The Wages, An Illustrated Story | 11. Masterstroke | Big City Brandy
I can ramble around town running errands for hours while thinking about nothing but music. I will forget myself until I have to tune in and talk to someone, but this was an entire day for clearing my mind of everything except how I looked.
It was early days for a wardrobe woman on this kind of job, but Genuine Oak was sparing no expense. She dressed me in the hottest gear she could put together for me. Tight slacks with bell bottoms in dark-chocolate colour, bright ruffled or knotted shirts, a little peach-coloured blazer, that sort of thing.
Rocky the hairstylist backcombed my hair and piled it up wonderfully. I told him I was ready for the smooth and glossy look, but he said, “Oh, Brandy! The helmet was fun but that was yesterday.”
The freer bouffant that he built around my recent side-part suited me and it felt nice when I moved which I had not expected. He brought a huge selection of brunette falls and fillers but he said, “It really is too glorious working with hair of this thickness for any of that,” and he snapped his carry case shut with a flourish.
He placed a small shaper-comb pad under the top beside my part to add a little body for the portraits and exclaimed, “A bouffant should celebrate nature, not defy it!”
Our regular stylist Lucas was excited by my music career and I thought he was good, but when Rocky gave me his card I decided it was time to take a step up.
Plus there was a woman there for make-up, layering on powder and mascara, along with the photographer, and his assistant—and all just for a few photos for a new artist. There had been only one or two people running things the whole time we were recording my vocals.
Ben dropped in too, and seemed pleased.
The photographer told me it would be attractive if we did a few shots with my pants unzipped. A move like that was more for anonymous models who heated up the covers of discount hits compilations. I had seen only one country singer do photos with her jeans unbuttoned. But the ‘70s were getting sexed-up everywhere and I was going to be competing with some pretty hot ladies, so I said, “What the heck!”
I had been practicing my dramatic unzip in private, but I did not want to have sex with the small crowd surrounding me in the studio, so I saved my hip-pumping theatrics for a future lover. I tried to project nonchalant cool while the crew fussed over me, and I exposed my scarlet panties to the world.