste that imp’s smile, to drop kisses on that crinkled nose.

“Samir?”

He blinked and looked up from her lips into her eyes. They were dark and sultry as ever and sparkling with life. “You’re thanking me?”

Embarrassment stained her cheeks. “Shut up.”

“Does that mean I can’t thank you?” He pulled her fingers to his lips. But she pulled them away before his lips could touch them.

“Can I ask you a question, Samir?”

God.
“You can try.”

“Who’s Neha?”

“An ex.”

She raised one confused eyebrow.

“My ex-girlfriend.”

She punched him. “I know what an ex is. I meant what happened? What did you do to make her so angry she would say such awful things about you?”

“Long story.”

“What, you have a wedding to go to or something?”

He laughed. “Well, she wanted a commitment, I wasn’t quite ready, she got a little crazy, came after me with a vase, lost her balance, and fell down my stairs on her face.”

“Shit.”

It was the first time he’d heard Mili swear. As in a real swear. Not donkey, monkey, crow, witch, hot fudge, et cetera.

“What a bitch.”

“Wow, you’re really on a roll, Mili. Not witch. Straight out bitch.”

She blushed. “But she is.” She twisted her fingers together. “I’ll bet you were terrified.” She touched him then. Slow, soothing strokes on his arm. It took all his strength not to pull her to him. “I’ll bet you were the one who got her to the hospital. I’ll bet you sat by her side the entire time. And she does this to you.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly sit by her side. But yes. I—” God, how had she pinned it down like that? “I did get her to the hospital.”

She watched his face. Then there it was again, the imp’s grin.

“What now? Or should I even ask?”

“I’m going to call you Florence.”

He squeezed his temples with his fingers. “What?”

“Florence Nightingale. You know the nurse who was obsessed with taking care of people?” She threw her head back and laughed. “Who would believe that?”

She started back toward the house, dragging him in her wake. “I’d better make sure Ridhi’s okay. And her bi—witch cousin. You think I was too mean to her?”

“I think you’re being kinda mean right now.”

She spun around, horrified guilt on her face. “I am?”

All he could do was laugh.

 

Mili should have known Ridhi would be there when she dragged Samir back into the house. It was the girl’s wedding, for heaven’s sake—didn’t she have anything better to do?

Ridhi narrowed her eyes at Samir. “Ravi’s been looking for you. For like two
hours.
”

They had definitely not been gone that long. But what was Ridhi without her drama?

“Very nice,” Mili said, pointing to Ridhi’s hands before she launched into another inquisition-slash-lecture.

Ridhi held out her arms and Mili inspected them dutifully. They were freshly painted with henna paste from the tips of her fingers all the way to her elbows. Not as beautiful as the patterns from the Teej festival back home, but beautiful nonetheless.

“Look at your hair,” Ridhi said, shifting her frown from Samir to Mili’s hair. “What a mess.”

Mili reached up and touched her ponytail. It had slid to one side of her head and her hair stuck out in all directions. Must’ve happened when she attacked Ridhi’s cousin. She pulled off the band and shook her hair out.

“Why didn’t you say something?” she asked Samir. She must’ve looked like such a clown.

He shrugged. “Didn’t notice.” He gave Ridhi one of those grins designed specifically to annoy, dropped a kiss on the top of Mili’s head, and went looking for Ravi with the oddest bounce in his step.

“Come on,” Mili said before Ridhi put that frown into words and pulled Ridhi into the family room.

Three henna artists sat by the marble fireplace that was so ornate it would have been perfectly at home in the Jaipur palace. The rest of the room was as riotously noisy as its occupants. Steel, glass, and carved wood furniture was strewn across the glossy black-and-white-checkered floor. Brass railings edged the upper-floor balconies overlooking the room. Floor-to-ceiling tapestries from every carpet-weaving nation in the world hung from the walls. There was one from Rajasthan, black silk with the most intricate mirrorwork and hand embroidery. It made the knot of homesickness that always lingered in Mili’s belly tighten.

Mili joined the line of girls waiting for the henna artists, who swirled henna in intricate patterns across the palms of three smiling girls. One of the artists finished the hand she was painting and beckoned the next girl in line. She was no more than sixteen years old. The moment she settled into the pillow, she pulled the neckline of her
choli
blouse down and exposed the top of one very well developed breast.

A collective gasp rose across the room. A few of the older women clutched their own bosoms in horror. A large woman in a magenta sari flew across the room in a flash of color and smacked the breast-baring girl upside the head. “Shameless slut, must you cut my nose in public everywhere you go?” She shook the girl so hard her partially exposed breast popped all the way out of her
choli,
causing another collective gasp.