Naked Angel (19 page)

“So what’s stopping you?”

Billy sighed. “I thought I was protecting you. But then I had a talk with Harvey, and he said I was going along with Violet’s blackmail to prevent myself from being outed.”

“Is that true?”

“It’s a little of both,” Billy said. This honest conversation stuff was really difficult. It was so much easier just to have sex. But he supposed if he wanted Tyler, he had to try to be in a relationship. He would just have to get used to what his shrink called “emotional honesty.”

“Well, don’t do it for me. I’ll talk to my manager. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with the fallout. I love you, and I don’t want you to be under this crazy woman’s thumb anymore.”

Billy looked at him with amazement. “You would do that for me?”

“Yes,” Tyler said without hesitation.

Feeling stupid for privately lamenting the emotional demands of the relationship, Billy stood and walked to the other side of the table and wrapped his arms around Tyler.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. So how are you going to handle it?”

Billy straightened his back, thinking for a minute. “Right now, our private life is giving Violet a loaded gun. She holds our relationship over my head and threatens to shoot. If I put the information out there myself—and control when and how it gets out—she has nothing.”

“She has the photos she took during the dom sessions.”

“If she releases those photos, she will go to prison for blackmail. She’s been cashing my checks for almost a year.”

“So why didn’t we just go to the police in the first place?”

“I had no proof she was blackmailing me. Did you want me to pull a Letterman? Then everything would have been public. I paid for the club; I bought us some time to come to terms with this. And now we have.”

“How are you going to do it?”

“Darling, I’m a magazine publisher. And the online version of that magazine gets more hits than the
Daily Beast
and
Huffington Post
combined.” He handed Tyler his phone. “Call your manager and your publicist. By the end of the day, we will be out.”

Justin rolled over in bed. His first thought was that the party had been a huge success. Max Jasper’s interruption of the show had created the type of drama they couldn’t have
paid
someone to create. It further cemented the Baxter party reputation of being the place to expect the unexpected.

The only disappointment of the night had occurred right here, in his bedroom. He couldn’t believe how Gemma had freaked out on him. Okay, so he owed her some money. But that shouldn’t get in the way of the physical chemistry they shared.

Then again, he had to see things from her perspective. He hadn’t paid her for the costume work, and he was married to another woman. What was he able to give her?

He would just have to clear up this money issue with Martha. It was time for her to loosen the purse strings. He had never pushed her on a financial issue before, but he had to hold firm on this one. What was the point of being in the marriage if he didn’t have any financial freedom?

Martha was already in her second floor office. Justin knew she was consumed with her latest product idea: It was some sort of spray-on anal sanitizer that would enable couples to engage in rimming without the health risks.

He knocked on the open door.

“Come in,” she said, looking up from her laptop. She was still in her robe, but had changed from her bedroom slippers to the orthopedic shoes she wore.

“I’m surprised you’re up so early,” he said.

“I know. Creative juices are flowing. The party was great last night, baby. You did it again!”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“The show was fantastic. I love those girls. I wish Mallory would take me up on the offer to plan something for her wedding.”

Justin nodded, wondering how best to segue the conversation. Then he got it: “I think the next thing Mallory’s focused on is the Las Vegas Burlesque Festival,” he said. “Which brings me back to the conversation we had a few weeks ago: I need to pay that costume designer to keep her on board.”

Martha swiveled her chair, enabling her to face him without craning her neck.

“We already discussed this.”

“Not to my satisfaction,” Justin said.

“Yes,” Martha purred. “I suspect this
is
all about your satisfaction. And the answer is no: I’m not giving you money for that woman.”

Justin couldn’t believe he had put himself in the position of having to ask his wife for money. What had possessed him to think this arrangement was a good idea? Sure, it worked as long as they both wanted the same thing. But now he was bumping up against the limitations of the deal, which brought to mind something Dr. Phil had once said: “When you marry for money, you pay for it every day.”

“You said you fully supported the investment in The Painted Lady.”

“And I do. But this isn’t about The Painted Lady, is it?”

Here it was: the moment of truth. He could lie and try to save his marriage, or he could set himself free.

“No,” he said.

“You’re fucking that blonde?”

“Yes,” he said, each word full of reckless abandon. He hadn’t felt this good since he had trashed his bedroom in eleventh grade.

“You realize what this means, don’t you?” she said, her tone distressingly businesslike. “You won’t get a penny in the divorce.”

“I understand,” he said, his mind already flipping through a mental address book of rich friends he could ask for a loan—just enough to get Gemma her money. Just enough to get another taste of that pussy.

“You have one day to pack your things and get out,” Martha said.

It was madness, he knew. But then, he’d known on some level that this day would come. Could a marriage like theirs really have lasted forever? Besides, the world was full of rich, horny women.

For now, he needed to focus on one poor, fantastically hot one.

T
he woman onstage ground against the stripper pole to the Nine Inch Nails song, “Closer,” wearing only a G-string and a pig mask. Violet wished the act had come later in the night, so Gemma could have seen her.

Violet felt a tapping on her shoulder.

“Gemma Kole is here to see you,” her assistant said. Violet squinted in the dim light, and there she was—her dirty blonde.

