•••••••••••••••••••••••Requests Open!••••••••••••••••••••••••
Will update upon receiving requests. Check chapter cleverly titled "⭐️Requests Open!⭐️" for more details (it's the 10th chapter!)
You can never have too many classic rock one shots, can y...
Muse: Welsh Model and Former Creative Director of American Vogue Grace Coddington Musician: American Singer/ Songwriter Janis Joplin Time: Mid to Late Sixties
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Janis and Nelda were something like polar opposites. Nelda was well-born and scrupulous while Janis was a free spirit of mild and humble beginnings. But despite these differences, or perhaps because of them, the two were the best of friends. It was a day just like any other. Nelda was relaxing in her luxurious bathtub, soaking in a sea of bubbles while filing away at her healthy nails.
Her red hair, still wet from her shower, was held up by a claw clip, and a record was spinning on the turntable — some Julie London number. Perfect for the dramatic, the love-sick and the glamorous. Nelda hummed along contently, her voice breaking in her throat at every high note and the water swishing with each stroke of the file against her nail. The flames atop unscented candles, lit despite the fact that all of the lights were on, danced with her movements as rosy incense burned beside them.
Her bathroom was the size as most parlors; complete with a large sunken tub with a built-in ledge to house her own personal telephone and an impressive hoard of fashion magazines. Nelda took full advantage of these indulgences, spending as long as her heart desired pampering herself like a princess.
It was a perfectly relaxing morning; that is, until the shrill of the telephone broke Nelda's prized easy tranquility. "Ugh." The girl, still half asleep, rolled her hazel eyes in annoyance. Drying her damp hands on the small towel laying just beside her, she managed to keep the nail file in her grasp. She then took up the dusty-pink telephone, holding it up to her mouth while being careful not to smudge her thick slather of face cream.
"Hello. Pitchford's residence, Nelda speaking." she spoke, continuing to shape her nails with the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear. Nelda lived with her sister Ilene in a luxury apartment in the heart of Boston. It was so spacious that the two could go days without running into each other, and each room needed its own phone.
Nelda's sleepy ears confirmed the voice on the other end of the line as her boss. He was demanding that she show up for work on time, as usually, she did not. She just barely listened to his rampage, finishing up with filing her nails and moving on to polishing them.
"I'll be there at 12:00 o'clock on the dot, sir. Don't you worry your pretty little head."
She could get quite snarky with her boss, as well. The job wasn't terribly important to her. Nelda hung up the phone with a vexed sigh, rolling her eyes once more to seal the deal. Despite her (less than enthusiastic) promise, she continued to meticulously apply a coat of iridescent frosty blue polish to her long nails, not moving even the slightest bit quicker.
These work calls were the doings of her parents. In an effort to make her and her spoiled sister more independent, they'd demanded that they work what they called 'common' jobs. They'd also stopped paying the girls' bills, although they did still take care of rent. Ilene got stuck with a gig as a secretary while Nelda was forced to get work as a hairdresser. The red haired girl absolutely abhorred her job. Yes, she did like to style hair, but only her own hair.
