‘Who do you think you are, anyway?’ she asked, fishing through her wallet for the I.D. she never used. ‘Name’s Michael. I work here. Make sure...only the people who are supposed to come in here actually enter.’ ‘Oh…’ ‘Juliet. Pretty name,’ he said, examining the card, ‘but you’re not supposed to be in here. Music students only.’ ‘Like you know everyone who comes in here.’ She started shuffling papers over the desktop, unplugged her laptop and was about to shove everything into her bag when his. “Any particular order…?” She waves my question away: “Relax, girl, it’s not a striptease. I just need you naked. It’s a logical starting point, don’t you think?” I nod, and pull off my schoolgirl slipper-shoes. Then the long socks: first the left, then the right. My bare feet feel sticky against the varnished wooden floor. I unbutton my blouse and slip it off my shoulders. I have to force myself to stay facing her. Then I undo the clip on my little grey skirt, and add to the pile on the. More

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