Bollywood Babes (9 page)

“She'll have to go
soon
,” said Jazz through a mouthful of toast. “No one could be so thick-skinned as to stay somewhere they're not wanted.”

“They might if they haven't anywhere else to go,” I said.

Jazz didn't reply. She looked a little ashamed of herself.

At this moment, Dad rushed into the kitchen wearing his best pinstriped suit. He had two ties in his hand, one a deep crimson, the other pink with blue chevrons.

“Which one looks best, do you think?” he asked anxiously, holding the ties up against his white shirt.

“Dad, what's the matter with you?” Geena asked with amusement. “I thought you usually just put on the first tie you pick up.”

Dad looked awkward. “I want to look my best for once.”

“Why?” Jazz asked.

“Oh, never mind that.” Auntie brandished a butter knife threateningly. “Johnny, we have to talk.”

“We do?” Dad asked absently, weighing up the ties, one in each hand.

Auntie sighed loudly. I put down my cereal spoon. This was going to be fun.

“Of course we do,” said Auntie, looking exasperated. “About—you know.” She rolled her eyes upward. We could hear Molly moving around upstairs.

Dad looked puzzled. “We have to talk about the ceiling?” he asked.

“Someone's going to be assaulted with the butter knife very soon,” said Geena in a low voice.

“Molly Mahal!” Auntie muttered savagely. “What are we going to
do
?”

“Well”—Dad frowned—“nothing, for the moment.”

“Nothing!” Auntie gasped in horror. Geena and Jazz groaned theatrically. I was staying out of it.

“What
can
we do?” Dad pointed out, very reasonably, I thought. “After all, the girls invited her to stay—”

“That's not quite true,” Geena broke in. She and Jazz eyed me with great bitterness.

“Well, never mind.” Dad took a piece of toast. “Whatever happened, she's now our guest.”

“But she can't stay here forever,” said Auntie plaintively.

“Of course not,” Dad agreed. “But the girls want her to go to the school party, don't they? So I think it's only fair that she stays with us until then, especially as she doesn't seem to have anywhere else to go.”

Auntie's jaw dropped so far it almost hit the breakfast table. “But—but,” she stammered, “that's four weeks away!”

“Well, that gives her plenty of time to sort out some other living arrangements, doesn't it?” Dad raised his eyebrows. “We can't just turn her out onto the streets.”

“No, we can't,” I chimed in. That won me several more killer looks.

“But the girls haven't even asked her about the party yet,” said Auntie in a disgruntled voice. “She might not want to do it.”

“Well, ask her today,” Dad said calmly, but there was more than a hint of steel in his voice. “Then we can decide where we go from there.”

I wondered if he'd been reading Kim's
Say No and Mean It!
I couldn't remember him being this assertive—oh—for months. Since before Mum.

“And now we've sorted that out”—Dad held up both ties again—“which one do you think? The red or the pink?”

“The red.”

No one had heard Molly Mahal come downstairs. She stood in the doorway, wearing another of Auntie's suits, a silver and turquoise one this time, with some rather pretty beaten-silver jewelry and glittery seagreen bangles.

“It looks better with that suit,” she went on, smiling at Dad. “Very smart.”

“Why, thank you,” Dad said. He seemed flustered but pleased. He put the red tie on, grabbed his briefcase and went out, looking ten feet tall.

Auntie sighed. I think she knew she was beaten for the time being. But I was sure she wouldn't be giving up that easily.

“Frosties?” she said coolly, plonking the box down in front of Molly Mahal.

“Aren't you making
dosas
?” Molly asked, with a delicate frown. “Or
puri
?”

Auntie shook her head. “Feel free to make them yourself,” she replied.

Molly laughed, a tinkling musical sound. “Oh dear,
I
don't know how to cook,” she said with incredulous amusement. “My chef and my maids did everything

for me.” She raised her eyebrows and looked at Auntie. There was a challenge in her eyes.

Geena and Jazz sat up, waiting for the storm to break. I watched with interest to see if steam would actually come out of Auntie's ears. It looked as though it might.

“Well,” she began with cutting emphasis, “
I'm
not your—”

“Come on, girls,” I broke in brightly. “We'd better be going too.” It was still early, but I was desperate to get away.

“Wait!” Auntie pleaded. She looked quite distraught at the idea of being left with Molly all day. Once again, I couldn't blame her. They seemed to strike sparks off each other whenever they were in the same room. “Geena hasn't finished her breakfast.”

