Naked Angel (25 page)

M
allory stood in the center of a terrace suite at the Cosmopolitan Hotel in Las Vegas.

They’d booked the rooms long before Martha had pulled the plug on the cash. Now it was an extravagance that unnerved her, but at the same time one she couldn’t help enjoying.

“Vegas is like LA on crack,” she said to Alec, sprawling out on the bed. The room had to be one thousand square feet, with sliding glass doors that opened to a private terrace with amazing views of the city skyline—including the faux Eiffel Tower.

“That’s why they call it Disneyland for adults,” he said.

“Is that what they call it?” she said. “Hmm. I wonder if what happens here really stays here.”

“I can think of one thing I wouldn’t mind leaving with,” he said, climbing onto the bed next to her.

They had an hour until it was time to register for the conference, and she had just one idea of how to spend it. She curled up against him, running her hand down his chest to the bulge in his shorts.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” she said.

“A wife.”

She pulled her hand away from his pants.

“Very funny,” she said.

“I’m serious. I know it stresses you out to think about planning a wedding. And I know you’ve been busy. But look—here we are . . . Vegas! Quickie wedding capital of the world. Problem solved.”

He kissed her.

“You’re serious?” she said slowly.

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“Alec, listen: I love you. And I’m sorry I’ve put all this other planning ahead of our wedding. I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m going to focus on setting a date and making some plans as soon as this competition is over and we know we have The Painted Lady on track. I’m really sorry—I want to marry you so much. But I do not want to go to some cheesy Vegas wedding chapel. I want to get married in a way we’ll always remember, surrounded by friends.”

“You want a big, traditional wedding? Because I’ve been getting the distinct feeling you’re avoiding that. Or maybe you’re just trying to avoid marriage altogether.”

“I’m not! As soon as this competition is over, it’s my top priority.”

“Aren’t you at all curious what kind of wedding I want?” he asked, putting her hand back on his hard cock.

“Does talking about marriage get you this excited?” she said.

“Clearly, it does.”

She knelt by his side and unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down over his hips. She stroked his cock through his boxers for a moment, then pulled them off, too.

“Okay, tell me what kind of wedding you want,” she said, untying the single strap of her sundress. With one motion, the yellow cotton fell from her shoulders, exposing her breasts.

“You are going to be the hottest geisha ever.”

“I’m not dressing as a geisha, silly. That’s Japanese. Our costumes are Chinese.”

“I knew that,” he said, stroking her breasts. “But I don’t know a Chinese word for a sex maniac like you. What did they have in China if they didn’t have geishas?”

“They had concubines,” Mallory said, taking off her underwear.

“Concubines! Of course. Were the concubines, like, in sexual servitude?”

“Basically,” Mallory said.

“Men had it so easy back then,” he said. “They should only know what we put up with today.”

“Shut up!” She smacked his hand playfully.

“Hey—you’re my concubine. No back talk. Sit on my cock.”

She smiled, more than willing to play along. With a knee on either side of him, she straddled his waist. He reached forward and stroked her clit with his thumb, then pressed his index finger deep inside her. She ground against his hand until she was slick with her own juice, then pulled his hand away and lowered herself onto his stiff cock.

When he was fully inside her, he gripped her ass, holding her against him as the thrusts of his pelvis set the rhythm. He didn’t often come when she was on top, and she suspected it had something to do with her being dominant in that position. But even with her on top, he was clearly the one fucking her, each stroke deep and hard.

“Oh, my God,” she gasped.

“Turn around,” he said, smacking her ass. She climbed off him and got on all fours.

Her cell phone rang.

“Ignore it,” he said, fingering her pussy from behind. He replaced his finger with his cock, entering her roughly. His hands gripped her hips, and he slid his cock in and out with agonizing slowness.

“You feel so good,” she said, and his movements became faster. She felt the swell of pleasure building, and then a sense that his cock was almost vibrating inside of her. His thrusting became more intense and rhythmic, and she came just as he cried out.

When he finished, he pulled out slowly, and she collapsed onto her stomach. She rolled over into the crook of his arm, his chest damp with perspiration.

