The Lucky "Evox"

Sequence One. Adagio

The bright yellow lights somehow compensated for the dismal décor of the premises, but still, the grey carpet and the bare nondescript walls were not exactly eye-feasting material. Ariadne saw no point in decorating her small windowless office. She was replacing the company’s graphic designer who was on maternity leave, and her contract was about to expire. So the only concession to embellishment was an Alpine landscape pinned in front of Ariadne’s desk. She took the photo for the poster herself at home, in Italy. She loved colours, bright and pastel, vibrant and gentle, but neutral beiges and greys? Not her cup of cappuccino. Just like office life.

I’m returning to freelance as soon as this is over, Ariadne thought as she headed to her supervisor’s office through the labyrinth of cubicles. Violet was kind and mostly gave her free rein, but Ariadne hated the routine of traffic and mandatory working hours. She knocked and heard Violet’s low, a bit nasal voice permitting her entry.

‘Hi, Ariadne.’ Violet was visibly tense as she gestured towards a chair, inviting Ariadne to sit. ‘How are you today?’

‘Fine, thank you, and how are you?’ This was another part of the office routine Ariadne disliked. The perfunctory interest in each other’s lives. As if someone would stop and start telling their colleague how they really were.

‘I’m okay, but Marie is sick.’

‘Oh no, what happened?’ Ariadne was fond of the receptionist, a sweet grandmotherly woman who plied her with lollipops, and, having learned that Ariadne came to the country with only one suitcase, gave her an old but very warm blanket when Canadian winter came, early as usual.

‘She said it was nothing serious, just a cold, but I gave her leave for three days. Do you mind replacing her?’

Right. Ariadne was sure they would not pay her for extra work, but she would do it for Marie.

‘No, I don’t mind at all,’ she replied politely.

As it transpired, receptionist work was a bit more fun than her solitary days of clicking away at graphics. Visitors came in all the time, and the conversations with colleagues extended a bit further beyond the almost mandatory hi-how-are-you’s. Ariadne managed to juggle the tasks quite well, but she was still upset to hear from Violet that Marie would stay home a little longer than three days.

On the fourth day, when the blizzard raged beyond the windows and the snow rammed on the glass, the reception room was warm and welcoming. The Christmas decorations were up, and the festive mood was enhanced by the sweet citrus fragrance of the orange Ariadne was peeling.

The phone rang. Ariadne put the orange down, hastily wiped her hands with a Kleenex, and picked up the receiver.

‘Burley Group, bonjour, hi.’

‘Hi Ariadne, it’s Violet. Please tell Marcel to come over to the warehouse.’

‘Of course,’ replied Ariadne.

‘Thank you.’

Marcel was head of the purchasing department, a senior Quebecois who never asked how she was, just nodded to her. She kind of liked him for that. Ariadne dialed his internal number, but no one picked up. Okay. She switched on the PA and said into the receiver, ‘Mr. Tremblay, please note you are expected at the warehouse,’ then repeated the line in French. Her accent was barely audible, but then, she spoke English and French from childhood. It came in handy when she had crossed the Atlantic to start a new life in the New World.

Later that day, Violet dropped by the reception desk. She was smiling.

‘You know, Ariadne, people keep dropping by my office and asking who’s replacing Marie.’ She paused for dramatic effect. Ariadne lifted her eyebrows and moved her long raven braid from her right shoulder to the left.

‘Oh? Did I do something wrong?’

‘No, no, they are asking who’s the girl with such a pleasant voice. They heard you over the PA today.’

‘I see.’ Ariadne smiled, too. ‘Well, I am grateful for the compliment.’

‘I heard you, too. You do sound nice.’

‘Thank you, Violet.’

‘Do you sing?’

‘Only after a drink or two,’ Ariadne said mischievously.

Violet laughed. ‘Well then, we will make sure to keep your glass full at the Christmas office party.’

Sequence Two. Andante

Marie was finally getting well, and Ariadne was working the reception for the last day, when a visitor came in and stopped by her desk. He was tall and well-built, muscles discernible even under the expensive grey fabric of his coat. His reddish-blonde hair was a little long, framing a high forehead. Attractive man, thought Ariadne, but her smile was devoid of any coquetry as she greeted him politely.

