Seduction of Moxie (21 page)

*

In the morning, when Violet and Clitty ventured back into the drawing room, she felt refreshed, though still sexually frustrated, and took great pleasure in the sight of Cotton—rumpled, ungroomed, and miserable looking, propped in a chair with his eyelids barely open.

“Good morning,” she called, smiling cruelly. “My goodness, but you look a mess. You really should try and get some sleep, Mr. McCann.”

He looked at her through bleary eyes without turning his head. “Harpy.”

“Though I doubt that sleep will make you any less of a dick,” she said, sitting beside him and crossing her legs. “That, sadly, may be out of all our hands.”

Seeming uncomfortable with her proximity, he stood and stretched. “I’m going to change. Try to stifle your deviant urges while I’m gone.”

“If only I could control my base and vulgar feminine wiles.” She batted her eyelashes several times in rapid succession, prompting his sneer.

Cotton hadn’t been gone more than a few seconds when Wil entered, closing the door to her room behind her.

“You just missed your favorite scrotum,” Violet said.

“He hasn’t had breakfast yet, has he?”

“Doubtful. He sat outside our doors all night to keep Moxie and me apart.”

Wil snorted. “That fat gink. Let’s order breakfast for everyone, and we can launch plan B.”

“Which is?”

Wil reached into her handbag and pulled out a glass bottle with a cork stopper. “This,” she replied, shaking it.

“Calomel? Isn’t that a laxative?”

“Some call it that.” Wil stroked the glass lovingly. “I prefer the term
ass grenade.
”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“No, silly. What about the word
grenade
implies danger?” Wil slipped the bottle back into her bag.

“Could this kill him?”

Wil paused. “I don’t think so. Now, it may make him
want
to die. Does that count?”

“You’re sure this will just keep him out of our hair? I don’t want to be charged as an accomplice to any kind of maiming or murder.”

“I’ll only give him one dose. And once he spends a day or so shedding his lower intestine like a snakeskin, Brigadier General Douchebag will be back to his day-to-day job of flushing out vaginas with irritating regularity.”

Violet sighed. “Then I’d better order breakfast.”

Wil’s face lit up. “I’d like French toast.”

*

When Moxie and Irene came out of their bedroom, Moxie was flabbergasted to see Cotton, Wil, and Violet seated together around a table in the drawing room, eating breakfast together.

“Good morning?” Moxie said. “Do I know you people?”

“Hey,” Violet said warmly. “We decided to order breakfast. We got you two omelettes and coffee. I hope that’s okay.”

“I love omelettes,” Irene squealed, scurrying over and pulling up a chair.

Moxie approached more slowly as Violet poured Irene a cup of coffee. “So has everyone buried the hatchet?”

“Oh, God, no,” Wil answered.

Cotton shook his head as he chewed a piece of toast. “No, I still want to repeatedly strike them.”

“It’s very mutual.” Violet glared at Cotton dramatically over the brim of her coffee cup.

Moxie took a seat beside them. “Oh.”

“Of course,” Violet said, “that doesn’t mean we can’t all sit down and have a civil meal together.” She put a covered plate in front of Moxie and removed the lid to reveal a steaming, cheesy three-egg omelette. “How did everyone sleep? That is, those of us who
chose
to sleep.”

Wil spread more butter on her toast. “I, for one, am finding train travel quite agreeable.”

Cotton, who looked bedraggled and exhausted, scoffed. “Perhaps the rocking simulates coitus.”

Wil’s left eyebrow rose defiantly. “No doubt even better than you might simulate it, darling. How purple are your testicles this morning?”

“You’re a dirty whore.” His eyes were narrow slits.

“Still smarting a bit then, huh?” Wil’s amusement was obvious.

“I may have you arrested for assault,” Cotton murmured through gritted teeth.

Wil seemed unfazed. “I can’t wait to tell the police how you cried like a schoolgirl. I imagine you died a little inside. More syrup?”

He looked livid. “Fuck your syrup.”

Wil was clearly not done with Cotton yet. “Hmm, not an altogether unpleasant way to get sticky, I suppose. At least the syrup wouldn’t embarrass itself.” She sipped her coffee and looked at him as though silently daring him to keep speaking to her.

“How’s the food?” Violet asked, in a transparent attempt to break the tension.

Irene looked as though she was torn between continuing to eat and bursting into tears. “Um, good? Thanks?”

“Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea,” Moxie ventured.

“But it was Mr. McCann who wanted us to be together like a big family,” Violet said. “This is what he wants. Isn’t that so, Mr. McCann? Because if so, we can do
everything
together until we reach Pasadena.”

Cotton’s eye twitched as he turned to Violet. “What I wanted was to accompany my star client to Hollywood, unencumbered by lesbian predators”—his gaze shifted to Wil—“truculent harlots”—his eyes moved accusingly to Irene—“or quixotic sycophants. That is
not
what I’ve gotten.”

Wil’s expression remained unchanged. “Well, at least you got French toast, jug-butt. You’re
welcome.
”

“Quick, oddal sicky-pants?” Irene scowled. “I can’t say I like the sound of that.”

“
I
don’t think you’re a sicky-pants, kid,” Violet said, the corner of her mouth curving upward. She patted Irene’s hand.

“Thanks. Hey, by the way, Vi, I read that magazine you gave me last night cover to cover. But I never found the steamy part.” She took another bite of breakfast.

Violet looked down at her plate guiltily. “Did you read that story about Clara Bow?”

“The one about her becoming a chanteuse?” Irene asked.

“Oh,” Violet gasped. “Sorry, I must have misread that. I thought it said she was becoming a cannibal.”

Moxie bit her lower lip as she tried not to laugh.

“Those two things aren’t close at all,” Irene muttered as she stabbed her eggs.

Cotton rolled his eyes. “This may be the longest three days of my life.”

Wil sinisterly watched him chew. “It just may be, at that.”

*

“Go.” Violet frowned at her cards.

“Thirty-one for two,” Moxie said, setting down a card and moving her cribbage peg up the board.

“Three for one,” Violet added, setting down her last card and advancing her peg as well.

Moxie tallied up her hand. “Fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, seven, eight, nine, and one for his nob.” She pointed to the jack of diamonds.

Violet smiled naughtily. “His nob? This game is absolutely filthy.”

Moxie laughed. “That must be why you’re so good at it.”

Violet took the cards and started to shuffle. “Though arguably, nobs are not my specialty.” She grimaced. “Speaking of nobs,” she said, turning around to look at Cotton, who was lying on the settee in the fetal position. “Mr. McCann, is that continuing smell of decay and sewage coming from you? Or does this train route pass through a sulfur mine?”

“I don’t feel well,” he moaned.

“Thanks for sharing it with the rest of us,” Violet said. “Dear Lord, I’m opening the windows. You’re making my eyes burn.”

Moxie had to admit that the stench emanating from Cotton was noxious and fetid. “I’ll go get my perfume. Maybe that’ll help.”

“Wait,” Violet said, sliding up a window pane. “Is there something else you can use? That may taint Twilight Moon for me forever. And I really like it.”

Moxie thought for a moment. “I’ll use Irene’s.”

“Perfect.” Violet opened the remaining three drawing-room windows.

Moxie reappeared, spritzing the perfume liberally about the room.

Violet sat back down, and as the fragrances began to mingle in the air, a horrified look came over her face. “Oh, you’re going to have to stop, Mox. Those two smells combined are vile.” She struggled to swallow.

“God, you’re right. Somehow adding the smell of flowers and powder has made things even worse.”

“Perhaps you should head to the water closet, Mr. McCann,” Violet suggested.

“I’m not leaving you two alone,” he wailed into the upholstery, unmoving.

“I have to hand it to him,” Violet said. “Few men would risk shitting their pants to ensure that no one anywhere ever had sex. That takes real tenacity.”

“Cotton is nothing if not tenacious. That and, of course, rotten inside.”

The door to the drawing room opened, and Wil and Irene entered.

“And that’s when she put her hand on my thigh,” Wil said. “And slid it
all
the way up.”

“Barbara Stanwyck?” Irene gasped. “Really?”

Violet sighed. “Wil, are you still telling that story?”

“Of course, darling. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you weren’t sober when you met Barbara Stanwyck, and you got all that information secondhand.”

Wil shut the door behind her. “Are you trying to say that Barbara Stanwyck wouldn’t
want
to grope me while I’m drunk?” She stopped and sniffed the air. “What the fuck is that? It smells like a unicorn took a shit in here.”

“Sadly, there was no magic or fairy dust involved.” Violet pointed behind her with her thumb. “It’s Shamus O’Anus back there.”

