Hot Stuff

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  Then again, it seemed absurd to assume that Claire was anything other than a friend. She might be no more than a business partner in this venture of acquiring the Diva. The pair had looked quite serious when they’d had their heads close together. While Brig had been explaining whatever he’d been explaining. It had not looked like a lovers’ conversation. Business, yes.

  I slid off the bed, then paced around what little space I had in the trailer. I made a pot of tea on the miniature stovetop, then opened the fridge and discovered sweet pastries filled with honey and coconut, plus bags of veggies and fruits. I ate six pastries and two oranges.

  Midnight. I tried to sleep. Images of Claire entwined in Brig’s arms warred with images of Brig entwined in rope as small knives were thrown at him by Patel.

  One o’ clock. I headed for the fridge and ate the rest of the pastries and an apple. Might as well stay healthy.

  Two o’clock. I cried. Brig was dead. I knew it. Mahindra had found him sneaking around Bombay. He’d shot him. Or poisoned him with a blow dart. Or thrown a snake at him. Either that or he’d eloped with Claire. Brig. Not Mahindra. It was one of those scenarios. Either way, Brig wasn’t coming back. Not ever.

  A soft rap came from the door of the trailer. I wiped my face on the pillow, then crossed to the door, wishing the designer had provided a peephole. A couple of nights ago, this same scene had occurred. Kirk Mahindra had been the visitor outside. Tonight’s guest would be Ray. Or Patel. Carrying Brig’s lifeless body in a gunnysack. Then again, Patel wouldn’t knock. He’d just let one of his giant goons rip the door off and come on in.

  “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Brig, darlin’. I told you I’d be back tonight. You didn’t think I’d gone back on my word, now, did you?”

  I flung open the door and threw myself at him. I buried my face into his chest and hugged him. He lifted my chin, bent down, and kissed me. What started as gentle pressure from lips to lips grew more intense. Hands were roaming and stroking and caressing. We had yet to release the kiss. I couldn’t stop touching him.

  Brig slammed the door shut using one foot. A half second later, we were on the bed. He looked down at me.

  “What do you say, luv?”

  The only thing I could. “Aye.”

  Chapter 29

  Brig and I made it to the carnival set bright and early the next morning. We reported to our costumer for whatever cute, tasteless, little outfits she’d planned today. After listening for a good fifteen minutes to Reena swear in a language I still couldn’t place (and realized I didn’t care to anyway) we strolled arm in arm toward the roller coaster where we were filming today.

  Jake and Asha were having a discussion about the song Asha and Raj would be singing. They looked up, saw us, then hastily turned their backs and buried their heads in a script held in Jake’s hand. Both backs shook.

  Brig squeezed my hand, then leaned down and whispered, “They’re jealous. Ignore them. Complacent engaged blighters, you know. Have no idea what true passion is.”

  I nodded, giggled, then immediately felt a pang. “Passion.” That’s what he’d said. Not “true love.” Passion. Well. It sufficiently described what had transpired over the night and into the morning, but it still jarred me more than I cared to admit.

  I was in love with Briggan O’Brien. I had been since our first meeting in the storeroom at Hot Harry’s Saloon. I’d known him less than a week, but the feelings were there and they were solid.

  His were another matter.

  “Jake. Asha. Mornin’. What’s on the agenda for today? Am I swinging through the carnival tent on a rope? Doing a fine trapeze act? I’m up for anything.”

  Asha muttered, “I’ll bet.” Then she smiled. We ignored her. It took some effort.

  Jake politely explained precisely what he had planned for the dances today. Asha politely explained precisely how these dances fit into the overall story of Carnival of Lust. Brig politely explained precisely why he needed to be on the top platform of the roller coaster doing the steps Jake had designed. I politely explained precisely why I needed to be on solid ground to complete the series of turns Jake had in mind.

  All in all, the four of us maintained a polite, precise discussion. We made no mention of Shiva’s Diva. Nor of where she might have spent the night. Nor of where Brig and I had spent the night.

