Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque)

by Logan Belle

  Despite the festive atmosphere, Mallory was tense. She noticed that for some reason, Poppy looked uptight, too.

  The dressing room was full. All the girls were there: Cat-o’-Nine-Tails, Scarlett Letter, Kitty Klitty, and, of course, Violet, who looked particular fetching, her green eyes almost glittering against her bright stage makeup.

  “What character are you supposed to be?” Kitty asked her.

  “Why don’t you watch me and find out,” Violet said, and Mallory could feel her eyes following her as she staked her claim on a vanity in the farthest corner of the room.

  Suddenly, a scream erupted. Mallory jumped, and then realized the MC for the night, Rude Ralph, had lurched into the room wearing an executioner’s costume and thrown a fake, decapitated head onto Kitty Klitty’s lap.

  “Get out!” Scarlett tossed shoes at him.

  He laughed and ducked, the shoes hitting the wall.

  “Hey, Violet, I need you to check the props you have out here and make sure we’re setting it up right. That thing is heavy.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Ralph bounced a rubber eyeball at Poppy.

  “Eww!”

  After a rousing chorus of “get the fuck out,” he left.

  “Ugh. So annoying. Why isn’t Alec here tonight, Moxie?”

  “He’s in LA interviewing Kendall James.”

  “She’s hot,” said Violet.

  Mallory focused on her makeup and costume, ignoring the bait. She was dressing as a super-sexy Snow White, in a blue corset with red bustier and custom cap sleeves with blue ruching that were reminiscent of Snow White’s traditional dress. Her ass was squeezed into yellow hot pants, under which a few inches of bare leg showed before her thigh-high white stockings began. Her favorite part of the costume was the mid-calf length white patent leather platform boots. On her head she wore a black, bobbed wig with a headband, and on her right arm she had a press-on tattoo of one of the Seven Dwarfs.

  Agnes, looking weary and a bit aggravated, opened the door.

  “The lineup is Violet, Poppy, Kitty, Cat, and Moxie with Scarlett.”

  Mallory was doing an act together with Scarlett Letter. They were performing to the Hole song “I Think That I Would Die,” off of one of Mallory’s all-time favorite albums, Live Through This. In the song, Courtney Love sang with melancholy and passion about loss, and the character Rose Red was central to the chorus. To accompany the tune, Mallory and Scarlett had choreographed a dark interpretation of the Snow White and Rose Red fairy tale. As she had told Alec weeks ago, they needed a bear on stage with them. Since Alec was gone, they had enlisted Scarlett’s boyfriend, Eric, who told them the last time he had been on a stage was his fifth grade Christmas pageant.

  “We have two stage kittens tonight because of all the costumes and extra glitter and who knows what,” Agnes said. “But be careful on the stage because they might miss this or that. I don’t need any problems tonight. That’s all. Moxie, I want to speak to you outside.”

  Surprised, Mallory put down her eyelash glue and followed Agnes outside, where they stood directly behind the stage curtain.

  “I see you have a special guest on the list tonight.”

  “Yes! Bette is here. Is that okay?”

  Agnes smiled. “Yes. Tell her to come by and say hi after the show.”

  Mallory felt good thinking about Bette in the audience tonight. She hadn’t forgotten that she would be there, but in all of her stress about Alec and trepidation about seeing Violet, she’d pushed the one bright spot of the night to the back of her mind. But she knew that once she was out there on stage, she’d feel the rush of knowing her mentor was there cheering her on. She could almost forget about Alec in LA, almost forget Violet’s eyes following her every move.

  Her BlackBerry beeped with a text:

  Sneak out and watch the first act w / us? Table in front. I’m with Martha and Justin.

  Mallory typed back:

  Is there a seat? Agnes will kill me.

  To which Bette responded:

  Blame it on me! We have a seat. Get your hot ass out here.

  Mallory smiled and threw on a robe.

