Chapter Eight
Alec holds her hand and they make their way back to the table, where a bunch of people Mallory doesn’t recognize have joined Bette. Everyone shuffles around a bit so Mallory and Alec can reclaim their spots.
“Anton is an amazing costume designer,” Bette says. “He’s a genius with zippers.”
Mallory nods at Anton, a tall, thin, Black man in a gorgeous suit that looks like Tom Ford. But between the champagne and the conversation she just had with Alec, Mallory can’t deal with new people. She turns to watch the show.
Onstage, a woman strips to the Mel Tormé song “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.” Mallory’s surprised to see that she’s completely bare-breasted—no tassels. This somehow makes the show feel more illicit than anything else she’d witnessed so far.
The performer, now completely naked except for black patent leather high heels, sits on a chair facing the audience. She spreads her legs and proceeds to extract—from her vagina—what appears to be … a chestnut.
Mallory lets out a nervous laugh and checks for Alec’s reaction. But he’s not watching the show.
He’s kissing Bette. Who is seated right next to her.
Mallory quickly looks away. Her heart pounds with a confused fight-or-flight response that leaves her paralyzed.
Still, she senses herself being watched and turns to find Bette fixing those mesmerizing eyes on her and—in a move that feels like it’s happening in slow motion—kisses her.
And not just the faint brush of lips like in the bathroom of the hotel, but a deep, real kiss.
Mallory’s first thought is: This is different. She’s acutely aware of how soft Bette’s skin and mouth feel. And she’s surprised that she doesn’t want Bette to stop. But when Anton’s voice interrupts them, Bette does stop.
“Are you coming, or not?” Anton says. Bette nods, telling Mallory,
“I gotta run. Anton is taking me to meet a big creative director. You guys stay—enjoy the rest of the show.”
Mallory nods, gulps more champagne, and dares not look at Alec. But it’s as if Bette was never there. He just slides next to her and says, barely audible over the music, “Go back to the ladies’ lounge. Close yourself in a stall but don’t lock the door. Take off all your clothes.”
Is he serious? Alec’s never spoken to her like this before. She’s almost offended. Except … there’s something exciting about it.
A woman is touching up her makeup in the lounge. Mallory goes through the motions of reapplying lipstick and finds that her hands are shaking.
When the woman leaves, Mallory chooses one of the empty bathroom stalls and locks it. She proceeds to take off her clothes, leaving just her bra, underwear, and heels. She piles the rest on the single door hook the best she can manage.
Someone walks in, high heels on the poured cement floor. She hears crinkling as the woman sorts through something—candy? condoms?—and then finally the click of the door as she exits.
Mallory texts Alec.
I’m in the last stall.
She unlocks the door, feeling uneasy; what if someone else walks in to use the bathroom? And why does Alec think they can get away with what they’re about to do?
And yet she’s incredibly turned on. She presses her hand between her legs; she’s not wet, but it won’t take long to get there.
She hears footsteps and she tenses, locking the stall. This is crazy.
There’s a light rap on the metal door.
“It’s me,” Alec says. She exhales and slides the lock open again. Alec’s eyes are glazed with lust, and the charge between them makes all the unease worth it.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he says.
She throws her arms around his neck and they kiss. He moves inside the stall, kicking it closed behind him. Mallory tries to forget the mental image of him kissing Bette. Not now, she tells herself.
She feels him hard through his pants, and presses her body against him. He cups her ass, then slips one finger inside her from behind. He works it in and out, and she moans, knowing she can come just standing there like that.
“Take these off,” he says, tugging down her panties.
She steps out of them, her hands fumbling with his belt.
“Hold on,” he says, and pulls her blouse off the hook, spreading it out over the closed toilet lid so she can sit.
He stands erect and naked before her. She takes his hard cock into her mouth, using her tongue and her lips the way he likes.
He thrusts gently and she holds his ass, pulling him to her as he winds his fingers through her hair.
And then the door to the bathroom opens. Someone enters the stall next to theirs.
