Page 27 of Fallen Angel

Mallory has the irresistible urge to make her hair darker, from deep sable to something inkier—near black. The last time she felt this particular itch, she dyed her hair cherry red. And that time, like tonight, she’d been questioning her relationship with Alec.

Bette has set up a little salon in the bathroom, lining the tub ledge with towels, making a little seat for Mallory with even more towels, and using a computer lap pad as a tray while she mixes the color. Mallory waits in position, her neck braced by towels on the tub ledge, head back.

Bette begins to paint her scalp with the chilly dye, and asks, “So what’s going on with you and Alec?”

“Is it that obvious?” Mallory says.

“Well, the last time you dyed your hair you two broke up.”

“We didn’t break up. But you’re right, we were in a bad place. You have a good memory.”

“Well, it was a pretty memorable weekend.”

That’s true for many reasons. Bette met the pop star who made her a celebrity in her own right, and Mallory performed for the first time the night of the Baxter’s party. And yes, for the briefest of moments, the two of them were lovers. That had been a positive experience. Unlike what happened at The Plaza.

Mallory, with a little shiver, tells Bette about that night.

“Well, none of this surprises me,” Bette says when she’s finished.

“It doesn’t?”

“No! What did I tell you on the phone earlier today? Violet is bad news.”

Mallory wants to shake her head but keeps still. “I can’t just blame Violet. Alec acted on his own free will.”

Her phone rings, but it’s out of her reach.

“It’s Alec,” Bette tells her. “Speak of the devil.”

Mallory sits up to take the call, careful to keep her head at an angle that won’t let the dye drip into her face. Bette pulls off her latex gloves so she can check her own phone.

“I just wanted to say good night before it gets too late there. I love you,” Alec says.

He sounds like he’s rushing. She checks the time—it’s only seven there.

“I love you, too. What’s your plan the rest of the night?”

“I’m meeting Emma Holland for a drink.”

Okay.

“I thought the interview is tomorrow?”

“The official one,” he says. “But you know the subjects always open up more if you have some time off the record first.”

“Of course,” she says, wondering exactly how “open” Emma Holland will get. And then she tells herself she’s being ridiculous. Alec doesn’t cheat on her. She’s got to view the incident at the Plaza for what it was: one bad night. A miscommunication. It’s not the end of her relationship. Not unless she makes it so.

“Mallory, I know things aren’t great between us right now. But can we just put that aside until I get home? And then we will figure out how to get back on track. I love you and I would never do something to intentionally upset you. If I wanted to sleep with someone else I could lie and sneak around like every other guy, but I thought we were all having fun that night. Why else would I do it in front of you like that?”

“Let’s not do this over the phone,” she says. He’s right about putting a pause on things until he gets back. So she adds, “Well, good luck with your pre-interview.” She tries not to sound like she’s saying it with air quotes.

“Thanks. I’ll call you in the morning,” he says, tells her he loves her, and then it’s goodbye.

She resumes her position resting against the tub, carefully leaning back at an angle that gives Bette access to her hair without breaking her own back. Bette quietly resumes the methodical application of the foul-smelling gel.

Mallory’s stomach churns with jealousy. She mentally repeats to herself, He’s there for work. But following such a disturbing weekend, it’s hard to think rationally.

“You all right?” Bette says.