Chapter 9
Chapter 9
On Saturday, patrons packed the Archway Cabaret. Tables were rearranged to make room for extra chairs at the back and both sides of the room. Dan and his three companions squeezed their way to the prime spot Ellie had provided. They requested a round of drinks and an amuse-bouche tray that would be served during the interval between the two shows.
Hannah, who had ordered a mocktail, commented, “This is a high-class operation.” Turning to Lou, she added, “Forget I’m your employer’s spouse. I’m not here to spoil anybody’s fun.”
“Martin’s the opposite of the stiff I worked for before joining Latimer London Estates,” Lou responded.
“He sent flowers and wine for my birthday,” Kelly volunteered. “And booked a table for us at the restaurant in White City that everyone’s raving about. He told Lou we should order whatever we wanted and put the bill on his personal account. Best dinner of my life.”
“What did you have?” Hannah wondered.
During the recitation of menu items, which Dan had already heard, he studied the crowd, picking out faces from television or filmdom. When the women’s conversation shifted from fine dining to the star of the evening, he listened closely.
“When Martin said Stella Nue would be our lodger,” Hannah said, “I expected to find a diva, behaving like she owned the place. Quite the contrary.”
Curiosity got the better of him. “Does she ever talk about her husband?”
Hannah regarded him in surprise. “She has one?”
“Had. She was twenty when he died. He was three years older.”
“That’s awful. What happened?”
“Motorcar accident. I located his New York Times obituary online.”
“Well, well,” said Lou. “Private investigations. We know what that means.”
Ignoring her comment, he recited, “Henry Lionel Matthew Colman. The Fourth. Three residences were listed—two in the state of New York and one in Barbados. Like Ellie, he trained at Juilliard. He won a lot of acting awards and was tipped for professional success.”
“Our Dan is smitten,” said Lou, manipulating her straw into a trapezoidal shape. “No one better to console a grieving widow than a man in need of consolation himself.”
Three pairs of sympathetic eyes were directed towards him. “Thanks for the thought, but I’m all right.” True, the tragedy that ruptured and divided his family was a point of connection with Ellie, yet he hoped they had more in common than the death of a loved one.
With a glance at Dan, Hannah asked, “Are you as excited as I am about our Shamrock Burger?”
“What’s that?” Kelly wondered.
He subsided into silence while Hannah presented the history of the Lowery family’s famous culinary products.
Lou wasn’t mistaken about his interest in Ellie. Her attractiveness was one reason, of course. And he was intrigued by the bold and risky choices she routinely made, stepping out of an established career and gliding into another. She was reinventing herself once more, jettisoning her famous Stella Nue persona to enter a demanding profession in which similar success was not necessarily assured.
After the opening acts ended, the compere returned to the stage to remind the audience of the prohibition against photos, video, and audio. “Now, in her next to last appearance on this or any stage, the magnificent Stella Nue!”
A lengthy bout of applause drowned out the entrance music flowing from the sound system, an orchestral version of “You Stepped out of a Dream.” Dan instantly associated it with the iconic Busby Berkeley sequence in the MGM musical Ziegfeld Girl, featuring glamor girl Hedy Lamarr and starlet Lana Turner.
The parting curtain revealed Ellie on the pink satin bed, slumbering. In her dream, she conjured up partners—George and Zack—to dance with her. Throughout their romantic waltz, she plucked away the diaphanous pale layers of a costume similar to Lamarr’s. Everything came off, even her white satin slippers, until all that remained was a pair of glittery star-shaped pasties and sparkly G-string. Her pale skin glowed like the moon in the half-light, and her movements were sublime. And though she was the essence of desirable femininity, her twist on the original scenario offered a sly upending of gender roles.
“Oh, my,” Hannah breathed, when the routine concluded. “That was lovely. I didn’t realize her performance included so much dancing. I assumed all burlesque acts were flashy, with lots of hip wiggling and shimmying and mugging and teasing. Brassy trumpets and trombones, cymbals crashing, and bass drums thump-thumping. Ellie is suggestively sexy, but so, so subtle. And very romantic.”