Mallory freezes and looks up at Alec. He mouths, It’s okay. But she can’t continue.
He helps her to her feet.
“Turn around,” he whispers. She complies, and Alec trails his hands down her back, over her ass, and between her legs where he rubs her clit with another finger inside her. Mallory bites her lip so she doesn’t moan.
The person in the next stall begins to pee.
Mallory wants to stop, to wait until they’re alone, but Alec is already easing his hard cock inside her.
He slides in and out slowly, the way that he knows always brings her to the brink.
Then he makes one hard thrust and stays inside her.
She comes almost immediately and—to her horror—loudly.
She’s lost track of whether the other person is still in the room.
If so, would they alert someone at the club that two people are fucking like maniacs in the bathroom?
Can they be fined for lewd conduct? Arrested? She should know this.
Maybe she deserved to flunk the bar.
Alec’s thrusting continues, hard and with a rhythm that signals he’s close to coming. Usually she can climax again with him at the end. He’s the first person to give her multiple orgasms, easily two or three times when they fuck. But tonight she’s too distracted by the stranger next door.
Alec shudders to a climax, and they disentangle from one another, both catching their breath.
They share a deep, conspiratorial glance before pulling their clothes back on.
Mallory’s legs feel shaky, and when they stumble out of the stall, she’s appalled to find a young woman standing in front of the mirror.
The woman doesn’t bother pretending to be fixing her hair or doing anything but exactly what she’s doing: voyeuristically listening to Alec and Mallory have sex.
“Have a good night,” Alec says calmly, while Mallory rushes out of the room in mortification.
“It’s off to a great start,” she hears the woman say.
Outside the lounge, against the backdrop of the Lady Gaga song “Bad Romance,” Alec says, “Damn, I think she would have joined in.”
Mallory feels a flash of annoyance.
“I hope you’re joking.”
“Why would I be joking?”
“That wasn’t enough for you?”
She’s suddenly exhausted. Without saying a word to Alec, she heads toward the exit. He follows close behind her.
“Mal, come on,” he says.
When she doesn’t respond or slow down, he catches up with her outside. It’s bitterly cold, enough to cut through the alcohol and adrenaline. She feels weary to her bones and aches for their bed.
“I’m freezing. And it’s late.”
She hails a cab, the big minivan kind. She climbs in first, Alec behind her to manage the heavy wall of the door. It’s roomy enough in the back seat that she can put some physical distance between them. Still, he reaches for her hand.
“Babe, it was amazing—and yes, you are enough for me. More than enough. But I’m open to different things. I think you are, too. That’s what makes us a good match. Didn’t you like it when Bette kissed you?”
Did she? She hadn’t had time to process it.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you mind that she kissed me?”
Now that she’d processed instantly.
“To be honest: Yes. I don’t want to see you kissing someone else—to know that someone else is turning you on. And it really bothers me that you think about having sex with someone else. That’s supposed to be between us.”
The cab stalls in traffic and her champagne buzz turns into a sugar crash.
“Mallory, I love you. You’re my partner. You have been since the day we met. Whatever we do with another person—it’s not about them. It’s just something different for us.”
She leans forward to see if any heat is coming through the vent, and determines there is not. Her entire body feels shivery.
“Mallory?” he says. “Do you get what I’m saying?”
She turns to him. “No. Not really. The subtext is that “we” are not enough. That I’m not enough.”
He considers this, then says, “Are you less attracted to me because you kissed Bette?”
“No.”
“Are you less in love with me?”
“No.”
“Then why can’t you accept that it’s the same for me?
I adore you, Mallory. You’re my soul mate, and kissing some other woman or bringing some other woman into bed with us for a fun night doesn’t diminish that—not even close.
Look at it this way: You got up onstage at a burlesque club—something you’ve never done before.
And it was thrilling. But it didn’t change who you are.
It’s not like you’re going to drop everything, quit the law, and become a burlesque dancer.
It was just a fun thing to do. It didn’t mean anything, did it? ”
“No,” she says.
But deep down, she’s beginning to wonder.