Naked Angel (22 page)

“Inspired by Galliano’s 2009 collection in Paris. Dita Von Teese walked that show—not in a wedding gown, but in a bondage-inspired dress. Did you see photos of that show?”

Mallory shook her head, circling the dress. The more she looked at it, the more she realized the genius behind the delicate crafting of the corset: The fabric was sturdy enough to support the structure, yet obviously sheer enough to showcase the wearer’s flesh underneath. And the tulle had a fullness to its draping that was almost bridal.

“This is magnificent,” she said. “What is it for?”

“Your wedding,” said Agnes, with an unrepentant smile.

“I haven’t planned a wedding!” said Mallory. “Agnes, you shouldn’t have. . . .”

“Try it on.”

Mallory didn’t have to try it on. She knew it would fit her perfectly. Agnes had been designing costumes for her for almost two years now. She knew Mallory’s figure better than Mallory herself.

Agnes was already undoing the corset lacing. Mallory pulled off her T-shirt and jeans and stepped into the dress that Agnes held for her. She walked to the full-length mirror that Agnes still kept from the dressing room at the Blue Angel. Behind her, Agnes pulled the corset laces tight.

“You will wear with thigh-high white stockings and white Louboutins. I’m working on the veil—it will be very long to add an extra sheer layer to the dress.”

The perfection of the dress rendered Mallory speechless. “This is the last thing I will create. Save the best for last,” said Agnes.

Mallory started to cry. “I can’t believe you did this for me,” she said.

“Just promise me you will make use of it.”

“I will,” Mallory said, meeting Agnes’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection.

“Don’t tell me ‘I will.’ Tell your boyfriend ‘I do.’ He loves you. Don’t let fear get in the way. Life is too short.”

Mallory nodded. She knew what she had to do. But first, she had to find her dancers some costumes.

Nadia wasn’t sure how to classify the feelings she’d experienced since Max had walked away from her. After Jackson, she’d felt sick—unable to sleep, unable to eat. That was probably why she got injured—she’d stopped taking care of herself.

But this . . . It was more like she was numb. She tried to share in the girls’ excitement about the upcoming Vegas trip, but she couldn’t. She thought maybe watching Bette and Poppy rehearse would inspire her, but it did not. Alec was giving them notes on their choreography, and he wanted her input, but she kept drifting off into an almost daydream-like state, caught in the endless loop in her head: Was she being unreasonable about this, or was Max? Really, what did he care what she did with her life? Surely, not every woman he dated was a ballerina.

She kept thinking about the night they’d made love, the way he’d touched and the way he’d looked at her. . . .

“Mallory’s on her way,” Alec said. “She just texted me. You don’t have any notes for Bette? This is probably her last rehearsal before she leaves for Toronto.”

“It looks great,” Nadia said. “I just hope Mallory straightened out the costume situation.”

“I’m sure she’s got Agnes on it. I’m not worried.”

Nadia’s thoughts drifted back to Max. Maybe she was on the right track thinking about his former girlfriends. Looking into his past might help her decipher this craziness.

“Hey,” Mallory said, pulling out a chair and dropping into it with a dramatic show of exhaustion. Her beautiful skin was shiny with perspiration, and she didn’t look happy.

“Hi, babe. What’s the good word? Are we back on track with the costumes?” said Alec, rubbing her back.

“Not exactly. Justin was right—Agnes never worked on them at all. Agnes thought we wanted Gemma to do them because that’s what Gemma told her. Ugh! I could strangle that little operator. And now Agnes doesn’t have time to do them. She’s retiring!”

“She won’t retire. She can’t spend five minutes without working,” said Alec.

“What’s going on down there?” Bette called from the stage.

“Nothing—ignore us. Keep working,” Mallory said. She turned back to Alec and Nadia. “She’s reconnected with an old lover and she’s running off to Berlin.”

“That’s so romantic!” said Nadia.

