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Authors: Logan Belle

Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque) (24 page)

BOOK: Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque)

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She smiled. “Wow. The perks of dating a writer.”

“I’m pouring my heart out and you’re making jokes?”

“I’m not joking. I couldn’t be more serious.” She bent over toward the floor and pulled her shirt to her chest as a cover. “Listen: for the record, I’ve messed up more than you, and I’m really sorry.”

“No, you haven’t.”

She swallowed hard. “Yeah, I have.”

“Like what?”

“I hooked up with Gavin.”

Alec sat up so abruptly the bed shook.

“You slept with him?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No.”

“What, then?”

“We just, you know, hooked up a little. But we did not have sex—I swear.”

“When did this happen?”

“Recently,” she said—understatement of the year. But really, honesty had its limits. “While we’ve been apart.”

“How many times?”

“Just once,” she said, telling herself the incident in the office didn’t count.

“Do you have feelings for him?”

“No,” she said. “It was more that I wanted to know that I could be physical with someone else—that my relationship with you didn’t define me. I really felt lost—and I still do. Am I Mallory or Moxie? Whose future do I want? Because there is no way to have both or be both.”

“You are both. And I love that about you.”

She again thought of Gavin, and how guys like him could be titillated by her Moxie persona, but could never truly accept or live with her. And most people—even her own friends—thought she had to make a choice. When she’d met Julie and Allison for breakfast that morning a few weeks ago, they’d made it clear they saw her foray into burlesque as a detour, a distraction that took her further from herself and from the future she was meant to have. But she knew, and Alec knew, that it brought her closer to the right answer about her life.

“You know you can’t work for that guy anymore. That is, if you want for us to be together. And I hope you do, Mallory.”

“I do,” she said.

“You’ll quit?”

“Yes. But I don’t know what I’m going to do. My life is so chaotic.”

“No, it’s not,” he said. “We have the most important thing right.”

“How about you?” she said. “I’m so mad at Billy. Why wouldn’t he come to us if he was interested in getting into the burlesque business? How does he even know Violet? It feels like such a slap in the face. And I can’t stand her, Alec. I partly blame her for our breakup. She came between us—and you let her, to some degree—but after talking to Poppy I have no doubt she intended for that to happen. What if she’s getting involved in the magazine, too? Maybe they’re sleeping together or something.”

“I doubt they’re sleeping together. I’m pretty sure Billy is gay.”

Mallory thought about Violet’s sexual relationship with Poppy, and Poppy’s theory that she was obsessed with Mallory.

“And Violet isn’t into guys.”

“So what’s going on there?” Alec said.

“Who knows? We should just stay as far away as possible.”

His phone rang again, and he ignored it.

“Maybe you should check your messages,” Mallory said. Alec nodded and retrieved his coat. He waited to make sure the call went to voice mail, then dialed into his phone.

“It’s Justin Baxter,” he said.

“What does he want?”

“He said that he and Martha feel bad they didn’t get to Agnes in time to buy the Blue Angel, and they can’t stop thinking about it. He wants me to go to their place tonight for a drink.”

“Do you think they have an idea of how to get the club after all?”

“No. If it’s sold, it’s sold. I don’t know what they have in mind. But I guess we’ll find out.”

“We?”

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“Yes,” she said, kissing him. “I’m going with you.”

“Well, I guess our work here is done,” Poppy said after Alec and Mallory absconded from City Bakery like two lovesick teenagers.

“I feel so used,” Bette joked.

“Really? I don’t feel used enough,” Poppy mumbled, barely daring to say it.

Bette laughed, then rifled through her Vuitton handbag. “God, I wish I could smoke in here. After being in Paris and Milan I realize how uncivilized this damn city is.”

“I’ll walk outside with you,” Poppy said.

“Do you smoke?” Bette said.

“No. I would just . . . I don’t mind walking outside,” Poppy said.

Bette raised an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” she said, in that unnerving, direct way she had.

“What? No! Not at all,” Poppy said, flustered. The truth was, she wouldn’t dare flirt with Bette. She could barely think straight sitting across the table from her, could barely take her eyes off of her matte red, pillowy bottom lip. But that was different than flirting.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Bette said.

“What?” Had she heard her correctly?

“I said that’s a shame. You’ve never looked better, my dear.” Bette smiled faintly, then looked off across the room as if thinking about something else entirely.

