Hot Stuff

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  Jake scowled at us. “Did I say something humorous?”

  I wiped my eyes. “Nothing. Really. We all feel the same. Disruptive. I like that. Pretty much describes my life since landing in Bombay.”

  I glanced at this little group of friends and treasure seekers. My new friends.

  I took a deep breath. “Know how my days are spent in Manhattan? Well, let me tell you. I generally slap on my sneakers in the morning and walk twenty blocks to work. Since I sit most of the day, I keep my shoes off, although I have heels in a drawer. About ten blocks into this trek, I pick up a copy of the Times, along with a cup of coffee and a bagel. I then look at mounds of papers all day containing legalese in about ten different languages. I translate them into English.

  “I normally eat lunch at a deli two blocks from the office. Come back and sift through more papers. Sometimes my boss has me sit in meetings with clients if a translator is required. I leave work. I go to a dance class two blocks away from our offices or take a martial arts class at a studio in the Village. Or yoga.”

  I winked at Brig. “Power yoga. Now, some days are truly thrilling. That’s when I go out for dinner with a buddy or two from class. Most days I go home, cook something nonfattening, then either watch TV or read.”

  No one spoke. The more I’d talked, the more I’d realized how boring my life had become. In the week I’d been in Bombay, I’d been shot at. I’d had knives thrown at me. I’d wriggled my butt and torso at a place that in any other country would be called a strip club. I’d done handsprings off Ferris wheels and gyrated for the cameras in dance sequences rivaling Ziegfeld Follies routines. I’d used techniques from martial arts classes to inflict injury on thugs. I’d fallen for the Robin Hood of Riverdale.

  And felt more alive than I had in ten years.

  Asha patted my hand. Jake patted my other hand. Brig smiled his seductive smile. I had nothing left to say.

  Asha turned to Brig. “So, O’Brien. Did you accomplish anything today?”

  He sipped his tea, then replaced the cup on the saucer. “Yes and no. I did discover that if any of our friends is currently in possession of Shiva’s Diva, not only do the others not know, but it’s also still in that particular person’s possession.”

  Asha squinched up her nose at him. “Would you like to explain that in English? Or Marathi? Or Hindi? Or in some language we can all understand? Break it down, man!”

  “What I meant to say is the good lady hasn’t left the country. Nor have any of the boys in attendance from the Flora Fountain fiasco. All of whom at last count were alive and pissed. Well, I’m not sure about Ray, since he was sleeping and pretty out of it, but I imagine he’s not too happy over last night’s disaster either.”

  Asha bit her lip. “Thanks a lot.”

  Brig flashed a smile her way. “I don’t mean the rescue. That was great. Think about it. None of us got injured or killed and you’re back safe and sound. That’s a good night’s work all the way around. I just meant we lost the Diva. And I blame myself since I had the tote bag and dropped it. A muddled job, that.”

  Jake shook his head. “You did the smart thing. Diving under the cart was what saved our lives. And the point of the whole night was to release Asha from that despicable Mr. Patel with none of us getting hurt. We did it. That in itself is miraculous.”

  Asha and I nodded. All of us sipped our tea for a few moments. We didn’t speak. Then I nudged Brig’s hand with mine, intending to ask him what we needed to do. Even that light touch sent a tingle through me. I focused on a half-eaten chikki confection made with sugar and nuts and addressed my next question to Asha only. I could not look at Brig while pure desire showed in my eyes.

  “So? What’s the next step? Do we let the statue go? I mean, let her stay with whomever grabbed her last night? Call it a done deal and get on with our lives?”

  Asha snorted. “Hell, no! I want Shiva’s Diva back.”

  I sighed. “Did I just hear the Round Two bell? Are we about to get back into the ring?”

  Jake took her hand. “Asha. It’s not ours. You know this. We can’t keep her.”

  “I know that. I do. I just want to have her for a while before we figure out the permanent home. Really.”

  The woman had fallen under the spell of the ivory goddess. And she hadn’t even seen the statue.

  I interjected, “That brings up another point. Who, legally, owns Shiva’s Diva?”

  Brig tensed, then relaxed. “Definitely not Patel, Mahindra, or Ray Decore. Nor that misbegotten son of a seller, Mr. Khan, who figured he’d get a nice price by auctioning her to several different buyers at the same time.”

