“So you’re in a bind, huh?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Vi.” She ran her fingers through her hair.
“I do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look here, sister. You’re Wil Skoog, one of the best goddamned actresses I know. You’re not going to let this get you down.”
“I’m not?”
“Absolutely not. You’re going to take this personal setback and learn from it.”
“I hate learning.”
Violet’s eyelids dropped slightly. “Which is why you’re living in this life-size anus with just a radio for company. Surely you must see the correlation.”
“Can you please get to the point? You’re cutting into the time I set aside to wallow in self-pity.”
“Look, Wil, I’m here to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?”
Violet removed a train ticket from her handbag. “This is a ticket for you to leave with me on the morning train to Chicago, then on to Hollywood.”
Wil was stunned—unable, for possibly the first time in her conscious life, to speak.
“But here’s what I need from you,” Violet continued. “You need to pull yourself back together. If you come with me to Los Angeles, you’re coming to act, not to see what your body’s saturation point for cocaine and gin is. You need to remember how talented you are.”
“You’re taking me back with you?” she finally whispered, feeling more emotional than she could remember being when it wasn’t written into stage directions.
“Yup, you’re stuck with me, toots.”
“You already knew about the play?”
“I talked to Julian, yes. He’s very worried about you.”
“I’ve been such a dope. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Vi.”
“Good. Now get packed. When you’re done, we’re heading to the Luna. There’s a certain blonde there I mean to surprise.”
*
Irene sat at a table near the stage while she waited for Moxie’s last set to start, as pleased as she could be that she was seated with Mr. Cotton McCann. After all, if he was able to get Moxie an audition for a movie in Hollywood, why couldn’t he do the same for her?
“Do you know any movie stars?” she asked, trying for what felt like the hundredth time to start a conversation with him.
“I haven’t done much in the film industry,” he said. “Personally, I think it’s on its way out.”
“Yeah?”
“Come on, now, movies with sound?” Cotton scoffed as he lit his cigar. “Just a flash in the pan. It’s only a matter of time before America tires of film and goes back to its true love, vaudeville.”
Irene furrowed her brow as she considered this possibility. “Gee, I sure hope not,” she said without thinking. When he glowered at her, she played with the stem of her fancy champagne glass. She had drunk only one glassful all evening, but could easily see how Moxie had overindulged the night before she had awoken a lesbian. Was there a connection between those two occurrences? She eyed the stemware suspiciously.
The club was filling up quickly, and Irene did a double take when a woman with a dark bob sauntered in holding a terrier. She and her red-haired friend sat at a table toward the back, where a plump man with a mustache and a nice-looking fella with spectacles were already seated.
“Nah,” she muttered aloud. “It couldn’t be.”
*
“Vi, you made it after all.” Julian rose to kiss her cheek. “And you brought a creature of the night.”
“Yes, on both counts,” Violet replied. “Thanks for getting me Moxie’s itinerary.”
“It was simple, darling. She can’t shut up for a second about this trip. By the way, Violet, this is Gary.”
“Nice to meet you.” She extended her hand.
“What can I get you?” a waiter asked.
“Where’s Fred?” Wil questioned. “I’d like to see his perfect little ass. Can that be arranged?”
The waiter looked uncomfortable. “Fred’s off this evening, ma’am.”
“Well, then, let’s see your ass. Spin for me, darling.”
Violet smiled, feeling encouraged by the return of Wil’s playfulness, then completely amused when the lad did hesitantly turn around, his arms stretched out awkwardly.
“Splendid,” Wil said. “You’ll more than do. What’s your name?”
“Um…Ira.”
“How wonderfully Jewish. Tell me, are you circumcised, Ira?”
Violet intervened, marveling at how quickly playful inevitably seemed to cross the boundary to inappropriate. “Ira, might you bring us a bottle of champagne and four glasses?”
He nodded and darted away.
“Celebrating?” Gary asked.
“I hope to be soon,” Violet replied. “You boys don’t mind drinking champagne with us, do you?”
They both shook their heads. “Good God, Vi,” Julian said over the rim of his rickey. “You look absolutely tanned. How the hell did that happen?”
“Pass out naked by the pool just once, and this is what you get.”
“That sounds absolutely decadent.” His voice was tinged with titillation.
“If only it were true.”
“Damn,” Julian murmured.
“The truth is they have a fat load of sun there, and it bakes you like a soufflé. There’s no escaping it, even at night.”
“That sounds horrible.” Julian shook his head.
“It’s not as bad as all that. California is bright, clean, and unspoiled.”
“So it’s the exact opposite of Wil,” he added, unable to stanch getting his amusement at her expense.
“My, my,” Wil said, eyeing Julian warily. “You’ve been such a busy bee, Jules. Providing itineraries and reporting to everyone on my state of well-being.”
His amusement vanished. “Do you intend to tell me that you’d rather be back in that rat’s nest, living on potted meat and Chesterfields, than here with us, planning a trip to Hollywood?”
“Well, if by with us, you mean with you, then I might have to consider that option for a moment.”
