Hot Stuff (15 page)
Authors: Flo Fitzpatrick
Chapter 18
I'd nailed it. It was a long, grueling day. I danced. I writhed. I twisted. I flipped. I flopped.
The plot of
Carnival of Lust
centered around a princess kidnapped by a pirate pretending to be a ringmaster at a carnival. The princess is tortured to reveal the whereabouts of a ruby she's hidden. After a great deal of running, hiding, slapping and kicking, the princess refuses to have sex with the pirate but gives up the location of the ruby.
Carnival of Lust
centered around a princess kidnapped by a pirate pretending to be a ringmaster at a carnival. The princess is tortured to reveal the whereabouts of a ruby she's hidden. After a great deal of running, hiding, slapping and kicking, the princess refuses to have sex with the pirate but gives up the location of the ruby.
The princess then keeps trying to get back to her true love, the owner of a cybercafé in Bombay. She prays to the goddess Parvati, consort of Shiva and destroyer of evil, to help her escape the privateering thug who has held her hostage. Parvati helps the princess evade the creep, then rains down fire, brimstone, and a few other choice plagues to smite the bad guy. The princess makes her way to Bombay (scene to be done at the Flora Fountain sometime next week) and is reunited with the love of her life, who, not surprisingly, has managed to get the ruby back. Everyone lives happily ever after.
Jake had written in a huge marriage scene near the end of the movie. That scene had given Jake the idea for what he wanted for a nuptial event with Asha. No wonder she was ticked. Life imitating art can be fun if one likes dancing around a carnival tent. For exchanging vows, it seemed somewhat less than romantic.
At ten till four, we took a break for tea. Asha waved me over to her table near the back side of the open-air tent. I sank into a chair. Since it was not made in the shape of an animal, nor did it stand over sixteen feet tall and go in circles, I sighed with pure pleasure.
“Killer, isn't it?” Asha smiled at me.
“What? The day, the dancing, or your once and occasional intended?” I shot back.
“Hmm. All three.”
I took the cup she handed me, then drank it down with very unladylike speed. I handed it back to her and inclined my head toward the teapot for more. She smiled and poured another. I lifted the cup in a toast.
“I take my hat off to you, Miss Kumar. Or my bandana.”
I reached up and pulled off the large kerchief and the scrunchie that bound my curls up into a high ponytail.
“This is tough work, Lady Starlet. Heck. I spend most of my time in an air-conditioned office looking over documents in the language of the day. I never realized how exhasuting a day in front of cameras could be. It never dawned on me that I'd find myself dancing on top of a giant jaguar moving in circles.”
Asha winked at me. “Or sailing through the air when the giant jaguar moved a bit too fast?”
“Oh, yeah. Remind me to thank Jake for that little maneuver. Asha, this is worse than yesterday when visions of falling off that damn Ferris wheel haunted me the entire time I was flipping up there. Life less than sixteen feet in the air ceased to exist. I didn't even know I'd passed beyond pooped till Brig and I snuck into Raj's trailer.”
She took a dainty sip of her tea, then ruined the effect by cramming half a scone into her mouth.
“Swy ah make da goo dough.”
“Say again? You want a gooey doughnut?”
She swallowed. “That's why I make good dough. As in money, honey. Although the celebrity stuff is fun. It's great having fans asking for autographs. Getting seated before anyone else in restaurants. Seeing my picture on billboards all over town and beyond. But making a fantastic salary is important. And one reason why I can put up with the long hours of a shoot and the heat and the insanity and Jake being a jerk.”
I reached for my second scone. “Ah. I wondered when his name would creep into the conversation. You guys still haven't made up?”
She shook her head. “Nope. And I'm not giving in. I want my wedding in Jersey. And if he can't see that, then he can just grab some little chorus wench and marry her right here on the lot.”
“Right. Just after you scratch this mythical girl's eyes out.”
“Pretty much.” She smirked. “Tonight, however, I may get my chance to seduce Jake over to my way of thinking.”
“Yes?”
“We're staying with a friend of Jake's on his yacht. Separate rooms, so far. But, on a nice yacht sailing around the harbor under the moonlight, I think I can convince that imbecile I adore how classy and romantic a more private ceremony would be.”
“Sounds good.”
She giggled. “Yep. Besides, Jake's really nuts right now. Normally when we break up, we make up within twenty-four hours. I've held out for five days. He's cuckoo. Clueless off the film set. Can't function. Can't form a coherent sentence. I've seen it. You've seen it. Brig has not only seen it, he spent an hour during the break yesterday afternoon telling me what a disaster his former roomie is without me.”
The giggle turned into a belly laugh. “I like it! Jake is
so
ready to agree to any and all demands.”
so
ready to agree to any and all demands.”
