Read Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque) Online
Authors: Logan Belle
Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque) (15 page)
“Thanks,” she said, feeling inexplicably bashful at the compliment.
“Will you at least consider giving law another shot? I think you’d be amazing at family law. My clients love you, and that is so important in this field where emotions run high and the most important things in people’s lives are at stake—their homes, custody of their children. That’s why I am particularly sensitive to the issue of your burlesque career. I don’t want the clients to have less faith in you or to think differently about you in any way. It’s not right that people should generalize because of something like that, but you know that’s human nature.”
“I know,” she said. “And it bothers me to think that Marcy would have less faith in me because she perceives me as being flighty or less serious about my work here because I’m performing at night.”
“Will you at least think about getting back into a legal career? And I don’t mean as a paralegal. You’re too good for that.” And then . . . Was it possible? The way he was looking at her—the prolonged eye contact, the quick but unmistakable glance at her lips. It was more than the way a boss looked at his employee.
“I just don’t know,” she said, stalling. Was he attracted to her?
Her phone vibrated in her bag. She wondered if it was yet another person texting or calling about the Page Six photo. Hopefully, word had not yet spread to her mother, who was still clueless about Mallory’s alter ego.
The text was maybe the one bit of news that had the ability to make her feel worse than getting busted by her mom:
Don’t make any plans for tonight. I’ll make it worth your while.—VIOLET.
Mallory’s head filled with an image of Violet’s head between her legs.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Gavin. “What were you saying?”
“Will you consider getting back into law?” Gavin said. “Maybe let this burlesque thing run its course and get serious about your career again.
She looked at the text, then back at Gavin. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”
14
M
allory rolled down the cab window, not trusting what she was seeing through the glass. Was that a line down the block?
allory rolled down the cab window, not trusting what she was seeing through the glass. Was that a line down the block?
One street away from the Blue Angel, her phone rang.
“When are you getting here?” said Bette.
“I’m a block away,” she said, looking at the street that housed the Blue Angel. The sidewalk was filled with people. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? Is that a line to get in?”
“Yeah. I attribute it to the Page Six mention, combined with Poppy’s tweeting about my guest appearance tonight. We’re overwhelmed.”
“I’ll be right there.” She told the cab to stop and hurried along the uneven sidewalk in her heels, hoisting her BAE bag onto her shoulder. Inside, her “Heart-Shaped Glasses” costume was folded, along with some documents from work that she needed to read over the weekend. Once again, she’d barely been able to leave work on time. She didn’t mind; the avalanche of reading and research kept her from having too much time to think about her personal life. If it weren’t for her excitement to finally perform her “Heart-Shaped Glasses” routine, she wondered if she would have been able to motivate herself to leave the office at all.
She made her way past the line, and the ticket collector inside the door with the guest list look frazzled.
“Can you believe this?” she said to Mallory.
“No!” she said. “Where’s Agnes?”
She found Bette in the dressing room.
“Where is everyone?”
“Agnes is holding a staff meeting. You’re late.”
“Agnes doesn’t hold ‘staff’ meetings.”
“Well, she does now. She told me she felt she had to address the firing of Violet, and make it clear what she expected in terms of ‘conduct’ on stage and what the Blue Angel stands for in the ‘context of New York burlesque.’ ”
“Interesting,” Mallory said, though in truth, she didn’t find it that interesting. She felt apathetic.
“Are you okay?” Bette said.
“Yeah. Great. I’m excited to see you on that stage tonight.” Mallory began unpacking her makeup.
“It’s going to feel good to be out there. Like breathing again.”
Mallory said nothing, just looked at herself in the mirror. She made no move to begin doing her face, while Bette expertly applied false eyelashes one at a time to the outermost corner of her upper eyelid, then followed around her eye with the mascara wand.
“Why aren’t you getting dressed?” she said, not moving her eyes from the focus on her own reflection. Mallory said nothing. “What’s wrong?”
“My boss found out about the Page Six photo. He’s not too happy about my nightlife.”
“So? What’s he going to do? Fire you?”
“I think he might.”
“Isn’t that what happened last time you were ‘outed’?”
“Yes.”
“And you just found another job. No big deal.”
“So is that what I’m going to do? Just keep losing jobs while I do burlesque at night—which pays next to nothing—and living two lives?” Mallory knew she sounded melodramatic, but the anxiety in her voice was nothing compared to the knot of panic she felt in her gut.
“What are you talking about? You’re not living two lives. You just have to pay the bills. We all do—until we hit it big. Or at least bigger than this.”
“We’re not all cut out to be famous, Bette. You’re different. For me, I’m having serious doubts about where all this is going. Getting this far—performing at all—is a big deal for me. Maybe as far as I’m going to go. I don’t see myself setting out to conquer the world.”
