Models and Super Spies Ch. 08

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Questions and Answers.
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Part 8 of the 13 part series

Updated 10/05/2022
Created 03/13/2009
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Chapter 8: Questions and Answers

Alicia felt pretty good. Not great, but for the first time in weeks, she felt pretty good. She'd slept until 10. Slept all the way through the night. A shower later and she felt alive.

Erin's sugar-coated pills helped, too. They gave her that detached, content feeling that had been with her through the night. As she lounged by the pool in her tiny red bikini and oversized designer shades, she cast her mind back over the last month of her life.

She'd landed a dream job with Mishin Modeling. She'd met the Gabrielle Dubois. She'd been unfaithful for the first time in her life. Tried Ecstasy and cocaine. Modeled for an international ad campaign. Started a rivalry with the current It girl. Been recruited by the CIA. And left her husband.

Those merciful little pills helped her digest it all without judgment. They were things that happened. Life would go on.

She flipped onto her back and untied her top. Normally, she tanned in a booth, in the nude, but even in her foggy brain, she knew that probably wasn't appropriate at Erin Small's home.

She felt lazy in the sun. Felt like sleeping again. Maybe she did. She woke to a shadow passing across her closed eyes.

"Feeling better?" Erin asked above her.

Alicia twisted in the lounger, shielding her eyes despite the shades. "So much better. Thank you for letting me stay here."

The older woman's silhouette waved her hand dismissively. "I'm sorry I couldn't have been there for you last night." She had a couple champagne flutes in her hand. She held one out to Alicia as she took a seat on the lounger opposite. "I fixed us a couple mimosas. Hope that's OK with you."

Erin had changed into a bikini as well; a cream colored designer suit with delicate gold lace-work on the straps. It looked graceful with her matching gold waist chain. And like every stylish LA woman, her sunglasses dwarfed her pretty face.

"It sounds wonderful," Alicia said, turning onto her back. She didn't bother covering up her bare breasts. It wasn't anything Erin hadn't seen before, nor something the blonde was ashamed of.

The women enjoyed the drinks in silence for a few moments. Alicia felt like she needed to say something more. About her situation. About leaving Trey. But where to start. "I…"

"Shh, don't worry about it, honey. Tell me when you're ready."

"Thanks."

"Oh, but this may interest you. Looks like Michelle Park's star is falling."

For some reason, the news warmed Alicia. She didn't think of herself as a vindictive person, but she really didn't like the Asian model. "The Hollywood Reporter had a whole spread on your little fight. They're curious about you, Alicia Kennedy. Play your cards right, and you could take her place."

The blonde's heart trembled at the suggestion. More and more, she liked the thought of that idea. Fame. Even celebrity. It sounded nice.

"Michelle was never right for the mantle, anyway. She didn't play by the rules. Not like she should have. Not like Gabrielle, for example."

"And… what are the rules?"

Erin didn't answer right away. She took her time to enjoy her drink, but Alicia knew she was being studied. She suddenly wished she'd put her top back on. "Aren't you worried about tan lines?" the woman asked at last.

"A little. But I can make it up in the booth later."

The strawberry blonde shook her head. "Don't let me stop you." She set her glass down. "Michelle wasn't interested in fostering her public image." Back to the previous subject. "I blame that reality TV show. It doesn't let you hold anything back, so she never bothered to after she won."

"What do you mean? I thought partying was part of that lifestyle."

Erin waved her hand. "It isn't just the partying. It's shit like what happened at Condo. She has no control. Drugs and promiscuity are fine – even expected – but it still needs to be discrete. Michelle was anything but."

"So you think she's through?"

"Oh yes. Her fifteen minutes are up. In one month, no one'll care about her. Maybe next year, Dancing with the Stars or celebrity Big Brother will pick her up. Who knows?"

"So how can I be different?"

Erin glossy lips curled into a large smile beneath her dark shades. "I like the confidence!" She laughed. "Well, first, you need to make sure you surround yourself with the right people."

"And those are?"

"Me." Another laugh. "And Alex, I suppose. We're good for you."

The blonde felt her blood quicken. She was reminded of her conversation with Vince at CIA headquarters. Mishin was bad. Call-girl service. Did Erin have something to do with that? "I'll do what it takes."

"Be careful what you promise, my dear. The fact is, there are a lot of things that will surprise you about this business. Want to know how the most successful models at Mishin make it? A good body and a pretty face'll only get you so far…"

"Tell me."

