by Nisha Sharma
“And you have no common sense.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment, too?”
He laughed, and the sound was enough to make her toes curl.
“Someone’s gotta make sure you’re thinking straight when Raj obviously wants you back. You know you can’t go there, right?”
“Oh yeah? Why not?”
He grinned, combing his fingers through his hair. “He’s the kind of guy who sells puppies and kittens for a profit and makes you believe it’s for a good cause. Besides. You’ve said nice stuff about my work, so I’m happy to help you get over douchebag traitor.”
“Uh, thanks? You’re good at what you do. The best film student in the school. Stuff is a little dark, but everyone knows you’re going places.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. So, did anyone else—”
“Don’t worry, no one else could hear you guys. Did you actually expect to still work together?”
Before she could answer, the door rattled. Winnie jumped back, and heard muffled voices followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.
“I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “I had no game plan.”
“Well, you better get one soon.” Dev came closer, reached past her shoulder, and flipped open the lock. His eyes stayed on hers as he slowly opened the door, brushing her arm. Winnie jerked in surprise at the contact, which only made him smile.
Dev stuck his head into the hallway, looked both ways, and stepped aside. “Coast is clear.”
Winnie was down the hall, heart pounding, before Dev caught up with her.
They made it to the exit door, and Dev stepped in front of her, pushing it open so she could walk through. In that one moment, she was framed in the doorway with him again.
Click.
She stumbled down the front steps.
“Thanks for the help,” she called out as she headed to her car.
“Winnie!”
She turned. “Yeah?”
“If it came down to either you or him for the club, I’d vote for you,” he said. “Not because I hate your ex, but because you’re the best for the job. I’ll even step in as one of those Bollywood types and save you from the villainous Raj.”
She laughed. “Indian movie references are obviously not your thing, but there is something you should know about me if we’re going to talk more often than we have in the last three years.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“As much as I love Bollywood damsels in distress, I don’t need saving. I’m my own hero.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. It was a flirt move and such a cliché line, but he’d given her an opening, and any self-respecting film buff would’ve taken it. She felt him watching her the whole time she walked to her car.
Winnie reversed from the parking lot, glancing at the front of the school. When she spotted the empty stoop, she sighed. She didn’t expect him to watch her leave, so she really couldn’t be disappointed that he hadn’t hung around.
She turned onto one of the roads that led straight to her house before calling Bridget through her Bluetooth.
“Where did you go?” Bridget said when she answered.
“We need to have a team huddle. I have a story to tell you. Oh! And a weird dream we really need to discuss.”
“A full-blown huddle or a mini one?”
“Full-blown.”
“Okay,” Bridget said. “I’ll bring the ice cream. Bollywood movie?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but my life is getting a little too Indian dramatic, so let’s do one of your picks.”
“Say Anything?”
“The number of times I’ve watched that movie is insane, but yeah, that’s okay.”
“Awesome. I have a thing with my folks tonight, but let’s do Saturday.”
“You’re on. Later.”
Winnie disconnected and tried to stop replaying the last half hour in her head like a broken reel. Mr. Reece. Raj. Dev.
Indian heroines always screwed up when they tried to balance logic with emotion, so why was she trying to do the same thing?
Holy baby Shah Rukh Khan, her life was so majorly complicated.
6
NAMASTEY LONDON
★★★★★
Bollywood doesn’t do enough to show that women have jobs. I’d like to see one Katrina Kaif movie where not only is she employed in a corporate office, but she actually WORKS. Lunching doesn’t count.
When Winnie finally surfaced on Sunday after Bridget left, sleepy eyed, from their twelve-hour movie marathon, she found her father drinking chai at the kitchen counter and sitting in front of a laptop.
“Rough night?” he asked.
“We were brainstorming on how to combat Raj’s weirdness.” She gave him a hug. “You’re watching Namak Halaal?” she asked when she saw his screen. “Dad!”
“What?”
“Why are you watching without me? And why aren’t you watching on the TV?”
“Your mother won’t let me watch on the big screen, and you weren’t awake.”
“Mom thinks you’ve seen it too many times.” Winnie took a sip from his cup and then pulled up a stool next to him.
“Get your own chai,” he grumbled. “Aren’t you going to go to the movie theater today?”
“Yeah. Do I need to dress up? Any time I go, no one is dressed up.”
He shrugged. “I don’t think so. People don’t wear suits and dresses to a movie theater.”
Winnie watched the movie with her dad for a few minutes. When a song-and-dance number started, she asked, “Do you regret it, Daddy? Not being in Bombay? Not working in movies like you wanted?”
“No. Never,” he said.
“Really?”
He nodded. “How can I ever regret something when the choices I’ve made have produced something so much greater than I could’ve accomplished on my own?” He pinched Winnie’s chin.
Winnie kissed his cheek. “I’m going to tell Mom you’ve been sneaking her ginger-root tea bags if you watch this without me again.”
“Hey!” he said, but she was already out the door.
