by Logan Belle
“I can’t! I have to do the Baxters’ party tomorrow night. I can’t bail on them. I don’t even know if any other burlesquers are going to perform. I know they have a few different types of performers, but I think I’m the only burlesque dancer. There are two girls from the Slit, but they are doing some crazy knife act. I know Justin really likes at least one big, beautiful dance routine. I can’t let them down. Even if I wanted to bail, I can’t afford to reimburse them for this trip.”
“They wouldn’t ask you to pay them back for the airfare and room, would they?”
“I don’t know. It’s pointless even to think about it, because I can’t let them down. I’ve been doing Justin’s birthday for the past four years. The Baxters booked me before I even had a regular gig at the Blue Angel. The money I’ve made on these parties has helped me avoid getting a day job to support myself.”
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing to do.”
They sat in silence. Mallory looked up and saw herself in the mirror, still surprised at the red hair. She thought about Justin’s comment last night when Bette had introduced them: he said it had been a long time since he’d seen such a beautiful redhead. Then his wife launched into a whole conversation about how they thought Nicole Kidman was miscast as Satine in Moulin Rouge.
“They could have found someone hotter,” Justin had said.
“Like you,” Martha had said to her.
Now Mallory looked at Bette, who was close to tears. She had never seen Bette emotional before, and it moved her.
“I can do your routine for you,” Mallory said.
“What?”
“Teach me your routine. I can learn it in a day. I was a ballet dancer—I’m a fast learner. I met Justin and Martha last night. They told me they thought I was hot and even said weird stuff like that they would have rather seen me cast in Moulin Rouge than Nicole Kidman.”
“They said that?”
“Yeah.”
Bette seemed to consider it.
“That’s really amazing of you, Mal. But I don’t know how I can expect you to learn this in a day and perform for the first time in front of hundreds of people at the Baxters’ party. No offense, but you freaked out the first time you walked on stage as a stage kitten.”
“That was because my boss was there! No one knows me here. I really will just be Moxie. Seriously, I won’t blow this. Let me do this for you. You’ve done so much for me.”
Bette looked into her eyes. “I don’t know what to say,” she said.
“Say yes. It’s time for Bette Noir to go on tour with Zebra. And it’s time for Moxie to make her debut.”
In the morning, Poppy did something that was, by any measure, colossally stupid: she called Alec and asked him to breakfast.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.
“I’m not trying to hit on you,” she said. “I mean, come on— I do have my pride.”
“I’m not sure of the point then,” he said. Men!
“I want to talk.”
“Okaaay. Can you come uptown?”
Poppy felt like she had vertigo anywhere above 24th Street. Alec named a diner on 81st and First Avenue.
“That’s sort of out of the way,” she said.
“Not for me—I live on 83rd.”
“Okay,” she agreed. After all, she was the one who’d suggested breakfast. She hoped it was a cute place, like the one called Friend of a Farmer with the amazing French toast. Or the French country one called Danal. Come to think of it, that place had a cat roaming around it, too. Maybe she should suggest it—keep the vibe going from last night. But no—this wasn’t about hooking up. She wasn’t going to fight a losing battle. But she did have to know why Mallory was better than she was—to everyone and in every way.
She couldn’t waste money on a cab and the 6 train took forty-five minutes. By the time she arrived at Gracie Mews Diner, she was cold, tired, and cranky. Making things worse, it was just a plain old Greek diner. They could have gone anywhere!
“So what’s up?” Alec asked. He was already at a booth near the window. The waiter poured her a coffee without even asking if she wanted any. That scored some points, at least.
She wore leggings, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, knee-high UGGs, and faux-fur coat. With her aviator sunglasses and careless, unwashed blond bob, she was by far the sexiest looking woman on the Upper East Side. Alec barely seemed to notice.
“I feel weird about last night,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” said Alec. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone back to your place. It’s not that I’m not attracted to you—because I am. Who wouldn’t be? Christ, look at you.”
Poppy smiled.
“But like I said last night . . . I’m really hung up on Mallory. I spoke to her this morning, though. I’m hopeful maybe things will work out.”
“So why aren’t you having breakfast with her?” Bitchy much? Okay—but she had a point, so that made it okay.
“She’s in LA.”
Poppy felt her stomach tighten. The coffee sloshed around like acid.
“She’s not there for the Baxter party, is she?”
He shrugged. “It’s some sort of party, I think. I don’t know. Bette Noir was invited out, and Mallory tagged along. I guess she needed to clear her head, too. This has been a really tough time for us.”
Poppy’s head was spinning. How did Mallory get invited instead of Poppy—after she’d let Justin fuck her like crazy?
“Is Mallory performing?” Poppy asked. If so, she was going to make thousands of dollars. And Bette would probably like her even more.
“God, no,” Alec said.
“How do you know?” she pressed.
“She’s not a burlesque dancer, Poppy. Okay, so she likes hanging around that club, but I think it’s just a phase. She resents moving here and feeling like she’s in my life. I think she feels like she needs to prove that she’s her own person or something. And she’s being reckless and stupid about the whole thing. But when I spoke to her this morning, she sounded like her old self.”
