Measuring Up

Sighing quietly to myself, I slip the key into the lock of the up-scale designer studio I work at. Not exactly the place I want to be at 6:45 on a Saturday morning. I roll my eyes as I catch sight of the sign hanging above the door: "Lorretta Keaton, Wardrobe Designer."

It should say "Lorretta Keaton, Haven't Had a Fresh Design Idea of My Own in Years." I snicker at the thought of that as I make my way into the large front room of the shop. Turning on the lights and going behind the receptionist desk, I start a fresh pot of coffee, knowing that Lorretta will whisk through the door any moment. Saturdays are usually a day off for me, but she gave me Wednesday off unexpectedly and told me to be at the shop bright and early Saturday. There would be a group of five gentlemen coming in for measurements and fittings. Their total order was projected to be in the tens of thousands of dollars. Still in shock over that, I'm anxious to see who would spend that kind of money on clothes.

In breezes Lorretta in a gaudy outfit of her own design. I try to hide my amazement at her tackiness as she starts bellowing about how busy we're going to be today. "So, Lorretta," I finally manage to get a word in, "You still haven't explained all the secrecy. . . exactly who will we be working with today?"

She spins around on one heel, "Oh, yes . . I forgot I hadn't told you yet. Had to keep it completely under wraps. Wouldn't do to have the town’s lot of teeny-boppers swarming at the doorsteps if it had gotten out. Are you familiar with *Nsync?"

I now understand and can sympathize with people who say they've had the wind knocked out of them. Standing there, my fingertips went arctic cold and my breath quit coming. I stumbled backward until the backs of my legs touched a bench and I ungracefully sat down hard. "Y-y-you can't mean that J-justin will be here today!" I managed to wheeze out, taking a deep gulp of air. She peered at me above the rim of her glasses. "Mr. Timberlake? Yes, he'll be here. Is that a problem? If it is, I can always call Michelle in to assist with this order and you can go home. Just realize how much of a commission you'll be missing out on." I stared silently at the floor for a moment, before realizing that I was holding my breath.

"No! No, I can do it. It's just that it was a shock. I'm over it now, I'm fine." I lied. A thousand thoughts swirled in my head (How could she do this to me? I would have worn something better had I known!) "Good." She said, "Then you ought to go into your office and set up. There's a list of measurements you should take on each one of the gentlemen I send in. I'll take three of them, you can take two. They should arrive within the hour. Make sure you keep your composure and act like a professional." I clenched my jaw shut before I could bite out a sharp remark as I turned and stepped into my office.

Glancing in the full length mirror, I surveyed my appearance. Not too bad, I suppose, although my face was still a bit pale from the shock. I applied some powder and a touch of blusher, very faint pink lip gloss and a tiny bit of mascara. Just enough to enhance my silvery blue eyes. I released my auburn locks from the hair scrunchie I had hastily put in after blow-drying this morning. I quickly but efficiently put it into a french braid, falling halfway down my back. I smoothed out my grey linen skirt, making sure my white blouse was tucked in and checking my black hose for any visible runs. Smiling gratefully to myself for not being too much of a slob this morning, I go over to my workstation.

I hear a soft knock at the door, and I turn just in time to see Chris Kirkpactrick poke his head in. Smiling, I walk over to him and introduce myself.

“Bekka is an unusual name...short for Rebekka?” he asks.

“No, just plain old Bekka.” I answer, glad that Lorretta sent Chris in and not Justin. We have an easy conversation about his clothing line and the up-coming tour and stuff. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. Not as tall as I thought he’d be. “So I guess you need me to strip down to my underwear then?” He laughs. I smile and say “I can see you’ve been through this all before.” Rolling his eyes, he laughs and says “Yeah, you’d figure the last designer could pass our measurements on to the new ones. It’s not like any of us have sprouted up a foot or anything since our last tour."

"Well, I’m sure that Lorretta wouldn’t take anybody else's word for it. If it’s going to have her name on the label, she’s got to know it’s going to be perfect.” He peeks at me over the divider as he undresses and says, “Bet it’s not much fun working for such a perfectionist."

"On the contrary,” I answer, “I love my work, I just wish I got more credit for my designs, and that her name didn’t go on most of my stuff.” He nods and tells me that he understands that very well. He steps out from behind the divider and I go to work, taking his measurements as he extends his arms and straightens his legs, as if he’s done this a thousand times. He shakes my hand as he leaves, telling me he’s looking forward to seeing my designs in a few weeks.

