Adventures in Pink
Being a model or a porn star is the kind of job any girl thinks of having at least once when they are fifteen. Something glamorous yet intriguing and tough.
She came with a pink polka dot suitcase and approximately sixteen boxes of shoes. They stacked to the ceiling of the third bedroom of our row house. For years I had heard about her from my roommate, the excitement, the parties, the catty sophistication of something different. So naturally I was nervous.
One afternoon my partner in crime, the porn roommate, and I decided to go on an adventure. It was one of those days where the air was just starting to get hot, but the public fountains were just right. With round, tall, sun glasses, we headed off into the sunlight to promote her newest movie.
She held a bundle of rolled up posters in her hand as she walked into the first adult store on Chestnut. I stood from the window, peering inside to see what was going on. I pulled at the hem of my skirt, wondering if anyone thought I was a prostitute smoking outside the sex shop. A large man with baggy clothing sat in the very back of the store with a drink clasped in his hand. I walked into the store.
“I could just leave them here?” She held the poster of cheerleaders spread open on the desk.
“We don’t hang posters.” The man looked annoyed at her smiling face. He muttered something about handing them to his boss, but he was just going to toss them out.
She left a poster and we headed off toward the gayborhood. All the artistic stores who knew where it was at, all resided there. We passed a few construction workers, whistling at our outfits, to my surprise we stopped walking. She showed them the poster and gave a flirtatious smile. Their slow accent hovered over the street and into our ears. I kissed my partner in crime on the cheek. No. I wasn’t on the cheerleaders poster.
After promising she could get in touch with them through e-mail, they took her business website down on the back of the poster and we were off.
At last we found the store of all hope. It was a red painted building located on a side street between two major ones. Little Richie was heard playing on the radio from outside.
“Hello?” We admired the knitted bikini’s hanging from the wall. Instantly a tall woman with a huge smile greeted us from behind the counter. She noticed the un-rolled poster and shrieked, “Oh My God! Dave, get out here!” She shouted someone in the back room.
A sign with a joint painted on the top read: No Smoking of Any Kind
A big, red-faced, man walked into the room with his trousers pulled bellow the paunch resting above the belt. He instantly recognized my roommate from the porn awards hosted the previous year. He had the picture of her with so and so. Did she remember so and so? No, she didn’t, but he has a camera with the pictures still on it.
The manager comes back with his digital camera and shows us a few photographs from the award show. Sure enough, so and so IS with her.
He takes a few pictures of her holding one of the store dildo’s before the woman behind the counter rushes to give us some free merchandise. I am with a celebrity. I watch with fascination and a confused sense of high school awe as her picture is snapped a few times. My partner and I move out of the picture as the woman behind the counter wants one of her too.
The adventure has awaken some of the more honest thoughts that have been musing around in my head. While feminism and femininity aren’t the same thing, they can often be perceived as it.