The Mobster and the Model

by Alana

 

I glided into the room in my pretty silk chiffon floral dress, feeling just like I was floating. It was my favorite dress, and normally at this time of year in New York City I'd never be able to wear it outside, but we were having a warm spell, so I got to walk the city streets in the dress I loved, enjoying the fresh breeze about my legs.

Tony was sitting on the couch, looking at a portfolio. He patted the seat next to him, so I was supposed to join him. Vito, one of his hired goons, stood nearby. I threw my purse on a chair. I could feel Vito's eyes on me as I strolled across the floor, my skirt brushing against my fingers, and sat down next to Tony, smoothing my skirt beneath me with one hand. I crossed my legs and cuddled closer to Tony.

I recognized the portfolio. Some of the photo shoots I'd done during my modeling days, before I gave it all up to become Tony's moll. Most of them were ads, some had text, some were unadorned shots before the text had been added. I wasn't too proud of some of these sleazy ads, and I hoped Vito hadn't seen them.

"Alana!" he said. "I was just looking back over your career as a model. You're damn lucky you're with me, now. You don't have to pose for any more of these humiliating, degrading ads."

The words stung. They were meant to hurt me, and I was shocked. Why was Tony saying these things to me, making me feel like a failure? He told me he loved me. Why was he treating me like this, and in front of Vito?

"How about this cover you did for that sleazy paperback? How'd you like your mother to see you like this, dressed like a little slut?"

I cringed. I remembered how humiliated and dirty I felt the day I had to wear that dress, and the photographer kept making those lewd remarks. That was my first paying gig, and I remember thinking, from this point on it couldn't possibly get worse. When I took off that dress I wanted to burn it.

Before I could say a word, he turned the page and was on to the next shot.

"And of course, there's your wonderful ad for genital herpes. How could you even bring yourself to go out in public, knowing you were in this ad?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"That's not fair," I weakly complained. "Some of my ads were OK. Look at my ad for the contact lenses. The ones that change your eye-color."

I flipped through the portfolio, desperately looking for the ad. I know I should've been willing to just laugh it all off, all the sleazy ads I was in, but the way he spoke to me was so hurtful. It seemed like he really WANTED to hurt my feelings. Why was he being so mean? I knew he was a mobster when I took up with him, but he'd never been cruel to me before. He said he loved me.

I found the ad. Such a cute dress I was wearing. I begged them to let me keep it, but they said no.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 "See? There's nothing wrong with that. Perfectly classy."

I flipped to the next shot, which was not bad, except for the fact that they wanted my skirt hiked up a little so my slip was showing. I was taking some tape off my mouth, like I was a hostage. I think it was a pantyhose ad. I don't remember exactly, but I think the copy was something like, "Don't be a hostage to your pantyhose!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not a bad looking ad. Could be worse. And there was no denying I had incredible legs.

But he took the portfolio from me and flipped several pages ahead.

"Not as classy as your cover photo on Spanki magazine, is it?"

He turned to it, and I cringed again.

 

 

 

 

 

I wanted to protest that at least I was wearing a pretty dress that I wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen in on the streets of Manhattan, but I was so flustered I couldn't get out a word.

"Every sicko in New York City looking at this cover and drooling all over you, standing there bent double and ready to be spanked until your cute little butt is black and blue."

"Please stop," I said in a very hurt voice. I tried to get up and leave, but he held me there. I looked at Vito. I expected to see him smirking, but he actually looked a little concerned for me.

"But for pure class, we have the winner right here."

He flipped to it. I tried to stop him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I'll bet when you got the cover on Street Girl magazine you couldn't wait to tell your mother all about it, could you?"

"Why are you doing this, Tony? What do you want out of me?"

"Just wanted to remind you of how damn lucky you are that I took you away from all that. Remember when we first met? Just after you'd lost your job as a substitute teacher at that girl's school, for being a little too explicit in some of your lessons?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I nodded.

