Chapter Ten
Mallory’s little midday excursion cost her not only hours of time, but it destroyed any hope she had of bringing any kind of energy or enthusiasm to her job.
The rest of her day is even more of a slog than usual.
Shopping with Bette, the world felt full, iridescent, full of possibility.
Back at work, everything is flat, muted, and suffocating.
By the time she gets home the apartment is dark. She expected Alec to be asleep. But he’s not asleep—he seems to be out.
Mallory turns on lights. Maybe it’s just as well—she can put away the new additions to her wardrobe and make it a surprise for him over the weekend.
She hears his key in the lock just as she’s arranging her corset in her underwear drawer. It takes up a lot of space and probably needs to go on a shelf in her closet, but she leaves it for now. Then she folds up the black and hot pink La Petite Coquette bag and shoves it the drawer, too.
“Hey, I’m in here,” she calls out.
Alec appears in the doorway. He looks handsome in his dark blue peacoat, his eyes glassy from the wind or, possibly, too much alcohol.
“Hey, babe. I meant to be here when you got back, but Billy called me to meet him for a quick drink and you know Billy. One turned into four.”
“Oh. No problem,” she says. But hearing that he was out with Billy burns her up a little. She really doesn’t like that guy, and she’s still not entirely sure why. “I could use a drink myself. Do we have any bottles left of that cabernet?”
“I think so. Want me to open one for you?”
“Yes—thanks.”
She moves to the couch, trying to relax. There’s no reason to feel anxious: He was out with his boss, but he’s home now.
“I’d have a glass with you but I think I’ve had enough,” Alec says, passing her the wine.
“Yeah. It’s Monday night. We should pace ourselves.” She leans back against the couch. “But today was a beast.”
“I hope you at least got out for a walk? Some fresh air? I know the culture there is intense but like you just said—you gotta pace yourself.”
Mallory feels a stab of guilt. But why? She took a little break, just like Alec himself recommended.
“Actually, I did get out this afternoon. It’s a funny story, actually: Bette texted me that she was shopping for costume material and invited me to meet up with her and that blonde, Poppy.”
“You’re kidding.” Alec has an odd expression on his face. One she rarely sees: jealousy.
“No. I’m serious.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she thinks you’re still looking for details for your article.” It’s a lie. And she doesn’t know why it slipped out so easily.
“Well, you can tell her the article is closed and she can stop bothering you.”
“It wasn’t a bother. I think getting out for an hour saved my sanity.”
“Don’t be melodramatic,” he says, pouring himself a glass of wine after all.
“I’m not, Alec. I hate that fucking job.” There. She’d said it.
He looks at her.
“Since when?”
“I don’t know. Lately. Always.” She feels tears in her eyes.
“I made a huge mistake going into law. It’s not right for me.
School was challenging and interesting and I thought I’d be great putting it into practice.
But I hate the firm, I hate the culture.
I can’t imagine doing this for another year, let alone the rest of my life. ”
“Okay, you need to calm down. Babe, I think this is just stress talking. You’re still upset about failing the bar—which I’ve told you is not a big deal and you have to let it go and not see it as indicative of your future as a lawyer—and you’re anxious because Patricia is busting your balls.
But you’re going to be a brilliant lawyer. This is just a rough patch.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. And talking to Bette about it today just confirmed that it’s not normal to hate what you do every day.
To dread waking up Monday morning. I can’t live like that.
I need to figure out what I want to do and not just continue down the wrong path because it’s the one I started on. ”
“Okaaay,” he says, as if talking to a small child. “What else would you want to do?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe something creative. I mean, Bette has a degree but then she found her passion in life …”
“I can’t believe you’re letting that woman fuck up your head like this.
Jesus, Mallory. We spent three years apart so you could go to law school.
You spent the last two summers securing your place at this firm.
We’ve planned our future talking about your legal career and my journalism career, and how we would balance the two and make a life together.
Now you’re going to mess up everything you’ve built the past few years because you got carried away at a burlesque show? ”
“I got carried away? You’re the one who had your hands all over Bette the other night.”
“So that’s what this is about? You’re trying to make a point, punishing me for wanting to get a little adventurous in bed?”
“Oh my god! This isn’t about you.”
“You’re right—it’s about you being unable to accept that unlike in college, the real world isn’t going to constantly affirm the greatness of Mallory Dale.”
Did he really just say that?
“You are such an asshole.” She gulps one more sip of wine, slams down the glass, and storms off to the bedroom.
Alec follows her.
“You’ve been nervous and nitpicking and basically a mess since you moved to New York. You resent Billy for taking so much time away from us, you resent my job for consuming my attention, you want to ditch your legal career because it’s not falling into place easily enough for you …”
“And you’re escaping into your job because you don’t want to deal with our relationship.
This whole threesome thing is just a way for you to solve your boredom without doing the hard work of breaking up with me.
” The tears that started on the couch have become racking sobs.
She pulls her overnight bag from a shelf in her closet and starts tossing clothes into it.
“I don’t have some magic word that is going to convince you that I love you, that I want this relationship. You’re going to have to figure that out for yourself. Along with everything else, apparently.”
“Sure. I’ll get right on that.”
And with that, she walks out on him.
Standing on the street corner, she calls Julie and then Allison but gets both of their voicemails. She hails a cab to Allison’s place in SoHo, but when she buzzes her apartment no one answers.
“Fuck!”
She’s probably with that new guy she’s seeing. And Julie is all the way back uptown on the Upper West Side.
She paces in the freezing cold outside Allison’s building and it starts to rain, icy droplets assaulting her cheeks. A sense of irrational panic, almost desperation, overcomes her. She scrolls through her phone, as if the answer for what to do next is waiting for her on the screen.
And maybe it is.
She finds Bette’s last text and types back, Are you around?
Seconds later she gets her reply: an address on Canal Street.