When Hollywood-bound actress Violet London meets speakeasy singer Moxie Valette, her trip takes an unexpected turn toward love.

New York City, 1931: When wry Broadway actress Violet London and her hard-drinking cohorts venture into a speakeasy the night before she is to board a train for Hollywood, she is floored by sassy blond singer Moxie Valette. As Violet introduces Moxie to an assortment of bootleg liquor, cross-dressers, and sex shows, she vows to find a way to see her again. Moxie is fascinated by Violet in a thrilling and unfamiliar way, and the ensuing evening of bon mots, shameless flirtation, and illicit revelry is unlike anything she has ever experienced.

From Manhattan to Los Angeles, both womenâ€™s lives are turned upside-down by separation, unscrupulous motion picture studio executives, self-serving agents, eccentric celebrities, and the collection of hedonistic reprobates that are their closest friends.

The Seduction of Moxie

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By the Author

The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin

The Seduction of Moxie

by

Colette Moody

2009

The Seduction of Moxie

Â© 2009 By Colette Moody. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 10: 1-60282-114-3E

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-114-9E

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.,

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Bold Strokes Printing: September 2009

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editors: Shelley Thrasher and Stacia Seaman

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri (GraphicArtist2020@hotmail.com)

Acknowledgements

As always, thank you, Laura, for your unflagging support and feedback. I have a sneaking suspicion that without your input and encouragement, my novels would be an endless string of boob jokes and limericks.

Also, this book would not exist in its current state without the spellbinding tales of debauchery provided by Cat, Jen, and John that ultimately helped to form the framework of my charactersâ€™ own carousingâ€”much like the grain of sand that evolves into a pearl. Thank you for shoving your filthy particles into my oyster (you know, in a purely academic way).

Thank you, Bold Strokes Books staff. Iâ€™m astounded by the freedom that you give me to blaze my own peculiar trailâ€”usually through the dense brush of farce (though obviously at times stopping in the perilous thicket of preposterous metaphor).

Dedication

For those who sparked my fascination and admiration with their amazing work and the even more spectacular way that they lived their lives: Tallulah Bankhead, Katharine Hepburn, Alla Nazimova, Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich, Dorothy Parker, Robert Benchley, Rosalind Russell, Cary Grant, Ginger Rogers, Lauren Bacall, Louise Brooks, and Howard Hawks. You continue to inspire me daily.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Aperitifâ€”Or the Appendix of Cocktails

About the Author

Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

Prologue

The night that 1930 fizzled out and 1931 roared in, Moxie Valette stood singing in a chintzy speakeasy in Fayetteville, Nebraska, with a faraway look in her eyes that made her appear as if she was dreaming of something more. The room was thick with the haze of stale cigarette smoke as she sang â€œBootleggerâ€™s Ragâ€ with more vim than most of the drunken spectators would have anticipated.

A glass of ice and jorum of skee,

Drag your heeler to the speakeasy!

Bring your scratch, shake a leg.

Gold digger, sugar daddy, vamp, and yegg.

Thereâ€™s no time to lollygag.

Everybody wants to do the bootleggerâ€™s rag!

Sitting in the back of this somewhat dilapidated, unmarked establishment known to locals as Fat Philly Redâ€™s, Cotton McCann watched the performer with considerable interest. He rested his chin in the palm of his left hand while he chewed on his cigar and contemplated her level of talent.

She was blond, though not in an artificial way. Show business had far too many peroxide blondes already, he thought. No, this one had a more natural look. Like Garbo, but without that exotic quality. Like a corn-fed, fresh-faced Constance Bennett. This girl was attractive, but somehow unusual. Sexy, yet wholesome and approachable. He inhaled deeply from his cigar and motioned to the waitress with his other hand.

â€œYou need a refill, mister?â€ the curvy matron called to him over the music and the din of the crowd.

â€œIâ€™d rather talk to that singer,â€ he answered, straining to be heard. â€œWhatâ€™s her name again?â€

â€œMoxie. But she donâ€™t usually spend her time bumpinâ€™ gums with the customers.â€

â€œAnd would a little jack maybe get me an introduction?â€ He held up two folded dollar bills between his index and middle fingers.

The waitressâ€™s eyes flashed, and she quickly snatched the money and slipped it into her ample cleavage. â€œIâ€™ll see what I can do. I canâ€™t guarantee you too much more than that. That kidâ€™s a straight arrow. But Iâ€™ll make sure she stops by after her last number.â€ She winked and disappeared back into the crowd.

Luckily for Cotton, very little about Fat Philly Redâ€™s homemade gin compelled him to actually finish the one he had ordered nearly an hour earlier. He had patronized more than his share of these clip joints in the last eight months, and in that time he had never tasted liquor quite this lousy. He held the glass to his nose and sniffed it again, to remind himself exactly how noxious it was. The smell suggested that its distillers had somehow managed to blend sulphur, animal feces, and kerosene. â€œHoly cats,â€ he muttered, setting it back down on the table and pushing the glass away. He made a mental note to neither smell nor swallow the foul venom again, no matter how thirsty he became.

â€œLeave it if youâ€™re fond of your liver.â€ The singer stood by his table, her left hand propped defiantly on her hip. She looked amused. â€œI hear that you got something to say.â€ The timbre of her voice was melodic, but the tone was feisty. This girl obviously was no shrinking violet.

â€œYou must be Moxie,â€ he said, her name now an epiphany to him. He politely stood and gestured for her to sit, scrutinizing her again, this time from much closer. She was a striking combination of light hair and dark, smoky eyes. Her lips were full, what the flappers would call bee-stung, and her cheeks were round and pink. He reevaluated his earlier assessment. This girl didnâ€™t look like anyone he could think of, and she was mesmeric.

She eyed him appraisingly. He was clearly an out-of-towner. He absolutely radiated the city with his fancy brown suit and dark mustache. She guessed him to be around forty, and he carried the paunch that only a life of leisure could afford. Curious, she decided to see what he had to say and pulled up a chair. â€œBut I donâ€™t know your name.â€

â€œCotton McCann. Can I assume from your comment that youâ€™re not interested in me buying you a drink?â€ He nodded to the glass in front of him.

