she speaks to me

I went into the hotel, but hung around in the lobby. My kitbag had to be unloaded from the bus, and loaded into my black Pajero, which my driver would have brought to the West End parking lot. I was going to my apartment in Kumara Park extension, where I live with my mother. I would join the team again at net practise tomorrow.

I could see through the glass panes of the lobby doors that Ganja had not managed to avoid that media woman. He mumbled something into her mike and came in, shaking his head. I waved him on and continued to lean against the reception, watching the show outside.

More TV vans landed up -- these guys were an absolute nuisance, but one had to tolerate them. After all, they popularized the game, made or broke cricketers with their comments, built up the hype. BCCI loved them and got huge revenues from TV rights. Well, in a way, they paid our remuneration and for our contracts..

Coachie and manager finished talking to the media bunch and came in, mopping their respective brows. I grinned at that and continued watching. That media woman.. I wonder why my eyes keep going to her? Something familiar about her.. she came into the lobby, straight to me. I mentally raised my brows, but kept quiet.

''Will you talk to me?,'' she said.
''Talk,'' I repeated. Hmm, interesting that this woman thought I would break my contract with the BCCI and talk to her. Did she think she was that attractive? I decided to be insulting and gave her a once over.

''Talk, you know. To my mike,'' she said, clenching her teeth.
Hmm, the woman had a temper alright. I hadn't even begun to rile her. I leaned back on the reception desk, enjoying myself now.
''Oh Mike. Ask the captain, manager or coach. No one else can talk,'' I said, simply enough.
''The captain has gone. You are the vice-captain. Please talk to me?'' she said. She was trying to smile and not get angry, which amused me further. And there was something about her...

She was looking at my feet. Oh well, everyone looks at my feet. It's a problem, when one is huge. ''Size 14,'' I told her.
 ''Huh?'' she said.
 ''My shoe size,'' I said pointedly, in an attempt to get her to see how rude it is to stare at people's feet.

She started looking harried. This woman was really interesting. I could see the start of  a blush on her face.. or was it just an angry flush?
''No to the Mike,'' I said, abruptly. ''But will you have dinner with me?''

Now where had that come from? I frowned at myself. Why exactly was I asking a media woman to have dinner with me? What if she got some information out of me that she publicized?

But I hadn't invited the media woman, I told myself. I had invited just the woman. Oh ho. Now that was even more strange. Why had I invited her?

''No thanks,'' she said tiredly. Huh? She refused! She walked away. Wait, I didn't even know how to talk to her again.. and somehow, it seemed essential that I know.

''Hey which TV are you from?'' I called out, across the lobby. She stopped, stared at me. The whole lobby was staring at me, but I didn't really care. I was used to being stared at.

''National TV,'' she said and left. I hung around a while after that, then my car came to the lobby entrance and I left to go home to my mother, still wondering why I wanted to see that woman again.