Chapter Twenty-Two
Poppy is learning.
She’d heard the expression Knowledge is power, but before working at the Blue Angel, she didn’t fully understand what that meant. Now she does, and she makes it a habit to linger in the dressing room and rehearsal spaces, always keeping an ear out for gossip.
Tonight, for example, she heard two important pieces of info: First, Mallory Dale was fired from her legal job. Maybe Poppy should feel guilty about it, but she doesn’t. After all, it’s clear Mallory is after her job.
The second piece of information—overheard between Ralph and Kitty—is that Mallory’s boyfriend is writing a big article about the burlesque scene.
Now it all makes sense: Mallory isn’t just some nobody who stumbled into the club by chance. She’s connected. It’s a conspiracy! About what, she’s not sure.
Poppy is the last person in the dressing room when Agnes appears with an outrageously large arrangement of dark red poppies in a wide rectangular glass vase.
“This isn’t a brothel, you know,” she says in irritation, setting the vase down on the vanity with a thud before storming out of the room.
God, she’s so rigid. It can’t be the first time flowers were delivered to the club, could it? And it’s not like Poppy can control what other people do. She opens the card.
Thanks for the fun the other night. We hope to see you again soon.
Justin and Martha
Ugh! The nerve of him. First, he somehow baits her into an unwitting three-way with his wife, then he leaves her cash like she’s a prostitute.
This isn’t a brothel, you know.
Poppy wishes she had his phone number so she could give him a piece of her mind. Instead, she pulls out her phone and dials the florist, Ovando.
“Hi, this is Poppy LaRue. I just received a gorgeous delivery from you guys from a customer named Justin Baxter. I don’t have his number and I’m dying to thank him? Could you give me that information, please? I want to tell him what an amazing job you guys did with the flowers.”
She jots down the number. Then she waits to make sure the dressing room is empty and no one is outside in the hall. Kitty is nearby talking on her own phone, but Poppy’s not concerned with Kitty. She isn’t a snake in the grass like the others.
Poppy makes the call, and is surprised when it’s answered by an assistant. This throws her off her game for a second, but she recovers and asks for Justin. After she tells the assistant her name, she starts having second thoughts. She doesn’t actually know what she wants to say.
“Ms. Poppy LaRue! Delighted to hear from you, darlin’,” Justin says. “I hope you’re a fan of your namesake.”
“You know what I’m not a fan of? Your little bait-and-switch the other night. And, for the record, I’m not a prostitute.”
He laughs. Bastard!
“Consider it a gift.”
“Yeah, well, I’m broke, and you seem to have plenty to throw around, so I’m not gonna lose sleep over it.”
“You absolutely shouldn’t,” he says. “I don’t want there to be any hard feelings. Although, hearing your voice, I do feel hard …”
She almost smiles.
“Let me make it up to you,” he says. “We’re hosting an incredible private show tonight. Strictly A-list.” He rattles off an eye-popping list of celebrities. “Please join us. It’s at the apartment, ten sharp. Cocktail attire.”
Poppy knows she shouldn’t go—that she should have some pride, or at the very least stay out of trouble. But she can’t help but think that if she goes to the party, she’ll be invited on the big L.A. trip. She knows Bette and two performers from the Slit are going, and she feels completely left out.
She hears Agnes barreling down the hall barking orders. “I’ll think about it,” Poppy says quickly, and hangs up.
Agnes opens the door.
“This is not phone social hour. Go home to talk, talk, talk …”
“I was just leaving,” Poppy says.
“The problem with you girls is no focus! When I was your age, I was practicing ballet ten hours a day. No talking on the phone, no drinking at night. And no men! You know who my relationship was with?”
Poppy shakes her head.
“My feet! An artist lives for her art. What do you girls live for? Money? Romance?”
Poppy doesn’t know what to say. Fine, so Agnes was a great dancer in her day.
But what does she have to show for it? She’s old and alone.
Poppy wants to be a burlesque star, but what she really wants is to find love.
And if she’s a famous performer, of course she’ll find love. Or love will find her.
“I think romance is important,” Poppy says.
“Fine. You want romance, good luck. But if you’re going to be with a man, make sure he’s a rich man. Love don’t pay the rent,” she says.
Poppy nods. And decides she’ll go to Justin’s party.