A Date With A Bollywood Star

‘This clumsy girl’s smashed Sahib’s treasured picture, poking her nose into his things. That’s reporters for you,’ she said in a gleeful tone.

Rani looked at George for support.

‘It really wasn’t like that. It caught my eye, that’s true, and I was wondering who the photograph was of. Then I was startled and it slipped from my hand. I’ll repair it or replace it, of course,’ she insisted.

‘Come on, I’ll give you a hand tidying up and then we’d better get you out of here before you do any more damage,’ George said, smiling kindly at Rani. She was pleased to be believed and her relief showed across her face.

‘They’re about to start the day’s filming, miss, so I’ll find you somewhere you can sit without getting in the way,’ George said.

The manager made a very loud sulky sound so she was sure they had heard her and stormed out of the trailer.

‘Watch her, miss, she’s a right one. I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her, and I don’t think that’s very far, judging by the size of her! ‘

Rani began to laugh but felt unsure if she should.

‘Oh, don’t you worry, she knows how I feel about her, but you’d do well not to let on too much. She’s a dragon. Thinks it’s her job to stop attractive women like you getting too close to Mr Khan, if you don’t mind me saying how attractive you are,’ George added. He began to blush.

Rani smiled.

‘Not at all, George. That’s very kind of you. It’s nice to be appreciated and thank you for the warning about her,’ Rani said, standing up with the pieces of the frame and the old photograph in her hand. ‘Who is it?’ she asked.

‘It’s his mother,’ George said. ‘Come on, I’ll show you to your seat.’ And with that he opened the door to the trailer and helped Rani down the few steps.

The set was busy and noisy. From where Rani was sitting it looked like a headless chicken convention. There were people rushing in all directions and saying all sorts of things but not much seemed to be actually happening. Suddenly the noise stopped and the set fell totally silent. Omar walked in, his head bowed, listening to the man walking with him. They both stopped, smiled at each other and then the man walked away, leaving Omar standing alone at the bottom of a wide staircase.

‘Lights, camera, action,’ the other man bellowed. He’s obviously the director, thought Rani as she stared at the scene. A pretty girl wearing a sari ran onto the set and rushed past Omar. She was in floods of tears. He held out a hand to grab her by the arm as she tried to climb the stairs, pulling her back towards him. The girl struggled for a moment and then melted into his arms as he pulled her to his chest. Their lips were just about to meet when the director yelled.

‘Cut!’

Rani felt her heart rise as she saw the girl about to kiss the screen legend and she felt it fall as she realised their lips were not actually going to touch. There was a round of applause from the cast and crew who were watching the filming.

‘We’ll print that,’ shouted the director. ‘Set up for the next scene, make-up, do something about her hair!’ he screamed at no one in particular. George came back to stand behind Rani’s chair.

‘And that’s how it goes, all day long! Mr Khan stands about looking handsome, the girls faint into his arms and then they have a song and a dance.’

Rani began to laugh. ‘You really know your Bollywood movies, don’t you, George?’ she said.

‘Well, they do seem a bit formulaic, if you don’t mind me saying, miss.’

‘That’s the way we like them.’ It was Omar Khan. He’d made his way behind the camera and had crept up on them both without them noticing. Both George and Rani were startled.

‘No offence, sir,’ said George apologetically. ‘I didn’t mean your films,’ he stuttered as he tried to climb out of the hole he’d dug for himself.

‘Mine are the worst offenders, George, you know that!’ Omar laughed and patted the burly minder across the back. George looked relieved.

‘Do you really think that, Mr Khan?’ Rani asked.

‘I thought I told you to call me Omar,’ he said, crouching down so he was level with Rani.

‘Close your eyes,’ he ordered.

Rani was a little nervous and unsure if she should do as he commanded.

‘Go on, close your eyes. It won’t hurt, I promise,’ he urged again with a smile that showed all of his trademark teeth and his penetrating eyes. Rather sheepishly Rani closed her eyes, scrunching them up tight in anticipation of what was going to happen. Perhaps he’s going to kiss me, she thought. She felt the pounding of her heart again. And then the shock of something burning her ankle. She opened her eyes immediately and looked down.