"I was on a commuter train when I saw you for the first time, standing on that platform, wearing that sexy tight dress," he said. "That was it for me. Love at first sight. I got off the train right there, and it wasn't even my stop."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I nodded again.

"Remember our first date? You wanted to dance after dinner, but I wasn't havin' any part of it. But then you got up and turned to me in that gorgeous scarlet and white dress, lookin' so damn cute that I knew I could never deny you anything. Remember?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I remembered. I nodded.

"That first date, I asked you to move in with me. I said you could let me take care of you, and wear glamorous gowns and jewels and expensive perfumes, or you could continue to eke out a living doing humiliating ads for products like DermaRing."

He turned to that horrible, embarrassing ad. All of a sudden I began to have an idea what this was about.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You know that those aren't my actual breasts," I said, with a nervous eye towards Vito.

"So you say."

"Tony, I would never lie to you!"

'Is that so? You promised when you moved in with me that your days of modeling were over. So what the hell is this?"

He took the glossy photo from its manila envelope and handed it to me. I felt sick. I should've known he'd find out about it. But it was a high-paying glamorous photo shoot with a reputable agency, something I'd never had before. Sure it was lingerie, but it was a real classy ad. I just couldn't turn it down. It was the sort of break I'd been waiting for my entire career.

"Tony, I can explain!" I said. And he slapped me.

I was shocked. I stared at him open-mouthed. I guess I was naïve, but I never expected him to treat me like this. Even Vito looked a little disturbed.

"Shut up, you little bitch!" he said. "Don't you get it? A man in my position has to command a certain respect! What kind of respect can I have when any bum on the street can pick up a magazine and see my dame struttin' around in her underwear?"

"Tony, I'm sorry!" He slapped me again.

"Shut up!"

He stood up and grabbed some scissors. He cut my lingerie photo into little strips and let them fall to the floor. Then he picked up a red and white dress that I recognized all too well.

"Stand up!" he said.

I stood.

"I was going to take you out for Valentine's day, Alana. You were going to wear one of your five-thousand dollar gowns, and we were going to a five-star restaurant. But that's over. That's not going to happen. Instead, you like being photographed in skimpy outfits so much, well, we're gonna have a little photo shoot right here and now. Put on that dress."

He threw that slutty dress right at me. I found my courage.

"No!" I said.

He was a little taken aback, but not much. He walked right up to me and said, "You think this is a game?"

He grabbed my pretty silk chiffon dress by the neckline and ripped it right off me! My favorite dress! I tried to cover myself up in front of Vito.

"Put it on!" he said.

I slipped into the dress, and got myself zipped up. I was near tears.

"On your knees," he said, pointing to a Valentine's day backdrop someone had set up.

"Tony, please, you don't want to do this to me! You said you loved me!"

"Do it!" he said.

 I got down on my knees. He handed me a little teddy bear and told me to pose pretty, like a good little girl. I don't know what was more humiliating, wearing that slutty dress or being treated like a little child.

"Oh, one more thing," he said. He took out a Sharpie and wrote a word on my chest. When he was done, I looked down at what he'd written.

"Tony, please don't," I said.

"Smile, bitch," he said, picking up a camera. "And pull your skirt up a little, you like showing off your panties so much."

I obeyed. I tried to smile, though I was embarrassed as hell that my panties were showing. I felt like the entire world was my gynecologist, in that dress. I was just hoping this would please him and that would be the end of it.

 

But he just kept wanting shot after shot. I found my courage again. I'd rather get a bullet in the brain from Vito than be treated like this. I stood up and tugged down my skirt.

"That's it!" I said. "No more! You can kill me but you can't treat me like this, and you can't make me wear this stupid dress any longer!"

He tried to grab me, but I rushed past him into the bedroom to change my dress. I got out of that horrible red polka-dotted thing and looked through my closet for something to wear. My favorite dress was no more, but I grabbed my second-favorite dress, a tight electric-blue number that always made me feel sexy. I slipped it on and came back out.

