Page 70 of Fallen Angel

“Oh?” Patricia says, sipping her champagne. The oh is weighted. The oh says that she knows something is not right. Maybe has known.

Poppy wishes she hadn’t just taken a bite of the crusty bread. She’s finding it difficult to swallow.

“I’m quitting.”

“Why? What happened?”

Poppy reaches for her water glass, breaking out in a sweat. She wants to crawl under the table and die. Anything to avoid admitting what she’s done to her smart, wonderful girlfriend. But unfortunately, she keeps breathing. There’s no way out but the truth.

“Patricia, I don’t know how to say this. I am really, really sorry. But I slept with someone from the club. And I never want to see her again and so I’m never going back.”

She pulls her handbag over her shoulder. This is the point where Patricia will no doubt tell her to move out—that she never wants to see her again.

“When?” Patricia asks calmly.

“What?”

“When did this happen?”

“Um, recently. It was nothing. It was like—”

“Are you in love with her?” Patricia asks calmly.

The question takes her by surprise. It’s so far from the reality she almost laughs.

“What? No! I don’t even like her.” Saying this, she starts to cry. Pathetic! Patricia is the one who has the right to break down in tears. Not her.

But Patricia just nods. She sips her champagne, silent. Excruciatingly silent.

“Do you want me to leave?” Poppy asks.

Patricia looks her in the eyes. “No.”

Relief pulses through her. “I’m so sorry,” she says, crying, aware that she’s making a scene. She can feel the burning glances of disapproval from the diners nearest them. She’s ruining the perfect order and curation of the room with her messy emotions.

“Poppy, this hurts,” Patricia finally says. “I can’t say it doesn’t. But I’m also older than you, and I guess this sort of thing comes with the territory with a young and gorgeous girlfriend. So I don’t blame you, exactly. But I also can’t set myself up to be hurt further.”

Poppy can’t believe it. Is there an opening for her to fix this? “It will never happen again. I swear. All I ever wanted was to love someone and be loved back and I found it with you. I made a terrible mistake and I wish I could undo it. But I can’t. But I promise you from now on, it’s just you and me. Even if that means giving up burlesque.”

Patricia shakes her head. “You don’t have to give up performing. And you shouldn’t. There are other burlesque clubs in the city.”

“I don’t know.” The truth is, she’s not sure she wants to try. This whole thing with Violet has completely shaken her confidence.

Her phone rings with a call from Mallory, and she ignores it. It rings again. Then Patricia’s phone rings, and she takes the call.

“Yes, she’s with me,” Patricia says, eyeing Poppy. Then she listens and nods, ending the call with “Okay. I’ll tell her.”

The restaurant staffer who seated them comes by to admonish them for cell phone use at the table. Patricia doesn’t apologize.

“That was Mallory. She asked me to tell you they’re having a meeting at the Baxters’? She said you know where it is—and what this is about.”

Poppy isn’t sure what it’s about, not specifically. But it must be important for Mallory to call Patricia’s cell. The only reason Mallory has the number is because Patricia used to be Mallory’s boss when she worked at her law firm.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Poppy says.

Their first course arrives. They begin to eat in silence. It’s excruciating.

“I think,” Patricia says, “all this is partly my fault. I work constantly, and I let us really compartmentalize our professional lives. I’m at the office or in court all day and you work late at night. So let’s fix that.”