‘For you,’ Omar said. ‘They should help reduce the swelling.’ Rani looked down to where her leg was supported by a small table and saw a bag of frozen peas sitting across her ankle.

‘Peas!’ she exclaimed with disappointment.

‘Just so, peas—I said they’d help,’ Omar said. ‘I have to go now. George will take you back to town.’ He turned to walk back to the set. ‘I look forward to reading your interview, Miss de Silver,’ he continued, and before Rani could think of a suitable reply he was gone.

‘Peas,’ she muttered in disgust. ‘Peas, he gives me a bag of matar.’ Rani turned to George. ‘Can you take me home now, please? I think I’d like to go.’

Without saying anything George helped Rani up and carried her all the way back to the limousine. The journey back to London was a quiet one. Rani was in a contemplative mood. Since she was a teenager she had looked up to the man in the posters, the handsome hero in the films and had imagined herself falling in love with him. Now she’d actually met him and it was true his eyes were a stunning colour and his body was powerfully built and oozed sex appeal. But there was something nagging at her. She’d wanted him to sweep her off her feet and instead he’d joked about her twisted ankle with all the sophistication of the school show-off. He’d made fun of her in front of other people. Peas, for God’s sake—who was he trying to impress? Worse still, Rani felt stupid about her own feelings and told herself that she must stop daydreaming.

‘George, what do you know about his mother?’ She was thinking back to the photograph and the frame she’d broken.

‘Nothing, miss.’ George was happy to talk; he didn’t like the silence.

‘Have you ever met her?’

‘No, miss. I’m not even sure she’s still alive, to tell you the truth. He’s, Mr Khan’s, never mentioned her. I just know he likes ‘aving her picture around the place.’

‘You really know how to cheer a girl up, don’t you?’

‘Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t you worry, I’ve got it here,’ he said, tapping a small bag on the passenger seat next to him, ‘and I’ll have her fixed before he even knows she’s missing, so don’t give it another thought.’

But she did. His mother had dark eyes in the photo, so Omar’s beautiful green eyes must come from his father, Rani thought. Probably a Kashmiri. Not the sort of boy her mother would ever have let her play with when she’d been growing up! She was British-born, second generation, and her parents had taken advantage of every opportunity for her that they could. They had made sure she had a good education with ballet lessons and pony club and ski trips in the winter. Above everything else they had brought their only daughter up to know her own value and to know just what they expected from her. Dropping out of medical school was a shock her father was still getting over. He was in private practice himself and had naturally expected his daughter to follow him. After much persuasion by his wife he’d let her switch courses and had continued to fund her education, but it had tested their relationship and Rani knew it. I’m a snob, she thought to herself wryly. No wonder I can’t get a man—they’re just not good enough!

She looked out of the car window at the familiar landmarks; it was late afternoon, no point in going to the office.

‘Would it be too much to ask for you to drop me off at my apartment, George?’

‘No problem at all, miss. You just say where you want to go, George will do the rest.’

And he was true to his word. He drove Rani home and helped her into the flat. He was just leaving when Rani fired a shot straight at him that caught him off balance.

‘George, I’m guessing Omar is a bit of a playboy—isn’t he?’

George almost choked and his face began to fill up with blood as he struggled for an answer.

‘He’s had girlfriends, Miss Rani. A man does, doesn’t he? You know—well, he would, wouldn’t he? I mean—’

‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you, George.’ Rani let him off the hook by interrupting. ‘I’m just curious. After all, he seems to enjoy being the centre of attention, the big star, doesn’t he?’

‘I’m really the wrong person to ask, miss.’

Rani realised she had gone too far and stepped back.

‘I know I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, George. It puts you in an indelicate position, I suppose.’

‘Not really that, miss. Just that I’ve been married almost thirty years, me and the missus, so I’m not the right sort to judge. Will that be all?’

‘Just one other thing—what was all that nonsense in the car? You know, when I mentioned his dad and the book.’ Rani smiled, hoping that would win her another constructive insight into Omar’s world. ‘It was like I’d just told him his granny was dead!’

George choked and tears began to run down his face. It grew red and hot and for a moment Rani thought she’d killed him.

‘Are you OK? Can I get you some water?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ George struggled to speak. ‘Just a little shocked, that’s all.’

‘Sorry, George. Have I put my foot in it again?’