  I frowned. “That’s why the fink didn’t want me talking to the other guys there. He knew I’d discover they also thought they’d bought her.”

  Brig nodded. “Ray wasn’t aware of this, but he didn’t really need you in Bombay. Khan speaks English better than a London native. He prefers to let people believe his one language is Hindi. Thinks it’ll fetch better prices for him. Man’s an idiot as well as a thief.”

  His voice held sheer seductiveness, although Asha and Jake could still hear him quite clearly. “But I’m very glad Ray didn’t know about Khan’s English skills. Otherwise he’d’ve never hired you and you’d’ve never ended up in that storeroom in my arms. I should thank him.”

  I turned red and ducked my head as far into my cup of tea as I could manage. Jake and Asha merely smiled fondly at the two of us like a pair of proud parents.

  I loudly declared, “Well then. Himali Khan had the statue at Hot Harry’s. And we got it. And the others want it. Leaving Shiva’s Diva as, what, fair game?”

  Asha brightened. “If we find her, we can keep her?”

  Jake’s eyes widened. “Not a wise thing to do, my love. Even if I felt we had any claim to the statue, I’d be afraid to hang on to her.”

  I smiled at him. “You’d be okay, Jake. You and Asha are artists. You’d be blessed, not cursed. Assuming you buy into the legend.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not that. I’d be in constant fear that a thug like Patel would be forever waiting to pounce and grab Asha again. Anything to get the statue for himself.”

  Asha fluttered her lashes at Jake. “We could hide it really, really well. Maybe let my mom keep it in Jersey? Plop it out during bridge games in hopes she’ll win.”

  Brig stated, “If and when we get the statue back and deal with this particular set of avid acquirers, Shiva’s Diva will have a good home. I promise.”

  Asha glared at him. “With you?”

  “No.”

  He clammed up. I somehow felt this home would be with Claire Dharbar. Perhaps that’s why he’d been meeting her at the restaurant. All business. I held up my hand.

  “Peace, children. This is all kind of academic anyway since we haven’t the slightest clue where the statue spent last night. And is resting today.”

  Jake nodded. “I think Patel must have gotten it.”

  Brig stared at him. “I’ve been trying to recall. Did I drop it at the base of the fountain, or did I still have it when we left you two at Asha’s car?”

  Jake shook his head. “I honestly don’t remember. Once I saw the first knife fly through the air and heard that first sound of gunfire, I wouldn’t have known or cared whether Shiva’s Diva was seated in a lotus position on the floor, in the bag, or on my head. Tempe?”

  “I was illegally driving a stolen cherry picker. I barely even saw you and Brig. Or the tote bag. Asha?”

  She pouted. “Trying to balance with my hands tied and screaming at getting you guys to come and get me, then riding on that same picker. Brig?”

  “Looking for the exits, luv.”

  That figured. Brig knew more ways out of storerooms, saloons, hotels, pool halls, fountains, and rail stations than I knew languages.

  I grumbled, “So we’re back where we started. Any one of the three goons or their ardent disciples might have ended up with it.”

  Nods all
around. Again, we lapsed into silence.

  Jake glanced at his watch. “It’s late. And we have an early call for the shoot tomorrow, and it’s very athletic, so I suggest we get some rest. No more wild trips into Bombay this night.”

  He turned to me. “I’ve got a trailer for you for the next few days since Raj is back in his.” His eyes twinkled. “And I doubt Mrs. Ravi would be pleased if Raj shared his trailer with you.”

  Brig glanced at Jake. “Am I bunking back with you?”

  “I’ve got trailers for us all. That includes you.”

  I suppressed a grin. All could be four, or three. I politely refrained from asking whether Miss Kumar would be sharing space with Mr. Roshan. I was happy that at least for this one night, I wouldn’t be roaming the streets of Bombay looking for accommodations, hiding under a vendor’s cart, or worse.

  Jake gave me quick directions to my latest abode, then did the same for Brig. We’d be separated by a Ferris wheel, a roller coaster, the snake cage, and two vacant soundstages. Not that distance or locks would deter Brig from visiting me should he so choose. Although the snakes might.

  The four of us stood and began our good nights.

  “Mr. Roshan! Mr. Roshan!”