“Come on, Wil. You’re not really upset, are you?” he asked.
“I would have appreciated you talking to me first. Instead of having Vi travel a million miles on a camel’s back.”
His expression softened. “Darling, accept that sometimes talking to you is neither appealing nor productive.”
“Thank you, you fat-assed queen.”
“You’re welcome, you insufferable cunt.”
Violet glanced at Gary, whose mouth was hanging open and who seemed completely bewildered by this strange amalgam of thoughtfulness and abuse. “So touching,” she said. “If one of you strikes the other, I may not be able to suppress my tears.”
The lights dimmed, and the stout emcee appeared. As he began to introduce Moxie, Violet realized her hands were trembling. Over five weeks had passed since they had seen each other. What if things were completely different now?
When the spotlight hit Moxie, Violet’s breath caught in her chest. She was as beautiful as her memory had attributed, perhaps more so, in a candy-apple red dress with fringe and black fishnet stockings. Moxie signaled to the pianist and started to sing a slow, sexy number.
The mention of your name
Makes my temperature rise;
And you fan the torrid heat
With the look in your eyes.
I watch you lick your lips
As you stare at my mouth;
And my stomach does flips
When your gaze travels south.
How you melt my resolve,
I’ll never know.
My reservations dissolve
For wanting you so.
When your hand brushes mine,
My pulse gets to racing,
Like I’ve had too much wine,
I’m dizzy and aching.
How you melt my resolve,
I’ll ne
ver know.
My reservations dissolve
For wanting you so.
When the music stopped, the place broke into enthusiastic applause, though Violet found herself somewhat catatonic.
“Violet.” Julian strained to be heard over the crowd. “You look like a wolf ready to devour a sleeping lamb.”
“Is it wet in here, or is it just me?” She saw no empathy from anyone at the table. “I really need to start socializing with someone who’s attracted to women. When did the champagne arrive?”
“Right after your jaw hit the floor, darling,” Wil said, pouring Violet a glass.
“She’s absolutely gorgeous, Wil.” She took a sip.
“I’ve heard this number before, sister—in this very place. So do what you need to do to get her out of your system.”
“I’m not sure I can get her out of my system, but I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than try.”
*
Several songs into her final set Moxie thought she caught a glimpse of Violet in the audience. At first, she assumed her mind was playing tricks on her. The table was in a dark corner, and while she could clearly make out a woman with a black bob and straight bangs sitting there, she decided that lots of women wore their hair that way.
A short time later, she realized that Julian was sitting at that same table with Gary. Coincidence? After all, Vi was in Hollywood. And was that fourth person sitting with them Wil? Was it possible that black thing in the brunette’s lap was a terrier and not a fuzzy handbag?
When the redhead slapped the waiter’s ass, Moxie had no more doubts. Her stomach sank, and she found it difficult to concentrate.
She closed her eyes and started to sing “But Not for Me.”
How did Violet get here? Was everything all right? Why had she traveled all the way back to New York without telling her she was coming?
She forced herself to push those thoughts aside and focus on what she was doing, though even without consciously considering Violet’s presence, she felt different performing for her—somehow electric, bolder. She let her voice get a little throatier and lightly traced her neckline as she sang. Moxie sank into the eroticism of performing for her lover, and she wondered if it showed.
Chapter Nine
Cotton was agog.
He wasn’t exactly sure what had happened to Moxie over the course of the evening, but the Moxie of her earlier sets had nothing on this gal. Sure, she had been entertaining before, even exceptionally good, but now she was on fire.
She radiated a sexuality that was provocative and captivating. And clearly he wasn’t the only one who was transfixed. All eyes were on her through each and every song.
Her hips slowly gyrated. She pulled her hands through her hair passionately. And Moxie, perhaps unconsciously, at times slowly and softly stroked the microphone as though she was urging it to ejaculate.
When she finished her final song, people leapt to their feet and applauded loudly. Some were whistling, and the energy in the air was palpable.
Moxie’s roommate—what was her name?—was standing and clapping vigorously as well. “Wasn’t she great?” she shouted toward him. He nodded in response, but didn’t rise, instead twirling the cigar in his hand idly.
When at last the adulation ebbed, he stood to politely welcome her to the table, but instead she made a beeline for a table somewhere in the back.
“Where’s she going?” he asked no one in particular, standing now for no reason and feeling quite foolish.
“Oh, wow,” the roommate said.
“Wow, what?”
“I guess that is her at that table—Violet London, I mean. The Hollywood actress.”
This wasn’t making any sense. “Who is?”
“At that table back there. The one with the dark hair. She’s been writing Moxie from Hollywood.”
“So that’s the friend out West?”
The roommate nodded.
He scrutinized this woman closer. She had a real Hollywood look about her, all right. From her sleek yellow dress to her little dog, this London dame seemed all bathtub gin and quiff. He instantly disliked her. “Where did they meet?”
“Here, I think.” She was eyeing their reunion closely for some reason. Something didn’t feel right.