‘No, no, no, it’s quite all right, honestly.’ His composure returned and George was able to continue. ‘It’s just that he can’t stand his dad, hasn’t seen him for years and now the book thing, well, it promises to be a stitch-up. You know the sort of thing—made-up stories and quotes to make Mr Khan look bad and paint his dad in a good light. You know, “my son the millionaire and I’m living in squalor,” sort of thing.’

‘Only too well. Interesting, George, thanks for that, and thank you for looking after me. You’re a lovely man. Your wife is a very lucky lady.’

Rani gave him a peck on the cheek as he left and George began to get embarrassed again. How do people stay married for so long? she thought to herself with admiration as she watched George close the door.

Rani ran a bath, pouring in almost a bottle of bubble bath, put some bread into the toaster and filled the kettle. She needed to relax and she didn’t know of a better way than having tea and toast sitting in the bath. While she waited for it to fill, she played her phone messages. There was one from her best friend, Sunita, another from her mother and several from the office. The last was from her editor, Tony, saying that she’d obviously fallen off the face of the planet because he’d been trying her mobile all day. Rani looked at the broken pieces of her phone and smiled; it had been rather nice to be out of touch. The message continued that because he hadn’t heard from her, he was assuming everything had gone OK and could she send him the copy as soon as possible. She had an interview to write up but it could wait until she’d had a bath and some tea.

The water felt soothing as she slipped into the deep warm bath; the bubbles multiplied and slid over the side and tickled her nose. What a day! Rani wanted time to put her thoughts in order and this was just the place to do it. She closed her eyes and began to write her interview in her mind.

I have won the lottery, all my Christmases and birthdays are here at once, Vishnu is truly smiling down upon me. I’m finally face to face with the handsome vision of my dreams. And how does this reality manifest itself? With me lying flat on the pavement in a red party dress, a twisted ankle, staring up into his beautiful sparkling green eyes as the contents of my handbag roll into the gutter!

She was pleased with the start and felt so much better for the heat that was caressing her body.

Omar Khan stepped off the screen and out of my dreams; his hand outstretched, helping me to my feet. My hero! True to life but could the heart-throb keep up this kind of performance?

Rani felt the interview was really going to come together rather well, but she’d need her tape recorder and notes for a punchy quote. That would mean leaving the womblike sanctuary of the tub, which didn’t please her. She slipped back beneath the bubbles, trying to put off the inevitable. But the phone rang again and she popped her head back up to listen to the message. It was the office yet again. A story had been pulled by the lawyers and they needed her interview with Omar Khan that evening for the Saturday edition. She had an hour to file the copy. Now she had no choice; she would have to get out of the bath.

There was something very satisfying about writing to a deadline. When it was reached there was nothing more to be done. Rani made another cup of tea and powered up her Mac. She began flipping through her shorthand notebook and rewound the tape recording she’d made. As the tea slipped down her throat she began to type. Her words flowed with the same satisfying warmth as the tea.

For twenty years Omar Khan has dominated our movies and our hearts. Still only thirty-eight, he is already one of the greatest of the Bollywood greats, mobbed by adoring fans wherever he goes, but still humble enough to carry an old battered photograph of his mother around with him.

For the next hour Rani pounded away on the keyboard of her computer, occasionally stopping to turn a page in her notebook or to take a sip of tea.

‘Yuk!’ she exclaimed as she took a cold mouthful from the mug and spat it back in shock. She paused to reread what she had written and her hand went to her mouth as she bit her lip.

‘My God, this looks like I fancy him,’ she said out loud as her eyes darted along the lines of her story. She frantically created a new file and began rewriting it. She was conscious of the time now and knew that at any moment her office would call demanding she file the story. Her fingers furiously darted across the keys, making sure that this time it didn’t sound as if she had fallen in love with him! When she felt happy she wrote a quick email and attached the document; it flew from her fingers and away to the office.

Rani slumped back in her chair and put her hands to her face. She felt hot; her cheeks were burning. What was that? The anxiety of having to meet the deadline? No, she’d been up against those many times before. Perhaps it was meeting a megastar that she’d had a girlish crush on? Perhaps. Or was it what she had originally written about him? She clicked on her documents file and pulled out the first draft and began rereading it. The burning in her cheeks grew as she went over the words again. Rani could feel the heat move to her chest. She pulled her dressing gown apart and saw the tell-tale red flush across her breasts and quickly closed it, embarrassed by her own intense feelings. She got up from the computer and walked around the apartment in an effort to cool down.