â€œYou can. You can also assume that Iâ€™m not a five-cent whore, if that was going to be your next question.â€ She spoke nonchalantly, intent on setting the boundaries clearly and early in the conversation.

He frowned and took another puff of his cigar. â€œYouâ€™ve got me all wrong. Iâ€™m looking for talent. Iâ€™m an impresario of sorts.â€

â€œThen what the hell are you doing in this jerkwater town, in this crummy speako?â€

â€œIâ€™m on my way from Los Angeles to New York City.â€ He stroked his mustache with his thumb and index finger. â€œMy last act cut out on me just as she was on the verge of her big break.â€

â€œCut out on you how?â€

â€œShe married some mook and settled down.â€ He tried unsuccessfully to keep the anger out of his voice. â€œShe could have been the next Jeanette MacDonald.â€

â€œIs that so?â€

The buxom waitress reappeared and set an open bottle of Dr. Pepper in front of Moxie. â€œHere you go, sweetie.â€

â€œThanks, Ruby.â€ She eagerly took a sip and motioned for Cotton to continue as Ruby slipped back into the raucous crowd.

â€œHow old are you?â€

She brushed her wavy bangs out of her eyes with the back of her hand. â€œTwenty-two.â€

Cotton reached into his jacket pocket and removed a business card. â€œLook, I know you have no reason to trust me.â€

She picked up the card, printed on stiff, cream-colored stock. It read:

COTTON G. MCCANN

PROFESSIONAL ENTERTAINMENT AGENT

TWELVE YEARS EXPERIENCE

â€œYou reprint these every year?â€ She took another sip of Dr. Pepper.

He smiled. â€œThis is the first year Iâ€™ve had them. I didnâ€™t think about that when I placed the order.â€ He cleared his throat. â€œAnyway, Iâ€™m sure youâ€™re skeptical, not knowing me from Adam. But Iâ€™m telling you that youâ€™ve got something special, kid. Something I havenâ€™t seen in months. And believe me, Iâ€™ve been looking.â€

â€œWhat exactly are you proposing?â€

â€œTomorrow Iâ€™m taking the Burlington to Chicago, and from there, the Twentieth Century Limited the rest of the way to New York City. Iâ€™ve been hoping to find a talented singer or dancer whoâ€™d make the rest of the trip with me.â€

Moxieâ€™s mind reeled at the mention of what was probably the most plush and renowned passenger train in the world, but she remained dubious. After all, men tended to lie. â€œMake the trip with youâ€¦and then what?â€

â€œI need a new talent to sell, and New Yorkâ€™s the place to make it happen. Surely you want to play bigger and better clubs than this one.â€

She looked around at the congested dive sheâ€™d been working in for the past four months. It was dirty and smelled, as did most of the clientele. Cotton was right about the fact that Fat Philly Redâ€™s was a horrible job to settle for. The prospect of performing for high societyâ€”hell, for people who didnâ€™t have dirt under their fingernailsâ€”tempted her.

â€œYou probably have a father or husband to consult first. I understand that.â€

â€œActually, I donâ€™t have either.â€

His brow furrowed. â€œWell, you have some family, donâ€™t you?â€

â€œNo, itâ€™s just me these days. The decisionâ€™s all mine.â€

Cottonâ€™s face took on a serious expression. â€œThen what do you have to lose?â€

Chapter One

June 6, 1931, 10:00 p.m.

The portly emcee nimbly slicked back his thinning hair and grabbed the large microphone before him. â€œAnd now, ladies and gentlemen, a sweet little Midwestern dish whoâ€™s been bringing the house down here at the Luna Lounge for the last few weeksâ€”Miss Moxie Valette.â€

The crowd cheered as Moxie appeared on the stage and the pianist began to play the introduction to Cole Porterâ€™s â€œWhat Is This Thing Called Love?â€

â€œHot damn!â€ Violet sputtered as she focused on the singer before her. â€œGet a load of that tomato.â€

Her companion Wil looked toward the stage at the front of the club as she slipped another Chesterfield into her cigarette holder. â€œMy goodness,â€ she remarked wryly, looking for matches. â€œShe is a tasty muffin. Are you falling in love for, what, the ninth time today?â€

â€œDonâ€™t exaggerate,â€ Violet said. â€œThis is only the fourth time since breakfast.â€

Moxie began to sing the lyrics slowly, her sultry tones quickening Violetâ€™s pulse. While Wilâ€™s ribbing was well deserved, Violet had to admit this blonde was affecting her more than the occasional waitress or cigarette girl that she might find attractive and flirt with. She was spellbound.

â€œHey, sister,â€ Wil said, poking her with her elbow. â€œYou got apoplexy? Have you swallowed your tongue?â€

â€œNo. I was imagining her swallowing my tongue.â€ She grinned. â€œAnd I have to say it was working for me.â€ The gorgeous blonde in the shimmering, deep blue gown seemed contradictoryâ€”while her young face conveyed purity and virtue, her deep voice exuded a carnal sensuality that made Violetâ€™s temperature rise.

â€œWell, as they say, the fifth timeâ€™s the charm. Weâ€™ll just have to get her over here to meet you. After all, it is your night.â€

â€œItâ€™s your night too,â€ Violet countered, taking a piece of bread from the wicker basket on the table and tearing off a bite-sized piece that she offered to the small, russet-colored terrier in her lap. He sniffed it warily before devouring it.

Wil laughed. â€œDonâ€™t worry, I plan to get mine tonight too, doll.â€ She called the waiter over, flailing her arm eagerly. â€œDarling,â€ she said with a broad, insincere smile. â€œWe need a bottle of whatever you have thatâ€™s sparkling.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure something can be arranged,â€ the young man replied.

The Luna Lounge was, after all, one of the most successful speakeasies in the city of New York. It catered to those with money, and for a healthy percentage of the earnings, revenuers happily looked the other way. In fact, the Luna hadnâ€™t been raided once in the seven years it had been in business, thanks to the dependable and irrefutable efficacy of the bribery of public officials.

â€œWhatâ€™s your name, handsome?â€ Wil asked the waiter, her hand brushing the top of his in a way that was too casual to be inadvertent.

â€œFred.â€ He blushed slightly.

â€œFred, darling,â€ she said. â€œDo you think you could send the canary over our way when her set is done? Weâ€™d like to extend our compliments.â€

He seemed petrified of her advances, but nodded rapidly.

