Seduction of Moxie (26 page)

“Sylvia’s love interest.” Violet skimmed through the script again. “Her husband, it says here. Do I thoroughly taint and debauch him? Desecrate their wedding vows, perhaps in their own bed?”

“Would that make this role more appealing to you?”

She smiled malevolently and nodded. “I want to be the nettle that burrows into the flabby flesh of her ass, T. Z. I assume Sylvia gets the guy in the end?”

“Well, yes—”

“What if, instead, I go insane and kill her?”

T. Z.’s jaw slackened. “What?”

“We could turn it into a modern-day morality play. This is what happens when people commit adultery. They get thrown from a cliff, onto the jagged rocks below.”

“But Sylvia’s character is the one who
doesn’t
commit adultery.”

“That’s what gives it the surprise ending. Or maybe she kills her husband and then gets the death penalty.”

“You really have a dark side, Vi.”

“Tell me that some small part of you wouldn’t relish making that change.”

His mouth opened, but after a moment of silence, he closed it again. “I can’t say that.”

*

Peter jiggled the chilled cocktail shaker, making the melting ice rattle, before he poured himself another drink. “Ladies, does anyone need a refill?”

Violet shook her head no, and Wil nodded vigorously. Moxie mused over how that very moment epitomized both women perfectly. She took a sip of her Dr. Pepper and sighed. This was
not
how she and Violet had planned to spend their day.

“Mox, I’m sure Irene is just fine.” Violet patted Moxie’s thigh comfortingly.

“I hope so,” Moxie replied, almost absently. “I mean, she’s not a bumpkin by any stretch of the imagination, but she’s never stayed out all night before.”

Wil inhaled the smoke through her cigarette holder before taking a sip of her martini. “That’s perhaps the real tragedy here. Is she still a virgin?” She said the last word as though it meant something despicable.

“I don’t know,” Moxie said. “She has a beau back in New York, but he’s horrible, really. Spending time with Tom is a bit like having someone read Leviticus to you in Latin.”

Violet squinted. “Inexplicable, yet you still feel dirty?”

“No,” Moxie replied. “That was obviously a bad metaphor. I meant he was terribly boring.”

“Well, then,” Peter said, “perhaps she’s finally met a man who was able to show her a good time. Maybe that’s all this is.”

“I can’t believe she didn’t take me with her,” Wil muttered. “I am
nothing
if not fun.”

“Say, Wil,” Violet said. “Didn’t you mention that Irene was talking about seeing that fellow from the party the other night? What was his name?”

“Wallace?” Peter nearly choked on his libation. “She went out with Wallace?”

Moxie narrowed her eyes. “Why? What’s wrong with him? You were the one who put them together, after all.”

“He wasn’t meant for her to
date,
” Peter explained. “He was just someone for her to talk to until she—”

“Regained her senses?” Wil suggested.

“Exactly,” Peter said. “The man is a complete clod.”

Moxie was concerned again, but in a new way. “What do you know of Wallace, Peter?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. “I believe he’s a Protestant.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Well,
that’s
a relief. How about some information that might actually be helpful, Peter? His last name? A profession? Where he lives?”

Peter closed his eyes, seeming to plumb the depths of his memory, but he opened them again and shook his head in resignation. “Sorry.”

“When did you meet him?” Moxie asked.

“The night you all arrived,” he replied weakly.

Violet’s irritation was becoming more apparent. “How did he end up in your bungalow, Peter?”

“Someone brought him,” he said confidently.

“Who?” Moxie asked.

“That tall fellow with the mustache who was drinking gimlets.”

Moxie tried to calm herself and covered her mouth with her clenched fist. “You don’t know
his
name either?”

“But I
do
remember what he was drinking,” Peter said smugly.

Violet stood and set her drink down. “Well done, Sherlock. Now if only you could remember his hat size, we could blow this case wide open.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to gather everyone’s personal information before they could come in,” Peter replied tersely.

After a moment of awkward silence, Wil spoke. “The good news is Irene can easily outrun that lug.” When everyone turned toward her in incredulity, she appeared to nearly have a moment of self-awareness. “What? That’s
not
a good thing?”

At that moment, Irene entered, animated and elated. “Hey, everyone. The party’s here tonight?”

