Blue Angel (14 page)

Mallory couldn’t help smiling through her tears.

She pulled on her shoes.

“Men are all hypocrites. They can dish it out, but they can’t take it,” Bette said, throwing back a shot of vodka. Mallory couldn’t understand how Bette could consume so much alcohol but never appear drunk. Or how Bette could look hotter every time she saw her. Her skin was creamy, pale perfection, and the contrast to her black hair was stunning. Mallory thought again about dying her hair red. She would never be as beautiful as Bette, but hanging out with her certainly made her want to try.

“You were right, though. You told me I shouldn’t say anything about it. But I didn’t want to lie or have something that major between us.”

“So give it a rest for now. He’ll come around. Keep busy. You know what you should do? Come to my costume fitting tomorrow. Agnes is a genius. She’s doing something with crinoline you wouldn’t believe.”

“What’s the costume?” Mallory asked, stalling. She couldn’t blow off work . . . could she?

“It’s an Alice in Wonderland dress. I’m performing to that Zebra song, ‘Through the Looking Glass.’ ”

Mallory loved Zebra—but who didn’t? She was the biggest pop star in the country. She was six feet tall, androgynous, racially ambiguous, and dressed in costumes that made Lady Gaga look like the Queen of England. She never did interviews except for one in
Rolling Stone
when her first album was released. Billy Barton had told Mallory that Zebra turned down the cover of
Vanity Fair
and a
New York Times
“Style” feature story.

“I have work tomorrow.”

“Can’t you call in sick or something?”

It was tempting. She’d never called in sick before. And it
was
flu season.

“Maybe I will.”

“I have a brilliant idea—I can get you a part in the show tomorrow night.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious. Kitty Klitty has been promoted to performer, and Agnes can’t hold her off anymore. She needs someone else to do the stage kitten bit—wear a cute outfit and pick up the clothes between sets.”

“Bette, be serious.”

“It’s so fun! You need to do something different to get you out of this funk. Come on—meet me at the club at noon, and we’ll talk to Agnes.”

Mallory discreetly checked her BlackBerry in her bag. Nothing from Alec.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

“Bette, what I am going to do with you? You need an audience even for a costume fitting,” Agnes said, adjusting the pins in the blue satin bustier that was cinched around Bette’s torso.

“Mallory’s not my audience, Agnes. I brought her here for you.”

Agnes flashed a glance at Mallory, who was perched on a folding chair in the dressing room.

“What do I need with her?”

“She’s going to stand in for Kitty tonight.”

“I’ve got Poppy for that,” Agnes said without missing a beat. Mallory had expected her to laugh, scoff, scream—react in some way at least to the preposterous notion of Mallory’s participating in the show.

“You know Poppy doesn’t want to do it. She sees it as a demotion. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a no-show.”

“That would be very stupid—unless she never wants to perform here again.”

“All I’m saying is she doesn’t want to do it. So why not make things simple and let Mallory stand in?”

Agnes eyed Mallory from head to toe.

“How do I know she can do it?”

“She’s a lawyer—I think she can figure out how to pick up clothes. And she’s hot—I can vouch for that,” Bette winked at Mallory.

Agnes rolled her eyes.

“You’re a lawyer?” she said to Mallory.

“Yes.”

“We could use a lawyer around here. But smarts doesn’t make you good on stage. That takes moxie, and you seem like a quiet mouse.”

“You saw me pull her out of the audience the other night—she got up on stage and rolled with my performance.”

“That was you?”

Mallory nodded.

“Fine. I’ll give you a chance. But just
one
chance. No screw-ups. What will you wear?”

“I’ll take care of that,” Bette said. “You just worry about what
I’m
wearing tonight.”

“Don’t tell me what to worry about!” Agnes snapped. “This is my show, and everything on that stage is my business down to the panty liners you wear in your thong. So what are you going to wear, Ms. Lawyer?”

“I’m . . . not sure yet,” Mallory said, looking helplessly at Bette.

“We just went shopping at La Petite Coquette,” she said to Agnes. Then, to Mallory, “You’ll wear that garter and corset.”

Just the garter and corset?
But she knew better than to open her mouth in front of Agnes.

Mallory heard high heels clicking outside the door, and then Poppy’s blond head appeared.

“I thought I heard voices in here. What’s going on?” she said.

“We are transforming Bette into Alice in Wonderland,” Agnes said.

Poppy glanced at Mallory, but didn’t bother saying hello.

“How was the Justin Baxter party?” Bette asked. Poppy’s cheeks turned pink.

“Fine.”

Bette arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“So Poppy, thanks to Mallory you are off the hook,” Agnes said.

“What do you mean?”

From the look on Poppy’s face, Mallory was sure she wouldn’t be getting much thanks.

“She’s going to fill in for Kitty tonight.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. Don’t you have a job you should be at or something?”

“I took the day off,” Mallory said.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Agnes said.

“Agnes loves American clichés,” said Bette.

Poppy turned and walked out.

“Why does she hate me so much?” Mallory said.

Agnes looked at her closely. “She must see something in you. I’m hoping to see it for myself tonight.”

Poppy closed the door to Agnes’s office and clicked the keyboard on the desktop computer. Quickly, Poppy opened Explorer to Google. She typed in
Mallory Dale, lawyer
.

Bingo. The name of the firm Reed, Warner, Hardy, Lutz, and Capel came up, along with Mallory’s name as a junior associate. And the firm’s phone number. Poppy programmed it into her BlackBerry and logged off.

She waited until she was outside to dial.

M
allory sucked in her breath as Bette pulled the laces on her corset.

“Just breathe normally. If you hold your breath, I’m going to make it too tight.” Bette glanced at her in the mirror. “This looks stunning on you. You were made for lingerie.”

