Seduction of Moxie (28 page)

“What time is it?” Wil rasped, opening her mouth several times and grimacing, as though trying to identify some familiar taste.

“Noon.”

“Good Lord, it’s early.” She rubbed her eyes miserably.

“For Bela Lugosi perhaps. For us humans, it’s the shank of the day.”

Wil’s brow furrowed. “Did you and I have sex last night?”

“Not last night, or ever.”

“Because my mouth tastes suspiciously like snatch.” Wil stuck her tongue out as though contemplating the flavor further.

Violet sighed in irritation. “If you like, I’ll try and help you piece together your last twenty-four hours, but that will need to wait.”

“For what?”

“I have an audition for you,” Violet replied, her eagerness returning.

“Really?” Wil looked shocked.

“Really. It seems Miss Sylvia King got herself fired from my picture today for mouthing off to the director while everyone and their brother was watching.”

“Ooh, what did she say to him?”

“Something about demanding that he grab his ankles and jump up her ass, though I think she called it her puckered brown grotto, or some such nonsense.”

Wil’s eyebrows rose, but she said nothing.

“Anyway, as we were less than a week into filming, they want to immediately recast her part—try and cut their losses. I told them I knew the perfect undiscovered ingénue.”

“And who would that be?”

Violet looked at her incredulously. “You, you silly bitch.”

“Me, an ingénue?” Wil held her arms out to her side and turned her palms upward. “Have you not been paying attention?”

“That’s why they call it
acting,
” Violet explained. “So now, you have a choice. You can either continue to sleep through your life in this bungalow, trying to reconcile the shadowy taste of one stranger’s genitalia as it blends into the next, or you can get in the shower, clean yourself up, and start doing what you came here to do.”

“Hmm, but what if I actually came here for the genitalia?”

Violet glared. “Get in the damn shower.”

Wil tried to keep a straight face, though quickly gave up. “Thanks, Vi.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It will only take me a few minutes to get ready.”

“Good. Fitzy’s outside waiting to take us to the studio. We can go over the scene in the car.”

*

Louella Parsons sat in a booth at the Hollywood Brown Derby, doodling on her notepad and staring at the second hand on her watch.

It seemed as though she had been sitting there forever when the waiter came back for what was easily the tenth time. “Would you like to go ahead and order now, Miss Parsons?”

She sighed. “I suppose so. Bring me the club sandwich, will you?”

The waiter took the menu, nodded, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Louella was muttering to herself in irritation when she looked back to the front door and saw Sylvia King striding confidently in. She seemed to possess no sense of urgency as she sauntered over to Louella and sat across from her.

“Do you have any idea how long you’ve kept me waiting, Sylvia?” She made no attempt to hide her annoyance as she drummed her fingers on the table.

As Sylvia’s face split into a sinister grin, Louella was instantly unsettled by the sudden transformation of America’s darling into this arcane nucleus of villainy.

“Trust me, Louella, this scoop will be worth it.”

*

Moxie dug through her handbag looking for the bungalow key, squinting to see in the moonlight. From behind her, Violet’s hands provocatively roamed her waist, abdomen, and breasts.

“You’re not helping my concentration,” Moxie said softly, closing her eyes as Violet’s mouth descended on her exposed shoulder.

“You did little for mine all evening, love. I couldn’t stop staring at your curvy deliciousness.”

Moxie chuckled, then with surprising dexterity, she found the key and put it in the lock before turning around in Violet’s arms, putting her hands around Violet’s neck, and kissing her back. “I didn’t really enjoy watching you on the arm of that preening ass all evening,” she murmured against Violet’s mouth.

The brush of Violet’s tongue instantly aroused Moxie, and their kiss deepened as Violet pinned her to the door.

“I want you,” Violet groaned. Her palm caressed Moxie’s left breast as it moved slowly down to turn the doorknob. As the door swung inward, both of them rode it without their mouths breaking contact.

Violet turned her head slightly when something in her peripheral vision triggered an alarm. Not only were their lights on, but inside sat Wil, Irene, Irene’s date Joe, Fitzhugh, and Peter. “Oh, fuck.”

“Mmm, yes,” Moxie replied eagerly.

“No,” Violet whispered, gesturing toward their company with her head.