Bette nodded. She put down her mascara wand and turned to Mallory. “It’s good you can be honest with yourself about this. You’re smart, Mallory. And you don’t need me to tell you that if you aren’t willing to do whatever it takes to become famous, there’s no point in doing this except as a hobby. And then no, it’s
not
worth losing a day job that pays decent money. But I thought you were in it for real. To make a name for yourself.”
not
worth losing a day job that pays decent money. But I thought you were in it for real. To make a name for yourself.”
“I’m confused. I thought I was, too, but...I don’t know.” She put her head in her arms as the other girls started filing back into the dressing room. They were mostly dressed for the show, and Mallory felt even more tense for being late and behind.
“Hey, Moxie. You missed the meeting,” Poppy said.
“Yeah. What makes you so special?” Scarlett Letter said. Mallory wasn’t sure if she was being serious or not, but in her current frame of mind it sounded like a dig.
“I got here late,” Mallory said. “That’s what makes me special. And now I don’t feel very well, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way, and you can have the stage all to yourself tonight to get some attention for yourselves. Although, most of the audience is probably here for Bette, so what you guys do is irrelevant.”
She threw her cosmetics case back in her bag. Bette followed her out of the dressing room.
“What’s the matter with you?” Bette whispered.
“I need to get out of here,” Mallory said. “Can you apologize to Agnes for me? Tell her I felt sick.”
“Yes. But don’t do anything rash, Mallory. This will pass.”
“I’m sorry I won’t see your act tonight. I know you’ll be amazing.”
Mallory made her way through the crowd starting to filter into the main room. Bette followed her and grabbed her arm.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“You better get your ass on that stage in twenty-five minutes.”
“I’m not performing tonight.”
Bette didn’t say anything, but put her hand on Mallory’s arm. The simple gesture brought her to tears.
The crowd of people buzzed around them, oblivious to their unfolding personal drama. They were excited to see the notorious Bette Noir, a hometown girl turned national celebrity. The people talked about her as if she wasn’t standing right there, within earshot.
Did you hear Zebra is a hermaphrodite? That’s why Bette left her—she just found out. . . . Did you hear Bette stole a movie role from Zebra? Now they’re not speaking. . . . Did you hear Zebra fucked Angelina Jolie, and Bette’s going after Brad for revenge. . . .
Did you hear Zebra is a hermaphrodite? That’s why Bette left her—she just found out. . . . Did you hear Bette stole a movie role from Zebra? Now they’re not speaking. . . . Did you hear Zebra fucked Angelina Jolie, and Bette’s going after Brad for revenge. . . .
Bette hugged her. “Take care of yourself.”
“Thanks,” she said.
She pushed her way through the crowd.
Outside the Standard Hotel, Violet gave her name to the guy with the headset at the door.
“I don’t see it on the list,” he said, brushing her aside like a fly.
“I’m with Billy Barton.”
When she’d called Billy from her apartment an hour ago, he had not sounded very happy to hear from her. Apparently, he was out with one of his celebrity friends and probably didn’t like being reminded of his dirty little secret. But she had insisted that he meet her, and he had reluctantly agreed, warning her that he only had until ten, and then he had to “be somewhere.” Don’t worry, she’d assured him—she had to be somewhere later, too. And she did: Since Mallory never responded to her text, she made a little date with Poppy, during which she would either be celebrating the result of her meeting or taking out her frustration.
While the ’roid rager at the door made her wait, she silently fumed, thinking to herself that if Billy had failed to put her on the list he was going to seriously regret it. But the planning of her retribution was premature; sure enough, the Door Lord unhooked the red velvet rope, and to the envy and anger of everyone in the line behind her, she was granted entry to the mecca of New York City nightlife.
She made her way through the dark entranceway to the elevator, waiting alongside Josh Duhamel and an actress from
Gossip Girl
—she couldn’t tell which one because with their bland, generic attractiveness they truly all looked the same to her. She could tell they were both looking at her and wondering who she was. With her cropped blond hair, inked-up arms, and killer bod, people scrutinized her wherever she went. But celebrities were especially attuned to up-and-comers who might push them from their perch at the top of the food chain.
Gossip Girl
—she couldn’t tell which one because with their bland, generic attractiveness they truly all looked the same to her. She could tell they were both looking at her and wondering who she was. With her cropped blond hair, inked-up arms, and killer bod, people scrutinized her wherever she went. But celebrities were especially attuned to up-and-comers who might push them from their perch at the top of the food chain.
The elevator deposited them at the top floor, and Violet sauntered into the room. She’d been inside once before, to the celebration party for
Gruff
magazine’s “Hot” issue last spring. It was the night she’d discovered Mallory Dale. She’d never forget looking across the room and seeing her for the first time, wondering who she was, and learning—to her delight—that Mallory was a newbie burlesquer, like herself. But Mallory “Moxie” Dale was in the inner circle, with her journalist boyfriend and her new gig at the Blue Angel. Violet was still laboring in the shadows of the dom world, picking up burlesque gigs here or there at the Slipper Room or Public Assembly in Williamsburg. And then she told Billy, her dom client, that she needed a more high-profile gig. And he introduced her to Penelope Lowe at the Slit. And word got out to Agnes that there was a hot new girl in town, and Violet got the prestige gig—the Blue Angel. And that got her closer to Mallory—but not closer to her goal of more money and more recognition. And that’s why she was taking matters into her own hands. Whoever said there wasn’t a shortcut to success was an idiot. And probably not successful.
