Blue Angel (22 page)

M
allory woke up in the big Palihouse king-size bed alone.

The first thing she did was slip on her UGGs and pad around the suite to see if Bette had ever made it home. Apparently, she had not. But that was fine—expected, actually. She hoped maybe Bette had found her other half. It happened to everyone at some point. Some people were just better at holding on to happiness than others.

She made a pot of coffee and then brewed up the nerve to turn on her BlackBerry and see if she had any message from Alec. It was eleven in the morning in New York. If he was ignoring her still in the calm light of day, there was little hope.

There it was—the message icon. Heart pounding, she clicked on it to see the phone number.

Alec Martin.

Her hand shook as she dialed into her voice mail.

Hi, Mal. It’s crazy you left me that message last night because I was thinking about you so much I could hardly stand it. I had my phone turned off, and when I got home I saw your message and it was like . . . this gift from the universe. I wanted to call you last night but at the same time I wasn’t sure what to say. Then I woke up this morning and realized I was being an idiot—all I had to say was that I miss you. I really do. Call me when you can.

Mallory pushed the buttons on her phone as fast as she could type.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” She caught sight of herself in the mirror across from the bed and saw she was grinning like a lunatic. Love made people crazy, but maybe sanity was overrated. “Thanks for calling me back.”

“I’m glad you called and texted me last night. I was . . . thinking about you a lot. Maybe we should get coffee or something later today?”

“I wish I could! I’m actually in LA.”

“What are you doing there?” he asked suspiciously.

“Well, I haven’t found a new job yet, and Bette had an all expense paid trip and invited me along. Just for a change of scenery.”

Silence. “We’re just friends, Alec. Really. I have been so upset about losing you . . . about our relationship. I couldn’t sit on Julie’s couch crying for another week.”

“I don’t want you to be that upset. I think we should find a way through this.”

“So do I!”

“So you’re really just out there to clear your head? This isn’t some crazy burlesque convention or anything?”

“No. I mean, Bette is performing at a private party. But I’m just hanging out. I’m going to try to find a way to the beach later today.”

“When do you get back?”

“Sunday night.”

“Okay. Let’s talk when you get back.”

“Great. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mal. I really do.”

She put down her BlackBerry and cried with relief. That was how Bette found her when she walked in the door.

“What’s wrong? Jeez, I shouldn’t have left you alone!” She dropped her sequined clutch and rushed to Mallory’s side. Bette was still wearing her corset and jeans, but her face was clear of any makeup, her cheeks were flushed, and she looked as fresh and beautiful as a preschooler at her first ballet recital.

“Nothing—nothing is wrong. Everything is great, actually.” Mallory wiped her eyes. “Alec called, and we had a great conversation.”

“Oh, honey. I’m happy for you. See? Being apart did you both some good.”

“Tell me about your night!”

“Oh, Mallory. I’ve got it bad. She is literally perfect. I’m in love. Seriously.”

“That’s amazing! Why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?”

“I don’t know when I’ll see her again. I just had the best night of my life, and I’m afraid it’s a one-and-done.”

“Why? Did you get the sense she doesn’t want to see you again?”

“No. In fact, she invited me to come to Vegas with her tomorrow and stay for the week. And get this—I showed her my routine to ‘Through the Looking Glass,’ and she said she’d love for me to do it onstage. Can you image? Performing in front of thousands and thousands of people a night?”

“Oh, my God, you have to do it!”

“I can’t! I have to do the Baxters’ party tomorrow night. I can’t bail on them. I don’t even know if any other burlesquers are going to perform. I know they have a few different types of performers, but I think I’m the only burlesque dancer. There are two girls from the Slit, but they are doing some crazy knife act. I know Justin really likes at least one big, beautiful dance routine. I can’t let them down. Even if I wanted to bail, I can’t afford to reimburse them for this trip.”

“They wouldn’t ask you to pay them back for the airfare and room, would they?”

“I don’t know. It’s pointless even to think about it, because I can’t let them down. I’ve been doing Justin’s birthday for the past four years. The Baxters booked me before I even had a regular gig at the Blue Angel. The money I’ve made on these parties has helped me avoid getting a day job to support myself.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing to do.”

