Naked Angel (8 page)

“Explain to me why we are meeting here instead of at one of the half dozen Le Pain Quotidiens within a two-mile radius of our offices,” Julie griped.

“I wanted someplace with a bar,” said Mallory. “And it’s the least you could do after both of you flaked on me last night.” The truth was, neither had flaked. Both had told her as soon as she’d announced the date of the opening that they had set-in-stone work commitments. Julie had to work a book party in East Hampton for one of Charlie Sheen’s ex-wives’ memoirs. Allison had a black tie event at Michael Bloomberg’s townhouse.

“Mallie, we feel terrible,” said Allison, adjusting her shiny auburn ponytail. “I promise I will be at the next show—front row, making all that obnoxious noise you seem to love.”

The hostess showed them to one of the large, round tables against the back wall in the main dining room.

“So are we celebrating a successful night?” Julie asked.

“You could say that,” said Mallory.

She waited for them to notice her ring—the way Allison had noticed Julie’s engagement ring the morning they’d had breakfast last year at City Bakery. At the time, Julie’s recounting of Jonathan’s proposal at the Shake Shack in Madison Square Park had sounded very romantic. Mallory could never have imagined that a year later, Alec would be proposing to her onstage in front of hundreds of people.

But Allison and Julie were apparently too absorbed in the menus to notice the diamond elephant in the room.

“I do love the chopped salad here, so I’m not going to complain anymore about the trek,” said Julie.

“Do you think the salmon is wild or farmed?” said Allison.

“Can I get you ladies a drink to start?” asked the waitress.

“We’ll have three margaritas. On the rocks with salt,” Mallory said.

Allison and Julie exchanged a look but didn’t argue.

“You do know we have to go back to work after this,” Julie said.

“I thought book publishing was run on three-martini lunches,” said Mallory.

“This isn’t the eighties,” said Julie.

“Why don’t you tell us about last night,” said Allison, taking a piece of bread from the basket in the center of the table.

“It was everything I hoped it would be. And more,” Mallory said suggestively. No one took the bait.

Their drinks arrived. Mallory ran her finger around the salted rim and raised her glass. Julie and Allison followed.

“To The Painted Lady,” said Allison. “Long may she live—and strip.”

Mallory touched her short, round glass to Allison’s, then to Julie’s. And that’s when she saw Julie hone in on the ring.

“Oh . . . my . . . God,” Julie said.

“What? What’s wrong?” said Allison.

Julie reached out and grabbed Mallory’s hand.

“Look! Is that what I think it is?”

Her voice was so loud, people at nearby tables turned to look at them.

“Shh! Yes—Alec proposed to me last night.”

“Congratulations!” Julie shrieked. “When did he do it? How did he do it?”

“In the middle of the show! He called me up onstage in between acts. I had no idea why he was doing that. I’d just finished my performance, but I threw on a robe and went back onstage. He started going on about how I wasn’t just a performer but a producer of the shows, and that he hoped I would take on another role—his wife. And then he got down on one knee and gave me the ring.”

Julie put her head in her hands. “I am so upset I missed it,” she said.

Allison was quiet, shaking her head slowly. “Looks like smart Alec really did get smart,” she said, referring to her nickname for him.

“Very funny,” said Mallory.

“Seriously, bravo, Mal. A year ago this guy is begging you for a three-way with a hooker, and now he wants to tie the knot.”

“She was a dominatrix, not a hooker.”

“Same difference. The point is you pulled off a relationship miracle.”

“Wow. Your sentimentality is getting me all choked up.”

“No, I’m in awe. Congratulations. This is amazing,” Allison said, reaching out and putting her hand over Mallory’s.

“The ring is stunning,” said Julie. “Antique?”

“Yeah. From the 1920s,” said Mallory.

Allison was on her BlackBerry.

“Are we boring you?” said Julie.