“Say, what’s the deal with this doll, anyway?”
The irritation in his voice must have startled her, because she suddenly snapped her head back nervously. “I dunno. It’s not like they’re having sex or anything.” Her face then went through about six emotions in a few seconds. What looked like shock became mortification, then embarrassment, irritation, anger, and finally shame.
“What the hell are you gabbing about?” he barked.
“I mean, how could they have sex?” she stammered, then laughed awkwardly. “What would they do, right?”
Her discomfort and her veiled attempt at muddying the waters set off all kinds of warning bells in Cotton’s head. He needed to break this up, whatever it was.
*
As Moxie made her way across the floor to the table in the far corner, she couldn’t hear anything but her pulse roaring in her head. It seemed to take forever to navigate the length of the room, and as she finally got close enough to see Violet’s gray eyes, she shuddered as she realized they were staring, somewhat hungrily, into her own.
She stopped just in front of where Violet was standing, and for a moment, she couldn’t say anything. She bit her lower lip as she struggled inwardly for just the right pithy quip to break the ice. She wanted to say something smart and sassy that would leave Violet breathless.
“Hi,” Moxie rasped, the beginning h sound seeming interminable. She internally cursed just how far from smart and sassy she had deviated.
“Hey there,” Violet replied, her voice brimming with sensuality. “You were amazing.”
The compliment, and perhaps the way it was delivered, meant more to Moxie than she anticipated. “Thanks.” She nodded amiably to the others seated around the table. “Vi, what are you doing here?”
Violet smiled. “Everyone keeps asking me that. But I think I know the answer.” She placed her index finger to her lower lip in mock contemplation. “Is it because the concept of my not being here is illogical?”
“How did you know I wasn’t on my way already? My itinerary must have arrived long after you left.”
“A magic fairy told me.”
Wil turned to Julian. “You’re magic now?”
The corners of his mustache shifted upward slightly. “Did I forget to mention that?”
“So I guess you’re not picking me up at the station,” Moxie said.
“Even better,” Violet replied. “Now Wil and I can just ride the train west with you.”
“Wil’s coming?”
Wil looked only slightly offended. “I’ll do my best not to embarrass you, darling.”
Violet turned to Wil. “Whatever you do, try not to shit in the dining car. They really take issue with that.”
Wil scowled. “Should I be writing all this down?”
“So,” Moxie said slowly, “when things get dull, just pack up the carnival and take it along with you?”
“Perhaps I had other, ulterior motives.” Violet’s eyebrows twitched twice suggestively.
“Oh? Like what?”
Violet abruptly changed the subject. “Did I mention that your opening number, your whole show really, was quite—”
“Provocative?” Julian suggested.
“Arousing?” Wil proposed.
Gary decided to give it a try. “Jazzy?”
Everyone turned to him quizzically.
“Jules,” Wil asked, “where did you find this guy, the Salvation Army?”
“It’s closer to the salivation army, darling,” he answered smugly. “You should stop by sometime and pick up a saliva soldier for yourself.”
Moxie was anxious to bring the conversation back to where it had been a moment ago. “So, the song, the show, you were saying—�
��
“It was very, very sexy.” Violet’s words were little more than a throaty whisper.
Moxie was pleased at that observation, and her face was radiating heat for some reason. “Noticed that, did you?”
Violet took a small step toward her, so they were dangerously close. “I did. Every bit of me noticed.”
“Is that so?” She felt an unfamiliar mixture of excitement and fear. Looking into Violet’s eyes, she saw what she could only interpret as intense desire.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“I might be amenable to that,” Moxie said as she pulled up a chair at the table. “But only one this time.”
Wil frowned. “You sadden me, darling. I saw such potential in you.”
“Well, the last time we all went out, things kind of got away from me.”
“We refer to that phenomenon as vespers,” Julian explained.
Wil poured a glass of champagne for Moxie. “Mostly because it’s punctuated by lying prostrate at the toilet and periodically calling out to the Lord.”
Moxie took a sip, enjoying its effervescence. “Oh, well, perhaps I wasn’t as bad off as I thought I was.”
Violet covered Moxie’s hand with her own. “It’s very good to see you.”
The intimate contact between them was unsettling, yet thrilling, and Moxie turned her hand over to caress Violet’s palm with her own. “I’ve been thinking about our phone conversation.”
“So have I.” Violet’s index finger slowly traversed the valley between Moxie’s middle and ring fingers, through the sensitive center of her hand, and down to her wrist. Her touch was one part tickle, one part heat, and three parts erogenous stimulation. Or maybe it was four parts. Hell, her ability to do simple math was clearly a goner.
“Shit.” Her attraction had overpowered her.
Violet seemed to be studying Moxie’s response closely. “Do you have any plans tonight?”
“Sorry to interrupt, but Miss Valette needs to cut this evening short.”
Moxie looked up to see Cotton standing at the table, and she jerked her hand away from Violet’s reflexively. “I do?”
Seduction of Moxie Page 12