  Out in the audience, she spotted Bette immediately. Even among the dark and glittering decorations, she was the most dramatic sight in the room, with her luminous pale skin, trademark black bob, and pillowy, heart-shaped lips always painted a deep, matte red. She was wearing a floor-length, red suede trench coat that must have cost a fortune. Mallory wondered if she was getting free clothes from designers now that she was being photographed everywhere with Zebra.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Bette said, jumping up when she saw her. She pulled Mallory into a hug, and Mallory felt all the eyes in the room on them. She remembered the first time she was at the club—she had spotted Bette before the show and had been immediately fascinated.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Mallory said. Justin Baxter and Martha Pike were at the table. “Hi! It’s great to see you guys.”

  “Hi, doll,” Justin said, hugging her warmly.

  The lights dimmed, and the audience settled down, a frisson of anticipation in the air. “So what’s the deal with this Violet chick?” Bette whispered.

  “You’ll see for yourself. She’s opening.”

  The curtain rose, and in the center of the stage was a floorto-ceiling pole. Mallory and Bette looked at each other. This was a first.

  The staccato, military-style opening to the Marilyn Manson song “The Beautiful People” began, instantly changing the vibe of the room from anticipation to nervous excitement. Violet appeared, wearing a Belle mask from Beauty and The Beast, a black leather jacket cinched tightly at the waist, black fishnet stockings, and combat boots. Her platinum, cropped hair was covered with a long, dreadlocked wig.

  She marched in place, her body rigid and almost robotic in motion. As the song picked up momentum, she unzipped the leather coat, baring her breasts, her nipples covered in skull and crossbone pasties. The crowd cheered and clapped wildly, and Mallory saw that Bette was watching the performance with rapt attention.

  The chorus of the song began, and Violet jumped onto the pole, clambering up it like a dark spider. At the midway point, she released both hands, and, supporting herself with only her legs, leaned back so she was virtually lying on her back in midair. And then, to the collective disbelief of the audience, she started rotating around the pole in a complete 360 degrees.

  “Oh … my … God,” Bette said.

  “I thought I’d seen everything,” said Justin Baxter.

  Mallory could only imagine what Agnes was thinking. She hated anything that smacked of stripper culture. To her, there was a world of difference between burlesque and the modern day strip club, and to blur the lines was the worst kind of affront to the discipline she’d built her life around.

  Violet continued to wind her body around the pole, finally leaping down to tear off her fishnets, leaving her in only a thong and combat boots and the Belle mask.

  “Walt Disney must be rolling over in his grave,” said Bette.

  “Agnes is probably digging one for Violet,” said Mallory. Bette laughed.

  At the end of the act, the audience whistled, cheered, and stomped their feet in a frenzy Mallory had rarely—if ever—heard before.

  She was torn between wishing Alec were there so she could talk about it with him, and feeling competitive and relieved he hadn’t seen it. She hated how exhilarated she felt from watching the performance. She had to admit it was the most interesting thing she’d seen onstage in a long time.

  It would be a hard act to follow.

  Mallory posed in the darkness, facing Scarlett and hearing the whispers and rustling of the audience. The curtain pulled back to reveal a makeshift forest—Agnes and Kitty’s handiwork of small fake Christmas trees and cardboard roses painted glow-in-the-dark white and red.

  The foreboding opening strings of “I Think That I Would Die” filled the stage, and Mallory felt a tremor of
delicious anticipation. No matter what else was going on in her life, the rustling and murmurs of a live audience waiting in the dark, giddy with expectation, would never fail to make her feel alive and powerful.

  Mallory and Scarlett moved into their choreography, skipping around the flowers in a circle. Scarlett’s costume was a mirror image of Mallory’s, except her bustier and boots were red, her hot pants were black, and she wore a long, cherrycolored wig. They both carried wicker baskets full of flowers, and Mallory carried a baby doll wrapped in a blanket. Eric lurked off to the side of the stage in his bear costume, waiting for his cue. When Courtney Love’s mournful lyrics began, he moved into the open so the audience could see him, and he inched closer to Mallory and Scarlett, the unsuspecting Snow White and Rose Red. Then he snatched the doll from Mallory’s arms—and removed her corset in the process—and retreated back into the shadows of side stage.

