The Actor's Guide To Greed

by Rick Copp

  I stopped cold. “Friend?”

  “Yes. I let him into your room. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Arthur, I wasn’t expecting a friend.”

  Arthur’s face fell. “Oh, dear. Please don’t tell the manager. I could get sacked for this.”

  Someone had conned their way into my room. And I was betting it was the red-masked thief. What did this guy want? I grabbed Arthur by the arm and dragged him with me up to my room. I knew the frail, teetering old man would be useless to me if the situation got violent, but I figured at the very least there was safety in numbers.

  When we reached the door, I pulled out my key and quietly inserted it into the lock. Before turning it, I pressed my ear against the door. I couldn’t hear anything.

  “What if he’s got a gun?” Arthur said, his whole body shaking.

  I put a finger to my lips, signaling him to keep his mouth shut. Then I silently, slowly turned the key and opened the door a crack. Peeking through, I saw that one bedside lamp had been turned on. A tall, physically imposing man stood at the foot of the bed, his back to me, and he was rummaging through my suitcase.

  That’s when Arthur dropped his ring of keys and alerted the intruder to our presence.

  Chapter 8

  “Hey, babe, I forgot to pack toothpaste, and you seem to be out. Got any more in your suitcase?” Charlie said, his eyes twinkling as Arthur and I stood in the doorway. Our mouths dropped open to the floor.

  Arthur, in an adorable show of bravado, stepped in front of me, waving his unsteady finger at Charlie. “Security is already on their way up, so you better not try any funny business.”

  “Arthur, it’s okay, I know him,” I said.

  “Oh,” Arthur said, almost disappointed that our exciting, heart-stopping adventure was over. “Is he a relative?”

  I smiled at Charlie, overwhelmed and relieved to see his gorgeous face in my hotel room. “Yes.”

  “Brother?”

  Arthur was a regular Tim Russert out to get the full story. If he really wanted to know, so be it.

  “Boyfriend.”

  Arthur sized up Charlie. It was tough to know how an eighty-year-old English codger was going to react to a happy American gay couple. It might be a little too modern for him to handle. But I was guessing that Arthur had seen it all during his countless years at the Savoy and wouldn’t blink twice at this minor revelation.

  But he did blink. Actually, it was more of a wink. And then he nudged me slightly in my still-sore ribs and whispered, “Good for you. He’s hot.”

  Son of a gun. Arthur was family. I tipped him ten pounds, and after one more long, languorous look at Charlie, he quietly bowed out of the room to give us privacy for our long-awaited reunion.

  I threw my arms around Charlie and kissed him softly on the mouth. He stiffened a bit, still feeling the pain from his injuries. I instantly pulled away.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said.

  “No, don’t worry about it. I’m feeling stronger every day. A few weeks, and I’ll be back 100 percent.”

  “What are you doing here?” I said, as if I actually cared why he had come. I was just so thrilled he was here in London and in my hotel room.

  “I promised to come see your show at some point. There’s been so much press back home on how Claire’s death will affect the future of the production, I figured I better hightail it over here fast before they shut it down.”

  “You’re too late,” I said.

  Charlie arched an eyebrow. “Already?”

  I nodded. “I’m afraid you came for nothing.”

  “That’s not true,” he said wrapping his thick arms around my waist and pulling me close to him. “We’re together.”

  Charlie and I spent the next hour lying on top of the luxurious king-size bed, entwined in each other’s arms, talking. I prattled on about how miserable the cast and director were to me, how Claire was my one ally, how shocking her death was, and how relieved I was that this ordeal was finally over. Charlie updated me on our beloved Snickers, who was so put out by my prolonged absence that she had begun to make repeated statements about her annoyance by peeing all over the house. Isis spent half the day chasing the little Pekingese around while clutching a roll of paper towels to clean up after her. Isis was in way over her head. She had never counted on just how time consuming and challenging the role of nursemaid would be. Charlie noted that a good psychic would have seen the difficulties coming a mile away. He was never a big believer in the art of clairvoyance, but he tolerated my utter devotion to it. And he highly valued Isis as a friend.