Typing his measurements into the computer at my desk, I’m off in my own little world when I feel a presence just behind me and to my left. I stop typing and turn around, looking up into the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. There’s that feeling again . . .I can’t catch my breath and my hands are like ice. “Mr. Timberlake, I . . .I wasn’t expecting you . . .” He steps back, allowing me to stand. “Justin,” he says. “Huh?” Is my breathless reply. He says, “Justin . . you can call me Justin."

"Oh . . .okay. I’m Bekka. . . Bekka Blake. You can just call me Bekka though.” He smiles. “I know, Chris told me.” God I feel like I’m babbling. He looks over the designs plastered to my walls and my desk and asks, “Is all this stuff yours?"

"Yeah, all of it. Even the ugly stuff.” He chuckles at that, the short sound reverberating in the room. He strips his shirt off over his head and I’m mesmerized by the deep tan of his muscular back. I can’t believe he’s actually undressing in front of me! I mean, sure, I’m going to see him in his underwear at some point during the measurement process, but most of the time the clients undress out of sight. There’s something infinitely more intimate about watching them undress.

I hear the tiny sound of his top button on his jeans coming undone, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper. His back is still to me as he checks out my designs. I watch the flex of his back muscles as he bends to lower his jeans. Oh, Sweet Jesus! Boxer briefs! And white ones at that. Has there ever been a more perfect man? Not to my knowledge. Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, I lean my hip against my desk and cross my arms over my chest. He turns to me and walks to the raised platform and stands on it.

I walk towards him, as I get right to him, I realize I forgot my notepad and measuring tape back at the workstation. Dammit! I curse myself as I walk back and get what I need. I detect a slight smirk on his face as I think he realizes the effect he’s having on me. I begin measuring him, starting at his arms. I snugly wrap the tape around his chest, telling him to inhale as deep as he can.

“You smell nice,” He says, catching me off guard with his beautiful voice and his comment.

“Umm . .thanks,” I stutter, chancing a look at his face. His blue eyes look into mine. He seems slightly amused, then I realize that I’ve still got the tape wrapped around his chest.

“Sorry,” I mutter, writing down the information. I measure his waist and his hips. Then along the outside of his leg, from the hip to the ankle. I love the contrast of his white socks and his caramel tanned skin. Stooping down to measure his inseam, from the ankle to the inside of the top of the leg, I stretch the tape out and the back of my upper hand brushes against the warm bulge in the front of his boxers. I swallow hard and risk another glance at him.

His eyebrows are raised and he looks as if he’s trying not to laugh. With shaky hands, I release the tape and record the measurement. I start to rise to my feet as he stops me. “Wait. You forgot the other leg,” He smiles and extends his left leg.

“What? Oh. I guess I did,” I say as I again stretch the tape from his ankle upwards, being careful this time not to touch him. He, like Chris, has to have been through the measurement process countless times. He has to know that there is no need to measure both inseams. He must be toying with me. From my vantage point below him, I raise my eyes to his. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, not even trying to hide his smirk as he looks down at me. I smile back at him, laughing to myself at his craziness. He laughs out loud as he hops down off the platform.

“Are we done here? Or would you like to measure anything else?” He asks, with a grin on his face.

“Uhhh . . .no, I think I have everything I need.” I say, getting to my feet, collecting my tape and note pad. He starts re-dressing and I take a seat at my desk, turning my chair around to watch him. “He’s got the most perfect legs, just the right amount of hair on them,” I think to myself as I watch them disappear into his jeans. He finishes dressing then walks towards me, tucking his shirt in and zipping his jeans.

“Any design ideas for our tour wardrobe yet?” He asks, leaning against the desk.

“Yes, thousands of them actually, I just have to get them approved by Lorretta before I can order the materials.” He watches over my shoulder for several minutes, holding light conversation as I input his measurements into the design program. I can feel the heat from his body as he leans closer and points at the screen, asking a question. He reaches above my head and pushes the Play button on my CD player. The first *Nsync CD begins playing.

“A fan?” he asks.

“Yeah. Since the first time I took this CD off the shelf at Target.” I answer, turning around to face him again.

“I’m surprised at that,” he says, “I had you figured for a hard rock fan.” I look questioningly at him. He bursts out laughing as tugs at the french braid running down my back. “You should wear your hair down, this looks really snobbish.” He grins. I start to open my mouth to give him my opinion, but he stops me. “Don’t look so offended!” He laughs, his masculine voice filling the room.

There’s a knock on the door and Chris peeks his head back in, “You ready yet, Curly?"

