A7 Fascinated

...but not Interested

by Ahmad Azarmi

The kitchen door swung once, and a young man wearing black-striped trousers and a white shirt ran into the kitchen. He was carrying a black cummerbund on his forearm. "Hi, Chef!" he shouted.

"Hi, buddy! You're a little late, aren't you?" the chef answered.

The young man hurried to his locker, twirled the lock a few times, opened it rapidly, and picked up his uniform jacket. He then started to put on his bow tie while looking at a full-length misty mirror on the wall. His trim but well-proportioned masculine body seemed to fill the entire mirror. He bent down a little in a quick graceful arc so that he could see his bow tie. There was an almost animal urgency in his movement, an insistent maleness. As he adjusted the tie he glanced at the mass of black curly hair floating above his forehead. He didn't take time to comb it, at least not at that moment. His cheeks were still quite red from running on his way to work. For a moment he remembered his friend Richard's remark about the way his cheeks sometimes and unexpectedly turned red. It embarrassed him. He wanted to forget it but he recalled Richard's comment, "Boy! You could sure slay some people with those red cheeks!" "You fool, you," he had said as much to himself as to Richard. He took a final look at himself, straightened his shirt, observed the cut of his trousers, and then headed for the kitchen.

The kitchen door had swung again. Somebody stuck his head in and called, "Hey, Chef, has Otto showed up yet?"

The young man on his way from the locker room shouted rapidly, "I'll be with you in a minute, John."

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