Chapter Thirty
Bette strolls into the sugar-scented bakery dressed in a black leather trench coat and knee-high boots, her sharp bob flawless. People at the other tables turn to look at her. But Mallory isn’t focused on Bette, because Bette isn’t alone. She brought Alec.
“I hope you don’t mind my plus-one,” Bette says, pulling over a chair. “But he has some insight into the situation.”
Alec and Mallory lock eyes. In that moment, she’s grateful that last night ended the way that it did because seeing Alec, it’s unthinkable that she almost had sex with someone else.
“You knew about this already?” Poppy says.
“I’ve heard a few whispers,” says Bette.
Alec sits beside her, so close she can smell his delicious, unique Alec scent.
It takes all of her self-control not to reach out and stroke his hair.
Being physically near him after time apart is like exhaling.
And when he gives her a smile, she feels the deep knot that has tangled inside her start to loosen.
“I heard rumors around the Gruff office that Billy is buying a club. I asked him about it, but he denied it. But I also heard talk that Agnes is selling the Blue Angel. So I did a little digging.”
Of course he did. Alec is a journalist at heart.
“I really need coffee,” Bette says, eyeing the counter. Then, realizing she interrupted, stands up and says, “Continue! I’ll be right back.”
Alec turns to Mallory. “I found that a corporation called Mistress Productions has filed paperwork with New York State to purchase the Blue Angel. So I searched the LLC filings and found Billy’s name … along with someone named Gina Offinici.”
Mallory doesn’t recognize the name. “Who’s Gina Offinici?” she says.
Poppy turns pale. “I have a feeling I know.”
Bette returns to the table with three coffees.
“So where are we?” she says.
“I’m asking who the hell is Gina … what’s her name?” Mallory says.
Bette turns to Alec, but not before Mallory catches the glint in her eye. That, and the set of her painted lips, tells Mallory enough to make a good guess.
“Don’t tell me it’s Violet,” she says.
Poppy reaches for one of the coffees and gulps it.
“That’s right,” Bette says, removing her sunglasses.
“Violet? Why would Billy team up with her? Why wouldn’t he come to you and me?” she says to Alec. “We’re friends with him.”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Alec says.
“It’s the death of the Blue Angel, that’s what,” Bette says. “None of the girls will want to work for her. It’s the end of an era.”
“This can’t be happening,” Poppy says, even though it clearly puts all the pieces of the puzzle together.
“We can’t let it happen,” Mallory says.
“It’s out of our hands,” Bette says. “This is Agnes’s decision. She might need the money, she might be tired … who knows.”
“Maybe if she knows Violet is behind the deal she’ll change her mind.”
“That’s wishful thinking,” Bette says.
“Well, we can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
Mallory found the Blue Angel when she needed it the most. Even though she decided to stop performing, the club made her a stronger, more confident version of herself.
Her life may not be perfect, but at least she’s truly making her own decisions—for better or for worse.
Before the Blue Angel, she was living to please other people: her parents. Her employers. And yes, even Alec.
“Bette, you’ve outgrown the club, and I quit. But where would either of us be without it? We can’t let it go. Not like this.”
They all look at one another. Alec speaks first.
“I think we should talk to the Baxters.”
Justin and Martha. Of course. They’re sort of an unofficial part of the Blue Angel family. And they have the kind of money it takes own and operate a nightclub.
“That’s a good idea,” Mallory says, settling for giving him a smile instead of what she really wants—to hug him.
Bette picks up her phone. “Should I call them?”
Alec nods. “See if we can stop by.”
“After this, my work here is done,” Bette says. “You two go to the Baxters’s on your own. Poppy, you don’t need to tag along. They’re a good team.”
Yes. Yes, they are.
Mallory and Alec walk toward the Baxters’s apartment on Bond Street. The air between them is so thick with sexual tension she can hardly breathe. Alec, surprisingly, is silent. Typically, he has a hard time leaving things unspoken. And obviously, there’s a lot to talk about.
He takes her by the hand and steers her down a small side street.
“Where are we going?” she says.
“It’s a surprise,” he says.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Well, I hope you like this one.” In the middle of the block is a sand-colored brick building with a wooden doorframe and a placard that reads, simply, Hotel.
Alec opens the door for her. Inside is a simple vestibule, not a proper lobby. The check-in desk is just a guy behind a glass window—like a bank teller. Mallory hangs back while Alec talks to him.
When Alec returns to her side he’s holding a green plastic keychain with a single brass key.
“What is this place?” Mallory whispers. “And how do you know about it?”
“We did a piece for the magazine about the top ten hotels you need to know about—and not for family vacations, if you get what I’m saying.”
Mallory smiles, not sure if he’s serious or just messing around with her. But then he says, with urgency, “I need to be with you.”
The tone in his voice says more than his words, and she feels it like physical contact. And she knows she needs to be with him, too.
Hand in hand, they take a narrow set of cement stairs up to the third floor.
The hallway is narrow and dim, with the muted color scheme of a chain hotel.
He uses a key to open the door to a small room.
Inside, there’s generic wood furniture and a queen-sized bed covered with a loud Art Deco bedspread.
