The Wages, An Illustrated Story | 11. Masterstroke | Dazzled

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In this vibrant colour drawing, Brandy is seen from above, laying on her bed, with her long dark hair spreading over a white pillow and an orange blanket. Her arms reach above her shoulders in an almost cruciform gesture. The palms of her hands are blushed with pink. Her fingers have a relaxed curl. Her white, long-sleeve T shirt is pushed up to reveal her belly. Her black trousers are unzipped and pulled down her thighs halfway to her knees. Brandy’s crotch and hips remain concealed by her crimson panty briefs. Her unbuckled belt dangles from her belt loops. The drawing seems to glow with illumination. Sparkles shine from her open zipper, her belt buckle, her small hoop earrings, and her golden cross-pendant and its chain. Images in the drawing could have multiple interpretations. Her pillow and the wall above her head resemble a blue sky with the golden sun emerging from behind a cloud, while her blanket forms a desert horizon. The sunny glow could also be a halo over Brandy's head. Clutter on her bed is partly visible as objects at the edges of the drawing point toward Brandy's prone body. We see the headstock of her guitar, the triangle of her hot-pink guitar pick, a ballpoint pen with partly-spent ink in its transparent shaft. There is an envelope with 'I feel so trashy,' written on it, along with other scrawls that are illegible. A pink paperback book is spread open, spine up and pages down, with a bookmark protruding from the gaping fold at the bottom. The book’s back cover has the phrase, 'They were GIRLFRIEND LIBRARIANS but their love had no category,’ printed on it. On the part of the front cover we can see, there are the legs of two women, and the author's name, 'Charlotte F. Verity'. The entire scene of Brandy on her bed has simple geometric lines superimposed over her to form the perspective of her bedroom walls and the rectangular ceiling, so that the double-image reflects what she sees. Brandy’s expression is one of dazzled wonder. She stares upward beyond the viewer’s gaze, as if the resolution of her erotic tension has left her contemplating eternity.

The pelvis-quaking payoff proved that there was at least one thing in the world that I had become an expert at. I stretched my arms and legs through the lustrous afterglow while my fantasies evaporated into the brilliant nothingness above me, and the cube of my ceiling reappeared. I had gotten off hard, but I hadn’t expected this dazzled sensation that I had just achieved something profound.

The stupid song did help me to force my way through the maze of my misgivings, but it was mediocre writing and it could not have caused this lingering feeling that I was recovering from a head-on collision with perfection. I zipped up and swaggered off to wash my hands while I relished this mystifying outburst of serene confidence. There was nothing new about playing with myself nor the dirty book, and I was baffled that this felt like the first day of a lifelong relationship.

I returned to declutter my chaotic bedscape. I didn’t have another envelope like the one I had defaced, so I couldn’t throw it out. I stared at the tangle of text. I decided to copy ‘I Feel So Trashy’ onto the last blank page of my current songwriting notebook, because I was eager to start working in a new book that I had bought for its energizing aquamarine cover. If I ever made a set list, maybe this dopey song could be used as filler there too.

I tucked Girlfriend Librarians back into the envelope that was marred with the scrawl of my first draft and buried it away in its hiding place in my bottom drawer, under three odd socks, a jumble of old greeting cards, and a few spent ballpoint pens.

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