Seduction of Moxie (25 page)

“Not yet. Is there something we can do for her?”

“She just needs to relax. Maybe if we introduce her to a schlub she’ll feel more at ease.”

“A schlub?”

“Sure, let me ask Peter.” Violet whispered something in Peter’s ear that made him look at Irene, then snort. He nodded, then receded into the crowd. “He’s going to take care of it.”

“He’s not going to set her up with some sap, is he?”

“Hopefully not,” Violet said, “but clearly she needs someone a little more her speed.”

“If she wants to be able to speak at all, she does.”

Peter returned, pushing a short, nebbishy fellow in front of him. “Ladies, this is Wallace. Wallace, this is Moxie, Violet, and Irene.”

Wallace blinked three times and bowed.

“Wally, darling,” Wil said, approaching him with her hand extended. “I’m Wil Skoog.”

“Hello,” he stuttered, neglecting to take her hand.

Wil frowned. “Say, you’re not in the later stages of syphilis, are you? You seem a little squirrelly.”

“Huh?”

Peter laughed. “How about you kids take a seat over here and get acquainted?” He snapped his fingers impatiently at the couple seated on his love seat. “Come on, folks. People need to sit.” They quickly leapt up, and Peter directed Irene and Wallace to take their place. “That’s just fine. Wallace, what are you drinking?”

“Uh—”

“I’ll get you a refill.” Peter dashed back to the bar.

Moxie shook her head and took a sip of her Floradora. “He’s not much of a matchmaker, but he makes a hell of a drink.”

Violet shrugged. “It beats a punch in the quim.”

Chapter Fifteen

Violet sat quietly in the back of a darkened room on a Pinnacle soundstage, watching Moxie audition for Henry Childs. As Moxie’s fingers caressed the microphone, Violet felt phantom digits somehow stroking her in the same manner. Was it because, just last night, she had felt Moxie’s sensuous touch? Or was
anyone
who was watching Moxie experiencing the same sensations? Could Henry possibly be imagining Moxie touching him so provocatively?

From where Violet was sitting, she couldn’t see the director’s face. She momentarily warred within herself between
wanting
Henry to find Moxie desirable and jealously wanting to keep Moxie to herself. She chastised herself as the song ended and tried to focus on what was best for Moxie and her career.

Henry stood and approached Moxie, clapping enthusiastically. “That was great.” He turned to the back of the room and put his hand across his brow to search the darkness for Violet. “You weren’t kidding, Vi. This doll is dynamite.”

“When have I ever steered you wrong?” Violet stood, and Clitty hopped up to follow her.

Suddenly Cotton burst through the door, looking rumpled, sweaty, and out of breath, his wrinkled jacket slung over his arm. When he fixed his gaze on Moxie, he sighed heavily and approached her. “Moxie, thank God I’ve finally found you.”

Moxie’s expression was decidedly less pleased. “Oh, hello.”

“Where did you go?” He sounded desperate. “I looked for you on the train and you were gone. Did you know someone shit in my shoe?”

Moxie was visibly in distress. Violet quickly closed the distance between them, hoping to intervene before McCann said anything untoward that might negate the power of Moxie’s performance. Up close, his appearance was even more troubling, his shirt sporting colossal armpit stains and what appeared to be the remnants of some type of fricassee across his expansive chest.

“Can I help you?” Henry was clearly nonplussed by this man, who could still plausibly be labeled a lunatic.

“Who the hell are
you
?” Cotton barked.

Henry scowled. “Since this is a closed set, perhaps you should explain who
you
are, Mac.”

“Uncle.” Violet put her hand on the small of Cotton’s back. “How did you get in here? Where is your nurse?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Cotton tried to recoil from her touch.

“I’m sorry, Henry,” Violet said softly, trying to lead Cotton out of the room. “This is my Uncle Douch…ay.”

“Uncle who?” Henry repeated slowly.

Moxie was obviously avoiding eye contact with them as she struggled not to laugh.

Violet continued to direct Cotton toward the door by his shoulders. “Uncle DuChé,” she repeated, more confidently this time. “Our family is French. Uncle, you’ve interrupted Moxie’s audition with director Henry Childs.” She emphasized Henry’s name as much as she could, in the hope that Cotton would recognize the name.