I chewed and nodded. Asha's talent for timing seemed right on. She understood it better than a watchmaker in Switzerland. A look of concern suddenly flashed across her tiny features.
“Tempe? Is this okay with you? I mean, us not being here? You're on your own tonight. One reason Jake accepted the invite on the yacht is because he figures he and I will be safer there. He thought you'd be fine staying at Raj's trailer again.”
“Oh geez. That's right. Patel spotted you last night. And, unlike Ray, who thinks movies and America are synonymous and exclusive and movie stars the same, I'd imagine Seymour knows who you are. You're not the most invisible babe around, Miss Queen of Bollywood.”
She chuckled. “If that goon didn't know before, he does now. I nailed the sucker with a pool cue and some serious wailing. But now that he's been walloped by Asha Kumar? Well, it's not tough to get my address. I'm listed. And if they know
me,
they may know that Jake is, has been, and will be again, my best beloved. He's never made his address a secret either. Fans are cool. We have people over for tea all the time. I just don't think I'm including Patel or Mahindra in the next invitation.”
me,
they may know that Jake is, has been, and will be again, my best beloved. He's never made his address a secret either. Fans are cool. We have people over for tea all the time. I just don't think I'm including Patel or Mahindra in the next invitation.”
“I'm so sorry I got you into this mess.”
“Why? Hell, I'm enjoying the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline rush that comes with bopping bad guys and hauling A down dark streets. Seriously, Tempe, it's not your fault. I'm not even sure it's Brig's fault, although it seems to me he has a strange way of doing business. Whatever that business may be.”
“Don't even go there. I keep waiting for the cops of several continents to join the chase here.”
“I doubt it's that bad, but you might want to pin Mr. O'Brien down on his chosen profession before you guys post any banns. Anyway, don't worry about me or Jake. We're fine. Take care of yourself. Raj's trailer is clean; he's offered it to you for as long as you need it. I had one of the hired help at my place bring your stuff by today when they brought mine. You're set.”
After a long afternoon spent repeating dance moves and doing handsprings off of carousels, an evening relaxing in Raj's trailer sounded divine. I opened the door, using a key this time, then sank down on the bed Brig and I had shared, all too innocently, last night. And I let the worry that had been with me since this morning invade my mind.
Brig hadn't shown up at the set. He hadn't called Jake. He hadn't sent a message by e-mail to Jake's laptop computer our director kept in his work trailer. No carrier pigeons had flown by and dropped a note, or anything else, on my head. I had no idea where Brig had gone this day, but I recalled his saying he'd be back before sundown. Or something equally dramatic.
“Before close of filming.”
The shoot ended at seven. At seven fifteen, I had trotted over to eat at the service table still set up for cast spending the night in the trailers. After chatting with two of the dancers who'd wanted to know what America was really like (“Are there cowboys in the streets shooting at each other?”) and devouring a dinner I didn't taste, I made a graceful exit.
It wasn't that I didn't want to be friendly or act as ambassador for the States. I needed to be in the shelter of the trailer. I needed to worry and curse and fume and wonder if Brig was lying with his throat cut in some dark alleyway near Hot Harry's or lying on Juhu Beach with the dark bewitching wench named Claire Dharbar.
A small TV sat on a table near Raj's kitchen. I turned it on, more for noise than anything else. U.S. president in France to discuss something vital like the price of croissants. American rock singer caught with his pants down in some sex-and-gun scandal. Stock prices dropping third day in a row. The usual. I turned it off and toured the trailer in search of reading material.
There was an assortment of magazines in a rack near the bed. I sifted through them. I found an article about Kirkee Mahindra, business tycoon and collector of
objets d'art
. Kirk had made his money in real estate holdings and ownership in big financial firms. The article described the original Matisse paintings and Rodin sculptures that decorated his penthouse apartment.
objets d'art
. Kirk had made his money in real estate holdings and ownership in big financial firms. The article described the original Matisse paintings and Rodin sculptures that decorated his penthouse apartment.
Great. The man was a celebrity. Ninth cousin or something to the Mahindra family who appeared to own half of India. Their wealth had been acquired in the tractor business, although Kirk did not seem to be involved in that branch of the family.
Ha! That was where Brig had hied off to. He was doubtless riding down Marine Road on a tractor owned by one of the nicer and gentler Mahindras, waving to throngs of women who looked like Claire Dharbar. They were throwing kisses and tube tops with tassels at him while Matisse's
Blue Nude
did aerial flips off of Rodin's
The Thinker.
Blue Nude
did aerial flips off of Rodin's
The Thinker.
Someone pounded on the door. I awoke, startled. Brig. Why he hadn't just picked the lock was a mystery, but maybe he thought knocking would be the wiser action in case Raj had decided to oust his visitor and stay at the trailer himself.
