Database … data panic … the secret agent of your dreams is about to blow her cover. From technology to Technicolor, she tries to get her hands on the deadly details. But temptation crops up in her path. And, as she soon discovers, even great looks are sometimes not enough.
After seducing the night watchman with a starry-smooth cocktail of eyelashes and lips, she makes her way through endless corridors of dangerous ideas. Fluorescents hum. Her heels click, her nylons squeak. Then, quiet as can be, she breathes in slowly and pushes the door open a crack. There it is, a ’50s software relic doing postmodern duty. She checks her watch and slips in a floppy disk … these days, hacking gets you nowhere … got to be Mata Hari-on-the-spot.
Back at the hotel, she cases the street from up high: not a sign, not a stretch of the imagination for this intelligence babe to pounce on. Slipping into something comfortable and snug, she assumes the surveillance position for hours, patiently. Sunset turns to nighttime to way past midnight. Near morning, she hears a tapping at the door. Checking the fisheye, she gasps — it’s him.
“Open up baby, let’s make a deal.”
She turns the knob and lets him in, licks her lips, smooths her skirt. “I … uh … I’ve got to change … been up all night.”
“Sure, kid, you always look cool. I’ll just sit right here.”
Returning all in white, she pours him a cup of Big Sleep java, but he’s got other inclinations. Try as she does to be a sweetheart, her plans are printed all over her. He can read the hard writing on the moll.
“That dress, where’d ya get it? Pretty wild.”
“Oh, I got a better one to show you, hon.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
Standing in a houndstooth two-piece, she turns on the radio, grasping for straws, humming nervously to a tune from way back when.
“Remember we used to dance to this number, hon? Remember we always worked together, 50-50, on the up-and-up? What’s that tune?”
“Well, kid, I think they call it ‘Farewell, My Lovely,’ if ya know what I mean.”
Her breath comes long and slow. Then a dial tone. Fade out … credits roll.
Clothes by bjanders
Designer Brian Anderson is a native west-side Detroiter who’ll complete a bachelor of fine arts in photography at the University of Michigan this spring. He started getting ideas for clothes about four years ago, and extended that interest into his own color photo work on fashion.
Says Anderson, “I’ve always wanted to design clothes that would make people say, ‘Oh, that’s different, but I could wear it.’” Yet a new show of his designs planned for May 12 (8 p.m. at 2 John R in Detroit) will be a radical departure: “It’ll be anything goes — more sculptural, focusing more on the lines within the clothes.” The evening pairs him with local designer Sarah Spratt (they’ll show 20 new outfits each) and photographers Nicola Kuperus and Riva Sayegh, who also focus their energies on fashion.
Anderson’s stylings, which he markets under the label name “bjanders,” are one-of-a-kind items and moderately priced considering their uniqueness. More information on his creations is available at www.bjanders.com.George Tysh is the Metro Times arts editor. E-mail him at firstname.lastname@example.org