Busted in Bollywood (13 page)

“I won’t let her.” Anjali waved away my concern, her eyes assuming a battle gleam. “You’re family to me and I couldn’t be prouder. Amrita’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

“And an aunt like you.” I meant it. If it hadn’t been for Anjali we could never have pulled off this scam, though it helped having the jilted fiancé in on it, too.

“Sweet girl. Ready?”

Buddy opened the door and I took a deep breath as I stepped out, bracing for the onslaught ahead. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Anu waddled out onto the veranda and herded us inside, gushing over me while ignoring Anjali. Moo…

The same welcoming cast had assembled: Senthil beaming, Pooh wiping crumbs from her mouth, Diva studying her lacquered fingernails in boredom, Shrew assessing me before I’d said a word.

I had Anjali protecting my right and Rakesh flanking my left as we headed into the dining room, an elaborate red and gold affair that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Buckingham Palace. (I’d seen the pics.)

The moment Mama Rama had issued her invitation, Rakesh, Anjali, and I had made contingency plans to protect me. I had a feeling as the evening progressed I’d need those plans to kick in.

Over a starter of sautéed frogs’ legs in garlic and chili, Anu tried to interrogate me about my views on children. Rakesh deftly deflected with a rousing rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” his favorite nursery rhyme he planned on singing to his kids every night.

Mama Rama smiled indulgently at her only son and resumed eating.

Strike one. Take that, Anu.

Over main dishes including snake gourd (a long, thin vegetable),
aloo gobi
(spicy potatoes),
bhindi masala
(spicy okra),
saag bhaji
(spinach),
chole
(chickpeas),
parippu
(lentils),
gajar matar
(spiced peas and carrots), and enough
parathas
to feed the starving people lining Mumbai’s streets, Anu tried another attack.

“You’ll live with us once you’re married, of course.” She pronounced it as a fact while I tried not to choke on my mango
lassi
, a delicious yogurt drink that eased the fire from the chili-rich food.

Senthil frowned, his subtle head shake in Anu’s direction ignored.

“This isn’t the Nineties, mother. We’ll live in our own house, wherever we want,” Rakesh said, ignoring Anu’s apoplectic face and sending me a surreptitious wink.

Strike two
.

The meal progressed to dessert, and though I’d barely swallowed more than a mouthful of each course thanks to the fearful lump lodged in my throat, I made a big show of oohing and ahhing over the food weighing down the table:
kulfi
(pistachio and rosewater-flavored ice cream)
, barfi
(an almond halwa),
Mysore pak
(roasted gram and ghee dessert that melted on the tongue),
rasgulla
(milk curd sponge soaked in syrup), and a myriad of other delicacies.

Almost home free, one more course.

Good-bye Mumbai, hello New York.

“The wedding will be here and I’ll arrange the whole thing.” Anu slipped that one in with a fake smile tinged with venom as she shoveled another
ladoo
or ten onto my plate.

My hands fisted under the table as I tried to get a grip on my rising temper. I’d like nothing better than to tell this meddling cow to shut up but I couldn’t disgrace Amrita. Not when I’d come this far. Not when I wanted to preserve the relationship with Rakesh now I knew him and wanted Rita to as well. Besides, if by some miracle Rakesh and Rita hit it off, they’d hate me for alienating Anu before their relationship had begun.

While I took calming breaths, Anjali stepped up to the plate and took a swing. “It’s customary for the bride’s family to prepare the wedding, as I’m sure you know, Anu, being a stickler for tradition.”

I could almost see Mama Rama biting her tongue in frustration and I quickly munched the calorie-laden balls to avoid bursting out laughing.

Strike three. Anu’s out.

The rest was a cinch, coffee and farewells tame in comparison to the onslaught I’d faced over dinner. I’d done it. Pulled off the scam of the century. I hadn’t alienated anyone, a la my first goal, but I’d achieved my second: continue the fake engagement so Rakesh could meet Rita. Win-win all around. I’d survived, Rakesh would get his wish, and Rita could give him the brush-off she wanted in person. Relieved, I slipped into the old Beamer, wishing Buddy would hurry up and finish his cigarette by the front gate so we could get the hell out of here.