I opened the doorâand hoped I was still dreaming. In front of me stood Mr. Kirkee Mahindra. Entrepreneur. Art collector. Killer.
Chapter 19
“Miss Walsh.”
“Mister Mahindra.”
We'd gotten the names right. Where we went from here I didn't know. I didn't really want to know. I wanted out, but there was no escape behind me. Raj's trailer had one window in the kitchen over the sink and one in the bathroom. Neither tiny piece of glass allowed easy exit. Assuming I could open one and try wriggling through before Kirk had time to squeeze off a few rounds at my derriere.
“Miss Walsh. I should like to speak with you.”
This was new. Verbal communication as opposed to guns. I stayed silent. He smiled. Interesting. When the man smiled, he had a charm not unlike Briggan's. An incongruous thought flitted through my brain. Kirk Mahindra looked like he was in his midfifties. When this man had been in his thirties female hearts doubtless had shattered throughout India. He extended his hand to me.
“Perhaps you'd feel more comfortable outside this cramped space. Yes?”
Better and better. Talking in the open air where security guards might hear me scream when I needed to. Then again, Mahindra might have trussed up the night shift and replaced them with his cronies, who were now hiding in Ferris wheel seats with M16s aimed at Raj's trailer.
Mahindra motioned toward a bench about twelve feet away. I followed him, hoping he couldn't hear my knees rattling from fear, think there was a tommy gun behind him, and order the business associates to shoot first and ask questions later.
Mahindra waited while I sat, then placed himself at a proper distance from me. He smiled again.
“Miss Walsh. As well as being an attractive woman, you appear to be an intelligent one. A professional. I am going to appeal to you on those grounds.”
What did that mean? He'd decided complimenting me could gain him more trust? He'd discarded the notion I was just some bimbo who wouldn't mind being shot or having her throat slit? I pulled my attention back to his words.
“I am a businessman, Miss Walsh. One who does not enjoy seeing a deal blow up in his face.”
I held up my hand. “Wait. If I recall correctly, you were the one doing the blowing up right as Ray Decore was about to clinch his deal with Khan. Turns out he didn't care to go through with it as planned and actually hand over any rupees, but I didn't know that at the time and I doubt you did either.”
“True, I did not know. But even if Mr. Decore had brought millions of rupees with him to the bar, it would not have made a difference. Khan originally promised the Saraswati statue to me. Me, you understand. Not Decore.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Yes, Miss Walsh. Himali Khan lied to me. As your boss did you. Khan made a deal with me over a month ago. I came to Hot Harry's in order to give that cheater the money and collect the statue.
My
statue.”
My
statue.”
I looked into his eyes. Soft brown eyes that held only a hint of the anger behind them. Eyes that were likely to change and display savage fury if the man did not get what he wanted.
“Look, Mr. Mahindra. You were cheated. Sort of. I mean, no money had been exchanged as far as I saw. Ray got cheated, although he was prepared to do his own cheating. Sort of. I'm confused.”
I sat up a bit straighter. “Not to change the subject, but I need to tell you, Ray wasn't really my boss. He hired me through the firm I work for. A very reputable firm. The firm who will wonder why Tempe Walsh is not in her office in a day or two.”
He nodded. He was no dummy. He got it.
I continued. “Where was I? Oh. It sounds like Khan is pretty much a snake out to cheat everyone. But having you hunt me through every lowlife dive in Bombay is, well, not nice.”
“When did I hunt you through a lowlife dive?”
I thought. “Oops. Sorry. I got you confused with Patel. Seymour Patel et al. The night I did the shimmy at C.C. Curry's. I can't keep everyone straight.”
He seemed to be stifling a laugh. “I believe I would have paid good money to witness that âshimmy' as you call it.”
His face hardened. He sniffed. “Patel. Now he is indeed someone you would refer to as a lowlife. He has no business trying to retrieve the statue. He has no love for art. He wants to pawn the jewels. Imbecile. Barbarian.”
Mahindra pulled out an elegant gold case from his breast pocket, lit a cigarette, then offered one to me. He politely blew the smoke past my ear once I'd made it plain I did not care to indulge.
I agreed with his assessment of his competition. “Patel must have bought Shiva's Diva over the same conference call that your slimy Mr. Khan seems to have made with you and Ray. But I have to ask. From what I understand, the legend states this statue comes with a curse. Doesn't that worry you guys even a little?”
Mahindra smiled. “I know about the curse and the blessing. Unlike Mr. Patel, I am a lover of the arts, Miss Walsh. Saraswati will bless me, of this I am certain. Patel is a swine. He will inherit the curse only, should he ever find himself in possession of the goddess.”
