by Logan Belle
“It’s not that important. Did she ask you to do a show?”
“Yes, actually. Did you set that up?”
“In a way.”
“You’re not coming back?”
“I am back—I flew in last night. But I’m done at the club. I have to move on, Mallory. I told you from the beginning I want to be famous.”
“I need to see you,” Mallory said.
“You know where I live.”
Bette opened the door wearing a silver lamé jumpsuit.
“I see your love life is influencing your fashion choices,” Mallory said.
“You don’t approve? I think it’s hot.”
“You can pull off anything,” she said.
They sat on the couch. Mallory thought of the first night she’d come to Bette’s apartment. It felt like a million years ago. And she still hadn’t managed to make things right with Alec.
“Why aren’t you more excited about your gig at the Blue Angel?” Bette said. “A dozen girls would try to fill that slot in a heartbeat.”
“I am excited. But I’m so upset about Alec. I got back on Sunday, and he refused to see me. He found out about the Baxter party from Billy Barton, and he thinks I just lie to him constantly and that I go outside the relationship instead of including him in my life. And when I look at it the way he describes it, I can’t even defend myself.”
“There’s nothing to defend. You can’t change what you’ve done, or the fact that you want to be a performer. The only thing you can do is find a way to bring him into this world so he doesn’t feel like he’s losing you to it. He’s just feeling threatened.”
“I think the worst part for him is that I hooked up with you. He can’t forgive me for that.”
Bette took Mallory’s hand.
“I think the only way to fix that is to bring him into that part of your life, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wanted a threesome, and not only did it not happen for the two of you, you went off and hooked up with a woman on your own. Totally emasculating. You need to give him the threesome. That’s the only way to set things right.”
“And how do I manage that? Dial 1-800-Three-way?”
“I’ll do it with you.”
Mallory looked at her, searching for some hint that she was teasing her.
“Very funny.”
“I never joke about sex. Look, you know I’m not into guys, but I would hook up with you, and he could watch, or if he was dying to jump in I could roll with it to a point. I think it would change everything for you two. Get you back on track.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll think about it.”
“How would I even go about bringing it up to him? We’re barely speaking.”
“You’ll figure it out. Either the situation will present itself, or it won’t.”
“I’d do anything to get him back. Maybe I’d even give up the Blue Angel. But I don’t want to have to make that choice.”
“I hope you don’t have to. But for now, you have to stop thinking about all of this. You’re not going to be able to perform if you’re worried about Alec. Put it out of your mind. Take the chance—let Moxie have her moment. Then deal with your personal life.”
“Okay. I’ll try.” Mallory looked at the Us magazine on the coffee table. “Are you in this?”
Bette nodded. Mallory flipped through until she found a photo of Bette kissing Zebra at a Starbucks. “This is surreal,” she said.
“The paparazzi will be following me in New York soon. Zebra is coming in two weeks to kick off the East Coast part of her tour.”
“So you’re just going to follow Zebra around the world? What about your own career?”
“I’ll figure it out. Let’s worry about you now. You have eight days until the Valentine’s Day show.”
“I know. I’m not ready to choreograph something that quickly. I’m not sure what to do.”
“Why start from scratch? Do the ‘Lose You’ routine.”
“That’s yours.”
“Not anymore. I’ve never performed it in front of an audience, and you’ve mastered it.”
Mallory knew what a tremendous gift it was for a performer to share her choreography.
“You’re amazing,” she said simply.
“I know!”
“Do you think I should change it in any way to match the ‘love’ theme of the show?”
“The song is about not wanting to lose someone, so that works. But maybe the costume should be campier. Less dark and vampy, more in line with the romance theme.”
They thought in silence for a minute.
“Maybe I could dress as a cupid?”
“Yes! A sexy cupid.”
“And I have an idea of something I want to add to the choreography.”
“Go for it.”
“Where will I get the costume? I couldn’t sew my own clothes if my life depended on it.”
“I’ll take you to someone. But you’re going to have to pay for it.”
“Not only will I pay for the costume, I will pay for the cab. Show me the way!”
Bette picked up her BlackBerry. “Max, it’s Bette. Clear the decks—I have an emergency costume situation.”
“And one more thing,” Mallory said, as they headed out the door. “I need to stop at a Capezio dance store.”
“We’ll get the supplies at M&J Trimming.”
“They don’t have what I need anywhere but Capezio. Trust me.”
22
Valentine’s Day fell on a Friday night. Poppy had never been more excited to have a date. Unfortunately, because she had to get to the Blue Angel to perform, her date was a quickie in Patricia’s living room.
“I wish I could take you out for dinner,” Patricia said from between her legs.
“Aren’t you happy to eat in?” Poppy joked. She had never thought of herself as a humorous person, but Patricia brought out the best in her. She felt that she was finally in on the secret the rest of the world knew: love. It was the world’s best mood enhancer.
“I could eat you all night,” Patricia said, licking her clit. Poppy reached out and cupped her breast, then leaned down to kiss her.
