Chapter Thirty-Six
It was Alec’s idea to host a VIP pre-opening party. The future home of the Moxie still needs months of renovation, but at one of their weekly meetings, Alec said, “Why wait to celebrate? We should at least do something to thank our supporters and everyone who’s come on board early.”
So for one night only—at least, until renovations are complete—the raw, unfinished space just off Mulberry Street in Nolita has been transformed into a burlesque wonderland.
Tonight, every guest arrived to find a closed door, a peephole, and the request for the passcode: Moxie. And the guests include Julie and Alison, who’ve already taken her out to celebrate privately. That dinner was their mea culpa: They were wrong about burlesque.
Bartenders in white shirts and suspenders serve gin rickeys spritzed with lime and sidecars with sugared rims. Towers of vintage, etched coupe glasses are stacked in pyramids, ready for champagne to be poured cascading from the top.
The music is live: a trio including a trumpet player, upright bassist, and pianist. The stage is a temporary platform with a black velvet curtain.
An hour into the evening, Mallory stands behind that curtain, heart beating just a little extra fast. Her creative contribution to the evening is performing her “Love Is a Stranger” routine, and she’s nervous. Even more than usual.
She hears Alec take the stage and the party guests grow quiet.
She double-checks her costume. Agnes outdid herself with a ballerina-meets-pinup costume: a soft blush-pink corset bodice, boned for structure, with delicate satin ribbon straps that tie into bows at the shoulders.
The tutu is romantic-length, made of layered pale tulle that makes her appear like she’s practically floating through the air.
And, thanks to genius construction, the tutu unhooks at the waist with an easy flick of her wrist to reveal lace garters and stockings beneath.
While most corsets laces at the back and don’t come off quickly, this one has detachable side panels.
“Welcome, everyone, and thank you for coming out tonight. Without each and every one of you, this club wouldn’t be possible,” Alec says.
“Special thanks to Justin Baxter and Martha Pike, the reason we can throw the best party in the city—aside from theirs, of course. And to our North Star, the one and only, legendary Agnes.” The crowd cheers, and Mallory feels a delicious shiver.
Alec invites Agnes to the stage. Mallory can see even from her limited vantage point peeking out from behind the curtain that the recognition surprised her.
“Thank you to everyone here,” Agnes says in her heavy accent.
“To everyone who’s been coming out, night after night, all these years.
Tonight, I’m reminded that burlesque is like love: it exists only if the heart is in it.
Today, I say to the performers and to everyone here tonight: I know your heart is in it. And it makes mine full.”
Mallory steps back, closing the curtain. Whatever happens with the club, at the very least, she’s given Agnes the chance to take her much-deserved bow.
She waits for her cue.
“And last but certainly not least, let’s hear it for this club’s namesake and love of my life … Moxie!”
The stage is lit with cool blue-white light. The song’s opening synth melody is sleek and metallic, pulsing like a neon light through the dark room. The curtain parts to reveal Mallory standing perfectly still.
A single chair is the only floor prop, and Mallory takes tiny rapid ballet steps with her arms in soft port de bras, channeling the merger of ballet and burlesque she’d perfected in the rehearsal studio.
She circles the chair slowly, letting the audience take her in.
She moves into a series of turns that grow faster and more daring as the music builds, her skirt flaring.
Each time she stops, she peels off a small piece of her costume, letting it drop to the floor as if she’s unraveling.
Gripping the back of the chair for balance, she moves into a slow leg extension.
When the chorus hits, she shifts into high arabesques and attitudes, still teasingly controlled.
She feels a surge of energy, a different energy, on this stage.
She takes a series of big split leaps, shedding stockings in between.
Then, with a triumphant flurry of spins, she finishes in a deep plié, arms open wide.
She waits for the curtain to close.
She looks out at the crowd and the first people she spots are Allison and Julie.
They give her a wave, and she smiles back at them.
Ultimately, in some ways, they were right about her relationship challenges, and in some ways, they were wrong.
But the only thing that matters is that whatever they said that day at brunch—a day that feels so long ago—it came from a place of love and care.
The truth is, romantic partnerships are a mysterious balancing act—one that no one on the outside can ever truly understand.
The important thing is that she and Alec have found a way to make things work in a way that feels deep, enduring, and true.
Why isn’t the curtain closing? And then Alec walks out to stand with her.
What is he doing? This isn’t part of the show to be onstage. Before she can signal her confusion her says, into the mic, “Mallory, without you, we wouldn’t have the Moxie. And without you, my life would have none. So I’m hoping you’ll take one more big leap … and marry me.”
He drops to one knee and holds out a ring box. Mallory stares at him in shock. She doesn’t move, so Alec opens the box to give her an antique, Art Deco–style diamond ring. From the 1920s.
She’s not sure if the low roar she hears is the sound of blood rushing to her head, or if it’s the crowd, or if it’s simply what it feels like to be so disoriented by a moment in her own life that it feels out-of-body.
“Oh my god,” she says.
Is this really happening? After all the years, the great sex, the jealousy, fights, uncertainty, missteps, soul searching, and compromise—has it really culminated in this one perfect moment?
“Yes,” she manages to breathe. “I’ll marry you.” He stands up and hugs her. Through a blur of tears, she watches him slip the ring on her finger.
He holds her tight, the crowd roars, and all she can think is that she doesn’t want this moment to end. She has no idea how to leave the stage. She doesn’t want to: onstage, anything is possible.
Onstage is where the magic happens.
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