Silver Screen Dream (6 page)

I ordered and passed the cold glass to her hand, brushing my fingers against hers.

“Thank you.” She almost smiled, but the bitterness I had detected earlier lingered.

“It’s a pleasure to be buying a drink for one of the up and coming stars of Bollywood,” I said as I leant forwards to be heard over the loud blaring of the noise that passed for music in that place.

“You know who I am?” she asked with simpering, false modesty. If she had fluttered her eyelashes much more, they’d have turned into butterflies and flown off her face.

“Of course,” I grinned. “You are the beautiful and famed Panya Ghosh. I can’t wait to see
Benazir
, I’ve heard your performance in it is nothing short of stunning.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” she tittered. Her drink-reddened cheeks deepened in colour, and she leaned in against me.

I had her. Damn, she had been so easy to pull in. Humans so often are. “I am delighted to see you here, and I had to pull together all my courage to approach you. I was surprised to see you alone as I heard you were going out with Rahul Khan.”

Her face crinkled up quite unattractively.

“He dumped me,” she spat. “Stupid bastard.”

“Oh, that’s surely his loss. But you’re better off out of it, I would say.”

“Why?” she asked. “Do you not think I am good enough for him?” She immediately jumped to a negative conclusion, the effect of too much drink and too little real self-esteem.

“Not at all, no. It’s just I have it on good authority he is engaged to be married.”

“Shut up.” She slapped my arm sloppily.

“Yeah, my uncle lives in Mumbai and his daughter’s husband works with this guy, and he’s always boasting that his beautiful daughter Malati is going to marry Rahul the Bollywood star.”

“Do you know this Malati’s last name?” she asked, almost pulling off the nonchalance she aimed for.

“Oh, hold on a moment, let me think. Yes, I believe it’s Hamada. Yes, I’m sure of it.”

“I wonder if Malati knows her betrothed is here in the UK and not planning to go back to India any time soon.”

“I doubt it. I heard the wedding was planned for the beginning of October.”

“That’s only a few weeks away.”

“Indeed,” I said. I let the idea percolate in her mind. I gave her room to think. Meanwhile, I sipped the insipid liquid humans call alcohol. You have not experienced intoxication until you have tasted the nectar of the gods. Now, that is some good shit, I can tell you.

“Someone should tell that poor woman what the prick is up to,” she said after a long pause.

“Oh, yeah, I think so.” I nodded subtly.

“Yes, someone should. I go back to Mumbai in the morning, you know.” Panya was clearly very drunk indeed. “I’ll look into this when I get home. I can’t bear to think of some poor, innocent girl waiting for her love, and him never arriving. No, no. I cannot let that happen.”

“Compassionate as well as beautiful. Could you be any more perfect?”

She giggled and slapped me again. It was a good job I needed her for my plan or I would have ripped her hand off her arm and slapped her with it to see how she liked it.

We talked for a little longer, but I wasn’t paying much attention to her any more. She was pulled away by the other film girls about forty minutes later. I had danced with her and endured her tongue down my throat. Bloody humans can’t kiss. Urgh, it’s disgusting. Thank God she was dragged away from me before she tried to…well, yes. Let’s not think about that, eh?

I was convinced my plot would work. She might have been the worse for drink, but she would remember that name and she would sure as hell work hard to get revenge on Rahul. It was almost too easy. As a Djinn, I relished a good challenge, and humankind so rarely presented me with one.

Rahul left the club not long after Panya. He had barely drunk anything, and he had not snogged any woman there at all. I was fairly convinced he was ill.

“I’m not,” he hissed as I threw the question his way as I materialised beside him in his limo on the journey back to the hotel. “Just didn’t see anything I fancied.”

“Have you changed your mind? Are you going to go back and honour your bride?”

“Fuck off, Johnny,” he laughed. “That is never going to happen. No, I just didn’t feel like it, all right?”

“Oh, that bit of Brit stuff drained you, did she?”

“Johnny, sometimes I wonder why I keep you around,” he gasped, exasperated.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’ve granted you fame and fortune even though you’re only as talented as a wet dog biscuit.”

