Models and Super Spies Ch. 13

The conclusion to Alicia and Trey's saga.

Chapter 13: The Party to End All Parties

Black, stretch limousines lined the pier, each letting out a handful of party-goers wearing masks and black capes. Paparazzi was prohibited, although that didn't stop a few brave souls armed with telephoto lenses from climbing onto the rooftops of neighboring warehouses and water towers.

The Solsticefloated proud and preening in the last rays of the summer sun. In a few short hours, as it cut through the dark waters of the Pacific, it would be lit up like a Christmas tree, every rail and beam coiled with white lights. A floating party. It had been Erin Small's fantasy since childhood.

Each invitation was carefully considered. She'd spent months on the guest list, carefully considering each man or women. Were they rich enough? Were they hot enough? Each was allowed one guest; were their friends and associates worthy of this opening?

It was the exclusiveness that created the buzz. It was the mystery that would have the world talking about this club opening like it was a blockbuster movie.

As each limo rolled to a stop and deposited another set of revelers at the end of theSolstice'sgilt-laden gangplank, Erin grew more and more excited. How many attending tonight knew the power she had over them, or would have over them soon?

Her girls did, of course. She'd called on her entire roster. Tonight needed to bleed decadence. The hottest and sexiest women in the world could infuse a gathering in an assisted living facility. Throwing them into this crowd of sexed up celebrities and the sons and daughters of the wealthy was like a match on a gasoline-drenched pyre.

Erin didn't need drugs to feel this high. She breathed deeply in through her nostrils and smiled. She'd sent Gabrielle Dubois to pick up Alicia. They'd be arriving together, and unlike most of the crowd, they'd be arriving without their masks. This was Alicia "Stile's" coming out party, and the princess was going to be escorted in by the queen.

***

Gabrielle Dubois's loud sniff echoed through the intimate confines of the limo's interior. Just a few hundred feet away, beautiful men and women in masks and cloaks were making their way up the decorated ramp into theSolstice. Just outside the tinted windows, day was turning to night.

Alicia watched the supermodel, Gabrielle Dubois, tilt her head back and close her eyes as the cocaine-rush washed through her. Her time with Trey was still fresh in the younger model's mind; as was her vow to be smarter, to clean up her act.

But when the brunette handed her the short, platinum tube and sank back into the leather bench, Alicia knew that it wouldn't be so easy. She licked her lips as she regarded the powdery white lines on the pro-offered mirror, tasting her glossy lipstick.

"Mmm, tonight iz going to be fun,mais oui?" Gabrielle commented, snuggling into herself. Her eyes remained closed.

The blonde watched the French woman in the dim light of the limo. A few short weeks ago, she'd only ever admired the supermodel from afar, never dreaming of even meeting the brunette, let alone partying with her. As Gabrielle breathed deeply through her nostrils and her long lashes fanned out as she shut her eyes, Alicia thought that this woman truly was super.

This evening, she'd worn her dark, nearly black hair braided down the hollow of her back, although she'd left a few strands to frame her glamorous face.

"I think I'm going to pass for now," Alicia murmured, setting the tube onto the mirror. She shivered, remembered the rush that the drug brought. Tonight, she needed to be herself. Tonight, she couldn't take risks.

Gabrielle shrugged as though to say,Suit yourself, and finished up the lone line herself. Nothing more was said. Alicia breathed a sigh of relief. She'd passed the test of peer pressure. She was strong enough to stand on her own, and now even Gabrielle Dubois acknowledged that.

"You would have loved Condo's opening,Alisia," the French model said in her affected English. She rubbed her graceful nose. "So many beautiful people. The music. The dancing. The sex."

For a moment, Alicia thought the other woman was going to kiss her. For a second, she wanted her to. "You will love the sex, my sweet," she whispered into the blonde's ear.

Alicia shivered as Gabrielle gave her one of her oft-photographed smiles and withdrew. "Time for our grand entrance."

The door opened and she could already hear the clicking of high-speed lenses. At first, she thought it was paparazzi, although she'd heard rumor that Erin Small was tightly controlling the publicity. When she saw her friend, Isobel, behind one of the cameras, and realized all of the photographers were wearing some form of white bikini or swimsuit, she realized these people were paid to be here.