"I run a service." Alicia was glad she wore her sunglasses. Her eyes doubled in size. Erin didn't just know about the prostitution – she was at the heart of it! "The rich and powerful come to me when they want a particularly… 'special' time."

"Hookers? The models are hookers?" Only some of Alicia's incredulity needed to be faked.

Erin chuckled. "Not exactly 'hookers.' Think more 'companionship.' I supply a fantasy they can't get anywhere else. I supply them with the world's top models, the most beautiful women alive. It's not just about sex, it's about so much more."

"But sex is expected."

"They aren't paying ten grand for a conversation, if that's what you're asking. They're paying for intelligence, beauty. Discretion. And sex, yes."

Alicia looked away from Erin's coy smile. She should have run screaming from the yard. Sex for money? With strangers? She didn't do that. Couldn't do that. Right? Even though she knew this was coming, that she'd be approached – and even under the haze of her narcotic detachment – she wasn't prepared.

"So what do you say, Alicia? Think you have what it takes to be the next It girl? Hollywood would love you…"

She took a deep breath for strength. "Yes. But… I'm going to need some more of those pills."

Erin laughed. "Stay right there. I have something better."

***

Liz jerked awake. At first, she thought she was in a dark room. A pitch black one. Her body felt as fuzzy as the dark. Her teeth felt swollen. Never a good sign. She tried narrowing down the possible drugs that were in her system, but whatever it was made even that process run like a backed up sewage drain.

"She's awake," a woman's voice said. Eastern European, or Russian. Liz glanced around, squinting her eyes to try to see through the dark.

Then she realized she was blindfolded. She could feel the velvet across the bridge of her nose, compressing in the soft waves of her hair. She tested her wrists. Bound behind her. In a chair. Also soft. And… she was naked!

"Ah, you're awake!" A very familiar voice remarked. "I'm very sorry for the knock on your head earlier. But it was for your own good."

"Alexander Mishin!" she shrieked. "You have no idea who I am!"

"No, I don't. That's why we're here. Tell me, girl, who are you?" His voice was pleasant. Like they were having this conversation over tea.

"Elizabeth Dean." She gave her cover name, the one he must have had if he'd searched her purse. But she had a hunch he knew that was BS.

"Mm… that's what this nice little passport says, but I seem to recall the last time I saw you, at my studio, you were a redhead. The evidence before me backs that up." Liz tried to shut her legs, realizing what he must be looking at, but couldn't. Her ankles were also tied to the chair legs. "And if your passport is fake… well, not many people have access to fake passports as nice as these. So, what's your real name?"

"Elizabeth Hawkins," Liz answered truthfully, much to her own horror. Sodium pentathol. Truth serum. That's what was making her feel like a stuffed animal turned inside out.

"Look it up," Mishin whispered in Russian. She heard the door open and close. Turning his voice back to her, he asked, "Who do you work for?"

"C.L.O.A.K.." Jesus Christ, stop!

"Black ops. Fuck. U.S. or Russian?"

"U.S." Even as fucked up as she was, she knew that was a weird question for an alleged ex-KGB agent. Shouldn't he know?

"Hm…. CIA?"

"Yes."

The door opened and closed again. There were some whispers she couldn't quite make out. Whispers in Russian between two men. Liz wondered how many were around her, already mapping out a game plan for escape.

"Why are you after me?" For the first time, she detected something more than the level-headed calm. He sounded troubled, bordering on being exasperated.

"Come on, stop asking me questions you already know. The list." She'd found her attitude at last. The drug was lifting. Or her body was finally able to fight back. Intelligence had discovered that Alexander Mishin was in possession of a list of CIA agents and their whereabouts. He was shopping it around for a buyer. C.L.O.A.K. had something to do with it, too, although Liz hadn't puzzled that out yet, other than that they were charged with retrieving it.

"List?" He didn't register awareness. "What list?"

"Names. CIA operatives."

The chair he was sitting in creaked. No one spoke for the longest time. "I don't have such a list. I'm just a business man, where would I get something like that?"

"So you're not behind the money laundering, weapons trafficking, and high-end call girl service in this area?" Liz practically scoffed. She felt like she could easily get out of her bonds. After that, she had no idea.

"No." His answer was as simple as it was truthful. Liz knew she couldn't trust him, but in that moment, she knew he was telling the truth. Could have been the drug, but she was pretty certain it wasn't.