“Irene, where have you been?” Moxie’s relief mingled with her chagrin.

Irene’s face lit up. “I was with a certain fella.” She sat beside Moxie on the sofa and coyly bit her lower lip.

“You see?” Peter said, reclining back into the chair. “She was having the time of her life.”

“I was.” Irene seemed giddy.

“With Wallace?” Wil asked in disbelief.

Irene scowled momentarily. “Who? Oh, that mook I met at Peter’s party?” She began to laugh into her hand.

“Then who?” Violet finally asked.

“Well,” Irene said, “Bette called and asked me to meet her at Universal yesterday so I could try out as a chorus girl in a new picture.”

“Where was I when she called?” Wil was clearly disappointed.

Irene looked annoyed at the question. “Passed out by the pool. There was no waking you. Believe me, I tried. So I had to leave you behind.”

“Mmm, I’d be completely sunburned if I hadn’t been fully clothed,” Wil replied, as though she’d found her silver lining.

“And underneath that busboy,” Violet added. “At any rate, Irene, how did it go?”

Irene cleared her throat. “The audition, not so hot. The director said something about the size of my can, so I took a page from Wil’s handbook and socked him right in the sack.”

“Attagirl,” Wil said, lifting her glass with a wink.

Violet’s expression did much to dampen their celebration. “Wait, you punched a director in the balls?”

“I sure did,” Irene said proudly. “As hard as I could.”

“Empowering, isn’t it, Reeny?” Wil asked.

Peter stood and began to refill the shaker with gin and ice. “I had no idea that the potency of testicles was an endowment so easily transferred to others.”

Irene inhaled deeply. “At first, I didn’t feel empowered at all. I got all angry and hysterical, and I ran out of there, bawling.”

“No pun intended,” Wil added, waggling her empty glass at Peter from across the room.

“But then a guy stopped me right outside,” Irene said. “He asked me to dinner and told me that he liked my spunk.”

Peter walked back and poured a fresh cocktail for Wil, handing Irene a full glass as well. “Are you sure he wasn’t offering you some of
his
spunk?”

“Peter, please tell me that line has never worked for you,” Violet said.

“I’m jotting it down now,” he said, picking up a pencil. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

The corner of Violet’s mouth rose slightly. “Remember to find out how much bail is before you call, darling.”

Peter chuckled. “I always do.”

Moxie hushed them both. “So, Irene, you went out to dinner with this fella?”

She nodded wildly. “And how. We went to this swanky place called the Polo Lounge and had the fanciest dinner I’ve ever eaten.”

“The Polo Lounge inside the Beverly Hills Hotel?” Peter’s eyebrows were raised.

“Um, yeah. That’s the one.”

Moxie was a little surprised. “Not to pry, Irene. But is that where you were all last night and today?”

Wil sat forward in interest. “If I wasn’t so proud of you, my little protégée, I’d be jealous as hell.” She slapped Irene on the thigh playfully. “So, Goodtime Reeny, what’s his name?”

Irene looked as though she were about to explode. “Howard Hughes.”

Violet looked at Moxie with wide eyes. “As in,
Hell’s Angels,
Howard Hughes?”

“That’s the one,” Irene practically shouted.

“Isn’t he with United Artists?” Peter asked. “What’s he doing on a lot at Universal?”

“Did you see any ID before you touched his cock?” Wil asked.

Irene’s face fell. “What are you all saying?”

Violet approached her slowly. “Just that in a town like this one, sometimes people are not always what, or who, they present themselves to be.”

Irene scoffed and stood back up, setting down her untouched drink. “You’re all screwy. I need to get ready for my date.”

“You’re going out with him again tonight?” Moxie asked.

“You bet I am.”

“Why don’t you bring him with all of us?” Moxie offered. “We’re going to dinner to celebrate.”

Irene’s mouth formed an O shape. “What are we celebrating?”

“I got the part in the picture,” Moxie said happily.

Irene squealed as she hugged her. “That’s great.”

“Now tell her the bad news,” Wil said.

Moxie pulled back slightly. “Oh, Cotton’s coming along.”

Irene immediately looked less jubilant. “Oh. That’s too bad. I’ll catch up with all of you tomorrow.”

Violet pointed casually to Irene. “If I told you that he reeked in a completely different way, would that make you reconsider?”