It’s seedy and it’s awful but being here in a place like this—it feels like a symbolic walk through the fire to get to the other side together.
Mallory opens a bedside drawer, still standing up and fully dressed. Instead of the typical Bible, she finds two condoms.
“Alec. This is crazy.”
“No,” he says, walking close to her and taking her face in his hands. “Being apart is crazy. And I can’t stand it for another minute.”
“I feel the same,” she says. “But I’m not touching that bed.”
“I’m not leaving this room without touching you. Hold on. I remember something from the article we published.”
He checks inside a closet and finds a stash of towels. They use them to cover the bed, laughing, feeling like they’re doing something naughty.
They take off their clothes in a way that’s careless and hurried, almost frantic. She realizes the room is freezing.
“Are you cold?” he says.
“No.” Her teeth chatter. Alec finds a space heater near the closet.
“I think that’s a fire hazard,” she says, eyeing it.
“I think you’re right. But I promise, we won’t need it.” The look in his eyes makes her forget all about the cold. She doesn’t say another word as he eases her back on the bed.
He moves on top of her, and she spreads her legs, already wet for him. She reaches down to hold his cock, to guide it inside her, but he holds her off, intent on entering her on his own. She clutches his back, kissing his neck and brushing her cheek against the rough stubble on his jaw.
Because he can read her body, he knows she’s close to coming. And that’s when he pulls out.
“What are you doing?” she says.
He moves to the floor, standing at the edge of the bed. She sits up, slightly lightheaded. Still, she knows what she wants and so she sits in front of him in a loose straddle. She bends over and runs her tongue along the length of his cock before taking him into the warmth of her mouth, thinking,
While she works her mouth on his throbbing erection, he gently winds his hands through her hair.
She feels his excitement building, but then he stops her.
He withdraws from her mouth, then kneels down to kiss her with such ardor, she knows her lips will feel bruised in the morning.
There’s nothing more intimate than tasting yourself on a man’s cock.
Well, except for the way it feels when he comes inside of her.
Her heart pounds with anticipation.
Alec caresses her breasts, trailing his fingers down her belly and then slowly, slowly making his way to her pussy.
He strokes her clit until it’s throbbing, then licks it before pressing his tongue inside her.
Then his fingers and mouth work in tandem, building the pressure in her cunt to an unbearable level.
Then he stops touching her with his hands, using just his tongue to lick the outside of her pussy, each warm stroke of his tongue bringing her closer to the edge.
“Alec,” she says.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
“Say it,” he insists. Even after all this time, with everything they do and have done together, it’s difficult for her to verbalize what she wants.
“I want you to …”
He touches her again, deep inside, reaching the spot that feels so good it almost hurts.
“Tell me,” he says softly.
“Fuck me.”
“I am fucking you.”
“With your cock,” she says.
He moves on top of her but still not inside her. She has never needed or wanted anything more than the simplicity of his cock inside her at this moment.
“What are you waiting for?” she says, her voice so breathless she barely recognizes it.
“I don’t want this to end because when it does you’ll leave and I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”
She strokes his hair, kissing the top of his head. “I’m not leaving.”
Finally, he inches his cock inside her, very slowly, despite how wet and ready she is. Her pussy clings to him as he strokes in and out, and when his rhythm shifts to quick, hard thrusts, her body turns into a single vibrating nerve of pleasure.
Afterward, when they’re holding each other, she thinks: This is the most divine shared experience, because they’re truly experiencing it as one. Her pleasure can’t exist without his, and vice versa.
She rests her head on his chest. He kisses the top of her head.
And then she remembers last night with Gavin and feels a pang of guilt. She knows she should be honest with Alec, but before she can think of what to say, he speaks first.
“I’m sorry about everything,” Alec says. “That night at the Plaza? It was my fault. I pushed it past the limit. I take responsibility for that. And if I could change it, I would. I wish I could.”
Mallory thinks of Gavin’s judgmental response to her playfulness in the bedroom.
She doesn’t want to be that person with Alec—a source of shaming.
But the fact remains, she loves him too much to share him with other women.
“I’m sorry for my part in that night, too.
Maybe there’s such a thing as too much adventure, and we need to be more careful. ”
“I agree,” he says. “The worst part is, I came to that room looking for you—not looking for anything else. That whole night was a huge mistake. I’ll never make it again.”
She hugs him. She thinks of the painted lady she ultimately scrubbed off because it was an unwanted reminder of such a low moment. She’s thankful nothing that night was indelible.
“I was with Bette the other day at this amazing tattoo place in the village. I was just keeping her company and watching her made me wonder if I could ever do something so permanent.”
“Too much commitment?” he says.
“No,” she says. “That’s not what I’m saying. Actually, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
He looks at her closely, and she can tell that he doesn’t fully believe what she said—that maybe she does fear commitment. And deep down, that’s what some of this drama has been about: Putting distance between them to avoid getting even more serious. To delay next steps. But that’s not it at all.
“I guess I feel like, if something is going to be permanent, it should be perfect.”
His expression softens. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, Mallory. It just has to be real. And honest. And true. We have that. Don’t you think?”
“I do,” she says. And she kisses him.