Geena looked down at her empty cereal bowl. “Well, unless I'm going to eat the cutlery, I think I'm done.”

“I could eat an egg,” Molly broke in, eyeballing Auntie haughtily across the table. She seemed able to switch from sweet to snooty in one blink of an eye. “Soft-boiled, with one piece of toast.
If
it's no trouble.”

They stared each other out. Words trembled on Auntie's lips as Geena, Jazz and I watched, fascinated. Then she gave a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her toes, opened the fridge and took out a box of eggs.

“Kim's here, girls,” Dad called from the hall.

“Kim?” I frowned, pushing my chair back. “What's she doing here?” She didn't call for us. We usually met up on the way to school.

Kim rushed into the kitchen,
Say No and Mean It!
tucked under her arm, her face eager, her eyes out on stalks. She came to a dead halt when she saw us all at the table, flushing bright red from her neck to the roots of her hair.

“Oh!” she gasped, staring at Molly. “Are
you
the famous film star?”

Molly smiled graciously. “I am Molly Mahal,” she said, and held out her hand. Kim took it reverently. For a minute I thought she was going to kiss it.

“How did you know she was here, Kim?” I asked. I had to repeat the question twice.

“Our neighbors the Chowdhurys were talking about it. Their son Miki works for
Masala Express
.” Kim immediately turned her attention back to Molly. “You're very beautiful,” she blurted out. She was so dazzled she dropped her book. It landed on Jazz's toe.

I don't think Kim could have said anything that would have pleased Molly more. She gave Kim a very satisfied smile.

“What are you reading?” she inquired, turning the full beam of those amazing eyes onto her.

Kim fumbled to pick up the book, banging her head on the table and stepping back onto Jazz's other foot. “Oh …,” she said breathlessly. “Just this.”

Molly studied the blurb. “‘Become the confident
person you've always wanted to be. Learn how to get what you want. Take control of your life and learn how to make people do whatever you want them to.'” She laughed. “I've never had a problem with that.”

“That figures,” Auntie muttered.

“Perhaps
I
should give you some assertiveness training, Kim,” Molly suggested playfully.

Kim, the fool, looked thrilled. “Oh, I'd love it!” she gasped, clasping her hands.

“That's all we need,” I whispered to Geena. “Another diva.”

The doorbell rang.

“I'll get it.” Grumbling, Jazz limped over to the door. We heard a murmur of voices. A moment later Mrs. Macey crept into the kitchen, looking terrified but excited. She was followed, incredibly, by Leo. He was clutching Dad's
Daily Telegraph
in his hand.

“Hey, this is getting better,” I said, smiling at him. “Personal service.”

Annoyingly, Leo ignored me. He was staring at Molly Mahal with a look on his face that was becoming tiresomely familiar. A look of rapt enchantment.

“I thought Miss Mahal might like some of my homemade strawberry jam,” Mrs. Macey squeaked. She produced a jar from behind her back, holding it out.

“Oh, how kind,” said Molly. “Thank you.” She turned her dazzling gaze to Leo. “And who's this?”

“This is Leo,” I said grumpily. “He's our paperboy.

As you can see, he loves his job so much he actually brings the newspapers into our house and delivers them personally.”

Leo ignored me. “Hello,” he said, spellbound.

All this attention was having an effect on Molly Mahal. She was beginning to blossom like a flower unfurling its petals.

“Do sit down.” She clicked her fingers in Auntie's direction. “We'll have tea.”

I could almost see Auntie's blood pressure rising like mercury in a thermometer.

“Well, of all the—” she began.

The doorbell rang again.

“I wonder who this can be,” said Jazz.

“Well, whoever it is,” I muttered bitterly, “you can be sure they won't be coming to see
us
.”

Mrs. Macey, Kim and Leo were now comfortably seated at the kitchen table with Molly. They were hanging on her every word and gesture with fascinated faces.

“Oh dear,” said Geena. “I think our Amber's got a touch of the green-eyed monster.”

Jazz giggled.

“Will somebody please answer the door?” Auntie snapped.

I slipped out of the kitchen. More than ever, I was wondering what I'd got us into. And how everything was going to end. Molly Mahal seemed able to entrance everyone and wrap them tightly round her little
finger. Even Dad had fallen under her spell if he was prepared to let her stay until the school party. …

I opened the door and almost fell over with shock.

Mr. Arora was outside. He looked slightly embarrassed and boyishly eager.

