Blue Angel (19 page)

And that’s when she realized she didn’t have to worry about getting the interview. In fact, she was going to push for the cover.

M
allory stepped off of the plane and into the sunshine. It was incredible—you spend a couple hundred dollars and five hours on a plane, and suddenly winter was gone. It was just heat, palm trees, and dry air. She felt instantly relaxed, couldn’t stop smiling. Alec, the law firm, sleeping fitfully on Julie’s couch . . . it all seemed a million miles away.

“The air smells different out here,” she said to Bette.

“I know. Better, right?”

A driver met them at the luggage carousel, and carried their bags to the black town car for the twenty minute drive to their hotel in West Hollywood.

The Palihouse was a boutique hotel with an entrance so discreet it looked like a private club. The driver carried their bags down a short flight of wide, wooden stairs that led them into a wonderfully atmospheric lounge.

“We’re
staying
here?” Mallory said, taking in the vintage chandeliers, Moroccan tiled floor, distressed leather couches, and idiosyncratic design touches like antique birdcages.

“I know—I love it here. It’s Paris meets LA,” Bette said.

The check-in desk was just a simple wooden table manned by an adorable young guy who greeted them cheerfully. He handed them each a room key—an actual key, not the plastic card she was used to—and told them that all the information they needed for the weekend festivities was in their suite.

They rode the mirrored elevator up to the fourth—and top—floor. Bette opened the door to the room, and a song Mallory vaguely recognized was playing at low volume.

“What song is this?”

“ ‘I Feel Cream’ by Peaches. Which is a crazy coincidence, or maybe a good omen, because I’m performing Saturday night to her song ‘Lose You.’ ”

“This place is incredible,” Mallory said. “I’m not going to want to leave.”

“You can take the bedroom,” Bette said. “I don’t plan on spending much time asleep.”

Their room was like a hip urban apartment, with a huge living room with black carpet, exposed brick, moody photography, two white couches, and enough side tables and chairs for a small party. They had a full kitchen complete with a marble island in the center, a bedroom with a king-size bed, and enough closet space for a family. There was an ultra-sleek bathroom with black tiles, lots of mirrors, and a glass enclosed shower. “I feel like the coolness of this place is seeping into my pores.”

“Ooh—a gift basket.” Bette unwrapped a bottle of Dom Pérignon, some products from Bliss Spa, and a medium-sized black box.

“What’s inside?” Mallory asked. Bette handed it to her.

“Take a look.”

Mallory removed the lid, and inside was a pink satin pouch. She untied the pouch drawstring to find a hard, rubbery ball that was translucent; inside was another ball, like a little weight. The bizarre object had a looped, firm string attached. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s the famous Pike Kegel Ball!” Bette laughed.

“You’re joking.”

“No—I’m not. Martha made millions on that thing. Many satisfied customers will tell you that you are now holding in your hand the secret to having a super pussy.”

“I don’t get it—you stick this thing up your vag and then what?”

“You have to flex your pelvic muscles to hold it in place. It’s resistance training for your vagina.”

Mallory laughed and threw it at her. Bette ducked, and the ball landed on the couch.

“You have to try it before the trip is over. Stop being so closed minded!”

“I’m not being closed minded . . . but I am being closed vagina-ed.”

“With that kind of attitude I’m going to send you right back to New York.”

Mallory laughed and walked into the bathroom to wash her face and apply sunscreen, and was surprised once again to see her deep, cherry red hair. But she loved it—her skin tone looked entirely different, and she barely needed any makeup; her hazel eyes looked green; her under-eye circles seemed somehow diminished; and the natural flush to her cheeks was enhanced.

Bette waved an envelope at Mallory.

“He booked me a massage at Equinox on Sunset. I’m going to call and see if they can fit you in, too.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll go later.”

“No! It’s more fun if we go together.”

“I don’t know. I just lost my job—I shouldn’t be spending money like this.”

“I’ll put it on Justin’s tab. I told him I’m bringing a friend. It’s not a big deal. I’m calling now, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

*   *   *

Two hours later Mallory was wearing a white robe, sipping cucumber water, and relaxing on a lounge chair next to Bette on a deck overlooking Hollywood.

“My gym in New York overlooks a Gap and a hotdog vendor,” Mallory said.

“It’s pretty sick out here. Every time I’m here I think about moving.”

“Why don’t you?”

“The burlesque scene isn’t as strong. At least, not as supportive as what I’ve found in New York. Maybe that’s just my experience. Besides, you don’t want to be broke and struggling in LA. You want to be established and have money. New York on the fringe is cool and artistic. LA on the fringe is desperate.”

“Moxie and Bette?” A woman in an Equinox staff T-shirt called to them.

“You gave them my burlesque name?” Mallory said.

“Yeah. Out here you’re Moxie. All weekend. I’m serious—try it.”

“I’ll try it if you tell me your real name.”

“I’m offended you’d even ask,” she said, smiling.

Two women led them to the massage room, introducing themselves as Jessica and Amy. They left Mallory and Bette to get comfortable on side-by-side tables. Mallory shed her robe but left her underwear on and quickly climbed under the tightly folded white sheet.

“You have a hot body,” Bette said. Her robe was off, and she sat up on the massage table, stretching. Mallory couldn’t help looking at her perfect breasts—they still amazed her. She could barely believe she had touched them, held them in her hands, and had her mouth on them. It was as if she’d had a painting from the Met in her apartment for a few hours.

“You’re one to talk,” Mallory said.

“I still don’t get why you never wanted to hook up after that night. You seemed into it at the time.”