Rakesh stuck his head through the window, grinning like a fellow escapee from the gallows. “There’s a new bar in town and the Westerners from work are going. Want to check it out?”

My brain honed in on
work crowd
. Pity I had to act the decorous fiancée to the end.

“You listening? Or did my mother’s interrogation hypnotize you?” Rakesh waved a hand in front of my eyes and I blinked, erasing the wishful fantasy of me giving Drew a good-bye kiss he’d never forget.

“She wasn’t that bad.”

Mama Rama had nothing on my mom when I flew down to Florida to visit.
Any men on the horizon? Are you dating? Anyone special in your life? My neighbor’s son is a nice young man. He’s a doctor, you know
… Little wonder I hadn’t visited the folks in almost a year.

Rakesh grinned. “You in?”

“I’ve got packing to do.” Lousy excuse but I didn’t want to botch things on my last night, a definite possibility if I bumped into Drew.

“Drew will be there.” Rakesh’s corny wink did little to settle my churning gut.

“That’s why I’m packing.”

“Surely you owe him a good-bye after the grief you gave him?”

“I don’t owe him anything.”

“Suit yourself.” Rakesh shrugged and straightened. “Bet you’ll regret your decision all the way home. Just think, hour after hour, bored with in-flight movies, refusing the drivel they serve up as cuisine, wishing you’d done the right thing—”

“Okay, wiseass, I’ll come. Sheesh, you’re a pain in the butt. I can’t wait for Rita to plant a kick right there.”

“Amrita’s going to love me.” He’d perfected his hand-skimming-hair move just like John Travolta in
Grease.
I laughed.

“You really like movies as much as I do?”

“Ehhh… ” This time, he stuck two thumbs up like the Fonz.

“
Happy Days
was a TV show, not a movie, you dolt.”

He grinned. “I love it when you call me names.”

Chuckling at his antics, I opened the door. “Get in. Anjali should be out any second.”

“Once she’s finished making eyes at my dad, you mean.”

“What?”

He tapped my nose. “You were too nervous in there to notice anything but I reckon I caught Anjali mooning over my dad a few times.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Just an observation.”

“She’s not a fan of your mom so she probably did it to make her jealous.”

Rakesh raised an eyebrow. “Or she has a thing for him.”

“Nah…” Anjali had said she hated Anu because she’d stolen something, nothing to do with Senthil whatsoever. But once Rakesh planted the idea and it took root, I couldn’t dismiss it. An unrequited crush would certainly make sense of her vitriol towards Anu and cast her casual hellos at Film City in a new light.

“’Course she does, what with her practically drooling whenever
he looks at her and how much she hates my mom. It’s cute.”

“Crazy, more like it.” Then again, who was I to judge? Since when had I done anything sane recently?

Rakesh slid onto the front seat and turned to face me. “We all have a crush on someone. It’s healthy.”

“Unless it turns into an obsession.” I snapped my fingers, remembering the Lone Ranger episode. “By the way, this crazy cowboy, who turned out to be pretty harmless, was stalking me because he thought I was Aishwarya Rai Bachan. I got rid of him.”

Incredulous, his eyebrows shot heavenward. “He thought you were her?”

Of all possible responses I’d imagined coming from him, that hadn’t been one of them. No “are you okay?” or “you were being stalked?” or “how did you get rid of him?”

Uh-uh. His incredulity was that a guy could mistake me for India’s former Miss Universe.

“Your concern overwhelms me,” I said, shaking my head in disgust, enjoying the soft tinkle of drop gold earrings, a present to myself from yesterday’s shopping trip for surviving this fiasco.

