Chandler South

Chandler South stands five-foot-one and carries a streak of red fire through her hair. Born in Texas, she has lived in Mexico, North Carolina, and Miami before settling back in Dallas. By night she pours drinks, and men stare. She decided the stares were worth something, so she walked into a Dallas casting call and came out with a contract. She used to shrink in high-school hallways, uneasy in her skin. Now she wants the skin seen. She likes the way our cameras wait for her, the way the lights push across bare shoulders, down the slope of her breasts, the soft thatch between her thighs. Every shot keeps nothing back. When the shoot ends she trades studio silence for the thump of bass. She likes a first round at a quiet bar, then a dark club, sometimes a velvet booth at a strip joint where the air smells like perfume and sweat. She never waits long for company. She wants a man who crosses the room without rehearsing what to say, who places a hand at the small of her back and keeps it there until she decides otherwise. Pushy lines get brushed off; quiet confidence earns another round and, later, the key to her apartment. She is twenty-something and in no hurry to trade late nights for wedding cake. The city is still new each weekend, her body still new each time she slips the dress off her hips, and she plans to taste both while the tasting is good.