Mask Of Models

Mask Of Models
© Surazeus
2018 04 05

Wearing a pink dress like her Barbie Doll,
Carla snips silver scissors in sunlight
to cut pictures of furniture and clothing
from glossy lifestyle and fashion magazines.

Blue eyes highlighted with coral eye shadow,
and thin pursed lips painted with berry lipstick,
Carla places blank paper-mache mask
of her face on white tissue on oak table.

Brushing long straight hair, gold as filaments
on computer circuit boards, Carla smiles
at chirp of birds fluttering in apple trees,
and arranges photos of fashion models.

One by one, with tiny white drops of glue,
Carla pastes images of fashion models
over the paper-mache mask of her face,
arranged with furniture and couture gowns.

Wearing elegant black lace cocktail dress,
with gold buckle on thin red leather belt,
Carla binds mask, covered with model faces,
over her face, tied with red slender ribbon.

Gliding into marble museum hall,
Carla joins crowd of stock brokers and bankers
who drink champagne and gaze at abstract art,
and nods her head with artificial grace.

Peter Geld, young financial analyst
with Morgan Asset Management, admires
her slender hips, so he kisses her hand,
and smiles, "What is your story, Barbie Doll?"

Entranced by her eyes blue as the sea,
Peter listens to ripple of her voice
like waves shimmering on white sand of the beach
where he imagines making love to her.

Speaking with a smooth Romanian accent,
Carla says, "I was born and raised in Buzau,
near Carpathian Mountains in south Romania,
where I walk along river to my school."

"Descended from poet Vasile Carlova,
My father work in steel wire factory
and taught me to write Romantic poetry,
but he died when I was twelve, crushed by car."

"My grandmother, who survived Buchenau,
prison camp where Roma people were gassed,
taught me how to sew the nice dress with needle,
so I work in factory sewing fashion dress."

"When I was seventeen, I work as waitress
at restaurant in resort town of Sinaia
where famous photographer Arnaud Pyvka
flew me to Paris to work as fashion model."

"I overcome the tragic circumstance
as orphan working in cold factory
to be beautiful model in Paris,
redeemed by camera to play Barbie Doll."

Leaning close to smell her shining gold hair,
Peter whispers, "Come home to my hotel
and I will offer you two thousand dollars
to share a romantic evening with me."

Nibbling his ear, Carla accepts his hand,
and they glide together through garden trees
where they kiss in the misty starlit night
beside the Hudson River gleaming bright.

Perched on white leather seat, Carla smiles sweetly
while Peter drives Aston Martin Valkyrie,
that gleams silver in golden moonlit mist,
swiftly through angular Manhattan maze.

After ascending to sixty-sixth floor,
they drink wine and kiss in his penthouse suite,
and he thrusts lusty into her behind
as he slips his hand down her satin panties.

Startled at the male organ his hand grasps,
Peter stumbles backward against the wall,
knocking down a Leibovitz photograph
of his mother that smashes on the floor.

Burning with rage, Peter snatches her throat,
then rips mask of models off her face
and scrutinizes features of her soul,
but sees only sweet model he desires.

Snatching the silver table lamp, he snarls,
"How can you be a male if you look like
the most beautiful girl I ever saw?"
then kisses her mouth with lusty desire.

Pulling back with disgust, he shoves her down
on the bed and raises silver lamp high,
and growls, "You tell me your true story now
or I will smash out your brains with this lamp."

Staring at him in horror, Carla chokes,
"My name is Charles Johnson, and I was born
in Denver where my conservative father
preaches at an enormous megachurch."

"I wanted to be a beautiful model
posing in elegant dresses of gauze,
so I transformed myself into sweet Carla,
and I just want to share pleasure with you."

Flipping her face down, Peter rapes her hard,
then drags her by her long soft golden hair
and shoves her out the door into the hall
with fierce force that bangs her head at the wall.

Red blood streams bright along her chiseled cheek
as Peter throws her mask onto her breast,
then Carla crawls slowly, gasping for breath,
along the carpet with yellow zig-zags.

Straightening her torn black lace cocktail dress,
with gold buckle on thin red leather belt,
Carla binds mask, covered with model faces,
over her face, tied with red slender ribbon.

Gliding with dignity in the gold rain,
Carla remembers when she was a boy
riding her bike past the large ballet school,
and watching beautiful girls dance with grace.

"I want to become the beautiful girl
I desire," Carla whispers in the rain,
then jumps into the flowing Hudson River
and her mask of models floats in moonlight.