Five-Thirty AM - III

She worked the strap of her handbag as she walked into the lobby of the hotel and headed to the reception at about ten past eleven the next day. She leaned over to catch the receptionist’s eye and said, ‘Mr. James, Noel James. Can you please call his room and let him know that I’m waiting down here?’ 

‘Sure, miss,’ the receptionist smiled kindly, and dialed a number. She held the phone to her ear for half a minute and then hung up. ‘I’m sorry, he’s not answering,’ she said apologetically.

‘Oh!’ Mitul was surprised. She had told him eleven today, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. He should at least have had the courtesy to cancel if he wasn’t going to show up, she thought with mild irritation. She wandered back towards the lounge, looking around her, a bit lost. A tap on her shoulder made her jump.

‘Hi,’ she turned around and looked up into his green eyes. ‘You’re late.’

Her mouth opened. ‘Wha! Wait, I tried calling your room, and there was no answer.’

‘I decided to wait downstairs for you,’ he said. ‘Shall we go?’

They walked into the sunlight and he looked at her, pulling on his glasses. ‘Where to?’

‘I thought we could go to Centerville Island,’ she said.

‘Where’s that?’ he asked following her lead as she walked towards the corner.

‘It’s an island, on the lake,’ she swung her arm to indicate a South ward direction. They walked along in companionable silence, joining the throngs of tourists in the streets.

He looked around taking in the tall skyscrapers, interrupted by the old sprawling structure of Union Station. She’d told him to wear comfortable shoes for walking and he realized why now. It was almost a kilometer to the quay. They bought tickets for the ferry and waited in line with tourists, all dressed for a day in the hot summer sun. He himself had elected to wear dockers and a short-sleeved tee with sneakers.

She was casually dressed too, except her baggy khaki cargo shorts came to just below her knees, showing off smooth muscled calves, and instead of a tee she wore a fitted white tank top, her hair tied in a messy ponytail that was stuck through the band of the baseball hat she wore. She had no makeup on, he noticed. Nothing. A camera bag was slung on one shoulder. Shades covered her eyes.

They boarded the ferry and she led the way up to the top. He followed her to the deck, and they moved to the back of the boat, leaning on the railings, looking at the jagged picture of the skyline.

The boat moved off the wharf with a loud hoot, they felt the engines shuddering under their feet as the boat moved away from the shore.

‘Why are we at the back?’ he asked.

‘Because this is the best view,’ she grinned up at him.

He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to say more. She shook her head, her long pony now flying in the breeze off the boat’s movement. He leaned his forearms on the rails, watching the now receding skyline of Toronto.

She looked up at him, haloed by the sunlight shining on his hair behind him, picking out glints of gold in the deep brown. His green eyes were covered by the usual wrap around shades and he was looking around breathing in deeply of the fresh air.

‘This is really nice, Mitul,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you suggested this.’

She nodded her head. ‘I love this boat ride. I love the water,‘ she said. ‘There’s a sense of peace, of calm about water.’ Her voice faded off.

He nodded, content to let silence be his answer.

‘Look!’ she pointed after some time, ‘swans!’

He smiled, then, a charming, disarming smile, taking in the regal birds slowly paddling by. She caught her breath. He really was gorgeous, she thought.

‘So, what would you like to know about me?’ he asked.

She had taken out her camera and was busy focusing on the skyline as it swept wider and wider into view, the buildings lining the waterfront all tall, skinny, blue glass and chrome, reflecting the sun. The sweep of the CN tower rose above them, piercing into the blue of the sky, with the arc of snow white that was the SkyDome’s roof forming a counterpoint at its base.

She clicked a few pictures and then said, ‘your name?’

He frowned at her. ‘What about my name?’

‘Noel James. Is that your real name?’ She looked at him.

‘Noel James Figueiredo, That’s my full name,’ he said, pronouncing Figueiredo with the silent ‘g’ and the rolling ‘r’s. ‘I dropped the Figueiredo when I started modeling,’ he said, staring out at the waters and the clearly etched skyline now. He looked down at her by his side, a rueful smile playing about his lips. ‘My agent said no one would be able to pronounce it.’

‘It is kinda hard,’ she agreed, looking up at him.