Alicia felt light in the warm, summer air. As she rose along the creaking, metal ramp, she felt like a down feather caught in an updraft. She didn't need the drugs to make her feel high.

They'd timed it to be one of the last guests to arrive. Only a handful of limos were lined up behind theirs. And unlike the guests who'd arrived before them, they walked up the ramp without their masks on, hand-in-hand. Only the best of the photographs would be circulated to every gossip magazine Erin had a tie to; the others would receive them second hand.

Alicia didn't feel just the eyes of those cameras on her. She felt the eyes of the world. To walk with Gabrielle Dubois. To be seen at such an exclusive event. This was it. She'd made it.

The models stopped before a well built African-American holding a clipboard and wearing nothing but a little white Speedo. His cock, outlined in the small "uniform," looked monstrous. Gabrielle nudged her. All she could do was suppress a shiver.

"Ms. Dubois. Mrs. Kennedy?"

"Um, it's Ms. Stiles now," Alicia corrected, blushing as she felt Gabrielle's eyes turn on her. "It's easier this way." She felt inclined to explain, even if she hadn't been asked.

"Of course," Gabrielle nodded.

"Welcome aboard theSolstice. If there's anything you require, any member of the help staff will gladly accommodate you."

"And how will we know who's help? I see that even you are wearing a mask." Gabrielle asked.

"We're all wearing white. Guests are wearing black."

"When we're wearing anything at all," the French model laughed, pulling Alicia gently into the entrance to the floating club without waiting for a reply. To the blonde, she whispered, "I'll have to track him down..."

Another attendant took their cloaks just inside the entrance, telling them that they must put on their masks now. "In the main ballroom, all guests are required," he explained apologetically.

Alicia was actually thankful as she tied on her little, golden mask. It didn't cover much – merely the bridge of her nose and her eyes – but it gave her a sense of anonymity. Especially now that she was covered in nothing but a little black, thong bikini. How Erin had talked her intothatstyle was still beyond her.

"Is this not exquisite?" Gabrielle asked, squeezing the younger model's hand.

As Alicia's eyes surveyed the room of scantily clad, very beautiful party-goers, she realized how exquisite it really was. It was the perfect word to describe the warm, sinuous feeling that wrapped itself around her senses like a tendril of sweet-smelling smoke. Why should she feel exposed? She was no more out in the open than anyone else, and she had the body to shine.

"It's incredible," she said, her soft brown eyes flashing.

A woman in a white, haltered bikini swept by with a tray of champagne. Each model took one, sipping it as they waited for the last guests to arrive. "Well don't you two make a pretty pair," Alexander Mishin's English-Russian accent whispered between them.

Alicia turned, her eyes immediately flicking over the sexy Agency-owner's body. His black swimming trunks were tight, like a pair of boxer-briefs. In fact, with his slim frame, he looked like a male model – minus the tattoos, of course.

"You are not so bad yourself,mon cherie," the French model flirted, striking a pose with a hand on her hip.

"Don't worry, I know" he replied, winking at Alicia and drawing a blush.

They exchanged friendly cheek-kisses, although their hands lingered on each other's exposed flesh a little longer than was customary. Alicia was already growing warm with all the sexual energy that was buzzing through the ship.

"So what do you think?" he asked them, although his stare had turned fully on the blonde.

"I love it," Alicia bubbled enthusiastically. "Erin really knows how to throw a party."

Alexander laughed warmly. "This? This is nothing. The real party starts in two hours." She pointed to a grand staircase on the opposite end of the high-ceilinged ballroom. "Up those steps are the more secluded quarters, I believe. If you get an invitation back there, you won't want to pass it up."

The way he said it sent a shiver down Alicia's spine.

Alex placed a hand on each of their lower backs, ushering them deeper into the party. The blonde looked at her mentor, who was smiling coyly, as if to say,Let him have control... for now...

Despite the masks, Alex seemed to know who most of the company was. He brandished the knowledge with the suave grace of an accomplished mingler and conversationalist. He looked everyone in the eye; he used their first names; and he smiled, even when they did not.

Alicia tried to follow his cue. She borrowed some of his confidence, perhaps, but she was surprised to find herself quite comfortable with working the crowd. The fact that everyone, men and women, keep looking down at her tits – or that when she walked away, she put an extra wiggle in her thong-clad ass – helped get over her early jitters.

