Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque)

by Logan Belle

  Billy knew he should maybe deal with this catastrophe in private, but he hoped that Harvey would be a solid, calm voice in the crisis. As far as he was concerned, Tyler’s appointment this morning was perfect timing.

  “Hi, Billy,” the receptionist, Daniel, greeted him. Daniel was prettier than most of the female models Billy booked in Gruff. “Harvey’s in with a client.”

  “Tyler, right? I’m sure it’s okay if I go in. Can you ring him for me?”

  “Okay—let me check.”

  Billy looked through the magazines fanned out on a side table and picked up an issue of Gruff from two months ago. He was excited about their upcoming March issue. Alec had done a good job with the Kendall James interview. Having her on the cover was a great way to start the New Year. He could feel the magazine gaining clout on the newsstands, with advertisers, and with the A-list celebrities he needed to fill the pages. He was getting better writers, photographers… . He could really see himself taking on Graydon Carter and Vanity Fair in a year or two. This was no time for a scandal.

  After consulting with Harvey, Daniel gave Billy a flirtatious wink and showed him upstairs. He paused outside one of the service room doors, knocking gently.

  Harvey opened it quickly, mid-sentence, shooing Daniel away and closing the door behind Billy when he entered the small room.

  “You couldn’t stay away from him, eh? Oh, young love. I miss it,” Harvey said, washing his hands. “But if you were hoping for a show, you’re a few minutes too late. We’re all finished.”

  “What are you doing here?” Tyler asked, smiling. But his gleeful anticipation faded when he noticed the expression on Billy’s face.

  “I have a problem. Actually, we have a problem.”

  “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s not. Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  “Does this involve me? Good Lord, what could it be this time? I’m finally clean and sober, so I think I’d remember if I’d done something to merit a ‘Talk’,” Harvey said.

  “No—it has nothing to do with you, but I’m thinking you might be the voice of reason. Because I have a serious decision to make.”

  Harvey sighed, pressed an intercom button, and told Daniel to tell his next appointment he was running a half hour late.

  “This way, kids.”

  Billy and Tyler followed him to his office and took seats on his couch under a Jackson Pollock—a gift from one of Harvey’s clients. Harvey closed the door and sat behind his immaculate glass desk.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I told you that I spent some time at the Cellar… .”

  “Sure. Didn’t Roger turn you on to that place?”

  “Yeah. And I went for a while and got really hooked on this one dom who eventually slipped me her cell number and said she does house calls. I was getting paranoid about someone’s recognizing me there, so I started having her to my place. She’s incredible.”

  At this point, Tyler was looking very nervous. Billy took his hand.

  “I wanted to bring Tyler into it—he said he was game because it was important to me. So she came over last week and did a session with the two of us.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Harvey smiled.

  “It was good. Until she insisted on meeting up with me last night—and showed me this.”

  Billy slid one of the photos across the desk to Harvey.

  “What is it?” Tyler said.

  Harvey looked at it for less than a beat and shook his head. “What does she want?”

  “What is it?” Tyler repeated. Harvey handed him the photo. “Jesus, Billy! What the fuck is this? I can’t have this floating around. My agent just renewed the Burberry contract!”

  “I know, I know,” Billy said, squeezing his hand. “I’m going to deal with this.” To Harvey, he explained. “She wants me to bankroll a club for her.”

  “She wants cash?”

  “No. She wants me to be a partner in a club with her—she wants my money to back it, but she also wants me involved to use my connections to get the right people to the club.”

  “What kind of club? Like Tenjune?”

  “No. A burlesque club. Like the Slit.”

  The three men sat silently.

  “That photo cannot get out,” Tyler said. “It will ruin my career. Not to mention my life—my parents … oh, my God.”

  “First of all, it won’t ruin your career,” Harvey said. “Homosexuality doesn’t ruin models’ careers. It might jeopardize your relationship with Burberry, but your editorial work won’t dry up. You, on the other hand—“ He looked at Billy. “You are on the cusp of being a major player. Being gay is one thing, but this is not the most flattering expression of your sexuality.”