‘Try it,’ he challenged.

‘Fig ... fig ... ,’ she stopped. ‘I’ll have to write this down to get it right,’ she shook her head. He chuckled.

‘So where does it come from?’ she continued.

‘Portuguese. My great-grandfather was full-blooded Portuguese, hence the green eyes,’ he explained crisply. ‘He settled in Goa, and married my great-grandmother, who was a Maharashtrian.’

‘So do you speak Portuguese?’

‘Si.’

‘How many languages do you speak?’ she was really curious about this man, about getting to know about him.

‘Six,’ he said lazily. ‘Hindi, English, Marathi, Portuguese, Konkani, and Punjabi.’

‘Wow! I feel so stupid,’ she said, ‘I know only three,’ she felt distinctly inadequate.

‘What do you speak?’

‘English, French and Hindi,’ she pouted.

He chuckled at that. ‘You speak French?’ He leaned with his back against the railing all his attention focused on her.

‘Had to learn here in Canada. It helps,’ she replied succinctly. He nodded understandingly. She turned around mimicking his action, leaning against the railing, facing the inside of the boat.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed a young Indian girl raise her phone and click a picture of them. She shoved off the rails and marched over to her.

‘Just what the hell do you think you were doing?’ she hissed at the girl.

‘Isn’t that Noel James?’ the girl asked her, instead, her eyes round with awe.

‘How dare you take my picture without my consent?’ The fury in Mitul’s voice took the girl aback. She stepped back as Mitul moved closer to her.

‘It’s a public place,’ she protested.

‘So take pictures of what’s out there. But not me and my friend, you understand?’ Mitul grabbed the phone out of the girl’s hand, and swiftly deleted the shot, before handing back the phone.

‘Wait. You can’t do that!’ the girl protested.

‘Sure I can, missy. And if I see one picture of his or mine on Facebook or Twitter or whatever, I will haul your pretty little ass into court so fast for invasion of privacy, you won't have an ass left,’ Mitul was grinding out her words now. Her entire body was tensed, leaning forward, intimidating the person in front of her.

‘Hey! You can’t speak to my daughter like that,’ the girl’s mother stepped into the fray.

People were starting to turn and stare at the scene.

‘In that case, Ma’am,’ Mitul stressed sarcastically, ‘you better teach little miss Muffet here, some manners. She’s taking pictures of me and my friend without our consent.’

‘Mitul,’ the low voice came to the left of her. ‘Come on, it’s not worth it.’ His hand held hers, his thumb drawing little circles on the back of her hand, calming her down. He was drawing her away from the girl and her mother. ‘Come on,’ he urged, once more. ‘Let’s go.’

She snorted angrily, before turning and allowing herself to be led away by him. He led her down to the lower deck area, finding a slightly isolated spot. Seating her, he stood in front of her, effectively blocking her from anyone else’s line of vision.

‘What was that for, Mitul?’ he asked.

She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes, her visor shielding her face from his.

‘Look, I’m used to it, people do it all the time,’ he said.

‘In India. Not here. Here, its just plain bad manners not to mention, invasion of privacy,’ she sulked.

‘It’s okay. There’s no harm done,’ he crouched before her, taking off her shades forcing her to look into his eyes. ‘It’s a beautiful day. And we’re almost at the island,’ over her shoulder, he could see that the boat was nearing the tiny pier on the island. ‘Let’s find a place to sit and talk, okay?’

She nodded reluctantly, unwilling to let the anger go. One part of her mind was already questioning her. Why did she react such volatility when that girl clicked the picture? He was, after all, a public figure, and as he’d said, he was used to people doing this all the time.

But not with me, something inside her whispered.

****

The very tall trees on the island, turned it into a verdant haven. The breeze wafting across the lake cooled down the mid-day heat. The noise and hum of the city was non-existent, although you could still see the cars zipping along on the elevated Gardiner Expressway. But it was all very far away. Here, the atmosphere was somnolent, drowsy, lazy, the quiet broken by the swishing sound of the waves on the shore, the chirping birds on the trees and the distant laughter of children at play somewhere on the island.

