Five-Thirty AM - I

The tones of Verdi’s Spring chimed through the layers of sleep. She came awake in a hurry, gasping for breath, groping for her phone, thankfully visible because of the lighted screen in the dark room. 

‘Hello?’ she slid the lock open and breathed into the mouthpiece.

Her heart was slamming against her ribs, trying to gather her thoughts as she still fought the deep veils of sleep.

‘Good morning, Mitul,’ the deep, husky voice sent frissons down her spine.

‘Good morning,’ she gasped.

‘It’s Noel,’ she could hear the smile in his voice.

‘Noel. Good morning. I’m so sorry. It’s really early in the morning here, and I’m barely awake,’ she said, her voice still hoarse from sleep, still breathing deeply from her sudden wake-up, raking her hair back from her face.

He chuckled. ‘It’s late afternoon here. Joyce wanted me to call you. I didn’t realize you were in America,’ he sounded apologetic.

‘I’m in Canada,’ she said, ‘Toronto.’

‘Oh! Well. Here, talk to Joyce,’ he said.

She could hear the phone changing hands, and the slightly nasal tones of Jyotsana Rashi, her editor.

‘Mitul, I wanted to introduce you to Noel,’ she said.

‘Thanks, Joyce,’ she replied, using the diminutive that her editor preferred to be addressed as. ‘It’s five-thirty in the morning, here!’ she whined.

‘Tell you what, why don’t you call me when you’re awake? I’m at his office now. I should be back in mine in about an hour.’

‘Sure,’ she said.

‘Okay, bye,’ Joyce hung up the phone.

Mitul hung up and looked at the clock. Five-thirty a.m. She sighed. What was Joyce thinking? Her breathing and her heart slowed down. So. Had Noel agreed to the book? She’d find out soon enough, she thought, shoving the comforter aside and padding over to the bathroom. She squeezed toothpaste onto her brush and was just putting it into her mouth when she remembered that ‘Good morning, Mitul.’ She smiled. She wouldn’t mind having that voice as her alarm setting waking her up every morning. No wonder teenagers were agog over him. Her heart did a little skip as she remembered his voice again. Noel James. Thirty-two. Actor. With the deepest, huskiest, sexiest voice she’d ever heard.

And the day was just beginning.

****

Joyce had watched Noel swing his chair around, after the first words, so his back was to her, as he spoke to Mitul. When he turned around, his face was still a pleasant mask. He handed the phone over to her and waited till she’d finished talking.

‘She’s in Canada,’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Yes. She goes there this time of the year, I didn’t know she’d already left. She’d been waiting for you to make up your mind,’ Joyce replied. ‘I guess she decided to leave while you ah.. deliberated,’ she finished delicately.

‘I was thinking,’ he said, thoughtfully, playing with a paperweight lazily, his attention focused on it. ‘I’m due to be in Canada next week. Why don’t I just catch up with her there?’

Joyce looked at him, wondering what he was thinking behind those opaque green eyes. But then, he was an actor, his face was the tool of his trade. He didn’t express anything on it that he didn’t want to.

‘I’ll let her know. And I’ll send you her contact information, so you can get in touch with her,’ she said.

He nodded.

Joyce stood up, knowing the conversation was over. He stood up politely from behind his desk as well, and opened the door for her.

‘See you, Noel,’ she said, and stepped out.

‘Bye, Joyce.’

He shut the door and moved over to the window. Thirty stories above Mumbai he watched the mid-afternoon traffic crawl along. Up here, none of that disturbed him and he liked it that way.

His mind went back to the conversation a few minutes earlier. Mitul, he thought. A beautiful name, and an incredible voice to go with it. Deep and sensual, with that slight raspy edge, so unlike most women. He realized that she’d barely had her wits about her, having woken up from deep sleep. Five-thirty a.m. He grinned wolfishly. Is that how she sounds like first thing in the morning? Every morning? He was curious to know what a woman who sounded like that, would look like first thing in the morning. He was curious to see the face behind the voice. He was curious. Extremely curious. 

*****

Mitul finished eating breakfast before she dialed Joyce again.

‘Hello?’ Joyce sounded more nasal than ever.

‘Hi, Joyce, it’s Mitul. So. Did he agree?’ she got straight to the point.

‘Yes, that’s why we were calling you. He wants you to write the book,’ she smiled into the phone.

‘Oh! Wow!!’ Mitul was more than excited. But then, ‘how are we going to do this? Do I come back to India? I just got here, Joyce.’

‘Well, here’s the thing, hun. Noel is due to go to Canada next week. So, you could just meet him there. He suggested it himself.’

Mitul frowned. That was strange. She didn’t think that he would be that eager to meet with her. He’d given them the run around for months, and all of a sudden he was ready to meet with her and talk?

‘What changed his mind, Joyce? He’d been so unwilling to meet with us before. Why the sudden change of heart?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, Mitul. Today’s was supposed to be an approval meeting only. Then he offered to meet up with you.’ Joyce shrugged.

She wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. For the past five months, she had been following Noel with a proposal to write his biography. His meteoric rise in the world of television and then movies was the stuff of fairy tales. So far he’d proved elusive, evasive and just plain non-cooperative. Then all of a sudden, today, he’d done a complete one-eighty and decided he wanted to work on it. It was puzzling to say the least, but then, as I said, Joyce wasn’t about to look for reasons. The end result was what mattered. Noel James, actor was ready to talk about himself. Joyce didn’t care why or how.

****

Noel had surprised himself. He’d been a very private person, despite the persistent presence of news channels, media, stalkers and fans. He’d managed to keep a lid on his story - releasing only the bare bones needed to the public. But the constant intrusions were wearing him down. His manager had assented, too, that this was a good move, otherwise he wouldn’t have agreed to this. Hence the meeting with Joyce.

And then, he’d heard her voice.

He stretched out his six-feet-two, lean frame in the business class seat, a small self-deprecating smile on his face. He plugged in his iPhone and closed his eyes, his mind going back to that extremely brief and totally unsatisfying conversation a week ago.

He didn’t know why, but now he was consumed with this need, no compulsive need, to see the face behind the voice. Which is why he was headed to Toronto a whole week before he was supposed to be there.

****