Seduction of Moxie (15 page)

“Is that what that scratching sound was?” Wil shut the door after Clitty pranced inside behind his master.

“This must be what they mean when they say good help is hard to find. Check under that pile of shit in the corner.”

“Have a seat,” Wil said in resignation. She watched as Violet tried to find a piece of furniture not covered with rumpled garments, papers, or piles of trash.

“What guarantee do I have that there’s really a chair under there?”

“Is my personal deep-seated suspicion good enough?”

“Has it ever been?” Violet unceremoniously shoved a heap of junk from the armchair onto the floor, then sat. “I’d like to ask how you’re doing, but my keen sense of intuition has answered that for me.”

Wil grunted in response.

“You spending the evening alone?”

“Just me, Amos n’ Andy.”

Violet’s expression softened. “What happened to
Scandals and Lies
?”

Wil took a deep breath to steady herself. “That asshole director recast it.”

“Why?”

She drew in the last bit of blaze from the remains of her cigarette, exhaled through her nose, then stubbed the butt out brutally in the ashtray to her left. “I fucked it all up.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean I balled up everything, but good.” She was frustrated and more than a little embarrassed. “I spent so much time blotto that I couldn’t remember my lines. And after getting shown the door there, I can’t get an audition anywhere else in town.”

“So you’re in a bind, huh?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Vi.” She ran her fingers through her hair.

“I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look here, sister. You’re Wil Skoog, one of the best goddamned actresses I know. You’re not going to let this get you down.”

“I’m not?”

“Absolutely not. You’re going to take this personal setback and learn from it.”

“I hate learning.”

Violet’s eyelids dropped slightly. “Which is why you’re living in this life-size anus with just a radio for company. Surely you must see the correlation.”

“Can you please get to the point? You’re cutting into the time I set aside to wallow in self-pity.”

“Look, Wil, I’m here to make you an offer.”

“What kind of offer?”

Violet removed a train ticket from her handbag. “This is a ticket for you to leave with me on the morning train to Chicago, then on to Hollywood.”

Wil was stunned—unable, for possibly the first time in her conscious life, to speak.

“But here’s what I need from you,” Violet continued. “You need to pull yourself back together. If you come with me to Los Angeles, you’re coming to act, not to see what your body’s saturation point for cocaine and gin is. You need to remember how talented you are.”

“You’re taking me back with you?” she finally whispered, feeling more emotional than she could remember being when it wasn’t written into stage directions.

“Yup, you’re stuck with me, toots.”

“You already knew about the play?”

“I talked to Julian, yes. He’s very worried about you.”

“I’ve been such a dope. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Vi.”

“Good. Now get packed. When you’re done, we’re heading to the Luna. There’s a certain blonde there I mean to surprise.”

*

Irene sat at a table near the stage while she waited for Moxie’s last set to start, as pleased as she could be that she was seated with Mr. Cotton McCann. After all, if he was able to get Moxie an audition for a movie in Hollywood, why couldn’t he do the same for her?

“Do you know any movie stars?” she asked, trying for what felt like the hundredth time to start a conversation with him.

“I haven’t done much in the film industry,” he said. “Personally, I think it’s on its way out.”

“Yeah?”

“Come on, now, movies with sound?” Cotton scoffed as he lit his cigar. “Just a flash in the pan. It’s only a matter of time before America tires of film and goes back to its true love, vaudeville.”

Irene furrowed her brow as she considered this possibility. “Gee, I sure hope not,” she said without thinking. When he glowered at her, she played with the stem of her fancy champagne glass. She had drunk only one glassful all evening, but could easily see how Moxie had overindulged the night before she had awoken a lesbian. Was there a connection between those two occurrences? She eyed the stemware suspiciously.

The club was filling up quickly, and Irene did a double take when a woman with a dark bob sauntered in holding a terrier. She and her red-haired friend sat at a table toward the back, where a plump man with a mustache and a nice-looking fella with spectacles were already seated.

“Nah,” she muttered aloud. “It couldn’t be.”