They sat across from each other at a trestle table, sipping from the icy cold beer bottles in front of them. The camera sat between them, and Noel pulled it out to take a look at the pictures she’d taken. He clicked through them and said, ‘these are good!’

‘Thanks,’ she replied. ‘I took photography for extra credit,’ she explained.

He smiled and said, ‘you haven’t taken any of me.’ It was almost a question and she looked at him searchingly before answering.

‘We’ll use stock photos, I think, and some from your body of work. I haven’t decided on candid shots yet. Besides, if I took one of you right now, it’d look like you’d been modeling.’

He chuckled and dipped his head, and she realized with a start that he was actually embarrassed! How cute was that?

‘So, Noel, shall we go back to talking about you?’ she dug in.

‘What else do you want to know?’ he leaned his elbows on his table, folded across.

‘Date of birth.’

‘Twelfth of November.’

‘A Scorpio! Do you sting?’

He nodded.

She looked questioningly at him.

He shook his head. ‘I’m not allowed to tell you the year.’

‘Why not?’

‘In my contract. I don’t speak about my age.’

One eyebrow was raised and a smirk replaced the smile. Really? ‘I thought only women did that - not speak about their age, I mean,’ she teased him a little.

‘What’s yours?’

‘What’s my what?’

‘Date of birth.’

‘Eighth of January.’

‘Ah, a Capricorn!’

‘Yep. And I butt,' she laughed.

‘Year?’

‘Can’t tell. It’s in my contract.’

‘Which one?’

‘The one that makes me a woman.’

‘Touche, madame,’ he doffed an imaginary cap. They smiled in companionable silence for a while, then he reached out his hand and removed her hat.

‘What’d you do that for?’ she asked, reaching up to fix her ponytail, totally unaware that the action pulled his eyes to her breasts straining against the tight vest.

He swallowed and looked away, across the lake. Taking her camera, he picked his way down to the softly lapping waves at the shoreline. He clicked a few pictures and turned around.

She had lifted her head up to look at the trees above them, making a green canopy over their heads. The sunlight dappled her skin and she closed her eyes as she tilted her head back, the long lines of her neck forming a delectable arch. He zoomed in on her face and pressed the shutter.

Sitting down, he said, ‘I clicked a few pics, send me the copy of those, please.’

‘Sure,’ she said.

She sipped her beer and said, ‘So how did you get into films?’

‘Isn’t that what this whole book is about? How Noel James Figueiredo, great-grandson of Miguel Figueiredo became Noel James, actor?’

She nodded.

‘So how do you want me to tell my story?’

‘Start at the beginning,’ she said.

****

By the time they got back to the mainland, the sun was already dipping in the West. They walked to the hotel and she stopped him in the lobby.

‘I should go home, Noel,’ she said.

‘What about dinner? Won’t you join me?’ he asked, as if it was the most natural thing to have dinner together.

‘Can I get a raincheck? I have a headache,’ she explained, squinting her eyes a little at the pain in her temples. ‘I just want to shower, take a Tylenol and go to bed,’ her voice had turned a little hoarse with the pain in her head.

He looked at her closely before saying, ‘come on up to my room.’

‘What?’ she stared at him scandalized.

He shook his head. ‘You can’t drive like this. I can’t allow it.’

‘Noel James Figueiredo, you can’t tell me what to do,’ she protested, although it was a weak one.

‘No I can’t, but I just can’t let you go like this either,’ he added grimly, genuine concern clouding his eyes, not even noticing that she’d just pronounced his last name perfectly.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just the sun.’

He looked at her exasperatedly. ‘Wait here,’ he said, before turning around and walking away.

She sat down on a couch, and leaned her head back, closing her eyes. She didn’t know how long she sat there, when she felt a touch on her shoulder. She opened her eyes, to see him standing in front of her, a gym bag in his hand.

‘Come,’ he said, holding out his hand.

She placed her hand in his trustingly. Her head was pounding now, with a million hammers slamming into her skull. He led her to the elevators and asked, ‘which level?’

‘Two,’ she responded as he pressed the ‘Down’ button.

They walked to her car, and he held out his hand. ‘Keys,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘I’m taking you home, Mitul, no questions about it. Okay?’

***