Page 61 of Fallen Angel

“It’s the death of the Blue Angel, that’s what,” Bette says. “None of the girls will want to work for her. It’s the end of an era.”

“This can’t be happening,” Poppy says, even though it clearly puts all the pieces of the puzzle together.

“We can’t let it happen,” Mallory says.

“It’s out of our hands,” Bette says. “This is Agnes’s decision. She might need the money, she might be tired … who knows.”

“Maybe if she knows Violet is behind the deal she’ll change her mind.”

“That’s wishful thinking,” Bette says.

“Well, we can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

Mallory found the Blue Angel when she needed it the most. Even though she decided to stop performing, the club made her a stronger, more confident version of herself. Her life may not be perfect, but at least she’s truly making her own decisions—for better or for worse. Before the Blue Angel, she was living to please other people: her parents. Her employers. And yes, even Alec.

“Bette, you’ve outgrown the club, and I quit. But where would either of us be without it? We can’t let it go. Not like this.”

They all look at one another. Alec speaks first.

“I think we should talk to the Baxters.”

Justin and Martha. Of course. They’re sort of an unofficial part of the Blue Angel family. And they have the kind of money it takes own and operate a nightclub.

“That’s a good idea,” Mallory says, settling for giving him a smile instead of what she really wants—to hug him.

Bette picks up her phone. “Should I call them?”

Alec nods. “See if we can stop by.”

“After this, my work here is done,” Bette says. “You two go to the Baxters’s on your own. Poppy, you don’t need to tag along. They’re a good team.”

Yes. Yes, they are.

Mallory and Alec walk toward the Baxters’s apartment on Bond Street. The air between them is so thick with sexual tension she can hardly breathe. Alec, surprisingly, is silent. Typically, he has a hard time leaving things unspoken. And obviously, there’s a lot to talk about.

He takes her by the hand and steers her down a small side street.

“Where are we going?” she says.

“It’s a surprise,” he says.

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Well, I hope you like this one.” In the middle of the block is a sand-colored brick building with a wooden doorframe and a placard that reads, simply, Hotel.

Alec opens the door for her. Inside is a simple vestibule, not a proper lobby. The check-in desk is just a guy behind a glass window—like a bank teller. Mallory hangs back while Alec talks to him.

When Alec returns to her side he’s holding a green plastic keychain with a single brass key.

“What is this place?” Mallory whispers. “And how do you know about it?”

“We did a piece for the magazine about the top ten hotels you need to know about—and not for family vacations, if you get what I’m saying.”

Mallory smiles, not sure if he’s serious or just messing around with her. But then he says, with urgency, “I need to be with you.”

The tone in his voice says more than his words, and she feels it like physical contact. And she knows she needs to be with him, too.

Hand in hand, they take a narrow set of cement stairs up to the third floor. The hallway is narrow and dim, with the muted color scheme of a chain hotel. He uses a key to open the door to a small room. Inside, there’s generic wood furniture and a queen-sized bed covered with a loud Art Deco bedspread. It’s seedy and it’s awful but being here in a place like this—it feels like a symbolic walk through the fire to get to the other side together.