Chapter Ten #2
“Don’t be ridiculous! Agnes has to get with the times and relax a little. Blue Angel girls are the only ones who don’t rotate throughout the clubs, and it’s going to limit your careers. I mean, who does the exclusivity help? Only the old lady.”
Alec reaches for her hand. He won’t interrupt—he knows Mallory can speak for herself. But he’s signaling his support.
“Agnes gave me my start and I’m happy there,” Mallory says, feeling protective of the Blue Angel; she wants Agnes to remain on top.
“Fair enough.” Penelope smiles. “So show me your ink—burlesque dancers always have the best work.”
“I don’t have any tattoos.”
“Unbelievable! Virgin flesh. Phenom. You’re the first of the night. Go down that hallway and turn right. When you’re finished, find me. I’ll take a photo.”
She drifts off into the crowd. Mallory turns to Alec, and he shrugs.
“When in Rome,” he says.
“How did you get off the hook so easily?” she says.
He shrugs. “Probably because one of us needs to get the drinks. Go ahead—I’ll find you.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods and gives her a kiss. “I won’t get lost. Have fun.”
Billy Barton scans the party, looking for one specific person. But it’s very hard to spot anyone in the midst of such a scene. Everywhere he turns, a different statement headpiece blocks his view.
Some people went full Versailles with towering pastel wigs.
One woman’s hair is a powdered beehive with a tiny gold carousel spinning on top; another is topped with a spray of silk roses and gilded birds that look ready to take flight.
He realizes that someone from the magazine should be covering this party.
His editors are asleep at the wheel. He walks through the room as if moving in a dream.
There are oversized fascinators in the shape of neon hearts, feathered halos, crystal-studded bunny ears, and veils dotted with Swarovski crystals.
The effect is dizzying and decadent: As guests turn their heads, light bounces off feathers, sequins, and crystals, creating a kaleidoscope of glitter.
It’s clear that most people came just to be photographed.
He’s here to get laid.
Billy Barton is at the party because he was promised that Burberry model Tyler Cassidy would be there. If only he didn’t have to wear the damn top hat. But at least it obscures his thinning hair.
He looks around for the bar and can’t locate that, either. But he does see Alec Martin, one of the few people he recognizes. Billy waves him over.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says to him. “Who are all these people? Not bridge and tunnel?”
“No way,” Alec says. “I think Mischa brings a roving band of mischief makers from city to city.”
“We should have been covering this.”
“No work tonight, Billy,” Alec says. “I’m officially off duty. Have you found the bar in this place?”
“Can’t say that I have. But let’s fix that.”
But before they can advance in their pursuit of alcohol, a woman approaches in a black pillbox hat with a veil. At first he doesn’t recognize her. But as soon as she’s within speaking distance, it hits him: Violet.
She’s the last person he wants to see. Really, he needs for her not to exist outside the confines of their S&M sessions.
“Alec, where did you disappear to? And where’s Mallory? I’ve been looking all over for her.”
“She was dispatched to get a temporary tattoo,” Alec says. But Violet is no longer paying attention to him. Her focus is squarely on Billy. Her lips, painted a menacing deep, dark purple, turn into a smile.
“Have we met?” she says sweetly.
“No,” he says. “We haven’t.”
He looks around the room, anywhere but at her. And then he spots Tyler Cassidy.
“Billy, you do know Violet,” Alec says, snapping his attention right back. “She performs at the Blue Angel.”
“Yes,” Violet says, putting a hand on his arm. “And I was at the launch party for your magazine’s burlesque issue last year. You know, if you’re interested in any other niche NYC nightlife scenes—something underground, something naughty—I’m sure I can help you.”
Billy begins to perspire. He has to get the hell out of there. Tyler Cassidy will have to wait for another time.
“Excuse me,” he says, making a break for it.
He pushes his way through a sea of Manhattan’s most fabulous.
The room seems to swell, then to close in on him.
By the time he reaches the elevator, he’s seeing spots in front of his eyes.
He presses the button aggressively and leans against the wall to wait.
“You okay?” a voice says. He looks up, and now he’s really losing it. He’s hallucinating. But no—it’s Tyler Cassidy.
“Just need some air,” Billy says, pulling himself together. The elevator dings its arrival, and he takes off his hat.
“Same. This place is too much.”
They step into the elevator together. Billy is so rattled by the encounter with Violet, he’s completely lost his game.
“You’re the editor of Gruff, right?” Tyler says. The color of his cornflower-blue eyes is so intense, it looks photoshopped.
“Billy Barton,” he says with a smile, extending his hand.
He feels Tyler’s touch all the way down to his cock.
Together, they walk out into the chilly night. It smells like roasted chestnuts from a nearby street cart.
“The worst part is I didn’t even get to have a single drink,” Billy says. “Do you know of a decent bar around here?”
Tyler gives him a sly smile that makes him even more gorgeous.
“We’re in midtown. I think not.”
Billy might be in love.
“Good point.” He hails a cab on Fifth Avenue, and one comes screeching to a stop curbside. Billy opens the door and turns to Tyler.
“Why don’t you join me for a cocktail back at my place?”
He doesn’t have to ask twice.