African Short Stories: Working Relationship

...4...

There's no one in the art lab when I get there at break time. After some thought, I figure Zar's office would be the one with a window that overlooks the oak tree as well. So I knock on the door of the particular office I know has that.

"Come in," Zar's accented words summon me in.

The instant the door clicks closed after me, Zar looks up at me from his phone and smiles.

"You're here. Good. Now strip down to your underwear."

What?

At my reluctance, he explains himself. "Taking body measurements with clothes on is major bullshit. I need this dress to be perfect. So I need you to get undressed so I can get your measurements down accurately."

I still hesitate a little. Having my shirt unbuttoned by Zar this morning was one thing. Taking off my clothes in front of him is a whole other level of confidence I don't have.

"You're not confident about your body." It's not a question. It's a realization.

I drop my gaze to my feet and grip my tie with both hands.

Zar, that's a colossal understatement.

Suddenly, a pair of designer patent leather shoes are standing in front of my sandaled feet, toe to toe. I raise my head to find Zar stood before me, his dreadlocks all let those from the elastic band. In one hand, he's holding a bunch of his locks and in the other, he's holding a palette knife dangerously close to the bunch.

"Take your clothes off now or I swear, I'll shave all my hair off," he threatens, "And you know what they say about natural dreadlocks who cut their hair. They die!"

What? I thought that was just a myth?

"No! No! No! No! No! Wait," I step back, hands outstretched to make him pause. It looks like these days, people always seem to want to take advantage of my kindness.

I yank off my tie and close my eyes. It happens so fast that I barely even realize it when I'm standing there, barefooted and clad in nothing else but my underwear with my uniform lying freely on the floor. I force myself to focus on the bright side- the weather is actually very hot now.

I finally open my eyes when Zar starts roaming my body with his measuring tape, giving me instructions here and there. It's actually kind of funny, watching him hum and dance around me as he does something he is obviously passionate about.

I find that I'm none too surprised when Zar doesn't even touch me up at all. The only thing he does is make that wolf whistle noise with his mouth when he measures my bust.

When he's finished with the measuring tape he puts it aside and pushes me back first against a height sale marked on the wall.

"5 ft 7," he reads above my head, "...57. That's probably the number of girls I've smashed this month," he muses amusedly.

"Jesus! We've barely even entered the month of June," I exclaim incredulously.

"What can I say? The Zar is too hard to resist," he wriggles that one brow, plugging in his accent again.

"Mr Kennedy," someone calls from within the lab.

Oh no! It's Kabir's voice!

Does he know I'm here? I didn't tell anyone where I was going and as far as I know, nobody followed me here. Oh dear God. This is bad.

"Don't move," Zar instructs me, exits his office and shuts the door right behind him.

I decide that staying in here like this - scandalously half-naked- isn't the best option either. As quietly as possible, I pick up my uniform from the floor and put the clothing back on piece by piece.