he wanted to see bodies floating down the Ganges. Real life. Hers was make-believe life. Lifestyle's of the rich and famous. Only she wasn't either. She was poor. Like the people she had heard about dead, floating down the Ganges. Just not as unlucky.

She had agreed to come to India only she wasn't sure why. It was better than being in Los Angeles she figured. She had a tendency to run when things got hard—things were hard now. But maybe, she thought, the adventure would do her good, like Hemmingway. He was a traveler… and a drinker. Maybe she needed a drink.

They did all the Five-Stars -- hotels and restaurants. He wouldn't eat anywhere but at a Five-Star, which just meant the hotel except for this one time when they went out to a restaurant with the whole crew. He figured it was approved by the Producer who would know things about disease and danger.

 

n the way there, he had yelled at her for eating the food on Air India. She was going to be sick he said.

"Great," he said, "Now I'm going to have to take care of you. I don't want to take care of you."

"It says in the book you can drink the milk if it's pasteurized," she said.

"How do you know it's pasteurized," he said. "You don't know."

"I'm sure it is," she said.

"That's so typical," he said.

"We'll ask," she said and called the stewardess over, "Is this milk pasteurized?"

The stewardess smiled, "Yes, ma'am," and walked away.

"She doesn't understand the question," he said. "Why can't you just wait and eat when we get to the hotel?"

"India was an English colony. Her English is fine and the food is good," she said. "You would like this thing, it's got cheese in it. You want to try a bite?"

"No," he said.

The whole thing wasn't unlike the valet battle they had had last March. For growing up rich he sure didn't know much about how things worked for his half. He had screamed at her for giving the valet a dollar tip on a three-dollar valet parking charge.

"Three dollars is enough," he said.

"The guy doesn't get the three dollars," she said.

"Sure they do, who do you think gets it?"

"The restaurant or who ever owns this lot."

"That's ridiculous, they do not. The restaurant isn't charging us for parking."

"They're charging you for valet."

"They are not."

He was so sure he was right that he asked the valet.

"No, we don't get the money," the valet said. "The restaurant does."

She didn't say anything. She was driving his Porsche.

"OK," he said, "you were right. Are you happy?"

"You're weird," she said.

"What does that mean?"

"You live in such your own world," she said.

She shouldn't have said anything because then they fought.

 

hey had moved to Los Angeles after going to undergrad together. She wanted to write, he wanted to act. They had met when she was a sophomore. He was on the golf team and she was taking a class in golf. She couldn't believe they would give her a credit for taking golf lessons. But they did. She figured this was the good life, life at the Ivy League, lifestyles of the rich. His money stemmed back three generations -- old money. His great-grandfather owned a coalmine in Tennessee. She had visited his home in Tennessee and even though coal-mining was something she didn't believe in, they believed in it in Tennessee. Everyone did, not just the rich people. Coal was a living in Tennessee, a way of life.

Everyone assumed she would hate Tennessee—but she liked it. She did feel like a Yankee, just like they said, and she did think it was racist, just like she had heard. But, it wasn't sexist like she had heard. She liked how women handled themselves. There was a friend of his that drove a pink mustang, had a .38 in her dashboard and only wore midriffs. She talked loud and 'didn't take nothin' from nobody'. The woman had chutzpah, to use a word from her ethnic hometown evenly split between Irish/Italian Catholics and eastern bloc-country Jews.

They were opposites, him and her. Everyone said it, and then they'd say, "opposites attract".

She felt opposite to him in India. He thought she was morbid for talking about bodies in the Ganges. She simply wanted to know if the rumor was true; and if it was, she wanted to see it for herself.

She drove with her boyfriend to the set the day they were making the company move to a location near the Ganges River. Their tall white SUV signaled they were tourists. A man walking with two bears saw the vehicle, and signaled for them to stop.

"You want to have a look?" their Driver asked.

"Yes," she said.

"No," the boyfriend said at the same time.

She got out her camera. "I've never seen a bear out of a cage before, this close—have you?"

"No," he said and they got out of the car.

The Bear-Tamer was excited that they had stopped. He raised his wands and got both bears to stand. She started taking pictures and got closer and closer. The Bear-Tamer reached out to her, grabbing her hand.