“I don’t understand why everyone loves her so much!” Poppy wailed.
“Who’s everyone?”
“You. Bette. Agnes. Justin Baxter. I just want to know why. Can you tell me?”
“Who is Justin Baxter?”
“The guy hosting the party in LA.”
“Mallory has nothing to do with that party. I told you that.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. The Baxters have a way of sucking people into their craziness.” She signaled the waiter and ordered more black coffee.
“What does that mean?”
“They have these wild parties, and let’s just say it’s easy to get caught up in the moment. Besides, I can’t believe Justin would pay for her to fly all the way out there and not ask her to perform. He’s not running a charity.”
“I told you, she’s not a burlesque performer. And she told me she wasn’t there for the party, and I believe her.”
“Whatevs. Anyway, if you had any doubt, I’m sure you could ask Billy Barton to give you the lowdown on the party.”
“What does Billy have to do with it?”
“Nothing, except I know he’s going to be there.” She could tell Alec was thinking hard about that little bit of information.
“She has no reason to lie to me.”
“Except she knows you don’t like her hanging out at Blue Angel. Or any other burlesque scene. And why is that, by the way?”
Alec sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“For one thing, it’s hypocritical: she never liked when I went to strip clubs or watched porn because she said it made her feel like she wasn’t enough for me. Then she wants to hang out at a place where it’s all about titillating other guys? How am I supposed to feel about that?”
“That’s not what burlesque is all about.”
“Okay, spare me the post-feminist deconstruction of burl
esque. I’m a guy, and to guys it’s hot women taking off their clothes. Period. We don’t care about the music and the costumes.”
“Fair enough,” Poppy said. “Now tell me one more thing: what does she have that I’m missing? No offense, but I’m ten times hotter than she is. You said it yourself last night—I could be a model.”
“First of all, to me she is the most beautiful woman in the world. Period. And we’re amazing friends, and we have great sex. And whenever I think of my future, she is the one by my side. I can’t explain it any better than that. I can’t imagine anyone making me as happy as she does.”
Poppy blinked at him. Would anyone ever feel that way about her?
“What do you mean by ‘great sex’?” she said.
“Oh, come on, Poppy. I can’t get into this with you.”
“Seriously. I have great sex. And it never amounts to anything. It’s like, just a good feeling that evaporates—like eating candy.”
“Maybe it’s because you don’t have the emotional connection. You know, like when you think about someone all the time and can’t wait to talk to him or her.”
She did feel that way—about Bette. And now Mallory was in LA with her and the Baxters having God only knew what kind of crazy orgies. And Bette was probably falling in love with Mallory just like Alec had. It was so unfair.
“I do feel that way about someone. But I don’t think that person feels it for me.”
“You are probably underestimating him.”
“Her.”
“Her?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. I had no idea.”
“I’ve never had a girlfriend before. I’ve only liked guys. But I just can’t stop thinking about her. At first I thought it was because I wanted her to help me with getting ahead in the burlesque scene. But even when I was with you last night, I was thinking about her.”
“Ouch!”
“No—I mean, I was into being with you. Until you got up to leave.”
“I guess we were both thinking about other women.”
He smiled at her. She could imagine what it would be like to be in love with him, and how much it would suck to lose that. For the first time, she felt a little sorry for Mallory.
And then she realized something: If Alec and Mallory got back together, she could get Mallory away from Bette and still have a chance herself.
“I don’t think you should mention to Mallory that we hooked up last night,” she said quickly.
“Yeah, I was going to say the same thing to you. I was hoping we could maybe just pretend that never happened. No offense—it’s just that after talking to her today, I realize how much I want to try to make things work.”
“That’s a good idea.”
He shrugged. “But now that you’re telling me how she must be partying like a lunatic at this guy Justin’s place, I’m thinking I don’t know what is going to happen. Maybe she’s already moving on.”
“No! No, I’m sure she’s not moving on. Forget what I said about the Baxter parties. That was just my experience. You can’t go by me.”
“I guess only Billy Barton knows for sure. And believe me: if Mallory is at that party, I’m going to hear about it.”
“It’s just a party,” Poppy said weakly, backtracking as fast as she could.
“If she is lying to me about why she is in LA, how can we work on our relationship? And I hooked up with you. God, it’s so fucked up.”
“No! It’s not. Look, we didn’t have sex. And Mallory is probably just in LA shopping and trying not to be sad.”
Alec looked at her, his head cocked to one side as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle.
“Why are you suddenly on her side?”
“I dunno,” she said with a shrug. “Maybe I’m a romantic.”
“Ah, the proverbial ‘hooker with a heart of gold.’ ”
“I’m not a hooker!”
“Sorry—stripper with a heart of gold.”
“I’m not a stripper.”
“Okay: burlesquer with a heart of gold. That doesn’t have the same ring to it. At any rate, I’m still going to check in with Billy Barton.”
Poppy looked down at her coffee cup.