“I’m Tweeting this. Seriously, Mal, Alec should have given me a heads-up. This was a great PR opportunity wasted.”

“You are such a romantic,” said Julie. “Maybe Mallory should charge an admission fee to her wedding.”

“It was one of the best nights of my life,” Mallory said. “I felt bad about one thing, though. You know Nadia, my ballet studio partner? She totally froze. She danced the first quarter of her performance beautifully, but when it came to taking off the costume, she couldn’t do it.”

“Well, not everyone is a superfreak like you,” Allison said with a smile.

“Seriously. You just make it look deceptively easy, Mal.”

Mallory smiled, but wondered if her impending marriage signaled the end of her days of superfreakdom. Maybe it was time to pass the baton to someone who needed burlesque to save her the way it had once saved Mallory.

“I’m going to help Nadia find her inner superfreak,” Mallory said.

“Like Bette did for you?”

“Yes. But minus the sex.”

“Oh? Are you retiring your Sapphic self?”

“We’re all about monogamy these days,” said Mallory.

“Hmm. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I’m serious,” said Mallory. “Isn’t that what marriage means?”

“Yes, for normal people,” said Allison. “But we know you and Alec will never be normal. And we love you for it.”

Violet found Cookies at a table in the back of the club. She wore black yoga pants and a pink hooded sweatshirt, and was smoking a cigarette while drinking a green smoothie.

“Why bother with the health drink if you’re a smoker?” said Violet. She hated the hipster health vibe that had drifted across the continent from the West Coast. The East Village was littered with tiny storefronts selling atrocious, ten-dollar vegetable and fruit concoctions with names like “Hangover Helper” and “Brain Booster.” Violet lived on red meat and Diet Coke, and she was healthy as a horse.

“I figure they cancel each other out and I’m on neutral ground,” said Cookies.

“And I hate the whole
Girls Next Door
vibe you have going on,” Violet said, pulling on the hood of Cookies’ sweatshirt as she sat down.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“So change my mood. Tell me you’ve got photos of The Painted Lady show.”

Cookies logged into her iPhone and slid it across the table.

“Good girl,” Violet said. She slid her finger across the screen, speeding through the shots. “Who’s this?” Violet paused at the picture of a willowy brunette.

“A former ballerina. She didn’t do such a great job.”

“Slammin’ body, though.” Violet was silent through the rest of the photos. When she was finished, she sat back in her seat. “The costumes are phenomenal. Who did them?”

“I think most of them were done by some British chick working with Agnes.”

“What’s her name?”

“Gemma Kole.”

“I have to talk to her.”

“I don’t think Agnes will want anyone who works for her to work for you.”

“Who cares what that old bag wants? Money talks, nobody walks. I’m sure the Brit could use a few under-the-table gigs. I just need Billy to cough up a little pocket change. A boost in the costume department is exactly what we need around here.”

Cookies nodded. Violet reached over and unzipped her sweatshirt. Underneath, Cookies wore a black tank top and no bra. Violet brushed her fingers against Cookies’ nipples, bringing them to a point. “You know what else I need around here?” Violet said. Cookies shook her head no. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay,” Cookies said. Violet slipped her hand under the T-shirt to cup Cookies’ bare breast. “I need you to let me watch someone else fuck you,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said.” Violet moved her hands to tug off Cookies’ pants. Cookies raised her ass to help get them off. She eyed the door nervously. “It’s locked,” Violet said. She pulled Cookies’ thong down to her ankles, then slid her palms underneath Cookies’ ass so her pelvis tilted up. “Spread your legs,” Violet said, helping Cookies get in the right position so Violet had a view of—and access to—her asshole. As always, it was pink and puckered and just waiting for her. Violet licked her finger, then pressed it into Cookies’ ass, an opening so ripe and available, it made Violet wish she had a cock. She moved her finger in and out, watching Cookies’ breathing get more labored, and feeling her ass relax and give more with each stroke. Cookies’ fingers reached for her own clit, and Violet smacked her hand away. “You have to come just from this,” she commanded. She worked her finger faster, but then she couldn’t resist: Cookies’ clit was so engorged she had to taste it. She pressed her tongue against the tight little knob, and Cookies cried out, her ass clenching around Violet’s finger, her pussy juicing against Violet’s mouth.