"You want to touch the bear?" the Bear-Tamer said putting her arm near the bear.

"No," the boyfriend said, "Don't touch the bear. It's dirty."

She pulled her hand back and said, "No thank you."

The Bear-Tamer said, "Look, it's OK," and he petted his bear. "You can touch. Touch." He reached for her hand again and brought it to the bear. This time, she petted it.

"Don't touch her," the boyfriend said.

"200 rupees," the Bear-Tamer demanded.

Her boyfriend pulled out his wallet.

 

hen they got back in the car he told her she was so stupid again.

"The bear wasn't going to hurt me," she said.

"How do you know?"

"It was sad seeing how he made that bear stand by pulling on the ring in its nose," she said. "But it wasn't dangerous."

"It was very dangerous."

"When am I ever going to touch a bear again?"

"You could get the bear virus."

"The bear virus?"

"Yeah—haven't you heard about it? It's fatal."

She laughed and he laughed with her. But he was serious.

"I feel bad thinking everyone and everything's dirty," she said. "They're people—we're not going to die if we shake their hand."

"I don't know about that - there's a lot of weird diseases out there. I can't afford to get sick."

She looked out the window on his allusion to money.

He went on, "You have to take the humanity out of it."

"The humanity?"

"That's the only way you can handle this."

"Take the humanity out of dealing with people? Do you know what you are saying?"

"Don't talk to me that way."

"What way?"

"Like I'm stupid. Just because I'm an actor doesn't mean I don't read."

"I never said you didn't read."

"I read more than you do," he said.

"I doubt that," she said.

"Oh yeah, what was the last book you read?"

"Why does everything have to be a competition?"

"You can't remember, can you?"

"The Bean Trees."

"That was two months ago," he said.

"I'm reading short stories now."

"Oh, yeah, what's it called, 'You Don't Know what Love is'?"

"It won a National Book Award."

"It's just like all those negative things you read," he said. "They warp your mind."

"You're the one who believes everything you read."

 

hey pulled up to the set. His trailer wasn't as nice as it usually was. It was making him irritable she thought. He needed his amenities -- that must be his problem.

The village kids had already swarmed the wardrobe trailer. They wanted Polaroids. They'd probably never seen a picture of themselves before the arrival of the film crew and they loved it. They smiled for the camera, and they wanted to shake the wardrobe lady's hand. She wouldn't let them -- afraid of their overzealous dirty faces. When the wardrobe lady saw the boyfriend coming, she waved the children off.

"No more," she said, "No more."

The children didn't listen and swarmed the boyfriend when he approached the trailer. This irritated him and he gave them some rupees to get them away which only made them more attentive. His girlfriend took pictures of it all. Eventually he got inside. She made her way to where they were setting up the first shot.

The Director of Photography was there too. A young man with a full beard. Rugged-looking, smart-looking. She took a photo of a small cyan-colored house and the tree next to it populated with a family of monkeys.

"That's a good shot," the D.P. said.

"Do you see the monkey family?" she asked.

"No..." and he stepped back to get a look.

"They are silhouetted from here, figures in the branches."

He finally saw them, "You mind if I steal your shot? I think I'll put the camera here for that scene of your boyfriend and Tuni."

She cringed at the word boyfriend, "I doubt the monkeys will stay."

"It's OK, I'll get them in the wide then we'll go in for a two on them with the blue house in the background ..."

He was trying, so she allowed herself to be amused. He always talked camera with her. He was dangerous. Him in his obligatory D.P. goatee, his knowledge of light, his love of form. He was sexy.

She wished her boyfriend were more like the D.P.

 

unch was chicken tikka masala like it was every other day because it was something everyone could agree on. The D.P. sat next to her, obviously, as he always did. Once he said, "I want to sit next to the most beautiful woman in the world." Her boyfriend laughed and talked with the Director about how he interpreted the next scene. Today, the D.P. put his hand on her leg and she liked it. She felt the warmth go right through her cotton pants, right through to her thigh and then up just a little bit.

 

he crew had everything packed and finally she was going to get to see the Ganges. She opened up film packets for her 35mm and conserved the battery power for her digital camera. The D.P. and Director drove with them in their tall white SUV. She was in the middle and every time she leaned forward to take a picture the D.P. snuck his hand under her leg—copping a feel. But she let him, so she wondered, was it copping or just feeling?

