Chapter Seven
The sign outside the club reads simply Dance Hall. The door is managed by a bulky man in a suit with an earpiece.
“Bette Noire, plus two,” Bette says. The man speaks into his headset, then opens the door for them to enter. Mallory has spent twenty-five years simply walking into clubs and restaurants, and suddenly it’s all about being on a list.
Bette leads the way. A woman dressed in a gold sequined mini-dress greets them with a clipboard and asks them to sign in. Mallory is amazed by the club’s baroque interior—she feels like she’s stepping into the film Moulin Rouge.
“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return,” Alec whispers to her, quoting the film.
She smiles at him in amazement; it makes her so happy when they’re perfectly in sync like that.
He’s the first guy she’s ever had that with—experiencing small moments in the exact same way.
She experienced that with her best friend in high school, but never with a boyfriend.
The hostess guides them up a winding, carpeted stairwell leading to a mezzanine. On the stage below, two women wearing crotchless dominatrix gear toss a flaming baton back and forth.
They are shown to a curved, red leather banquette. Alec squeezes her hand, then gestures for her to slide in first. She expects him to follow, but instead he waits for Bette to move next to her before finally sitting on the end.
A waitress, also wearing a short dress but with ropes of pearls, appears with a bottle of champagne. With a dramatic pop of the cork, she fills their glasses.
“Cheers,” Bette says.
Alec says something that makes Bette laugh, but Mallory misses it.
She’s too distracted by what’s happening onstage: Did one of the performers just extinguish the baton flame on her vagina?
She must be imagining things. Making things more surreal and confusing, the audience—unlike at the Blue Angel—is quiet.
Stoic, even. There’s no applause, no yelling—just cool observation.
And then she feels Bette’s hand on her thigh.
Mallory glances at Alec, and he’s looking at her in a way that, given their ability to communicate wordlessly, makes her strongly suspect that Bette’s other hand is on Alec’s thigh.
She takes a few large gulps of the champagne, then stands up.
“I’m going to use the restroom,” she says. It’s an impulse—anything to feel less out of control.
She makes her way back down the staircase. Passing all the elaborately costumed women on the way to the restroom, she once again feels underdressed and unprepared for where the night has taken her.
Inside the ladies’ room is a small lounge area. It’s a relic of an era of bygone elegance, with tufted velvet benches lining the walls and a freestanding cheval mirror catching the soft glow of a crystal chandelier overhead. A marble-topped vanity stretches along one side.
The seclusion is a relief, and she spends a few minutes looking at the array of hair care products, deodorant, combs, mouthwash, candy, gum, and multicolored condoms set out for the patrons. Mallory takes a peppermint candy and leaves.
She finds Alec waiting.
“Hey,” she says. “I think the men’s room is on the opposite side.”
“I know. I want to talk to you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. You doing okay?”
“I’m fine.” She can tell he wants to say something, that he’s assessing her readiness to hear it. “What’s up?”
He hesitates before asking, “Are you open to the possibility of a three-way with Bette tonight?”
Mallory’s eyes widen. “Why are you asking me that?”
Mallory wishes she hadn’t gulped that glass of champagne.
It’s difficult to process what he was asking of her.
Yes, she knows he fantasizes about having sex with her and another woman—but don’t a lot of guys have that fantasy?
She never believed the opportunity would actually arrive.
And now that it has, it feels weighty—like a moment of truth. What happens if she says no?
What happens if she says yes?
“I don’t know,” she says. “I mean, what gives you the idea she’s into it?”
“She invites a couple to a place like this? What else could it be?”
She understands his reasoning—except Bette had initially invited her out alone. She only agreed to include Alec when Mallory declined. Maybe it’s all some sophisticated game she’s too na?ve to understand. Times like this made her feel like she’ll never fully belong in her adopted city.
“Maybe you’re reading into it,” she says.
“What if I’m not?” Alec looks into her eyes.
She doesn’t know what to do. On the one hand, she loves Alec and doesn’t want to share him with another woman.
But she’s been playing it safe her whole life, and where has it gotten her?
She hates her job, and what’s worse, she may not be very good at it.
But she’d been so eager to do what was expected of her, she never allowed herself to explore or question what she actually wanted. And now it feels too late.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “I’m in.”
Alec hugs her. “I love you. Thanks for being so adventurous. You won’t regret it.”
He’s probably right. Because she’s not doing it for him.
She’s doing it for herself.