“A blatant depiction of female empowerment,” Lou contributed. “She was totally in charge of those men.”
The server delivered their tray. Conversation flagged as they loaded their small plates with bite-sized delicacies. Ushers guided newcomers to their tables, and other staff members took drink orders. During the second show, the ladies performed with verve, and the girl responsible for removing the discarded clothing and props repeatedly dashed in and out from the wings.
The spotlight’s flare against the closed curtain quieted the buzz. Two men appeared, the tuxedoed host and a gentleman in a three-piece suit, who held the microphone.
“On behalf of our Archway Cabaret family, we express deep gratitude to this month’s headline act, for choosing our humble venue to close out her spectacular career.” He passed the mic to the compere.
“For the final time, it’s my privilege to introduce the beautiful, the talented, and the forever to be remembered artiste Stella Nue. Please tuck your phones away, and enjoy her in the debut—and one time only—appearance in Swan of the Lake.”
The painted backdrop displayed a moon hovering above a tree-lined lake. Ellie entered, poised on the tips of her pointe shoes. She timed her steps to a harp’s cascading notes, the start of the most famous pas de deux in the entire ballet canon. Her calf-length costume of snowy tulle was decorated with tufts of trembling feathers. In each hand she carried an oversized white feather fan, moving them up and down in graceful wing-like motions. No Prince Siegfried appeared to partner this Odette, who danced alone to the pensive strains of a single violin. As the music faded, she cast aside her props, slipped off her headdress of spangles and white down, and let her long hair fall.
The tune and tempo shifted, multiple strings soared, light and bright—the Siegfried-Odette reconciliation pas de deux in Act Four . Ellie pulled her sash to release the top layer of tulle. Then another. She slipped off the feathery bracelets on her wrists. Pausing, she unhooked the front of her white satin bodice, and with a flourish, pulled it away.
“No corset,” Lou murmured.
Hannah whispered back, “It’s a bustier.”
Dan was less interested in wardrobe terminology than the symbolism and underlying significance of her finale. Watching her dart across the stage, clad in the scanty top and fluffy knickers, he tried to make a connection between her milestone moment and the ballet’s theme. Ellie danced in code, and he wanted to crack this one.
After she removed her bustier, her pale round breasts and pink-tipped nipples were visible through a thin and transparent layer of shimmering silk. The crowd gasp in unified amazement.
Turning away, she let the insubstantial covering slip to expose well-defined shoulder blades and a narrow torso. When she turned, beaming and bare-chested, she was rewarded by resounding cheers and thunderous applause. With shocking abruptness, the stage went dark. The curtains closed.
“What a way to go out,” Lou said. “That’s practically the full Monty, which she’s never done. I’m gobsmacked.”
Kelly nodded. “So is everybody else.”
The house lights came up. Ellie, wrapped in a green velvet dressing gown, emerged from behind the curtain to curtsy and blow kisses. Zack and George entered from opposite sides, kissing her cheek before presenting a white rose bouquet. She cradled her flowers in the crook of one arm and fluttered her free hand before she was escorted into the wings.
Checking the time on her phone, Kelly said regretfully, “We can’t stay for the after-party, or we’ll miss our train.”
“Don’t they run late on Saturday night?” Hannah asked.
“It’s a dodgy service,” Lou responded. “We learned the hard way.”
Dan intervened. “I hereby authorize your homeward journey by taxi or rideshare and use of the company card for payment. I’ll cover the charges as a personal expense. I want Stella Nue’s most fanatical fans to be able to congratulate her.”
Ellie’s colleagues filled her dressing room, their excited chatter bouncing off the purple walls as they examined the garments and accoutrements she was giving away. Before her first show, she’d privately handed over several items to stage kitten Lisa-Lola, with assurances of a future coffee date at a mutually convenient time.
“You aren’t keeping this?” asked Holly Hollywood, holding up a red velvet corset with half its satin bows untied. “Wish I could fit into it.”