â€œAnd bring a shot of whatever she drinks too,â€ Violet added. â€œLet her know itâ€™s on us.â€

Again the waiter nodded, then slipped away into the crowd.

â€œLook at you,â€ Wil joked, â€œbuying the lady a drink. Very smooth, Vi.â€

She wiggled her eyebrows. â€œWell, if Iâ€™m going to become a big star, I need to learn how to make time with all the hot numbers, right?â€

â€œStick with me, kid. Iâ€™ll show you everything I know.â€

â€œIâ€™ll settle just for what you can remember,â€ Violet said. â€œGot your eyes on the waiter, do you?â€

Wil took a drag on the delicate tip of her cigarette holder. â€œFred? Oh, weâ€™re old friends. He understands me in ways no other man can.â€

â€œYou know heâ€™s queer, right?â€

Wil exhaled in frustration. â€œFuck, another one?â€

â€œAfraid so, sister.â€

â€œAnd how exactly do you know this? Youâ€™ve seen him at your local chapter meetings, have you?â€

Violet nodded. â€œYup, he usually brings the crullers.â€

â€œDamn, it! The tight pants should have tipped me off.â€

â€œThat, and maybe the way he sashayed to and from our table.â€ Violet turned to direct her attention back to Moxie. She was now performing an upbeat jazzy number that Violet hadnâ€™t heard before, and Moxieâ€™s hips swayed seductively as she sang about not being able to get enough of her man. Both the tune, as well as the way Moxie sang it, captivated Violet.

â€œJulian!â€ Wil called merrily.

Violet turned to see Wilâ€™s friend arriving at their table. He was a large, rather effeminate man, wearing a brown suit about a half size too small. The buttons of his jacket seemed to strain in anguish to stay secured. His dark hair was combed straight back, and his mustache was razor thin. Cordially, he kissed Wil on the cheek, then stretched over the table to offer Violet the same salutation.

â€œHow are you, Violet?â€ he asked, sitting across from her. â€œI hear congratulations are in order.â€

â€œThanks, Julian. Itâ€™s good to see you.â€ She smiled brightly.

â€œAre you ready for a night of nonstop sin and depravity?â€ Wil asked him.

â€œWhy else would I have agreed to meet you, darling?â€ He took a piece of stale bread from the basket.

Fred appeared with a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a stainless-steel bucket for it to chill in. â€œHere you are, ladies.â€ He set the bucket down and began to open the bottle. â€œWill you be needing a third glass?â€

â€œFred,â€ Wil said, â€œyouâ€™re always so considerate. Thatâ€™s why I love you so.â€ She turned to Julian magnanimously. â€œWhat did you want to drink, darling?â€

â€œIâ€™ll take a gin rickey, Fred.â€

â€œVery good, sir.â€ The waiter pushed the cork out of the bottle with his thumbs, and it finally burst out with a jubilant pop.

â€œMusic to my ears,â€ Wil remarked happily as Fred began to pour the champagne.

â€œDoes it remind you of your cherry?â€ Violet raised her newly filled glass.

â€œI think you overestimate Wilâ€™s memory,â€ Julian added. â€œWasnâ€™t that back during the Trojan War?â€

Fred accidentally dropped the open bottle into the bucket, nervously verified that no harm was done, and then darted away again.

â€œFred and I are in love,â€ Wil explained to Julian. â€œWeâ€™re going to be married.â€

Julian casually pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from his jacket pocket. â€œYou donâ€™t mind that heâ€™s queer?â€

â€œI told you,â€ Violet said, pointing her index finger decisively.

â€œWe plan to have one of those open marriages,â€ Wil said. â€œProvided that he never stops bringing me whatever I ask for, I can look past his preference for men.â€

â€œHow progressive,â€ Violet commented.

*

After Moxieâ€™s set ended, Fred approached her backstage and touched her shoulder lightly. â€œSwell show.â€

She smiled at the compliment as she dabbed her face with a handkerchief. â€œThanks. Thatâ€™s always nice to hear.â€

â€œWell, then you might like to hear this as well. Table nine would like you to stop by. They told me to bring whatever you wanted to drink too.â€

Moxieâ€™s gratification quickly evaporated. â€œHmm. Did the offer seem seedy?â€

He laughed. â€œItâ€™s probably a lot of things. But I donâ€™t think any of them are seedy.â€

At one time, Moxie tried to be gracious when strange men fawned over her, and certainly since she had been in New York, that type of attention had only increased. But she had recently made up her mind that she couldnâ€™t bear such social contrivances anymore. She had been hit on by old geezers, married men, and even one fellow so inebriated that he had actually pissed himself and failed to notice it. Fortuitously for him, Moxie had been there to bring his condition to his attention.

While she supposed these advances were all intended to be complimentary, it was hard to feel gratitude under the circumstances. Perhaps this admirer would signal her turning luck. After all, Cotton had been telling her that was due to happen any day.

â€œAll right, Fred. Youâ€™ve piqued my curiosity. Table nine, you said?â€

He nodded.

â€œJust bring my usual drink.â€

â€œYou got it.â€ He headed back over to the bar.

Checking her face in the mirror, she ran her hands through her wavy blond hair and tossed the damp handkerchief down with the rest of her things.

As she approached table nine, she was suddenly uncertain. Two glamorous-looking women, a plump man, and a small dog sat thereâ€”certainly not what she had expected. As she got closer, she observed that the woman with the dog was watching her intently. The womanâ€™s straight black hair was cut in a bob, a bit like Louise Brooksâ€™s, but her eyes were incredibly light, almost gray. The combination was striking. Her elegant evening gown was sea green, and her features were soft and lovely.

The other woman at the table was pretty in a different wayâ€”red-haired and animatedâ€”and though Moxie could not make out what she was saying, her voice carried as if she were either a drunk or a madwoman. She was dressed like a member of high society, but clearly not born into it. Her boisterous and gregarious manners gave her away. The gentleman at the table seemed more reserved, and he had noticed her approach by now as well.

Moxie stopped at the table and cleared her throat as the loud redheaded woman was in the middle of a sentence.

â€œâ€¦and I told him, â€˜Darling, you need to get that away from my vaginaâ€™â€”oh, hello there,â€ she said, suddenly noticing her.

