The Private Apartments by Idman Nur Omar

Author:Idman Nur Omar [Omar, Idman Nur]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Anansi Press Inc
Published: 2023-04-11T14:50:42+00:00

Toronto, 2011

Amira was staring at the half-smiling, impersonal face of her ex-boyfriend, Yonis, in his Facebook profile picture when she heard the heavy creak of the glass door opening.

“Can I help you?” Amira said to the blond woman who entered, minimizing the browser on her desktop.

“Is he here?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Brock. Is he here?” The woman peered around the corner where Brock’s office was.

“He’s on lunch,” Amira said.

“I’m just getting my stuff.” She went into the kitchenette, returned with a mug that read NAMASTE, and placed it on the side of Amira’s desk. “Sorry,” she said and opened the closet. Amira watched her closely. She left the closet door open, went back to the kitchenette, and returned with a plastic bag. She bent down, threw a pair of brown high-heeled loafers into the bag, and dropped the bag on the floor next to Amira’s desk.

“I need to get in there,” the woman said tersely. She went around the desk, reached over Amira — the limp, heat-damaged ends of her hair centimetres from Amira’s face — and opened a low cupboard. Amira pushed her chair back. The woman grabbed two legal pads, one of which Amira had been using. From the bottom drawer, she took the June edition of >InStyle magazine with Kerry Washington on the cover — Amira had already looked through it twice — and a pristine copy of >Sense and Sensibility. She stacked them next to the NAMASTE mug and started towards Brock’s office.

“Hey,” Amira said, standing up, “you can’t go in there. It’s locked.”

The woman ignored her. She tried the glass door and it opened. Through the glass walls, Amira could see her rummaging around Brock’s desk. Amira grew uneasy, worried that Brock might return from his lunch break right at that moment and question them both. She lifted the phone off the receiver. The sticky note with his cellphone number was stuck to her desk, under some paperwork. She pushed the papers aside when the woman started walking towards her, holding up a silver ballpoint pen.

“This is mine,” she said.

Amira put the phone down and looked at the pen carefully. “It has his name on it.”

“I gave it to him,” the woman said, drawing her hand back. “It was a gift.”

Amira sat down again. “Are you done?” She wondered, annoyed, why Brock hadn’t warned her about this disgruntled ex-employee who would return for her belongings.

The woman opened the canvas bag she held at her side and stuffed in the legal pads and magazine, followed by the book, the pen, and the mug. She pulled the straps of her bag tight against her shoulder and exhaled sharply. Then she looked around. “So what are you guys working on?”

Amira checked the time on her desktop. Brock had been gone for over an hour. “I’m legal admin,” Amira said. The woman just stared at her, so she added, “He’s got a few cases at the moment.”

“Who helps him? Lee?”

“Yeah,” Amira said. “Or Jared.” She didn’t know why she was telling the woman this.

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