Hot Stuff (11 page)
Authors: Flo Fitzpatrick
He winked. “Me? A hooligan? Never. I tell you what. I'll be happy to toss in a Gaelic word or two from time to time throughout the years just to give you sweet memories of how we met.”
That statement, as had several he'd made earlier, implied a future between the two of us. A possibility that eluded me right now with the way things stood with the craziness about Shiva's Diva. Romance seemed difficult to sustain while one tried to avoid all the bad guys and get the statue delivered into safe hands.
I rose, then took the empty tray through five rooms to deposit it in Jake's kitchen. And discovered Jake himself at the end of this trek.
“Jake? I thought you were at the lot dealing with carpenters and sound men for tomorrow's shoot.”
A morose Jake sat on a stool behind a bar counter.
“I was. For once, everything went smoothly. Too smoothly. No yelling, fighting, bruised hands, bruised feelings, or broken bones. I came home.”
“So why do you look like Vivek Studios just burned down?”
He lifted his cup and stared at it. “Asha.”
“This is why you're sitting here drinking hot water?”
“Beg pardon?”
I pointed to the empty tea holder and the clear liquid in his cup. “No tea, Jake.”
He grabbed a canister and filled the strainer. “I cannot believe that woman has me so distracted I don't know my own name.”
“Loser.”
We turned. Brig had entered the kitchen, announcing his presence with that one word.
Jake snorted. “Loser? Is that what I am, or my name?”
“Both.”
“Well, thank you, my friend. Loser. Just what I needed to hear.”
Brig winked at me, then slapped Jake on the shoulder. “Jake, me boy-o, listen to me. You're letting the lady grab you by the, uh, nose and lead you to the end of a plank. Where you appear to be prepared to jump. Be a man, man! Stand up to the lass.”
Jake sighed. “I would if I had any idea as to why my sweet intended has suddenly decided to perform the first two acts of
Taming of the Shrew
. I'm not sure there'll be a third.”
Taming of the Shrew
. I'm not sure there'll be a third.”
He aimed his appeal at me. “Tempe? You were with her all afternoon. Did she say anything about me?”
I hated to disappoint the lovesick director, but I had to be truthful. “Honestly? We talked about Jersey and New York and clothes and my adventures in Bombay. Sorry. Maybe when things are calmer, she'll feel like confiding.”
I snickered. “What am I saying? Calmer? When will that be? Sometime between Mahindra chasing me into the harbor, Patel throwing me out of a speeding train, or Ray shooting me in the back while I'm trying to do high kicks and turns in the middle of
Carnival of Lust?”
Carnival of Lust?”
Jake looked at Brig with concern. “Is she all right? Tempe, when did you last eat something real? Or sleep?”
I shook my head. “I'm all right. I won't break down. At least not today. I make no promises for tomorrow.” I smiled at Jake. “And that's only after the shoot. No hysterical ranting or sobs while filming. Which reminds me. When do I learn these dances I'm in?”
Jake looked surprised. “Tomorrow. I have already choreographed them. I teach them on the set. Then we film the numbers. Much more efficient than days of rehearsal.”
“Uh. Okay.”
“You'll do a good job, Tempe. These are easy steps, especially for someone as graceful as you. And you took dance in college. You'll think you're in beginners class.”
Brig poured water over the now-full tea strainer in Jake's cup and handed it to him. Then he winked at me.
“Just be prepared to do a few flips and handsprings as well as those high kicks.”
“And that would be . . . why?”
Brig lifted his eyes to the ceiling to avoid meeting my gaze. Jake stirred his tea and answered, “Because Mr. O'Brien spent an hour regaling me with the tale of Tempe Walsh vaulting over bars and springing off tables. This is the first time I've had a real female gymnast in one of my films. I plan to make as much use of your talents as I can.”
“Ah. Got it. Fine. I'll agree to any and all tricks as long as Briggan O'Brien matches meâtrick for trick.”