Moxie was stunned, wondering what the beginning of that story could possibly have entailed. â€œUm, hello. I may have been given the wrong table number.â€

The other woman at the table smiled, her smoky eyes alight with something. Perhaps amusement? Despite Moxieâ€™s natural suspicions, the brunetteâ€™s expression and demeanor put her slightly at ease. â€œNo, this is the right table. We asked Fred to have you stop by so we could tell you how very much we enjoyed your singing.â€

Moxie remained wary, as she always did. For her, guarded and vigilant were a way of life. â€œThatâ€™s nice of you to say.â€

â€œDo have a seat. Iâ€™m Violet London, and these are my friends Wilhelmina Skoog and Julian French.â€

Moxie pulled up a chair and sat, feeling self-conscious around these rather stylish and wealthy people. Why had they asked to see her? They seemed so much more sophisticated than she was. Her eyes were drawn to the small, yawning reddish-brown dog sitting in Violetâ€™s lap. â€œAnd who is this?â€

â€œAh, this is Clitty.â€ Violet held up the dogâ€™s paw to simulate a friendly wave.

â€œThatâ€™s an unusual name.â€ Moxie assured herself that she had either misheard the woman or was simply the victim of her own filthy mind. The dog could not possibly be named that.

Violet took a drink of champagne and nodded as she swallowed. â€œYes, itâ€™s short for Clitoris.â€

Apparently Moxie was not the only one with a filthy mind. â€œUhâ€¦Why would you name your dog that?â€

â€œWell, it seemed appropriate,â€ Violet replied, scratching Clittyâ€™s head between the ears. â€œI mean, he has a beard.â€ She playfully tugged the animalâ€™s protracted chin hair. â€œAnd he wants to be rubbed all day long.â€

â€œBut does he want to be licked?â€ Wil asked.

â€œLord, Wil,â€ Julian interjected, exhaling smoke from his nostrils. â€œI hope youâ€™re not offering.â€

â€œHardly, darling. Itâ€™s far too early in the evening for me to have lowered my standards that much.â€ She looked at her watch. â€œI wonâ€™t settle for less than a human for another three hours.â€

Fred reappeared and set a bottle of Dr. Pepper in front of Moxie. â€œHere you go.â€

â€œThatâ€™s what you ordered?â€ Violet asked.

â€œIâ€™m not much of a drinker.â€

â€œWell, you should have some champagne with us,â€ Violet said. â€œWeâ€™re celebrating tonight.â€

â€œOh? What for?â€

â€œWell,â€ Violet said, â€œIâ€™ve been cast in a movie. And I leave tomorrow on the next train to Hollywood.â€

Moxie was awestruck. This woman was a film star? â€œThatâ€™s wonderful!â€

Wil waved at Fred to get his attention. â€œFred, please bring your lovely singer a champagne glass.â€ He looked surprised but nodded dutifully.

Violet continued. â€œAnd that leaves my understudy here ready to step into the leading role of Scandals and Lies on Broadway.â€

â€œAh, thatâ€™s why your name sounded familiar. Youâ€™re Violet London, the Broadway actress.â€ Moxie was thrilled not only to meet a successful actress, but one she had actually heard of. It was easy to see why Violetâ€™s career was flourishing. She had an easy charisma about herâ€”an affability that drew in others.

â€œFor the rest of tonight I am, at least.â€

â€œWil, you really should do something about your name,â€ Julian said. â€œWilhelmina Skoog neither rolls lightly off the tongue nor looks attractive on a marquee.â€

â€œYes,â€ Violet said. â€œYou should choose something sexy.â€

Wil snorted, apparently indignant that her friends would make such a suggestion. â€œWell, tragically, your Clitoris is taken.â€

â€œI only wish it were,â€ Violet replied as Fred arrived with the champagne glass. He set it in front of Moxie and filled it for her.

â€œThank you, darling,â€ Wil cooed. â€œYou poured that like only a real man could.â€

Fred blushed again, replaced the bottle in the bucket, and sped away.

â€œSo, Moxie.â€ Violet eyed her appreciatively, filling Moxie with a combination of discomfort and warmth. â€œPerhaps you can convince Wil that she may not be Fredâ€™s type.â€

Moxie picked up her champagne glass and took a sip. It tasted far better than she thought it would. She had tried to steer clear of indulging in anything that might impair her ever-present prudence. â€œWell, Fred isâ€”â€

â€œYou can go ahead and say it, dear,â€ Julian said with obvious sympathy.

â€œFred is what?â€ Wil asked. â€œA snappy dresser? A mean cribbage player? A large potato bug?â€

Violet laughed and patted Moxieâ€™s hand. â€œYou donâ€™t have to expose him as a potato bug if you donâ€™t want to, sweetie. After all, thatâ€™s nobodyâ€™s business but his and the farmer whose crops he destroys.â€ She took another sip of champagne.

â€œBut does he have an affinity for penises?â€ Julian blurted out. â€œBecause crop damage or not, I think that might be a deal breaker.â€

Moxie gasped as she inhaled a small amount of champagne into her lungs, and she began to cough violently. Violet patted her on the back helpfully, and before Moxie knew it, Violet was rubbing it in soft circles. She was surprised both by how nice it felt and the inexplicable absence of her natural aversion to physical contact with others.

â€œNow why did you have to go and use that word, Julian? You startled the poor girl,â€ Violet said.

He polished off his gin rickey and set the glass on the table forcefully. â€œYou act as though sheâ€™s some fawn in the woods. Just because â€˜penisâ€™ is your least favorite word, darling, doesnâ€™t mean that everyone else canâ€™t stomach it.â€

â€œSorry.â€ Violet had a wry expression on her face. â€œWhen you say â€˜stomach it,â€™ what exactly do you mean?â€

Wil laughed loudly, then polished off her champagne and grabbed the bottle aggressively by the neck. â€œDamn, doll face. Iâ€™m going to miss you,â€ she said as she refilled her glass. She looked up from her drink. â€œOh, I suppose Iâ€™ll miss you too, Violet.â€

Julian gestured to Fred to bring him another round.

Moxieâ€™s coughing had abated, but she still sat agog, wondering what these people would say next. They seemed not only candid to the point of mental illness, but they were all decidedly oversexed, and therefore potentially a menace to others. She had never known anyone who bandied about genitalia as they did. Wait, that sounded much worse in her mind than she had intended.

