Page 32 of Fallen Angel

The club is decked out for Halloween, with fake gossamer webs stretching along the walls, a liberal dusting of orange glitter, glass jack-o’-lanterns, and a fog machine. The DJ is playing campy Halloween music like “Monster Mash.”

The dressing room, decorated with fake skulls and real pumpkins, is crowded. Even performers not scheduled to perform have shown up to join in the festivities. Mallory is relieved. All the distractions mean she can avoid Violet.

Suddenly a scream erupts. Mallory jumps, then realizes the MC for the night, Rude Ralph, has tossed a fake, decapitated head onto Kitty Klitty’s lap.

“Get out!” Poppy throws a shoe at him.

He laughs and ducks, the shoe hitting the wall with a loud thunk. This gets Agnes’s attention, and she walks in and shoos him away—but not before he bounces a rubber eyeball over to Poppy.

“Eww!” After a rousing chorus of “Get the fuck out,” he leaves.

Violet shucks off her robe and sits next to Mallory at the long vanity wearing just a thong.

“No Alec tonight?” she says.

“He’s in L.A. Interviewing Emma Holland,” Mallory says, keeping her eyes on her own reflection. She doesn’t know why she added that detail about Emma Holland.

“She’s hot,” says Violet.

Mallory focuses on applying her mascara, ignoring the bait. She runs through her performance in her mind: She’ll portray an innocent Snow White in contrast to the seductress Rose Red, performed by Scarlett Letter. She’s wearing a black wig, but really she doesn’t need one. Thanks to Bette’s dye job, her hair matches her mood: extremely dark.

Her costume is a demure white corset, silk slip, white stockings, and short white-lace gloves. The top layer, covering it all for the reveal, is a flowy white satin robe.

Agnes, looking weary and a bit aggravated, returns with a sheet of paper and announces the lineup. “Also, we have two stage kittens tonight because of all of the extra props and who knows what,” Agnes says. “And Moxie, I need to speak to you outside.”

Surprised, Mallory puts down her mascara wand and follows Agnes into the hallway. She can hear the boisterous noise of the audience finding their seats and ordering drinks. She feels a frisson of excitement.

“I see you have someone on the guest list tonight,” she says.

“Yes.” It’s Bette. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

Agnes smiles. “Not at all. Tell her to come by and say hi after the show.”

Mallory is soothed by thoughts of Bette in the audience. She hadn’t forgotten that she’d be there, but with all of her trepidation about seeing Violet, she’d pushed the one bright spot of the evening to the back of her mind. She texts her, See you after the show.

Bette writes back, Why wait? Sneak out and watch the first act w/ us? Table in front. I’m with Martha and Justin.

Mallory types, Agnes will kill me.

To which Bette responds, Blame it on me! We saved u a seat. Get ur hot ass out here.

Mallory smiles. What good is an artistic job if she can’t break a few rules?

Mallory spots Bette immediately because she’s in a red faux fur coat and black Tom Ford sunglasses.

“Hey, beautiful,” Bette says with a little wave and a smile. Mallory feels the eyes of everyone else in the room on her as she makes her way to the table.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Mallory says.

“Hi, doll,” Justin says, hugging her warmly.

Beside him, Martha looks very un-Martha in an extravagant hat, a sweeping arc of black velvet that explodes outward in a crown of lacquered feathers obscuring half her face. Her makeup is pale and porcelain-like, with dark, defined brows and a oxblood lipstick. She knows she’s dressed as someone, she can almost place it, but …

“Martha, I love your costume, and I know I should recognize it but … help me out?”

“Isabella Blow,” Justin says.

Of course! What a perfect costume for Martha. Isabella Blow was the English aristocrat who became a major patron of fashion stars like Alexander McQueen—she bought his entire graduate collection from Central Saint Martins in the early 90s and became his muse.