“Yeah, it’s romantic,” Mallory conceded. “But it leaves us in bad shape.”

“We’ll find someone else,” Nadia said. She couldn’t—and didn’t—believe that things could all fall apart at the last minute like this. Mallory put a hand on her arm.

“I need your help,” Mallory said.

“Sure. Anything,” said Nadia.

“I need you to ask Max if his costumer can do us a favor.”

“Anything but that,” Nadia said.

“Listen, I know what I’m asking of you. It was actually Agnes’s idea, and she is right. Ballet costumers are fast, they are creative, and they have the best craftsmanship. They understand how movement affects a costume. . . . Agnes comes from that world. Please, Nadia. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t our best option. Maybe our only option.”

Nadia thought of her despair after the injury. The way she’d felt that she had no options, and the way Mallory had given her a new goal, a place to direct her energy. Mallory had believed in her, had brought her into this world. And now they needed her.

“I don’t even know if he’ll take my call,” Nadia said, finally.

“Don’t call. It’s too easy to say no over the phone,” said Alec.

“He’s right. You have to go in person.”

“Absolutely not,” said Nadia.

Mallory and Alec looked at one another. It pained Nadia to see the intimacy and solidarity in their exchange. She ached for it.

“I’ll go with you,” Mallory said.

Nadia felt cornered, as if she was on the stage, lights glaring, clothes about to come off.

This was one time she had to expose herself.

“Okay,” she said.

M
ax thought the receptionist was mistaken when she told him Nadia Grant was in the lobby. It surprised him enough that he had to tell the receptionist to hold.

Max stood from the desk and paced his office. He prided himself on understanding human nature and gauging character. He had been certain Nadia would not contact him, and, sadly, he knew she would not give in on the issue of performing burlesque. And yet, she was in the building.

“Please send her up,” he told the receptionist.

He sat on the couch. Then he returned to the seat behind his desk. He considered going back to the couch, but by that time there was a gentle rap on his door.

“Come in,” he called.

His assistant opened the door, and behind her stood Nadia and Mallory. He was confused to see Mallory, but his most immediate feeling was discomfort at how radiantly beautiful Nadia looked. Her pale brown hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, showing off her graceful neck. Her face was bare of makeup except for a berry-colored stain on her lips. He had the urge to take her lower lip gently between his teeth, to put his hands on her breasts, which pressed tight against her gray crew-neck T-shirt.

“How are you?” she said. She sounded nervous.

“I’m surprised to hear from you,” he said. It was the truth, and it was the only thing he could think to say.

“I’m surprised to be here,” she said with a nervous laugh. She looked at Mallory.

“We’re sorry to bother you, Max. And really, this is my fault. I asked Nadia to come here.”

“Why don’t you ladies have a seat,” he said, coming out from behind the desk and showing them to the couch. Nadia and Mallory sat side-by-side, and he half stood, half sat on the edge of his desk. “Forgive my lack of imagination, but I have no idea why you would want Nadia to come see me.”

“We have a slight problem,” Nadia said. “A big problem, actually. Remember I told you about that Vegas competition?”

He nodded. He’d been relieved to hear Nadia wasn’t performing. Not that it mattered anymore.

“Our costume designer bailed. We have nothing, and the show is in a few weeks. Mallory tried to get Agnes to step in, but she’s retiring. She won’t do anything. So now we have a tight deadline and . . . a small budget.”

“How small?” Max said.

“We can work that part out,” Mallory said quickly. “The most important thing is that we need an amazing, creative designer who can work fast. We thought you might know of someone. Maybe even someone you have on staff here.”

Max looked at the two women. Nadia did not meet his gaze, but instead seemed fascinated by the floor.

“I only have one designer here,” he said after a minute. “And she’s gearing up for our first performance of the fall season. I just spent two hours in a meeting with her. She’s busy with what she has to deliver for us.”

“Okay, thanks anyway. . . .” Nadia said, standing to leave.

