Susan first appears in Entertaining at Home which you might want to check out. You can thank JD for forcing George onto Susan. Comments, support and suggestions are appreciated.
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Translator's note: Fanny has a different meaning in the UK from the US.
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'Will you stop flashing your fanny at that poor boy, my assistant. You'll get plenty of chances to do that later.'
'Sorry Justin. I didn't do it on purpose.'
I lied.
'Sorry James. I hope I'm not embarrassing you.'
I lied again. I was almost an hour into my first nude photo shoot and the excitement was definitely beginning to wane. Justin, the self-styled David Bailey of our town, had turned out to be a perfectionist. Which was odd as everything about him screamed superficial. I had arrived at his High Street photographers shop expecting to be in and out of the back room studio in double quick time.
He had met me, leaning against the outside door, smoking a pastel-coloured cigarette. He was wearing what I can only describe as a silk onesie, belted at the waist. I presume he took my horrified look for admiration. He mentioned the name of the designer with a tone which invited admiration. It only served to remind me that for the past six months I probably hadn't bought anything which hadn't been made by a sports clothing firm, or a sex shop. I faked it. He ushered me inside and through to the studio, locking the door behind him.
I have to admit I was impressed, if not a little awed, by my first sight of the room. The centrepiece was an old, antique-leather armchair. The kind blokes advertising pipe tobacco used to sit in. There was a long string of beads, possibly pearls, draped over one arm. The chair stood against a blue-screen background. It was surrounded by lights on tripods and those funny white umbrella things I guessed were used as reflectors. Or something. A large, expensive-looking camera stood on a stand facing the chair.
Off to one side, next to a table loaded with spare cameras and other paraphernalia, he had erected a large board. On it were blow-ups of my friend Mandy's original shoot. The one I was going to emulate forty years on. I walked over and studied them closely. They were fantastic shots. The slight shadows cast by the curves of her body were positively artistic. I had seen them before, of course, in grainy reproduction in a down-market smut magazine. I wondered how much effort it took the editors to make these masterpieces look so cheap.
'These are really good, Justin. Really good.'
'Yes. Old Uncle Dick might have been obnoxious, but he knew his stuff. Wasted on this place really, but he settled for being a big fish in a small pond. Could have made it in London though, don't you think?'
'I don't know. I'm not much of an expert. But I really like them.'
We stood in admiring silence for a minute before Justin ordered me to take off my headscarf. I had spent the previous hour having my untamed hair cut into a passable impersonation of a nineteen sixties supermodel's bob. It still felt strange and the smell of hairspray which hung around me reminded me of my childhood. Justin walked around me humming critically.
'It'll do, it'll do, What do you think James? James.'
The repeat came out as a screech and a frightened-looking boy of about eighteen poked his head out from behind a curtained cubicle in the corner.
'I was just making tea.'
'Well come over here and take a gander at this barnet.'
I smiled at the faux cockney. Justin was obviously getting into his role as celebrity snapper. James, a not-bad looking lad of about six foot, came over. Even his walk was sullen. He did not look happy to be there.
'Hi, I'm Susan. You must be Justin's assistant.'
'My mum was going to take me shopping.'
I took that as a 'yes' and examined him more closely as Justin pointed out to him the similarities and discrepancies between my new look and Mandy's original. He looked like every other young man I had met lately: same branded sweatshirt, same expensive designer jeans, same anonymous haircut and a smell I could now authoritatively attribute to Lynx aftershave. James grunted noncommittally at various points during his boss's monologue. Justin seemed to understand him. I didn't.
'Now Susan, sweetie. Shoo, shoo little boy, didn't you say you were making tea? Or would you prefer a little drinkie-poo? Dutch courage?'
'Tea will be fine, no sugar. Thank you James. I've given up alcohol for January.'
With a grunt James sidled back to his station. Justin looked at me with his head on one side, a crooked wrist supporting his chin.
'You do realise it's still December, don't you?'
'I'm getting a jump on the rest of the crowd. Another couple of weeks and being teetotal will be sooo passΓ©.'
Something of Justin's campness seemed to be rubbing off on me. He just smiled neutrally and turned back to the board.
'Now make up. She's obviously loaded on the mascara and eye shadow, but just the barest amount of blusher. See here, and here.'
He brushed a couple of the full face shots with a beautifully manicured forefinger.
'I'm guessing it was one of those garish colours like blue or green. They went for it in a big way back then. Don't worry I brought mine down, I'm sure we'll find something suitable. Now clothes, let's look.'
He grabbed the suit-bag I was carrying out of my hands and unzipped it eagerly. He let out a little shriek when he peeped inside.
'My god, will you look at it. It's hideous. Why on earth would anyone keep a thing like this?'
It was my turn to grunt. In fairness, the tweed suit Mandy had given me from her collection, the same one she wore back then, was pretty awful. I wouldn't have worn it even to a sixties fancy dress party. But part of me thought I should defend my friend's taste. I suppressed it. Justin scrabbled inside the bag.
'Blouse, yes. These must be the stockings. They are originals aren't they?'
He pulled the packet of tan nylons out of the bag's pocket and held them up to the light.
'Very nice. Where's the rest of the underwear?'
'I'm wearing it.'
'Then we'd better start getting ready. James, we're in the dressing room.'