I seemed to recall that Brig had claimed whoever owned the Diva needed to have a creative, gorgeous soul to be blessed, rather than end up without the use of one's vocal chords. Or wealth. Or ability to reproduce. I decided it would be imprudent to point out this particular component of the legend. “Generous and creative soul” didn't seem descriptive of Mahindra's character.
He dismissed both Patel's involvement and the curse. He inhaled the half-smoked cigarette. “The goddess. Shiva's Diva as you and Mr. O'Brien so cavalierly, and oddly, refer to the statue. That brings me back to the reason for visiting you this evening. Where is it?”
I almost laughed. The man had to be packing a gun in the other breast pocket. He'd already demonstrated no inhibitions as regards shooting at me in public places. Now the pair of us sat on a bench in the middle of the studio lots of Vivek Productions while we discussed this cursed statue as though we faced each other in a boardroom on Wall Street.
And I would have given it to him. The damn statue had come close to costing me my life. I'd seen it twice. First, when Khan had unfolded it from the bag plastered with Miss June displaying her wares. Then I'd seen the Diva peeking out of my old tote bag when Brig and I had collapsed at his hotel.
I had no desire to own the statue, sell it, or hear about it. My wisest course of action two days ago would have been to take it, and myself, to the American Embassyâinstead of listening to Brig O'Brien, the vanishing Renaissance man, who hadn't returned by close of filming today.
“Mr. Mahindra? You're not going to believe me. I don't have clue number one where Shiva's Diva is. Really.”
He stared at me. This time when he exhaled, the smoke came toward my face. Neither of us spoke. My back felt chilled. Ninety-plus degrees (even at ten-thirty
P.M.
) but I was freezing. Doubtless due to the many pairs of cold eyes staring at my back through rifle scopes.
P.M.
) but I was freezing. Doubtless due to the many pairs of cold eyes staring at my back through rifle scopes.
“Then Briggan O'Brien has it. Of this I am now certain, Miss Walsh.”
I looked him right in the eyes. “No. He doesn't. Brig sold it.”
Mahindra stared at me. I gazed back and did not flinch. One of Asha's improv classes might have come in handy right then. Then again, I didn't need it. When one is trying to defend another's life, lying comes easier.
“To whom did he sell it?”
I shook my head. Seconds later, a demon overtook me. “I'm not sure, mind you. But I think Ray has it now. He really had the money all the time. He just didn't want to meet Khan's price. We were at the hotel and Brig stayed behind, so don't quote me on this.”
Too much. I needed to shut up. Siccing Mahindra on Ray might not be considered charitable, but since Ray had tried to kill me not too long ago, I figured it was justice to let the bad guys fight it out amongst themselves.
Mahindra wouldn't resort to murder without first being sure he had the statue. Ray didn't have it, ergo, no slaying. Logical conclusion or not, it was one I had to sell in order to keep Mahindra from dislodging a weapon at any participants in this game of hot-potato-who's-got-the-diva.
Kirk Mahindra rose, dropped the butt of his cigarette to the ground, then mashed it with the same fervor he would likely extend to Ray, Brig, Patel, and, quite probably, me, should Saraswati not be in his hands by tomorrow.
“Thank you, Miss Walsh. I am sorry your stay in Bombay has not been a pleasant one. There are many places to visit, many I would love to show you. The David Sassoon Library, the Prince of Wales Museum. You are cultured. You would like these places very much.”
I nodded, speechless. He turned to leave. I could see three figures about thirty feet away from our bench rise from the ground at the same time. He whirled around with the grace of any of the dancers in Jake's film.
“Miss Walsh?”
I looked up at him.
“If Mr. Decore does not have the statue, we will be closely pursuing Mr. O'Brien. You might tell him that, the next time you see him. And although it is obvious you did not heed my advice the other evening concerning Briggan, you should reconsider. He is not a fit companion for a lady. He is a scoundrel. You are a beautiful woman. You deserve a man worthy of you.”
With that combined compliment and warning, he strode toward his waiting associates and headed off toward a white stretch limo parked near the carousel.
I have no idea how long I sat on the bench cursing my stupidity in fabricating a story to Kirk Mahindra.
“Dumb, Tempe. Unbelievably dumb. Kirk will now hightail it to Ray's hotel. He'll knock him around a bit, which might not be a bad thing since Ray deserves it, but he'll figure out in about twenty seconds that Ray doesn't have the Diva, because if he did, he'd have been on the first flight to the Cayman Islands or everyone's favorite resort spot in Pago Pago.”
I moaned, then continued talking to myself.
“Okay. Mahindra will know I just lied through my teeth, and then he'll get right back to hunting down Brig. Which could prove difficult since Brig seems to have managed to make off with that stinkin' statue with no word to anyone who might possibly care about him. The rat. The stinkin' double-A-battery-run rat!”
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