“I have to get going,” she said.
“So unfair!”
“Think of it this way: I’ll be dancing just for you. And think of how hot it will be to come back here and fuck after.”
“I’d rather skip straight to the fucking part of the evening.”
Poppy pulled up her panties and grabbed her costume and handbag.
“Don’t forget to swing by Alec’s place on your way to the show. I don’t want him bailing on this. It’s important that he show up. Okay?”
“I won’t forget,” Patricia said unenthusiastically, still sitting on the floor. “By the way—I meant what I said when you first stayed the night.”
“What’s that?”
“That I’m a one-pussy type of gal. Do you think you can handle that?”
Poppy bent down and kissed Patricia on the mouth, tasting herself on her lips.
“I can handle it, all right,” she whispered. “And I can’t wait until you handle me later.”
Mallory’s hands shook as she brushed one more layer of pink glitter over her eyelids. Her cheeks were fully rouged, and her mouth was painted red with a thick layer of red glitter on her lips. She was still getting used to the dramatic effect color had against her skin now that her hair was red. If she hadn’t been sick to her stomach with nerves, she would have felt beautiful.
She stepped back from the mirror to make sure her costume was on right. Agnes had made her preview it for her before the show began, and she had reluctantly clucked her approval. How could she not? It was stunning—a white satin corset top with a short, full skirt created from layers of red feathers. She accented it with thigh-high white stockings, long, white gloves, four inch red patent leather heels, and large, red feather wings that strapped onto her should
ers and could be easily removed for her to use as fans. Underneath it all, she wore a red thong and red sequined, heart-shaped pasties. Most important, she had a pair of red satin pointe shoes. She’d only had a few days to break them in, but they would be fine for the five minute performance. And, for the finale, Bette had made her a red, sequined bow and arrow. They’d rechoreographed the ending so she finished the number by pointing the arrow at the audience.
“You look hot,” Poppy said. She was dressed in a nurse costume for her performance to Kesha’s “Your Love Is My Drug.”
“Thanks,” she said. She still couldn’t get used to this turnaround in Poppy’s attitude toward her. It was as if now that Bette was out of the picture, Poppy was her biggest supporter. She would never understand why Poppy had been so nasty to her in the first place, but she couldn’t think about it anymore. She had bigger things to worry about.
Kitty Klitty’s number was winding down. Mallory’s pulse raced. Rude Ralph went into his introduction.
“Our next performer is making her Blue Angel debut. She’s the brassiest, ballsiest, hottest redhead since Jessica Rabbit. Please give it up for Moxie!”
Mallory waited for the stage to go dark, then stepped through the curtain. She felt like she was going to have a heart attack. She tried to summon the calm focus she’d felt at the Baxter party, but couldn’t.
The music started, and she went into her first turn. She peeled off one glove, and the audience howled. She remembered that the energy at the Baxter party had been so different from the club’s energy, and she had missed the noise level. She let the crowd fuel her through the next series of turns, during which she removed one wing and used it as a fan to cover her breasts. She waved it open and closed teasingly as she removed her corset. She held the corset out to the audience, then tossed it aside to howls and hoots. She moved the fan to reveal her tasseled breasts, shimmied them, and the whistles almost made her smile. She shimmied into her tassel twirling, and the room erupted. Finally, she felt a groove. She sat in the chair that had been placed for her in center stage, and slowly removed her high heels with exaggerated movements. Then she carefully placed her feet in the toe shoes, taking a moment to caress her legs with the ribbons. The audience clapped their approval.
She stood up and did a series of chaîné turns to the front of the stage. It had been so long since she’d danced in front of an audience—the feeling of movement in the pointe shoes, combined with the music and her bare skin, almost brought tears to her eyes.
The audience went wild. With a graceful arc forward, she picked up one of the fans and covered her waist as she removed her skirt, then—with only a moment of hesitation—pulled the fan away, flashing her ass at the audience. Adrenaline raced through her, and she found that mindless space where she was just moving to the music without thinking. Her next step was one of her favorite parts in the routine: the Clam Shell with the fans. As she got into position, she felt confident enough to glance out at the audience.
It was a huge mistake. Like an animal in the wild whose eyes are drawn to the first sign of danger, she immediately spotted Alec in the crowd.
For a few seconds, she stood frozen like a deer in headlights. She couldn’t remember what to do with her arms. The audience clapped louder, as if her lack of movement was a choreographed pose. What if she just ended the performance like this? Just let the music play out to her standing frozen like a seminude statue? Of course, if she tanked the performance, she would be banned from the Blue Angel. But after this, she’d never want to get on stage again, anyway. What was he doing here? How could this be happening to her? The first time she’d stepped out as a stage kitten, she’d seen her boss. Now, it was her first performance and her boyfriend—no, ex-boyfriend, who despised the entire scene—was watching. It couldn’t be a coincidence, and she planned to find out who was behind it. Who would show up next to see her take off her clothes—her grandmother?