They sat in silence. Mallory looked up and saw herself in the mirror, still surprised at the red hair. She thought about Justin’s comment last night when Bette had introduced them: he said it had been a long time since he’d seen such a beautiful redhead. Then his wife launched into a whole conversation about how they thought Nicole Kidman was miscast as Satine in
Moulin Rouge
.

“They could have found someone hotter,” Justin had said.

“Like you,” Martha had said to her.

Now Mallory looked at Bette, who was close to tears. She had never seen Bette emotional before, and it moved her.

“I can do your routine for you,” Mallory said.

“What?”

“Teach me your routine. I can learn it in a day. I was a ballet dancer—I’m a fast learner. I met Justin and Martha last night. They told me they thought I was hot and even said weird stuff like that they would have rather seen me cast in
Moulin Rouge
than Nicole Kidman.”

“They said that?”

“Yeah.”

Bette seemed to consider it.

“That’s really amazing of you, Mal. But I don’t know how I can expect you to learn this in a day and perform for the first time in front of hundreds of people at the Baxters’ party. No offense, but you freaked out the first time you walked on stage as a stage kitten.”

“That was because my boss was there! No one knows me here. I really will just be Moxie. Seriously, I won’t blow this. Let me do this for you. You’ve done so much for me.”

Bette looked into her eyes. “I don’t know what to say,” she said.

“Say yes. It’s time for Bette Noir to go on tour with Zebra. And it’s time for Moxie to make her debut.”

In the morning, Poppy did something that was, by any measure, colossally stupid: she called Alec and asked him to breakfast.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.

“I’m not trying to hit on you,” she said. “I mean, come on— I do have my pride.”

“I’m not sure of the point then,” he said. Men!

“I want to talk.”

“Okaaay. Can you come uptown?”

Poppy felt like she had vertigo anywhere above 24th Street. Alec named a diner on 81st and First Avenue.

“That’s sort of out of the way,” she said.

“Not for me—I live on 83rd.”

“Okay,” she agreed. After all, she was the one who’d suggested breakfast. She hoped it was a cute place, like the one called Friend of a Farmer with the amazing French toast. Or the French country one called Danal. Come to think of it, that place had a cat roaming around it, too. Maybe she should suggest it—keep the vibe going from last night. But no—this wasn’t about hooking up. She wasn’t going to fight a losing battle. But she did have to know why Mallory was better than she was—to everyone and in every way.

She couldn’t waste money on a cab and the 6 train took forty-five minutes. By the time she arrived at Gracie Mews Diner, she was cold, tired, and cranky. Making things worse, it was just a plain old Greek diner. They could have gone anywhere!

“So what’s up?” Alec asked. He was already at a booth near the window. The waiter poured her a coffee without even asking if she wanted any. That scored some points, at least.

She wore leggings, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, knee-high UGGs, and faux-fur coat. With her aviator sunglasses and careless, unwashed blond bob, she was by far the sexiest looking woman on the Upper East Side. Alec barely seemed to notice.

“I feel weird about last night,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” said Alec. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone back to your place. It’s not that I’m not attracted to you—because I am. Who wouldn’t be? Christ, look at you.”

Poppy smiled.

“But like I said last night . . . I’m really hung up on Mallory. I spoke to her this morning, though. I’m hopeful maybe things will work out.”

“So why aren’t you having breakfast with
her?
” Bitchy much? Okay—but she had a point, so that made it okay.

“She’s in LA.”

Poppy felt her stomach tighten. The coffee sloshed around like acid.

“She’s not there for the Baxter party, is she?”

He shrugged. “It’s some sort of party, I think. I don’t know. Bette Noir was invited out, and Mallory tagged along. I guess she needed to clear her head, too. This has been a really tough time for us.”

Poppy’s head was spinning. How did Mallory get invited instead of Poppy—after she’d let Justin fuck her like crazy?

“Is Mallory performing?” Poppy asked. If so, she was going to make thousands of dollars. And Bette would probably like her even more.