  Mallory felt the hot stage lights on her bare skin and heard the roar of the audience at the sight of her breasts, covered only with small pasties over her nipples. She felt the audience’s energy, and the heaviness of her mood finally lifted. She wished that she were not sharing the stage with Scarlett, because she had the urge to peel away the rest of her costume, to reveal her body to the audience as quickly as possible so she could feed on their excitement and adoration. This, performing, was the closest she had ever gotten to taking drugs, and she needed a dose that night more than ever.

  Scarlett was busy following the script of their carefully paced disrobing and removed her bustier to offer it to the freshly bared Snow White, who demurred. As the chorus began with the rousing “Rose white, rose red … ,” Snow White and Rose Red danced around the stage, “searching” for the bear, all the while shedding clothes. When they were down to their G-strings and boots, jumping up and down frantically, the tassels on their pasties twirling in unison, the audience roared their approval.

  While Mallory had liked the idea of the act when they planned and choreographed it, as she went through motions, it felt forced and unsatisfying. She didn’t fall into the groove she had felt the night of the Marie Antoinette performance, and although the audience didn’t seem to know the difference, she did.

  Eric reappeared on stage, and Rose Red and Snow White removed their shiny boots and, to rousing applause, hammered the “bear” with their shoes until he relinquished the baby and retreated, in defeat, back into the depths of the forest. Snow White and Rose Red bent over to retrieve their baskets, giving the audience a good long look at their asses, bare except for their floss-thin G-strings. The shouting and clapping reached a fever pitch, and Mallory and Scarlett, nude and barefoot, their respective white and red tassels twirling in triumph, skipped back amongst the flowers.

  Mallory didn’t experience her usual post-performance high. In fact, she felt like she had bombed.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Kitty Klitty said, when she confided this to her, near tears as she took off her fake eyelashes. “You’re always the best one.”

  “Well, thanks, Kitty. But I don’t think that’s true, and it’s certainly not true tonight.”

  “At least you’re not getting fired,” she said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “While you were onstage, Agnes came in and told Violet to pack her stuff and get out.”

  Mallory looked around the room. She had noticed Violet wasn’t there, but it wasn’t unusual for the girls to filter out to the club after their set.

  “She fired her?”

  Kitty nodded, and then asked, “Is Bette really in the audience?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you guys coming out with us? We’re going to Elixir.”

  “I don’t know, Kitty. I think Bette wants to keep a low profile. Everything’s different for her now that she’s with Zebra. She can’t go anywhere without the paparazzi stalking her, and I think she wants a quiet night for a change.”

  Kitty looked crestfallen, but Mallory was too distracted to try to promise to get Bette to meet up with her one night before she left town again. Instead, she went looking for Agnes and found her in her office.

  “Agnes? I’m going to meet Bette outside. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

  Agnes turned to her, a bitter expression on her face.

  “They liked it. I’ve never heard them applaud like that.”

  “Who? Liked what?” Mallory said, although she was fairly certain she knew what Agnes was referring to.

  “Violet’s stripper dance.”

  “Oh, well, they don’t know, Agnes. I mean, it’s all just entertainment to them. You can’t expect the audience to be offended that someone doesn’t do classic burlesque.”

  “Offended? They don’t even want burlesque. I think now they want to see strippers but to feel better about themselves to call it burlesque. The closer to stripping, the happier they are.” She shook her head. “My day is past.”

  “Don’t say that, Agnes. We have a full house every night. If people wanted stripping they could go anywhere else. Or they could go to the Slit to see something raunchier. But they don’t. They come here.”