They passed villages like the other's they had seen, small, isolated, cows and monkeys in the yards. Houses bright with colors and old wood doors. Or no doors. And the people. They would stare at the SUV. The kids especially. They would run after it, or just stand there like in a painting next to their cow, holding their younger brother bottomless in their arms.

She was getting hotter sitting in the middle like that. She asked the driver to turn up the AC but it was already blasting. Just not that cold. Not enough freon maybe. The wind blew back her hair and made her eyes tear.

Her boyfriend was talking to the Director again. Not about the movie, about some other Hollywood guy. How many women he'd fucked. Stars too - like Gwyneth Paltrow and that cute young girl from Bring it On and he was like 50 and fat. She exchanged a look with the D.P. He mouthed that she was just as hot as the hot girl from Bring it On. Which made her feel good because that girl was 19.

 

t was dark and everyone was anxious to get to the nicest hotel in the area. Which wasn't that nice really. It didn't feel clean and they could only get a room with two twin beds instead of a queen. He wanted to push the beds together but they couldn't move the nightstand which was bolted to the floor. So he pulled the beds out and in front of the nightstand and left the two twin beds floating in the middle of the room.

"The pillows are going to fall off the bed all night," she said.

"Why do you always complain?" he said.

The pillows did fall off the bed all night. She couldn't sleep. He didn't even try to fool around with her. She got up and went to the restaurant bar which was mostly empty. Save for the Director, the Second Camera Assistant and the D.P. They had taken a long dinner and were drinking now, laughing now.

 

sight for sore eyes," the D.P. said calling her over.

"I can't sleep," she said.

"You need a drink," the Director said, "it'll kill the poison."

"What poison?" she asked.

"All around us, the food, the air..." He was just like her boyfriend. Scared.

"It kills other poisons too," the D.P. said as the drink arrived.

She drank it and looked through the bottom of the glass at him. He saw her.

She quickly took another drink letting the one poison kill the other poison but even then she wasn't sure if the two venoms made a cure. The boys were talking about today and tomorrow. They were talking about how the Second A.C. was screwing the make-up girl. The Second A.C. always ends up with the Make-up girl, or the Wardrobe assistant. They did it in the camera truck, for forty-five minutes when he was supposed to be loading film. But he had loaded enough for the whole day that morning, so they went to the small pitch-black room in the back of the truck, closed the door, and sat her up on the shelf where he usually rolled the film onto a spool.

She couldn't help it and said, "I bet you have good hands in the dark." The boys laughed and then made a couple of Second A.C. jokes. How he has patience and practice with his fingers in small dark places. You know how boys can be. But, she had started it.

By now she was feeling the poison which felt good and hot and fuzziing. She needed the fuzzy part, the soft part of alcohol.

"Where is the Make-Up Girl?" she asked.

"In her room," he said.

"Do you have the key?"

"We have a system," he said.

"What's your system?" she asked.

"It's pretty simple—Do Not Disturb means please, please disturb," he shot the guys a look and they laughed with him.

"So, how does that work," she asked. "She hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and -- you, what, knock and she lets you in?"

"No, the sign means the key is on top of the molding."

"That's so 1937," the Director said.

"But it's not a key, it's a square paper thing," she said. "It won't stay."

"Here, yeah," the 2nd A.C. said, "That's why it'll be in the light fixture to the right of the door."

"That's a pretty involved system really." The Director said.

"Why doesn't she just give you a key?" the D.P. said.

"Because she doesn't want him to have a key," the girlfriend said and drank from her drink.

The boys laughed again. The 2nd A.C. didn't care. He was the one getting some, he was the one having fun, playing the game. He got up.

"If it says Please Make-up My Room," the Director said, "Will you be back?"

"I guess so," he said with a smile on his face thinking, or hoping, that wouldn't be the case.

The boys ordered another round. She decided she'd stay on but as soon as she did the Director left. He had to call his wife he said. He had promised.

 

ou look beautiful tonight," the D.P. said a standard line. One not to be taken too seriously, but one she needed to hear.

