I even felt nostalgic over leaving, but in reality we were never gonna make any money being there. If they decided to pay, it would be over the thought of having to start over. So they left us no choice really.
That afternoon Troy and I were summoned to the set to partake in the shooting of this film. I was gonna play, guess what? A waitress…and he was gonna play the antagonists lover in a jacuzzy scene. Great.
As we arrived to the set we met the Producer in the lobby, a young 20 something, single, Indian female we will call, Evermean, as in the wicked witch of the East….
My first impression was that she looked like she was gayer than a 2 dollar Hello Kitty bill. Gay is not a very accepted thing to be in indian society, although it is hard to tell as everyone is same sex friendly. But, I thought, wow, how modern of her. She must be cool. Always dressed in men in black suits.
And so she greeted us and her first question to me was; So, are you ok with the fact that your boyfriend is going to be in a jacuzzy naked making love to another woman? Arent you uncomfortable with this? And all this said with a big fat grin on her face…ejem, actually Evermean, I trust Troy so much he could lick the girls asshole and I would still feel ok about it. I trust our love that much.
Her jaw dropped to the floor, her face turned form that lovely Indian witchy green, to a tomato red. Troy was flabbergasted. I was….enjoying my best bitch back ever…..bitch.
From then on I knew she had a thing for me, I was not sure in which way though. I didnt know if she wanted to fuck me or fuck Troy or maybe both, but boy did she hate me. I became her Dorothy. I could feel it, every time she came over to our place, as soon as she left, I puked. I was unsure if she dropped arcenic in my food and drinks or if her mere energy and presence provoked my gag reflex, but something was terribly wrong about that woman. I could see she really liked Troy, and obviously wanted to make me jealous. I think she relized the impossibility of her fantasy and that made her hate me even more. Karan told me she nicknamed me the Mexican whore at the production office. Indian women are special in that way, I think they are bitter creatures. I once had a weird experience at a salon. I personally went there to get my Pancho Villas removed from my upper lip. I only remember entering the salon and feeling a group stare. I guess I confuse people from that part of the world, I look Indian or Irani or Italian, depending on where youa re from I look it. So as I walked in every woman in the joint turned and looked at me. Looked me up and down, not an unfamiliar thing, in Mexico I get those looks all the time. Not particularly me, anyone entering a restaurant or salon or store is stared at, judged, scanned and released. It is normal. As it is in India as well. I guess it is a classification process, what class do you belong to? Once people figure you out you are free to continue about your business. Anyway, enough about this jealous bitch and back to my story.