â€œSo, what kind of a name is Moxie?â€ Violet propped her chin on her fist and adopted an expression that implied she was actually interested in what Moxie had to say.

Thank God, Moxie thought, a normal question. â€œApparently I was a rather strong-willed child.â€

â€œYour mother has a sense of humor.â€

â€œShe did, yes. She passed on about ten years ago.â€

â€œIâ€™m so sorry. She must have been a beautiful woman, because you are terribly striking.â€

Moxie dropped her gaze. â€œThank you.â€ While she was used to that kind of comment from men and could readily brush it aside as so much phony flattery, coming from a woman, a famous one to boot, it somehow seemed more sincere.

â€œRaised by your father?â€ Violet asked.

Moxie shrugged. â€œMostly raised by myself.â€

Violetâ€™s eyebrows arched. â€œYou donâ€™t say.â€

â€œPop passed away just two years after Mom, so then it was just me.â€

â€œBrothers or sisters? Grandparents or aunts?â€

Moxie shook her head, feeling ill at ease talking about her past. She took another drink of champagne.

Violetâ€™s eyes warmed. â€œIâ€™m guessing your childhood wasnâ€™t all nosegays and lollipops.â€

Moxie smiled in tacit agreement. â€œWell, I managed to stay out of the orphanage, and I learned how to fend for myself, so I really canâ€™t complain. I had it better than a lot of others.â€

â€œOkay, Iâ€™ll bite.â€ Violet was clearly interested in what Moxie was telling her. â€œHowâ€™d you avoid the orphanage?â€

â€œI took jobs cooking, cleaning, singingâ€”whatever I could get. I lied about my age until I didnâ€™t need to anymore and just generally kept to myself.â€

Violet whistled descending notes of astonishment. â€œThat sounds like an invitation for every bindle stiff and grifter in town to take you for a ride.â€

Moxieâ€™s finger traced the rim of her glass. â€œIâ€™m not saying they didnâ€™t try, just that they didnâ€™t succeed.â€

â€œClearly youâ€™re not from New York.â€

â€œHow can you tell?â€

â€œBecause your soul hasnâ€™t been consumed yet.â€ Violetâ€™s tone was lighthearted.

â€œWell, itâ€™s nice to know that I still have that to look forward to,â€ she joked, taking another sip of her drink. â€œYou know, this is really quite good.â€

â€œI take it you havenâ€™t seen much of the nightlife in New York unless youâ€™ve been the entertainment?â€

â€œNo, I try not to participate too much in it. I figure if the cops bust in and raid the place, theyâ€™ll let the sober people go.â€

Wil smiled. â€œWell, arenâ€™t you just adorable? Thinking that cops let people who arenâ€™t political officials go.â€

â€œAdorable is a very good assessment,â€ Violet said softly, looking into Moxieâ€™s eyes for what felt like a prolonged period of time.

Moxie panicked. Was this womanâ€”a celebrity, no lessâ€”making advances toward her? If so, this was certainly a first. But New York seemed full of firsts for her. â€œMy husband uses that word to describe me sometimes too,â€ she lied.

Violetâ€™s gaze narrowed, as though she was scrutinizing Moxie. â€œWell, your husbandâ€™s correct. Youâ€™re just as cute as a box of kittens.â€

As Fred returned to the table with another gin rickey for Julian, Violet raised her glass. â€œLetâ€™s toast, everyone.â€ They all held their glass to the center of the table. â€œTo continued success.â€ Glasses clinked together and everyone drank.

â€œI hope you donâ€™t have to sing any more tonight,â€ Wil said.

â€œOh, no. I only have two sets a night, so far. And that was my second.â€

â€œSo you might get more?â€ Julian poured more champagne for all of them.

Moxie was too polite to refuse. â€œIf I start really packing them in, yes. And of course the more sets I play a night, the more money I make.â€

â€œHow long have you been in New York?â€ Violet fed another piece of bread to Clitty.

â€œOnly six months.â€ She took a longer sip of bubbly.

â€œWhat of the city have you really seen?â€ Wil asked.

Feeling suddenly embarrassed, Moxie gazed at the ceiling. â€œUmâ€¦Iâ€™ve seen the Statue of Liberty and the Chrysler Building. And I went down to Fifth Avenue to see that brand-new skyscraper thatâ€™s even taller, the Empire State Building. Itâ€™s massive.â€

Violet looked disappointed. â€œBut those are things for tourists. You live here now.â€

â€œI know. I just donâ€™t get out much. By the time I get off work, I donâ€™t want to do anything but crawl home and sleep.â€

â€œWil here can give you a tour of the underside of every table in every gin joint in town,â€ Julian said in mock helpfulness.

Wil cleared her throat indignantly. â€œExcuse me,â€ she said, â€œbut I believe you mean the underside of only the finest tables in every gin joint in town.â€

He laughed. â€œYouâ€™re right, darling. How stupid of me.â€

Moxie chuckled at their teasing and enjoyed the bubbles in the champagne a little more.

â€œThen you should see the city with us tonight,â€ Violet said. â€œVisit the places only the locals can take you.â€

She was hesitant. â€œI donâ€™t knowâ€”â€ All the mental alarms in Moxieâ€™s head were still clanging away, but somehow she was becoming increasingly acclimated to their tones of danger. Whether it was the booze or the easy laughter, what had started out as sirens now sounded more like a jazzman on the vibraphone.

â€œVi is right,â€ Wil announced. â€œYou absolutely should come out with us. One night with us and you can stay in for the rest of the year and still feel like youâ€™ve sowed your oats.â€

â€œIâ€™d like to hang on to my oats, if thatâ€™s all right.â€

Violet looked amused. â€œFair enough, doll. You keep a tight hold on your oats and just try to look the other way when Wil starts pelting strangers with hers.â€

Everyone howled, including Moxie. She didnâ€™t feel threatened by this trio, she supposed, and she couldnâ€™t remember the last time sheâ€™d enjoyed herself so much. She really had been meaning to see the rest of New York, though she internally vowed to keep her wits about her at all times and leave at the first sign of trouble. â€œWell, I guess I could join you for a bit.â€

â€œExcellent. Iâ€™ll wager youâ€™ll see a thing or two youâ€™ve never seen before the night is over.â€

*

12:15 a.m.