“Wait a minute,” Mallory said, grabbing her arm. “Do you think she might have old costumes somewhere that she could alter to fit the three of us? We just need them to be unified thematically. We had even been planning to do something from Ballet Russes.”

“Apollo,”
Nadia added.

“You were going to do a burlesque
Apollo
? You guys are crazy.”

“But we’ll change the theme if your woman has costumes we can roll with. What did you do last year?”

“We did
Jewels
, and an original production that Pauline and I choreographed called
Imperial
.” He saw the excitement in their faces and couldn’t say no. “Okay, let me call Devla in here—she’s my costumer. But I’m not making any promises. I really don’t know if she will have anything that works or if she even has the time to alter the costumes for you.”

He walked back to his phone and dialed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mallory and Nadia smile at each other. And he wanted to make Nadia smile—even if it was just in this small way.

Devla appeared, as summoned, in the doorway. Her body language was timid, as if she expected to be yelled at. This was not because of him; she’d held herself that way ever since he’d met her.

“Devla, come in. I want you to meet my friends, Nadia Grant and Mallory Dale.”

He was sure Devla had heard of Nadia—gossip about Max’s personal life was rampant in the company. She might even have seen her around the studio.

Devla told Nadia and Mallory it was nice to meet them, and then she looked back at Max questioningly.

“Mallory runs a burlesque club in Nolita called The Painted Lady.”

“I love burlesque,” said Devla. This was news to Max, but it had to be true. Devla was nothing if not genuine and direct.

“We’re in a bit of bind, and we are hoping maybe you can help us out,” Mallory said.

“They have a show coming up, and they don’t have costumes,” Max explained. “The costume designer left before finishing the job.”

“It’s not just a show—it’s a competition. It’s a big deal in burlesque. You have to be invited to participate, and there’s a lot of money at stake. The Painted Lady is a new club, and winning this would really put us on the map. Plus, we need the money to help keep things going.”

Max glanced at Nadia. She’d never mentioned the club was in financial jeopardy. Maybe she had not known.

“We were wondering if you had any old costumes that we could borrow for the show.”

“How many costumes would you need?”

“Just three—but we need them to be the same theme. Ironically, we were going to do a ballet theme . . .
Apollo
. I know you haven’t done
Apollo
, but that’s just an example of the high concept we need.”

“One of the things we’re judged on is costumes,” said Nadia.

“Hmm. Did Max tell you about
Imperial
?” Devla asked.

“He mentioned it.”

Devla looked at Max, as if for permission. He nodded.

“Come with me,” she said.

Mallory’s phone rang. She looked at the incoming number and said, “I’m so sorry. I have to take this. Excuse me for one minute.”

She stepped out of the office, leaving Max, Nadia, and Devla to stand around awkwardly.

“Maybe I can find some photos on my computer of the
Imperial
performance,” Max said to fill the silence.

“Why don’t I bring Nadia upstairs, and you can meet us when Mallory is off the phone,” Devla said.

“Great idea.”

Just as Nadia was following Devla out, Mallory returned.

“I’m so sorry—I have to go,” she said. Then, to Nadia, she explained, “Martha wants to see me.”

Max was torn—he both hoped Nadia would leave with Mallory and at the same time wanted her to stay.

“But you stay,” Mallory said.

“We can come back another time. . . .” Nadia protested.

“We don’t have time to waste. I trust you. Check out the costumes. Try one on—imagine if it will work onstage for us. Call me.”

She kissed Nadia on the cheek and was out the door.

“Um, I guess I’ll take a quick look,” she said.

“Let’s go,” said Devla.

Max knew he could just let Devla and Nadia look at the costumes themselves. But the weaker part of him could not resist joining them. He told himself that it could be the last bit of time he spent with Nadia, and it was harmless to indulge. And really, he was just doing her a favor. It was selfless even.

They took the elevator to the third floor.