Read Online Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque) by Logan Belle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Logan Belle
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burlesque. I was hoping one of these days you would ask me to take my clothes off, not wear a furry suit. Although I am open to a merkin. . . .”
“Very funny. You’ll just have to leave that to us. Now let me get out of these sweaty clothes.”
The dressing room was filled with high school girls just getting out of pointe class. Their bubbly chatter reminded her of what it was like to be that age—life stretching ahead of you like an endless road, while the only things that mattered were right in front of you: grades, friends, and boys. She looked at them, all long limbed and fresh faced, and she envied them the simplicity of their choices. Of course, the idea of carefree youth was a retrospective illusion. She knew she had been filled with angst and doubts at that age. But she at least had the illusion that things would make more sense when she was a grown-up. No one had told her that things just became more complicated and less clear. But then again, even if someone had warned her, she wouldn’t have believed them.
She dressed in her street clothes, thinking about how ambitious she had been in high school: honor student, captain of the field hockey team senior year, editor-in-chief of the yearbook. Accepted at Penn, Cornell, and Columbia. With the certainty that she would be a lawyer, just like her father, married by age twenty-eight, with two kids just like her parents had, living in Main Line Philadelphia in a stone house with a creek in the backyard. Now look at her: she was a paralegal moonlighting as a burlesque dancer living with a boyfriend who might or might not have his eye on another woman. She imagined trying to explain that to her fourteen-year-old self.
Most of the time, she felt triumphant about her exciting deviation from “the Plan.” But when she thought about her former self, she wondered if she had chosen the right fork in the road.
One of the girls looked at her black, four-inch lace-up Dolce boots—a gift from Bette.
“I love your shoes,” she said, wide-eyed.
“Thanks,” said Mallory. “I like your jeans.”
They were simple Levi’s, perfectly worn, with a hole in one knee and a heart drawn around the hole in blue ballpoint ink. The girl blushed and went back to her friends.
Outside, Alec paced in front of the building talking on his phone. When he saw her he hung up and asked her if she wanted to go to Eli’s Restaurant or Gracie Mews Diner for lunch. She shrugged.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“Nothing. Either place is fine.”
“You seemed so happy when you got out of practice, and now it’s like you’re deflated.” The last licks of sweat on her body chilled in the October air. Alec took her hand, and she immediately felt calm. She never got tired of how it felt when his big hand enclosed hers, their fingers laced together in that practiced way. “Maybe this will cheer you up.” He handed her a plastic shopping bag with the Ballet Academy East logo on it.
“What’s this?” she said, looking inside.
“I saw it while you were getting changed, and I thought you could use it.”
She pulled out a black duffel bag embroidered with the pink letters BAE. The straps were pink, and the date of the current ballet season was stitched across the top.
“I love it!” she said. “That was so sweet of you.”
“Your old bag is kind of banged up and getting more wear and tear from all the shows at the Blue Angel.”
“This is true,” she said, smiling and unzipping the new bag. “I want to put all my stuff in it right now.”
His phone rang. She watched him hold the phone and couldn’t help but smile. Ever since he had used the phone to videotape himself fingering her one night, then played it for her while he fingered her again, she saw every iPhone as an erotic object.
She turned back to her new bag, but something about the tone of Alec’s voice speaking with the caller distracted her. Mallory could usually tell within thirty seconds who Alec was talking to,
“Very funny. You’ll just have to leave that to us. Now let me get out of these sweaty clothes.”
The dressing room was filled with high school girls just getting out of pointe class. Their bubbly chatter reminded her of what it was like to be that age—life stretching ahead of you like an endless road, while the only things that mattered were right in front of you: grades, friends, and boys. She looked at them, all long limbed and fresh faced, and she envied them the simplicity of their choices. Of course, the idea of carefree youth was a retrospective illusion. She knew she had been filled with angst and doubts at that age. But she at least had the illusion that things would make more sense when she was a grown-up. No one had told her that things just became more complicated and less clear. But then again, even if someone had warned her, she wouldn’t have believed them.
She dressed in her street clothes, thinking about how ambitious she had been in high school: honor student, captain of the field hockey team senior year, editor-in-chief of the yearbook. Accepted at Penn, Cornell, and Columbia. With the certainty that she would be a lawyer, just like her father, married by age twenty-eight, with two kids just like her parents had, living in Main Line Philadelphia in a stone house with a creek in the backyard. Now look at her: she was a paralegal moonlighting as a burlesque dancer living with a boyfriend who might or might not have his eye on another woman. She imagined trying to explain that to her fourteen-year-old self.
Most of the time, she felt triumphant about her exciting deviation from “the Plan.” But when she thought about her former self, she wondered if she had chosen the right fork in the road.
One of the girls looked at her black, four-inch lace-up Dolce boots—a gift from Bette.
“I love your shoes,” she said, wide-eyed.
“Thanks,” said Mallory. “I like your jeans.”
They were simple Levi’s, perfectly worn, with a hole in one knee and a heart drawn around the hole in blue ballpoint ink. The girl blushed and went back to her friends.
Outside, Alec paced in front of the building talking on his phone. When he saw her he hung up and asked her if she wanted to go to Eli’s Restaurant or Gracie Mews Diner for lunch. She shrugged.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“Nothing. Either place is fine.”
“You seemed so happy when you got out of practice, and now it’s like you’re deflated.” The last licks of sweat on her body chilled in the October air. Alec took her hand, and she immediately felt calm. She never got tired of how it felt when his big hand enclosed hers, their fingers laced together in that practiced way. “Maybe this will cheer you up.” He handed her a plastic shopping bag with the Ballet Academy East logo on it.
“What’s this?” she said, looking inside.
“I saw it while you were getting changed, and I thought you could use it.”
She pulled out a black duffel bag embroidered with the pink letters BAE. The straps were pink, and the date of the current ballet season was stitched across the top.
“I love it!” she said. “That was so sweet of you.”
“Your old bag is kind of banged up and getting more wear and tear from all the shows at the Blue Angel.”
“This is true,” she said, smiling and unzipping the new bag. “I want to put all my stuff in it right now.”
His phone rang. She watched him hold the phone and couldn’t help but smile. Ever since he had used the phone to videotape himself fingering her one night, then played it for her while he fingered her again, she saw every iPhone as an erotic object.
She turned back to her new bag, but something about the tone of Alec’s voice speaking with the caller distracted her. Mallory could usually tell within thirty seconds who Alec was talking to,
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