Chapter Six #2
The dressing room is smaller than Mallory envisioned.
She’d anticipated something like the behind-the-scenes videos she’s seen of fashion shows, a wide open space with organized racks of clothes and maybe a bottle of champagne or two.
But the space is tighter than Mallory’s living room, and looks like a drag queen’s closet exploded.
Shoes, feather boas, makeup, wigs, lacey bras, and satin bustiers are strewn everywhere.
“Hey, everyone, this is Mallory,” Bette announces to a collective shrug. “She’s here to observe us in our natural habitat.” She doesn’t mention that Mallory’s boyfriend is writing an article for Gruff. Probably for the best.
Mallory gets a few half-interested hellos—and a death glare from a stunning blonde standing in the corner. Mallory recognizes her as the dancer who opened the show last week.
“Are you sure I’m not intruding?” she whispers to Bette.
“It’s all good. Just sit over there.” She pulls a metal folding chair from against the wall and Mallory sits.
“Where’s the Airbrush?” a curvy woman with a blonde Mohawk asks the room. Someone hands her an aerosol can, and she proceeds to spray her legs.
“What’s that?” Mallory asked Bette.
“It’s like pantyhose—in a can. Makes your legs look flawless.”
Mallory imagines showing up at the law firm with faux stockings. Patricia would just love that.
She watches the women apply false eyelashes, body glitter, and feathers in their hair.
They fasten wigs on their heads, climb into shoes that seem more like stilts, secure stockings with clips and hooks, and cinch their bodies into corsets.
It’s as if these women are a different species, one that knows how to use plumage and pots of glitter and paint and binding garments to make themselves something greater than women—they are the physical embodiment of the very idea of womanhood.
And they seem to have no problem displaying that womanhood; even with Mallory, the interloper, in the room, no one thinks twice about walking around in only their underwear, or in the case of one curvy brunette, nothing but red patent leather platform heels.
Sure, they must be very comfortable with their bodies to perform in the first place.
But just hanging out with their co-workers like that?
She’s even more surprised when a man walks in—the one who had been dressed for a rodeo the other night. No one makes any effort to cover up.
“Mallory, this is our MC, Rude Ralph.”
Ralph is medium height for a man, with reddish hair and a hipster beard. He holds an ice bucket filled with bottles of Stella Artois.
“Missy, you’re changing your number to ‘Jingle Bell Rock’?” He says, passing out the beer.
“Yes—and Scarlett is going to go before me.” Missy Pink is naked except for pasties shaped like Christmas holly and a gold sequined thong.
“Okay, but that’s it—no more changes. I’m finalizing the music queue.”
“No more changes,” the curvy brunette says, making a cross-my-heart gesture. Ralph offers a beer to Mallory.
“And for you?” he says.
“Oh, thanks.” She was trying so hard to be invisible, she’d started to think she’d actually done it.
“Are you being reprimanded? Sent to the corner for a time-out?” he teases.
“Um …”
“Yes—she’s been very naughty,” Bette says.
“I just might need to spank her. Now go.” She ushers him out the door.
Mallory waits for Bette to glance her way, but she doesn’t.
As soon as Ralph is out of sight, Bette turns her attention back to applying false eyelashes one by one.
Mallory recalls the time she tried false eyelashes and she simply glued the whole set on at once—a fan of spidery lashes stuck on the rim of her eyelid.
It looked terrible and she gave up before she even left the apartment.
Mallory feels like she’s failing to gather any useful information for Alec.
She doubts the readers of Gruff want false eyelash application tips, or the secret to long-lasting body glitter.
But she stays backstage for most of the show, returning to Alec and Allison just in time for Bette’s closing act.
“How did it go?” Alec asks, squeezing her hand.
“Interesting. I’ll tell you all about it later.”
Alec looks particularly handsome tonight and she feels a surge of love for him.
Ever since the morning at brunch with Allison and Julie, she’s been thinking about what Allison said about investing in some lingerie.
They live in a city full of beautiful women and endless temptation—she should probably step it up a notch.
Even if she isn’t willing to have a three-way.
Especially since she’s not willing to have a three-way.
“What do you think?” she asks Allison.
“Amazing!” she says, her words slurring. “Absolutely beyond. In an alternate universe, I would so do this!”
“Um, don’t quit your day job,” Alec teases.
Allison punches his arm.
“Ugh! You are such an asshole. How do you put up with him?”
The stage lights turn color, and a frisson of anticipation fills the room. The atmosphere feels charged, like the air just before a thunderstorm.
“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for—the tassel queen, pinup dream, and mistress of the night … put your hands together for Bette Noire!”