"Have you met Leonardo Garza yet, Alicia?" Alex asked, stopping before a barrel-chested man with a shock of long, white hair spilling from the back of his mask.

"No, I have not," she said, although there was something oddly familiar about him. The name, maybe, or his mannerisms?

"I think, perhaps, you know my son," he said in a warm, Italian accent. It was as deep as his chest was broad. "Tony Garza?" The blonde blushed, suddenly putting it together. "He is somewhere around here, getting into trouble, no doubt."

"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Garza," she practically curtsied.

He laughed, hearty as a lion. "Please, let's dispense of the formalities. My friends call me Leonardo, but beautiful women call me simply 'Leo.'"

Gabrielle took the moment to reintroduce herself into the conversation. "Nice to see you again, Leo."

She offered her hand and he took it, kissing it like a gentleman. "Always a pleasure, Gabrielle. You are more stunning than your photographs do you justice." She nodded. It was her right. She was a supermodel, after all. Turning back to Alicia, he took her hand, too. "And I must thank you, Alicia, for all your work with my latest fragrance, Nudity. I have seen the comps already; it will be a spectacular launch."

Not wanting to alienate the French supermodel, he turned to her and continued. "You are both invited to the launch party in Milan, of course. I was hoping to get at least one shoot of the two of you together before then; that would be spectacular!"

Gabrielle grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server and gave the three of them her characteristic smile. "Well, if you'd like to see the two of us together, I'm sure something can be worked out."

***

For Trey, the day hadn't been quite so glamorous. He'd arrived at 9 that morning and been in rigorous training ever since. Tia, the Amazonian black mistress of staff, was relentless. They'd gone over thehors d'oeuvresagain and again. The way to hold the trays up. How much to fill each glass of champagne. Hell, she'd spent a half hour going over how towalk!

In the end, Trey felt battered down into a new man. A servant to the rich. A second class citizen. But at least Tia gave her stamp of approval and let him board the ship.

Not all the catering staff was so lucky. The reasons varied. Too short. Too fat. Not confident enough. Too confident. Couldn't cross the room without spilling a glass of wine.

"The people gathered tonight are from the upper most crust of elite society. Some are richer than small countries. Others are very renowned actors and actresses. Or rock stars. Or models. Andallof them will get what they want, when they want."

The message was clear. Everyone was hired on knowing what to expect, but when Tia said it, the point was really driven home.

Nothing could have prepared Trey for theSolstice. Even stepping into the grand ballroom from the galley was awe-inspiring. Three magnificent stories of gold and gilt vaulted up to a crystal chandelier, bathing the tall chamber in rich yellows like a palace. Balconies followed the contours of the ship's hull, supported on balustrades that recessed into private cubbies and even more private rooms.

And it was all floating like some miniaturizedTitanic.

A broad stairwell dominated the side of the room opposite the main entrance, made of marble and adorned in a blood-red carpet. "Up there are the private lounges and VIP halls," Tia explained, although she didn't elaborate other than to say that some will be required to work them when they began opening.

Trey felt like a tourist being led along Hollywood Boulevard for the first time. He couldn't stop gawking at the immensity of theSolstice. And yet, once the swimsuit and mask-wearing crowd began to fill the grand chamber, he started to understand the significance of this party – although calling it a "party" was like calling theSolsticea boat.

The masks ranged from outlandish, theatrical affairs right off the set ofPhantom of the Operaor the streets of New Orleans at Mardi Gras. The designer swimwear was as insubstantial and ostentatious as the haughty conversation that quickly followed.

The swelter of decadence was almost palpable. It was like secondary smoke from a menthol, strong enough to give even the catering staff a buzz.

Masquerade meets an LA beach party. Never in a million years would Trey have believed that the combination could feel so chic. So stylishly elegant. As he watched a leggy blonde wearing nothing but heels, a g-string bikini, and an ostentatious peacock mask strut by, he had to tip his hat to Erin Small. She knew how to throw a party.

The "uniforms" of the catering staff were small, white bathing suits. For the guys, speedos; for the girls, bikinis that weren't quite thongs, but required a very firm ass. After about a half hour, Trey realized just how much of a problem this was going to be.