*

“Vi, you made it after all.” Julian rose to kiss her cheek. “And you brought a creature of the night.”

“Yes, on both counts,” Violet replied. “Thanks for getting me Moxie’s itinerary.”

“It was simple, darling. She can’t shut up for a second about this trip. By the way, Violet, this is Gary.”

“Nice to meet you.” She extended her hand.

“What can I get you?” a waiter asked.

“Where’s Fred?” Wil questioned. “I’d like to see his perfect little ass. Can that be arranged?”

The waiter looked uncomfortable. “Fred’s off this evening, ma’am.”

“Well, then, let’s see your ass. Spin for me, darling.”

Violet smiled, feeling encouraged by the return of Wil’s playfulness, then completely amused when the lad did hesitantly turn around, his arms stretched out awkwardly.

“Splendid,” Wil said. “You’ll more than do. What’s your name?”

“Um…Ira.”

“How wonderfully Jewish. Tell me, are you circumcised, Ira?”

Violet intervened, marveling at how quickly
playful
inevitably seemed to cross the boundary to
inappropriate.
“Ira, might you bring us a bottle of champagne and four glasses?”

He nodded and darted away.

“Celebrating?” Gary asked.

“I hope to be soon,” Violet replied. “You boys don’t mind drinking champagne with us, do you?”

They both shook their heads. “Good God, Vi,” Julian said over the rim of his rickey. “You look absolutely tanned. How the hell did that happen?”

“Pass out naked by the pool just once, and this is what you get.”

“That sounds absolutely decadent.” His voice was tinged with titillation.

“If only it were true.”

“Damn,” Julian murmured.

“The truth is they have a fat load of sun there, and it bakes you like a soufflé. There’s no escaping it, even at night.”

“That sounds horrible.” Julian shook his head.

“It’s not as bad as all that. California is bright, clean, and unspoiled.”

“So it’s the exact opposite of Wil,” he added, unable to stanch getting his amusement at her expense.

“My, my,” Wil said, eyeing Julian warily. “You’ve been such a busy bee, Jules. Providing itineraries and reporting to everyone on my state of well-being.”

His amusement vanished. “Do you intend to tell me that you’d rather be back in that rat’s nest, living on potted meat and Chesterfields, than here with us, planning a trip to Hollywood?”

“Well, if by
with us,
you mean with
you,
then I might have to consider that option for a moment.”

“Come on, Wil. You’re not really upset, are you?” he asked.

“I would have appreciated you talking to me first. Instead of having Vi travel a million miles on a camel’s back.”

His expression softened. “Darling, accept that sometimes talking to you is neither appealing nor productive.”

“Thank you, you fat-assed queen.”

“You’re welcome, you insufferable cunt.”

Violet glanced at Gary, whose mouth was hanging open and who seemed completely bewildered by this strange amalgam of thoughtfulness and abuse. “So touching,” she said. “If one of you strikes the other, I may not be able to suppress my tears.”

The lights dimmed, and the stout emcee appeared. As he began to introduce Moxie, Violet realized her hands were trembling. Over five weeks had passed since they had seen each other. What if things were completely different now?

When the spotlight hit Moxie, Violet’s breath caught in her chest. She was as beautiful as her memory had attributed, perhaps more so, in a candy-apple red dress with fringe and black fishnet stockings. Moxie signaled to the pianist and started to sing a slow, sexy number.

The mention of your name

Makes my temperature rise;

And you fan the torrid heat

With the look in your eyes.

I watch you lick your lips

As you stare at my mouth;

And my stomach does flips

When your gaze travels south.

How you melt my resolve,

I’ll never know.

My reservations dissolve

For wanting you so.

When your hand brushes mine,

My pulse gets to racing,

Like I’ve had too much wine,

I’m dizzy and aching.

How you melt my resolve,

I’ll never know.

My reservations dissolve

For wanting you so.

When the music stopped, the place broke into enthusiastic applause, though Violet found herself somewhat catatonic.