Cotton’s brow creased. “Hen—”

“—ry Childs, yes.” Violet nodded slowly.

Cotton slicked his hair back, apparently unaware of how little he actually helped his appearance. “Oh, allow me to—”

“Wait in the hall?” Violet shoved Cotton toward the door more forcefully now. Clitty trailed her closely. “But of course,
mon oncle.
Certainement.
We’ll just leave you two to chat.” She smiled at Henry and Moxie.

Once the door shut behind them, Cotton’s acquiescence immediately dissolved. “Stop pushing me, you shrew!”

Violet grabbed his upper arm and pulled him farther from the door. “Look here, you oozing ulcer of a man. What do you think you’re going to accomplish for Moxie, bursting in on her Hollywood audition, looking like an overtaxed sweat gland, and smelling curiously of—” She paused and sniffed the air near him. “Shit and Belgian cheese? Do you somehow think that’s helping?”

His face fell. “But I’m her agent.”

Violet was surprised by a momentary twinge of sympathy. “I know. What happened to you? You look like you were raped by an angry plate of veal piccata.”

“Well, you bitches
left
me at the train station,” he said through clenched teeth. “I had feces in my shoe, my luggage was gone, and I had no idea where any of you were staying. I only knew that Moxie had an appointment for this morning, somewhere on this studio lot.” He sighed. “This vast, expansive, labyrinthine lot.”

Violet tapped her index finger lightly on her pursed lips while she considered his plight. She felt ninety-eight percent certain that Wil was responsible for the disappearance of Cotton’s bags, but she felt no need to voice this hunch. “So where have you been staying the last two days?”

“A dingy place on Hollywood Boulevard called Los Reyes de Armas.”

“And this?” Violet pointed to the large golden stain on his shirt.

“Was deposited on me by a drunken waiter a day and a half ago. But I have nothing to change into.”

“As much as this pains me,
mon oncle,
” she said, arching an eyebrow in wonder, “I’m going to help you.”

“What?”

“C’mon.” Violet gingerly tugged his elbow. They walked outside where Fitzhugh sat in the limo, reading the newspaper. “Hey, Fitzy. I have a little favor to ask. D’ya mind?”

Fitzhugh got out of the driver’s seat, folding the paper and tossing it back through the open car window. He looked Cotton up and down and whistled solemnly. “Is he the favor?”

She nodded. “He’s lost his luggage, so would you take him over to see Emma in wardrobe? She should be able to fit him with something so he can get this suit to the cleaners. Just tell her it’s for me.”

“But what about the audition?” Cotton asked, seeming somewhat ambivalent.

“Trust me. You’re doing the best possible thing for Moxie right now. Now, go meet Emma and let her help you. And don’t be a dick to her, please. We’ll come by your hotel tonight at seven to pick you up and take you to dinner. Hopefully we’ll have good news to celebrate.”

Cotton seemed to finally have no fight left in him, and he nodded tiredly and got into the backseat.

Fitzhugh shut the door and looked at Violet suspiciously.

“You’re invited to dinner too, Fitzy.”

“Do you need me to come back and collect you?”

She shook her head and smiled. “If you could just help my filthy friend here, that’s more than enough. When he’s all gussied up, drop him back at Los Reyes de Armas on Hollywood Boulevard and then come by the Garden for drinks.”

He winked at her. “Consider it done, Vi.”

“Thanks.” As Violet watched the limo slowly pull away, she contemplated Cotton’s weary form as it sagged against the back window. She supposed he wasn’t
completely
horrid.

“Hiya, tomato.” Moxie was standing behind her, a broad grin on her face.

“My goodness, a sexy stranger, come to tempt me. You’re beautiful enough to be an actress. Are you one?”

Moxie’s chin dropped, but her smile remained radiant. “I am, yes.”

Violet swept her into a fast embrace and spun her excitedly. “That’s wonderful.”

“I don’t have any lines,” Moxie quickly said. “I’m playing the nightclub singer.”

“So you do a number?”

“Actually, I do
two.
” Moxie’s voice was thrumming with elation.

Violet was very proud of Moxie and fought to suppress the desire to kiss her there in plain sight, on the steps of the soundstage. “What’s the picture?”

“
Love Comes Sailing.
”

“And who’s in it?”

“Gloria Swanson.”

