Chapter Thirty-Four
The Baxters invited them over at seven. Mallory assumes they’re fitting them in right before they go out for the night and she takes this as a positive sign—that they’re prioritizing them.
But any illusion that they were getting a private little meeting is gone when they hear loud Britney Spears before they even reach the front door. It’s the song “Circus,” and that’s when Mallory realizes she smells popcorn.
They’ve walked into an actual circus—well, more accurately, a carnival.
Red-and-white striped draping cascades from the ceiling, gathered at intervals with tasseled ropes so the entire place feels like a big-top tent.
The stage is a small raised platform with a velvet curtain drawn to reveal a contortionist warming up for her act.
Mallory spots a vintage brass popcorn cart.
Across the room, stilt walkers brush the ceiling, and jugglers in jester hats toss silver clubs.
Mallory checks out the guests, wondering who they are. There’s always someone interesting at a Baxter party.
“Come in, come in,” Justin says, Martha by his side. She’s dressed in a shapeless, bejeweled tunic, while Justin is in his usual suit and tie. “Excuse all the excitement. We just had a spontaneous urge for a carnival.”
“Oh, no problem. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice,” Alec says. Mallory looks around for any burlesque performers. The Baxter parties almost always include burlesque, but she sees no sign of it tonight.
“Poppy is on her way,” Mallory says.
“Ms. LaRue is joining us? Well, this must be serious,” Martha says cheekily.
They move to a red leather banquette that must have been brought in just for the party. Servers hover nearby, balancing silver trays of elevated circus food: tiny corn dogs with truffle mustard, foie gras on brioche skewered like lollipops, caramelized nuts in origami paper cones.
“So you were saying that you have another idea you want to talk about?” Justin says.
“It might be a little premature for us,” Martha says. “We’re still stinging from the Blue Angel.”
“Martha is very competitive. She doesn’t like to lose.”
Mallory and Alec exchange a look. Not the best way to start the conversation. Time to shift gears.
She looks around. “Why don’t you have any burlesque performers here tonight? It’s not because of what happened with Blue Angel, is it?”
Martha sighs. “Sometimes it’s dangerous to turn your passion into profession. I’ve been lucky with the sexy toys. It worked. But trying to go pro with the Blue Angel … it was an overreach. The wrong direction. And tonight, I don’t want to be reminded of it.”
This time, Mallory is afraid to look at Alec. If his confidence in their idea is as shaken as her own, she doesn’t want to see it in his eyes. She has to take control of the conversation.
“We’re disappointed too,” she says. But we’re not willing to accept defeat.”
Martha snaps her fingers at a server to hail another drink. Justin leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Guys, maybe we should put a pin in this for tonight. Just relax and have some fun. If we can’t still do that, then we’ve really fumbled the ball.”
“Not yet,” Mallory says. “Look, it’s simple—well, not simple. But Alec and I want to open a new club to compete with the Blue Angel.”
Martha turns, her attention fully focused on her. “Good for you, Moxie. Go for it.”
Mallory was hoping she’d say something like that.
“We want to,” Alec says. “And we’ll give it everything we’ve got. But the one thing we don’t have is the financial resources to make this happen. We need investors.”
“An angel investor. Ha!” Martha says, delighted by her pun.
Justin and Martha don’t look excited anymore.
“The only reason we were interested in the Blue Angel is because the place is a legend. It has name recognition,” Martha says. “Building something from scratch is an entirely different level of financial risk.”
“I know. We’re asking you to trust us.”
The Baxters don’t say anything, a silence that stretches on to the point Mallory is uncomfortable.
It’s strange to be with the Baxters on mute.
It’s feels unnatural. Mercifully, the silence breaks when Poppy appears.
Surprisingly, she’s brought Patricia. It’s surreal for Mallory to have the brilliant lawyer, her former boss, joining the party.
It’s ironic, considering that Patricia was the one who got her fired from her first law job.
But Mallory isn’t the only one who’s had a metamorphosis thanks to burlesque.
Somehow, the odd coupling with Poppy has softened Patricia’s sharp edges.
“I didn’t know you have a better half! Lovely to meet you, Patricia,” Justin says. “Welcome to the party.”
Patricia is visibly uncomfortable with the scene and she keeps tugging on her suit jacket, needlessly adjusting it. But Poppy reaches over and pats her hand reassuringly, and the tender gesture makes Mallory grateful to be surrounded by unconventional but fundamentally good people.
Alec brings the two of them up to speed on the conversation so far.
“Well, if name recognition is the problem … I’ve already quit Blue Angel. And once word gets out I’m sure everyone else will, too. We’ll bring them all to the new place,” Poppy says. Patricia nods encouragingly.
“That’s lovely but no offense, none of you are famous—not outside the Lower East Side,” Martha says.
“Moxie is famous,” Poppy says. Mallory shakes her head.
“No, she’s not. I mean—no, I’m not.”
“You are. You were in Page Six with Bette.”
“That’s true,” Alec says. “She might not be a celebrity celebrity, but there’s not a single person in burlesque, coast to coast, who doesn’t know who Moxie is.”
Martha nods. “It’s at least something to build on in terms of getting publicity.”
“Wait—No,” Mallory says. “I’m going to be a behind-the-scenes person. A manager and producer.”
Alec reaches for her hand. “I think what everyone is saying is that you’d be more valuable front-and-center.”
She knows what they’re saying, but that wasn’t the plan. And she’s not sure she’s comfortable with it.
“You could call the place the Moxie,” Poppy says.
Justin perks up. “Maybe.” He turns to Martha. “Maybe we’re getting somewhere? Moxie is the face of the club—the marquee performer. That’s the brand.”
Alec reaches for her hand. He likes the idea, but he’s waiting for her before he weighs in with the group. It seems like a little much. She doesn’t know if she wants to be that visible.
“I don’t know—”
“I’m in,” Patricia says. Everyone turns to look at her. “I’ll invest in that concept. As long as Poppy always has a place to perform.” The two of them share a sweet smile.
Mallory knows if she wants to say no, now is the time. But she thinks of Agnes and her resignation—her fear that burlesque is a dying art form. That she herself was now just a relic of the past. And Violet took advantage of that.
Mallory had felt powerless during that conversation. There wasn’t anything she could do. But now she can.
“Agnes offered me a whole new world when I needed it,” Mallory says. “The least I can do is fight to preserve it.” Even if it means stepping out of her comfort zone just like she did when she stepped onto the stage in the first place.
Martha stands. “You’ve given us a lot to think about. But for now, I’m done with business talk. This is a party. So let’s celebrate.”
A server hovering nearby offers them the evening’s signature cocktail: the Cotton Candy Cloud. It’s gin and elderflower liqueur poured over a puff of pink cotton candy in the glass.
“Cheers,” Martha says, raising her glass. “To the Moxie.”
This is actually going to happen, Mallory realizes.
She’d better get prepared for her next act.