She glanced back at Alec. He looked so handsome, his hair dark and longer than she remembered. He wore a navy blue sweater, and she could imagine what that color did to his eyes.
And then he winked at her.
She moved the fans into position, and closed them around her in the Clam Shell formation. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself not to rush through it, and again recalled the languid grace of the Ms. Tickle performance.
The music built toward a finish. She got into position and then turned in a pirouette. When she stopped, facing the audience, she twirled the tassels and arched her back with her arms overhead. Then, with her arms still outstretched, she shimmied forward, and with an elegant sweep to the floor she scooped up the bow and arrow. She turned her back to the audience, shook her ass, then turned halfway and drew back the bow, pointing the arrow straight at Alec.
The stage went to black, the crowd went wild, and it was all she could do to catch her breath and find her way back to the dressing room.
“That was unbelievable!” Kitty Klitty told her. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Thanks,” Mallory said. She realized, sitting in a chair, that her legs were shaking. She heard Poppy’s music begin. Originally, she had planned on sneaking into the audience to watch Poppy’s performance, but now she didn’t want to move from the dressing room. Ever.
Agnes strode into the room and summoned Kitty to help her with something in the music booth. Mallory waited for a glance from her, some indication of whether or not she was pleased with her performance.
“And would it kill you girls to use classic burlesque music for a change? I can’t imagine Gypsy Rose Lee performing to this garbage. What is it with you kids?”
Mallory hadn’t realized, until she saw Agnes’s tiny frame and dark flashing eyes, how much she wanted not only her approval, but an invitation to return to the stage. She wondered how long her frozen moment had actually been. Maybe no one had noticed. But Agnes did not look in her direction.
Trying not to get upset, Mallory pulled her jeans out of her bag, and noticed the light on her BlackBerry was flashing.
I snuck in to watch. Congratulations! You killed. Nice pause you improvised—very dramatic Meet me out front asap . . . Xo B
Mallory smiled. Maybe Agnes liked the performance; maybe she didn’t. But the fact that Bette had showed up for her and said she did a good job . . . That was enough. Even if she never set foot on a stage again, she’d done it. She should be satisfied with that—enough for her to let it go and focus on what really mattered.
She wiped off as much body glitter as she could manage, and pulled on a black sweater. She stuffed her costume into her bag. With a glance in the mirror, she decided to keep her stage makeup on for a little while longer. If this was to be her last night as Moxie, she wanted it to last another hour or two.
“Where are you going? Aren’t you going to come out with us?” Scarlett Letter asked,
“Maybe—I’ll be right back.” Mallory threw on her coat and grabbed her handbag, making her way down the dark stage-side stairs. She wondered if Alec would try to find her.
Outside, Bette paced along the curb talking on her phone. When she saw Mallory, she ended the call and rushed over to her.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” she said, hugging her. “Did you love it?”
“Yeah, I did, I really did. Thanks so much for coming.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed it. The ballet shoe thing was brilliant. Your intro from now on should be ‘Moxie: the Burlesque Ballerina.’ ”
“I’m glad you liked it. The choreography felt good but . . . I freaked out for a moment—that’s why I froze. It wasn’t planned.”
“What happened?”
“I looked out at the audience and saw Alec.”
“He’s here?”
Mallory nodded.
“Is he still inside?”
“I think so. And Bette, I want him back more than I want anything else.”
“I’m telling you what to do: give him crazy sex with you
and another girl. It’s better than a Hallmark card.”
Mallory shook her head.
The door to the club opened, almost banging into her. She moved aside, then realized it was Alec.
“Hey,” he said. He held a bouquet of yellow roses.
“Alec,” she said.
“I saw you walk out here. Can we talk?”
“Yes! Of course.”
“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Bette said, sauntering off down the street.
Alec and Mallory watched her go, neither saying anything.
“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” he said.
“Alec.”
“What?” he said.
“There’s nothing between us to interrupt. I wish you would believe me.”
“I don’t want to talk about that now. I just wanted to tell you . . . you were amazing out there. I couldn’t believe it.” He handed her the flowers, and she felt tears in her eyes. He reached out and touched her hair. “Jesus. Is that your real hair?”
“Yeah.”
“You dyed it red?”
“Um, yeah.”
“It’s hot,” he said, smiling that devilish smile she missed so much.
“Alec.” She threw herself against him, and he put his arms around her tightly.
“I see why you are into this place, Mal. You look like you belong up there. You look like . . . someone else.”
“I’m not someone else! I’m the same person you love. And I want to have this with you—not alone.”
“I want that too, but it’s not just the dancing. You slept with someone else.”
“Um, well . . .” she looked down the street and saw Bette. “I want to have that with you, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re right—I was wrong to get upset with you about wanting to have a threesome and then going off and hooking up with Bette myself. I’m sorry. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. But I was thinking maybe the next best thing would be if you and I hooked up with Bette together. Then you’d know at the end of the day, it’s still us.”
He looked at her. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Say something,” she urged.