  My outrageous Tempe-costume-of-shame-for-the-day replicated the two-piece tasseled job Reena had stuck me in on my first day filming. This one was in silver. And the top seemed much smaller. Jake and the hideous Reena were either being frugal or were going for sex. On camera, that is.

  Today’s dances were West Side Story Jets-versus-Sharks routines. The women were Jets and the men Sharks. Or maybe it was the reverse. Asha and the girls came dancing across a huge fountain set while Raj and the boys turned and leapt by the tiger cages.

  Neither group seemed to be doing anything in the least related to the story line. No one, including Jake, noticed or cared. It would make for great entertainment and pure escapism for the crowds of Bombay film enthusiasts who would line up this spring to see the finished product.

  Jake taught the routines in the morning. The plan was to film first thing after a long lunch break. I spent that lunch with four girls from Bombay who wanted to know everything I could tell them about America. By the time I finished my rice and curry and the korma veggie dish, I felt like a travel agent for Air America.

  All these girls assumed I’d been starring in every musical film that had come out of Los Angeles in the last five years. Or at the very least that I graced the stages of Broadway and had taken this detour to Film City so I could soak up the culture and the tandoori chicken.

  I’d seen Brig exactly once since we first met with Jake for the morning to-do meeting. Mr. O’Brien had been on his hands balancing on top of a tiger cage, then leaping off and doing some sort of tap dance in front of an elephant. Not Bambi. This was the one I’d seen a few days ago wearing the little cap labeled “Binky.”

  Brig and I had never gotten around to discussing the whereabouts of Shiva’s Diva last night. We’d had better things to talk about—and do. Frankly, if a chorus line of dancing statues had done a Rockettes-style kick line in the trailer, we wouldn’t have stopped our own vigorous routine.

  I did manage to push thoughts about the statue out of my mind until I’d taken the last bites of several delightful dessert pastries. The same as those that had been stored in my fridge the night before and devoured by morning. I had no idea what they were called, but I was already addicted to them. I waved at Asha who sat two tables over from me. Maybe she’d know the name of the goodies and where I could get them on a daily basis while I was here. She motioned for me to join her and Raj Ravi, her costar.

  Introductions were made. Then Raj excused himself to go call his wife, who seemed to be in the middle of preparations for a trip to her mother’s in, of all the strange coincidences, New Jersey.

  “So?” Asha asked.

  “So? What?” I answered.

  “You and Brig? Was I dreaming or did the two of you exit your trailer together this morning? And did I not see that trailer rocking late last night?”

  “No comment except to say the rocking you thought you witnessed was doubtless due to Binky the elephant trying to break down the trailer to see Brig. They all adore him. Bambi, Binky, Buffy, if there is one. Is Spot female? No, wait, she’s a tiger. That’s a different story.”

  “Fine. I don’t want to know anyway. Did the man at least tell you the latest news on where he hid the Diva? In between that no-comment activity that shook the earth.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Asha shook her head in sheer disgust. “Tempe Walsh. Shame. For a career woman, you are so, what’s the word?”

  “Stupid? Naive? Gullible? Dumb? Um. Easily seduced? Easily misled? All of the above?”

  “Well said.”

  We smiled at each other. “Asha. He’s not going to tell us. I think he has
this notion that what we don’t know keeps us safe. Women, elephants, and llamas into the lifeboats first.”

  “Right. Like that really worked when Patel grabbed me in the middle of a crowd of people during a religious festival.”

  “Good point.” I nodded. “Shall we remind Brig? See if we can convince him to part with the info?”

  “Nope. I’ve got a better idea. We’re gonna follow him at close of day. He’ll lead us right to the Diva.”

  “And why would he do that, Miss Kumar?”

  “Because he has some ultimate purpose in mind and I don’t think he achieved that purpose last night.”

  She snickered. “Well, not the one involving the sale of the statue.”

  I ignored the not-so-subtle innuendo. “Sale? So, you do agree with me he does have a buyer? May have had one all the time?”