‘Thank God I changed it,’ she said to the empty flat. ‘I need more tea,’ and then, ‘Why am I talking to myself?’ she continued as she paced to and fro around the boiling kettle. Clearly the legendary film star had got to her in a way she didn’t think either of them had thought possible. The ringing of the phone stopped Rani contemplating her emotions any further. This time she managed to answer it.

‘Great stuff with Omar Khan, Rani!’ It was Tony. ‘Really good quotes and a very nice turn of phrase. I’ve just finished looking at it and it’s off to lay-up now so we’ll get it in for tomorrow.’

‘Thanks, Tony, it was quite a day,’ Rani replied cautiously.

‘Sounds like it! Really, it’s great work, you’ve obviously thrown yourself into it and I loved the bit about the broken mobile.’ He began to chuckle. ‘But do me a favour, please, Rani—get yourself a back-up phone next time. Getting hold of you was like raising the dead! Any way I’ve gotta go, thanks again, you’ve got us out of a jam. Have a good weekend.’ And he was gone as quickly as he’d begun his call.

Rani was a little taken aback. She’d never had so much praise from her boss before. She went back to her tea making and then headed to bed. She was worn out, physically and emotionally; it really had been quite a day.

It was the singing that finally woke Rani the following morning. She thought she’d been dreaming it but it wouldn’t go away and eventually, begrudgingly, she got out of bed to see who it was.

‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ she said as she trudged towards the door, her ankle still giving her some pain, although it was much better today—probably due to those peas, she thought with a wry smile. She could hear voices on the other side. It was her best friends Sunita and Shilpa and they were singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to her.

‘Come on, let us in, birthday girl,’ said Sunita.

‘Yes, hurry up, Rani!’ added Shilpa.

‘What is it? Has Armani launched a range of designer kameez?’ Rani retorted as she opened the door. Her two friends were grinning like Cheshire cats.

‘Happy birthday, Rani. What have you got to say for yourself, young lady?’ Sunita questioned. She was waving a copy of the morning’s London Review. Shilpa was clutching a bag of presents. Rani looked and felt bemused.

‘What are you on about?’ she asked with genuine concern. Shilpa and Sunita looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders and then looked back at Rani.

‘You, you minx! Gushing all over Omar Khan. I’m surprised you didn’t ask him to marry you!’ said Shilpa. The penny dropped and Rani finally understood what they were going on about.

‘My interview, I see, very funny, ha, ha,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’ The girls looked at each other again and Sunita began to quote from the paper she held.

‘“I was weak with excitement as he touched my hand, this handsome hunk of a man, this demigod, and here was I breathing the air that he had exhaled.”’

‘Need I go on?’ asked Sunita.

‘Oh, my God, they’ve printed the wrong version!’ Rani exclaimed. She went bright red and her heart raced and her fingers went into her mouth. She turned from her friends and ran back into her flat to her computer. Frantically she began searching through her sent emails and then let out a little gasp in shock. She’d attached the original draft, not her rewritten one!

‘Rani, Rani, what is it, didi?’ Sunita said as she followed her friend into the living room.

Sunita put a comforting arm around her friend’s shoulders.

‘There, there, it will be OK,’ she said, not knowing what else to say.

‘She doesn’t remember what she’s written—that’s an age thing, that is. Don’t worry. We’ve all known you’ve fancied him for years and now you’ve told him—a bold move, I must say!’ exclaimed Shilpa as she stood at the doorway. Sunita waved her hand, shooing her away.

‘You don’t understand,’ Rani cried in a muffled voice.

‘Don’t understand what? That you fancy a Bollywood hunk? What’s not to understand? You go for it!’ Shilpa said, she couldn’t help herself, but, realising she’d overstepped the mark, she backed away. Sunita put her head next to Rani’s.

‘What won’t we understand?’ she said in a caring voice. Rani continued to sob.

