Page 38 of Fallen Angel

Mallory meets Gavin at a pub on Centre Street, just a few blocks from the courthouse.

When she arrives, Gavin is already in a booth. He doesn’t see her walk in because he’s staring off toward the bar, his brow furrowed, tie askew. She knows he’s thinking about whatever happened in court, or whatever he anticipates will happen after lunch. His mind is always working, and she likes that about him. Respects it. Certainly more than she respects herself at the moment. And that’s a problem.

The place is busy and loud, with low ceilings stained a permanent amber from decades of cigarette smoke back when that was still legal. The floors are scuffed wood, sticky in spots, and the smell is a mix of beer, fried food, and something faintly musty. Behind the long mahogany bar, shelves are crammed with bottles, but the real draw seems to be the tap row: Guinness, Harp, Smithwick’s, and a rotating IPA. It reminds her of the places where she drank during law school: faded rugby jerseys, yellowed photographs of Dublin streets, tin signs advertising Jameson and Murphy’s, and the music of Van Morrison.

When she reaches the table Gavin stands up, waiting for her to sit. It’s so old-school and charming it makes her smile.

“How did it go in court?” she asks, hoping maybe an instant dive into the work at hand will make him forget the real reason they’re meeting for lunch.

Gavin nods, passing her a menu.

“I think we have the momentum,” he says. “But we’re not here to talk about the Klein case, are we?”

She stares down at the menu. “About that photo …”

“Are you really a burlesque dancer?”

“Yes,” she says, looking him in the eye.

“What is that, exactly?” He seems genuinely curious.

“Well … it’s a performance art, like any other kind of dancing. Costumes play a big role and it’s really very feminist when you think about it …”

“But there’s an element of, I mean—this is awkward but the point is, you take off your clothes, right?”

“Yes. But not fully. I mean, I take my costume off but I’m wearing … look, I feel really uncomfortable talking to you about this.”

He holds up his hands. “Mallory, I feel bad ever having this conversation. I know it’s not my business what you do in your spare time. But my company is so small that, whether it’s fair or not, you’re extremely visible to my clients. When I’m running around at court or I’m in a deposition room with you, I can’t worry that the opposing counsel or our clients might be taking you—and, by extension, me—less seriously because of your, um, other job.”

“I understand,” she says, her stomach sinking. A server comes to take their order, and she feels like her ears are buzzing. She barely hears a thing, and when she orders a burger, it sounds like her voice is coming from underwater. Is this what true anxiety feels like?

They sit in silence, until Gavin finally says, “So, how important is it to you? The burlesque thing?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” she says.

“Well, is this a passing hobby or something you plan on doing for a while?”

She shakes her head slowly, thinking. “I’ve been asking myself the very same question.”

“I need you to decide,” he says.

“You mean, choose.”

“Mallory, apologies if I’m overstepping here, but I think you’re very smart and you should consider retaking the bar exam.”

She looks at him, surprised. This was not what she expected to hear.

“Reed Warner is a tough gig,” he says of her previous law firm. “They burn out more lawyers than not. That culture isn’t for everyone. But the fact that they hired you in the first place tells me you must be pretty damn good.”

“Thanks,” she says. She doesn’t know if he means it, but at the very least, he’s throwing her a conversational lifeline to restore her dignity.

They look at each other, a shared glance. It feels accidentally intense.

Her phone vibrates in her bag. She wonders if it’s yet another person texting or calling about the Page Six photo. Hopefully, word had not yet spread to her mother, who’s mercifully clueless about Mallory’s alter ego.

The text: Just spoke with Alec and he said the three of us should get together again soon—VIOLET.

The flash of an image: Jocelyn on top of Alec.