“Oh, well, thanks.”

“I noticed it that day we ran into each other at M&J Trimming. You’re hotter now than you were when you first came to the Blue Angel. But that happens to girls, you know. It’s an inner confidence thing. It shows through. People think that’s bullshit, but it’s absolutely not. And that show you did the other night? Inspired. Who’s been teaching you? Mallory?” She smiled a devilish smile, her eyes a smoky mix of blue and gray against her dark silk blouse.

“No, not really.”

“Not that cunt Violet, I hope.”

Poppy turned bright red—she could feel it. “No.”

“Are you still seeing that dowdy lawyer?”

“Patricia? Yes.”

“Well, that’s nice. Relationships are a good thing if you can swing it. I, apparently, cannot.”

“You’re not with Zebra anymore?” Poppy said, although she had already bought the
Us
,
Life & Style
, and
OK!
issues detailing their breakup.

“No,” Bette said. She poked her straw in and out of her can of Diet Coke as if fishing for something at the bottom.

Poppy had the urge to confess that she wished she had the nerve to break up with Patricia, but that she was afraid no one would ever love her the same way again. She was sure Bette would never stay with someone for such a stupid reason. She had no idea why Bette and Zebra had split up—every magazine cited a different implausible scenario—but she was sure Bette had been the one who initiated it. She couldn’t imagine Bette ever not being in control.

“Are you and Patricia monogamous?” Bette said.

“Yes,” Poppy said, thinking regretfully of Violet.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Bette said.

“What?”

“For me, that is. Unfortunate for me.”

“How do you figure?” Poppy said, her pulse racing. She braced herself.
No matter what she says, I won’t do anything!

Bette shrugged. Poppy resisted the urge to push the issue. There was something so maddeningly remote about the woman! But she had finally gotten away from Violet, and she didn’t need another complication, no matter how tempting it was. No matter that the woman she had a crush on—or was maybe the tiniest bit in love with—seemed to be opening the door to the possibility of the two of them fooling around.

“Well, I should get going,” Bette finally said, pulling a cigarette out of a silver case. Poppy noticed the large monogrammed
Z
on it. “Catch you later,” she said.

Poppy watched her leave.

T
he cab pulled up to the gates of 40 Bond, and Mallory tried not to think of the fact that she had been there just last night. What were the odds of her ending up back there in less than twenty-four hours? It was as if the universe was mocking her. But she wasn’t going to mention it to Alec. She just prayed she didn’t run into Gavin.

Fortunately, the Baxter townhouse was in a different area of the complex than the high-rise where Justin had his apartment, and as soon as they turned into it she felt safely ensconced in the world of her and Alec, no one else.

“Glad you two could make it on such short notice,” Justin said as the butler took her coat. She knew from past experience that she had to remove her shoes—Martha was obsessive about her oak floors imported from Austria. “Mallory, we’ve missed seeing you at the Blue Angel.”

“Oh, yeah, I took a little . . . leave of absence,” she said.

“Mental health break?” Justin said.

“Something like that.”

Martha Pike lounged in the corner. She looked as unkempt and overweight as usual, her feet stuffed into unattractive but serviceable shoes. In her right hand, she clutched an elegant wooden cane.

“Forgive me for not getting up,” she said.

“Martha’s having some problems with her hip,” Justin said. Mallory knew she should be used to them by now, but she always marveled at the incongruous couple.

Mallory and Alec sat side by side on one of the low, pale couches. A white-gloved cocktail waitress offered them champagne and chilled vodka. Mallory took the vodka. Ever since Bette had gotten her started drinking it last year, she recognized it as the best balm for her nerves.

“So as I mentioned in my voice mail, I find it terribly frustrating that we were too late to get in on the Blue Angel deal.”

“Yes, Justin and I have a real soft spot for that place,” Martha said wistfully. “But if the deal is done, the deal is done.”

“But since we started thinking about the possibility of owning a burlesque club, we haven’t been able to get off that track. And we realized over breakfast this morning—if we can’t buy the Blue Angel, why not just start our own?”

Alec and Mallory exchanged a look.