Violet pulled out a chair for Gemma to sit.

“Just in time,” said Violet.

“Is your investor here already?”

“Any minute,” Violet said. “But I wanted you to catch Spider’s act. She’s my ace in the hole for the Las Vegas Burlesque Fest. She’s a burlesque dancer
and
a contortionist.” The woman had her left leg around her neck while ascending the pole.

“Wow. Yeah, I see that. And I can see where she gets her name. We have to decide on a theme for the costumes, and I have to get the girls’ measurements ASAP. There is no time.”

“What was the theme you were working on for Mallory Dale?”

“Ballet Russes,” said Gemma.

“That sounds retarded—I don’t even know what that means. We’ll have to come up with something else to use. I’m thinking something cool—like a comic book. Any ideas?”

“I . . . don’t read comic books,” said Gemma.

“Violet, let’s make this quick. We have somewhere else to be,” said Billy Barton, appearing at the side of their table.

“Nice to see you, too, Billy. Billy, this is Gemma Kole, the genius costume designer we’re bringing on staff.”

Billy nodded vaguely in Gemma’s direction, then turned to take in the action on the stage. “You call that burlesque?” he asked.

“For your information, this wave of neo-burlesque is all about incorporating other elements of erotic entertainment,” said Violet.

“Like stripping?”

Violet rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to be the ‘silent’ partner.” She noticed Tyler hovering behind him. “Oh, you brought your butt buddy. Good to see you again, Tyler. Both of you, follow me to my office. Gemma, excuse me for a few minutes. Enjoy the show while I take care of some business.”

Violet felt a surge of pride as she led Billy and his hot little sidekick through the club. She noticed that a few of her patrons recognized Tyler. Of course they would: He was on half the buses and billboards in the city. If they only knew that the hottest male model in town was on a steady diet of tube steak.

“Down these stairs,” Violet directed.

“I know where the office is, Violet. And there’s no need to make a big production out of this. It’s going to be a very quick conversation,” Billy said.

“Oh? Do you want to just hand me the check? If so, I won’t belabor the point.”

She opened the door to her office and closed it behind them.

Billy and Tyler exchanged a look. “There isn’t going to be a check,” said Billy.

“Cash is fine,” said Violet.

“I’m done,” said Billy.

Violet looked at the two men standing in front of her office sofa. They looked calm and vaguely amused.

“Don’t fuck with me, Billy.”

“Oh, I couldn’t be fucking with you less. Why don’t you go onto
Gruffmag.com
and see for yourself.”

Violet shot him a dirty look before opening her razor-thin laptop. She uploaded the magazine site and gasped when she saw the color photo below the masthead: It was Billy embracing Tyler, both of them shirtless, tanned, and distressingly beautiful, on a beach somewhere obviously tropical. The headline read, “Letter from the Editor: My Summer of Love.” She skimmed the first paragraph, in which Billy wasted no time in declaring to his readership that—to paraphrase—
he’s here, he’s queer, get used to it
.

Heart pounding, she closed the laptop.

“Nice photo,” she said, spitting out each word like chips of ice. “But I have a few pics I think your readership would be more interested in.”

“How many checks of mine have you cashed in the past nine months, Violet? You know, the prison term for blackmail can be pretty steep in New York State,” Billy said.

Violet considered this, calculating her options. She realized that Billy Barton’s bank account was no longer among them. She would, of course, have to avenge herself. But for now, her priority was damage control.

“You can see yourselves out.”

She turned her back to them, her mind already racing through the financial puzzle she would have to solve. How much money did she have in the account to run the club? Enough for another month or two, tops. She would have to find another influx of cash. What was the most immediate and likely source of funds? Winning the Vegas Burlesque Fest. And what did she need to do that? Great costumes. And so she needed Gemma Kole now more than before. But what had happened when Justin Baxter promised money and then failed to deliver? Gemma had walked. Violet had to figure out a way to keep her on board until after the competition. She knew from her career as a dominatrix that there were only two things that motivated people: money and sex. She couldn’t offer money just yet, but if Gemma’s little display at The Cellar last night was any indication, Violet might be the only person who could offer her what she wanted sexually—things Gemma herself didn’t even know she wanted. Certainly, Violet had enough tricks up her sleeve to keep Gemma on the line until next month.

Long enough to win Las Vegas.

M
allory paced the Painted Lady stage.

In the middle of the afternoon, the club was empty, except for Alec and Bette sitting at a front table.

“If we’re using costumes inspired by the Ballet Russes, I think everyone has to incorporate some element of ballet into her performance or it’s not going to make sense,” Mallory said.

“The Ballet Russes is
not
sexy,” said Bette. “Burlesque is about art, but it’s about sexuality, too. You’re getting too cerebral about this.”

“Where was this insight when we agreed on the concept?” said Mallory.

Bette narrowed her blue eyes at her. “I tried telling you it was a lame idea, but you’re so infatuated with your little ballet pet, Nadia, that you lost sight of the big picture.”

Mallory sat on the edge of the stage, her legs hanging off. She realized she had not sat in that position since her eighth grade play, a production of
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
.