Betrayed Chapter 8

Key West was looking better all the time.

***

¡Qué Diga! What do you mean, a 'fashion show'? Have you been holding out on me, Mija?"

"I didn't think it was that big a deal, Angie," I responded, embarrassed. That's why I've been wearing corsets every day. Paul said I would need figure training..."

"Get outta town!" Angie barked. "Paul C., the corset-maker, wants you to model for him? I would kill just to meet him, let alone walk the runway for him. Our paths never seem to cross."

"I can introduce you," I offered. "To tell you the truth, I think you would be perfect as one of his models – much better than me."

"What do you mean, 'much better than you'?" my assistant challenged. "You are gorgeous!"

"Yeah," I countered, "but you have the body for it; I don't. Face it; I'm just not endowed like you. A lot of Paul's creations feature either demi cups or no cups at all. I would need a heavyweight Hollywood special effects artist to craft a convincing pair of boobs and a tush for me to wear that stuff."

"How about a heavyweight Chicago plastic surgeon instead?" the Latina chirped.

Not her, too!

"Actually," I admitted, "I've discussed that with friends. With only thirteen weeks to go, I don't think I could be ready in time."

"Thirteen weeks?" Angie questioned.

Then, her eyes lit up.

"Ohmigod!" she gasped. "You're doing the fashion show at the Mr. Gay Leather Pageant? Oh, Honey; people come from all over the United States, Canada, and Europe for that. It is one of the biggest gay/fetish events of the year! Thirteen weeks is plenty of time if we get on it right now. I'll get on the phone and clear it with Rob. He will eat this up!"

"Do you really think so?" I gushed, with false enthusiasm. "I can't wait."

I gulped – with luck, imperceptibly – and hoped for the umpteenth time I knew what I was doing.