  After we caught each other up, I jumped off the bed and stuffed all my clothes in a suitcase. I told Charlie we could be checked out of the Savoy and on our way to Heathrow in less than an hour. He came up behind me as I struggled with the zipper on my Eddie Bauer carry-on suitcase and nuzzled my neck.

  “Look, I just got here. Let’s stick around for a few days, see the sights, have a real vacation,” he said.

  I wanted nothing more than to just go home after a brutalizing month in one of my favorite cities in the world. But I had been here alone, without Charlie, working on a doomed project. Perhaps tooling around London with my significant other would be the perfect antidote to the harsh experience I had just endured. Not to mention the fact that Charlie rarely took a vacation from work and this might be the only opportunity for us to enjoy one before he returned to the department from his medical leave. The Savoy was already paid for through the week by the producers, so why not?

  London boasts some of the best Indian restaurants in Europe. And since Charlie and I were huge fans, even planning a whole night of our week around Indian cuisine, I suggested we take a taxi to east London and dine out on chicken tikka, vegetable curry, and several orders of meat samosas. Charlie was all for it.

  After a quick shower together, we threw on some fresh clothes and headed out. Arthur tipped his hat and offered us a conspiratorial wink as we passed by him in the lobby. We were just about out the door when a familiar voice stopped us.

  “Jarrod,” Akshay said, hailing us down a few steps from the gold-plated door that led to the street. “I didn’t want you to leave before I had a chance to say good-bye.”

  I was stunned. Say good-bye? This Bollywood beefcake bastard despised me. Why on earth would he take the time to say anything to me? But it quickly dawned on me that while Akshay was speaking to me, he never took his eyes off Charlie.

  “Good-bye,” I said and then tried to hustle Charlie out the door.

  “Can I give you a lift to the airport?” Akshay said, smiling, his pearly white teeth a startling contrast to his smooth, flawless brown skin and wavy black hair.

  “No, thanks,” I said. “We’re not flying home. We’re just going out to dinner.”

  “I see,” Akshay said, not even bothering to glance my way. Then he shoved a perfectly manicured hand out and grabbed Charlie’s. “I’m Akshay Kapoor.”

  Charlie shook his hand. “Charlie Peters.”

  “My boyfriend,” I hastily added.

  “You make a very handsome young couple,” Akshay said, full of warmth and charm that I had never seen before.

  “Thank you,” I said, completely stone-faced.

  “Where do you plan on dining?” he said, finally wrenching his eyes off Charlie and resting them on me. “Perhaps I could steer you in the right direction.”

  I didn’t want him to know any more, but there was no stopping Charlie. “You know any good Indian restaurants you could recommend?”

  Akshay lit up. Here was his opportunity, and he immediately pounced on it. “My family owns a cozy little place in Little Bengal. I’m sure you would love it. Very festive, and the food is superb, if I do say so myself.”

  “That’s okay, Akshay,” I said. There was no way I was going to spend the evening in a restaurant owned by anyone remotely connected to this creep.

  “I could take you there myself, as my guests. It wou
ld be an honor for me and my family to treat you both to a full-course traditional Indian dinner.”

  Before I could open my mouth, Charlie jumped at the invitation. “We’d love to. Thank you.”

  Charlie was always looking to save a buck, so this was the ideal situation for him. What could possibly be wrong with a free dinner and a handsome host? I didn’t like this. Not one bit.

  Before I could protest, Akshay swept us out the door and into a waiting taxicab. Within minutes we were pulling up in front of a modest building with a large glass front and “Muhib Indian Cuisine” painted over the window. It was squeezed in between two other Indian restaurants. The place was packed inside, and there was a crowd of people milling about on the sidewalk, waiting for tables to become available.

  Akshay paid the driver and ushered us through the door past the long line of waiting customers. A stout East Indian woman in her late fifties, with long, graying black hair pulled back into a ponytail and wearing a colorful orange and red assemblage of traditional Indian garb wrapped around her padded figure, hustled up to us and grabbed Akshay in a bear hug.