‘Hello,’ the stranger said, his green eyes squinting at her badge, ‘Ariadne. I am Aidan McCole, I have an appointment with Mr. Dunn at eleven.’

‘Of course,’ replied Ariadne, checking the appointments list. ‘Mr. McCole,’ she read. ‘VIP Productions.’ She rummaged in the drawer and handed him a visitor’s badge. ‘Just a moment, I will notify Mr. Dunn that you’re here, sir.’

After a brief conversation with the president’s assistant, Ariadne hung up the phone.

‘Mr. Dunn’s assistant will be here shortly to accompany you to his office, sir.’

‘Thank you.’

Wonderful smile, too, she thought. She couldn’t help but return it, more warmly this time. ‘Would you like to take a seat?’

‘I’m okay, but thank you,’ he replied. ‘Ariadne? Theseus’ saviour. Interesting. Are your parents fond of Greek mythology?’

‘Indeed. But they couldn’t be more off the mark. I am useless at spinning yarn and terrified of cows. Imagine what dread the Minotaur would give me.’

Mr. McCole laughed softly, but with gusto. ‘Why cows of all animals?’

‘Long story. Well, more like an embarrassing story of running and pursuit. Ah. Here’s Mr. Dunn’s assistant.’

She really hoped she did not imagine the regret in his eyes as they had to stop their conversation. She bid him a polite goodbye, her professional polite mien back in place, but inwardly, she wished they met in other circumstances.

Later, after several calls and PA announcements, Ariadne was engrossed in an infographic she was building for the holiday sale campaign, when she heard someone approaching her desk. She looked up, hoping it was him, and it was him, coat on his forearm, green eyes slightly tired, but he was smiling again.

‘Sorry to distract you from work. Here’s the visitor badge.’

Ah. She knew she couldn’t possibly prompt him to continue the mythology and cows conversation, so she took the badge, put it in the drawer and asked, ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes. May I ask, is your position as a receptionist permanent?’

‘Oh no,’ Ariadne replied hastily, ‘I am not the receptionist, I am just standing in for my colleague who is ill. I am the graphic designer of the company. And it’s not permanent. Maternity leave replacement. Why?’

‘You see, I own a voiceover production company,’ he explained, ‘and I am always looking for talent. I’ve just heard you over the PA, and don’t take it for flattery, but I’ve rarely heard such a beautiful voice. I’m sure you’ve been told that before.’

‘To be honest, yes, but I never thought of using it professionally.’ Ariadne felt blood rushing to her cheeks. ‘And I’m not a voice actor.’

‘Well… Maybe you are, you’ve just never tried your hand at it?’

‘Throat, rather’, replied Ariadne, and Mr. McCole laughed again, the same soft, a little guttural laugh that she found so attractive.

‘How about coming to our studio and recording a few demos? So that you could see if this is a fit for you. If we both like the result, the job is yours.’

‘Okay,’ Ariadne said hesitantly. It was happening too fast, but inwardly, she already made the decision. She would say yes.

‘Here’s my card. Please think about it and give me a call when you decide… Ariadne’. Mr. McCole said her name, and the decision was completely formed in her mind as she thrilled to the sound of it.

‘Thank you, Mr. McCole. I will… give you a call.’

‘Aidan, please. I will be looking forward to recording those demos with you.’

‘Thank you, Aidan.’

She didn’t ask about the conditions. As a fan of audiobooks, she knew how well voice actors were paid. Yet she wasn’t thinking about money when Aidan took his leave and left the reception hall. She was thinking about how lovely his eyes were, her own golden-brown irises shining as she saw her reflection in the darkened screen of her computer.

Sequence Three. Allegro

‘“The True Story of the Vortex”, test, Ariadne Amati, take one,’ said the sound technician coldly into her own microphone. The huge headphones were pressing heavily on Ariadne’s head, and her heart was fluttering like hummingbird wings. Aidan, seated at the desk, smiled at her encouragingly. She swallowed with difficulty. If anything, that smile made her heart beat even faster. Ariadne had to remind herself that it was, in essence, a job interview, not a first date, so she inhaled deeply and looked at the teleprompter screen.