  “I know.”

  “I suggest you play ball. At least for a while. In a year or so, you might be able to risk shaking her off. Or maybe you’ll find something to twist her arm with. Either way, get the money together, hire someone to deal with the logistics, and buy some time until the day when Billy Barton is a media mogul too big to be pushed from the throne.”

  “It’s not the money I care about—it’s being played like this. Who the fuck does she think she is? I want to kill her.”

  “You need to be coolheaded about this.”

  “I know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I needed the voice of reason. Because my impulse is to tell her to fuck off and then find a way to squash her.”

  Tyler pulled his hand away and looked at him beseechingly, his big, heavily lashed brown eyes turned into pools of anxiety. And Billy knew that there was nothing to do but give Violet what she wanted. He could risk having his reputation take a hit. But he couldn’t endure his relationship with Tyler taking one.

  “There’s no other way, is there?” Billy said with resignation.

  “Not right now.”

  He looked at Tyler, reached for his hand again, and winked.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Tyler seemed to exhale for the first time since he’d seen the picture.

  “Well, then—my work here is done. I have to get back to business. The client I have waiting is a nasty bitch, and I’m sure I have hell to pay already. Feel free to stay here as long as you like and talk strategy. Don’t fret, boys. Everyone playing in the big leagues takes a hit every once in a while.”

  Harvey closed the door. Billy looked at Tyler, who was staring at the floor.

  “Hey,” he said, putting his hand under Tyler’s chin so he had to face him. “It’s going to be fine.”

  Clearly, Tyler didn’t agree. Billy felt terrible as he realized he was experiencing perhaps his first taste of failure in life. He was astute enough to realize that Tyler was attracted to him for the same reasons he, as a teenager, had been attracted to Harvey: Tyler saw him as someone to look up to, as a guide to the inner workings of the upper echelon of New York nightlife. And now, instead of being the buoy that Tyler needed and wanted, Billy threatened to be an anchor around his neck.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” he said, dropping to his knees on the floor. “I’m going to suck your cock so good you’ll forget all about this.” He unzipped Tyler’s jeans, reaching into his underwear to find his erection. He knew how much Tyler loved the way Billy fucked him—he was just his second male lover—and usually a little verbal foreplay was enough to get him hard as a rock. But, to his dismay, Billy found that Tyler was unresponsive to him.

  Not one to be easily deterred, Billy pulled down Tyler’s pants and underwear. He pressed his face to Tyler’s balls, inhaling their slightly sweet smell and licking them softly. He stroked Tyler’s flaccid cock until it swelled in his hand. Tyler shifted in his seat, and Billy cupped both hands under his ass, taking his increasingly engorged cock fully in his mouth. He massaged the outside of Tyler’s anus with his index finger, rubbing in small, firm circles until he elicited a moan. Then he used his free hand to once again work Tyler’s shaft, up and down in tandem with his lips and tongue.
Tyler had told him he gave the best blow jobs he’d ever had—better than all the girls in his high school and better than the one boyfriend he’d had his first six months in New York. This was interesting to Billy, because what Tyler didn’t know was that he was the first man Billy had ever sucked off. Since his first encounter with Harvey all those years ago, Billy had only received oral and anal sex, never given it. But Tyler’s beauty moved him to do things he’d never wanted to do before. Billy took great pride in the new sexual dimensions he had discovered with his young lover, and every time Tyler shot a load in his mouth it was sweet validation.

  He pressed his finger inside Tyler’s ass, just enough to tease him toward coming. Tyler moaned, and Billy probed deeper.

  No matter how stressed out and angry Tyler was about the Violet problem, Billy was determined to get him off. He needed Tyler to know he could take care of him—in the bedroom and out. Finally, Billy felt all the muscles in Tyler’s upper thighs and pelvis tighten, and he quickened the strokes of his hand and tongue accordingly. Tyler shouted and bucked against Billy’s mouth, coming in warm spurts that Billy greedily swallowed.