Rahul didn’t reply, so I stayed quiet. It’s not all like Aladdin, you know. Most of us Djinns hate those who capture us and resent the rest of the family as we get passed down the generations. People say we’re monsters, but I can tell you Jennistan, the land of Djinn, is far more civilised than any place on earth. Humans are evil. We Djinns are just very focussed on doing our job. There is a difference.

When Rahul reached his hotel room, he threw himself onto the sofa with a sigh. I leapt from the travelling amulet to my tea kettle that sat on a corner cabinet and looked very out of place in such a slick, black and white bedroom. As much as I have space in both places, I prefer my tea kettle. It is my home away from home. I have my stuff in there.

Yes, Djinns have stuff. Not a lot of it, considering our centuries of life, but we can be sentimental, and when you are enslaved and imprisoned you need some reminders of your old life, your free life, to keep you going. Not that a Djinn would ever commit suicide, it is not something a Djinn would even contemplate. But a depressed Djinn can make some very bad decisions. Trust me, I know.

I was surprised when he reached for the phone. Even Bollywood stars have some concept of time, though their day is skewed to start later and finish in the early hours of the morning. But by my calculations it was well past three a.m. and I couldn’t imagine he’d be ringing India. That was the last place he’d want to connect with.

I finally realised what he was doing when he slipped off his trousers. He was going to ring the Brit bit. He read the numbers on his thighs and entered them into his mobile. Then he dialled.

“Hey Laura,” he said, “it’s Rahul.”

Magic is a useful tool. I concentrated and listened in on both ends of the conversation. So I’m nosey. Djinn’s don’t sleep, and I wanted some entertainment. I am sure if Rahul realised I could hear any of his conversations, he’d be mortified.

“Rahul?”

“I know it’s late.” Rahul could win prizes for stating the obvious.

“Late?” she croaked. “It’s technically morning. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have rung.”

I saw something on Rahul’s face I’m not sure I’d seen before. It was a mixture of nervousness and fear. He never usually experienced such emotions as he knew whatever happened I would be there to sort it out. He had an all-powerful Djinn. He didn’t need to be afraid of anything.

“No, no, no,” she scrambled over herself, “it’s okay. Sleep is over-rated anyway. How was the club?”

“Boring.” He gripped the phone all the tighter. “Because you weren’t there.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” she giggled. “Damn, are you sure this isn’t a dream?”

“No, Laura, it isn’t. I need you. I need you now.”

I suddenly realised the meaning of the word ardour. I get bored, so I read. I’ve read every book in the world, give or take half a dozen or so, and a lot of them mention ardour, and it was written all over his face.

“Now? Really?”

“Really, Laura. I’ve not been able to think about anything else but you.”

“Rahul,” her voice was breathy, like she’d run a mile or she was seriously aroused. I guessed the latter was more likely. “I want you, too. Jeez, I can’t believe this is really happening, I swear I’ve not woken up.”

“Where are you? How easy is it for you to get to the Heights Hotel?”

“Well, Jeez, I dunno. It’s twenty minutes or so away, I guess, but I wouldn’t fancy the Tube at this time of night.”

“I’ll send a car. Give me your address.”

“Rahul, you’re crazy,” she laughed and gave him her address.

“Crazy for you, babe,” he replied. “The car will be with you soon.”

“Okay, Rahul. Bye.”

He rang the front desk, and I appeared before him.

“This is not the way an engaged man should act.”

“Johnny, not now,” he sighed as he ran into the bathroom.

“Look, I’m just trying to help you. I’m just trying to carry out the wish your father left me with. He repeated it to me on his deathbed, you know, it was his dying wish. He just wanted the best for you.”

“No, Johnny, he wanted the best for himself. Malati’s father is a businessman, always was. Dad got a lot of cuts and special deals because he agreed to the stupid arranged marriage the moment Mr Hamada’s daughter was born. It has absolutely nothing to do with what is good for me.”

“You can’t play the field forever. Damn, man, this morning you were shagging Panya in that hotel bed. Do you have no shame?”

“Laura is different,” he said and ripped off his shirt. “I don’t know what it is, I honestly don’t, but when I look into her dark eyes I just lose myself.”

“Yeah, you lose your fucking marbles. She’s British, Rahul.”

“Shut up, Johnny. You’re a damn Djinn. How the hell can you be racist? You’re not even the same species as me.”