“I reckon I can.” Luscious Liz pried it away.
“If you stuff the top,” Holly shot back, and everyone laughed.
“Cow,” Liz retorted, though her tone was affectionate.
Using both hands, the other girl pushed up her prominent bust.
“Ooh, this bralette,” someone else cried, holding it up by one strap. “Covered with crystals.”
“They’re the really expensive ones, aren’t they? Always the best for Stella.”
The girl with the bralette approached Ellie. “Will you autograph the inside, please? Here, along the seam.”
Ellie dug into her bag for a permanent marker and scrawled her Stella signature on the white satin lining.
Camille had already removed the swan costume. Ellie stood still while her ambitious young friend pulled up the zipper of her aqua blue party dress.
“You’re gorgeous,” said Lisa, peering past Ellie so she could see the mirrored reflection. “Fit and flare suits your figure. But so does anything. What’ll happen to all your merch?”
“I hope most of what I signed this afternoon sold during intermission or after the show. Whatever’s left gets packed up and shipped back to an office in the States, to fulfill website orders.”
“Run along to your party. I’ll keep an eye on this lot and make sure your things are evenly distributed.”
“You’re a peach.” Ellie’s lips brushed Lisa’s cheek.
Stepping into the club, she was greeted with clapping and cheers. On being handed a glass of champagne, she supposed this was how a prima ballerina felt on entering her retirement. With the essential difference that she felt relief rather than regret.
The Archway’s manager and front of house staff showered her with compliments and best wishes. She thanked the technical team for maintaining a consistently seamless production. Zack and George sat at a corner table, sipping colorful cocktails. Camille, swathed in silver lamé, spoke to Hannah Ballard and Dan and his co-workers. Ellie joined them.
“You were magnificent.” Hannah hugged her.
“We loved it,” the exuberant Lou told her.
“Let’s have some food,” suggested Kelly, taking her partner’s arm. “I spy caviar.”
“Lumpfish roe,” Dan said. “More affordable.”
“And from an environmental standpoint,” Ellie acknowledged, “preferable to beluga or sturgeon.”
“I need a refill.” Hannah held up her glass of clear liquid before following the others.
Standing so near Dan, Ellie was glad of the designer stilettos that added several inches to her height. “I hope you enjoyed the show.”
“Further evidence of your partiality for Tchaikovsky compositions.”
“When creating a routine, the guys and I often choose music from ballets we used to dance. It suits my style—either fantastical or a gentle and humorous tease. I’ve avoided fetish tropes—schoolgirl, cheerleader, French maid. It took a lot of convincing before I agreed to be a lady pirate. And I never sexualized or demeaned real professions, like nurse or cop or secretary. Or ballerina.” She lifted and lowered an arm, as she’d done during her performance. “So, I’m Swan of the Lake.”
“That one was a puzzler.”
“Because I stripped down at the end? George and Zack dared me. I had to.”
“I was intrigued by the symbolism in your Swan Queen. Self-imposed death in order to achieve liberation? Destroying your Stella Nue persona to achieve freedom?”
“You’re very perceptive. Or I’m too transparent.” She stared into her champagne glass. “I can relate to Odette. Not just because she loses her man. One dance critic referred to her as a divided soul. She has two identities—maiden at night, swan by day. Whereas I’ve got several. You’ll encounter most of them, if you hang around me long enough.”
“I should like that.”
Ellie felt a surge of delight as he gazed back at her. She sensed that he’d responded to an overture she hadn’t intended to make but in retrospect didn’t regret.
“Tomorrow, I’ll present myself to you in an entirely new identity. Shamrock Burger cook.” A sense of duty overcame her desire to linger. Without hiding her reluctance, she told him, “I should be mingling.” She needed to move away from him before the event photographer captured them together.
“Without Stella making demands on your time,” he said, “you can experience some of London’s nightlife beyond this cabaret. It would be my pleasure to serve as your guide.”
He wants to ask me out, she realized.
She hoped he would. Very soon.