Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Baxter party may have ruined Mallory’s relationship, but it saved her bank account. They paid her an absurd amount of money. Still, it’s small consolation. Forty-eight hours since returning to Julie’s couch, Alec still won’t talk to her.
She knows he’s hurt, and she’d feel the same way if the situation were reversed. The worst part is she can’t honestly talk to Julie and Allison about what’s happened because while they’d support her as her friends, they wouldn’t understand her choices. She feels very alone.
Then Agnes calls: “Let’s talk,” she says. That was the extent of the conversation except for the meeting time: seven p.m.
The Blue Angel is closed when she arrives, the typically bustling dressing room dark.
Mallory sits in the office, uncomfortably fidgeting with her handbag. She’s been summoned, but Agnes is barely speaking. Instead, she appraises her like she’s a side of beef.
“I like the red hair,” Agnes says finally. Mallory has never heard her give a compliment before.
“Thank you.”
“You know why I called?” Agnes says, lighting a cigarette. Mallory suddenly feels like she’s in a European espionage film.
“Um, no.”
“I fired Bette.”
Mallory leans forward in her chair. “What? Why?”
“To me, loyalty, your word, is everything. She stops showing up, she’s done here.”
“I’m sure she can explain—”
“Enough about her,” she snaps. “Tell me about you. What do you want?”
Mallory’s confused. Agnes called her.
“You mean … in life?”
“Don’t be coy,” Agnes says. “Do you want to be a performer, or do you want to be an observer? You have to make a choice in life. You cannot be both.”
“I want to be a performer,” she says, without hesitation. Finally, she’s talking to someone who understands.
Agnes nods, putting out the cigarette.
“Poppy will headline the Valentine’s Day show instead of Bette. We need another girl and Poppy says that girl should be you.”
Poppy? She must be mistaken.
“Are you sure?” she says.
“No! Of course I’m not sure! You screwed up your first night as a stage kitten.”
“I mean, are you sure that’s what Poppy said?”
She nods. “Poppy is a good girl. She puts the Angel first. She says you’re good for the club, so I will take a chance. But … if you screw up, that is the last time you will be on that stage. In fact, if you screw up, I don’t even want to see you in the audience. You girls will be the death of me.”
“I won’t screw up.”
“It’s Valentine’s, so the theme of the show is love. Dance something about love, getting love, losing love, sexy love. Whatever. And come tonight to help out.”
With that, she stands, gives a heavy sigh, and walks off. Mallory waits a few minutes for her to return, and when she doesn’t, she shows herself out.
The street is empty, and it’s a long walk to the subway. She’s in no rush to get back to Julie’s. Aside from Alec, there’s only one person in the entire city she wants to talk to.
She calls Bette.
“What the hell? You’re just dropping out of the Blue Angel?”
“Hello to you too, Mox. I guess you spoke to Agnes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me she fired you?”
Bette gives a heavy sigh. “Don’t be so negative. Did she invite you to perform?”
“Yes, actually. But that’s not what I want to talk about. What’s going on? You’re not coming back to New York?”
“I am back—I flew in last night. But I’m done at the club. I have to move on, Mallory. I told you from the beginning I want to be famous.”
“That’s it? You’re just leaving everything behind?” Mallory says. “No goodbye?”
“You know where I live. Come say goodbye.”
Bette opens the door wearing a silver lamé jumpsuit.
“You really can pull off anything,” Mallory says.
“Thanks. You look like shit.”
The words sting because she knows she does, and she knows why she does, and can’t imagine things resolving anytime soon.
They sit on the couch underneath the photos. Mallory remembers the first night she showed up here and it feels like a million years ago. So much has happened, but one thing is the same: Her relationship with Alec is broken.
“I thought you’d be more excited about the Blue Angel,” Bette says.
“I’m so upset about Alec. It’s clouding everything.”
“I thought you two were working things out.” Bette stretches languidly.
“Yeah, we were. And then Billy Barton sent him a photo of me onstage at the Baxter party.”
“And that’s a problem because …?”
“I didn’t tell him that’s why I was in LA. Because originally, it wasn’t. And the way he found it makes it look like I’m just a lying psycho.”
“A lying psycho? That’s a bit extreme. You did one party. You didn’t even go full-frontal.”
Mallory shakes her head. “You don’t understand. The last time we spoke during the trip we agreed that if the relationship has any chance of working, we need to focus on each other. No more burlesque.”
Bette makes a face. “So now he wants to be straight-edge? How convenient.” She examines her nails and says, “What do you really want, Mallory?”
“I want both. I want him and I want Blue Angel.”
“Well, we can’t have it all. No matter what third-wave feminism told us. But if we learn anything from history, it’s that giving up your passion for a man is a fast track to misery. Marriage, domesticity—it’s an empty promise.”
“You really believe that?”
“Of course I do.”
Talking to Bette is the opposite experience of talking with Julie and Allison.
They think relationships should come first, above all else.
To them, Mallory’s relationship with Alec—as flawed as it is—has more value than the fleeting distraction of burlesque.
But Mallory knows if she had to choose between her relationship and her law career, they’d say he was being an asshole.
The thing they don’t understand is that burlesque feels as important to her as their jobs do to them.
And it has nothing to do with earning money and everything to do with feeling a sense of accomplishment—a sense of control over her own life. Her own destiny.
“But you don’t have to choose,” Bette says suddenly. “Maybe you can find a way to make him feel a part of the Blue Angel so he doesn’t feel threatened by it.”
“It’s not just the club. It’s also … you. He can’t forgive me for hooking up with you.”
Bette takes Mallory’s hand. “I know. That’s why I think the only way to fix that is to bring him into that part of your life, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wanted a threesome, and not only did it not happen for the two of you, then you went off and hooked up with a woman on your own. Totally emasculating. You need to give him the threesome. That’s the only way to set things right.”
Mallory can’t tell if she’s joking or not.
“And how do I manage that? Dial 1-800-Threeway?”
“I’ll do it with you.”
“I can’t tell if you’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. I never joke about sex. Look, you know I’m not into guys, but I would hook up with you and he could watch, or if he was dying to jump in I could roll with it, to a point. I think it would change everything for you two. Get you back on track.”
This is absurd. She knows it is, and she should shut it down right there. But a part of her thinks it’s so crazy, it just might work.
“How would I even go about bringing that up to him? We’re barely speaking.”
“You’ll figure it out. Either the situation will present itself, or it won’t.
But for now, you gotta stop thinking about it.
You have an important gig coming up. When it comes to performing, you have to lead with your pussy.
You can’t do that if you’re worried about Alec.
So put him out of your mind. Let Moxie have her moment.
Then worry about being part of a couple. ”
Mallory doesn’t know if it’s the right advice. But she knows it’s the advice she’s going to take.