“I don’t have time to mastermind the whole thing. I’m about to launch Honeymoon Two in the market, and I think it’s going to really take off. I have to be there for my new baby. And, of course, Justin isn’t very business-minded. Don’t get me wrong—we all know he’s a genius when it comes to aesthetics, and that’s important in this game. But we would need someone to be on the ground every step of the way with this. And we thought of you two,” she said, looking at Alec and Mallory.

“To . . . run the place?”

“Yes. You’re a lawyer by training; you both went to Penn. Not Wharton, we know, but Penn is still Penn. You both know this world, you get what makes a club work, and you have the relationships to get girls on the stage—as do we—and people in the seats. I think we would make an unbeatable team.”

“This is an amazing idea,” Alec said. “And I’m flattered. But there’s a lot to think about. It’s a huge commitment. And it might not earn back your investment for years.”

“I don’t get the sense Agnes spent her life running that place because it was such a moneymaker. She did it because she loved it. And you know how Martha and I feel about art and beautiful women. And we are certainly in a better position to take the financial hits than Agnes is. There’s really no downside. We just need operational partners to get it going. Will you consider it?”

“It’s incredibly tempting,” Mallory said. “But Alec is busy writing for the magazine, and I . . .” And she what? She had to quit yet another law job. She didn’t have a burlesque gig anymore. “Actually, I could do it. But I don’t know if it’s the right thing for Alec.”

“Mallory and I don’t have the money to effectively not work for the year it will take to get this off the ground,” he said.

“We didn’t imagine you did,” said Martha. “I propose we put you both on payroll until the club gains momentum. Then you have the option of staying on salary or buying in as partners to share in the profit of the club.”

Mallory looked at Alec. She knew they should talk about it in private, but also that there was little doubt they would do it. If the way Martha and Justin paid their fish tank girl was any indication, the Baxters were generous with their employees.

“It’s an incredible opportunity. We are flattered and thrilled that you guys thought of us. Let us talk about it and call you in the morning?” Alec said.

“Of course. In the meantime, we’re having people over if you care to stay for a few hours. It should be an interesting group.”

It was always an “interesting group” at the Baxter parties—movie moguls mingled with rap stars, politicians talked to porn stars, Academy Award-winning actors were entertained by street performers. The atmosphere was always sexually charged, and the sense that anything could—and often did—happen made the evenings “must” events. Mallory had made her performing debut at a Baxter party in LA, and so she had a soft spot for their festivities. But she didn’t have the energy for a party that night and only wanted to go back to the apartment she shared with Alec. They’d been apart for too long.

“Another night,” Alec said.

Mallory curled up against Alec in the dark and quiet of her own bedroom. It felt so good to be home.

She rubbed her leg against his thigh.

“You’re such a horndog,” he said. “You want to go again?”

“Sort of,” she said.

He nudged her over onto her back and slipped his hand into her underwear.

“Jeez, you’re already wet. You really are the horniest girl I’ve ever known.”

“Is that a problem?” she said, kissing him.

“Only when I can’t keep up with you any longer. But I think I’ve still got a few good years left in me.”

He stroked her softly, and she slipped her hand inside his boxers to find him already hard.

“I guess I’m not the only horndog in the room.”

She moved on top of him and pulled off her shirt. He looked up at her with great intensity, and she was moved by the expression in his blue-gray eyes.

He ran his hands over her breasts and down her shoulders.

“That night you got that painting on your arm . . . it looked so beautiful. You know, I came to that room looking for you so we could go home. I didn’t want to be out with Violet or at some crazy party. Were you taking me out with Violet to test me?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m sorry. And I loved the painting. You know I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo, but I’m not sure what image I can really live with long-term.”

“Yeah. I know. And I’ve thought about it since that night. I’m thinking about a new image you can play around with.”

She looked down at him. “If you’ve got a new tattoo, it must be somewhere really interesting because I thought I saw every inch of you earlier today.”

“I don’t—not yet. But I have an idea for one.”

“It must be contagious. Bette just got a new one.”

“I know. She told me you went with her and you said you could never go through with it, that it’s too permanent.”

“That’s right,” she said.

“I’m ready for something permanent,” he said. “Will you come with me?”

“You’re seriously going to get a new tattoo?”

“Yeah. I’m not afraid of commitment,” he teased.

“What are you going to get?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” he said. “In the meantime, I’m going to keep looking for inspiration.” He pulled down her underwear.

BOOK: Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque)

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