Moxie decidedâ€”after several glasses of champagneâ€”that not only were these folks not a bad sort, but that they were absolutely hysterical. Though they were, without question, easily the oddest people she had ever met, they were also, at least to some degree, well connected in show business, not to mention astoundingly clever. Moxie personally challenged herself to keep up with all their quips and asides, though she discovered the task was particularly taxing now that she was not completely clearheaded.

At midnight, the group determined that they wanted to head to Swing Street, though she had never heard of such a place, and they all gleefully jammed their bodies into a single taxi. Moxie almost couldnâ€™t wait to get back to her apartment and tell her roommate Irene how she had spent her evening. She doubted Irene would even believe her.

â€œUm, are you from New York originally?â€ Moxie asked Violet in a thinly veiled attempt to use pleasantries to mask the awkwardness of sitting on Violetâ€™s lap. She silently marveled at how Violet seemed to so coolly take everything in stride. She didnâ€™t appear to find the arrangement in the cab uncomfortable in the least.

â€œBaltimore,â€ Violet replied, shaking her head.

â€œHow long have you lived here?â€

Violetâ€™s eyes took on a wistful glint. â€œSix years. I came to town on my twenty-first birthday, determined to show everyone else that I really could live my life as a woman of independent means.â€

Wil chortled. â€œDarling, donâ€™t sell yourself short. Anyone who jacks people off in back alleys can be a woman of independent means.â€

Julian cleared his throat. â€œLet us not malign back-alley jack-offs. Those have been some of my fondest times. Itâ€™s a dying art.â€

â€œYouâ€™re such a purist, Julian,â€ Violet said.

â€œWell, you know the old wivesâ€™ tale,â€ he replied, picking up Clitty and moving him slightly to the right of his lap. â€œWhy canâ€™t this dogâ€™s pointy elbows stop gouging my scrotum?â€

Violet scoffed. â€œThat is a very obscure old wivesâ€™ tale. So what does it mean? A scrotum gouge means good luck is coming your way?â€

Julian sniffed. â€œIt means if it continues, I will openly weep.â€

â€œThose old wives were all dirty whores,â€ Wil said gravely.

â€œSo itâ€™s really an old whoresâ€™ tale,â€ Violet said.

Wil checked her makeup in her compact. â€œI would think those would be slightly less reliable, darling.â€

â€œHere we are,â€ the taxi driver droned, pulling the car to an abrupt stop on Fifty-second Street. As Moxie was catapulted toward the front seat, Violet agilely grabbed her around the waist and stopped her forward progress.

â€œWhew! You okay, tomato?â€ Violet didnâ€™t move her hands from Moxieâ€™s hips.

Moxie, who had entered the cab somewhat disoriented, was certainly no better off now, feeling as though she had nearly been launched like a cannonball. She stared dumbly into Violetâ€™s gray eyes.

The door opened and they all spilled out into the balmy evening as Julian paid the driver.

â€œAnd where are we again?â€ Moxie asked, surveying her surroundings for some sign or landmark.

â€œThe Twenty-one Club,â€ Violet answered. â€œEver been before?â€

Moxie shook her head as they walked through the large cast-iron gates and down the steps to the front door. â€œIâ€™m starting to think I havenâ€™t ever been anywhere.â€

Violet laughed as Julian and Wil began to sweet-talk the doorman. Moxie felt rather eager when he finally ushered them inside.

â€œWell, now youâ€™re in New York, doll,â€ Violet assured her. â€œSo hang on to your bloomers.â€ She tugged Moxie by the elbow while still carrying her terrier protectively.

The inside of the 21 Club was something that Moxie could never have imagined. The glimpses she got through the haze of smoke were of leather, brass, and dark, deeply stained wood. The place was a lot bigger inside than the outside implied, and people were everywhereâ€”seated at tables, standing at the bar, and milling back and forth between the two.

They were led straight back to a table for four, though Violet stopped when she saw a woman seated a few tables away on the left. â€œWell, Iâ€™ll be damned,â€ she muttered, setting Clitty down on her chair.

â€œWhoâ€™s that?â€ Moxie whispered to Julian, sensing that this was not a happy reunion.

Julian eyed the petite brunette across from them. â€œOh, thatâ€™s Dorothy Parker, critic for The New Yorker. Viâ€™s probably a little upset at the review she gave both Scandals and Lies and Vi personally. It was not flattering. I think she used the word puke. â€

â€œWell.â€ Violet approached the criticâ€™s table. Dorothy Parker was drinking alone and looked as though she wanted to remain that way. â€œMrs. Parker, as I live and breathe.â€

Mrs. Parker looked up from what she was busily writing on a pad of paper. â€œOrdinarily, Iâ€™m not one to be a spoiler. But rumor has it, if you stop doing either one of those things, you tend to end badly.â€ She took another sip of her martini.

Wil looked angry as she began to peel off her gloves. â€œItâ€™s a pity you arenâ€™t speaking from experience.â€

Mrs. Parker appeared both tipsy and indifferent. â€œI am. I learned it from most of your audience at your last matinee. Luckily, it consisted of only me, two hobos, and a party of cockroaches. So no real damage was done.â€

Violet raised an eyebrow. â€œNo wonder I didnâ€™t see you there. I must have assumed you were part of the cockroach party. Next time just tell us youâ€™re coming beforehand, darling, and avoid the confusion. Iâ€™d hate for someone to callously step on you.â€

Wil jumped in to help her friend. â€œYes, had we known you were there we would have had you seated more appropriatelyâ€”in a urine puddle in the alley outside, maybe.â€

The critic rolled her eyes. â€œIf only your play had been this witty. No, wait. Your play was supposed to be a drama, wasnâ€™t it? I suppose your repartee wouldnâ€™t have helped much then. Never mind.â€

â€œI hear the playâ€™s better when youâ€™re sober,â€ Violet suggested. â€œYou should try it some time.â€

Mrs. Parker scoffed. â€œSobriety is overrated. Much as your play is. Is the rumor that youâ€™re walking away from the abysmal thing and heading to Hollywood true?â€

â€œIt is,â€ Violet said.