“It’s not about race,” I snapped. “She’s not from Mumbai. She’s not like you.”

“Johnny, I know she’s white, she’s British and she’s wonderful. I don’t care that she isn’t of Indian decent. I don’t care. I love her just the way she is.”

“You love her?” I gasped, genuinely shocked. Not much shocks a Djinn, I can tell you. I can count the number of times I’ve been shocked on one hand. Did I mention I was shocked?

“Oh, go away, Johnny. Jump back in your stupid kettle. Go, that’s a command. I mean it.”

He stared at me, and I shrugged and left. I could have hung around a little longer, I could have fought the command if I had wanted to, but I had decided I’d had enough.

He loved her. I couldn’t see any reason to believe he was lying. He’d never told me he’d loved another woman. He told them he loved them—Jeez, it was like a throwaway comment with him—but this was different, it was genuine emotion.

It would only end in tears. Even if he did love her, it couldn’t work. He was a rich movie star and she worked in a cinema. She was a fan girl. I am sure he loved her adoration more than he loved her. Rahul was vain, that had to be the explanation.

I felt a pang of guilt as I thought of Panya and Malati and the revenge I had set out for them to wreak. What if it were real love, true love? Even Djinns hold a respect for love, every magical, mythical creature does. Love makes the worlds revolve and makes life bearable. It made my life bearable. But no, it couldn’t be true love. I did not believe in the stupid love at first sight crap. That only happens in fairy stories and usually involves a mixture of strong, powerful drugs blended to make a specific potion.

Rahul wasn’t in love. It was just infatuation, and it was about time Rahul grew up.

Chapter Six

Laura

So, if the film star you’d lusted over for years rang you in the early hours of the morning, what would you think? I was convinced I was dreaming. If it hadn’t been for the physical aches in my back and the bruises on my thighs, I would have believed the meeting in the projector room had been the production of my fevered fantasies, as well.

When the conversation finished, I pinched myself. It hurt, so that meant it had to be real. Then it dawned on me, probably way too slowly, that it was three-thirty a.m. and I had to make myself presentable. Presentable enough to go to one of the poshest hotels in London, meet the hottest Bollywood star and get me laid.

I groaned and dragged myself out of bed to start this miraculous feat. About twenty minutes later when the doorbell sounded, I was washed, dressed and didn’t look too much like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.

“Laura?” a gentleman dressed in black with a peaked cap enquired as I cautiously opened the door, leaving the chain attached. “Rahul Khan sent me to pick you up. He sent this with me to prove I am who I say I am.”

He dangled Rahul’s distinctive amulet through the crack between the door and frame. I grabbed it and put it around my neck. I unlatched the chain and opened the door properly.

“Thanks,” I smiled as I walked out and locked my door behind me. At the kerb there was a black limousine waiting for me. I don’t know anything about cars, but I knew it was an expensive form of transport. After the chauffer had held the door open for me, I sat in the back and stared like a wide-eyed child at the opulence of the interior. As we moved off, I forgot about my surroundings and focussed on whom I was going to see.

I wondered what it was he saw in me. I generally had a fairly low level of self-confidence, and I really couldn’t imagine what I had to attract Rahul. I wasn’t going to knock it, though. Be it a real emotion, an infatuation or even a strong love potion given to him as part of a grand and evil master plan, it meant that I, Laura Gates, got not only to touch my hero but also to fondle, lick and fuck him, too. If it never happened again after this night, it would be something to look back on with great joy and affection.

Of course, I imagined a future for me and Rahul. It would be difficult, and living in separate countries wouldn’t be fun. But I had read that a big money Bollywood film was going to be shot in London and that they were interested in securing Rahul for the lead role. There were ways we could be together, and I had always wanted to visit Mumbai. I could even live there if asked, I was sure. I felt like maybe I was getting too far ahead of myself. I couldn’t deny the chemistry between us, that had been apparent, but lust and love were two different things. I knew that and, as much as I felt my emotions leaned towards love, I was not sure his did.

I love Bollywood films, but I do not necessarily believe in love at first dance or glimpse across the Taj Mahal. Bollywood films are pure fantasy, they are tales of how love might be, how love could be and how we would all like love to be. But the reality is something completely different.