  When Tyler was still, Billy climbed back next to him on the couch.

  “Do you trust me to take care of things?” Billy said. His cock was so hard in his pants, he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave the room before getting off himself.

  “Yes,” Tyler said.

  “Good,” said Billy. “Now take care of me.”

  He unzippered his pants.

  Mallory could barely sit still at her desk. She’d slept only a few hours all night, her mind running an endless loop of kissing Gavin and the breakup with Alec. Now she was jacked up on three cups of coffee, her emotional pendulum swinging from the excitement of new attraction to the pain of letting go of her four-year relationship.

  Gavin had popped his head into her office first thing in the morning. Mindful of the legal secretaries right outside her door, he was all business, talking about a motion he needed to file for one of his clients. But his eyes locked with hers in a way that was anything but professional. Her heart pounded as she listened to him, and although she nodded, in truth she barely heard a word he said. She kept looking at his mouth, wanting to feel it on her skin.

  And then when he left the room, she could think of nothing but Alec. Can you say ‘head case’?

  Her cell phone rang.

  “What was that little freak-out of yours last night?” Bette said. No hello, no how are you. Usually, Mallory liked Bette’s straight-to-the-point conversational style. But that morning she knew it would be exhausting.

  “I don’t know. I guess I just wasn’t in the headspace to perform.”

  “Don’t give me that shit. This is me you’re talking to. Is this about your problems with Alec?”

  “No,” Mallory said.

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know. And I can’t really talk now. And I have to get some work done.” Or think about doing someone at work.

  “Meet me later today. I’m getting a new tattoo. You can keep me company and share your emotional pain to take my mind off of my physical pain.”

  “What design are you getting?” She thought of her shortlived painted burlesque angel.

  “The word freedom in Russian. On the underside of my wrist.”

  Last year, during Mallory’s mini-identity crisis as she evolved from budding corporate lawyer to burlesque dancer, Bette had taught her the Russian word for freedom, svoboda. She supposed Bette was now trying to remind herself of that as she nursed her heartache over the breakup with Zebra.

  “Text me where and when, and I’ll see you there.” She looked up to see Gavin in the doorway. “Gotta run. Later.”

  He came in and closed the door.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.”

  “I wanted to apologize for last night,” he said.

  “No need to apologize,” she said. “It was … I enjoyed spending the time with you.”

  “I know, I know. I did, too. But it was inappropriate. And as much as I’m attracted to you, it really shouldn’t happen again.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she said, fighting a sinking disappointment.

  “Plus, you have a boyfriend.”

  “We’re broken up. For now.”

  “For now?”

  “It’s complicated… .”

  “It’s okay. I get it. It’s like that with Susan and me, too.”

  “Gavin, really. No problem. Enough said.” She worked hard to keep her expression neutral.

  “Okay. Well, thanks for making that conversation easy. If you had debated me I don’t know if I would have been strong enough to resist.” He smiled his gorgeous dimpled smile.

  Gotta love those mixed messages. She didn’t know what to say in response, so she stayed quiet.

  He sat down on the chair across from her desk. “But I have been thinking about you. A lot. And I was wondering if you’d given more thought to what I said yesterday at lunch—about your retaking the bar exam.”

  “Actually, yes. I have thought about it. I’m going to register this week. I will have to cram to get prepared by February, but I’m going to do it.”

  Gavin slapped her desk. “That is excellent news.”

  “Wow. You’re more excited about it than I am. Not sure that’s a good thing.”

  “It’s all good, Mallory. I’m really happy to hear this. You know I’ll support you in any way I can.”

  They locked eyes, and Mallory felt how much he wanted her.

  “Thanks, Gavin. I appreciate that.”

  She couldn’t wait to run this insanity by Bette.

