Jobbra

Until she began looking like a girl, everyone called her Tony. That might have stuck had the black-eyed, black-haired, ambitious lass not wanted to rise above the rummies her half-orphaned comrades were destined to become. But Tonya was from a different bolt of cloth even though she was every bit as slovenly as the rest of them.

Wharf rats they were. Fathers were men of the sea: half pirate, half mercenary, and as they used to joke in the Mangrove Inn, the third half, rum. They did odd jobs about the seaports -- any port would do, just as any liquor would satisfy them, though rum was their drink of choice. When they weren't raiding the boats of the wealthy they spliced anchor ropes, dried nets, made lobster traps. But all with the purpose of keeping an eye on what was transpiring at the docks. What they looked for among the ships and yachts, cargo and passengers, was the easiest takings with the least risk. Since wealthy women could be ransomed the most, they were highest on the list.

Some of the wharf rats had mothers. Those that did did not know who their fathers were. Some men stayed while the women strayed, but it could easily be the opposite. Both were rascals to the core, wantonly sailing from port to port so a child never knew either parent.

But at Alcajan it was different. Here the men used the port city as the center of their nefarious enterprises while the women latched onto whatever blew through. And when she'd delivered an always-unwanted child, she abandoned it as soon as the opportunity presented itself. So Alcajan became a city of waifs, waifs of the wharves.

Tonya's mother was one notch above most of her gender. All conniving bloodsuckers who attached themselves to everything that gave them fine dresses and false jewelry, Elestia had been a showgirl in Los Angeles. She had tasted the good life, the life of stage lights and make-up and costumes that made her feel like a queen. And the money -- it was everywhere including stuffed in silk stockings when the men weren't looking. Better if they took notice, because that often led to a sugar daddy whose wallet

never ran dry. Tonya's mother had lived the glamorous life until she got whisked off by Salvatore, the girl's burley-chested, baritone-voiced, lover of the seas. Salvatore Victorum, the real-life lover of the sea, of women, and of rum.

Tonya grew up among fellow castoffs. Like all wharf rats, the girl learned to fend for herself. She learned to kick, scratch, swing a hank of rope or any handy weapon, and she had a left hook that could stagger a sea captain. But all this changed once she acquired a figure. Then she gave up fighting and used her wits.

Tonya didn't want to live like her fellow survivors. The fathers and uncles and pirate-minded males weren't the only ones who spied on the goings-on at the docks. While the men checked out easy marks, Tonya watched the ladies with the tanned bodies, salon-kept hair-do's, and magnificent attire. She noticed they possessed a grace that set them above Alcajan women. She reasoned that if she acquired that grace, along with respectable clothes and a clean face, she cold pass as one of them.

Once the black-eyed beauty got that in her mind she was never the same. Day after day she sat on the gray-weathered pilings and watched the rich, absorbed their every move and gesture. And she practiced them on the wharf to the amusement of her unbelieving compatriots.

"Whatcha do'n that for?" snarled Peggy, the only girl proud to claim her grandfather as her father. "Just getcha inta trouble, that's what. The more you sachet daytime the more you'll have to left-hook at night."

But Tonya was a fast learner as well as possessing the coordination of her dancing mother. The faster her adolescent body developed, the more she moved like the rich.

Ah, those weak, frail tourists under their bronze skin and Abercrombi clothes. Put me in those duds and I'll show you awoman!

The more Tonya perfected her mimicry the more convincing she became: so much so that her fellow wharf rats wondered just who this creature was. And the panting boys, always good for teasing, began to see her as untouchable as the yacht-goers: unless you know exactly what you're doing, you don't mess with the rich or you end at the bottom of the bay or in prison. So they left Tonya alone.

Now, once Tonya acquired the walk, the hand gestures, the flip of the head that swirled the hair, she knew speech was next: looking rich was not enough. To be taken for one she had to sound like one. So the enterprising girl stole a yacht-woman's laundry and, passing as a tourist,

neared the boats close enough to hear the speech clearly. Occasionally she got brave enough to walk by the Chris Crafts.

True, it took a few good soaks of her black hair to get the rat nests and dirt out. Plus exposing selected body parts that the wise wharf rat never dared show to the sun. So, in time, the eyes of Alcajan saw a vogue-ish lass as fit as any tourist. Rustic and worldly, but close enough to suggest that she came from a similar mold.

Up close the maturing adolescent listened ever as intently as she had stared. And though capturing the language was more difficult than assuming the pose, Tonya learned fast. She learned that it wasn't the sound of the voice or the words the rich ladies used, it was the energy that set them apart form their wharf-waif counterparts. The emphasis of phrases, the musical quality, the playfulness, modulations, and owning one's own speech. In her mind, a bold speaking wallflower could outshine the most beautiful tan, the right sun suit, even walk that killed. Once she learned that, the self-taught Eliza Doolittle was ready for action, ready to raise herself above the rubble she was born and raised to be.