  We turned. A man wearing a long white smock over beige cotton pants jogged toward us. A beat-up van fifty feet back could be seen behind the tiger tent.

  “Mr. Roshan?”

  “Yes? I am Jake Roshan. May I help you?”

  The man looked as if he’d just reached the pearly gates and St. Peter himself had offered him a golden key.

  “I am so happy to have found you.”

  Jake’s brows lifted. He remained polite, but his voice was strained. “If you’re looking for work on the movie, I don’t do the casting for extras. You are welcome to return in the morning and talk to the gentleman who handles that end of the business.”

  The man shook his head. “No, no, sir. I am not an actor. I am a vendor. I have a cart at Flora Fountain.”

  At the words “Flora Fountain,” four people stiffened. The dusty-looking man continued. “This morning I was setting up for the day and I found this under my cart. It has the picture of your wonderful film Pirate Princess on it. I have seen that over four hundred times. Miss Kumar’s duet with Spot the tiger is magnificent.” He bowed to Asha. “You are my favorite film actress.”

  Asha smiled. A little flattery is nice to hear after a day filming and a night spent bound and gagged.

  The man continued. “But there were papers inside this bag with your name on them, Mr. Roshan. And your wallet. I had to think this is the property of Mr. Jake Roshan, the famous movie director. And so I have brought it to you.”

  None of us dared to breathe. Jake reached inside. He pulled out a heavy object wrapped in the T-shirt with the Fountain of Death silk screen.

  Jake tried to hand the man a wad of rupee notes, but the vendor would not accept them.

  “No. No. It is such an honor for me to do this small favor for such a wonderful man. I have seen all of your movies. Over and over again.” He turned to Asha. “And to be in the presence of the most beautiful actress in films. I am so honored.”

  Honored. He’d just made a good two-hour drive from the fountain to Vivek Studios. And now had to head back.

  Asha grabbed her own tote bag, reached inside, then pulled out one of her publicity photos and a battered script of Carnival of Lust. She autographed it, then passed it to Jake, who did the same. They gave the photo and script to this kind man who then blessed them and their children and their children’s children and on through the centuries.

  After the man returned to his ancient vehicle, Jake quietly sat back in his chair. He unwrapped the T-shirt.

  Shiva’s Diva. Home.

  No one spoke. For at least three minutes, all four of us just stared at the statue. Then I began to laugh. I laughed until the tears flowed. I laughed until I coughed. I laughed until my knees wouldn’t hold me up and I nearly fell back down onto my chair. Brig stared at me.

  “Are you all right? Do you need water? A swift tap to the back? Anything?”

  I held my hand up and motioned that I would live. I wiped my eyes, then croaked, “I’m okay. Just a bad fit of giggles. It’s the utter silliness of the situation. Our little goddess dropped into our laps after Brig spent the day sneaking into hotel rooms, chatting with Mahindra, and evading Patel’s goon squad. And suddenly, in comes the Diva after a day’s filming where three of us were dancing and singing and acting and directing and never once focusing on what we were doing. Sorry. It’s just—?”

  Brig grinned. “Silly. Daft.”

  “Precisely.” I grabbed my cup. There were two sips left. I slugged them down before I started coughing again.

  Asha hadn’t said a word. Not that she’d had a chance what with me having hysterics, but she kept staring at the statue with a look bordering on lust.

  Jake’s tone was firm. “Asha. We’re not keeping it. I don’t even want to know where Brig takes it. Understand?”

  Asha glared at him, then at Brig. “So O’Brien gets to waltz off into the sunset with the Diva? When did he get appointed guardian of Saraswati?”

  Brig smiled. “Since I’ve managed to keep her safe since Tempe and I found her in the bar. Did anyone even have the first idea she’d been at Jake’s till last night?”

  Asha gave a “humph” but had to acknowledge Brig’s skill at concealment.

  Brig rewrapped the statue in the T-shirt and placed her back in the bag almost tenderly. His eyebrows lifted.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s something else in here. Hang on. There’s several things in here. I’m afraid to bring them out. What sort of vendor did that chap say he was?”

  Asha, Jake, and I looked at each other, then shrugged.

  “He didn’t,” I said. “Why? Is anything moving?”