‘Prologue,” she read, and heard her own voice sound stridently and unpleasantly. ‘Sorry. Can I start over?’

‘Sure.’ Aidan’s voice was calming and reassuring. ‘Don’t be nervous. You’ll do great.’

‘“The True Story of the Vortex”, test, Ariadne Amati, take two.’ The sound technician’s voice was even colder. She must have a thing for the boss, thought Ariadne, and who can blame her? But she chased away the rebellious thoughts about her own falling for Aidan, and cleared her throat.

‘Prologue. My name is Agata, but everyone calls me Gate…’

Ariadne read on, trying to modulate her voice in accordance with the text. She was afraid to look at Aidan, but when she finished narrating and finally met his gaze, she saw approval in his eyes.

‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘I need to hear the audio track, but I liked what I heard so far.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Chloe,’ Aidan addressed the sound technician, ‘how much time do you need to edit the file?’

‘About an hour.’

‘Well… Ariadne, how about a coffee while we wait? There’s a Van Houtte downstairs.’

‘Of course.’ One does not refuse invitations from potential bosses, but if Aidan suggested cowshed mucking, Ariadne knew she would respond with the same degree of eagerness.

Scents of gingerbread and cinnamon floated in the air, the handmade Christmas decorations, sweet in their clumsy naiveté, made the impersonal franchise café look homey and, indeed, filled with holiday spirit. Aidan ordered cappuccinos, and they sat at a little table by the window facing the snowy street.

‘Do you celebrate Christmas?’, he asked, offering the sugar bowl to Ariadne.

‘Of course, I’m Italian, after all,’ she replied, refusing the sugar with a gesture. ‘Although I think it’s more plausible that Jesus was born in September.’

‘I’ve heard that theory, too,’ Aidan nodded. ‘But the Roman church had to soften the transition from Paganism, so the birth of Christ was dated to match the Saturnalia, right?’

‘Or the winter solstice,’ Ariadne added with enthusiasm. ‘That’s why we bring trees indoors at this time of the year… I love the scent of fir needles, but I’d prefer something edible. Like linden flowers.’

‘Then you should have Christmas in July,’ said Aidan with mock seriousness.

‘Move to Australia, you mean?’

The conversation flowed, scintillating with exchanged ideas and jokes, but Ariadne noticed he was asking questions a recruiter would ask. Still, she liked the casualness of her job interview, and Aidan’s friendliness and warmth helped her open up in a natural, effortless way. They talked until Chloe called, announcing that the edit was complete, and they headed back to the studio.

As Chloe hit “play” and sound filled the room, Ariadne was floored. Was it really her voice, so melodic and pleasant? She never heard herself like this. But will Aidan like it? His face was inscrutable, but she sensed that he was not displeased.

The record stopped, and, for a moment, the studio was silent. Then Aidan got up and approached her chair. She stood up, too.

‘Congratulations, Ariadne. The job is yours.’

‘Oh.’ That was all she could utter. Subconsciously, she doubted herself till the very end, and even presently, hearing the good news, she still couldn’t believe her luck.

‘Aren’t you going to thank me?’ he asked teasingly.

‘Um… Of course, I mean, thank you so much, it’s just I didn’t know I would be any good,’ she said truthfully. ‘Do you really like my voice?’

‘I do. What do you think, Chloe?’

‘I agree,’ Chloe replied, her tone still unfriendly. Well, thought Ariadne, I am not a hundred dollar bill to please all. Yet she looked Chloe in the eyes and thanked her, hoping she was not starting her new career with enmity in the office.

‘You will have to take a few classes with our diction coach,’ continued Aidan, ‘just to smooth out a few rough points, to teach you how to breathe properly, and so on. When can you start?’

Before I lose my head and ask you out, she thought, but out loud, she said, ‘My contract with Burley expires on January 4th. Is it okay?’

‘Excellent.’

‘Well, happy New Year to me,’ she quipped, and Aidan threw back his head, laughing. She chuckled, too, and extended her small manicured hand to shake on their deal, trying not to be swept away by the warm touch of his fingers.