“Hmm?” Moxie turned, her back still against the door, and tried to feign delight. “Oh, hello, everyone. Look at all of you…here in our bungalow. How—”

“Ill-timed,” Violet said.

“Yes.” Moxie stepped all the way inside.

Irene seemed oblivious to the comment. “How was the premiere? Were there just gobs of stars there?”

Moxie took a seat beside Irene on the sofa. “I suppose so.”

“And where are your virile escorts?” Wil lit a cigarette.

Violet shut the door and sighed. “Judging by how they were eyeing each other, I’m guessing they’re somewhere ejaculating.”

Wil smiled. “It’s never a party until someone does.”

Violet crossed her arms. “Would it be impolite to ask how you all got in here?”

“We bribed Captain Napkin,” Wil replied. “He let us in, in exchange for a small token.”

Moxie grimaced. “Do I want to know what?”

“Probably, since it was a pair of your underpants,” Wil said casually.

“What?” Moxie was unable to verbalize anything else.

“Relax,” Wil said. “It’s nothing perverted. They’re for him to wear on his head. I made sure to pick a pair I thought would flatter him.”

“You’re such a good friend,” Violet said.

“If only that were true,” Wil replied.

Fitzhugh cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, there’s a reason we’re here, Vi.”

Violet’s eyebrow arched. “A reason beyond rifling through our underwear?”

“Sadly, yes,” Peter said.

“What is it?” Moxie asked. “What’s wrong?”

Fitzhugh handed over a copy of the
Los Angeles Examiner,
folded over to a particular page. “You need to read Louella Parson’s column from this morning.”

Violet took the newspaper, sat on the arm of the sofa, and began to read aloud. “What glamorous, dark-haired, newcomer of
Manhattan Rhapsody
has been seen indulging her depraved Sapphic fancies with an up-and-coming Jewish contract actress for Pinnacle?”

A hush fell over the group before Wil finally turned to Moxie. “You’re Jewish?”

“No,” Moxie replied, her chest tightening. “But I know just who might think I am.”

Violet gritted her teeth. “Sylvia King, that disease-ridden, worm-eaten bag of spume.”

“I’m sure she’s just angry about Wil replacing her in
September Moon,
” Moxie said, her mind still reeling.

“Just as angry as I am that she is a vengeful, poisonous succubus,” Violet said.

Moxie took the newspaper from Violet’s hand. “I wonder if Cotton has seen this yet.”

Violet exhaled loudly. “The fact that I’m still alive implies that he hasn’t.”

Peter leaned forward, stroking his mustache. “Vi, you’d better call your agent and figure out a way to deny this before it ruins you.”

“I’m not going to deny it, Peter.”

He seemed incredulous. “What? An item like this could end you in this town.”

Violet stood and began to pace. “But it’s true. It’s not as though it’s libelous.”

“But Vi,” Irene said, “you’re not going to let Sylvia King destroy your career, are you?”

Violet looked at the floor for a moment, as though she was considering the question. “I hope not. But the last thing I’m going to do is pretend that I’m something that I’m not, career be damned.”

“What are you saying?” Moxie asked.

“What I’ve said my whole life—that I’m not some moral degenerate or sideshow attraction to be trotted out to the masses so strangers can either be titillated or denounce what I do in my own bedroom.”

“Or baggage car,” Wil added.

Violet continued without missing a beat. “Acting is my livelihood, not my lifestyle, and who I choose to share my time or my bed with should be immaterial to how well people think I do my job.”

Joe finally spoke, the cadence of his voice soft and metered. “Well, yes. It
should
be immaterial, but it isn’t. When people hear you’re a lesbian, that will be all they need to decide that you’re wanton and depraved.”

“They’ll run you out of town on a rail, Vi,” Peter said.

“Then so be it,” Violet declared glibly. “But this is who I am and how I live my life, and I refuse to apologize for it. I intend to report to the set first thing Monday morning, just like any other workday. It’s possible that this will just blow over, unnoticed.”

Irene’s brow furrowed. “But what about Moxie?”

Violet’s expression took on a grave, pensive quality. “She’s unidentified and in the clear, for now.” She turned to address Moxie directly. “If you don’t want to be seen publicly with me, I’ll understand.”

Moxie was stunned. “What?”

