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Authors: Logan Belle

Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque) (19 page)

BOOK: Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque)

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And then when he left the room, she could think of nothing but Alec.
Can you say ‘head case’?

Her cell phone rang.

“What was that little freak-out of yours last night?” Bette said. No hello, no how are you. Usually, Mallory liked Bette’s straight-to-the-point conversational style. But that morning she knew it would be exhausting.

“I don’t know. I guess I just wasn’t in the headspace to perform.”

“Don’t give me that shit. This is me you’re talking to. Is this about your problems with Alec?”

“No,” Mallory said.

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. And I can’t really talk now. And I have to get some work done.”
Or think about doing someone at work.

“Meet me later today. I’m getting a new tattoo. You can keep me company and share your emotional pain to take my mind off of my physical pain.”

“What design are you getting?” She thought of her shortlived painted burlesque angel.

“The word
freedom
in Russian. On the underside of my wrist.”

Last year, during Mallory’s mini-identity crisis as she evolved from budding corporate lawyer to burlesque dancer, Bette had taught her the Russian word for freedom,
svoboda.
She supposed Bette was now trying to remind herself of that as she nursed her heartache over the break-up with Zebra.

“Text me where and when, and I’ll see you there.” She looked up to see Gavin in the doorway. “Gotta run. Later.”

He came in and closed the door.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“I wanted to apologize for last night,” he said.

“No need to apologize,” she said. “It was . . . I enjoyed spending the time with you.”

“I know, I know. I did, too. But it was inappropriate. And as much as I’m attracted to you, it really shouldn’t happen again.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said, fighting a sinking disappointment.

“Plus, you have a boyfriend.”

“We’re broken up. For now.”

“For now?”

“It’s complicated. . . .”

“It’s okay. I get it. It’s like that with Susan and me, too.”

“Gavin, really. No problem. Enough said.” She worked hard to keep her expression neutral.

“Okay. Well, thanks for making that conversation easy. If you had debated me I don’t know if I would have been strong enough to resist.” He smiled his gorgeous dimpled smile.

Gotta love those mixed messages.
She didn’t know what to say in response, so she stayed quiet.

He sat down on the chair across from her desk. “But I have been thinking about you. A lot. And I was wondering if you’d given more thought to what I said yesterday at lunch—about your retaking the bar exam.”

“Actually, yes. I have thought about it. I’m going to register this week. I will have to cram to get prepared by February, but I’m going to do it.”

Gavin slapped her desk. “That is excellent news.”

“Wow. You’re more excited about it than I am. Not sure that’s a good thing.”

“It’s all good, Mallory. I’m really happy to hear this. You know I’ll support you in any way I can.”

They locked eyes, and Mallory felt how much he wanted her.

“Thanks, Gavin. I appreciate that.”

She couldn’t wait to run this insanity by Bette.

Rising Dragon Tattoo was located on Fourteenth Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. Bette was waiting for her outside, dressed in a black, faux fur coat, leopard miniskirt, black tights, and four-inch platform clogs. But her trademark black bob was hidden under a knit cap, and oversized Kate Spade sunglasses obscured her face.

“Did you dodge the paparazzi?” Mallory asked.

“Since
Us
broke the news of my split with Zebra, they’ve left me alone somewhat. Ironically, now I miss them.”

“Ah, paparazzi. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em.”

“You’re teasing me but this sucks. I’m almost famous. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? But I think that’s going to change. My agent landed me an audition for the new Ben Affleck movie.”

The parlor buzzed them in, and they climbed two flights of stairs. They checked in with the receptionist, a tiny woman with a mop of Raggedy Ann-doll red hair and tattoos covering every inch of her chest and neck.

“I’m here to see Wendy,” said Bette.

“Hey, Bette,” said a woman peeking around a corner. She waved them over. “I’m just setting up.” She was surprisingly “normal” looking—only a small tattoo of a mermaid snaked around her right bicep. Other than that, she was tattoo and piercing-free. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt, and her plain brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

“Hey. This is my friend, Moxie.”

“Hi, Moxie. You can sit right here.” She pulled a stool over next to her station, a shelf filled with a rainbow of ink bottles.

“So, Alec and I officially ended things last night.”

“Why?”

“We’re taking a ‘time-out.’ ”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name?”

Mallory could feel herself blush.

The tattoo artist pressed a stencil of the design against Bette’s wrist and peeled it back, leaving the black-and-white outline on her skin.

“That’s so cool,” Mallory said. “And, to answer your question: no one. This isn’t about anyone else.”

“Yeah, right. Mallory, you’re insanely in love with Alec. There’s no way you’d be doing this if someone else hadn’t turned your head.”

“Did I tell you the story of how we went to that party at the Plaza and that woman painted a fake tattoo on me?”

The tattoo artist turned on her instrument and pressed it to Bette’s skin. Bette grimaced slightly, but continued talking.

“Nice change of subject, but yes, I remember. When Violet finger-fucked you, right?”

“Shh! God, Bette.Yes. Thanks for reminding me. Anyway, it started me thinking that I’d like a tattoo. But it just seems like a huge commitment.”

“It’s not that big a deal. You overthink the wrong things. What would you get?”

“I was thinking of a burlesque dancer in a blue angel costume. But that’s not really appropriate anymore since I’m going to quit.”

