“I’m not bad. I’m just drawn that way” – JESSICA RABBIT (Kathleen Turner) in Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988)
Today is prompt day. So anything said after this point is a direct result of what The Daily Post asked me to do.
I was born in the 80’s but, God do I love the 20’s. I love that feel of those old detective movies, there was always a dame worth killing for and a bad guy who as clearly bad. There were flights of fantasy, none of this new aged gritty realism crap. All the chicks even the bad chicks, especially the bad chicks, were independent and strong and just plain sexy.
Not today’s sexy either, not duck lipped naked selfie sexy, not pin up porn nothing to offer by sex, sexy, Oh no. I’m talking love for my mind sexy, cunning and brimming with ingenuity sexy, independent because I do my own thing sexy, witty and courageous sexy. You know? The real sexy.
Now Jessica Rabbit is my personal favorite of all the 20’s ladies, because she looked hoochie but had class. In my up coming years when love and romance were still things I thought I could have, I thought that she was the ideal sexy. I wanted to be her.
Imagine me, with my va va va vroom figure, gliding mysterious through a crowd in my sparkly very scandalously cut evening dress, while men’s eyes bulge out of their skulls and with heart shaped bright red pupils and their hears thumping in the shape hearts out of their chest. Imagine the hoots and howls as I step to the mic and croon in my husky voice, while posing and dancing this way and that, kicking up a cloud of lust in my wake so thick that it paralyses my audience for the want of me.
When I’d finish they would flock to offer me a drink and I would deny them all the honor, because I would be waiting for him. The dude in the trench coat and the fedora with the light falling just over his eyes. His cigarette poised between his fingers and he leans against the bar waiting on me. We would banter a little then adjourn to the back room to talk about who stole the Maltese falcon, or the gold, or the jewels, or what ever intrigue needed a fem fetal like me.
We would work together and show each other up, saving lives and taking hits, all the while bantering and clashing witts, until finally we couldn’t contain ourselves and have to win the day after a long sweet kiss with a sunset backdrop and a passionate confession of love as a prelude.
Oooh could you imagine it? Me? A night club singer in the 20’s? Oh yes I would be soo good at being drawn bad.
Sigh…the things we fantasies about. But it’s kinda worked out that way, I’m drawn bad at least.