“I can only speak for myself,” Violet explained. “I’m not going to tell you what you should do. Your career is just starting to take off, and you don’t want to put yourself in a position to regret anything later on. Now if you all don’t mind, I’m going to bed. You’re welcome to stay as long as you please, but I think I’m quite tired. Good night.”

After Violet disappeared into the bedroom Wil sat dejectedly in an armchair. “Well, shit.”

“What are you going to do, Mox?” Irene asked.

“I’m not sure.” Moxie shook her head slowly. “I guess I need to talk to Cotton.”

“I think we all know what he’ll tell you,” Wil said.

Moxie dragged her hand through her hair. “Yeah, I know. Listen, I need to make sure Violet’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

As Moxie vanished into the back bedroom too, Irene was overcome with concern for them both. “This is terrible,” she said softly, trying not to be overheard by Moxie or Violet. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

Joe put his arm around Irene protectively. “Not now that the column has already come out. It’s reprinted in papers all over the country.”

“Sadly, I think Vi’s right,” Fitzhugh said. “All we can do is try to make sure that the press doesn’t find out about Moxie and try to ruin her too.”

Peter sipped his martini. “Yes, we can certainly do that. But that’s not
all
we can do.”

“No?” Joe asked.

Peter shook his head as he grinned nefariously.

“Peter, darling,” Wil said, her voice sounding hopeful. “Your menacing look is making me thoroughly wet.”

Chapter Eighteen

Violet wasn’t surprised when she received word to report to T. Z. Walter’s house the following day. She prepared herself for what she considered the worst-case scenario, being released from her contract with Pinnacle immediately.

As T. Z.’s humorless butler showed Violet and Clitty into the drawing room, a calm washed over her, a resignation about the coming of the inevitable, perhaps. She plopped down in a plush armchair as she glanced around at the rest of his furnishings.

“Ah, Violet. I’m glad you came straightaway,” T. Z. said, sweeping into the room surrounded by plumes of smoke from his pipe.

“Call it morbid curiosity,” Violet said, her chin on her fist.

“Do you know what I want to talk to you about?” He sat on a velvet settee across from her.

“I just might. Is it black and white and sometimes masquerades as real journalism?”

T. Z. drew thoughtfully on his pipe. “The whole town’s abuzz.”

“I wish I were.”

“We can respond one of two ways to this rumor, Vi. We can either ignore it and hope it goes away—”

“A personal favorite of mine.”

“Or we can put you out front and center, with a virile young man on your arm.”

Violet scowled. “I definitely prefer the first one.”

“Vi, we have to head this rumor off as soon as possible.”

“Head it off, or off its head?”

“Both,” he said with a nod. “The studio or, rather, I have spent a lot of money on you—a bundle. You could say I have a vested interest in your career and its success. Would you say that’s fair?”

“Yes.”

“In a couple of weeks, Pinnacle is having a large, formal studio party. You, as a Pinnacle star will, of course, attend.”

Violet was becoming very skeptical. “Okay.”

“You’re going to bring, as your escort, Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor. Hell, you can even pick him. You name him, and I’ll get him for you.”

“I don’t know, T. Z. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with this.”

He puffed out tobacco smoke several times in quick succession before responding. “Look, Vi, I’m not asking you if you’re a dyke. If you are, I don’t want to know. I’m happier that way. But no one else can know either. While you’re representing this studio, you need to conduct yourself as a well-bred socialite—no pussy, drugs, nudity, or pregnancy out of wedlock. And when you do those things anyway, make sure no one finds out about it.”

“That last bit seems to be the tricky part.”

“It always is, doll. Look, I get that this is inconvenient for you, and besides the fact that I think you’re a hell of an actress, I genuinely like you. I don’t want you to have to do anything you don’t want to. I mean, no one’s asking you to suck this guy off.”

“That’s a relief,” Violet said. “Otherwise I might need to renegotiate my contract.”

“And you don’t need to say anything to the press. Just walk right by them if you want. But you owe it to this studio, and yourself, to try and distance yourself from this scandal. You’ve got a picture just released and another one in production.”

Violet looked at him warily. “So you still want me to finish it?”

T. Z. stood and began to pace. “Of course I do. I’ve seen the dailies and you’re great in it. Incidentally, so’s that redhead you brought in to replace Sylvia. She has real talent. She could be bigger than Sylvia King ever was.”