  “Yep. Let’s see; you and Brig met at Hot Harry’s where Mr. Khan performed his juggling act selling one statue to four customers. Neat trick. Okay. Brig’s in the bar to get his own hands on Saraswati. I doubt if it’s for a private collection. He doesn’t have the kind of money Khan wanted. And, much as I tease about Brig’s actual profession, I don’t truly think he’s a thief. So. Mr. O’Brien is acting as agent for an unknown buyer. That’s what I think. And don’t try and tell me it’s not exactly what’s been in your head too.”

  There were a few holes in this hypothesis, but I didn’t try and plug them. Mainly because I agreed with the ultimate conclusion. Brig must be acting for someone else who wanted the statue.

  Claire’s face flashed in my mind. She was the buyer. I knew it like I knew my own name. “Whoever it is, Asha, I think Brig believes they deserve the statue. He’s had a lot of chances to take off and sell her. But he hasn’t. He’s been waiting for the right moment and the right person.”

  Asha agreed. We began to speculate on whether Claire Dharbar might be that person and if so, why.

  Jake’s assistant bellowed from the roller coaster. “Asha! Tempe! Stop the chitchatter now. Time to work.”

  I didn’t have time to delve into the relationship between Brig and Claire. The co-choreographer made Jake look like a preschool teacher as far as the girl dancers were concerned. She had a real fondness for backflips and front walkovers.

  I didn’t mind performing them until the last flip landed me in front of the snake cage and two girls grabbed me by my hands and feet and started swinging me parallel to that snake cage with the ultimate purpose of flinging me on top of that snake cage.

  The easiest move the woman gave me all afternoon was when I was perched on the seat of the roller coaster. I waved my arms in moves meant for King Tut and a chorus line of pharaoh groupies while simultaneously kicking my legs. Need I mention the ride was moving at the time?

  Filming closed at seven in the evening. The men, again, had been shooting their scenes in a different area than the women. I looked for Brig at his trailer, then at mine. I couldn’t find him at either location.

  Since the majority of the cast were staying on the lot for the night, tables had been set up for dinner. Jake had a few scenes planned for later. The nearly two-hour trek to Bombay meant anyone involved in the shoot would make it into the city about five minutes before having to immediately return.

  I saw Jake and Asha sitting together but no Brig.

  “He’s off again?”

  Jake smiled at me. “It’s an innocent errand, Tempe. I needed a few things from my house and sent Brig to get them. You were still working or I would have let you go with him. He also had to retrieve his clothes.”

  “Oh.” My feelings for the man now must be clearly stamped on my forehead in bright gilded lettering.

  Asha winked at me. “We’ll take care of that errand I told you about when he gets back. Since neither of us are in the scenes later tonight.”

  Jake frowned. “What errands?”

  Asha shrugged. “Nothing. Girl stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

  Jake began to interrogate her as to what constituted “girl stuff.” Fortunately, one of the cameramen ran over to discuss a problem with the lighting for tonight’s filming. Jake kissed Asha on the top of her head, then left.

  She whispered, “Ready to play Nancy Drew again?”

  “Asha, I don’t know if this is such a great idea. What if Brig isn’t even planning on going to where he stashed the statue? If he doesn’t stay here tonight, he might be off, um, seeing a friend. Or someone else.”

  Asha sighed. “Tempe. He spent last night with you. Don’t deny it. And Brig might even be involved in something we’d call a shady undertaking, but Brig is not going to go off with another woman. I’ve seen how he looks at you. Infidelity is not an issue. I swear. But sneaking around and delivering Shiva’s Diva to one of the many nefarious types he seems to know is another matter.”

  “I still don’t see why he’ll need to come back to the lot. Why not just take off from Jake’s to wherever he’s going? I’ll bet it’s somewhere in Bombay.”

  Asha shook her head. “Look, he’s gotta come back here first. He took my car for his trip to Jake’s, so unless he wants all the villains of Bombay on his trail, he’ll be back for the Jeep. We wait, then we follow. I asked that girl who kept hanging on to your feet during the roller coaster sequence if we can borrow her sedan. It’s brown and ugly. The perfect nondescript vehicle for tailing someone. And she owes you for stretching your height another two inches with her pulling.”

  “Okay. I’m with you. After all, we had such fun the last time we played Kumar and Walsh, girl detectives.”

