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Rani hoped he would be true to his word and, when he was answering the more general questions she knew she had to ask, he was. Gently she edged towards more personal ones trying to uncover something of his private life.
‘Tell me about your mother,’ she asked. He visibly baulked and gave a dismissive answer.
‘People don’t want to read about that,’ he said, smiling an unconvincing sort of smile. Rani tried again.
‘What about your father. He was from Lahore, wasn’t he?’ His eyes instantly contracted at the mention of his father.
‘Yes, he was,’ Omar answered coldly without offering anything more.
‘I understand he’s publishing a book about you.’
The car almost crashed off the road as George heard the words that had been forbidden to be spoken by anyone. The shocked reaction from all of the other people in the car was plain to see but it didn’t stop Rani from soldiering on.
‘Have I said something I shouldn’t have?’ she asked innocently, knowing full well she had.
Omar said nothing. George said nothing. The PA said nothing. In the end the manager squeezed a few words from between her thin pursed lips.
‘It’s not a subject Mr Khan is willing to discuss.’
Clearly he’s got issues, Rani said to herself. This is like pulling teeth, and I thought it would be fun! Who was I kidding? He’s just a working class wide boy with the manners to match! She began to despair that she would ever get beneath the guard he was putting up. He kept deflecting each of her advances with stock answers as if he were swatting at flies. More in desperation than in hope, she had one last go.
‘Have you ever said I love you and not meant it?’
There was silence. Not just the sort of silence you got when there were no sounds, but the sort of silence only possible in a vacuum. Rani felt as if all the air in the car had been sucked out and they were living the very last second of life. She scrunched up her eyes waiting for the response, whatever it would be. And then it came.
‘I’m an actor, of course I have.’ Rani felt the air rush back into the car and breathed again. Good answer, she thought. Perhaps we’re getting somewhere after all.
‘What about you, Miss de Silver?’ Omar asked with a tight smile.
Rani was a little taken aback as she wasn’t used to having the tables turned on her like this.
‘Call me Rani, please,’ she said, trying to buy a bit of thinking time. She could feel her face glowing with embarrassment.
‘Well, Rani, yes or no?’ Omar rephrased the question and pressed his advantage.
Rani squirmed.
‘No, but I’ve heard it,’ she replied rather coyly. She felt the blood pumping through her body.
Omar was intrigued but said nothing.
Rani was relieved when the car finally arrived at the film set and she could escape from the claustrophobia she felt. She needed to put some distance between herself and Omar Khan, demigod, movie star and, by all accounts, show-off. Her thoughts and feelings were confused and tangled with her need for professionalism and she required space to unravel the mess. After all, she’d waited years for this moment and now it was here she was unsure of how to proceed. As soon as the car door opened there was a swarm of assistants all queuing up to take orders and do his bidding. Rani couldn’t help but see many of them were young, pretty women. It felt quite alarming as she was caught up in the middle of them and washed away like a boat from the shore. As she disappeared from view she did manage to say goodbye.
‘Thank you for your time, Mr Khan. Good luck with the filming,’ she cried out. After all, whatever she felt about him she’d been brought up to be polite.
‘You’d best come this way, miss.’ It was George, the driver. He ushered her away, supporting her limping form with an arm the size of a large tree around her waist and leading her towards a long trailer.
‘I’ve never been on a movie set before; I’ve only ever seen these mobile home things, well, in the movies!’ Rani said with surprise. George laughed.
‘You get used to it, miss. They’re nothing special, not if you end up living in them week after week. Here, let me help you.’ And he gently lowered her into a chair and found a stool to prop her swollen leg on.
‘Thank you, George, really, I’m fine.’
She looked around her at the trailer. There were photographs of Omar Khan in frames dotted about the place and Rani realised she must have been shown into his trailer. There were pictures of him with various famous people and glamorous women, the heads of state of India, Pakistan, the British prime minister and even one with him playing golf with two former American presidents. But the one that caught her eye was of a little Indian girl standing in front of an old brick building. The picture looked very old and the girl looked as if she was no more than eight. Rani squinted her eyes as she strained to read some lettering carved into the building behind the little girl and could just make out a few of the letters. It looked like poor. Rani gently picked up the tatty wooden frame to take a closer look. As she did the door to the trailer opened quickly, which shocked her so much she let go of the picture. She grabbed for it as it fell towards the floor but she couldn’t catch it. Rani winced as the glass shattered and the frame broke in two.
‘Sorry!’ she exclaimed, looking towards the door. It was Omar Khan’s manager.
She was a woman in her late forties, smartly dressed but very offhand. She huffed and looked disapprovingly at Rani and the picture.
‘Don’t be. I don’t know why he keeps the scrappy little thing, anyway,’ she said. Rani hobbled around trying to find something to collect the broken pieces of glass in. George entered the room from the bedroom at the back of the trailer.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked. The manager looked at Rani and pointed.
‘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 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.
