Page 9 of Fool Me

“When the cameras are on, which they will be the minute we arrive, we are acting, Grant. Hand holding, hugging, even pecks on the cheek are all okay with me. No groping or deep kisses. How about you?”

Grant needed a moment to adjust to the nonchalant way she’d rattled off those rules. The mere thought of hugging her, let alone pecking her on the cheek, made his head swim. But he didn’t want her to know that. “Yes. Yes, that’s fine by me too. We’re acting.”

A man waved them into the lot by the temple and they parked. Ornate carvings of people, animals, fruit, and flowers adorned the temple’s roof and doors like weighty lace. Heavily carved spires sat atop the structure, turning it into a multi-tiered limestone wedding cake. But Sadie didn’t walk toward the temple itself. In a grassy area to the right, several large white tents gleamed under the sun.

Fast-paced Indian music floated past Grant’s ears, and a myriad of unrecognizable smells reached his nostrils. But the colors grabbed his attention most. Saris in every brilliant shade filled his vision, some gossamer and flowing, others crisscrossed and filigreed with so much gold embroidery and beading Grant wondered how the women could move under the weight of their finery. Flowers added to the kaleidoscope, many strung into eye-popping garlands draped over statues and doorways.

As he mentally adjusted to the overload of it all, a sensation far more meaningful stole his attention. The exotic sights, sounds, and smells relegated themselves to a murmur as Sadie reached out and took his hand. Despite the warmth of the day, her fingers rested coolly in his, so soft and delicate they felt like the finest porcelain. She had not been kidding about acting the part of boyfriend and girlfriend the moment they arrived. As sullen and distant as she had been in the car, she became animated and clingy, pointing at the tents and giving him the most heart-melting smiles as she tugged him forward.

“Granteeeeeee,” she cooed as she spun to face him, her smile as sincere as if they’d been dating for months. It took all his emotional willpower to remind himself that everything she was doing–everything she would do that afternoon—was fake. She had no feelings for him. She was doing a job, trying to get her Hollywood break. “I’m going to go find the ladies’ room. Can you go get us some food? You know I love the murgh makhani and the palak paneer, and I wouldn't mind being surprised with a few gulab jamun. But maybe you want some vindaloo or malai kofta? And remember…extra spicy!”

An expression of panic at the string of completely unfamiliar and, to him, indecipherable names of dishes must have crossed his face, but Sadie simply squeezed his hand before melting into the rainbow-colored crowd.

He stood there a moment, feeling her absence, feeling the lack of her hand in his, until the click of a camera from somewhere to his left jolted him back. She’d sent him on a mission, a food mission. He had no idea how long Sadie would be gone, but it wouldn’t do for her to show up and find him empty-handed. Following his nose, he soon found the food tent, where lines of people waited to be served. He located the table with the shortest line and made it to the front in a few minutes.

A man and woman in neat white aprons were using restaurant-sized ladles to dish up curries and rice onto Styrofoam plates and bowls. Now, what was it she’d asked him to get for her? Unrelated syllables dribbled from his mouth. “Uh…murg plaknini? Gugudaloo?” The man and woman looked at him blankly before breaking into giggles. To his horror, everyone within earshot broke out in whispered Hindi. Soon, the crowd around him chuckled too.

The warm day, the unfamiliar sights and sounds, the memory of Sadie’s hand in his, the steam rising from the forty or so warming pans under the semi-enclosed tent—and now shame at his utter ignorance—were all conspiring to thoroughly overheat and overwhelm him. Sweat broke out across his back, and there’d be stains in the pits of his nice dress shirt before the day ended. Where were a burger and fries when you needed them?

And where had Sadie gone? Either the line for the bathrooms rivaled the food lines, or she was stalling on purpose. How could he win her over if she wouldn’t talk to him and took every opportunity to avoid him?

He eyed the other food tables, wondering whether he should cut his losses here and try a different spot, but then the man behind the table smiled warmly. Looking around, Grant realized the people weren’t laughing out of meanness, but sympathy. The man reached over and touched his hand lightly. “What do you like to eat? Chicken? Potatoes?”

“I like them both. Is there chicken?”

“We have this,” he said, lifting a lid to reveal a golden, oily gravy with chunks of chicken floating in it.

“Yes, that looks great,” he said eagerly. Hopefully, it would make Sadie happy. A man walked by with what appeared to be a steaming roll of wallpaper on his plate. “What was that?” he asked, eyes wide.

“That’s a dosa, a South Indian specialty. They’re making them just outside the tent right now, and they’re delicious. Go get one of those first, then come back and your butter chicken will be all dished up and waiting for you.”

“Butter chicken,” he repeated to himself as he nodded his thanks and stepped out of line. Those were words he could remember.

In the grass outside the tent, half a dozen people sat on low stools, cooking over gas flame camping stoves. He watched as a gray-haired woman near him dipped a ladle into a gigantic bowl of bubbly white batter and poured the scoop onto a large, circular, flat griddle. Using the back of the ladle, she spread the batter so thin it filled the pan’s base entirely. When the edges had cooked to an enticing brown, she added a dollop of filling, rolled the whole thing up into an enormous tube, tipped it onto a plate, and handed it to a surprised Grant.

The crisp, savory, sourdough-tasting crepe was the perfect combination of crunch-chew. A filling of soft potatoes and fresh green peas reminded him of the comfort foods of home. In short, he never needed another burger and fries for as long as he lived. He couldn’t wait to share this discovery with Sadie,but where was she?

6

Sadie walked a leisurely loop around the temple, then decided to enjoy another. Her parents had brought the family to this festival a few weeks before they’d died, and Sadie had returned with her sisters a couple of times in the following years. The garden’s maze of exotic, sun-drenched greenery felt like the set of a maharaja’s secret garden. Giant, stripy leaves set off intricately carved statues, while fuzzy, sage-colored mounds formed cozy nooks for tucked away shrines. Stalks of blooming Bird of Paradise arched above her head, their fruity scent blending with the cardamom and coriander wafting from the food tent.

The food tent.

She heaved a quick, annoyed sigh. What a pity to spoil this day by spending it with Grant.

In choosing their first date, Sadie remembered how Grant had whined and complained when her roommate, Abby, had begged to go to a Thai restaurant with him. In the end, Abby gave in, and they’d gone to the steak place he preferred. And in all the times she’d seen Grant eating at restaurants, their apartment, or backstage, he’d always opted for some bland American fare. She pictured him at the festival—overdressed, under-cultured, and unable to handle the slightest level of cayenne. Her nemesis must be curled up in a ball somewhere by now. And, with any luck, surrounded by clicking photographers!

She imagined tomorrow’s headlines as she made her way through the bustling crowd toward the food tent: “Golden Boy Throws Golden Fit,” “Grant Curries No Favor at Indian Festival,” or “Spice is No Dice for Future Leading Man.”

Up ahead outside the food tent, a knot of people stood around. Cameras clicked and people made sounds of encouragement toward someone or something on the ground.Oh no. Had the heat and food made Grant sick? Had she taken this too far already?

Picking up her pace, she pushed her way into the knot of festival goers to see someone seated on a low stool. Before she could fully process the scene, the person hopped up and shoved something crispy and delicious into her mouth.

“That’s a dosa!” Grant proclaimed, the sweat-shine on his face only highlighting the pride twinkling in his deep blue eyes. “And I cooked it myself.”

“You know how to cook dosas?” Sadie said once she’d managed to swallow.

“Amrita just taught me, and she’s sending me home with some of the batter!”

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