When Cookies was still, Violet said, “Don’t you want to be able to make me come the way I always do for you?” Cookies nodded, her eyes half-closed. “Well, I’m telling you how you can.”

“Okay,” Cookies said.

“Good girl,” said Violet. “Now get dressed. I’m going to go score us a brilliant costume designer.”

N
adia stood on the Painted Lady stage wearing only jeans and pasties with red tassels.

Nadia had promised Mallory she wouldn’t shy away after the debacle of her opening night performance. And so, in a show of what she hoped was a positive attitude in the face of gross failure, she’d decided to spend the morning at The Painted Lady.

She was unpleasantly surprised to find Bette Noir at the club along with Mallory. She found the black-haired beauty to be very intimidating. Nadia was thankful that Bette was leaving in a month for her next film.

“Open up your rib cage more,” Mallory said from her seat at one of the tables.

Mallory was trying to teach her how to tassel-twirl. It was one of the most distinctive burlesque moves, but Nadia had shied away from it for her first performance. It wasn’t the most refined movement, but she understood the value of it. “Now bounce up and down on the balls of your feet.”

“But loosen your arms away from your sides more,” said Bette.

“She’s right,” Mallory said. “If your arm is too tight against your side, it can halt the movement of the tassel.”

Nadia bounced up and down, but the tassels only swung from side to side, not around in circles.

“We’re going to need to get your shoulders into the mix,” said Bette.

They heard the front door open, and Justin made his way into the room.

“Hi, ladies,” he said.

“Hey—what brings you by?” said Mallory, kissing him on the cheek.

Nadia pulled on her T-shirt and sat on the edge of the stage. There was no way she was going to practice making her tits bounce in front of Justin.

“I wanted to run some scheduling by you. Martha’s birthday is in a few weeks. I totally flaked and didn’t plan anything earlier. What I’d like to do is to close this place for a night and just have a huge bash here.”

“Sounds great.” Mallory pulled out a big DayMinder calendar and flipped forward a few weeks. “What night of the week?”

Nadia went to the dressing room for a bottle of water. When she returned to the stage, Mallory called her down to join them at the table.

“Justin wants to ask you something,” she said.

“Okay.” Nadia pulled out a chair and sat across from him. He was very handsome. It was no wonder a lot of the girls talked about him in a way that was less than professional. But that happened everywhere. She knew Max Jasper had a reputation for bedding his dancers, too.

She shook the thought from her mind. She didn’t want to think about him. His invitation to watch a rehearsal was nagging at her like a hangnail. A part of her thought maybe she should just go, get it out of her system, shut him up about her choices by showing him that visiting Ballet Arts would not have some magical effect on her, and then they could both move on.

“I know you had a rough time the other night, but I’ve seen you at rehearsals before, and you’re absolutely amazing. I hope you’re going to, you know, get back on the proverbial horse,” Justin said.

“Oh, I will,” Nadia said.

“Great. I was just telling Mallory that I’m going to have a big birthday party here for Martha in a few weeks. I usually do it out of town somewhere, but with the opening of the club it just got away from me this year. But I still have time to pull together something fantastic. A few of the girls are going to perform that night. I hope you will, too.”

Nadia looked at Mallory.

“Just . . . any act?”

“We usually have a theme. I’m working on an idea for this party. I’m going to have Gemma do the costumes—it will be fun. Very A-list. It will be in all the celebrity rags, and
Vanity Fair
will cover it for their party section. Trust me—it will be great exposure for you.”

“It might be too soon,” Nadia said. “Obviously, I’m not doing well under pressure.”