* * *
—
Winnie considered her father’s answer all the way into downtown Princeton. Would she give up her love for Bollywood and a career in film studies because of something a priest said to her about a potential happily-ever-after? She didn’t think it was possible.
Pondering her father’s love story naturally progressed to reflecting on Pandit Ohmi, and her strange Bollywood dreams. She couldn’t ignore their significance to her current situation. Maybe Shah Rukh Khan manifested because she hadn’t gotten a chance to give the bracelet back to Raj. Holding on to it could give him the impression that she still had hope. In all truthfulness, she believed her star chart could come true; that would take some time to get over. But she knew her relationship with Raj was done.
When she stopped in front of the Rose Theater, she noticed that the shutters were pulled over the ticket windows and a CLOSED sign hung over the entrance, but when she tested the door, it swung open. She looked around at the busy street before stepping inside.
“Hello?” Recessed lighting brightened the short glass cabinet along the left wall of the empty lobby. “Is anybody here?”
“Hi.”
Winnie whirled to face the voice. “Dev?”
“The one and only,” he said. “What are you doing here? First you’re stalking your ex, now me?”
“What? No! Never. I mean, why would I stalk you?”
He grinned. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you finally realized we’re meant to be?”
“Sorry, Romeo,” Winnie said with a laugh. “Destiny and I are not getting along right now.”
“Damn. Okay, then what brings you to the Rose?”
“Forget me—what are you doing here?”
“I work here.”
“Really? Since when?”
“Since the beginning of summer. What
, is that really so hard to believe?”
“No, it’s just that I didn’t expect Mr. Tall, Dark, and…uh, you to get a job at the Rose. My father knows the owner, Eric, so I was able to get an interview.”
“Yeah? Eric mentioned that he had one or two spots open. Henry and I thought they’d go to college students.”
“I know Henry is the tech guy. He’s always the tech guy. But what do you do here?”
“I run the ticket booth most of the time, but I also order new films. It’s a pretty cool gig. This job funds my camera collection. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Eric. Hopefully, you can join the crew. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing seeing you around, Winnie Mehta. You’re the only other person I know who has an encyclopedic brain when it comes to movies.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
He grinned. “No. It’s a great thing.”
Keep it together, Mehta, she chanted even as she felt a shiver rush up her spine. It was a sensation she had never experienced with Raj, which she realized both alarmed and thrilled her at the same time.
Dev led her down a narrow hall and knocked on the open door at the end. “Eric? Your new recruit is here. I can vouch for her. She runs the film festival at school.”
A burly, balding man sat behind a metal desk piled with stacks of paper. “Winnie? Welcome! Come in, come in. Oh my goodness, you look just like your father.”
“Hi,” she said as she shook his hand. “I’ve heard that one before.”
She turned, ignored Dev’s curious expression, shut the office door in his face, and slipped into one of the metal chairs. It took only a moment for Eric to start firing questions, first about her interest in movies, and then about her understanding of film.
Yes, she had a blog where she reviewed movies. Yes, she knew Hollywood, foreign, and Bollywood, but Bollywood was her favorite. Yes, she’d learned 35-mm film at film camp.
“I’m a purist,” Eric said, pressing a hand to his wide chest. “We keep thirty-five-millimeter film projectors to play the classics and art-house movies. I’m the only one who knows how to splice film, but it’s taking up too much of my time. I need a projectionist who can stay up in the room with the machines, and splice and thread the film to prep the projectors a few times a week.”
“I can definitely be your projection-room tech,” Winnie said. “I love working with film. I learned how to do it this summer, and I can splice and build a movie faster than it takes Scorsese to kill a character.”
Eric laughed. “I trust your father, so I’m sure you’ll be fine, but why don’t you show me what you’ve got? I want to see for myself that I can trust you with my film.”
“Sure. Works for me.”
In the lobby, Dev was unboxing candy.
“Where are you going?”
“Winnie’s going to show me her film-splicing ability. Want to see?”
Dev pocketed the knife and followed them to the second floor.
In the cool, dim room, Winnie walked over to the makeup table and switched it on. “Ready?” she said.
“I’m not going to time you,” Eric said with a smile.
“Right,” she said. She waited for the table to warm up before she started to put the strips of film together. She was careful with the old Casablanca practice reel he passed her and quickly built the movie lead. She then threaded the lead onto the platters and soundhead assembly. She ran a hand over the framing knob and film shoe, positioning the film into the machine. She deftly formed a proper loop with the film.
Eric stood next to her, arms crossed. “Not bad. Not bad at all. It takes someone who really appreciates film to do this. Even people who host flash screenings claim to appreciate movies, but they don’t get it.”
“Flash screenings? You guys get requests for them here? I thought that was only big in the city.”
“Yeah, the college crowd likes it,” Dev said. “Art-house film screenings with only twenty-four hours’ notice to the public create a lot of buzz. The spontaneity brings people in the door. We’ve actually had to turn some business down because of all the requests recently.” He kicked the base of one of the platters.
