Blue Angel (28 page)

“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 shoulders 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.

“I have to admit, it’s an interesting proposition.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Now?”

“It’s probably now or never. Bette’s about two seconds away from becoming the girlfriend of the biggest pop star in the world. I don’t know when I’ll see her again after tonight.”

She waved to Bette to come back. Bette held up one finger— she was on the phone again. Mallory turned and hailed a cab.

“Get in,” she said to Alec. Then, to the driver: “We’re going to Rivington Street. But first we’re picking up that brunette on the corner.”