Although Susan was quite
attractive she wasn't the sort of heavenly brunette likely to stare at a viewer from the cover of a glossy
fashion magazine. On the other hand, when she walked across a room, all eyes tended to follow her. Susan had a great walk.
Her gait wasn't particularly fast or slow, it didn't seem affected.
Her slender limbs were long. The sway of her body was natural, not exaggerated.
Her steps had a graceful light-on-her-feet confidence and her head
was held high. Her wrists were loose. Susan glided.
Susan was a part-time
cashier at the Biograph Theatre (in Richmond) for some five months during the Biograph's first year of operation (1972). She was a full-time VCU student.
Although I can't recall anything unusual happening to mark the occasion, for some reason I clearly remember a
scene in which I noticed that everyone standing in the lobby seemed mesmerized,
watching her walk across the room. It was like living in a movie.
Actually, I know that sort of thing happened other times during
Susan's stint at the Biograph, but for some reason I still only
picture the few seconds I just mentioned. In those days I tended to
collect scenes for my imaginary movie. When something caught my eye
sometimes I would think it should be remembered, so I could put a
scene like it in a film I would someday make. While the movie
was never made, some of the saved memories linger.
In a lot of moving pictures that show
people watching an attractive woman walking it's about her projected sex
appeal and frequently it's played as campy. Think Fellini.
Which is not at all like the scene I'm remembering in the Biograph's lobby. In my scene the woman is smooth and aloof. Think “The Girl From Ipanema” … ahh.
Which is not at all like the scene I'm remembering in the Biograph's lobby. In my scene the woman is smooth and aloof. Think “The Girl From Ipanema” … ahh.
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