18
With the help of Mason from the front desk and two of the porters, Mallory and Bette moved most of the furniture from the center of the living room to a far corner, to make an open space. They borrowed a huge mirror from one of the other suites and propped it against one wall. In this makeshift dance studio, they got to the work of preparing Mallory to perform at the Baxter party. But three hours into their “rehearsal,” Bette had still not shown Mallory one step from the act planned for the party that would take place in twenty-four hours. Instead, Bette insisted on painstakingly teaching her the foundations of burlesque. Bette spent close to an hour just on the art of removing a glove. Mallory realized that the powerful effect of the burlesque performance was built on the tiniest motions, that it was about slowness and the reveal.
“Now you need to learn the bump ’n’ grind. I’m going to teach it to you the way I learned it from Jo Weldon.”
“Who is Jo Weldon?”
“A great performer who also runs the New York School of Burlesque. Now pay attention—it’s simple. Stand with your feet apart, knees slightly bent. Now, imagine an apple hanging from your right hip, an orange hanging from your left, and a coffee bean hanging between your legs. Okay, now bump the apple with your hip. Bump the orange. Now rotate your hips in a circle around the coffee bean.”
Mallory followed her directions, feeling stiff.
“Now do it in the opposite direction.”
She repeated it.
“Okay—good enough.”
“It doesn’t look as good as when you do it.”
“You can practice later. We have to keep moving. Now take off your shirt.”
“Why?”
“You’re going to try on some pasties, and I’m going to show you how to twirl the tassels with your breasts.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can. Everyone can.”
The pasties were gold sequined with fuchsia tassels. Bette whipped out some false eyelash glue from her cosmetics bag and coated the back of the pasties. When the glue was slightly tacky, she pressed them onto Mallory’s breasts, covering her nipples. Mallory was mesmerized just looking at herself wearing them, but she knew Bette was impatient.
“Okay, now shimmy.”
She shook her torso like she was trying to get a mosquito off her shoulder.
“Don’t just shake them—the tassles need to go in circles, not side to side. Open up your rib cage. That’s it. Try to isolate your ribcage from your hips.”
“I can’t—if I move my ribcage, my hips move. They’re attached.”
“They’re not attached. Here, sit on this chair. Now shimmy your shoulders.”
Mallory moved her shoulders and, sure enough, the deep pink tassels were airborne, twirling in circles.
“Oh, my God! It worked!” She stood up, maintaining the motion with her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror. With her red hair, bare, tasseled breasts, and twirling ability, she felt Moxie coming alive.
“There are a few variations I want to show you, but we need to keep moving. I wish we had a week to do this. Okay, we have to move on to using the fans.”
“Fans?”
“Yeah. I have big feather fans that I use for the act I’m doing.”
“Does that mean you’re finally going to show me the routine?”
“No, not yet. We have to do the basics of fan dancing. Then we’ll talk about the routine.”
“Can you at least tell me what song you’re using?”
“No. I don’t even want you thinking about the performance right now. I want you to learn.”
“I’m learning! So where are the fans? I didn’t even see them here.”
“One of my suitcases is all costume stuff, and I have them packed in there. I’ll be
right back.”
While Bette went to retrieve the fans, Mallory practiced twirling her tassels. She imagined facing a crowd of people as she did it, and it felt okay. It didn’t feel like it was herself, Mallory Dale, standing there with bare breasts with only sequins between her nipples and a bunch of strangers. It felt like she was in a play or a movie, like she was inhabiting a character who had nothing to do with her actual self. And yet, the character was in some ways the purest form of herself.
“Check these out. Gorgeous, right?”
The fans were not at all the small, Asian variety Mallory had imagined. Instead, they were giant, shell-like wings of black feathers.
“Wow. You got those in your suitcase?”
“Yes. Carefully. They’re collapsible. Ostrich feather.”
“Where did you get them?”
“Agnes has a friend who makes them. Okay, now watch me. And notice that with the fans, as with the gloves, it’s about the reveal. The fans only work if you are effectively concealing something with them. Make the audience want to see. Just waving them around randomly does nothing. You have to be strategic.”
She cupped the fans around herself as she moved, letting Mallory have only a glimpse of her leg, her arm, the arch of her back while her ass was concealed. Mallory knew that while it looked easy, she was going to struggle.
“You know what—before we get started I want to show you something. Do you have a laptop with you?”
“No. Why?”
“I have to show you just a gorgeous example of fan usage— sort of the effect I want you to go for when you perform tomorrow night. Let’s go downstairs and see if Mason will let us use his computer for a few minutes.”
Mallory changed into sweats, and they traipsed down to the lobby and found Mason at his desk on the phone.
“Sorry to bother you again.”
“Not at all! Anything in the name of art. What can I do for you ladies?”
“Can we check something out on your computer?”
He stood up and gestured for Bette to go ahead. She logged onto www.msticklearts.com and cued up a video on the home screen.
“Sit, watch, and learn,” she said to Mallory.
Mallory bent toward the screen, watching the dancer begin slow, deliberate movements. She suspected, by the arc of her back and arms, that the dancer had serious dance training. The music was slow, melodic, and haunting. The dancer moved with excruciating precision, her body perfectly attuned to the song. From what Mallory could tell from the poor quality video, the woman’s white costume was an elaborate bodice with a broad skirt of feathers not unlike the ostrich fans Bette had just shown her.