Brig walked back into the hall adjoining the kitchen. He casually placed both hands on the floor, then assumed the position of a handstand. He then balanced, first using only the left hand as support, then the right. He rolled out into a somersault, finishing on his back. He next executed a perfect kip where the “kipper” jumps to his feet from a flat position without use of his hands to aid him. Gene Kelly did more than one in
The Three Musketeers
.
The Three Musketeers
.
I hated to admit it, but Brig's was even better.
Chapter 13
I scanned the lot looking for an expected cast of thousands for the dance sequences in Jake's movie. Or at least hundreds. The Indian videos I'd seen on cable back in Manhattan always seem to have a swarm of dancers wriggling down steps in front of fountains or temples. First the men hop in circles. Then the women swirl and bump and flip wrists and ankles. Then the leads end up superimposed over each group in the final editing of the film while a voice-over track provides the singing.
Today, on a set made up to look like a giant cave, I counted only forty dancers. Twenty guys. Twenty girls. Thankfully, I didn't have to deal with a mob, yet there were enough people to hide behind.
Tempe Walsh, the redheaded native New Yorker, trying to blend into the chorus of a group of dark-haired female dancers, none of whom appeared to be taller than four foot six in a temple set somewhere in a carnival. The mind boggles.
“Yo! Tempe. How's tricks, girl?”
Asha Kumar came striding toward me with a most unstarletlike gait and a large grin over her pixie features. She was dressed in costume today. A sparse one. Her halter top barely covered essentials and the harem pants consisted of swatches with silk on top of them. Perhaps costumes like this were the reason all the men in Bombay were enthralled with this diminutive actress who showed a feisty attitude and superior figure.
“Asha! You should have stayed with Brig and me after our little run-in with Ray. I got to do a spectacular jeté onto the filthiest train in the filthiest rail station I've seen since they started the renovations on the subway at 168
th
street. I also met the Ice Princess of Bombay, but that's another story.”
th
street. I also met the Ice Princess of Bombay, but that's another story.”
She hugged me, then stepped back.
“I always hated that street station. I'd walk half a mile to avoid using that ghastly exit. That horrible elevator never had less than fifteen too many people on it, and the stupid fan in there never worked. And there was no other way to get to the street because the damn stairs were always locked. When did they do them? The renovations.”
“Over a year ago. Jeez. When were you last in Manhattan?”
Her face fell. “Don't ask. Let's just say the ball has dropped in Times Square a few New Year's Eves. Hey. Change topic. You look great in the costume. Isn't Reena a wonder?”
Reena must be the designer and seamstress who'd thrown together an outfit overnight for the new American dancer. She deserved the Edith Head award for fast sewing and the Richard Blackstone for most tasteless.
She'd decked me out in a two-piece creation somewhat like a bathing suit. Made out of gold satin, it moved when the wearer moved while still clinging to the body. A small tassel swung from the center of the bra top. A longer tassel fell from the waistband. In actuality, the tassel swung from a hip, not a waist, band if one were to get literal about tassels. My waist was quite bare. But at least, unlike my costume at C.C. Curry's, my feet were not. Go-go boots that must have come from a vintage boutique hugged my size sevens and added another two inches to my height.
Asha removed a thread from the strap of the bra. “By the way, Miss Walsh. I thought you were supposed to bunk with me last night. Where did you stay? Before I forget, I have your duffel bag. You left it in the car. So, didja stay with Brig? You guys get it together?”
I sighed. “Brig and Jake decided I'd be safer if I didn't try and get to your place. So I stayed at Jake's. Alone. In the maid's quarters. Not bad, really, although a definite odor of musk clung to the sheets and I had to borrow her nightie, which about hit my stomach and also reeked of musk. I didn't care. Exhaustion hit about two seconds after I saw the bed.”
Asha snickered. “I know that room and that maid. Let's just say she has a few issues about her looks, so she overcompensates with scent. I sneeze for hours when I'm at Jake's.”
This could be the perfect time to ask about Jake and the soured romance. Before I could frame a polite inquiry, we were joined by my soon-to-be dancing partner, Briggan O'Brien.