â€œWell, I suppose they can always use another shit-peddler out there.â€ The critic signaled for the waiter to bring her another drink by waving her lit cigarette at him.

Violet crossed her arms defiantly. â€œYou know, Mrs. Parker, itâ€™s statistically impossible for you to hate everything in the world except gin. Are you saying that there isnâ€™t the tiniest part of you, albeit deeply repressed, that might want a job in Hollywood?â€

â€œIâ€™d rather pass a hairbrush through my colon, actually.â€

During the ensuing moment of silence everyone no doubt pictured the haunting image.

â€œWell,â€ Wil said flatly, â€œas always, itâ€™s been lovely.â€ She put her arm around Violetâ€™s shoulders and led her back to their table, where they took their seats.

â€œDamn her,â€ Violet whispered angrily as she moved Clitty onto her lap.

â€œDonâ€™t let her ruin your celebration.â€ Moxie felt a pang of sympathy for her. This had been the first moment since she met Violet that she was not composed and sharp-witted. â€œYou are celebrating a role in a Hollywood film, while sheâ€™s here alone. So who really comes out on top?â€

â€œI suppose youâ€™re right. Though itâ€™s hard to shake the sting of someone who completely eviscerates you for sport.â€

The waiter arrived at the table to collect everyoneâ€™s drink order.

â€œA gin rickey,â€ Julian said.

â€œIâ€™m ready to move on from champagne,â€ Wil said. â€œBring me a Bronx, darling.â€

â€œWhat are you having?â€ Violet asked Moxie. â€œItâ€™s on me.â€

â€œIâ€™m actually a little tipsy. I probably shouldnâ€™t have anything else.â€

â€œDo you like licorice?â€

â€œI suppose.â€ Moxie wasnâ€™t sure what that question had to do with cocktails.

â€œIf youâ€™re still feeling adventurous, I have an idea. Youâ€™re under no obligation other than to taste it.â€ Violet motioned to the waiter. â€œA bottle of absinthe and three glasses.â€

â€œVery good,â€ the waiter said, heading back to the bar.

â€œAbsinthe?â€ Moxie asked.

Wil smiled as she lit a cigarette. â€œAh, absintheâ€”the green fairy. I have a love-hate relationship with her.â€

â€œWhich makes it just like every other relationship in your life,â€ Julian said.

â€œDarling, be kind,â€ Wil chided. â€œIâ€™m still trying to get over Fred. He broke my heart.â€

â€œWhat color fairy was Fred?â€ Violet asked.

Moxie laughed loudly, covering her mouth with her hand.

Wil looked amused. â€œWell, look at that. Mary Pickford over there is finally coming around.â€

Julian smirked. â€œYou must be rubbing off on her, Violet.â€

â€œWith any hope at all,â€ Wil muttered under her breath as she brought her cigarette holder to her lips.

â€œYou know,â€ Moxie said, â€œbefore I came to New York, I thought I had been around the block.â€

Violetâ€™s eyes softened. â€œWe have longer blocks here.â€

For a moment, Moxie sensed that something was hanging unspoken in the air. But before she could ponder that thought further, the waiter arrived with the drinks. When he set the bottle of bright green liquor in front of her, she had second thoughts. It definitely did not look safe to drink. â€œWhat the hell is that?â€

â€œMotherâ€™s milk,â€ Wil answered.

â€œIf your mother happens to be a leprechaun,â€ Moxie said with a snicker.

The waiter uncorked the bottle and set down three glasses, three ornate metal utensils, a pitcher of what looked to be water, and a bowl of sugar cubes before he disappeared back into the crowd.

Violet filled one of the oddly shaped glasses with liquor, to the point where the round bottom part of the glass met the straight upper section. She picked up one of the silver utensils in one hand and a sugar cube in the other. â€œWatch this.â€

â€œYou need a special tool to drink this? Please tell me this stuff goes in the mouth.â€

Violet laughed as she balanced the flat slotted spoon on top of the absinthe glass. â€œWell, since youâ€™re a beginner, I guess we can make an exception this time.â€ She then set the sugar cube on the spoon and poured the water over the top of it until the glass was about two-thirds full. The clear, emerald liquor turned a light milky green as the water, sugar, and absinthe mysteriously coalesced. â€œThis is called the louche.â€ She removed the spoon and took a sip.

â€œLouche?â€ Moxie asked. â€œWhat does that mean?â€

Violet offered her the glass so she could assess her mixing skills. â€œThe louche is kind of like taking something already remarkable and, by adding some other unrelated exceptional ingredient, making it beautiful in a whole new way.â€

The poetry of Violetâ€™s words impressed Moxie, and she wondered if other things in life combined to create a loucheâ€”perhaps people. Regardless, Moxie decided to try the drink without reservation. She took a sip and closed her eyes as she swallowed. â€œDamn! Thatâ€™s not bad.â€

â€œIn all the time Iâ€™ve known you, when have I ever steered you wrong?â€

â€œYouâ€™re right. Itâ€™s been a very pleasant few hours.â€ She watched Violet fill another glass with only water and offer it to the dog in her lap, which drank happily, but sent water flying all around him. Amused, Moxie couldnâ€™t pass up the opportunity to comment. â€œYour Clitoris is making a wet mess.â€

Violet smiled seductively. â€œThanks for noticing.â€

â€œErâ€¦Do you take him everywhere you go?â€

â€œYes, for the most part. I found him one night as I was coming out of the theater.â€ The dog stopped drinking, then lay back down in her lap contentedly and closed his eyes. â€œHe was a sad, bedraggled little mess. And once I took him home, washed and fed him, he never wanted to leave my side.â€

â€œIâ€™ve had dates like that, darling,â€ Wil said, taking a long sip of her Bronx cocktail. â€œOne time I had to pretend I was dead to get the son of a bitch to leave.â€

Julian laughed. â€œWas that before or after the sex?â€

â€œDuring, actually. You know men in bed.â€ She looked at Violet and paused. â€œOh, wellâ€¦â€ She turned to Julian. â€œ You know men in bed. Theyâ€™re happy if you participate, but itâ€™s not really necessary for them. Itâ€™s like the difference between a four-course meal and a five-course meal. Theyâ€™re happy to get dessert, but if need be, theyâ€™ll just double up on dinner rolls.â€

Violet began to mix a glass of absinthe for herself. â€œWell, hopefully the poor man didnâ€™t think his lovemaking had killed you.â€

â€œI was more likely to perish from the boredom than from anything else.â€

Julian traced the path of his mustache with his index finger. â€œWell, if he ever buys tickets to Scandals and Lies, heâ€™ll get the shock of his life. Our deceased Miss Skoog will be there illuminated by the footlights.â€

â€œI thought I was changing my name,â€ Wil reminded them, taking a long drag of her Chesterfield. â€œLetâ€™s hear some suggestions.â€

They mulled for a moment.

