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.”
“I think so too,” Violet replied slowly.
“So it would be a shame if this film ended up not getting finished because we couldn’t count on you to help dispel this rumor. If you want this movie completed and seen, if you want your friend to have a career as an actress, you’ll need to do what I’m asking.”
*
Cotton sat on the sofa in Moxie’s bungalow with a decidedly smug look on his face. “Didn’t I tell you this would happen?”
Moxie bit her lower lip. “Cotton, can we please get past your superior self-righteousness?”
He sighed. “Fine. But it should be duly noted that I ultimately was right about this. The only good news is that the press doesn’t know that you and Violet are involved.”
“Yet.”
His eyebrows arched dramatically. “Yet? Are you insane? You need to break off this dangerous tryst right now, before it’s made public.”
Moxie shook her head. “I won’t do that.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life, Cotton.”
“Of course you are. You’ve never been this successful before. Is this out of some perverse form of guilt? Are you just trying not to seem ungrateful to her?”
“No, that’s not it at all. I want to be with Violet, in every way. This isn’t about what she can or can’t give me.”
“So are you deluded enough to think that you can be romantically involved with this woman and still work in this town?”
She smiled. “One man’s delusion is another man’s optimism.”
Cotton leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “All right, look. I’ve told you how I feel.”
“Many times.”
“Obviously, I haven’t had any success in keeping you two apart.”
Moxie considered this point. “Let’s say you had limited success, because for a time, your intervention was intensely aggravating.”
“Regardless, let’s focus on what can be done to protect and further your career.”
“Okay. That sounds suspiciously reasonable.”
“I’m told there is a Pinnacle Studio party in the works.”
Moxie nodded. “There is, in a couple weeks. Mr. Walter is making Violet go with an escort.”
“Excellent.” Cotton’s face brightened. “You shall do the same.”
Moxie’s only response was to sigh deeply.
“And we’re going to take it a step further.”
“Which is?”
“We’re going to announce your engagement at the party.”
“What? That’s just one step forward? The U.S. infantry doesn’t march this fast!”
Cotton put up his hands in a calming manner. “Which is exactly the point. It makes it clear to everyone that you’ve obviously been dating this man for quite some time and are therefore not spending your time dallying with Violet London.”
“You’re completely insane.”
“Not at all, Moxie. It’s called a lavender marriage, and it’s helped more than a few troubled celebrities in your particular dilemma.”
“A lavender marriage? And where will we get my fiancé, Cotton? From the Montgomery Ward cat
alog?”
“What makes a lavender marriage work is finding someone who will benefit as much from the union as you will,” he said, his voice filled with innuendo.
“I’m still not following you,” she admitted in irritation.
“An actor who’s rumored to be queer. You two get married and tongues no longer wag about either of you.”
Moxie cringed at the sudden realization. “You already have someone in mind, don’t you?”
“I do. In fact, he was your date to Friday night’s premiere.”
She buried her face in her hands. “Tell me you haven’t discussed this with him yet.”
“I have, and he and his agent seemed very interested.”
“Cotton, this is crazy. I can’t marry someone I barely know when I love someone else.” She paused and contemplated her word choice. She did love Violet. She made a mental note to tell her so.
“It’s just a formality, I assure you. You can both carry on whatever relationships you please, provided you’re discreet and you keep up the ruse. After a year or so, feel free to divorce. In this town, it might seem even stranger if you didn’t. By then, the rumors will have died and the seeds of your fame will have taken root.”
“I just don’t know.”
Cotton grabbed her hands and held them. “Moxie, I know you’re probably tired of hearing this, but you need to consider your future. You have a chance to become a major star, bigger than you ever dreamed. If you walk away from this opportunity and your secret gets revealed, even that little gin joint in Nebraska won’t hire you back. You really need to decide if you want to be a success.”
“You know I do.”
“Then stop acting like it doesn’t matter to you and do what needs to be done.”
*
Moxie stood at the corner of the room at the Pinnacle party, dressed to the nines, with her faux beau on her arm, yet feeling completely hollow. She had spied Wil earlier from across the room, and true to form, she had been surrounded by doting men tripping over themselves to light her cigarette, while she no doubt told ribald stories and showed a chosen few her genitalia.
When Moxie finally glimpsed Violet through the crowd, her breath caught in her chest. The gown that the studio had put her in was a striking cobalt blue with hanging fringe and a sexy side slit. She was chatting amiably with someone near the buffet, her date on one arm and Clitty in the other.
She knew she shouldn’t go talk with Violet out in the open, but she was feeling bold, and the sight of Violet in such a provocative evening dress made her feel even more so.
She turned to her soon-to-be fiancé. “Excuse me, Cary. I’ll be right back.”
He flashed her a perfect smile. “Certainly.”
As she approached Violet, their eyes met briefly, and desire surged through her from the way Violet’s eyes raked hungrily over her body.
“No tuxedo for Clitty?” Moxie asked.
“I tried, but I found it difficult to walk with the bowtie on.” Violet feigned realization. “Oh, you mean him,” she said, pointing to the terrier.
“That joke just never gets old,” Moxie said, laughing. “You look beautiful, by the way.” Moxie struggled not to look at Violet like she wanted to devour her.
Violet’s date excused himself, leaving the two of them standing alone. “Thanks. You look stunning yourself, doll,” Violet replied softly.
“This party feels so strange to me.”
“Is it because no one has launched anything from their anus?”
“No. And I’ll have you know I had a nightmare about Smokey Bender and a flying squirrel.”
Violet winced. “Ouch.”
“It feels strange because we’re both here but we’re not together.”
