Naked Angel (21 page)

M
ax watched the rehearsal from outside the glass.

His assistant choreographer, Pauline, was leading the group through their paces. He knew the dancers were aware of his observation. Anna, in particular, was showboating for him.

He had not slept with Anna since before the night he’d brought her to The Painted Lady. And since becoming involved with Nadia, he had not been with anyone else.

Was he wrong to put an end to things before he repeated the mistakes of the past? True, they were not his mistakes. But he had suffered because of them all the same.

Pauline glanced over at him, and he gave her the thumbs up. Satisfied that she had things under control, he left the studio for his office.

The paperwork for his budget was spread over his desk. As precise and ordered as he was in the studio, his desk and office tended toward chaos. What was that called? Entropy. He could stand the inclination toward disorder in his business, but not in his emotional life.

He logged onto his computer. The payroll program was still on the screen from early that morning. He minimized it and, though he knew he shouldn’t, he logged onto the Internet. He brought up Google Images and typed her name, “Janine Jasper.”

Always, he hoped the images were gone. But of course, nothing disappeared from the Internet. And sure enough, the blocks of photographs filled the screen, some grainy, some as clear as if they’d been taken yesterday. He didn’t click on any to enlarge, of course. He’d never looked at any of them closely. And yet, collectively, they were more disturbing than any single one alone.

They were what had driven his father to leave.

Max understood, in theory, that opposites attracted. But why had his father, the golden boy from Greenwich, Connecticut, a Yalie, and a superstar banker, thought he could make a life with a fetish model turned soft-core porn actress? Max certainly wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

Devla, his costume designer, knocked lightly on the door frame.

“Are we still meeting at ten thirty?” she asked, her voice soft. Her long, thick black hair was pleated in a single braid that fell over her left shoulder. Devla had been a twenty-year-old undergrad at Parsons when one of his girlfriends took him to a fashion show and he spotted her work. Immediately, he’d known she was a mega talent. He had invited her to intern with his costume designer, a guy named Brad Mead. When Brad defected to a rival company, Max asked Devla to replace him. He considered the hire one of his best decisions since founding Ballet Arts.

“I’ll be there. Just give me five minutes,” he said, shutting down his browser.

He couldn’t undo the sins of the father. But he could avoid repeating them.

“Is something wrong with the costumes? You’re freaking me out,” Mallory said.

Justin turned to Nadia. “Can you excuse us for a minute?”

Nadia shot Mallory a questioning look and left them alone.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?”

Justin took a deep breath.

“Remember I told you that I was in love with someone else—that I was cheating on Martha?”

“Of course,” Mallory said. “And that’s why you guys split.”

He nodded. “There’s more to it, though. The woman was Gemma Kole.”

Mallory gasped. “When did that start?”

“Opening night of the club. At my party.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“She ended things. And now she won’t do the costumes for Vegas.”

“She’s not doing the costumes for Vegas. Agnes is doing them.”

He shook his head. “No. I asked Gemma to do them. Haven’t you noticed she’s been doing the fittings?”

“Yes—because she’s Agnes’s assistant. I told you I was talking to Agnes about doing the costumes, remember?”

“I know. But I wanted Gemma to do them. And Gemma said she was too busy—Agnes had her working on everything. Gemma didn’t want more work. I said I would pay her on the side. And I intended to. She’s so talented, Mallory. I wanted her to be our exclusive costumer.”

“No,” Mallory said. “You wanted her to be your mistress. How could you put us in this position? Vegas is less than a month away.”

“I’m sorry. I really fucked up.”

This was a disaster. “I’ve got to talk to Agnes. I don’t understand—she’s been so busy these past few weeks. What the hell is she working on if not the Vegas costumes?”

Mallory grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

*   *   *

Gemma followed Violet into a luxurious apartment building on Park Avenue. A white-gloved attendant held the door for them, and Violet breezed past the front desk to gold elevator banks. Gemma’s favorite shoes, pink Celine heels, made a loud clacking noise on the marble floor.

“This is where I’m going to work on the costumes?”

“Yes. It’s a pied-à-terre owned by one of my customers. He’s in Amsterdam until Thanksgiving.”

“Does he know you’re using it?”

“I have a key. He’s a busy man: No need to bother him with petty details.”

They rode the elevator with an older woman leading a very tiny dog on a leash. The leash was covered with what Gemma guessed were hundreds of Swarovski crystals. Even in that building, it was hard to imagine an actual diamond leash.

The woman got off on the nineteenth floor. The doors opened for them on twenty-two.

Gemma followed Violet wordlessly down the carpeted hallway. The lighting was austere, the lives behind each of the doors quiet. No dogs barking, no sounds of children playing.

Violet slipped a key into the door of apartment 22B. The door opened to darkness. Heavy drapes were drawn against the afternoon sun.

“This place has northern and southern exposure, and the guy never opens the drapes,” Violet said, immediately pulling them open. Sure enough, light poured into the room, revealing gorgeous moldings on the ceiling, a spare and eclectic collection of antique furniture, and a large zebra-skin rug that covered the living room floor. “The guest bedroom is virtually empty. I figure you can set up shop in there.” Gemma followed her down a short, cream-colored hallway lined with black-and-white prints in identical black frames. All of the photos were of a blond child actress Gemma recognized from a spate of recent blockbuster films.

“His niece,” Violet said, by way of explanation. She opened a door to a room that was surprisingly large. And it was, as Violet had predicted, empty. “You can keep all the fabric, sewing machines, cutting boards—whatever you need—here. I’ll make you a key. And then as soon as I have money we’ll get a real studio for you.”

