cinched high, under her breasts.
“You’re such a flirt, Poppy! Don’t mind her,” she said to Mallory. “She’s always cock-blocking me.”
Bette laughed a quicksilver laugh, and Mallory could have sworn the blonde went pale under her stage makeup.
“I should go, anyway. Thanks for having me backstage. I’m sure it will be useful for the article,” she lied.
“Really? Then it will be a pretty boring article.” Again, the laugh. “What did you think of the show?”
“Amazing.”
“Yeah, the holidays get us all sentimental. Last year Scarlett Letter wore an assless reindeer costume. It was very cute. Anyway, I’m going to my friend’s show in a half hour. You should really see it—quite a different burlesque experience.”
“Let me check with Alec. . . .”
“No, don’t bring him. I don’t want him writing about another club’s show. Keep him focused on the Blue Angel, okay?”
“Thanks, anyway, but I’ll have to do it another night.”
Bette turned to Poppy. “She drives a hard bargain. Fine, bring Alec. But this is strictly off the record!”
“What show?” Poppy asked.
“The Slit.”
“I’ll go with you guys.”
“I’m only on the list plus one, and I’m already bringing two. Another night.”
Mallory knew she was getting another look from hell out of Poppy.
“See you out front in ten minutes,” Bette said.
Alec and Allison were huddled in the vestibule of the club entrance.
“It’s getting really cold out. You ready?” he said.
“Bette invited us to a show she’s going to after this . . . at some place called the Slit.”
“I can’t take any more. You guys are crazy,” Allison said.
“I don’t think I could get you in, anyway,” Mallory admitted.
“Oh . . . well, excuuuse me. I’m not cool enough for the late-night burlesque scene?”
“Believe me—I’m not cool enough for the late-night burlesque scene. You know, I’ll just tell her we’ll do it another night.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—it’s a Saturday night. Why are we rushing home?” Alec said.
I don’t know, Alec. Maybe watching an hour and a half show could be enough for one night, and we could go home and take our clothes off for each other?
“Fine,” Mallory said. “We’ll go.”
“It’ll be worth it—believe me,” Alec said.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been there.”
Mallory and Allison looked at him.
“When were you there?’
“A month ago. Maybe longer. Billy brought me. He’s friends with the owner—total society brat named Penelope Lowe.”
Mallory wondered where Alec had said he was going the night he went to the Slit—because she would certainly have remembered that destination.
She also wondered if that was around the time he woke up one morning and suggested she try a Brazilian wax.
“Since you’ve already been there, don’t feel obligated to go. I’m fine going with Bette.”
“Are you mad?”
“I’m not mad that you went—I don’t even know what it is. But I feel like you purposely didn’t tell me, because we always talk about our nights, and I would have remembered a venue called the Slit.”
“I’m sure I mentioned it.”
“Okay, you two lovebirds. I’m going to get going.” Allison kissed Mallory on the cheek and hailed a cab.
“Don’t be upset with me,” Alec said. “It was a few months ago—we ended up there in the course of some long night out. It’s not a big deal.”
“Is it like the Blue Angel?”
“Um, no. Not exactly.”
“What’s it like?”
“It’s a show, but it’s a different vibe. And it’s hard to get a table there, and it’s a five-hundred-dollar-bottle service minimum. It’s more like a private club. And the tenor of the shows is more . . . intense.”
“How so?”
“You’ll see,” he said.
6
T he sign outside the club did not say “The Slit.” Instead, it read “dance hall.” And like the entrance to the Standard Hotel, the door was managed by a bulky man in a suit with an
“You’re such a flirt, Poppy! Don’t mind her,” she said to Mallory. “She’s always cock-blocking me.”
Bette laughed a quicksilver laugh, and Mallory could have sworn the blonde went pale under her stage makeup.
“I should go, anyway. Thanks for having me backstage. I’m sure it will be useful for the article,” she lied.
“Really? Then it will be a pretty boring article.” Again, the laugh. “What did you think of the show?”
“Amazing.”
“Yeah, the holidays get us all sentimental. Last year Scarlett Letter wore an assless reindeer costume. It was very cute. Anyway, I’m going to my friend’s show in a half hour. You should really see it—quite a different burlesque experience.”
“Let me check with Alec. . . .”
“No, don’t bring him. I don’t want him writing about another club’s show. Keep him focused on the Blue Angel, okay?”
“Thanks, anyway, but I’ll have to do it another night.”
Bette turned to Poppy. “She drives a hard bargain. Fine, bring Alec. But this is strictly off the record!”
“What show?” Poppy asked.
“The Slit.”
“I’ll go with you guys.”
“I’m only on the list plus one, and I’m already bringing two. Another night.”
Mallory knew she was getting another look from hell out of Poppy.
“See you out front in ten minutes,” Bette said.
Alec and Allison were huddled in the vestibule of the club entrance.
“It’s getting really cold out. You ready?” he said.
“Bette invited us to a show she’s going to after this . . . at some place called the Slit.”
“I can’t take any more. You guys are crazy,” Allison said.
“I don’t think I could get you in, anyway,” Mallory admitted.
“Oh . . . well, excuuuse me. I’m not cool enough for the late-night burlesque scene?”
“Believe me—I’m not cool enough for the late-night burlesque scene. You know, I’ll just tell her we’ll do it another night.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—it’s a Saturday night. Why are we rushing home?” Alec said.
I don’t know, Alec. Maybe watching an hour and a half show could be enough for one night, and we could go home and take our clothes off for each other?
“Fine,” Mallory said. “We’ll go.”
“It’ll be worth it—believe me,” Alec said.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been there.”
Mallory and Allison looked at him.
“When were you there?’
“A month ago. Maybe longer. Billy brought me. He’s friends with the owner—total society brat named Penelope Lowe.”
Mallory wondered where Alec had said he was going the night he went to the Slit—because she would certainly have remembered that destination.
She also wondered if that was around the time he woke up one morning and suggested she try a Brazilian wax.
“Since you’ve already been there, don’t feel obligated to go. I’m fine going with Bette.”
“Are you mad?”
“I’m not mad that you went—I don’t even know what it is. But I feel like you purposely didn’t tell me, because we always talk about our nights, and I would have remembered a venue called the Slit.”
“I’m sure I mentioned it.”
“Okay, you two lovebirds. I’m going to get going.” Allison kissed Mallory on the cheek and hailed a cab.
“Don’t be upset with me,” Alec said. “It was a few months ago—we ended up there in the course of some long night out. It’s not a big deal.”
“Is it like the Blue Angel?”
“Um, no. Not exactly.”
“What’s it like?”
“It’s a show, but it’s a different vibe. And it’s hard to get a table there, and it’s a five-hundred-dollar-bottle service minimum. It’s more like a private club. And the tenor of the shows is more . . . intense.”
“How so?”
“You’ll see,” he said.
6
T he sign outside the club did not say “The Slit.” Instead, it read “dance hall.” And like the entrance to the Standard Hotel, the door was managed by a bulky man in a suit with an
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