More bad news was waiting for me. Tony stood there with manacles in his hand.

"Sit down," he said, pointing to a stool that was permanently attached to the floor. I refused, and Tony and Vito both grabbed me and sat me down. I struggled, but it was no use. Vito held my hands, and Tony manacled me, with the chain running under my skirt, looped around the base of the stool. Funny, but I had the feeling that Vito was participating reluctantly.

I complained, I even screamed, and the next thing I knew my lipstick was coming into contact with a rather large piece of duct tape.

I still struggled and tried to complain as much as I could through that damn tape, and Tony slapped me again across the face.

"Shut up!" he yelled. "No little slut treats me like that!"

"That's enough!" said someone. It was Vito. I looked at him in surprise. And I was even more surprised to see that he was holding a gun on Tony.

"What the hell is this about?" asked Tony.

"You're not treating her like that any more. I'm not letting you," said Vito. He looked at me tenderly. "I love her," he said.

"You're a dead man," said Tony.

"I don't care," said Vito. "She's leaving with me. We're going to enjoy whatever time we've got left together."

I looked at him with frightened eyes. "Mmmph!" I said.

"Vito, you don't want to do this."

"Hand over the keys," said Vito.

"Vito, there's something you should know about Alana. She's not who you think she is."

"Hand over the keys."

"Vito, Alana is not---Alana is not a she. Alana is a he."

Vito looked stunned. He didn't want to believe it. He stared at me. I nodded, sadly. He kept staring, and his gun drooped towards the ground.

That was when Tony drew his gun in a flash, and shot Vito right in the chest! Vito dropped his gun and clutched his chest. He dropped to his knees.

"You rat bastard!" he said.

"I couldn't let you find out the truth," said Tony. "Once you got him alone and took off his dress you'd know about him, and you'd know I'm a faggot. I'd rather die than let that happen."

Wanting to fulfill that request, Vito dropped to the ground and grabbed his gun. Tony shot again and missed him completely, and Vito made an amazing shot from the ground point blank into Tony's heart, slamming him against the wall. Tony slid to the ground.

Then for one heart-stopping moment, I saw Vito aim his gun directly at me. Too frightened to do anything, I stared at that little black eye of death for what seemed like the rest of my life, and if he had fired it really would've been the rest of my life.

But Vito passed out, and his gun fell to the floor.

I sat there in shock for maybe half a minute. Then I realized I had to get out of there. I bent over as far as I could and got both legs in between my arms, then I was able to stand up, reach back with both arms, and slip the chain off the base of the chair. Then I bent over again and let the chain droop down to the floor, so I could step backwards over it and get my hands in front of me.

I ripped the tape off my mouth, wincing from the pain. I looked through Tony's pockets and got the keys, and I was free in no time. I rolled Tony over, and grabbed his wallet. This was the man I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with, and here I was, rolling his corpse. I still loved him, even after the way he'd treated me. I'd cry later if I had the time.

Only a mobster would carry two thousand dollars in his wallet in Manhattan. Two thousand dollars wasn't much for a pretty boy in a dress to start a new life, but it would have to do.

I checked my appearance. No blood on my dress; no blood on my pantyhose; no blood on my high heels. Good, because I had no time to change my dress. I could hear sirens already. I knew those shots would bring the law. All those beautiful expensive dresses in my closet, all those glamorous gowns, and I had no time to pack a single one of them.

I grabbed my purse. I wished I had time to fix my lipstick, but I had to get out of there as fast as my high heels would take me. I took one last look at the place before heading down the back way.

I really hoped that Tony would've paid for the operation, for me. I kept nagging him to do it, and he said he would, but he kept putting it off. I guess he just liked me just the way I was. If he'd made me into a real woman, this gunfight never would've happened.

Well, now I had my chance to become a model again. Now I'd have no choice. Oh, well.

Good-bye Tony. Rest in peace.

  

  

  

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