She felt someone get close to her. Pull her blindfold away. She blinked as light flooded in around her. She was sitting in a parlor room. It was morning. She was still naked and tied to a chair, but suddenly the bare concrete cellar she'd been imagining felt like a rapidly fading dream.

Alexander Mishin was sitting directly across from her, his normally cool-styled blonde hair a tangled mess. He hadn't slept. His assistant was stepping away, holding her blindfold. And at the door was a pretty young woman with light-brown hair. Liz recognized her from Mishin's profile: Ilena Petronov, his housekeeper.

They all looked frazzled.

"Why were you outside that house last night? The one Gabrielle Dubois entered?"

Liz sighed. She was lucid enough now that she could fight the truth serum, but why bother anymore. "I was following a lead."

He nodded. Not the full answer he wanted, probably, but it was enough. "Get Ms. Hawkins a robe, Ilena. Please." He scratched his week-old pretty-boy beard. "Things aren't exactly as clear as you'd thought them to be, are they?" She didn't need to answer. He was already pacing. "For me, either. I've known about the prostitution thing for a while now… a couple years, anyway. I just didn't know how deep it went."

"You mean you're not behind it? They're your models…"

He laughed bitterly. "No, I'm not a pimp. I'd never use my girls like that. But…" He shrugged. "They were getting high profile jobs. I was getting a name for myself as having a premiere agency. I didn't see too much harm."

"So what's different now?"

He stopped his pacing and looked at Roy. "If I let you go, you need to promise me you won't run. I need to finish this conversation. OK? I need a few more answers."

"As long as you give me mine."

He nodded. Roy moved behind her, loosening the ties that held her there. For a moment, she thought of fighting back. She could easily overpower Roy. Maybe even Mishin. But then where would she go? And she still had questions to ask…

***

Things were going better than Erin had anticipated. Vincent Silva had done his part, of course, just as she knew he would. Alicia had no choice. But the thing that really got her blood flowing was the very real excitement she detected in the 25-year-old. She had a hunch that Alicia would have gone along with this even without the elaborate trap.

She returned to the poolside with a hand-held camera and a small, covered silver platter. She knew the girl would love the oxycodone. The young model's life was falling apart and the painkiller was just what the "doctor" ordered. Erin had found that drug addiction was the most effective way to control her girls. The camera was her other.

Erin was pleased to see that the girl still hadn't covered up when she returned, although she was a little disappointed that the little string bottom was still in place.

She placed the platter on the table beside Alicia's lounger, pulling the lid away like a master chef. "The bottle of oxies is yours. There's 24 pills, but I'd suggest you use them sparingly." Erin suppressed her smile; she knew how addictive those little blue pills could be. "The cola comes compliments of the house."

Alicia's mouth parted in a silent gasp. She knew the girl had been clean until that moment at the club. She also knew the blonde wouldn't be refusing another taste of it. She'd cut up two long lines of the white powder before coming out (and after doing one herself). The girl would be out of her mind by the time the film started rolling.

The topless model hesitated just a moment more before reaching for her scrunchy. She gathered her silky golden hair into a ponytail to keep it out of her face and bravely reached for the short, silver straw. Her fingers trembled just a little. Erin breathed in deeply as she felt the rush that came whenever she corrupted a pretty girl. That never got old.

Seeming to realize there was no turning back, Alicia bent over the dish and snorted the cocaine. One powdered row for each nostril. Her dark brown nipples hardened as she gasped, feeling the rush hit her.

"How do you feel?" Erin asked, switching on the camera and pointing it at her subject.

"Great!" the blonde said cheerily. She rubbed her nose, writhing topless on the lounger. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to ask you some questions. Mind if I tape it?"

"Will anyone else see it?"

"It's just for my records. It'll remain between you and me."

"OK then," the girl agreed. Erin grew wet. She could have fucked this girl right now if she wanted to. But business called. Temptation would only get her into trouble.

"What's your name?"

"Alicia Stiles Kennedy."

"And how old are you?"

"25."

"Occupation?"

"Model and… escort, I guess?" She let out a stoned little giggle. This couldn't get much more perfect.

"Could you please rephrase the questions in your answers?"

"Sure. I'm a model and an escort." Her laughter was infectious.

"Good. What are your measurements?"

"My measurements? I'm 34B, 24, 32. 5'8" and about 115."

