I told this story to someone the other day and they said, "Hey, you should put that on your blog." Okay, so here it is on my blog. It might not be the best anecdote I've told here but it is guaranteed to be 100% Trump-Free…
I have written here about my friend Bridget, a very lovely actress-dancer who for some reason was willing to go out with me for a few years in the late seventies and early eighties. That's Bridget on the left in the photo above, in which we were all trying to pretend we were posing for a soup ad. The lovely blonde lady on the right is Linda Hoxit, another actress-dancer who was a friend of Bridget's. The pic is from one afternoon when for some reason, they decided to come over and make me lunch, which is not what this anecdote is about. It is, however, from around this time…
In addition to acting and dancing, Bridget sometimes earned money as a model. Her biggest gig was a few years as a Nexxus Hair Care Girl but there were others. Two or three times a year f'ristance, she would spend a day or two being photographed for the catalog of a very popular seller of sexy lingerie. The pay was pretty good and there was a bonus in that the models were allowed to take home the remnants of any outfits which were destroyed in the process.
As she explained to me, to make the lingerie fit perfectly and to enhance how it enhanced the figure, she would sometimes be sewn into the garments along with much judiciously-placed padding. They didn't do this with bras and panties but anything that covered much of the body would have had most of its seams removed before the shoot. The photo stylist and dresser would literally construct that kind of lingerie on the models' bodies, using a hand-held sewing device to baste this and sew that and tighten everything where they wanted it to be tight. When they were done, it would be necessary to literally cut her out of it.
Usually, everyone was in a hurry to get onto the next item to be modeled but sometimes, there was time for Bridget to perform some deft surgery and free herself from a garment without totally destroying it. Later, she could re-sew it so it could be worn again — and the last thing she wore, she could wear home and take all the time in the world to get it off.
Naturally though, one does not drive home in a something black and lacey — though she and another model once discussed whether it would help if they got pulled over by the police or make the pulling-over more likely. Bridget thought it would make it more likely so she would arrive at each shoot dressed in a pair of baggy sweats. She'd look over the rack of lingerie she'd be modeling and select the one she wanted to keep most intact, then she would get the photographer to agree to do that one last. Once those pics were taken and she was done for the day, she could put the sweats on over the selected item, wear it home and carefully remove the temporary stitching.
Upon arrival at one session, her selection was instantaneous. Among the pieces she'd be wearing was a red satin bustier. Actually, she called it a bustier but I would have called it a corset. In fact, I did and whenever I called it a corset, Bridget said, "No, no…it's a bustier!" By any name, it was gorgeous and hand-made and covered with lace and jewels and gold piping and it was very expensive. The corset bustier was $2000 in 1985 and if the company is still making 'em, it's probably more than twice that by now. It looked great on its own and even better with Bridget in it and I'm kicking myself that I didn't take any photos of her wearing it.
Just trust me. Stunning.
She wore it for her last photos of the day, pulled her sweatsuit on over it, then realized it would be tough to escape from on her own. They'd sewn her into it from the back and she couldn't reach the stitching…so she phoned me. I didn't live that far from the photo studio.
She came over and I took a pair of nail scissors and an X-Acto knife and ever-so-carefully began removing stitches. This may sound like a fun pastime and I guess it was for about the first three minutes. After ten, my index finger and thumb were aching from the scissors. After twenty, it was agony. I did get a brief intermission when the phone rang. I said to whoever was phoning, "I can't talk to you now. I'm cutting a beautiful model out of her underwear." Saying that was the only fun part of the experience.
But we got it off her without doing too much damage to it. Bridget took it home and sewed up the parts of it that were supposed to be sewed-up and — voila! — she had herself a $2000 bustier — or as I put it, a $2000 corset. Sweet. A few weeks later, it got even sweeter.
She got a call to go audition for a part in a commercial for some brand of ale. The commercial was set in a saloon in the old west and Bridget was trying out to play a dance hall girl. She put on the thing I called a corset and she called a bustier, put her sweats on over it and went to the audition.
All the other ladies there to audition had dressed up real fancy and they were baffled by the one in the waiting room who had shown up in unflattering, baggy sweats. Then when it was Bridget's turn, she went into the room where the casting was done, pulled off the sweats and instantly got the part. The producer said, "You're our girl if you wear that — what do you call it? A corset?"
She said, "Yes, yes…it's a corset!" If I'd been hiring her, she would have let me call it that, too. So she wore the red satin whatever-it-was in the commercial when it was filmed and made about a thousand dollars.
The commercial was edited and shown to Arthur, the man who owned the ale company for his approval. He loved it but, alas, someone didn't. That would be Arthur's lady friend who was there when it was screened. She loudly announced, "Arthur, we have to talk!" Then she took him to one side and demanded to know, in a voice so loud with outrage that all could hear it, "Why didn't you have me play the dance hall girl?" She was young enough and lovely enough that she could have but the folks who made the commercial didn't know of her at the time and her wealthy male friend Arthur hadn't thought to suggest/demand it.
For days after, the argument continued and all his apologies and gift offers couldn't placate his lady love. She kept demanding that the commercial be reshot with her in lieu of Bridget, and after a week or so of withheld sex and angry and/or tearful upset, Arthur gave in. He called the agency that had made the commercial and said, "I know it'll cost me a lot of money but reshoot the spot with Helga" — or whatever her name was — "as the dance hall girl." And he added, "Oh — and she insists she absolutely must wear that same red corset thing."
So Bridget got a call. "We have to reshoot," they told her and she thought, "Oh boy! I get to make another thousand dollars." Then they explained they weren't going to use her. They just needed to borrow the corset.
"You can't have it," she said defiantly. "It's mine and I'm the only one who wears it. And by the way, it's a bustier."
They said they'd pay her the same fee again, plus she'd still receive whatever residuals might be paid when the ad aired. She said no. They offered her $1500. She said no.
They offered two thousand dollars. She said, "Let me get this straight. You want to pay me twice as much to not be in the commercial as you paid me to be in the commercial?" They said yes. She thought for a second and said, "Make it $2500 and you've got a deal." They agreed. Bridget was blonde but she was in no way stupid, except occasionally in her choice of male companions.
So a week later, Bridget was on the set again but only to keep an eye on her beloved bustier. Not only was Helga (or whatever her name was) there to wear it but Arthur was there to watch the love of his life make her acting debut. Helga looked fine in the bustier and Bridget, who'd emotionally committed to being a good, well-compensated sport about it, admitted that Helga was fine in the part.
After they wrapped, Helga herself carried the bustier on its hanger over to Bridget, who was going to drop it off at the dry cleaner's on her way home. Helga thanked her and said, "They told me they paid you again for it so look at it this way. We each got a thousand dollars for wearing it and you made another thousand for loaning it to us."
Bridget said, "Well, to be honest, they paid me $2500 to let you wear it." And as she left with it, she could hear Helga storming across the studio and yelling, "Arthur, we have to talk!"