Every dock survivor knew that one quality needed in abundance was the ability to lie, and Tonya was a master. Beyond hawser swinging and left-hooking, the black-haired beauty had protected herself many a time with a quick-witted falsehood. It surprised her that under the yacht-ladies' glib speech resided the same quality the lying dock girls used to save themselves. So now she had another weapon in her arsenal: when the truth won't do, bedazzle them withanystory.

The first victim that fell under the sway of our actress's charms was a Princeton-bound fellow of eighteen. His father had holdings in this company and owned stock in that one, his mother was president of this society and secretary of that club, and young Perry was destined to follow in their money-social tracks. Perry the Third approached the curvaceous, black-haired Tonya with an I've-already-conquered flair.

The scene was a delight for Tonya's fellow dock-dwellers. They found their compatriot's ploys convincing. Surprisingly, her moves seemed more real than the rich, well-groomed cock-of-the-roost. To the onlookers,helooked the fraud. In fact, if the spectators had judged the two, they would have scored her 9.9, 10.0, 9.8, while poor-rich Perry would have sauntered off wit mediocre 6.5's. Tonya had made herself a star!

But it should also be noted that the Alcajan did not rehearse on the rich for fun. For that matter, not for profit, to build her ego, or ridicule the

yacht-class. She did it for the sole purpose of mastering the airs of the well-to-do in order to become one of them. Shewouldlift herself out of the slovenly wharf-life her mercenary father and abandoning mother had dropped her into!

Tonya learned how to pronounce fillet mignon, sip champagne, and to dance, which came naturally because of her mother. She learned the names of the best colleges, rendezvous of the jet set, names of the wealthy. In time, the wharf rat could hob-nob successfully with the richest; it was all a matter of being alert.

It is said that a nation never establishes an army only to protect itself: that once created, neighbors should beware. So it was with the now-stunning Tonya. She had mastered physical mimicry, absorbed correct language, acquired in-knowledge, perfected artful glibness, and armored them with her natural charm, sparkingly penetratingly black eyes, mesmerizing black, wavy hair, the bronze tan that approached the best any movie star could acquire, and her graceful, coordinated body. Her arsenal was complete: she was ready for real war.

And just as a well-equipped country wants to be attacked or be given an excuse to charge, Tonya, now fully equipped and trained, was at the ready.

The forty-foot sailboat was namedJobbra, Hungarian for Right. Born of Gypsy blood, the young man's parents had traveled the Mediterranean in search of fortune. When they had acquired a sizable nest egg by catering to the rich, they sent young Gephart to an American university. Majoring in Business Law, the astute student quickly aligned himself with international firms and megacorporations. Because he consulted via the Internet, he was free to travel the world much as his wandering ancestors had, only with considerably more wealth.

Gephart and Tonya's eyes merged the moment they met. Sparks flew, chemistry mixed, adrenaline pumped, and every other cliché one can imagine occurred. Then a fascinating thing happened. Gephart said, "What are you -- really?"

The words were so sincere that Tonya, as bold with the truth as subtle with the lie, answered in like kind. She said, pointing to the slovenly crew that decorated the wharf, "I'm one of them."

No one with an iota of sophistication could believe such a statement. It was obvious that this enchanting woman with all the right moves could not be, could never be, could never have been so lowly bred.

But Gephart the Gypsy was insightful. And he sensed the underlying

quality of the girl. He'd also learned that where one came from meant little compared to where he wanted to go: hadn't his own family done exactly what he sensed in this charming girl? What Gephart perceived, then, was the similarity of their motives. "I believe you," he said, as candidly as Tonya.

Don't think that didn't rip the lace off her petticoat! For the first time in the months that she'd painstakingly groomed herself, now she feared she'd thrown it all overboard in an instant.

"Hey, why be something you're not?" asked Gephart. "Why act?"

"It was an act," explained Tonya, realizing she was on an even keel, "when I was learning, but now ... I don't intend to stay here for the rest of my life. Mentally, I am what I've trained myself to be."

Gephart liked what he saw and heard.Here's an intelligent woman who knows what she wants and how to get it. And a glorious beauty ,too!

It is unfortunate that true stories can appear so Hollywood. Tonya's tale seems like a contrived variation of the Pygmalion legend, the statue coming to life and sculptor/sculpture falling in love. But in this case, in spite of the similarity, the work of art had chiseled herself.

The wharf rats applauded: one of them had created her own future and, as if in a movie, really did sail away with the rich and handsome man. And though it began through treachery, it ended in truth.