Page 33 of Fallen Angel

The lights dim, and the audience settles down, the frisson of anticipation in the air. “So what’s the deal with the new one? I hear she’s an interesting character,” Justin whispers.

“You’ll see for herself,” Mallory says. “She’s opening.”

The curtain opens to reveal a stripper pole in the center of the stage. Mallory and Bette look at each other. This is a first. And there’s no way Agnes authorized it because she’s extremely offended by any comparisons between burlesque clubs and strip clubs.

A militaristic, industrial-sounding song fills the room, and Mallory feels the room’s focus sharpen like a blade. Violet appears from stage left, wearing a Belle mask from Beauty and the Beast, a black leather jacket cinched tightly at the waist, black fishnet stockings, and combat boots.

She marches in place, her body rigid and almost robotic. As the song picks up momentum she unzips the jacket, baring her breasts covered only in skull-and-crossbones pasties. The crowd cheers and claps wildly, and Mallory notices that Justin is watching the performance with rapt attention.

The music builds to a crescendo, and Violet jumps onto the pole, clambering up it like an otherworldly creature seeming to defy gravity. At the midway point, she releases both hands and, supporting herself with only her legs, arches her back in midair. And then, to the collective disbelief of the audience, she somehow rotates around.

“Oh … my … god,” Bette says.

“I thought I’d seen everything,” says Justin.

Mallory can only imagine what Agnes is thinking; To blur the lines between burlesque and pole dancing was the worst kind of artistic affront. But how did Violet get the stage set up without Agnes knowing? She must have a connection to someone in the stage crew.

Violet continues to wind her body around the pole, finally leaping and tearing off her fishnets, leaving her in only a thong, combat boots, and the Belle mask.

“Whoever wrote Beauty and the Beast must be rolling over in their grave,” says Mallory.

“Agnes is probably digging one for Violet,” says Bette, and they laugh.

The audience whistles, cheers, and stomps their feet in a frenzy Mallory has rarely—if ever—heard.

It will be a hard act to follow.

Mallory waits in the darkness behind the stage curtain. She hears the whispers and rustling of the audience, waiting until the foreboding opening strings of the Hole song “I Think That I Would Die” fills the room. The curtain parts, and the stage lights shine brightly to reveal Moxie, wearing angelic white silk and Scarlett in a blood-red satin. Scarlett wears opera-length black lace gloves, a layered bustle skirt, and black fishnet stockings.

Snow White slowly removes one of her white lace gloves, eyes wide. Rose Red mimics her by using her teeth to remove her own gloves, tearing at them savagely. They dance around one another. Rose Red eventually corners Snow White, circling her and toying with the ribbon ties of her robe, tugging them loose. Rose Red pulls from the folds of her bustle a glittering, sequined apple to further her seduction, and Snow White takes the bait, biting the poison fruit only to collapse in a heap. When she rises, she unleashes her hair from its tight bun and engages in a seductive dance with Scarlett, mirroring each other’s slow bumps and grinds. Rose Red kneels behind Snow White, running her hands just above her breasts, teasing off her robe to reveal her corset and stocking legs. Snow White slowly tugs off her garters and stockings, eyes locked with Rose Red, her audience of one. Rose Red joins the striptease, shedding her skirt and tossing it aside to reveal her own gartered legs and sheer red lace underwear. Then off comes her corset and she shimmies the red tassels on the pasties adorning each breast. When Snow White strips down to her own pasties and underwear, Rose Red pulls her down so they drop to the floor together, entwined, like yin and yang, in a pile of discarded lace, satin, and rose petals falling from the “sky.”

The curtain closes, and the audience claps their appreciation. In the darkness, still on the floor, Mallory breathes heavily. To a non-pro, it would be hard to notice the difference between the applause for Violet and the applause for Moxie. But Mallory notices it. And it tells her something: She might be old news in the world of burlesque.

What is happening? Why does everything feel so fractured and just … off ? Maybe she needs some time away from the club. She should just focus on the legal job for a few weeks—that, and straightening out her relationship with Alec. And yes, she suspects that will require a break from the Blue Angel. Because she’s not sure she can get over the Plaza while still working around Violet—a constant unwanted reminder of bad behavior. That includes her own.

It’s the right thing to do. So before she changes her mind, she looks around to tell Agnes she won’t be coming in for the rest of the week.

She finds Agnes in her office staring into space.

“Agnes? Everything okay?” Mallory closes the door behind her.

Agnes looks up, a bitter expression on her face.

“They liked it.”

“Who? Liked what?” Mallory says, although she’s pretty sure she knows.

“Violet’s pole dance. I’ve never heard them applaud like that.”

Mallory refrains from saying Me neither. “Oh well, they don’t know any better, Agnes. I mean, it’s all just entertainment to them. You can’t expect the audience to be offended by someone not performing classic burlesque.”

“They don’t even want burlesque. I think now they want to see strippers, but feel better about themselves when they can call it burlesque.” She shakes her head. “The art form is dying.”

“Don’t say that, Agnes. We have a full house every night. If people want just plain old stripping, they can go elsewhere. But they don’t. They come here.”

Agnes’s frown deepens. Mallory feels terrible. She’s never seen Agnes Wieczorek down. Angry, yes. Frustrated—constantly. But never … defeated.

“You girls might be the last of the true burlesquers. Watch my words: in a decade, the shows passing for burlesque … we won’t recognize it.”