“By all that’s holy, man. Take that somewhere else.” Wil put her hand over her nose. “That’s not a natural smell. It’s like a mixture of brimstone, gardenia, and despair.”

“Hey,” Irene called. “What’s my perfume doing out here?”

Moxie handed the bottle back to her. “We thought it would help, but somehow it’s taken something horrible and turned it into an abomination.”

“Is he just going to lie there stinking?” Wil asked.

Violet’s thumb lightly grazed her lips as she appeared to contemplate something. “Look, I’m going for a walk.”

“I’ll come with you,” Moxie said quickly.

“Then so will I,” Cotton warbled.

Violet put her hands up. “No, you stay here, Moxie. We can take turns breathing the clean air. If we both go, he’ll just straggle along, releasing his mustard gas when we least expect it.”

“But I thought we were having lunch soon in the dining car,” Moxie said, disappointed that Violet didn’t want her along.

“Start without me. I’ll catch up with you before long.”

Before Moxie could ask Violet where she was headed, she was already out the door, Clitty not far behind her.

Wil nudged Cotton with her knee before she retreated to the other side of the room. “You sickening bastard. Do you think as long as we don’t hear it, we won’t notice?”

“No,” he croaked. “I just don’t care.”

*

“Come on,” Irene coaxed as she, Wil, and Moxie made their way to the dining car. “I’m
starving.
”

“Can’t we just wait another few minutes?” Moxie asked. “Violet’s been gone almost an hour, and I’m sure she’ll be back any time now.”

“Then she can meet us there,” Wil said. “I can’t sit in that ass coffin any longer. I’m certain it’s shortened my life. Luckily, we all know I don’t care about things like that.”

“I’m glad you said that so I didn’t have to,” Moxie replied.

When they arrived in the dining car, they sat at a table for four.

“And I can’t tell you how happy I am that the angel of death agreed to stay behind.” Wil perused the menu.

“We should take something back for him to eat,” Moxie suggested. “I’ve never seen him so under the weather.”

“I’m so hungry I want to order everything,” Irene said. “Then I think about Mr. McCann and what’s coming out of him. Maybe I’ll just get some soup and crackers.” Irene set the menu down and looked up. “Hey, isn’t that Violet over there?”

Moxie spun around. “Where?”

“Right over there—” Irene started to point.

Wil knocked Irene’s hand down. “The hunger must be making you hallucinate.” She sounded irritated.

Moxie squinted as she continued to peer through the crowd. “Yeah, I don’t—” Suddenly, she saw Violet, seated at a table for two with an attractive young blonde. They were laughing about something, but were far enough away that Moxie couldn’t hear their conversation. “Who the hell is
that
?”

“Nice job, sicky-pants.” Wil slapped Irene’s arm. “Is there anything else you’d like to destroy? Maybe smother a kitten?”

Irene stared at her. “I didn’t know,” she whined.

Moxie adjusted her chair so she could watch Violet without the physical discomfort of turning completely around. Her chest tightened as Violet held a long wooden match to light the blonde’s cigarette. The blonde steadied Violet’s hand until the tobacco was aflame, then pulled it even closer to blow the match out. The gesture seemed decidedly intimate. “Wil, do you know who that woman is?” She didn’t try to keep the anger from her voice.

“What woman?”

Moxie jerked her head back to glare at Wil, who was perusing her menu nonchalantly. “The one sitting with Violet, pawing her like a cougar with a pork chop.”

“Hmm?” Wil asked innocently.

“Her.” Moxie pointed. “There. The one with that I’ve-been-around-the-block look.”

“Um.” Wil stared at them across the car. “Her sister.”

“She doesn’t have any siblings.”

“Her cousin?”

“She didn’t mention she had a cousin traveling on the train,” Moxie countered, tiring of this game.

“Yeah,” Irene said, scowling. “That’s weird.”

Moxie felt her eyelid start to twitch. “You know, Wil, for an actress, you’d think you’d be a better liar.”

“No one ever said I was a
good
actress.” Wil’s eyes were still glued to the bill of fare.

A waiter appeared, looking friendly and attentive. “Ladies, good afternoon. What may I bring you to drink?”

“Lemonade.” Moxie couldn’t match the man’s pleasantness and didn’t really care.

While Wil and Irene placed their orders, Moxie looked back over to Violet’s table and saw that both ladies were gone. “Did you see them leave?” she blurted as the waiter walked away.