"I feel like shit," she said.

"You getting sick?"

"No, not that kind of shit," she said and he laughed. Bathroom jokes were funny in India, not gross. She liked that about India. She liked the baseness of it -- or so she thought.

"Good," he said. "I wouldn't want that."

"I guess I've been lucky so far."

"How is your boyfriend doing here—he doesn't seem to like it."

"He hates it," she said. "He's out of his element."

"What element is that?"

"Lifestyles of the rich and famous."

"It must be hard, him getting all the attention. . ."

"It's not that," she said. "I'm just being a bitch. We're not getting along."

"It's OK to need attention."

"Really?" she said and looked at him. He was being serious. Not flirtatious really although both sentiments were mixed together.

The rest of the conversation she can't really remember. There was something about her mouth that he said. And her mind, the way it worked. He said she had an eye for detail which made them similar. They talked about God, Politics and the Jews in Israel—trying to cram ideas and thoughts of a lifetime into fleeting hours.

Finally, he gave her his key. He slid it under her fingers which were outstretched toward him on the table.

"I'm going to make this really simple. Will you come up with me?"

She hesitated so he added, "Just for a few minutes?

"What time is it?" she said so she wouldn't have to answer. But he got up and she followed him. They held hands in the hall and she let her head lean on his shoulder and she felt good, she felt fine.

When they got to his door the Do Not Disturb sign was hanging on the handle. He gave her a wink which she thought was cute.

She put his key in the lock and slid it out. The light turned green.

He kissed her before the door latched shut which made her feel better. Everything about him made her feel better.

He got her on the bed and on her back pretty quickly.

"How did you get a big bed?" she asked.

"I slipped the guy some rupees," he said.

"What?" she was amused.

"You just gotta know how to get what you want in a place like this."

His hand was under her shirt, under her bra. He was doing it differently then her boyfriend, which made it exciting, it made her excited.

"Your nipples are hard," the D.P. said like he was some Casanova, some Don Juan.

She smiled and didn't tell him that the wind could blow and they'd be hard. Something her boyfriend knew, something this man, did not. What happened next she can't fully remember, except that she thought no and said yes. Or maybe she said no and meant yes but either way it happened -- all of it. And it was perfect. Beautiful she thought. She thought he was more kind, more tender, understood her more. When they joked in the middle or they stared into each other's eyes she was convinced this was the way it was supposed to be.

 

he next day, they all piled into the too tall SUV. The D.P. looked at her but she avoided him by asking to sit in the front so she could see out the window, take pictures maybe.

"How are you guys feeling this morning?" her boyfriend said. "She feels like shit and I couldn't find any good water at this hour."

"Here," the D.P. said and handed over his water bottle.

"I feel great," the Director said. "I think it just killed whatever needed killing."

She took a long drink from the water bottle and turned to give it back to the D.P. He smiled at her, knowingly.

They could see the river through the trees now.

"It's red," her boyfriend said. "Maybe that's the blood from the dead bodies."

"What's that about dead bodies?" the Director asked.

"She heard there were dead people floating down the Ganges," her boyfriend said.

She shot him a look thinking that this, like everything he said about her, he said with disdain.

"You're the one who wanted to see," he said. "Now we're here. It's so disgusting."

"There's a dead cow," the Director said.

"Look," the D.P. said "That guy's taking a shit right in the river."

They all turned to watch the man with shorts at his ankles, squatting. They'd seen it before but every time public defecation was pointed out, they all had to watch again.

Their driver stopped the car and the white trucks with all the equipment lined up behind them. They filed out of the cars like grammar school kids on a field trip. They walked through the trees to the edge of the bank and then it hit her. A horrible smell turned her stomach over and she tried to catch herself but she couldn't. She threw up in the mud and on her shirt and on her shoes.

The D.P. rushed over to her and she hid her face, spitting to her right. He put his hand in the small of her back with a familiarity he hadn't earned. Her boyfriend was slower but came to her side and said, "Why did you want to see this?"

The D.P. said, "Are you O.K.?" and she realized she couldn't look at him in the eyes.

She hated them both now and waved them off just in time to stagger away and throw up again, in peace.

 

[END]

© Robyn Norris 2003