  “Akshay, you didn’t tell me you were coming by tonight,” she said in an English accent that betrayed only a hint of her Bombay roots.

  “I brought some friends,” he said, introducing Charlie and me to the woman, who turned out to be Akshay’s mother. She smiled and bowed to us both and then escorted us to the back of the restaurant where a private table awaited us. Before we even had the chance to sit down, she signaled a waiter to rush over with three Taj Mahal beers and a plate of assorted appetizers. Charlie dove into the meat samosas as Akshay talked his ear off. Meanwhile, I was wrapped up in a conversation with Akshay’s mother. She spun a fascinating tale about her family’s financial struggles, how they came to England with just pennies to their name, and how they spent the better part of a decade working hard to start this restaurant, which took off in popularity, much to everyone’s surprise. She explained how Akshay wanted more out of life than just working in the family business. And how happy it made her that she and her husband were able to earn enough money to send him to Oxford. He had made the whole family proud when he went back to India after college and conquered the movie industry, becoming one of the biggest and brightest stars in their native country. Now she eagerly awaited his star to rise in Europe, and eventually, in America. She had always impressed upon her son that anything in life was possible, and he was now living proof that she had been right. I sat there listening, amazed over how such a beautiful, vibrant, happy woman could have given birth to such a first-rate jerk. I wasn’t about to tell her that, however.

  When the waiter failed to bring brown rice with our curry as I had requested, Akshay’s mother was out of her seat like a shot, barreling into the kitchen to fix the situation. I turned my attention to Akshay, who now had a hand resting on Charlie’s right bicep as he leaned in close to him and chattered endlessly into his ear, trying to be heard over the noisy din of the other diners.

  I wanted to reach over and punch him but thought it might be perceived as inappropriate behavior given the fact we were dining for free in his family’s establishment. I could only watch, seething, as Akshay doted on Charlie, laughed at his every sarcastic comment, and touched his arm as much as he could. I hadn’t even realized Akshay was gay. He kept that part of himself well hidden. Until now. When he met my boyfriend. I didn’t think I had any reason to be jealous. I would certainly give Charlie an earful about Akshay’s true nature the minute we ditched him later. So why was this bothering me? Akshay was no threat. He wasn’t even Charlie’s type. At least, I thought he wasn’t.

  How I managed to hear my cell phone ringing through the clatter of dishes, clinking glasses, and cacophony of voices in such a small, enclosed space was a mystery. But I fished through my coat pocket and yanked out my blue-encased Nokia and pressed the Talk button.

  “Hello?” I said, holding the phone to one ear as I jammed my finger into the other to block out all the commotion.

  “Jarrod, it’s Wallace.”

  I was in no mood to endure another sulk fest with our insecure, whining playwright. Especially when I saw Charlie’s eyes sparkle as he spoke to Akshay. His eyes never sparkled unless he was looking at me!

  “Wallace, this isn’t a good time—”

  “You haven’t left London yet, have you?”

  “No, we’re having dinner in Little Bengal. Why?”

  “Because they’re not going to let you leave.”

  “Who?” I said.

  “The police. They called Katrina and me just as we were heading out to see a show. They want to question everyone again. Claire’s death has been reclassified as a homicide.”

  I fell back in my chair just as Akshay’s mother delivered my brown rice.

  Chapter 9

  My only thought through dinner was whisking Charlie out of the country and away from Akshay. Now, with this new bombshell, that would prove to be impossible. I wedged myself in between Charlie and Akshay as we climbed into a taxi after leaving Muhib and maneuvered my head to visually block Akshay from making any more eye contact with my boyfriend during our quick trip back to the Savoy. I had stuffed myself with so much meat and curry I was downright dizzy from the overindulgence. My eyelids drooped. All I could think about was slipping into a deep sleep with my arms around Charlie.

  Charlie kept a hand over his stomach. He was miserable. We had both eaten far too much. Akshay, on the other hand, was a bundle of energy.

  “I know a great pub that’s open after hours on Compton. Either of you up for a nightcap?”

