Seduction of Moxie (20 page)

Violet simply blinked at her. “Are you having some kind of spell? Speaking in tongues?”

“I’m okay.”

“That’s a relief.” She took a sip of her drink.

“Do you know any famous people in Hollywood?”

“That depends on how you define famous.”

“Um, people I might have heard of.”

“Oh, then no.”

“Well, who did you make your movie with?”

“Rex Kelly.”

“Wow! Is he really as suave as he is in the movies?”

“No.”

“Is he as sexy?”

“No.”

“As tall?”

“Sure, he’s tall.”

Irene scowled. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s just not very exciting.”

“Oh.”

“But maybe that’s because he’s high all the time. Perhaps we should give him the benefit of the doubt. Let’s assume he would be much more interesting if he weren’t constantly in a state of self-sedation.”

“Oh.” Irene was even more dejected. “Did you meet anyone else when you were out there?”

“Sylvia King. One night at a dinner party.”

“She’s a doll. I saw her in
Daddy’s Little Girl
and she was adorable.”

“Did you see her in
Much Ado About Nothing
? I believe she played the role of nothing.”

Irene’s face fell. “Is something wrong with her too?”

“After I called her a cunt, I reconsidered and realized that it’s an insult to cunts.”

“An insult to—”

“And since I’m quite fond of the cunt in both feature and form, I’ll have to think of another way to describe her that’s not quite as flattering.”

“But she always plays such a sweet young girl. I can’t believe she’s really that bad.”

“She’s an oozing pustule on the buttock of humanity.”

Irene looked at Violet for a moment. “Wow.”

“A walking and talking piece of feces.”

“What about Mary Pickford? Did you meet her? Maybe attend some big party at Pickfair with her and Douglas Fairbanks?”

“Nope, sorry.”

Irene seemed to be getting slightly frustrated. “So just the dope fiend and the turd?”

“Irene, you may be getting your hopes up too high. Sometimes famous people are just people who’ve been allowed to be more self-indulgent or hedonistic than the rest of us.”

“And you and Wil seem pretty hedonistic already.”

“Exactly. So imagine Wil with no limits at all.”

At precisely that moment, Wil came back into the drawing room, looking decidedly irritated and dejected.

Violet glanced at her wristwatch. “You didn’t make it to five minutes.”

“Let’s just say there’s something unmanly and decidedly un-American about Ambassador Douchebag.”

As disappointed as Violet was, she had to laugh. “I’ll be the judge of that. Tell me how you approached him.”

Wil flopped down on a chair and reached for her cigarette holder. “I knocked on his door, pushed my way in, and gave him my signature come-on line.” She propped her right leg over the arm of the chair, either unaware or simply indifferent to the fact that her skirt was now splayed open.

“Oh, God, no,” Violet said. “You didn’t.”

“It’s never missed before.”

Irene’s eyebrows curved upward in curiosity. “What’s your signature come-on line?”

Wil inhaled the smoke from her Chesterfield and exhaled it dramatically. “I like to fix the fella with a sultry look, narrow my eyes slightly, then say, ‘I’ll bet you like snatch.’”

Violet’s face was in her hands, as she slowly shook it from side to side.

“What?” Wil asked.

“And what did he say?” Violet looked up at her, unable to cloak her incredulity. “After you broke the ice in such a demure, sophisticated way?”

“Well, darling, he said something terribly unkind about my snatch in particular, so after I kicked him the balls, I left.”

Violet was momentarily unable to speak.

“You kicked someone in the balls?” Irene finally asked.

“Don’t worry,” Wil assured them. “I was prepared for this. We’re just going to move on to plan B.”

“Plan B?” Violet said. “Is that where you shove a stick of butter up his ass and hit him with a skillet?”

Wil grinned. “No, doll. That’s plan C.”

Violet stood and walked over to the table under the window, picking up the stationery there. “Irene, do you mind taking a letter back to Moxie tonight?”

“Not at all.”

*

It was well past the shank of the evening when Irene returned to her drawing room, a magazine folded under her arm.

Moxie sat reading a book as Irene flopped into a chair across from her. “So you
are
sober enough to remember which room is ours.”

“I’m plenty sober, sister. I had a couple of drinks, but that was hours ago.”

