Blue Angel Read Online Free PDF Page A

intense space Mallory had seen in her life. It was somehow retro and futuristic at the same time, with curved, pale couches, chandeliers like starbursts and snowflakes, and 360-degree views of Manhattan and the Hudson River. It was as if the entire city had been created as a mere backdrop to the room.
    Mallory teetered near the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her heels were too high—she rarely wore heels. But Alec had warned her to look good, and so she was thankful she had a pair of black Walter Steigers under her desk from last week. Everyone in that room was straight out of a magazine—sleek dresses, and high skirts, and shoes and bags that cost more than her monthly paycheck. Men in suits, models in every corner, Penelope Cruz deep in conversation with Pedro Almodóvar, Lindsay Lohan and entourage . . . and still heads turned for Bette Noir.
    “Come sit with us,” Bette called to her from the cream-colored banquette where Alec had planted her for the interview. Across the room, she saw Billy Barton watching them, then he turned away, pretending he had not been.
    He had given them a wave and a wink when they walked in, but didn’t cross the room to say hi. It was just as well; Mallory was already a nervous wreck by the time they got up to the room. They had met Bette outside the hotel, and she was oddly quiet as they made their way past the line at the velvet rope that looked like a casting call for
America’s Next Top Model.
She wore a black velvet trench coat, and her bobbed hair was so shiny and dark it looked almost purple in the night.
    “We’re guests of Billy Barton,” Alec told the brawny guy at the door with the headset. And with that, the seas parted, and they walked in. Mallory felt the hostile glares of the wannabes behind her, people wondering,
who are they
?
    Patricia Loomis and Reed, Warner seemed very far away.
    So there they were, in one of the hardest rooms to get into in all of Manhattan—a city run on exclusivity and closed doors. It was not a scene Mallory would have ever thought to seek out, but according to Alec, it was Bette’s stipulation for doing the interview. A place she couldn’t get into on her own. Like a dare. Or a scavenger hunt task.
    “Yeah, come sit down, Mal.” Alec patted the space next to him, on the opposite side from where Bette was seated next to him.
    “Over here—I like to have a close witness to make sure I’m not misquoted,” Bette said, taking her hand and seating Mallory between her and Alec.
    Mallory was startled when Bette touched her. Had it really only been twenty-four hours ago that Bette was pulling her up on stage?
    “It’s really Agnes’s vision,” Bette was saying about the club. “It’s different from any other burlesque show in New York.”
    It was too loud for Alec to use his mini tape recorder, so he scribbled notes on a small notepad.
    He nodded, and said, “I know—the first time I went I was completely blown away. That’s why I wanted Mallory to see it.”
    “And what did you think?” Bette asked Mallory.
    “Um, it was . . . interesting.”
    “Interesting? Wow. Damned with faint praise,” Bette said.
    “No, it was more than that. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
    “Do tell! What have you been thinking?” Bette focused her cat-like blue eyes on Mallory.
    “I think Alec wants to interview you . . . not have you interview me,” Mallory said with a shaky smile.
    “Oh, I’ve got nothing interesting to say. I’m meant to be seen in the flesh, not read in print.”
    Mallory looked helplessly at Alec. He flicked his eyes toward the other side of the room.
    “I’m going to excuse myself . . . to use the restroom. If I can find it.”
    Mallory stood up, though walking through that crowd was the last thing she wanted to do. In her white blouse and black pencil skirt she was a pigeon in a crowd of peacocks.
    “Where’s the restroom?” she asked a cocktail waitress, who was dressed like the sexiest flight attendant