“What? Jesus, don’t hit me with that while I’m stuck in this chair and subdued with pain. Why are you quitting?”

Mallory shrugged. “I don’t know what the endgame is. I’m barely paying the bills in this city as it is. I’ll never make money doing it, and, like you said the other night, if I’m not going to do whatever it takes to get famous and really be in the game for high stakes, why do it at all?”

“I know I said that, but the truth is you have to do the thing you love in life or else you’ll be miserable.”

“Well, that’s a nice sentiment. But this isn’t a movie.”

“Again, who’s the new guy? Because this so isn’t Moxie talking.”

“Okay, I’ll admit I have a slight crush on my boss. And part of what I like about him is that when I’m around him, I feel grounded. He’s calm. He talks to me about my work and life with this confidence and belief in me that I never heard from Alec. I mean, Alec told me I shouldn’t stop practicing law, but he said it more like I shouldn’t do something impulsive like quit—not that I should continue with it because it’s what I’m good at. I don’t know. And maybe some of the problems with Alec were because we were in this crazy burlesque universe.”

“So you’re quitting the Blue Angel to have a more stable relationship, but you’ve ended your relationship?”

“Yes.”

“Brilliant.”

“I’m doing the best I can.” Mallory watched the needle working the ink into Bette’s wrist, the loud humming of the instrument filling the room. “That looks really painful.”

“I’m willing to suffer for art,” Bette said. “But since you’re not, you better tell Agnes soon. Like, today.”

“I will.”

Three days later, Mallory worked up the nerve to talk to Agnes. She went to the club late one afternoon, carrying a bag filled with clothes she needed to return and the law books she had taken out of the library. Her bar exam studies started tonight—no more lost time.

“Agnes?” Mallory called out, to no response. She walked down the short flight of stairs to the office and caught sight of herself in the heavy-framed mirror on the wall along the staircase. She looked pale and bland, and she was startled because she wasn’t used to seeing herself that way in the setting of the Blue Angel. She felt it was a bit of a sacrilege even to walk in the door without wearing at least some lipstick. Even the mascara she’d applied first thing that morning seemed to have disappeared, her eyelashes wilting like week-old tulips.

The office door was open, and Agnes was sewing in front of her ancient desktop computer that looked like it still operated on DOS.

“Come in. No need to close the door. The only one here is Kitty, but she’s busy rehearsing.”

“Yeah. Well, thanks for seeing me. I’m sorry about leaving the other night.”

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“I should fire you for that.”

“I wouldn’t have left if I hadn’t known, on some level, that I didn’t plan to come back. Something just changed in me, Agnes. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“You’re talented, so that is a tragedy. But life is full of tragedy,” Agnes said, her Polish accent thick, maybe thicker than usual.

“I don’t mean to leave you in a bad position. I know you just fired Violet, but I think Bette will do some more shows to fill in.”

“Everything is changing,” Agnes said, as if Mallory had not spoken. Mallory decided just to keep her mouth shut. Agnes seemed to be deep in thought that had little to do with Mallory’s resignation. She supposed she wasn’t the only person dealing with problems. Lately, she was so self-absorbed. It was kind of disgusting. And so, although she had come to the club to talk, she was happy to listen.

“There was a time when women came to burlesque because they had nothing else—no means to support themselves. I remember watching little children in the dressing room while their mothers performed to make twenty dollars. And it was their lifeblood, their community. Now . . . nothing. Every one for herself. I think you’d all be happier on a reality show.”

“No, Agnes. That’s not it. . . .”

“Bette’s fame brought a lot of attention to the Blue Angel.”

“I know. That’s a good thing, right?”

Agnes shrugged. “Now, so many decisions to be made; someone has offered to buy the club from me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. A lawyer contacted me.”

“But you’re not going to sell, are you?”

“It might be the right thing. Burlesque has lost its meaning. And I’m tired.”

“Who’s the buyer? The new owner might change the club—fire everyone. It could turn into someplace trashy.”

“The girls will all leave eventually anyway. Just as you are.” Agnes looked at her. “Are you returning things to me?” She looked at the bag.

And Mallory knew the conversation was over.

Late that night, Mallory woke up to the doorbell ringing. And then a sharp knock on the door.

She was asleep on the couch, all the lights on, a law book open on her chest. She checked the time: close to eleven.

Her legs were stiff from the awkward position she’d fallen asleep in. So much for studying. And yes, that was just how compelling she’d found studying for the bar the last time around. What had possessed her to try the thing again? Away from Gavin’s sexy smile and the lure of a corner office, the notion of actually taking the exam was terrifying.

She put the book on the floor and padded over to the front door, pulling closed the long cardigan she was wearing. Peering out the peephole, she saw Alec.

She quickly checked her reflection in the mosaic-framed mirror by the door. She looked ashen.

Her hands fumbled with the lock.

“Hey,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Not on the phone.” He closed the distance between them and pulled her close. Despite herself, she breathed him in, and, even after all the time together, all the fights, it was enough to make her nearly swoon.

“I heard you quit the Blue Angel.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Bad news travels fast. For the record, I think it’s a mistake.”

“I thought you’d think it was a move in the right direction for me.”

“I never thought burlesque was bad for you. And you love it. I don’t think you should quit as some knee-jerk reaction to what’s going on with us.”

BOOK: Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque)

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