“That felt unbelievable,” she said. And then her phone rang again. She reached for it.

“Let it go to voice mail,” he said.

“I can’t. All evidence to the contrary, this is a work trip, remember?” She kissed him and pressed the button to answer it. “Hello?” she said, still a little breathless.

“Is this a bad time?” Bette said.

“Sort of,” Mallory said.

“Perfect—because I have bad news.”

“Don’t joke around.”

“I’m not joking, babe: I can’t make it to Vegas.”

“What? You have to be here. You have to! The show is in two days. If you can’t make the rehearsals tomorrow, fine. But you have to be here by Saturday. We need three girls to qualify.”

“I can’t leave the set—the schedule is all fucked up, and Saturday is a shooting day.”

“Bette, if you don’t get your ass to Vegas, I am going to shoot
you!
”

“No can do, babe. It’s killing me—seriously. But there is nothing I can do.”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Mallory said. Alec reached for her hand.

“Chill out,” Bette said. “This is show business, baby. Sometimes you have to improvise. Remember when I had to bail on that show for Justin because I had to be in Vegas?”

“You didn’t have to be in Vegas—you were choosing to run off with your superstar lover. . . .”

“The point is, I didn’t panic. What did I do?”

“You had me step in.”

“That’s right—I trained your sorry ass. And Mallory, need I remind you, you didn’t know a tassel from your own tit. . . .”

“Yeah, okay, I get it. Bette, you can’t even compare the two events. There was nothing at stake that night.”

“That’s your whole problem with this thing, Mal. You’re putting too much weight on it. It’s just a show. Take a deep breath and tell yourself that over and over again until you get it through your head.”

“I still need three performers to qualify, even if it is ‘just’ a show.”

“Babe, I have to run. I wasn’t even supposed to leave the set for this call. You’ll figure something out. I have faith in you, Moxie.”

Mallory hung up the phone.

“Bette’s not coming,” she said. Even as she said the words, she could barely believe it.

“Why the hell not?”

“They rearranged the shooting schedule. She has to be in Toronto.”

Alec pulled on his boxers and started pacing the room. Mallory sat still on the bed. She was furious at Bette, even though she knew it wasn’t really Bette’s fault. But she felt terribly let down.

“I’m so mad at Bette! She never should have committed to doing this show. Or I should have known better. Either way, we’re just fucked.”

“Calm down. Getting hysterical does not help.”

She looked at him and tried to do as he said: She took a deep breath and then another. He sat next to her and took her hand.

“Obviously, we need a replacement dancer.”

“Who is going to fly out here in time to learn the routines, rehearse, and then perform the day after tomorrow? We don’t have one girl capable of that.”

“We have someone here who knows Bette’s routine . . . who has watched it a dozen times and who stood in for a costume fitting when Bette didn’t have time.”

Mallory realized where he was going.

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

“Do we have any other choice?”

Nadia and Max stopped in front of the nine-foot tall, red, high-heeled shoe.

“Something tells me that’s not just here for the burlesque convention,” she said.

“I feel like the burlesque convention is just background to all this other art,” said Max.

Everywhere they looked, there was art: on video screens, projected on walls, in the middle of the lobby. Even in vending machines: They had old cigarette machines converted into “Art-o-mats”—you put coins in and got an original sketch or painting.

“I have to admit, this place is better than I thought it would be,” Max said, his arm around her.

Everything was better than she’d thought it could be—and not just the hotel. The last three weeks with Max had been the purest joy she’d ever experienced off the stage. Without the burlesque issue between them, they were like two giddy lovers on a honeymoon. She felt him giving more of himself to her, not holding back. And she was able to be more herself with him; she spoke about the loss of ballet, and didn’t feel she had to act like she had it all figured out and replaced with burlesque. She felt, for the first time in a long time, a complete absence of pressure. She felt like herself, but an older, wiser, calmer version of herself.

“What did you expect?”

“I was here for a convention a few years ago, and it was just awful. The place we stayed was like a facsimile of someone’s idea of glamour. I don’t remember the name of it—I think I blocked it out for my own sanity. I never wanted to come back to Vegas. But I like this place. I read that we have to see the Chandelier bar.”