The room erupts in applause.
The stage curtain parts to reveal four boxes in a row, each increasing in size.
They’re wrapped with wide red bows. Then, from the side of the stage, Bette walks out to the opening strains of the song “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch,” wearing a candy-cane-striped mini dress, long white gloves, red high heels curled at the toe like elf boots, and a velvet Santa hat.
She gyrates toward the first small box, unties the ribbon, opens it, and turns it upside down to reveal that it’s empty. She shrugs, pushes the box aside and slowly, teasingly, tugs off her gloves. The crowd hoots their encouragement.
She unties the ribbon on the second box and shows the audience that it, too, is empty. With a pout, she tosses the box behind her, then vents her frustration by taking off her dress, revealing sequined candy-cane-shaped pasties covering her nipples.
“Bette!” The crowd whistles and yells.
She turns her attention to the third box, and removes the lid to once again find nothing. She tosses the box into the audience, and people jump up from their seats to catch it.
She faces the audience, hands on her hips, frowning like a petulant child.
She stomps her foot and peels off her pasties, leaving her naked except for red lace panties.
She turns her back to the audience and flashes her shapely ass.
The crowd goes ballistic, Allison cheering possibly the loudest of them all.
Mallory is stunned by the perfection of Bette’s body. She’s lean with curves, her breasts pert with small, delicate nipples.
Finally, Bette opens the largest box. She turns to the audience with a Cheshire grin and pulls out a ream of red velvet fabric.
The crowd laughs and applauds as she proceeds to wrap herself in the fabric as if it were a giant bow.
She crosses it between her legs and over each breast, and ties it behind her shoulder blades.
When she turns her back to the audience to exit the stage, the final image is a giant red bow atop a perfect ass.
Rude Ralph returns to the stage.
“How do you top perfection? Clearly, you can’t. So friends, I’m sorry to say that concludes tonight’s show.”
The audience lets out a collective Aww!
“I know, it’s hard,” Ralph says. “I know I’m hard.
And something tells me I’m not alone, right, my friend?
” He points to a man at the table next to theirs.
The guy claps his affirmative response. “Easy, fella. It’s not that kind of show.
Okay, just a reminder: Kitty Klitty will be coming around with the tip jar.
Give generously. Support nudity in your neighborhood. ”
When Kitty Klitty appears at their table holding a Christmas stocking, Alec offers up a bunch of twenties.
“Great show,” he says.
“Thanks! Oh, and Bette wants to see you backstage,” Kitty says to Mallory.
“Now?”
Kitty nods.
Mallory turns to Alec and he shrugs.
“I’ll be right back.”
She follows Kitty through the crowd. The blonde who gave her a dirty look earlier is sitting on the steps leading to the dressing room.
“Where are you going? It’s not a show backstage, you know,” she said.
“Oh—I’m sorry,” Mallory says. “Someone told me Bette wants to see me.”
“Who said that?”
“Um …” Mallory can’t bring herself to say the name Kitty Klitty.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The woman crosses her arms.
The door opens and Bette strides out. She’s changed into a black silk robe cinched high, under her breasts.
“You’re such a flirt, Poppy! Don’t mind her,” she says to Mallory. “She’s always cockblocking me.”
Bette laughs a quicksilver laugh, and the blonde goes pale under her stage makeup.
“I should go, anyway. Thanks for having me backstage. I’m sure it will be useful for the article.”
“Really? Then it will be a pretty boring article.” Again, the laugh. “What’d 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.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, in that case—another time.”
Bette turns to Poppy. “She drives a hard bargain. Fine, bring Alec. But this is strictly off the record!”
“What show?” Poppy asks.
“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 feels Poppy’s withering glare.
“Meet me out front in ten minutes,” Bette says.
Unsure what she’s just gotten herself into, Mallory finds Alec and Allison huddled in the vestibule of the club entrance.
“It’s snowing. You ready?” he says.
“Bette invited us to a show she’s going to at some place called the Slit.”
Allison holds up her hands in mock surrender.
“I can’t take any more. You guys are crazy,” she says.
“I don’t think I could get you in, anyway,” Mallory admits.
“Oh … well, excuuuse me. I guess I can’t hang with the cool kids.”
Mallory hopes she’s just teasing.
“Believe me—I can’t hang with the cool kids.” Then, to Alec, she says, “You know what? I’ll just tell her we’ll do it another time.”
“It’s Saturday night. Why are we rushing home?” Alec says.
I don’t know, Alec. Maybe watching an hour-and-a-half burlesque show could be enough for one night and we could go home and take our clothes off for each other?
“Fine,” she says. “We’ll go.”