“Where have you been?” Moxie closed her book and set it in her lap.

“I had dinner with Wil and Violet in their room.”

Moxie felt a pang of envy and tried not to let it show. “Oh, how’d that go?”

“They’re a couple of real live wires. I can see why you have such a good time with them. Wil even tried to seduce some poor joe on a bet.”

“Yes, I saw that disaster firsthand.”

“You were there?” Irene seemed in awe.

“Yes. Cotton was right here with me.”

“Holy Toledo. What did he think of all the hubbub?”

Moxie paused before answering, unsure of what Irene was asking. “Well, I had the steward bring him some ice. He’s still trying to reduce the swelling.”

Irene’s mouth fell open but nothing immediately emerged. “You mean
he’s
the sap she kneed in the goods?”

“No other. I assumed you knew that part.”

Irene looked at the floor for a moment. “When Wil and Violet get to chinning, I only catch every third sentence or so. Their conversations are more like rounds from a Tommy gun.”

“Very bawdy ones, yes. They require some getting used to, but believe me, it’s well worth the effort.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Irene lowered her voice to a whisper. “Vi asked me to give you this.” She pulled a sealed envelope from her magazine and handed it to Moxie.

“Thanks.” She didn’t bother to hide her eagerness as she ripped it open and began poring over the now-familiar script.

My darling Moxie,

To say the Fates have again conspired to keep us apart does two things. One, it makes me sound very poetic, which certainly doesn’t hurt in my endeavor to make you want to sleep with me. Two, it absolves your roommate and that rigidly puckered rectum that you call an agent of any and all blame.

Now, upon spending some time with Irene, I have found her to be quite likeable and realize that she is just an unwitting pawn in the rectum’s grand plan—a bit like a diaper, to extend the metaphor. What your diaper of a roommate has agreed to do, while less than I had originally hoped, is to take you this letter. Sadly, I’m afraid this may be my only opportunity to communicate with you before we change trains in Chicago.

That being said, this missive is meant to pick up where we left off. To relieve some of your tension, so to speak. I want to tell you exactly how I want to touch you and how the taste of you has lingered both in my mind and on my lips like a fine wine. I need so much to drink in more of you. My tongue craves your wetness, my fingers ache to fill you, and I burn to once again feel your hips move hungrily against me, seeking release.

So fold this up and slip it somewhere discreet, excuse yourself to a private place where you won’t be disturbed, and let me give you the climax you were cheated out of earlier.

“Holy shit,” Moxie rasped. She flipped through the remaining two pages, her eye catching random words like
lick,
stroke,
and
nipple.

“What is it?” Irene asked.

“Just a…headache coming on.” She folded the letter and slid it into her cleavage.

“Maybe you should lie down. We have another four hours or so before we get to Chicago.”

“What about you? Are you going to sleep at all?” She tried to sound nonchalant.

“I don’t think so.” She again lowered her voice. “Don’t tell Mr. McCann, but Vi gave me this movie magazine to read. She said there was something really spicy in here, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. I’m trying to find it.”

“Ah, then maybe I
will
take that nap.” Moxie closed the door to the bedroom before Irene could ramble any more.

Chapter Twelve

“You’re not serious,” Violet said.

Cotton stood in the train drawing room before Violet, Moxie, and Irene, holding his suitcase in one hand and an icepack to his groin with the other. “Completely.” He dropped his bag, which landed with a loud thud. “This is the face of determination.” He gestured toward his fixed jawline.

“And those are the bruised balls of arrogance.” Violet pointed to his crotch.

“Cotton,” Moxie said, “is this really necessary?”

“Since I can’t trust anyone here, I simply visited the ticket counter and told them what I wanted. They were more than happy to give us accommodations beside each other so we can all share a drawing room. Moxie, you’re still sharing a room with Irma—”

“Irene,” they all corrected in unison.

“—and the other three rooms go to the rest of us,” he continued without acknowledging them. “Choose whichever room you please, Miss London. Because either way, I’ll be watching you like a hawk.” He resolutely picked up his luggage, stalked into a bedroom, and shut the door.

Irene glanced into the double bedroom to her left. “I guess this one is ours.” Taking her bag, she left Violet and Moxie alone in the drawing room.