‘Shilpa’s right, I’ve fancied him for years and look what happens when I meet him. I twist my ankle and gush like a stupid girl!’ She paused, turning her head to her friend. The crying had made her eyes red and the tears were still flowing down her cheeks.

‘It may sound really stupid,’ she continued in a stuttering voice, ‘it sounds stupid to me as I’m saying it, but I felt a connection between us.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Like, like when I met David.’

That was a name none of them had spoken for several years and it was enough to stop the clocks from ticking.

‘Tea, anyone?’ Shilpa put her head round the door from the kitchen and peered in. Sorry, she mouthed at Rani. Rani nodded her acceptance of the apology and took the tea.

‘That’s a great idea,’ said Sunita, trying to lighten the mood a little more, ‘and then you can tell us all about it. You’ve started now so you have to!’

They sat on the sofas in the living room, each nursing a mug of tea, and Rani began recounting the events of the previous twenty-four hours. Sunita and Shilpa weren’t bystanders and kept interrupting her.

‘When he picked you up from the pavement, how did it feel?’ asked Shilpa, her eyes wide with excitement.

‘Like I’d been plugged into an electric socket! I felt completely weak all over my body, like I was going to pass out or something.’

‘Tell us about his eyes,’ questioned Sunita.

‘Oh, yes, yes, Rani, what were his eyes like? Are they really as deep and green as they seem on the screen?’ Shilpa added her request, anxious to know every little detail. Rani nodded.

‘Greener and more stunning than you can imagine. I thought I would drown in them. They were as crystal clear, as rich as the finest Sri Lankan emeralds.’ Rani began to lay it on for the benefit of her friends. But inside she was reliving the moments as she retold the story and as she spoke she felt warm from the inside of her body to the surface of her skin.

‘He was everything you would want him to be,’ she added, but stopped, unsure of what she was going to say next.

‘But,’ said Sunita. ‘You were going to say something more and there was a “but,” wasn’t there?’

‘Oh, you know me too well,’ Rani said, picking up a cushion and throwing it at Sunita.

‘So go on, then, don’t leave us in suspense—what is it?’ asked Shilpa as she shifted in her seat. Rani sighed before continuing.

‘As I sat watching them film a scene of the movie he came up to me and asked me to close my eyes. He said he had a surprise for me.’

‘I bet he did!’ exclaimed Shilpa and began to giggle. Sunita threw a cushion at her.

‘Well, I didn’t know what to expect and I was nervous. I thought perhaps he was going to kiss me. But instead he put a bag of frozen peas on my ankle!’

‘How disappointing!’ Shilpa said, biting her lip.

‘You see, there was …’ she hesitated ‘… there is something about him, I’m sure there is, and I know I don’t know him but I feel like I do so I wrote it down …’ Rani suddenly groaned out loud and clutched her head with her hands. ‘What if he reads it? Oh, my God, I’ll just die!’ she said as her voice reached a level of panic the others had never witnessed. She grabbed a cushion and buried her face in it.

‘So what if he reads it?’ Sunita said supportively. ‘You’re a journalist—journalists make stuff up all the time to sell papers, don’t they? So, then, where’s the harm? He’s just another interview you’ve done, that’s all.’

‘But what will your mum think?’ asked Shilpa pointedly. ‘I mean, he’s not exactly take-home-and-meet-the-parents material, is he? Well, not your mum and dad anyway! I mean, he’s a flashy actor, not a respectable doctor, isn’t he?’

Rani rolled her eyes but Shilpa continued, ‘He’s not even a lawyer! He’s a song and dance man, and you know your father really wouldn’t approve, especially if he’d read any of the newspaper cuttings. His only daughter mixed up with an international playboy!’

‘Aaahh,’ screamed Rani in sheer frustration. ‘I’ll die of shame! I’ll move house, I’ll move city, I’ll move country!’ she yelled. The phone rang. It was the duty editor from her office. Rani let the answer phone cut in.

‘Rani? It’s Edward Evans here, just thought you’d like to know we’ve had a tremendous response to your interview with Omar Khan. Never seen anything like it: the punters love it; the website has crashed; we’ve had so many people trying to leave messages. They’re calling you an Asian Bridget Jones. Great stuff. And I’m sure Tony will be in touch—he’s as bowled over as the rest of us.’