  Rising Dragon Tattoo was located on Fourteenth Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. Bette was waiting for her outside, dressed in a black, faux fur coat, leopard miniskirt, black tights, and four-inch platform clogs. But her trademark black bob was hidden under a knit cap, and oversized Kate Spade sunglasses obscured her face.

  “Did you dodge the paparazzi?” Mallory asked.

  “Since Us broke the news of my split with Zebra, they’ve left me alone somewhat. Ironically, now I miss them.”

  “Ah, paparazzi. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em.”

  “You’re teasing me but this sucks. I’m almost famous. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? But I think that’s going to change. My agent landed me an audition for the new Ben Affleck movie.”

  The parlor buzzed them in, and they climbed two flights of stairs. They checked in with the receptionist, a tiny woman with a mop of Raggedy Ann-doll red hair and tattoos covering every inch of her chest and neck.

  “I’m here to see Wendy,” said Bette.

  “Hey, Bette,” said a woman peeking around a corner. She waved them over. “I’m just setting up.” She was surprisingly “normal” looking—only a small tattoo of a mermaid snaked around her right bicep. Other than that, she was tattoo and piercing-free. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt, and her plain brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  “Hey. This is my friend, Moxie.”

  “Hi, Moxie. You can sit right here.” She pulled a stool over next to her station, a shelf filled with a rainbow of ink bottles.

  “So, Alec and I officially ended things last night.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re taking a ‘time-out.’ ”

  “Oh yeah? What’s his name?”

  Mallory could feel herself blush.

  The tattoo artist pressed a stencil of the design against Bette’s wrist and peeled it back, leaving the black-and-white outline on her skin.

  “That’s so cool,” Mallory said. “And, to answer your question: no one. This isn’t about anyone else.”

  “Yeah, right. Mallory, you’re insanely in love with Alec. There’s no way you’d be doing this if someone else hadn’t turned your head.”

  “Did I tell you the story of how we went to that party at the Plaza and that woman painted a fake tattoo on me?”

  The t
attoo artist turned on her instrument and pressed it to Bette’s skin. Bette grimaced slightly, but continued talking.

  “Nice change of subject, but yes, I remember. When Violet finger-fucked you, right?”

  “Shh! God, Bette.Yes. Thanks for reminding me. Anyway, it started me thinking that I’d like a tattoo. But it just seems like a huge commitment.”

  “It’s not that big a deal. You overthink the wrong things. What would you get?”

  “I was thinking of a burlesque dancer in a blue angel costume. But that’s not really appropriate anymore since I’m going to quit.”

  “What? Jesus, don’t hit me with that while I’m stuck in this chair and subdued with pain. Why are you quitting?”

  Mallory shrugged. “I don’t know what the endgame is. I’m barely paying the bills in this city as it is. I’ll never make money doing it, and, like you said the other night, if I’m not going to do whatever it takes to get famous and really be in the game for high stakes, why do it at all?”

  “I know I said that, but the truth is you have to do the thing you love in life or else you’ll be miserable.”

  “Well, that’s a nice sentiment. But this isn’t a movie.”

  “Again, who’s the new guy? Because this so isn’t Moxie talking.”

  “Okay, I’ll admit I have a slight crush on my boss. And part of what I like about him is that when I’m around him, I feel grounded. He’s calm. He talks to me about my work and life with this confidence and belief in me that I never heard from Alec. I mean, Alec told me I shouldn’t stop practicing law, but he said it more like I shouldn’t do something impulsive like quit—not that I should continue with it because it’s what I’m good at. I don’t know. And maybe some of the problems with Alec were because we were in this crazy burlesque universe.”

  “So you’re quitting the Blue Angel to have a more stable relationship, but you’ve ended your relationship?”

  “Yes.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “I’m doing the best I can.” Mallory watched the needle working the ink into Bette’s wrist, the loud humming of the instrument filling the room. “That looks really painful.”