“Shh—they might hear us,”

“Who? The massage girls? They don’t care. Why are you so edgy all the time? You’re like a nervous little Chihuahua.”

“Oh, my God, I am not. I just don’t want to talk about this here.”

The masseuses returned and quietly took their places beside Mallory and Bette. Soothing music filled the room. Mallory closed her eyes, melting into the massage table as the woman pressed her warm, well-oiled hands into her sore muscles. Her mind clicked into floaty, stream-of-consciousness mode, and that meant that the thoughts she had been working so hard to keep at a distance found their way in: she missed Alec. She should be with him, getting ready for dinner together on a Thursday night, maybe stopping by Barnes & Noble on the way to dinner to buy two books that they would read and swap. On the way home they would stop by the bagel store to get bagels and lox, so they didn’t have to wait on the long, Saturday morning line. And they would debate whether they should make omelets or sandwiches and continue the ongoing debate about how long you can keep cream cheese in the refrigerator. Instead, she was stretched out on a massage table in a strange city next to a woman she barely knew, and who knew nothing about her. Her life with Alec felt like something she’d imagined, a dream she’d woken up from and wanted to go back to sleep to return to.

She felt tears, and willed them back. This was ridiculous—she was on a fabulous vacation in LA. She was traveling with a new friend, an interesting friend who was opening life up to her in a way she had never experienced. Bette didn’t care if Mallory failed at work, didn’t ask her how and when she would get a new job. And she was a friend who made her feel beautiful, showed her how to be beautiful.

The masseuse’s hands kneaded her neck, and she thought about how Alec used to make her feel beautiful. He was the first person to give her an orgasm. He was the first guy who told her that he loved her. And even though he sometimes checked out other women—blatantly checked them out—he used to tell her she was the hottest girl in the room—even when it wasn’t true. And yet he meant it.

But somehow they had stopped working.

She couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened. Julie had said something about it not being right since she got to New York at the end of last summer, but that wasn’t exactly accurate. It had been so exciting when she first moved into the apartment he had been sharing with his office buddy, Jared. Then Jared got a job working on Wall Street and didn’t need a roommate anymore, and she got the formal job offer from Reed, Warner . . . and it was perfect. They went shopping at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. They cooked dinner a few nights a week, and met for cheap dinners out at places like Two Boots pizza or a neighborhood diner. And at first, the only problem was that they didn’t sleep enough because they would wake up in the middle of the night and reach out, excited by the novelty of sleeping in their own bed, and make sleepy love like in a dream. Or in the morning he would step into the shower with her when she was getting ready for work and soap up her back . . . and her front.

But then things got busy at the magazine. And once her initial excitement at having a job wore off, she was exhausted by the monotony of her research work at the firm. And then Billy Barton invited them to more and more parties, where the women were “model hot” and dressed like they got all their clothes from Barney’s or Jeffrey or Scoop—which they probably did. She noticed how Alec looked at them—like they were untouchable but infinitely desirable. When they went home on the nights of these parties and he didn’t try to make love to her, she took it personally. She wondered if she just didn’t “do it” for him anymore. Was it because he was comparing her to all that New York had to offer, or because they had been together for four years and that’s what happened to couples who had been together that long and then started living together?

And then he’d brought her to that show on her birthday. Even though she was annoyed at first, the truth was, she liked that he would choose to do something unconventional. Any guy could take her to a place like One If By Land or a Mario Batali restaurant. Alec was always surprising, and she liked that, even if he pushed her in ways that made her uncomfortable. When he’d asked her to dance for him that night, it made her embarrassed but excited at the same time. She had read once that in the brain, the feelings of fear and the feelings of love are closely related. Somehow Alec had a way of setting her on edge that heightened her love for him. She’d never experienced that with someone before, and she wondered if it was possible to have it ever again.

“Turn over slowly onto your stomach,” the masseuse said softly. Mallory complied, flipping over while the woman held the sheet discreetly above her. When she was settled, the masseuse placed hot rocks at certain pressure points along her back. Mallory sighed, wishing she could stay on the table forever. She felt that if she could just have Jessica work on her knotted muscles long enough, she could figure out the whole mess her life had become.

When the hour was up, the masseuses left Mallory and Bette to relax and get their robes back on. Jessica told them to take as long as they liked, that they should let themselves “slowly reawaken their minds and bodies.”

Mallory felt incredible. Her mind was quiet, her body felt limp, but every inch of her buzzed.

“You know what’s great at a time like this?” Bette said.

“No—what?”

“A good fuck.”

“Bette!”

“I’m serious. Have you ever had sex right after an intense massage? Your muscles and nerves are already primed—you will come in two seconds.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

“Why wait?” she said, sliding off her table. Her beautiful body glistened with massage oil.

“We talked about this. It’s not a good idea,” Mallory protested feebly. The truth was, she had been thinking about being sexual with Bette again, even if it was just one more time. She had been so nervous and upset about Alec the first time, she couldn’t fully enjoy it. But it had felt good, and she found herself thinking of the way Bette touched her and of the way it felt to touch her back—especially feeling her breasts, and feeling Bette’s soft lips and small tongue between her legs. She loved Alec too much to be with another guy—she couldn’t even think about it. But she needed the release of sex, and somehow letting Bette make her come didn’t feel like she was violating her relationship—even though she technically didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

“
You
said it’s not a good idea. I don’t remember agreeing.”

Bette moved to retrieve her handbag from the small table where she’d left it, and stood next to Mallory, where Jessica had stood during her massage. Mallory sat up but Bette pressed her gently down. “Don’t get up yet. You need to get your money’s worth.”