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Authors: Logan Belle
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girls.
A knock at the studio door broke her concentration. She turned to see Alec waving outside the glass window. He waved her over.
“What are you doing here?” she said breathlessly, opening the door. Cool air rushed to meet her, making her realize how sweaty she had gotten. There was no workout like ballet—not Pilates, not yoga, not spinning—nothing.
“I want to take you to lunch. I know we have plans to meet later, but I couldn’t wait.”
“I still have a half hour left.”
“Mind if I watch?”
“No, of course not. I’d kiss you but I’m gross.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
She shook her head and returned to the studio. Nadia was packing her bag.
“I’m sorry. Is it bothering you that he’s watching? I can have him wait for me outside,” Mallory said.
“Why would I mind? I’m all about the audience. I just have to run—practice downtown.”
Mallory was amazed at the discipline and rigor of Nadia’s life. It was an endless chain of practice, rest, practice. She felt guilty complaining about how little time she had between her paralegal job and shows at the Angel. It was a cakewalk compared to what real dancers went through.
Now that she had the room to herself, she slipped the Marilyn Manson CD into the ancient, wall-mounted stereo. She was glad she’d saved her old CDs and even bought new ones every once and a while just because of the practice space.
She cued up the song, “Heart-Shaped Glasses.” It was her favorite song of the album, a dark, decadent Lolita tribute. The video featured a young Evan Rachel Wood, and it was rumored at the time that she had broken up Marilyn Manson’s marriage to the most famous burlesque star of the modern day—Dita Von Teese.
Mallory’s idea for the “Heart-Shaped Glasses” routine was to play with the audience’s notions of desire or what is desirable. Unlike most acts in which the performer starts dressed and slowly removes items of clothing, she would start the routine naked—in just a G-string and pasties. Her character would wake up in bed, stretching and teasing the audience with brief glimpses of her ass, her legs, her breasts. She would have to figure out the best way to get a prop bed on the stage—maybe just a folded comforter and a cardboard “headboard” and pillows would do the trick. She would cover the comforter with heart pillows and stuffed animals, and these objects would partially obscure her nudity while she stretched in an exaggerated awakening. Then she would need a vanity table, and she would sit in front of that in just her G-string and pasties, and put her hair in pigtails.
By that point, the audience might wonder what grown woman slept with stuffed animals and wore pigtails. And when she shimmied her breasts and pulled on her plain, starched white blouse and short, plaid schoolgirl skirt, the audience would begin to realize that they should not be desiring her. Mallory liked to find ways to provoke her audience, not just turn them on.
Excited with her idea, she grabbed her bag and met Alec outside the studio, throwing her arms around him.
“Um . . . you taste like salt,” he said.
“I have a great idea for an act to a Marilyn Manson song.”
“You and Marilyn Manson! I think his music is synonymous with sex for you because the first time you saw Bette perform, it was to one of his songs.”
“You might be right. Whatever the reason, I’m pure inspiration, baby.”
“What show are you planning this for? The Halloween show?”
“No—the theme for Halloween this year is ‘Scary Tales,’ so this wouldn’t work.”
“Fairy tales?”
“No— scary tales. We’re going to do dark takes on classic stories. I want to do something with Snow White and Rose Red. In fact—now that I’m thinking of it—we might need you to dress in a bear costume.” She kissed him on his cheek. “I’m going to get changed. Meet you outside.”
“A bear costume? That’s not what I had in mind when I got into
A knock at the studio door broke her concentration. She turned to see Alec waving outside the glass window. He waved her over.
“What are you doing here?” she said breathlessly, opening the door. Cool air rushed to meet her, making her realize how sweaty she had gotten. There was no workout like ballet—not Pilates, not yoga, not spinning—nothing.
“I want to take you to lunch. I know we have plans to meet later, but I couldn’t wait.”
“I still have a half hour left.”
“Mind if I watch?”
“No, of course not. I’d kiss you but I’m gross.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
She shook her head and returned to the studio. Nadia was packing her bag.
“I’m sorry. Is it bothering you that he’s watching? I can have him wait for me outside,” Mallory said.
“Why would I mind? I’m all about the audience. I just have to run—practice downtown.”
Mallory was amazed at the discipline and rigor of Nadia’s life. It was an endless chain of practice, rest, practice. She felt guilty complaining about how little time she had between her paralegal job and shows at the Angel. It was a cakewalk compared to what real dancers went through.
Now that she had the room to herself, she slipped the Marilyn Manson CD into the ancient, wall-mounted stereo. She was glad she’d saved her old CDs and even bought new ones every once and a while just because of the practice space.
She cued up the song, “Heart-Shaped Glasses.” It was her favorite song of the album, a dark, decadent Lolita tribute. The video featured a young Evan Rachel Wood, and it was rumored at the time that she had broken up Marilyn Manson’s marriage to the most famous burlesque star of the modern day—Dita Von Teese.
Mallory’s idea for the “Heart-Shaped Glasses” routine was to play with the audience’s notions of desire or what is desirable. Unlike most acts in which the performer starts dressed and slowly removes items of clothing, she would start the routine naked—in just a G-string and pasties. Her character would wake up in bed, stretching and teasing the audience with brief glimpses of her ass, her legs, her breasts. She would have to figure out the best way to get a prop bed on the stage—maybe just a folded comforter and a cardboard “headboard” and pillows would do the trick. She would cover the comforter with heart pillows and stuffed animals, and these objects would partially obscure her nudity while she stretched in an exaggerated awakening. Then she would need a vanity table, and she would sit in front of that in just her G-string and pasties, and put her hair in pigtails.
By that point, the audience might wonder what grown woman slept with stuffed animals and wore pigtails. And when she shimmied her breasts and pulled on her plain, starched white blouse and short, plaid schoolgirl skirt, the audience would begin to realize that they should not be desiring her. Mallory liked to find ways to provoke her audience, not just turn them on.
Excited with her idea, she grabbed her bag and met Alec outside the studio, throwing her arms around him.
“Um . . . you taste like salt,” he said.
“I have a great idea for an act to a Marilyn Manson song.”
“You and Marilyn Manson! I think his music is synonymous with sex for you because the first time you saw Bette perform, it was to one of his songs.”
“You might be right. Whatever the reason, I’m pure inspiration, baby.”
“What show are you planning this for? The Halloween show?”
“No—the theme for Halloween this year is ‘Scary Tales,’ so this wouldn’t work.”
“Fairy tales?”
“No— scary tales. We’re going to do dark takes on classic stories. I want to do something with Snow White and Rose Red. In fact—now that I’m thinking of it—we might need you to dress in a bear costume.” She kissed him on his cheek. “I’m going to get changed. Meet you outside.”
“A bear costume? That’s not what I had in mind when I got into
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