"Yep, on my way out now.” He says. Chris closes the door and Justin asks when they’re scheduled to come review the designs. I quickly ruffle through my calendar and see that Lorretta has written them in on the 23rd. “A little over three weeks from now,” I tell him. Was that disappointment I saw flicker across his features?

“Until then,” he says, holding out his hand. I put my shaky hand in his and he pulls me out of my chair into a hug. I’m momentarily taken off guard and I just allow him to hold me. I finally make my arms work and I hug him back. He leans back and gives me a quick peck on the lips and then he releases me.

“See ya ‘round.” He says, walking away from me. After he closes the door behind him, I sit back down and my fingers go to my lips. “Did he really just kiss me?"

"No way, had to have been your imagination.” My mind answers itself back.

The next three weeks are a whirlwind of work. I’m at the shop from dawn till dusk at least six days a week, drawing up designs. I don’t mind the hard work and long hours, this is the type of job I have dreamed of. I silently thank Lorretta and her high-society connections for bringing this job to me, even though I know that when the work is all done, the labels will all say “A Keaton Original.” It’s a bitter pill to swallow sometimes, but right now, I’m satisfied to just be earning a good reputation. I’ve got a few different outfits sewn already, all set for the fittings.

I know they’ll probably need to be altered, but I’m not upset about that. It gives me a few more excuses to be near Justin. I can’t seem to keep my mind off of him since our measurement session. “Oh, Bekka . . .you’re never going to get anything done at this rate.” I say to myself, after having caught myself daydreaming about the hug. I recall every detail about it, how his strong arms felt when they pulled me to him, the feel of his chest against my cheek, the provocative smell of his cologne, the way his back muscles felt under my hands. I still wasn’t sure if the kiss had even happened, but I wasn’t willing to allow myself to dwell upon that.

“Bekka!” I jump as Lorretta’s gravelly voice startles me out of my reverie. “How are the outfits coming about?” she asks. “I’ve got the majority of them drawn out, waiting for their approval, and I have three outfits each sewn, just waiting for the final fittings.” I answer her. “Good. Good. They’ll be here in a few minutes to go over the last of the designs and to try on the outfits we’ve already got sewn.”

“But it’s only the 21st!” I say.

“Yes, it is, is there a problem? Are you not as ready as you said you were?”

“Ummm, no . . .I’m ready for them. I just wasn’t expecting them today.”

“Well, get your workstation tidied up, we’ll do this the same as the measurements, I’ll take Mr. Bass, Mr. Fatone and Mr. Chasez, you can take Mr. Timberlake and Mr. Kirkpatrick.”

“Okay.” I answer her. I rush to the mirror as soon as the door shuts. “Well, at least I’m not as pale as last time.” I say as I apply the powder to my face. I had already put on my mascara, but I reapplied my lipstick, a nice shade of plum that matches my sweater, and put just a touch of blusher on my cheeks. My black skirt could have been a little longer, but it would have to do. I decide to leave my hair in the french braid that I put it in this morning because it’s so much easier to work without having to swipe my hair out of my eyes every ten seconds.

I go to the desk and arrange my designs in a neat stack and make sure that I have everything I need. I’m sitting at the computer once again, when Chris knocks softly and comes in. “Hey, Bekka!” He smiles and seems genuinely glad to see me again. “Hi, Chris. Here’s the designs, if you want to take a look through them.” He takes a seat on the other side of my desk and starts flipping through the posterboard squares with my designs on them. He gets almost halfway through with them and says “I love all this stuff, it’s going to be hard to choose. I really like this one, but does it have to be light blue?"

"Uhh, no . .that outfit is supposed to be a different color for each one of you."

"Oh, you just drew up Justin’s outfit.” He says, looking amused. I stutter, “Well, uhh, yeah . . . I mean, I like that color too."

"Hmm . . .okay.” He says, turning his attention back to the designs. After he gets finished looking through them, he marks off his favorite choices. “All right then, if you’ll just get ready we can do the fittings on the three outfits we’ve got ready,” I say as he goes behind the divider. He comes out wearing the first one and steps up onto the platform. The size is almost perfect, it just needs a few minor adjustments which I mark off with straight pins. The second and third ones are almost perfect too. I re-hang the outfits as Chris gets dressed. As he’s leaving he smiles and says “See ya in a couple weeks!”

I’m going through the rack of outfits, searching for the three I need to have Justin try on when he says from directly behind me, “Oooh, I like that one!” I’m smiling as I turn to face him. “That’s not yours, it’s Elton John’s.” He busts out laughing at that and says, “Thank God, it’s really tacky!” I laugh at him as we walk over to the desk. I take my seat behind the desk and he drags his chair over so he’s sitting right next to me. I begin flipping through the designs and he’s approving of every one. “Wait!” he says, “Is that one for Elton too?"