One of many presents, including embroidered peasant tops, sequined shoes, the softest buttery leather jacket, and an assortment of silk scarves that would jazz up old outfits. Maybe I’d gone overboard, with my money fast running out, but I wanted tangible reminders of this place, items I could wrap up in and feel as good as I had in mystical Mumbai the last few weeks.

“You look fine to me.” Rakesh blew me a kiss. “Besides, the stalker has great taste in women, going after you and Aishwarya.”

My mock frown failed when the corners of my mouth curved. “Too late for flattery. You should’ve shown your concern the moment I told you.”

He grinned. “You’re here, you said he was harmless. And let’s face it, what you put up with in there from my mother had to be ten times scarier than surviving an encounter with a second-rate stalker.”

Good point.

“You owe me.”

To my surprise, his smile waned. “Listen, you’re a good friend to do this for Amrita. Not many people would’ve come here, not knowing what to expect and put up with me and my family. And you had Drew on your case as well. I think you’re pretty special, Shari Jones.”

His genuine warmth reached out and wrapped me in a soft embrace. There could’ve been worse things than having Rakesh Rama as an ally in this farce.

“And don’t you forget it.”

Anjali’s arrival at the car ended our bonding moment. With Rakesh’s supposition about her crush on Senthil, I was dying to interrogate her but couldn’t, considering our audience. Ten minutes later she said good night as Buddy deposited us at the nearby bar.

Pondering Anjali’s love life distracted me for a few seconds until I followed Rakesh into the dimly lit bar, which wouldn’t have looked out of place in New York, and I saw the one man I’d hoped/feared would be there.

His assessing stare homed in on me and I froze. My breathing didn’t kick in again until Rakesh placed a hand on the small of my back and propelled me forward.

“I know having the crowd act as chaperones is a pain in the ass for you and Drew, but you’ll have him all to yourself in New York soon.” Rakesh broke the spell. “Be good.”

He pecked my cheek like an attentive fiancé and pushed me in Drew’s direction.

“Hey,” I said, aiming for nonchalance as I struggled not to reach out and see if Drew felt as good as he looked. A navy V-neck tee accentuated his tan and brought out the vivid blue of his eyes, while dark Calvin Klein denim made a mockery of every male model that had ever worn them.

“Glad you made it.” He gestured to the empty seat beside him. “Would you like a drink?”

Hell yeah. However, I swallowed before I dribbled and shook my head, trying not to stare at the array of alcohol lining the top shelf behind the chrome bar.

“A Perrier would be nice.”

He followed my wistful gaze. “Bet it’s a pain Amrita’s Hindu.”

I nodded. “I’d kill for a mojito.”

Considering his potent stare, I’d rather get intoxicated on him. “Rain check? When I get to New York, we meet up for a drink and I’ll buy you that mojito?”

“Is that your subtle way of asking me on a date?”

His lips curved into a sexy smile. “If you want to call it that.”

Something inexplicable gripped my heart.
Other side of the world. Unavailable guy. Hello?
Surely I’d learned from my mistake with Tate.

Unable to resist, I leaned closer. “What would you call it?”

“Two people meeting over a drink, starting off on the right foot this time.”

I tapped my bottom lip, pretending to ponder. “Sounds interesting.”

It sounded better than interesting; it sounded fan-freaking-tastic.

He chuckled at my poor attempt at reticence. “I take it that’s a yes.”

I wanted to say no. I should have said no. I nodded instead. “You’re switched on, Bollywood Boy. I like that.”

“Turned on, more like it,” he said, his low voice rippling over me like a caress before he headed for the bar, leaving me stunned and yearning and hopeful.

Stunned by his irresistibility when he turned on the charm.

Yearning for what I couldn’t have.

Hopeful I wouldn’t read more into this than what it was. A harmless flirtation between two people a world apart.

…

Rakesh walked me to the front door, although I wished it’d been Drew, who I’d fare-welled at the bar with a far-too-chaste handshake. Our date in NYC couldn’t come quickly enough.