Gruff
magazine’s “Hot” issue last spring. It was the night she’d discovered Mallory Dale. She’d never forget looking across the room and seeing her for the first time, wondering who she was, and learning—to her delight—that Mallory was a newbie burlesquer, like herself. But Mallory “Moxie” Dale was in the inner circle, with her journalist boyfriend and her new gig at the Blue Angel. Violet was still laboring in the shadows of the dom world, picking up burlesque gigs here or there at the Slipper Room or Public Assembly in Williamsburg. And then she told Billy, her dom client, that she needed a more high-profile gig. And he introduced her to Penelope Lowe at the Slit. And word got out to Agnes that there was a hot new girl in town, and Violet got the prestige gig—the Blue Angel. And that got her closer to Mallory—but not closer to her goal of more money and more recognition. And that’s why she was taking matters into her own hands. Whoever said there wasn’t a shortcut to success was an idiot. And probably not successful.
She found Billy at a table in the back talking to the hip-hop artist Nicki Minaj.
“Oh . . . Violet. Do you know Nicki?”
Violet shook her head, and the woman smiled sweetly at her, extending her hand.
“Okay, doll,” Billy said to Nicki. “I have some business to discuss, but I will call your manager on Monday and talk to him about the cover. But you heard it from me first—we want Nicki Minaj on the cover of
Gruff
by the summer.”
Gruff
by the summer.”
After a few more pleasantries, the woman strutted off, leaving Billy to shift uncomfortably in his seat across the table. Clearly, he was not a fan of the impromptu social encounter.
“I have to admit, I was surprised to hear from you like this,” he said.
“Pleasantly, I hope,” she replied. He didn’t respond. “Well, you don’t seem to be in the mood for small talk, so I’ll get right to it. As you know, no one is more aware of your tastes and interests than I am,” she said, and he squirmed noticeably. “And while I don’t share your kinkier proclivities—although I’m happy to service them for the right price—we do have one passion in common.”
“And what’s that?” he said, visibly annoyed. She was fascinated how different he was at the club, in his element—Billy Barton, arbiter of cool. Oh, if these people only knew!
“Burlesque, of course.”
He seemed to relax.
“Yes, we have that interest in common. So what?”
“So I have an idea I am hoping you will be excited about: I want to open my own burlesque club. Something like the Slit, but more exclusive.”
“Okay. Sounds good. Go for it.”
“I intend to. But I’m not here for your cheerleading. I need you to bankroll it. We’d be partners.”
“Violet, I have no interest in owning a burlesque club. They aren’t exactly cash cows. And besides, I’m putting everything I have into keeping
Gruff
afloat. Do you have any idea how difficult the magazine market is right now? The last thing I need is a vanity project on the side.”
Gruff
afloat. Do you have any idea how difficult the magazine market is right now? The last thing I need is a vanity project on the side.”
“All you need to do is write a few checks. I’ll run the dayto-day, recruit the talent, the PR people. You can use your contacts in the press to make sure the club opens as the biggest thing to hit Manhattan since Studio 54. Or you can choose to be a silent partner and just let me worry about making it a success.”
“I just told you, I don’t have the interest—or the cash flow, frankly—to open a club right now. Even if I wanted to, which I do not.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Billy. But unfortunately for you, I’m not willing to take no for an answer.” Violet felt an adrenaline rush just saying the words. She knew there were two types of people: predators and prey. And, as a predator, she loved going in for the kill. Yes, she would have her club. And then she would have Mallory. Of course Mallory didn’t want her yet—anyone worthwhile wanted to fuck their way
up
the food chain, not laterally. Violet was newer on the scene than Mallory; she had no clout. But when she owned the club, Mallory would want her. She’d heard the rumors about Mallory and Bette. Such a cliché: new girl at the club fucks the star. But she would forgive Mallory that pedestrian move. Bette was a hot piece of ass as well as being a star. As for herself, she knew it was too late for her to outshine Mallory on the stage. But she had found her shortcut to the top, and once she was there, Mallory would want her.
up
the food chain, not laterally. Violet was newer on the scene than Mallory; she had no clout. But when she owned the club, Mallory would want her. She’d heard the rumors about Mallory and Bette. Such a cliché: new girl at the club fucks the star. But she would forgive Mallory that pedestrian move. Bette was a hot piece of ass as well as being a star. As for herself, she knew it was too late for her to outshine Mallory on the stage. But she had found her shortcut to the top, and once she was there, Mallory would want her.
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