"Relax," Tia said as they passed one another on the second floor balcony. "You're doing well,Trenton." Her voice was softer than it had been all day, although still firm.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

She stopped him, whispering, "I know you I was supposed to let you aboard no matter what today, but you deserved it anyway. Whatever is going on here, I can't jeopardize this party, understand?"

Tia was still worried about her job, when her employer, Ms. Small, might be behind bars by morning. "I understand," he replied quietly.

"Good."

He watched as her dark eyes shot over his shoulder. "Ah, possibly your first test," she laughed cruelly, stepping away and continuing down the balcony.

Squaring his shoulders, Trey swiveled around to face whatever monster headed their way. Michelle Park, winner of Season 2 ofSupermodel, wasn't evenwearinga mask. Instead, she simply held one that was affixed to a stick, gesticulating wildly with it as she talked to Tony Garza, her on-again, off-again beau.

Trey gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to curl his fist into a ball. Tony was the man who'd allegedly slept with his wife. Or at least so the tabloids were reporting. The truth was disputed, but it didn't stop the burning hatred he felt for the LA playboy.

"Look, sweetheart, forget that bitch. You've got me, why do you need anyone else?" she was saying as they paced closer. "She's a slut, like everyone else. A couple nights ago, she was spotted with Vincent Silva. Who knows who she's gonna fuck tonight?"

The man's jaw tightened beneath his long-nosed mask. "Alicia is special."

Michelle rolled her eyes. "Gah!" she exclaimed in exasperation, throwing her arms in the air. Tony walked on a couple more paces before he realized she'd stopped. "Fine, go chase her. You're killing my buzz, anyway."

"Michelle..." he pleaded, but her attention was already on Trey.

"Champagne?" he asked lamely as her eyes traveled down his muscled torso to the semi-hard erection.

She laughed, the smile turning her harsh face beautiful. "Yes, I could go for some champagne." Before Trey knew what was happening, the lithesome Asian model had her arm looped into his. "Let's go back to my... champagne room."

Trey spotted Tia, watching at a distance. If he tried to weasel his way out now, he'd be more than busted. She was liable to throw him out, no matter what deal had been made to get him in here.

Glancing at Tony with a farewell wink, Michelle pulled Trey into the closest private room off the balcony.

***

Liz Hawkins cut the engines of her glossy black waverunner about 100 yards from the floating party, just out of the radius of its bright lights. TheSolsticedominated the dark water, beautiful in its glowing radiance. Liz had never seen anything like it.

It was the perfect place for her final showdown with Vincent Silva. Aboard that ship, the years of deceit would end.

She flipped on the waverunner's homing beacon; they'd retrieve it later, when the dust had finally settled.

Pulling the scuba goggles over her face and checking once again that her wetsuit was tightly sealed, she slipped into the cold Pacific waters and submerged herself.

She moved through the water gracefully, covering the distance in only a few minutes. Growing up in Hawaii, the ocean was like a second home. Beneath its waves, a strange and quieter world greeted her. When she was a little girl, she imagined herself a mermaid, able to join that world. Now, she knew she had to deal with the one she'd been born into.

She emerged at the stern of the ship, using the turmoil of the engines to mask her rise out of the water. It was early, still, not even 10. Everyone should still be inside the grand ballroom.

The redhead kept her wetsuit on, scaling the side of the ship like a ninja. Black against the brilliant, white lights. A spec. A shadow.

Carefully, she peered over the rail, finding the stern deck empty, although she kept a wary eye on the sliding glass doors the led into the ship. The hallway behind it was still dark, and after watching it for a solid minute, she determined that no guards were stationed there.

There were security cameras, however. Two of them, one perched above that entrance, the other cast out over the rest of the deck. "That's a problem," she muttered to herself as she shuffled along the outside railing until she could climb over off camera.Of course Erin Small would have this place rigged with cameras,she thought.

Setting her waterproof bag just inside the railing, Liz balanced there long enough to slid her flippers off and let them fall into the roiling water. The polished wood of the deck was warm under her bare feet. Inviting.

In fact, this whole deck was inviting. It was straight out of the pages of a sultan's private harem: loungers covered in gauze sheets; plush pillows in purples and reds heaped along the floorboards; and on each of the low sitting tables was a hookah.