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Authors: Anjali Banerjee
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this man she found for me—”
“What man?” Nick gives me a sharp look as he exits the freeway in downtown Seattle.
“He’s in India. We’re going there in two weeks so I can meet him. We were planning to stay a while, but now that Asha has hired us, we’re going for only a week. Can you imagine, going all the way around the world for only a week? I have a lot to do before we leave, and Pooja and Mr. Basu will have to hold down the fort while we’re gone.”
“Why do you have to go to India to meet a man? No men good enough for you here?” He’s joking, but he sounds half-serious.
“I’ve gone out with a lot of different men,” I say. “I guess I’m looking to settle down too. With the right guy.”
The car climbs the hill into Queen Anne. “How will you know if he’s the right one?”
I fall silent. That’s a good question. Will pretty Valentine’s Day hearts pop out of me? Out of Ravi? “Our parents matched us up using bio-data from our portfolios.”
“What the hell is a bio-data portfolio?” Nick turns into an upscale residential district. “Is that like match.com?”
“Sort of—but we’re matched up based on several criteria such as education, age, background.”
“And that leads to true love.” Nick’s voice has a faint sour edge.
“I don’t know. It might,” I say curtly.
“We’re here.” He parks in front of a large, gray, pretentious, box-style home with ornate windows. Several trucks are parked along the curb, and a Seattle’s Best coffee cart is set up at the foot of the driveway.
I sit motionless, suddenly seized by unease. “This is a movie set?” I ask. There is no stage, no lighting system, only men and women in jeans and T-shirts milling about, carrying electronic equipment up and down the steps. A few other people stand around doing nothing.
“Most of the time it’s a waiting game,” Nick says. “They spend half the day just setting up the lighting. Come on, I’ll take you in.” He carries my briefcase and leads me upstairs into the house, and I nearly trip over several cords. Cameras are set up on wheels in the hallway, and a slim woman in a black suit is talking excitedly with a tall, handsome blond man with a heavily made-up face. He’s holding a script in his hands and listening to her intently.
There’s a vibrant sense of camaraderie and excitement here, as people mill about directing each other and adjusting lights on an ornate living room scene.
I feel insubstantial in the chaos, like a puff of floating dust.
“Who’s that blond man?” I whisper to Nick.
“He’s Asha’s leading man. They don’t get along too well—she’s down the hall, trying to stay away from him.”
“And she has to pretend she’s in love with him in the movie, right?”
Nick nods. “It’s a hoot to watch them. On the set, they’re in love, and off the set, they’re at each other’s throats.”
The true lives of movie stars, invisible when the camera is rolling.
I follow Nick down the hall to a room filled with an elaborate display of catered finger foods, sandwiches, and drinks. Asha’s sitting on a plush red couch, dressed in a white, revealing sari, the choli shirt so short that her entire midriff shows. She has her broken leg propped up on a stool. Her makeup adds a whole new layer to her face, a nearly clownlike, exaggerated flair. A diminutive woman with a severe hairstyle sits at a desk next to her.
“Blast these lines!” Asha shouts, holding her script. “How long do we have to wait to film again?”
“They’re still working on the lights in the sitting room,” the petite woman says with an English accent.
“Ah, Lakshmi!” Asha gives me a brilliant smile, glinting white teeth, and makes an expansive gesture. “Do sit down and put the samples here on the table. I haven’t much time.”
I turn to find Nick gone. Surprisingly, I feel adrift without him. The knowing floats back into me in faint images—Asha wanting to slap her
“What man?” Nick gives me a sharp look as he exits the freeway in downtown Seattle.
“He’s in India. We’re going there in two weeks so I can meet him. We were planning to stay a while, but now that Asha has hired us, we’re going for only a week. Can you imagine, going all the way around the world for only a week? I have a lot to do before we leave, and Pooja and Mr. Basu will have to hold down the fort while we’re gone.”
“Why do you have to go to India to meet a man? No men good enough for you here?” He’s joking, but he sounds half-serious.
“I’ve gone out with a lot of different men,” I say. “I guess I’m looking to settle down too. With the right guy.”
The car climbs the hill into Queen Anne. “How will you know if he’s the right one?”
I fall silent. That’s a good question. Will pretty Valentine’s Day hearts pop out of me? Out of Ravi? “Our parents matched us up using bio-data from our portfolios.”
“What the hell is a bio-data portfolio?” Nick turns into an upscale residential district. “Is that like match.com?”
“Sort of—but we’re matched up based on several criteria such as education, age, background.”
“And that leads to true love.” Nick’s voice has a faint sour edge.
“I don’t know. It might,” I say curtly.
“We’re here.” He parks in front of a large, gray, pretentious, box-style home with ornate windows. Several trucks are parked along the curb, and a Seattle’s Best coffee cart is set up at the foot of the driveway.
I sit motionless, suddenly seized by unease. “This is a movie set?” I ask. There is no stage, no lighting system, only men and women in jeans and T-shirts milling about, carrying electronic equipment up and down the steps. A few other people stand around doing nothing.
“Most of the time it’s a waiting game,” Nick says. “They spend half the day just setting up the lighting. Come on, I’ll take you in.” He carries my briefcase and leads me upstairs into the house, and I nearly trip over several cords. Cameras are set up on wheels in the hallway, and a slim woman in a black suit is talking excitedly with a tall, handsome blond man with a heavily made-up face. He’s holding a script in his hands and listening to her intently.
There’s a vibrant sense of camaraderie and excitement here, as people mill about directing each other and adjusting lights on an ornate living room scene.
I feel insubstantial in the chaos, like a puff of floating dust.
“Who’s that blond man?” I whisper to Nick.
“He’s Asha’s leading man. They don’t get along too well—she’s down the hall, trying to stay away from him.”
“And she has to pretend she’s in love with him in the movie, right?”
Nick nods. “It’s a hoot to watch them. On the set, they’re in love, and off the set, they’re at each other’s throats.”
The true lives of movie stars, invisible when the camera is rolling.
I follow Nick down the hall to a room filled with an elaborate display of catered finger foods, sandwiches, and drinks. Asha’s sitting on a plush red couch, dressed in a white, revealing sari, the choli shirt so short that her entire midriff shows. She has her broken leg propped up on a stool. Her makeup adds a whole new layer to her face, a nearly clownlike, exaggerated flair. A diminutive woman with a severe hairstyle sits at a desk next to her.
“Blast these lines!” Asha shouts, holding her script. “How long do we have to wait to film again?”
“They’re still working on the lights in the sitting room,” the petite woman says with an English accent.
“Ah, Lakshmi!” Asha gives me a brilliant smile, glinting white teeth, and makes an expansive gesture. “Do sit down and put the samples here on the table. I haven’t much time.”
I turn to find Nick gone. Surprisingly, I feel adrift without him. The knowing floats back into me in faint images—Asha wanting to slap her
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