Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque) by Logan Belle Page A

should have said something earlier,” Alec said. Obviously, Violet was in the clear, and Alec had a shark on his left arm. But Mallory had not yet succumbed to the needle, to the amazement of her fellow burlesquers.
    “I wasn’t finished,” Violet snapped. “If you don’t have a tattoo, someone there will give you a temporary one.”
    “Like the kind children wet and press on?” he said.
    “Why don’t you just wait and see?” she said.
    Mallory and Alec exchanged another look. With a smile, he rolled his eyes as if to say, This night was your idea .
    The door opened to a majestic space that, with its high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and antique furniture, perfectly matched the elegance of the building that housed it.
    The richly appointed backdrop was incongruous with the Rihanna-Eminem song playing over the sound system and the hipster crowd showing lots of skin and yes, ink-covered skin at that.
    A super skinny, tall, blond Ann Coulter look-alike greeted them at the door. She wore a towering purple hat festooned with feathers and semiprecious stones. It was the most remarkable headpiece Mallory had ever seen. Mallory thought she looked familiar—like she had seen her picture in Page Six or maybe the New York magazine “Intelligencer” pages.
    “Come on in! I’m Penelope. Do you mind if I take a photo of your tattoos? It’s for an art project.”
    “Sure,” Violet said.
    “I loooove this,” the woman said, twirling her finger in the air around the purple flowers on Violet’s chest. She aimed her digital camera for the shot, then proceeded to take photos of Violet’s back and arm while Mallory and Alec stood off to the side.
    “This is weird,” Mallory said to him.
    “Would you rather be home watching TV?”
    “I feel like I’m on TV. Maybe this is all a setup for someone’s reality show.”
    Penelope turned to them.
    “I know you,” she said to Mallory.
    “No, I don’t think we’ve met.”
    “I’ve seen you in my club. I never forget a face from my club,” she said dramatically.
    “What’s your club?”
    “The Slit. I’m Penelope Lowe.”
    Now Mallory knew why she looked familiar. Penelope Lowe was a notorious party-girl heiress who owned the club the Slit. Most true burlesque performers bristled at Penelope’s calling her shows burlesque—they were more highly sexualized performance art.
    “Oh, sure. Great place. I saw your Christmas show last year. My friend Bette Noir brought me.”
    “I love Bette! How is she? No one sees her anymore now that she’s a celebrity.”
    “She’s great. She does a lot of shows in LA because that’s Zebra’s home base.” Zebra was the eccentric, flashy, pop music superstar who had turned Bette from a burlesque performer to a tabloid staple and fashion icon.
    “You should do a show with us sometime.”
    “Thanks, but I’m exclusive to the Blue Angel.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous! Agnes has to get with the times and relax a little. You girls are the only ones who don’t rotate throughout the clubs here, and it’s only going to hurt your careers. I mean, who does the exclusivity help? Only the old lady.”
    “Well, she gave me my start, and I’m happy there,” Mallory said. She looked at Violet, who had not gotten her start at the Blue Angel but who was benefiting from the consistency and quality of the shows there. She hoped she wasn’t going to use this as an opening to pad her schedule. Or maybe Mallory should hope she would—and in the process, get herself fired from the Blue Angel. That would end the little problem of having her in Alec’s face all the time. But she felt conflicted because she was protective of the Blue Angel; she wanted Agnes to remain on top.
    But Violet had already mixed into the crowd, and Mallory didn’t know if she’d even heard Penelope’s invitation.
    “Fair enough,” Penelope smiled. “So show me your ink—burlesque dancers always have the best work.”
    “I don’t have any