"Are you natural?"

"You mean are my tits real? Yes."

"Do you shave?"

"Everything but what's on my head," Alicia laughed. "I'm sorry. Yes, I'm fully shaved. No hair but on my head."

"I see you're wearing a ring. Are you married?"

Alicia didn't answer right away. It was the first pause since the taping had started. "I am married. For now, anyway."

"Mmm, some of the clientele might like that. Have you ever cheated on your husband?"

Again, another hesitation. She nodded. "Yes, I've cheated."

"Did you enjoy it?"

In a small voice, she replied, "Yes…"

"You're doing fine, Alicia. I'm going to ask you a few questions about your sexual history. Just answer truthfully." The girl nodded. "Number one guy fantasy first. Ever been with another woman?"

Alicia bit her lip. "Kind of."

"Go on."

"I've been in a threesome. A guy and another girl."

"Anything happen between you and the girl?"

"Yes," she said shyly. "We kissed and… she went down on me."

"Did you like it?"

"Mm hm. It was incredible."

"But you didn't return the favor?"

"No, she left before I could."

"So you'd consider yourself bisexual?"

"I don't know." She giggled. "I guess more bi-curious right now." God, Erin was soaking. This girl was like a ripe peach, ready for someone to sink her teeth into.

"What about two guys? Ever done that?"

"Two guys would be fun, but no, never tried that."

"How about anal sex?"

"No, never." Again, a short giggle. "Not yet, anyway."

"What about your tits?"

Alicia grabbed her apple-sized breasts. "Think they're big enough?"

"I do."

She laughed. "No one's tried that."

"What's the craziest place you've ever had sex?"

"The craziest place is probably in the backroom of a club. Same place I had the threesome. Although the girl and I kind of fooled around a little in the bathroom, too."

"Very nice. So what's your favorite position in the bedroom?"

"I guess I'm kind of traditional in that way. I like the guy on top."

"Like being dominated then? Is that the kind of men you like?"

"I never really thought of it like that. I guess so. I like confident guys, bordering on… on cocky."

"Bad boys? Guys you wouldn't want to take home to mom and dad?"

"Well, yeah. Generic, huh?"

"Not at all. Is your husband like that?"

"No," she laughed. "But he's a sweetheart."

"I'm sure he is. Does size matter?"

"Yeah, it does. But too big isn't good. I like to feel full, but not stuffed."

Erin laughed. "Then you just haven't been fucked by the right big cock."

***

"Where did your intel come from on this list? Your black op, or the official guys in Langley?" It came from Vincent Silva, as far as she was aware; Vincent, who was cavorting with Gabrielle Dubois, for some reason. "Tell me," Mishin asked, leaning forward.

"It didn't come from the CIA, I don't think."

He nodded. "My guess is that you have a mole in your division. I think that's your guess, too. For now, let's keep this meeting between the two of us." He held up a hand to stop her protest, knowing how it must sound. "Just for now. Until we know who to trust."

What a funny statement, coming from the guy who'd pistol-wiped her last night. The same guy who was Tango Number One until just a half-hour ago.

They'd moved into a sunroom where they actually were talking over tea. Alexander Mishin had even made a show of sipping the tea first, to show it wasn't drugged. The robe she was given wasn't a fluffy white one like she would have preferred, but the silk felt good on her skin and at least it wasn't dangerously short.

"I think I know what the list is, although it's not exactly what you've been told."

"Nothing is, I'm learning," Liz said dryly.

Mishin nodded. "I'm sure you're aware of my connection with Erin Small, yes?" Liz nodded. "She keeps something she calls 'The List.' But it has nothing to do with CIA operatives."

"A blackmail list. Names in her rolodex…"

"Not just names. This is the 21st century. Erin's got photos, video, recorded conversations. She records everything – even herself. She's not Heidi Flische here. If that list gets exposed, no one on it will get off clean."

"Including your models." So there was Mishin's concern. He didn't strike Liz as the type of man to care about whether his own name was associated with prostitutes, but he had an entire stable of employees who couldn't afford it.

"Exactly."

"So why's she going to sell it?"

Mishin shrugged. "Money is my guess. That kind of knowledge comes at a premium. Any of the big names on the list is probably worth millions. The thing in its entirety… she wouldn't have to work again."

"You've known about this list for years. Why the concern now?"

Alex Mishin sighed. "I've found my crown jewel. A girl to build an empire on."