  “I’m beyond stuffed. I think I’m going to have to call it a night, Akshay, but thank you,” I said, ending the discussion.

  “What about you, Charlie?”

  I was floored. This bastard was making a blatant play for my boyfriend. Right in front of me. He was probably thrilled that I had declined his invitation. And he was betting Charlie would plow right over me to get some alone time with him. Well, he didn’t know my Charlie. He would never abandon me for some slick Bombay boy toy.

  “I’m too stuffed to go to sleep. I’ll probably be up all night. Maybe a drink is just what I need to make me tired,” he said.

  I nearly choked on my after-dinner mint.

  “Excellent,” Akshay said with a gleeful smile. “We’ll drop Jarrod off at the hotel, and then head on to Old Compton Road.”

  I spun my head around, eyes narrowing, firing laser beams of disapproval at Charlie. He didn’t immediately pick up on my death-ray signals. Or was he choosing not to? This was a disaster. Our first night together after a month-long separation, and Charlie was throwing me over for Akshay. I wasn’t going to have a meltdown. I was simply going to be honest and reveal my insecure feelings about this whole situation to both of them. If therapy had taught me anything, it was to be absolutely truthful in an uncomfortable situation.

  “You sure you don’t mind, babe?” Charlie said.

  “No, not at all,” I lied.

  So much for therapy. No. Honesty was highly overrated. This required duplicitous countermeasures. I had no intention of getting out of that taxi without Charlie and leaving him to the flirtatious advances of a gay Indian with a startlingly sexy smile.

  “You know something,” I said, mustering up the performance of a lifetime. “I suddenly don’t feel well. I’m a bit nauseous.”

  “You think it might be something you ate?” Charlie said.

  I flashed an innocent smile at Akshay. “Oh, no. Everything was delicious. I’m sure Akshay’s family uses only the freshest ingredients.”

  Okay, I was taking the low road. This was terribly unfair. But in wartime, sometimes you have to make hard choices. I grabbed my gut and moaned softly. I didn’t want to overdo it. If only I could work up a little sweat on my brow. That would really help sell it. But alas, it was about forty degrees in the taxicab, so that wasn’t about to happen.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” I said, “I never
get sick. I wonder what could have caused it.”

  Akshay was fuming, but he covered it well. He knew exactly what I was doing. And he was going to ratchet up the stakes. He leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Excuse me, you better take us to the nearest hospital straight away.”

  Bastard! He was throwing down the gauntlet, challenging me.

  “No,” I whispered as if I was in some gender-bending stage production of Camille. “I’ll be all right. Maybe if I just get some rest, the cramps will go away.”

  “We shouldn’t take any chances,” Akshay said.

  The Savoy was coming up at the next block. My single-minded resolve was to just get Charlie and myself out of that cab and away from Akshay.

  I reached forward and grabbed the taxi driver by the jacket collar. “Please, sir, let us off at the Savoy.”

  I choked the driver enough so he knew that he had better do as I requested. The cab peeled into the circular driveway that ran along the entrance to the Savoy and deposited us all at the front entrance.

  Akshay made a big deal of helping me out of the cab as if he were overly concerned with my well-being. Jerk. He was just playing it up in front of Charlie. Arthur opened the front door to the hotel for us, and Charlie and Akshay ushered me inside.

  “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Akshay,” I said. “I’m sorry to cut it so short.”

  “Not a problem. The important thing is you feel better, so get some rest,” he said. Although I was certain he was secretly hoping my symptoms would get worse and I would slip into a permanent coma.

  Charlie shook Akshay’s hand. “Thank you, Akshay, you were a great host.”

  Akshay smiled, obviously smitten. “Well, it is easy to be a good host when you’re blessed with such pleasurable company.”

  God, I hated him. What a lame-ass thing to say. I had half a mind to call him on his phony manners. But instead, I managed a weak smile and said, “Good night.”

  “I’m going to have a bourbon in the bar,” Akshay said as we turned toward the bank of elevators. “That’s where I’ll be if you’re feeling better later.”