  “For how much longer?” She waved Mallory away. “Go meet your friend. I will come say hello.”

  “Okay. We’ll wait for you outside.”

  But waiting outside proved impossible; when she met Bette at the front of the club as planned, Bette told her they couldn’t leave.

  “The sidewalk is literally jammed with photographers,” she said.

  “What do we do? Wait it out inside?”

  “They won’t leave until I leave.”

  “So what do we do?” Mallory repeated.

  “We need a cab. Or a car.”

  “I have an idea.” She texted Justin Baxter, asking if he could call a car for them. He said they were welcome to use his to get home—his driver was waiting for him and Martha around the corner and could take Mallory and Bette instead.

  “I didn’t think it would be like this here,” Bette said. “LA, yes—but this was my last bastion of sanity.”

  “Well, not anymore.”

  Mallory saw Agnes making her way toward them.

  “Welcome back, my bright star,” said Agnes.

  “Hey, great to see you,” Bette said, letting the older woman hug her.

  “The world is treating you well?” Agnes said.

  “I can’t complain,” said Bette. “Except I do miss my old home base.”

  “You’re welcome here any time. Just forewarn me next time so I can get security. These people are animals.”

  “Did you have a problem?”

  “I had to lock the door! It’s illegal but what can I do? They would have marched in here with their cameras… . I would have to call police but then, who knows what problems. So next time, tell me first, okay?” She patted Bette’s cheeks like she was a wayward grandchild.

  Mallory’s phone beeped.

  “The car’s outside. Let’s go. Thanks, Agnes. I might take you up on a little guest appearance sooner than you think.”

  Bette took Mallory’s hand, pulling her through the throng outside the door. It was a terrifying crush of bodies and cameras, creating a feeling so claustrophobic Mallory almost started hyperventilating. She realized the images of paparazzi ambushes on TV did not do justice to how terrifying the experience felt. Every instinct in her body turned to fight or flight, but she couldn’t do either; she had to follow Bette’s lead until the Town Car door was safety closed on them.

  “What a nightmare! How do you live with that?”

  “It’s not always that bad, and Zebra has a tight security team. I didn’t realize it would be like this even without her with me. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s not your fault. But we’re lucky Justin and Martha lent us the car.”

  “I guess I was deluding myself to think we could walk around and talk for a little bit.”

  “So where to?” Mallory said.

  “The Standard,” Bette told the driver.
/>   “Just like old times,” Mallory smiled.

  “Oh yeah? Is that an invitation?” Bette said.

  “Very funny. You’re practically a married woman these days,” Mallory said.

  “No,” Bette said. “I’m not.”

  “What do you mean? Did something happen with Zebra?”

  “I’ll tell you at the hotel.” She pointed discreetly at the driver. “I’ve been in enough tabloids this year to become paranoid.”

  “Wow. Your secrets are worth money.”

  “Every inch of me is worth money,” Bette said. “And I’m just getting started.”

  12

  Violet didn’t know what disgusted her more: getting fired after putting on the best performance of the night if not the history of the club, or the rabid throng of paparazzi waiting outside for Bette Noir. Who cared about her? So she was banging Zebra. Big deal—Violet had fucked the shit out of Ryan Ellison, and she didn’t make it into one tabloid. Hadn’t even gotten a mention on a stupid gossip blog.

  Her phone rang. When she saw the incoming number, she felt a surge of hope that the night could turn around yet. At the very least she could take out her aggression.

  “Mistress Violet,” she said.

  “It’s Billy. I know this is last minute, but are you free?”

  “No. I’m quite expensive.”

  “You know what I mean. Are you available?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “My apartment. But the thing is I have a … friend with me. Can you handle that?”

  “I can handle anything. But since I’m doing you a favor tonight, I have a little favor I want to ask you.”

  “Name it.”

  “Not now. Another time.”

  “So we’ll see you within the hour?”

  “I don’t have my equipment with me.”