“Asha. You look fresh and raring to go. Did you enjoy playing the mad maid yesterday? Damn, but you've got some pipes on you. You could earn a good living keening at the wakes across Ireland.”
Asha and I surveyed Brig like construction workers ogling the secretaries walking across a site in their spike heels. My pulse reached a max aerobic rate. Asha still had use of her voice, which was good since my vocal chords seemed to be taking a break.
“Yo, Brig. You look, um, interesting. That outfit really brings out the true you.”
Brig was dressed in black. All black. Tight black pants, black blouse, black duster down to his knees. Black boots up to his knees. He looked every bit the pirate he was doubtless descended from.
He preened. “Like it? I think my presence in the ranks of the dancers caused a bit of consternation with the costume lady. All these lads under five-seven and here comes the giant. She actually screamed when she saw me. Scared the living fool out of me. I'm only sorry Tempe wasn't there to translate. I have no idea what language the lady used, but I do know it was colorful.”
He bowed. “Miss Walsh. I didn't see you this morning at breakfast at Jake's. Missed you, luv. Where'd you go?”
“I had a fitting with that same costumer who spouted the same language at me. I think it was the color of my hair she really objected to. She also wasn't crazy about my height. And if it makes you feel better, I didn't understand a word either. Probably one of the other seventy-five languages of India I didn't study before being crazy enough to get on that plane with Ray.”
I wriggled my shoulders and grinned. “If I had to guess? I think Reena cursed both Brig and me with far worse than Shiva's Diva herself ever imagined. I'm sure there was something in her tirade about enjoying seeing my hair fall out and feet fall off. Oh yeah. That I'd end up with a nervous twitch twenty-four-seven.”
Brig had a light in his eye. “Too subtle for Reena. She was probably praying to Kali, who is not known as a nice god, that our blood would soon cover the tents of the tiger and the elephant. Or that Ravana, the demon god, will send us flying into Chowpatty Beach just as the elephants are tossed in during the Ganesh parade.”
He grinned. “Not real elephants, you know. Just big replicas. Let's see. Maybe our ears would grow like the elephants and cover our toes. Maybe . . .”
Before he could hypothesize another outrageous curse, I heard my name called along with Brig's and Asha's.
Jake stood on a chair about forty feet away. He was yelling through a cone-shaped old-fashioned megaphone that hid his lips.
We were in trouble. This became clear when his next words were, “Miss Kumar. Miss Walsh. Mr. O'Brien. I'm so glad you've chosen this moment for a reunion, but some of us are ready to work. If you would deign to favor the rest of the cast with your presence, perhaps we can start filming only forty minutes late.”
He'd morphed into Jake Roshan, director. Not Jake Roshan, drinker of hot water and lovesick swain. Asha, Brig, and I immediately galloped over to join the other dancers and the male lead, Raj Ravi. Cast members ignored Jake's plea for timeliness and continued milling about, gabbing and chugging down coffee or tea from plastic cups.
Brig and I spent the next thirty minutes fielding questions from the excited group of dancers as to why two foreigners had been so gracious as to join their ranks in this film. They wanted to know where we were staying. They wanted to know where we were from. They wanted to know what other movies we'd been in back in the States.
But mostly, they wanted us to say yes when they asked, “Isn't Asha Kumar simply the most charming, beautiful actress ever to grace the Indian cinema? Have you seen
Pirate Princess
? Where Asha is with Spot the tiger?”
Pirate Princess
? Where Asha is with Spot the tiger?”
There are serious problems in Bombay. They range from pollution, to Mafia-style crime, to extreme poverty accompanied by a frighteningly large percentage of homeless who beg in the streets. Muggers can outnumber the tourists. But the Indian people? Hospitality, warmth, and friendliness flow in abundance. And the dancers in
Carnival of Lust
tripled those last three qualities.
Carnival of Lust
tripled those last three qualities.
The female dancers wanted to know if Brig and I were an item. How they came by that notion I have no idea. The fact that I seemed to find it difficult to keep my eyes off the Irish bandit this day just couldn't have anything to do with their suppositions.
