A Date With A Bollywood Star

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 beautifulsparkling 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.