“Hmm, you might want to keep your distance from her.” Violet gestured with her head that they should start walking.

“And why is that? Worried I might fall for her charms?”

“Not as much as I’m worried about all the powerful people she knows. Rumor has it that until recently she was Joe Kennedy’s mistress, and in exchange he was managing her career.”

“The financial mogul?”

“The very one. When do you start filming?”

“I’m supposed to be back Tuesday morning for wardrobe fittings. Hey, where are we going?” Moxie asked. “And where’s Fitzhugh?”

“I sent him off on an errand to help our poor Uncle DuChé properly groom himself. We’re now headed to T. Z. Walter’s office. I have an appointment to see him about my next picture.”

“Hmm, and then?”

Violet’s voice was suddenly soft and raspy. “Then we take a cab back to the Garden, where I can spend a few hours making love to you.”

Moxie’s forward motion stopped the instant Violet finished the sentence, and she exhaled loudly. “Mmm.”

“Does that mean yes?”

“It means that I find it mildly infuriating that when I’m with you, you make sure that I can
never
have on dry underpants.”

Violet couldn’t hide her amusement. “Is it wrong if I take some perverse pride in that gift?” They started walking again.

“It depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not I get to make you come in my mouth.”

This time, Violet halted and momentarily stood still, her breath briefly caught in her chest. When she looked at Moxie, she saw a nefarious expression, framed by perfect dimples. “I’m almost certain that can be arranged,” she said with some difficulty. “Even though I know you’re just trying to make me wet before I have to go talk to the head of the studio.”

Moxie began her trek again. “Be that as it may, doll, that doesn’t mean it’s
not
my plan for the evening.”

Violet hurriedly caught up to her. “You know, when we first met, I had no idea what a lusty little sex monkey you really are.”

“Me either,” Moxie said, her eyes sparkling. “It’s a nice surprise, isn’t it?”

“Every day is like Christmas morning.”

*

“So, Violet, I suppose you want to know about the new movie.” T. Z. Walter sat casually on the edge of his massive desk while Violet scratched Clitty between the ears before setting him on the floor to explore.

“Shall I try and guess?”

He seemed indulgent. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“Is it a romantic comedy?”

“Nope.”

“A dramatic war picture where my fiancé’s plane goes down and I have to courageously press on?”

“Closer, but no.”

“Ooh, a period piece where I get to wear a bustle?”

“No, sorry.” He picked up a script from his desk and handed it to her.

Violet glanced at the title. “
September Moon
?” Interested, she started flipping through the manuscript.

He stood and began to pace, his hands behind his back. “It’s a drama, but it’s about a love triangle.”

“I’m the dark, bad girl, aren’t I?”

He chuckled. “Well, yes.”

“Have you already cast the leading man and the sweet, good girl?”

T. Z. cleared his throat nervously. “The male lead will be Frank Thatcher.”

“Okay, and the other actress?” Violet repeated skeptically. He clearly looked like he didn’t want to tell her. “Christ, T. Z. It’s Sylvia, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you punishing me? I thought you were pleased with my work in
Manhattan Rhapsody.
”

“I was, Violet. Very much so.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I was afraid you would see this as a bad thing.”

“This
isn’t
a bad thing?”

He grinned awkwardly. “Not at all.”

“So casting me in a film with the one person in Hollywood who openly despises me is actually a boon?”

T. Z. sighed. “Look, Vi, Sylvia King is the biggest star at this studio.”

“Perhaps if you’d stop telling her that, she’d behave a little less like anal discharge.”

He plodded on, undeterred. “And
because
you did so marvelously in
Manhattan Rhapsody,
I want you in a high-profile vehicle. Putting you in a Sylvia King movie shifts you straight into A pictures.”

Violet scratched her cheek as she closed the script on her lap. “How long will I need to be conciliatory? This won’t be the start of a long series of films called
The Homewrecker,
where I repeatedly steal Sylvia’s man, will it?”

He laughed nervously again. “I’ll promise you right now, that it won’t be.”

“But can you promise me that I won’t have to make
other
pictures with her?”

“You know I can’t, Violet.”

She exhaled loudly and looked out the window. Surely there must be a way to make this ordeal better—more enjoyable. “Do I get to
really
dirty him up?”

“Who?”