Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque) by Logan Belle Page B

tattoos.”
    “Unbelievable! Virgin flesh. Phenom. You’re first of the night. Go down that hallway and turn right. When you’re finished, find me. I’ll take a photo. Oh—and if you want a better hat, Brenda Waites Bolling is debuting her fall collection in the library.”
    With that, she turned her attention to the shark on Alec’s arm.
    Mallory made her way through the crowds to the hallway, stopping only to take a mimosa from a roving cocktail waitress. She wore an elaborate hat that looked like a peacock sitting on her head.
    At the end of the hallway, she walked through an archway to find a small, well-lit room with a woman seated at an easel surrounded by paint. She had artwork propped up all over the room, elaborate colored-pencil sketches of nudes, flowers, ornate crucifixes, and old movie stars.
    She had waist-length brown hair, a wide nose, and smiling brown eyes. Her arms and legs appeared to be covered in splattered paint, but on closer look, Mallory realized the swathes of vivid color were tattoos.
    “Is that... Are those . . . ?” Mallory had never seen anything like it.
    “Tattoos? Yes. Come on in.” She gestured at the stool in front of her.
    “I don’t want a tattoo,” Mallory said. The woman laughed.
    “I’m not a tattoo artist. I’m a painter.”
    Mallory stared at her leg. It looked like a Jackson Pollock.
    “It really looks like paint.”
    “That’s the idea,” she said. “I got them from Amanda Wachob.”
    Mallory sat on the wooden stool.
    “So what’s the deal with this? Penelope told me I had to come to this room if I didn’t have a tattoo.”
    “I’m going to paint one on,” the woman said. “I’m Celeste.”
    “Mallory,” she said. “So how does it work?”
    “You can describe an image to me, or pick one from my drawings or paintings.”
    “How long will it last?”
    “The paint?”
    Mallory nodded.
    “You can completely remove it later tonight with baby oil. Or if you want to keep it a while, just tape Saran Wrap over it while you shower. If you don’t protect it while you shower, it will start to crack and wear off in a few days.”
    Mallory stood and looked through the paintings and sketches. She didn’t see anything that she could live with on her body, even just temporarily. She couldn’t imagine how people could commit to a permanent design.
    “I don’t know. . . .” she said.
    “Well, tell me about yourself. What do you do?”
    “I’m a burlesque dancer.” It had taken Mallory a while to be able to say that. In the beginning she had felt like a poser, and after three years of law school and half a year working at a Park Avenue law firm, saying she worked in law was almost as deeply ingrained in her as her name.
    “Cool,” Celeste said. “Where do you perform?”
    “The Blue Angel,” said Mallory.
    “I love that club! I haven’t been there in a while, but it was the first place I ever saw a burlesque show.”
    “It’s one of the oldest in the city. It featured burlesque when it was nowhere else to be found. Now burlesque is everywhere. Or, at least, everyone calls their shows burlesque,” she said, thinking of Penelope and the Slit.
    “I’ll have to come by and check out your act. Well, let’s think of an image for your painting. How about a blue angel?”
    “Sure,” Mallory said, liking the idea.
    “I can do like a sexy, Varga girl with wings or more of a straight-up angel. What do you think?”
    Mallory thought for a minute. It was a tough decision. This was why she could never get a tattoo.
    “You decide,” she said.
    “I say go for the hot chick,” Violet said. Mallory turned, having not even realized she had entered the room. Celeste looked her up and down.
    “I can see you don’t need my work.”
    “No, I don’t,” Violet said. But they were looking at each other in a way that told Mallory they might like to work each other over—in bed. “Mind if I watch?” Violet said to Mallory.
    “No,” she said.
    Violet took