“God, no,” Alec said.

“How do you know?” she pressed.

“She’s not a burlesque dancer, Poppy. Okay, so she likes hanging around that club, but I think it’s just a phase. She resents moving here and feeling like she’s in
my
life. I think she feels like she needs to prove that she’s her own person or something. And she’s being reckless and stupid about the whole thing. But when I spoke to her this morning, she sounded like her old self.”

“I don’t understand why everyone loves her so much!” Poppy wailed.

“Who’s everyone?”

“You. Bette. Agnes. Justin Baxter. I just want to know why. Can you tell me?”

“Who is Justin Baxter?”

“The guy hosting the party in LA.”

“Mallory has nothing to do with that party. I told you that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. The Baxters have a way of sucking people into their craziness.” She signaled the waiter and ordered more black coffee.

“What does that mean?”

“They have these wild parties, and let’s just say it’s easy to get caught up in the moment. Besides, I can’t believe Justin would pay for her to fly all the way out there and not ask her to perform. He’s not running a charity.”

“I told you, she’s not a burlesque performer. And she told me she wasn’t there for the party, and I believe her.”

“Whatevs. Anyway, if you had any doubt, I’m sure you could ask Billy Barton to give you the lowdown on the party.”

“What does Billy have to do with it?”

“Nothing, except I know he’s going to be there.” She could tell Alec was thinking hard about that little bit of information.

“She has no reason to lie to me.”

“Except she knows you don’t like her hanging out at Blue Angel. Or any other burlesque scene. And why is that, by the way?”

Alec sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“For one thing, it’s hypocritical: she never liked when I went to strip clubs or watched porn because she said it made her feel like she wasn’t enough for me. Then she wants to hang out at a place where it’s all about titillating other guys? How am I supposed to feel about that?”

“That’s not what burlesque is all about.”

“Okay, spare me the post-feminist deconstruction of burlesque. I’m a guy, and to guys it’s hot women taking off their clothes. Period. We don’t care about the music and the costumes.”

“Fair enough,” Poppy said. “Now tell me one more thing: what does she have that I’m missing? No offense, but I’m ten times hotter than she is. You said it yourself last night—I could be a model.”

“First of all, to me she is the most beautiful woman in the world. Period.
And
we’re amazing friends,
and
we have great sex. And whenever I think of my future, she is the one by my side. I can’t explain it any better than that. I can’t imagine anyone making me as happy as she does.”

Poppy blinked at him. Would anyone ever feel that way about her?

“What do you mean by ‘great sex’?” she said.

“Oh, come on, Poppy. I can’t get into this with you.”

“Seriously. I have great sex. And it never amounts to anything. It’s like, just a good feeling that evaporates—like eating candy.”

“Maybe it’s because you don’t have the emotional connection. You know, like when you think about someone all the time and can’t wait to talk to him or her.”

She did feel that way—about Bette. And now Mallory was in LA with her and the Baxters having God only knew what kind of crazy orgies. And Bette was probably falling in love with Mallory just like Alec had. It was so unfair.

“I do feel that way about someone. But I don’t think that person feels it for me.”

“You are probably underestimating him.”

“Her.”

“Her?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. I had no idea.”

“I’ve never had a girlfriend before. I’ve only liked guys. But I just can’t stop thinking about her. At first I thought it was because I wanted her to help me with getting ahead in the burlesque scene. But even when I was with you last night, I was thinking about her.”

“Ouch!”

“No—I mean, I was into being with you. Until you got up to leave.”

“I guess we were both thinking about other women.”

He smiled at her. She could imagine what it would be like to be in love with him, and how much it would suck to lose that. For the first time, she felt a little sorry for Mallory.

And then she realized something: If Alec and Mallory got back together, she could get Mallory away from Bette and still have a chance herself.

“I don’t think you should mention to Mallory that we hooked up last night,” she said quickly.

“Yeah, I was going to say the same thing to you. I was hoping we could maybe just pretend that never happened. No offense—it’s just that after talking to her today, I realize how much I want to try to make things work.”