"No,” I answer. “Well it should be!” He howls with laughter as I mark that one off the list. We finish going through the designs and he likes the majority of them, making suggestions on a few others. He’s got some great ideas of his own, I realize, taking down notes.

“Well, are you ready for the fittings?” I ask, standing up. “Yep,” he answers, stripping his shirt off over his head again. Just at that moment, the fire alarms in the building start going off. “What’s that?” he asks. “Fire alarms. Do you smell smoke?” He lifts his head, sniffing the air. “Yeah, I think I do!"

"I thought I did too,” I say, as I quickly gather my portfolios and the clothing rack. Thank God it has wheels as I pull it out of my office down the hall to the front area. Everyone else has moved out into the street. We hear sirens in the distance as Lorretta asks me if I got all the designs and clothing out of the building. “Yes, right here,” I say, gesturing towards the rack and my designs. “Did you finish the fittings?"

"No, I got Chris all done, but I was just starting with Justin.” She says, “Very well, we can continue this later. Take the outfits you need to have Mr. Timberlake fitted for and put them in your car. The rest of this stuff, I’ll have put in storage until we can get back into the shop.” She takes a pen and notepad from her purse and begins scribbling something. “Here, Mr. Timberlake. This is Bekka’s address. You can go to her apartment for the fittings when you have time.” Justin takes the paper and stuffs it into his jeans pocket. I’m still stunned that she would give away my address like that. “Only if it’s all right with Bekka,” Justin says. Lorretta turns to face me and I feel like a small child. “Uhh, yeah, why wouldn’t it be all right with me?” I laugh nervously. “Okay then, I’ll be by around 7 o’clock if that’s all right.” I’m getting that feeling again, the one where I can’t breathe. “Yep, fine with me,” I say with a smile.

On the drive home, I still can’t believe that she would give out my address without my permission. “Oh, stop it! It’s not like you wouldn’t have given him the address yourself!” I tell myself. True. Very true.

I’m dashing around the apartment, picking up my room mate’s Cosmo magazines and straightening up. I bribed her out of the apartment, making her promise not to come home until I called her. I’ll have to do dishes and laundry for a month to keep up my half of the bargain. Oh, well. I can’t have her hanging around. Besides, she’d freak out if she knew I had been working with *Nsync. I had intended to tell her when the job was done.

Loading the last plate into the dishwasher, I turn it on just as I hear the buzzer. I go over and answer it, “Yes?"

"I have arrived, feel free to bow down and worship at your leisure,” I hear Justin say in his beautiful voice. Laughing, I answer, “Come on up . . .third floor, second door to the right as you come off the elevator."

"Okay.”

I go and open the door and I can see the elevator light rising. The doors open and he steps out, smiling. “Hey!” He says, breezing past me into my apartment. I close the door behind him and follow him into the living room. He takes his jacket off and lays it across the back of the sofa. “You wanna coke?” I ask him. “Sure.” He answers, looking at the pictures on my walls. “This your family?” He asks. “Well, mine and my room mates.” I answer. He looks around the apartment. “She’s not here.” I say, before he can ask. “Oh. Good.” He says.

I bring the outfits from my bedroom and he starts undressing. “We can use the coffee table as the platform,” I say, watching him undress. I could do this all day, everyday. He’s got a sexy way of taking down his jeans. I can’t get enough of watching him. I hand him the first outfit and he pulls it on, stepping up onto the table. He raises and lowers his arms, testing the fit of the shirt. “The shirt fits perfectly, but the pants are too loose.” He tells me. “Yeah, I can see that.” I say. I take a few straight pins from the box and put them in the fabric at the right places, marking the fit. He steps down and takes that outfit off and tries on the next one. “This one is good,” he says. “Yeah, that one’s all right.” I agree with him as he steps down. I hand him the third outfit. As he’s putting it on, I’m rehanging the first two. “This one is way off,” he says. “ I turn around and he’s right. The shirt is too tight, and the pants are too loose. Way too loose, I notice as I step up to him to begin marking the shirt. I take my marking pen and make marks all along his sleeves, his back and his ribs. His body feels so warm through the thin material. I can feel his back muscles ripple every time he moves. “Okay, you can take the shirt off now.” I tell him. He removes it carefully, making sure he doesn’t smudge any of my markings. Now I focus on his pants. I pull the fabric together across his hips where it’s too loose.