“So,” Violet said slowly. “Did you find some time to yourself?”

“I did. I…took a nap.” A small smile tugged at Moxie’s lips.

“Was it a satisfying nap?”

“Yes. All three of them were.”

Violet exhaled loudly. “You must have been very weary.”

“Oh, God, I was. I still am.”

“I’m quite tired myself,” Violet said softly.

Moxie ran her index finger sensuously over the back of Violet’s hand. “We should do something about that.”

“We should. Every time I see you I become completely exhausted.”

“I’ve never wanted to rest so badly in my life.”

The door to the drawing room opened loudly, and Wil strolled in with her bags. “Here I am, darlings.”

“At last,” Violet said. “I was worried you’d miss the train.”

“I had that errand to run for plan B,” Wil said, stacking her suitcases.

“And?” Violet asked.

“Complete success.”

Moxie’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s this about?”

Wil removed a mirror from her handbag and began to check her makeup. “Don’t worry about it, sister. I had to pop out and find a stick of butter and a skillet.”

Moxie now looked even more concerned. “That’s a troubling admission.”

“Relax,” Violet said. “It’s not what it sounds like. Wil’s just trying to help us get more rest.”

“So you’re saying that I’m better off not knowing?”

Wil took a step closer to them. “Trust me, toots. If I didn’t need to know, I wouldn’t have told me.”

Violet blinked. “What confidence that logic instills.”

“So where are we?” Wil asked with a chuckle.

“Here,” Violet replied. “The Right Honorable Helmut Von Douchebag arranged for all five of us to share a drawing room.”

“That hinky little fart,” Wil said, propping her hands on her hips. “So how are his oysters?”

Violet grinned. “Happily, I haven’t seen them. But if his wobbly gait and the icepack he’s still carrying mean anything, you may possibly have turned them to marmalade. What did he say to you to elicit such brutality?”

Wil’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t recall.”

Violet turned to Moxie and cocked an eyebrow.

“From what I overheard, he told her he’d sooner put his member in a hot waffle iron and douse it with acid before subjecting it to her arid, syphilitic box.”

Violet whistled a low tone. “Wow. Not much room for misinterpretation there.”

“So you can see how those would be his final words while in possession of a functioning scrotum, can’t you?” Wil asked. When neither of them answered, she shrugged. “It’s very clear to me. I’m only sorry I didn’t make him cough up blood.” She looked at the four attached doors. “Which room is his, anyway?”

“That one,” Moxie said, pointing.

“Then I’ll be in here.” Wil carried her bags into the room farthest from Cotton’s. “See you two in the morning.”

Violet leaned close to Moxie. “Wait an hour and then come to my room,” she whispered.

“How about half an hour?”

“Fifteen minutes?”

Cotton emerged from his room, wearing a smoking jacket and carrying a book. “You can quit your murmuring,” he said as he sat down. “I’ll be sitting out here all night.”

“What?” Moxie asked. “Why?”

“Because I’ll not have my top act ruined before she gets to Hollywood.”

Violet leaned on the wall and crossed her arms in defiance. “Yes, all the really big stars wait to get ruined
after
they get to Los Angeles.”

Moxie’s eyes brimmed with indignation. “That can’t be nearly as enjoyable.”

“It all depends on your preferred method of ruination.” Violet gazed at Moxie and lingered on her breasts.

“You look very tired,” Moxie said, the innuendo heavy in her voice.

“I am. I could rest for hours.”

“Mmm, so could I.”

Cotton coughed. “What are you two prattling about? Go to sleep if you’re tired.”

Violet continued to study Moxie in hunger. “Well, good night.”

“You too,” Moxie said, though neither made a move toward her room.

“Do you mind controlling your dog?” Cotton snapped.

Violet saw that Clitty was playfully tugging on Cotton’s slipper, though it was still on his foot, and she couldn’t suppress her smile. “C’mon, Clitty.” She snapped her fingers and he trotted over to her side. “See you in the morning,” she told Moxie softly, then walked into the remaining bedroom.

Moxie watched Violet as she shut the door, then shuffled over to the doorway of her room. “Good night, Cotton,” she said as she turned her back to him. “You douchebag,” she mumbled.