Bollywood Confidential by Sonia Singh Page A

Siddharth had been set up with the niece of a family friend. His recent success had given him some newfound confidence. After dinner, while walking the girl to her door, Siddharth hadprepared to take his leave when the girl threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. “Oh, Siddharth,” she moaned.
    Siddharth had had a good time that night and decided to kiss the girl back. After a moment, she pulled back and stared up at him with disbelief. “You’re a horrible kisser,” she’d exclaimed. “What are you, a virgin or something?”
    Flushing red, he’d turned around and ran to the lift, the girl’s mocking laughter following him.
    He’d noticed the way the female guests stared at him, their gazes full of expectation. The men in the room shot him looks laced with jealousy. Siddharth felt like a fraud. That was why he’d left the party.
    â€œI needed some fresh air,” he told Raveena.
    â€œI’m feeling homesick,” she said quietly. “God, what am I—six?”
    â€œIt can’t be easy,” he said. “Away from your family and friends. Thrown into the masala moviemaking.”
    â€œMasala?”
    He smiled. “Another word for mainstream Indian filmmaking.”
    â€œOh.” She laughed. “I like that.”
    Siddharth liked her laugh. For some reason, it made the tension in him ease away.
    â€œHow do you like working on this film?” Raveena asked.
    Siddharth shrugged. “It’s the same kind of role I’m used to. I’m tired of being typecast.”
    Raveena snorted.
    Siddharth turned to her in surprise.
    â€œSorry,” she said, “but you don’t know the first thing about being typecast. You’re the biggest actor in India. Thisis the first leading role I’ve ever been offered in my entire career, and it’s not even in the same hemisphere.”
    â€œI have my pick of roles?” Siddharth said, outraged. “The audience, the producers, the directors only want me to play the same character over and over again. The strong romantic hero. I want to play drug dealers and mafia dons or maybe even a transsexual who dresses in saris and sings at weddings.”
    â€œSo what’s stopping you?”
    Siddharth hesitated. He wasn’t used to spilling his secrets, but Raveena seemed truly interested, not just pretending. “I played a man who seduces young women and then forces them into prostitution,” Siddharth smiled in remembrance. “It was wonderful fun.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    He was suddenly bitter. “The movie failed miserably. It was a total bomb.”
    Raveena crossed her legs and adjusted her dress. Siddharth was distracted by the smooth curve of her thigh. There was something very sexy about that dress, the way it seemed so conservative but then revealed a sudden flash of creamy skin. He gazed at Raveena thoughtfully.
    â€œBig deal,” she said. “So the movie bombed.”
    â€œSo? So people in Bihar actually began rioting and threatened to burn down the theater. They didn’t spend their hard-earned money to see me play a villain.”
    â€œWhat I mean is…didn’t you ever have one of your so-called formulaic films flop?”
    He thought about it. “Yes, two or three actually.”
    â€œWell, see!”
    â€œSee what?” he demanded.
    â€œMaybe your villainous film just sucked? Maybe it had nothing to do with your performance.” she said. “But that was one film! Even Tom Hanks doesn’t have a super hit with each and every film.”
    Raveena had a point, Siddharth thought. He’d enjoyed Tom Hanks’s film The Terminal, but it hadn’t struck a chord with audiences, and it had been directed by Steven Spielberg! “Now, this is what my manager Javed should be telling me,” he said aloud.
    Raveena laughed. “You know,” she mused. “I can’t remember what