Brig winked at me when one of the young male dancers loudly asked if we were shacking up together. He didn't quite state it that way, but the intent of “You share space, yes?” seemed clear.
I couldn't hear Brig's answer. Just as well. Doubtless it was outrageous and filled with charming tales of his seduction of the tall American who'd fallen into his arms two days ago. We'd now made it to day three. No telling how far this relationship would progress by nightfall, at least in the eyes of the chorus.
Jake grew impatient with the chatter coming from his cast. “Enough! We're already behind schedule. Tempe, Brig, Asha, Raj. Front and center, please.”
Front and center? That worried me. My understanding had been that Brig and I were supposed to blend with the masses, preferably in the back row where the tall folks get stuck.
Jake smiled at me. “Tempe. You and Brig will be doing a dance directly behind Asha and Raj while they sing. Tempe? Midway through this number, you will do an aerial flip off that low wall and then a series of leaps across the area in front of the Ferris wheel.”
In keeping with the title of this flick, the setting included carnival tents. There was also a sacred temple, stuck behind the Tilt-a-Whirl for no reason I could think of. Ferris wheels, roller coasters, and carousels dotted the landscape of the lot. Huts lined with enormous stuffed animals and actors in carny workmen garb and top hats filled a lot about two hundred yards wide and long. Another lot held empty animal cages that would be filled with real lions and tigers and bears and the like in the coming days.
I gathered that my activities would consist of leaping and hopping and turning and darting between the various rides andâoh dearâthe snakes and elephants and tigers and llamas that suddenly began arriving on the set and heading toward those cages. Well, the snakes and the tigers were headed that direction.
Asha shrieked, “Spot! It's Spot!” and headed toward the tiger cage, eager to greet and bond again with the tiger who'd shared the duet with her in
Pirate Princess
.
Pirate Princess
.
I watched the elephant ramble into a large cage. When it turned, I noticed a little cap on its head that read “Binky.” Cute. The llama had ended up in a little open-air pen. She glanced at the cast of dancers she'd joined, then started chewing what little grass she could find.
I turned back to Jake. “You want me to do what? Where?”
He smiled, and explained again. I sighed. If I had to end up knocking off cartwheels in front of the large cobra now entwined around a stereotypical basket, I'd rather just go back to C.C. Curry's and see if they needed me for the night. I'm not scared of snakes, but I'd prefer not doing a slow waltz with one.
Jake then showed Brig and me the steps we were to do before I began my series of spectacular jetés and flips.
Jake had obviously been watching a good amount of championship ballroom dancing competition on cable, along with too many VH1 and BET videos. Within minutes, Brig and I were attempting to perfect a combination of rumba and tango, mixed with some homegrown hip-hop and a sprinkling of
A Chorus Line
.
A Chorus Line
.
Jake also liked lifts. That is, he liked having others do them. Brig had me in the air more times than the Ferris wheel had hit the top mark.
What Jake either didn't notice, or did but enjoyed, was the way Brig let me down from these lifts. Rather like one of the cobras, I slid over Brig's chest, clutching his torso, then slid farther. A process Brig prolonged. I became warmer and more flushed with each lift and drop.
The other dancers applauded and cheered when Brig lowered me into a deep dip, then stared into my eyes while I lay on the ground, hands held tightly within his. The gleam in Brig's eye grew brighter. He leaned over. His lips headed for mine. Jake yelled, “Cut!”
I didn't know whether to be glad or sorry. The exact memory and feel of the kisses Brig and I had shared since the night we met kept flooding through my mind and body. I stood up and walked about five steps away from Brig and tried to compose myself.
A Bollywood film set that was less than two hours away from a city filled with killer thugs was neither the place nor the time to conduct a romance. Especially with a man who was too charming, too handsome, too bright, too enigmatic, and possibly too involved with a lady of mystery and unbelievable beauty.
“Nice work, Tempe. Brig.” Jake beamed at us both. “I knew you could do it. You two dance together as though you'd been partners for life.”
Partners for life. I spied Asha giggling at me from a perch on a large carousel giraffe. I crossed my eyes at her, then gave my full attention to Jake.
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