“We’ll see it Saturday night—that’s where Alec and Mallory are having the party. Right now, I have to go upstairs and change into more comfortable shoes. Then I’m going to see if Mallory needs help arranging a practice space for tomorrow.”

“Don’t they give you practice space?”

“They gave all the troupes an assigned time to use the actual stage—it’s in one of the clubs downstairs. I think it’s the Bond room or something. But the thing is, there’s no privacy. Mallory and the girls can use the stage, but the other competitors could sit and watch them.”

“Got it,” Max said. “So tomorrow is just practice day?”

“Yes—Friday rehearsal, Saturday is the show and they announce the winner at the end, and Sunday is the awards ceremony.”

“You know what?” Max said. “I’m really happy to share the show with you as spectators. Are you okay with this?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I never intended to perform here. Even before I officially quit.” She put her arms around him, and he held her close.

They took the elevator up to the suite Mallory and Alec had booked for her. She had been thrilled when she’d first walked in that morning. Everything charmed her, especially the soft curves of the furniture—rounded, azure-colored couch, round coffee table, even rounded terrace furniture overlooking the fountains and the faux Eiffel Tower in the distance. There were square glass vases of fresh-cut white flowers in every room. Every corner seemed to hold a charming design detail—like the quirky wallpaper lining the inside of her closet.

Nadia retrieved a more comfortable pair of flats from her closet. She wondered if she’d ever feel comfortable in heels again. The doctor had assured her that in time, if she took care of her foot, it would feel normal eventually. The thought of someday being back in her favorite shoes helped ease the pain of never again being in
pointe
shoes. At least she would be able to dress up and feel like a lady, if not a dancer.

“Those red embroidered toe shoes that Devla made are really something,” Nadia said.

“I agree,” said Max, and she could tell he was watching her face with particular interest.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing. I just remember the way you looked at those shoes.”

“They inspired me.”

“Devla is as much an artist as the dancers.”

“Yeah. I could see that. So I was thinking, maybe I could find some satisfaction in working with costumes.” She felt nervous admitting it—it was as if she was quitting ballet all over again. But the look on Max’s face was worth it.

“Are you serious?”

She nodded.

“Babe, nothing would make me happier. And Devla is the perfect person to learn from. Oh, Nadia—I’m just so happy,” he repeated, kissing her and looking into her eyes. Her stomach did a little flip, the way it always did when he kissed her. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too.”

Her cell phone rang.

“Let it go to voice mail,” he said, kissing her neck. She was about to turn her phone off when she saw that the caller was Mallory.

“It’s Mallory. I’ll be quick. Hello?” she said.

“Hey—where are you?” Mallory said.

“In my room.”

“I need to talk to you—don’t go anywhere,” Mallory said.

“Can we make it a half hour or maybe . . .”

“It can’t wait. Just stay there. I’ll see you in five minutes.”

Nadia looked at her phone, then tossed it onto the blue couch.

“What’s that about?” Max said.

“I don’t know. But she’s on her way over here, so we’ll find out soon enough.”

The knock on the door came with remarkable speed.

“Were you standing outside my room when you called?” Nadia said as she opened the door.

“No,” Mallory said. “Max—good to see you. Devla did a phenomenal job altering the costumes for us. She’s amazing.”

“Yes, she is,” Max said.

Nadia was slightly unnerved by the stiff formality underneath Mallory’s light conversation. Max would never notice it, but Nadia knew Mallory well enough by now to understand that she was upset.

They sat on the couch. Nadia offered Mallory a drink—they’d already stocked the fridge with wine. Mallory said just water was fine for her.

“So, I’m here because there’s a slight . . . glitch in the weekend,” Mallory said.

“What is it?” said Nadia.

“Bette can’t make it. She’s held up on the set. And as you know, we need three performers to qualify—no more, no less.”

“Oh, no! Mallory, I’m so sorry. Are you sure Bette can’t make it even by Saturday afternoon?”