“Violet.” Julian strained to be heard over the crowd. “You look like a wolf ready to devour a sleeping lamb.”

“Is it wet in here, or is it just me?” She saw no empathy from anyone at the table. “I really need to start socializing with
someone
who’s attracted to women. When did the champagne arrive?”

“Right after your jaw hit the floor, darling,” Wil said, pouring Violet a glass.

“She’s absolutely gorgeous, Wil.” She took a sip.

“I’ve heard this number before, sister—in this very place. So do what you need to do to get her out of your system.”

“I’m not sure I
can
get her out of my system, but I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than try.”

*

Several songs into her final set Moxie thought she caught a glimpse of Violet in the audience. At first, she assumed her mind was playing tricks on her. The table was in a dark corner, and while she could clearly make out a woman with a black bob and straight bangs sitting there, she decided that lots of women wore their hair that way.

A short time later, she realized that Julian was sitting at that same table with Gary. Coincidence? After all, Vi was in Hollywood. And was that fourth person sitting with them Wil? Was it possible that black thing in the brunette’s lap was a terrier and not a fuzzy handbag?

When the redhead slapped the waiter’s ass, Moxie had no more doubts. Her stomach sank, and she found it difficult to concentrate.

She closed her eyes and started to sing “But Not for Me.”

How did Violet get here? Was everything all right? Why had she traveled all the way back to New York without telling her she was coming?

She forced herself to push those thoughts aside and focus on what she was doing, though even without consciously considering Violet’s presence, she felt different performing for her—somehow electric, bolder. She let her voice get a little throatier and lightly traced her neckline as she sang. Moxie sank into the eroticism of performing for her lover, and she wondered if it showed.

Chapter Nine

Cotton
was agog.

He wasn’t exactly sure what had happened to Moxie over the course of the evening, but the Moxie of her earlier sets had
nothing
on this gal. Sure, she had been entertaining before, even exceptionally good, but now she was on fire.

She radiated a sexuality that was provocative and captivating. And clearly he wasn’t the only one who was transfixed. All eyes were on her through each and every song.

Her hips slowly gyrated. She pulled her hands through her hair passionately. And Moxie, perhaps unconsciously, at times slowly and softly stroked the microphone as though she was urging it to ejaculate.

When she finished her final song, people leapt to their feet and applauded loudly. Some were whistling, and the energy in the air was palpable.

Moxie’s roommate—what was her name?—was standing and clapping vigorously as well. “Wasn’t she great?” she shouted toward him. He nodded in response, but didn’t rise, instead twirling the cigar in his hand idly.

When at last the adulation ebbed, he stood to politely welcome her to the table, but instead she made a beeline for a table somewhere in the back.

“Where’s she going?” he asked no one in particular, standing now for no reason and feeling quite foolish.

“Oh, wow,” the roommate said.

“Wow, what?”

“I guess that
is
her at that table—Violet London, I mean. The Hollywood actress.”

This wasn’t making any sense. “Who is?”

“At that table back there. The one with the dark hair. She’s been writing Moxie from Hollywood.”

“So that’s the friend out West?”

The roommate nodded.

He scrutinized this woman closer. She had a real Hollywood look about her, all right. From her sleek yellow dress to her little dog, this London dame seemed all bathtub gin and quiff. He instantly disliked her. “Where did they meet?”

“Here, I think.” She was eyeing their reunion closely for some reason. Something didn’t feel right.

“Say, what’s the deal with this doll, anyway?”

The irritation in his voice must have startled her, because she suddenly snapped her head back nervously. “I dunno. It’s not like they’re having sex or anything.” Her face then went through about six emotions in a few seconds. What looked like shock became mortification, then embarrassment, irritation, anger, and finally shame.

“What the hell are you gabbing about?” he barked.

“I mean, how
could
they have sex?” she stammered, then laughed awkwardly. “What would they do, right?”

Her discomfort and her veiled attempt at muddying the waters set off all kinds of warning bells in Cotton’s head. He needed to break this up, whatever it was.