Page 120 of The Unraveling

My jaw wants to stay clamped shut, but I give a breezy smile and say, “I agree.”

I’m trying to use charm to fool this man, who is clearly too smart to trick. At least completely.

“And if you’re lying to me,” he goes on, “then this is completely unethical.”

I nod and say, “I understand.”

“I’ll leave you and your conscience with that,” he says. “But congratulations. Now go.”

Holy shit. Holy shit.

“Thank you for having faith in me,” I say.

I leave the office and run quickly to the bathroom, where I catch my breath and rub my face hard. Fuck.

I don’t like lying. But I can’t lose this job. I can’t. It’s what everything has been for.

I hate how I feel right now. Guilty for lying. Embarrassed for being caught. Ashamed for doing something so wrong. Confused. A little betrayed by the entire experience of being in London. And very scared of how Arabella is going to react when she hears the news.

—

Iput in my headphones as armor and put my songs on shuffle. The song that comes on is “The Other Woman” by Lana Del Rey. The irony is not lost on me.

I let it play and walk through the hallways toward the stage door exit, through the girls, ignoring the many sets of eyes looking at me.

I push open the door to the outside, and I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see Arabella.

“Congratulations,” she says.

“On…oh, on Manon.”

“Yes, of course, what else would I mean?”

She has a hand on her hip and she’s arching an eyebrow at me.

“I’m just out of it. Long week. Thanks for the congratulations.”

“It’s sort of funny, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You replacing me for opening night, when my helping you is how you even got here.” She laughs. “I mean, if it weren’t for me, you might be working at a burlesque show by now. I saw you dance that night with our friend David. I think you’d be good at it.”

I can’t tell if she’s kidding or being mean or both.

“You’re right, I owe you,” I say.

“You’re right, you do,” she says, smiling. “So come out with us tonight. Yeah? We’re going to this very cool new spot. I won’t take no for an answer. You can buy me a drink for getting your career back.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say.

“Oh, please.” She pouts her lip. “That’s so mean after all I have done for you, no?”

“Ha. Right, um…” I feel my ear throb from the memory of her biting me. A reminder that she cannot be trusted.

“Come on, just for a bit,” she says. “And fine, I’ll buy the drinks. You know, as evil as you may think I am, I can recognize when someone is the better dancer for the role. Have I ever done anything but help you?”

Somehow, for the most part, she’s right.

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