Irene’s expression softened. “You could tell me he smelled like lilacs and was made of kittens, and I wouldn’t reconsider. Besides, he’s probably figured out by now that I took his luggage.”

“
You
took Cotton’s luggage?” Moxie coughed.

Wil snorted indignantly. “See? I told you it wasn’t me. I don’t know why you never believe me.” She casually poured the contents of Irene’s martini into her own glass.

Violet crossed her arms. “I think it’s partially because you frequently get so blotto you can’t remember what you’ve done and said.”

“Well, yes,” Wil replied meekly. “But that’s not the same as
lying.
If I remember doing it, for Christ’s sake, I admit it.”

“Honorable,” Violet said.

“You’re goddamn right it is.” Wil belched.

Chapter Sixteen

Violet sat on the set, brushing Clitty’s coat as he sat dutifully in her lap, enduring it. “What is this back here? Is this crusty caviar? Who
have
you been socializing with?” As though in response, he stretched his body as the wire brush came into contact with an area that clearly felt pleasurable.

Moxie appeared and sat in the chair next to Violet, unable to suppress a smile. “Do you promise to devote that kind of attention to my clitty later?”

Violet nodded slowly as she stared at Moxie hungrily. “Though I’m hoping that yours isn’t smeared with fish roe like this one is.”

“I do what I can to prevent that.”

“A good rule to live by, really. Fish was never meant to go some places. You look like you got some good news.”

“I did. Mr. Walter said that he saw a rough cut of
Love Comes Sailing
and that I lit up the screen.”

“I’d say that’s a good thing.” Violet continued Clitty’s grooming.

“He’s offered me a speaking part in a new picture.”

“And by speaking part he means?”

Moxie’s excitement seemed unabated. “I’m in only one scene, but I have a whole page of dialogue.”

“Who are you playing?”

“The nightclub singer.” She coughed self-consciously.

Violet ran her tongue over her teeth quickly. “Ah. But this time you’re the
talking
nightclub singer,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “And are you singing in it too?”

“Yep.”

“Congratulations, sweetheart.”

Moxie relaxed into the chair. “Thanks, I’m already planning tonight’s celebration.”

Violet arched her eyebrows. “That sounds promising. Will nudity be involved?”

“Count on it.”

“Do I need to RSVP?”

“Not to be presumptuous, but I was assuming you’d attend. I’ll be hard-pressed to find someone to stroke repeatedly to climax this late in the day.”

Violet stopped her brushing to focus on recovering the breath that suddenly evaporated from her lungs. “I’d hate to leave you in a bind, love. You can definitely count me in.”

“I love your dependability, Vi. It’s such an admirable trait. So, how’s it going here?”

Violet sighed. “Once again, we’re all waiting for Sylvia.”

“She’s quite the prima donna, isn’t she?”

“Mox, as always, you’ve found a very tactful and delicate way to phrase it.”

“Because if
you
were to describe her, you would say—”

“That she’s a rancid, viscous wad of phlegm so horrifically vile that no bath can cleanse her and no amount of purity can erase her malodorous taint.”

Moxie pulled her sunglasses out of her handbag and put them on, relaxing back in the chair. “I’m glad to hear that you two have made up.”

“Yes. So how is Goodtime Reeny doing?”

Moxie winced. “I think she felt slightly less foolish before she went to her audition at Warner Brothers this morning and met a completely different Howard Hughes there.”

“I had no idea he was so ubiquitous these days. It shows a shockingly unacceptable lack of imagination amongst our resident degenerates.”

“And then she stopped at the pharmacy for a malt and met Louis B. Mayer there.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Oh, no.”

“Apparently, he was bald and fat, but that was where the similarity ended.”

“Well, why
wouldn’t
the head of MGM be hanging out at a soda fountain, introducing himself to all the patrons? Did he ask to see her naked so he could cast his next picture?”

“Irene gets it now,” Moxie assured her. “She sees how this town works. But I think she’s feeling a little gullible and depressed.”

Violet set both the brush and Clitty down on the ground. “Unfortunately Wil isn’t faring too much better. Since her agent dropped her, she hasn’t gotten a single audition. Well, one that she was conscious for.”

“She just needs a new agent.”