“Sir!” I croaked. “What are you doing here?” But I already knew.

“Amber, so sorry to bother you this early in the morning,” he began. “But I was on my way to school, and—well—I had to come and find out if it was true—”

“Yes, it's true,” I said wearily.

Mr. Arora's big, dark eyes grew dreamy. “Oh, Molly was my favorite star when I was a kid,” he murmured. “She looked fantastic in
Amir Ladka, Garib Ladka
. Rubbish film, but she was beautiful.” He looked hopefully at me with big brown eyes. “Can I meet her?”

“Sir”—I felt I had to warn him—“she's a lot older now. She doesn't look quite the same.”

“Yes, I understand.” Mr. Arora wasn't about to shoulder-charge me aside, as Mrs. Dhaliwal had done, but he was edging his way forward. “I don't expect her to. What's she doing here, anyway? Are your family friends of hers?”

“Not quite.” I grinned, thinking of Auntie. “We just heard that she was living close by, and decided it might be a good idea to invite her to the school's Bollywood party.”

Mr. Arora looked thrilled. “What a fantastic idea!”

“But we haven't actually asked her yet.”

Mr. Arora wasn't listening. He had homed in on voices coming from the kitchen, and was heading toward them at speed.

He opened the kitchen door. Auntie gasped and dropped the box of tea bags. Geena and Jazz looked stunned. So did Kim.

Mr. Arora ignored them all. He only had eyes for one person. “I can't believe it's really you,” he breathed, moving forward as if in a trance. “It's a privilege and a pleasure to meet you.”

For a fleeting second, Molly looked uncertain. Then she brightened visibly as she took in, at a glance, the genuine admiration in Mr. Arora's eyes, as well as his dark good looks. She rose and held out her hand. “And I'm delighted to meet you,” she purred kittenishly.

I thought I could hear Auntie muttering under her breath as she scooped up tea bags. “This is my teacher, Mr. Arora,” I said.

“You're a teacher?” Molly arched her eyebrows. “I'm amazed. Have you never thought of screentesting for the movies?”

“Oh, please,” Auntie muttered.

Mr. Arora blushed with delight. “I can't tell you how thrilled I am.” He slid into one of the chairs without taking his eyes off her. “You're as beautiful as I remember,” he added gallantly. It was a lie, but a brave one all the same.

“Tea?” Auntie snapped, shoving the box of dusty tea bags under Mr. Arora's nose.

He didn't even look at her. “No, thank you.”

Auntie flounced over to the kettle.

“Haven't you got two paper rounds to finish?” I said pointedly to Leo.

“Yes,” he replied, not moving.

Mr. Arora seemed unable to tear his gaze from Molly's mesmerizing brown eyes. “I know this is probably a real nerve,” he began shyly, “but we're having a Bollywood-themed party at the end of term. It would be wonderful if you would be our guest of honor.”

Molly's eyes narrowed and she drew her breath in sharply. “No, I don't think so—” she began.

“Oh, please,” Mr. Arora broke in. “Won't you at least consider it?”

Molly frowned. I could make a guess at what she was thinking. She wanted to continue dazzling Mr. Arora, but the thought of all those curious people staring at her and gossiping about her decline, maybe raking up all the old scandal and history, was too much.

“You heard what she said,” Auntie cut in. “She's not interested. Anyway, the Bollywood party isn't for weeks yet”—she faced Molly with a full-on, challenging stare—“and she'll probably have left long before then.”

“Well, there's no harm in asking,” Mr. Arora said, almost sharply.

He and Auntie looked hard at each other. It was almost, but not quite, a glare.

“Oh, please come to the party,” Kim said earnestly. “It won't be the same without you.”

“Can anyone come, or do you have to be a pupil at the school?” Leo wanted to know.

“I'll help with the preparations,” Mrs. Macey offered.

Molly Mahal flicked Mr. Arora a look from under long, sooty lashes. “Well, I'll think about it,” she said huskily.

“Great!” Mr. Arora beamed with pleasure. He was so dazzled by Molly, I don't think he would have noticed if Auntie had thrown the box of tea bags at him.

Geena and Jazz closed in on me from either side.

“Ooh, this is getting interesting,” Jazz whispered.

“Yes,” Geena agreed. “How long before Auntie strangles Molly Mahal? Place your bets now.”

I nodded. It seemed that if Auntie wanted Mr. Arora, she was going to have to put up a bit of a fight. Jazz was so right. Things were about to get very interesting.