  We smiled. Less than a week had passed since we’d gone to Ray Decore’s room dressed as maids and had to engage in a few choice kung fu moves to escape unscathed. Our first adventure as sleuths. Of course, that little routine had ended with both Brig and me almost being shot.

  Asha and I agreed to meet in thirty minutes at the garage where Brig was parked. I jogged to my trailer and changed into black jeans and a black shirt—the correct outfit for spying or getting into trouble. I threw my black purse over my shoulder, added some makeup (I wanted to look good in case we got caught), then headed back to the garage.

  The appointed hour for our meeting arrived. No Asha. No Brig either. Ten minutes passed. Then another ten. This was ridiculous. A sensible person would just give up, go back to her trailer, and watch the minitelevision on the teensy table in what passed for a den.

  A baby blue convertible suddenly came whizzing into the garage. I ducked behind an enormous limousine. Brig got out of Asha’s car and quietly left the garage.

  Brig wasn’t going anywhere. The man had experienced a full day. He’d been dancing and balancing on amusement park rides, running errands, and he had to be tired. He’d experienced a full night last night as well. I smiled.

  The garage doors opened again. Brig. Damn. Asha was right. He was heading out to wherever he’d stashed Shiva’s Diva. He’d retrieve her, then turn her over to the buyer. I didn’t stop to wonder why he hadn’t done just that all those days the statue had been peacefully reigning over the other figurines on Jake’s mantle.

  If Asha showed up, tailing Brig around Bombay might be fun. But Nancy Drew had deserted me. The whole thing now seemed silly.

  Which is why the actions I took were even sillier. The darkcolored sedan sat in the spot next to the old Jeep. We’d planned to hide in the sedan until Brig brought back the convertible, then tail him once he set out in the Jeep. I had no key. Asha did. And since, unlike certain Irishmen or Jersey girls I could name, I had no skills in picking locks or hot-wiring cars, I had no way to get into the sedan and start her up.

  Instead of waiting in the dark for Brig to leave, instead of waiting in the limo for Asha to show and tell her that Brig left already, I waited until Brig stooped to pick up the keys he’d dropped on the floor of the garage. Then I executed a high hurdle right into the back seat of the Jeep and hid as far under the seat as my body allowed.

  Within seconds, Brig was in the driver’s s
eat. I heard the key turn and the radio turn on. We backed out of the garage, then wheeled onto the dirt lot that ran beside it. The bumpy, rocky, pitted dirt lot. My rear end screamed, “Ooch, ouch, owie, ow!” but I kept my mouth shut.

  We reached the paved road after what seemed like hours. By that time, my bruises had bruises. I made a silent memo to myself to bribe Reena for a costume that would have enough material to cover purple elbows and knees. Thankfully, my rear end wouldn’t be seen.

  We were now gliding down the open road. The two of us. Briggan O’Brien, the man preparing to sell a cursed statue, and Tempe Walsh, half of the new girl detective team known only as Kumar and Walsh. Tempe Walsh, stowaway.

  Chapter 30

  The radio blasted out disco tunes from the seventies sung by Hindu vocalists. The night air felt cool for India in August. It would have been a nice night for a drive, if one were indeed driving and not cowering under a seat.

  “Are you planning on staying there all night getting cramped or would you prefer the passenger seat next to me?”

  “Oh crap.”

  “Hello to you too, darlin’. Come on up, Tempe. It can’t be a comfortable position you’re in. And for the life of me, I don’t know why you’re in it.”

  I crawled over the passenger seat’s back and sank down into the seat itself. If Brig had stopped the Jeep, I would have thrown myself out the door. Humiliation. Embarrassment. Mortification. Stupidity. Waves of them all flowed over me.

  “Hi, Brig. Um. I guess I need to explain, don’t I?”

  “Pretty much. It’s rude not to, you know.”

  “Yes. Well.”

  I related the convoluted and twisted steps Asha and I had taken to reach our conclusion that Brig planned to sell Shiva’s Diva this night. Steps that now made about as much sense as my hiding in the Jeep. Brig stayed silent even after I finished.