  Brig lifted out three objects and placed them on the table. All four of us stared silently. All four of us laughed until we were hysterical and exhausted.

  I lifted up a pair of red thong panties. “Dessert anyone? These appear to be cinnamon flavored!”

  Asha ignored me. She was too busy swinging something off a string that appeared to have a clasp that attached to one’s rearview mirror in the car. Like dice. But these weren’t squares with numbers.

  “Boobs!” she shrieked. “Bouncing, bobbing boobs!”

  Brig shoved the last two articles back into the bag before either Asha or I could get a look. He whistled through his teeth, then said, “Sex toys. Shiva’s Diva has spent the day in a bag filled with sex toys!”

  Asha was trying to wrestle the bag away from him. “Come on, O’Brien. Let us see the rest!”

  He shook his head. “Nope. You’re too young. Both you and Tempe. Now then, I’m going to finish wrapping the Diva up and I’ll be off.”

  It was no use. Brig was too tall and too solidly built. Asha and I would remain ignorant of whatever little erotic goodies remained in the bag.

  I gave up. “So, Mister Protect-the-Virgins-from-the-Fun-Stuff, dare I ask where our goddess is off to now?”

  Brig grinned. “No. You dare not. I promise though that she’ll be safe and sound. Jake, can I borrow a car?”

  Asha assumed a tone of sheer seduction. “You can take mine but only if you give Tempe and me a glimpse of what else is in the bag.”

  Brig howled. “Thanks, but no. I appreciate the offer, but your bad, bold, blue convertible is too well known by every other party concerned. I’m surprised Mahindra hasn’t put out an all points bulletin on it, seeing as he’s so friendly with the cops. As to the bag? Jake and I shall talk and decide what else we might be willin’ ta show you ladies.”

  He nudged me. “In private.”

  Jake handed him a set of keys. “Take the Jeep. The one I use to get around the studio lots. It’s pretty inconspicuous.”

  Brig rolled his eyes. “It’s a fine wreck is what it is.”

  Jake grumbled, “Bu
t it runs and doesn’t guzzle gas. Amazing for an old heap.”

  I stood again. Brig picked up the tote bag and I laid my hand over that arm.

  “You’re not going to tell us, are you, or let me go with you?”

  “That I’m not.”

  He plopped the bag back on the table. Impervious to any and all watchers, he took me in his arms and gave me a kiss that curled my toes. He released me, grabbed Shiva’s Diva, and took off at a nice trot toward the direction of the garage that housed Jake’s Jeep.

  He waved and yelled, “Later, lass! Wait up for me!” then disappeared, ironically, into the setting sun.

  Asha and Jake were gathering the cups, saucers, and spoons with more concentration than such an activity warranted.

  I leaned over and placed my empty cup on the tray with a crash. “That man is . . . well, he’s . . . he’s . . .!”

  Asha nodded. Jake nodded. In a brogue matching Mr. O’Brien’s, Asha said, “Aye, lass, that he is.”

  She and Jake walked me to my new abode, a trailer half the size of Raj’s. Well, after all, Raj Ravi was a star. I was merely a dancer/gymnast/stuntwoman/translator who needed a safe haven. I didn’t mind. The size of the trailer didn’t matter.

  I found a clean bathroom, a kitchenette with a one-burner range, a sink and a fridge as big as a small nightstand. I pulled the single Murphy bed down from the wall without much effort and threw myself on it as soon as the happy couple left.

  I didn’t even care where Brig planned to hide the statue. He needed a car, which meant he required a better way than the trains to get to his destination.

  Thoughts of Brig and Claire flooded my brain. That’s where he’d gone. I knew it. Maybe he’d give the Diva to her; maybe he’d just camp for the night in her perfect arms. Inhale the fragrance of her fine, dark, fresh, clean hair.

  Claire. Who probably had never heard of a “pirouette” outside of the cookies. Who still possessed more grace in her lithe, long fingers than I had in my whole body. Who would never be coaxed into climbing onto the top of a stinky, oily elephant and spending the day peering at the heads of festivalgoers.

  I had to stop this. I had no claim to Brig. He was free to conjugate with any female over the age of twenty-one in any one of the many countries where he seemed to have done business for the last ten years. And doubtless he had done just that. Charmed and smiled and kissed and conjugated. And I’m not talking verbs.