“You realize if T. Z. sees us chatting, he’ll skin us both alive.”
Moxie eyed Violet appreciatively. “I know, but I just wanted to tell you how striking that dress is.”
“I was hoping you’d like it.”
Two middle-aged women approached the buffet, surveying the elaborate spread and the melting ice sculpture carved in the shape of a swan.
“Goodness,” the shorter of them said. “This all looks marvelous.”
The plump, tall one grabbed two plates and handed her friend one. “Here, Frieda.”
“I can’t wait to try this shrimp,” Frieda said excitedly, building a mountain of crustaceans on her plate. “So, Claire, did you see that story about Sylvia King?”
“See it?” Claire squealed. “I’ve committed it to memory. It just goes to show you that no one is ever as innocent as they seem.”
Violet and Moxie exchanged curious, concerned looks as they continued to eavesdrop.
“And how,” Frieda replied, stuffing her mouth with several shellfish and chewing with her mouth open. “Who knew that America’s darling was spending all her time in opium dens to dull the pain of rampant syphilis?”
Violet began to cough violently, prompting Moxie to slap her repeatedly on the back.
Claire continued to accost the hors d’oeuvres unabated. “I heard that T. Z. already released her from her contract.”
“How could he not ?” Frieda asked. “The woman’s an embarrassment.”
Once Violet caught her breath, she wiped a tear away and whispered to Moxie, “This has all the markings of a Wil Skoog confidence game.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“It has her gin-soaked fingerprints all over it. She’s over there, so excuse me while I accuse her. I’ll be right back.”
“Was that Violet London?” Frieda asked her friend. If she had been attempting to whisper or be discreet in any way, she failed miserably.
“I think so.” Claire looked at Moxie. “You know, young lady, you should be more careful about who you’re seen with.”
“What do you mean?” Moxie asked.
Claire walked closer to her and lowered her voice slightly. “I’m sure you weren’t aware. You seem like a lovely young person. But that woman who was just chatting with you was Violet London.”
Moxie’s blood pressure began to rise. “So?”
“Well, I’m not one to talk out of turn,” Claire began.
“Clearly,” Moxie said.
“But she’s notorious.”
“Is that so?” Moxie didn’t care even slightly how irritated she sounded.
Frieda nodded excitedly, looking as though she might burst from the excitement of saying something illicit. “It’s true. She’s a lesbian.” She whispered the last word as though it were a synonym for the scourge of humanity.
Moxie pretended to be shocked, bringing her open hand to her mouth and gasping audibly. “Good Lord, no! She never told me. But maybe she simply couldn’t speak because she had my clitoris in her mouth.”
Both women stared at Moxie.
“Dear Lord,” Claire wheezed. She struggled to swallow the canapé that was now fluttering about in her mouth.
“ You are a sick, sick girl,” Frieda added, glaring.
Moxie crossed her arms and smiled insincerely. “That’s funny, because it seems to me that you two are the sick ones, feeding off gossip and salacious lies. Why not focus on your own pathetic love lives, instead of rudely inserting yourself like a dry dildo into the relationships of strangers and then having the gall to disapprove of whatever it is that you think you’ve found?”
Violet returned with Wil in tow, though both of them were clearly startled by the altercation they were interrupting.
Frieda set her plate down angrily. “I refuse to let a perverted whore address me that way.”
Moxie stood her ground calmly. “Which is fine, you judgmental, sanctimonious bitch, because instead I’ll address you. And while I’m at it, I’ll berate you for your hypocrisy and mock you for your small-minded bigotry.” She let her eyes travel down Frieda’s frame with visible distaste. “Not to mention that hideous dress.” With that, she took Violet’s face in her hands and kissed her deeply for several seconds.
>
“Thank God,” Wil said. “I was starting to think this was the most boring fucking party I’ve ever been to.”
Violet pulled back, glancing at the two horrified strangers looking on. “Um, having second thoughts about announcing your engagement tonight, sweetheart?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Your tongue in my mouth,” Violet replied matter-of-factly.
Moxie grinned. “I can never get anything past you.” She faced Wil somberly. “I’m sorry if I’ve ruined anything for you tonight.”
Wil seemed amused. “Darling, do you know how ironic it is for you to apologize to me about your behavior?”
“Yes,” Moxie said. “It felt strange coming out of my mouth.”
“Which is odd,” Wil countered. “Usually for me, things feel strangest on their way into my mouth. Ladies,” Wil said, extending her hand to Frieda and Claire, “nice to meet you. I’m Greta Garbo. I assume you’ve already met my friends Norma Shearer and Jean Harlow.”
“You’re all disgusting,” Claire spat.
“We’ll find out who you are,” Frieda said. “Don’t you worry.”
Wil’s smile disappeared. “Ah, then more to the point, fuck off, pigs.”
“It was lovely to meet you both.” Violet’s sarcasm was pronounced.
“Like having a tooth drilled,” Moxie added.
Wil waved to them as both Claire and Frieda rushed out of the room. “Now have a wonderful evening. Don’t forget to fuck off.”
Violet’s expression became somber. “Mox, you do realize the choice you’ve just made?”
“I do, yes.”
“Odds are there’s no going back.”
Moxie beamed. “I certainly hope not.”
Epilogue
Los Angeles
December 31, 1931
Julian and Gary got out of the cab and looked around for anything that might provide a clue that they were near their destination. All Julian saw at the address he was given was what appeared to be a run-down warehouse. He squinted at the scrap of paper in his hand, the moonlight providing only minimal illumination. “This is supposed to be it,” he said, more to convince himself than anything.
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