She tied the last set of laces at the top, then stepped away to let Mallory appraise herself. She looked unbelievable all right—as in, she couldn’t believe she was looking at herself in the mirror. Her body was poured into the black satin corset, and a lacy black garter rested on her waist, hooked onto thigh-high fishnets. Agnes had wanted her to wear just pasties, underwear, and the garter with fishnets, but she couldn’t do that.

“Size seven?” Agnes appeared beside her, holding out a pair of red patent leather platform stilettos that had to be six inches high.

“Yes! How did you know?”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “Wear these.”

Mallory slipped them on. She felt like Dorothy in a bizarro
Wizard of Oz
.

“What’s your stage name?” Agnes asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think about that.”

“Everyone has a name. You think I can announce you as Mallory? You have five minutes to let me know.”

Mallory looked helplessly at Bette, who was busy adjusting her sexy Alice costume. It was genius: Agnes had crafted her a powder blue satin bustier, a short blue skirt with white crinoline underneath to give it structure, and thigh-high white stockings with bows at the top. On her feet she wore chunky, seven-inch black patent leather Mary Janes. Her dark hair was covered with a long blond wig. With the light hair and her fair skin, she looked as ethereal as the young girl who had portrayed Alice in the Tim Burton film.

“Wow. Even the White Rabbit would have a hard-on,” Kitty said, smacking Bette on the ass.

“Five minutes I need a name,” Agnes repeated.

“You said her name earlier,” Bette said.

“I did no such thing.”

“Sure you did: Moxie.”

Mallory stood behind the curtain, heart pounding. Kitty’s number was almost over. Most of the girls had slipped out into the audience to watch her debut and cheer her on, so Mallory was alone with her nervous excitement. The song “Big Spender” was winding down, and Mallory calculated she had about thirty seconds until she had to appear on stage. Rodeo Bob would go out first, lead the crowd in applause for Kitty, then introduce the next performer while Mallory picked up Kitty’s discarded wardrobe.

The stage went to black, and Rodeo walked out. She followed a few paces behind him and looked around for Kitty’s clothes. Her heart was pounding, and the lights were so bright she couldn’t focus. She saw one glove . . . and a stocking. Oh God, this was going to take forever.

“Another round of applause, ladies and gentlemen, for Kitty Klitty’s debut performance.” The crowd erupted, encouraged by the whistling and stomping of the other Blue Angel girls. “And how about a hand for our new stage kitten, Moxie.”

The swell of applause calmed her, made her hands stop shaking as she reached for Kitty’s dress near the edge of the stage. She felt their eyes on her, and she couldn’t bring herself to glance at them. She reminded herself that they weren’t looking at
her
, they were looking at Moxie. It helped to think of it that way, and it let her feel like Moxie, a woman who wore corsets and six-inch heels and lived in a world that took place behind a blue velvet curtain. Thinking of it this way, she felt emboldened to take a look at the audience.

And there, in the front row, was Patricia Loomis.

Mallory dropped the clothing. She backed slowly away, and when she was far enough from the audience that she could no longer see the fury in Patricia’s face, she ran backstage.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bette said, grabbing her arm.

“Oh, my God, Bette! My boss is in the audience—my
boss
. How is this even possible? What is she doing here? Why, why, why did I do something so stupid?”

“Okay, chill the fuck out. First, you have to go back out there and get the clothes, or Agnes is going to kick you out of here.”

“I can’t.”

“Moxie—do it,” Bette said. She looked Mallory in the eyes, holding her shoulders. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Mallory took a deep breath. She could hear Rodeo still talking, stalling until someone cleared the stage for the next performer. The damage was already done—Patricia had seen her. She probably thought Mallory had been moonlighting all along. And she’d never liked her anyway. But Bette was offering her something new and wonderful—and Bette believed in her and didn’t judge her.

Mallory walked back onstage.

“Stage Kitten Moxie, did you forget to take some things backstage?” Rodeo said, winking at her. “Ladies and gentlemen, even the most seasoned professionals can lose their wits when confronted with all of this hotness in one place.”

Mallory gathered the pile of clothes back in her arms. She kept her eyes lowered, but couldn’t help glancing at Patricia. This time, her seat was empty.

Her mind went into overdrive as she dropped the clothes backstage. This made no sense whatsoever—why would Patricia be there? Mallory doubted she was a secret burlesque fan. And even if she was, she knew her boss’s work ethic would never allow being out on a weeknight when she could be at the firm working. And then to show up at this particular club, on the exact night Mallory happened to debut as a stage kitten?

“Did you forget how to pick up clothes and bring them back here, lawyer?” Agnes said.

“Sorry . . . I . . . something happened.”

“I don’t have time for this. If you do that again, I won’t even let you sit in the audience, never mind set one foot on that stage.”

“It won’t happen again.”

She noticed Poppy watching them from her perch at a vanity, a strange smile on her face. It was as if she were watching something she expected to see. And then Mallory knew, without a doubt, that Patricia Loomis had not appeared at the Blue Angel that night by some fluke of fate.

After the show. Bette invited her to join the rest of the crew at Elixir.

“The girls want to buy you drinks,” she said. But Mallory wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. The temporary high of stepping on stage, of slipping into the shoes of a glamorous creature named Moxie, was tempered by the reality that she was messing with her career. And on top of that, she suddenly missed Alec with a ferocious ache in her gut.

She walked to a quiet corner of the club, not far from the table where she had sat with Alec and Billy on her birthday. That night seemed like a year ago. Dialing Alec’s cell, she was almost as nervous as she had been stepping onto the stage.

“Hi. It’s me. I miss you, Alec. I think we should talk . . . or something. This feels all wrong to me. Give me a call, okay? I love you. Bye.”

Bette waved to her from across the room.

“You coming?”