“That’s a shame,” Winnie said. “But I splice pretty quickly, so maybe you can show more movies with two people putting film together.” After cutting the lights, she listened to the telltale hum of the shifting strips.
Dev leaned forward as the images played across the screen. “You’re definitely surprising, Winnie Mehta,” he said.
“And accurate, too,” Eric added. “You want the job?”
“Yeah, absolutely.”
“Great! Then let’s get you set up with all the paperwork. You’re going to love this place.”
Winnie tried to control the skip in her step as they headed toward the office. She sat across from Eric and started filling out her application, when she felt her phone vibrate. She peeked at Bridget’s message.
Emergency!!!
She quickly put her phone away. Not good.
“Is something wrong?” Eric asked.
“What? Oh no. Nope, not at all.” She rushed through the rest of the documents and handed them to Eric.
“Welcome to the team,” he said. “I’ll set up your schedule tonight and send it to you.”
“Thanks. I’m excited. I’ll see you soon.”
Winnie was almost through the front door before Dev caught up with her.
“Whoa, wait a minute. What’s going on?”
She held up her phone. “Bridget’s been messaging me.” She looked down at the screen.
Emergency!!!
Call ASAP!!!
Wher r u????
Her phone slipped from her hand and dropped to the carpet when she finished reading the messages.
Before she could pick it up, Dev was there, doing it for her.
“Raj got who for the film festival?”
She snatched the phone back. “It’s a joke, right? It has to be a joke. I mean, Gurinder Chadha. Bend It Like Beckham and Bride and Prejudice. Writer, director, and producer. Raj knows she’s my hero. I have no idea how he pulled this off.” She fanned herself as she went a little light-headed.
“Like I said, he wants you back,” Dev said.
“I’m getting that.”
“Well, this is not an Eddie Murphy movie from the eighties about a golden child with bad guys and ancient prophecies.”
“Shows what you know.”
Meeting Gurinder Chada was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and if it was true, then her life just became even more surreal.
“I gotta leave.”
“Okay. Winnie? Try to remember that he probably has an ulterior motive.”
Winnie didn’t know how to respond to that, so she waved and ran to her car. After buckling in, she checked her phone again. Maybe Bridget had heard wrong. If Raj was smart, he’d post the news on his old movie-review site.
Wrinkling her nose at his last movie review, which was seriously off by at least two stars, she scrolled through his events page. There, in black-and-white print, Raj had included Gurinder Chadha’s bio. She was attending the Princeton Academy Student Film Festival.
Winnie squealed so loudly the couple walking past her car stared.
She sent Bridget two screens of emojis before she texted Raj.
WINNIE: When you said you’d find a guest judge, I didn’t think you’d get my hero. This is amazing!!!
RAJ: Did it for you.
WINNIE: …
WINNIE: Or the film club. Bc you still love it and want to do something with movies.
RAJ: LMAO. No this is all connections. I bet the guy in your prophecy would do the same thing for you. Right???
WINNIE: Maybe? Did you tell Reece?
RAJ: Oh. Yeah. Listen, about that…don’t be mad. I’m fixing it so don’t panic when you read his email.
That was not a good sign. “What did you do, Raj?” she muttered as she checked her messages for the note from Mr. Reece. She opened it up, and all the euphoria and sh
ock she felt was immediately replaced with horror.
To: Vaneeta Mehta
From: Mr. William Reece
Subject: Film Festival Chair
Please see me before the meeting. Shouldn’t take long.
In the auditorium is fine.
Mr. Reece
She was a straight-A student, and she knew how to read between the lines. Mr. Reece was going to give Raj the festival to run. She was going to officially be pushed out of the role. She’d have to smile at the club film screening tonight, as if nothing was wrong, and wait until their meeting tomorrow to learn the final verdict.
Winnie had struggled for years to set herself up for a future at one of the best film schools in the country. Now that she was so close to proving herself, it was as if someone was patting her on the head and telling her, “Thanks, but no thanks.” She knew that she was super driven, and that she could get tunnel vision about following her dreams, but she couldn’t help being so passionate about movies. It was part of who she was. And now she was torn. On the one hand, she’d get to meet a role model. And on the other, there was a good chance she wouldn’t get into the school she’d always imagined she’d attend. She’d live an ordinary life instead of the extraordinary one that she’d always hoped for.
Winnie drove home with her emotions swinging in every direction. After she pulled into the driveway, she slipped out of the car and through the front door. The whole house was perfumed with rich scents of spices. Music played in the kitchen and echoed in the entranceway.
“Winnie?” her mother called. “Your nani has arrived! Come here.”
Winnie didn’t respond as she yanked off her Converses.
“Beta?” Her mother entered the front foyer, holding a wooden spoon in one hand. She was wearing the pale pink salwar kameez she usually wore around the house. “What’s wrong?”
Winnie lost her cool like a Bollywood heroine who was just told that her life was doomed. The only difference was that Winnie couldn’t control her mascara from bleeding all over her face as she ugly-cried.