“What do you mean, when you have money? You told me your investor bankrolls whatever you need. Those were your exact words.” Gemma tried to ignore the rise of panic in her chest. She’d already quit her job with Agnes. She’d actually been nervous to tell the old lady she was leaving, but the woman had barely blinked twice before simply wishing her luck and turning back to the white corset she was working on.

“Yes, well, there’s been a slight change in my funding arrangement,” said Violet. “But it’s just temporary. I have a lot of wealthy former clients. It’s just a matter of finding one to bring on board.”

“So you can’t . . . pay me anything?” Gemma felt faint. She sat down on the hardwood floor. Violet sat directly in front of her. Gemma looked into her eyes, which truly were cat-like, so very green with pupils narrowed into slits.

“Keep it together, London. I told you, this is temporary. And to make up for the inconvenience of this little bump in the road, I’m prepared to sweeten your deal: When I find someone to pump some cash into the club, I’ll get them to set you up so you can start your clothing line.”

“Is that possible?”

“Of course it is. People either have a ton of money, or they don’t. Now, I can’t guarantee that they won’t ask for a partnership in the clothing line—you’re going to have to negotiate your own deal with them. But I’ll get you the money, for sure.”

“How long do you think this will take?”

“I don’t know! Jesus, you’re such a nervous Nellie.”

“What will I do for money until then? And how are you going to pay for the material for the costumes? You still want me to do the costumes for Vegas, right?”

“Of course. It’s even more important now than before. I need to win that prize money, and I need to win to make the club attractive to investors. That competition gets tons of press. Hell, the guy who sponsors it might be interested in buying into us, for all I know. I have the money for the costumes if you don’t go too crazy with expenses. It will be fine.”

“Fine for the club, maybe—but I don’t have any income. I quit my job with Agnes for you! You don’t understand how fucked I am.”

“Pull it together! This is America. You don’t have to work in a factory or live on the dole. It’s the land of free enterprise. Isn’t that why you came here?”

“I came here because New York is the fashion capitol of the world.”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret. It’s also the sex capitol of the world. And I suspect your talent in design is surpassed by your talent in domination.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That was an impressive little display the other night.”

Gemma felt herself blush.

“Seriously. You’re a natural,” said Violet. “You can make a lot of money with your talent. I suggest you and I take the show on the road—book a few gigs at The Cellar, find a few private clients. You won’t be worrying about paying your rent for long, I can promise you that.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Of course I am. I wear Vuitton, McQueen, and Louboutin. What do you think pays for it all? The cover charge at Violet’s Blue Angel?”

Gemma’s eyes widened. “Think about it,” said Violet. “And in the meantime, get working on the Tank Girl costumes. The stakes just got higher, Mistress London.”

M
allory rang the buzzer to Agnes’s studio. She was surprised to find the door locked and the first floor dark. Gemma must be gone already.

She buzzed again. After a few minutes, she saw Agnes slowly making her way down the winding iron stairs in the center of the room.

“What are you doing here?” Agnes said, opening the door. The belt around her waist was filled with pins, needles, and thread.

“That’s your greeting?” Mallory said. “May I come in?”

Agnes stepped aside with an exaggerated wave.

“I’m very busy,” Agnes said.

“Yes, I know you’re busy. You’re always busy. I’m just wondering what you’re so busy with,” Mallory snapped.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong is that while you are so busy, you let that British bitch take over the Vegas costumes, and now she’s
AWOL
and we’re screwed.”

“I thought you wanted her to do the costumes. That’s what she told me.”

“Why would I want
her
to do the costumes?”

Agnes shrugged. “She’s young. She’s beautiful. Fashion is for the young. I am past my time.”

“That’s ridiculous. This whole thing was a big misunderstanding, and now the Vegas show is three weeks away and we have no costumes. Can you step in and finish what Gemma started?”

Agnes shook her head. “I am working on something that I must finish. Then, I retire.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ve found love,” Agnes said. “After all of this time, love, again.”

Mallory sat down on the bottom step. “You’re in love? With whom? I didn’t think you ever left this studio. I mean, you’re out there dating?”

“No. Of course not. Dating is for young people. I found him on Facebook.”

“Facebook,” Mallory repeated.

“He was my lover in Krakow many years ago. And now we’ve found each other again. I’m going to meet him in Berlin.”

Mallory looked up at the ceiling, trying to process this turn of events.

“I’m happy for you, Agnes. I really am. And I don’t mean to sound callous or selfish when I say this, but I really need these costumes. Justin won’t be able to pay for the club after a month or so—we need to win the prize money in Vegas just to get us through the year. I know we have the best performers—I have no doubt. But Vegas is really showy, you know? We need costumes.”

Agnes nodded. “I wish I could help you.”

Mallory ran her hand through her hair. “You can, Agnes. You’re the best costumer around. Just give me two weeks of your time. I’ll find a way to pay you. Even if I could settle for someone less talented, who can I find on such short notice?”

“Ask the ballerina,” said Agnes.

“Who? Nadia? She doesn’t make costumes.”

“I know. But she is tied into dance. And where there are dancers, there are costumers.”

Mallory thought about that for a moment. “You’re right. I’ll ask her.”

Agnes headed back toward the stairs. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

“Wait!” Mallory called after her. “Can you at least tell me what you’ve been working on all this time?”

A small smile played on Agnes’s lips. “You want to see now? I was going to show you later. When finished.”

“I want to see it now,” said Mallory. Agnes beckoned for Mallory to follow her up the stairs.

Agnes pulled a garment bag off the wardrobe rack at the back of the room. Mallory sat on a chair, and Agnes unzipped the cream-colored plastic bag with a flourish. She removed what appeared to be a swathe of tulle, which Mallory realized was attached to a white, finely boned corset that was so narrow and delicate it almost looked like a period piece.