Laramie 33

О Laramie

Laramie has spent nine years making grown men forget the cars at every show in Texas. The pin-up shoot is done, the garage is locked, and the convertible's top is still down.

Laramie grew up in Amarillo under the hood of whatever her neighbour was fixing, with grease on her hands and a rockabilly record playing on the bench. She was asked to pose next to a restored convertible at a county car show at twenty-three, and by the end of the day the line for her signature was longer than the line for the car.

Nine years later she is the pin-up the big shows book first. She has shot calendars in a desert gas station at dawn, ridden the back seat of a parade convertible through downtown Austin, and modelled a vintage swimsuit line on the hood of a car so hot from the sun she still swears she has a scar.

What she wants is a booker who knows chrome from plastic, shoots she can drive to, and a contract that keeps her in Texas. PowerScout's scout walked up at a show and named the year of the convertible before she could. She laughed, handed him her cherry red pen, and told him to sign something. She signed too, a week later, on a workbench, on her own terms. Done and dusted.

Tonight was his pin-up shoot in a vintage garage: checkerboard floor, tin signs, one gleaming red convertible. The crew rolled out. She stayed, because she wanted someone who appreciates the car as much as the woman on it.

She is sitting up on the hood of the convertible with her heels on the chrome bumper and her curls under the bandana, and she has just patted the hood beside her.