â€œUrethra Dejeuner,â€ Julian offered.

â€œDarling,â€ Wil said. â€œAs delightfully French as that sounds, I donâ€™t know that I want to be known as Pee-hole Lunch, but I suppose itâ€™s a start.â€

Violet set down her spoon as she pondered further. â€œHow about Veneria Dungbottom? You could be V.D. for short.â€

Wil frowned. â€œSounds a little too folksy for me.â€

â€œPlay off the red hair,â€ Julian suggested. â€œGo with something blatantly Irish, like Jiggles McTavish.â€

â€œToo ethnic,â€ was all Wil replied.

â€œGenitalia Finkelstein,â€ Moxie said, starting to settle into the rapid-fire discourse enough to add her two cents.

Violet seemed pleasantly surprised at her participation. â€œNo, I knew a Genitalia Finkelstein in high school. She might sue.â€

â€œPity,â€ Moxie replied in amusement, sipping her absinthe. â€œItâ€™s such a pretty name.â€

â€œYes, and she was a lovely girl. But she was far too sensitive.â€

Everyone laughed loudly.

Moxie let the fast-paced, witty mood wash over her, flush with the revelation that the banter was even more enjoyable when you were a direct participant. â€œSo what is this movie youâ€™re off to make?â€

â€œItâ€™s called Manhattan Rhapsody, â€ Violet replied. â€œItâ€™s a Pinnacle picture.â€

Moxie giggled. â€œYouâ€™re going all the way to California to make a film about New York?â€

â€œApparently most of Manhattan can be reproduced on the back lot. They just rub it with a little filth and, prestoâ€”instant New York.â€

Wil set down her now-empty cocktail glass. â€œWell, darling, do let them know that Iâ€™m available anytime to be rubbed with filth.â€

Julian smirked. â€œThatâ€™s common knowledge, dear.â€

â€œPinnacle Pictures?â€ Moxie was even more in awe. â€œThatâ€™s T. Z. Walterâ€™s studio, isnâ€™t it?â€ Violet nodded. â€œSo whatâ€™s it about?â€

Violetâ€™s face lit up as she started to talk about her project. â€œWell, a wealthy socialiteâ€”â€

â€œYou,â€ Moxie interjected.

â€œâ€”loses everything in the stock-market crash.â€

â€œSo itâ€™s a comedy,â€ Julian remarked dryly.

Violet continued. â€œShe has to learn how to do everything for herself, for the first time. So the audience gets the joy of watching her struggle.â€

â€œAnd in the end?â€ Moxie asked.

â€œI think she meets a rich man and marries him and her problems are solvedâ€¦or some shit like that.â€ She took a drink.

â€œI suppose that is the proverbial happy ending,â€ Moxie argued weakly.

â€œWhat Iâ€™m hoping I can do, before the picture wraps, is to talk them into a better ending. One where a rich man offers to take her away from her poverty, and she gives him the finger and tells him, â€˜No thanks, Bub. Iâ€™d rather work for a living.â€™â€

Julian took another drag on his cigarette. â€œSo I was wrong. Itâ€™s not a comedy. Itâ€™s a fantasy.â€

â€œWeâ€™re not all just aspiring to be bought and paid for,â€ Violet countered. â€œSome of us are more than happy to be given a chance to succeed all on our own.â€

â€œHear! Hear!â€ Wil said. â€œThough you might feel differently if you enjoyed sex with men.â€

â€œI can be kept just as easily by a rich woman as I can by a rich man,â€ she explained. â€œSo I donâ€™t know if I buy that argument.â€

â€œHa!â€ Wil dismissed that assertion with a wave of her cigarette holder.

Everything was now clicking into place for Moxie. The long admiring looks from Violet, her compliments, the wry comments from the others. Perhaps everything she had heard about theater people was actually trueâ€”eccentric, hedonistic, sexually capricious devil worshippers. And while none of them had mentioned Satan all night, he could certainly still come up.

Violet was still trying to make her point. â€œWhy is it acceptable for only a man to have ambition that doesnâ€™t include living off someone elseâ€™s fortune?â€

Julian scoffed. â€œAnd why should marrying well be a goal that only extends to women? Darling, find me a rich man and Iâ€™ll settle down in a second.â€

â€œWhatever happened to true love?â€ Violet asked. â€œAnd what happened to integrity?â€ She turned to Moxie, who was unsuccessfully trying to look as though she werenâ€™t surprised at the disclosure that Violet was attracted to women. â€œDidnâ€™t you marry your husband for love?â€

â€œWho? Oh, him! The husband. My husband. Yes, weâ€™re madly in love.â€

Violet cocked an eyebrow. â€œWhatâ€™s his name?â€ Her voice was tinged with suspicion.

Moxie searched her mind for an answer. â€œFilbert,â€ she finally answered.

â€œYour husband is named after a nut?â€ Wil asked.

â€œHa,â€ she said awkwardly. â€œI suppose so.â€

As Violet studied her, Moxie was alert enough to realize she was clearly intoxicated and making an abominable attempt to perpetuate her earlier lie. Violet glanced at Moxieâ€™s left ring finger, which sported no wedding band. What could Violet be thinking about her? Would she jump to the conclusion that Moxie was deluded? Or would she simply write her off as a filthy liar?

â€œDarlings,â€ Wil said. â€œIâ€™m feeling a little restless. You know what I need?â€

â€œSatan?â€ Moxie asked timidly.

Wil stared at her for several seconds. â€œWell, no. But if he pays his own way I guess you can bring him along. What I need is a touch of the white lady.â€

â€œIâ€™ll second that,â€ Julian replied.

â€œWho?â€ Moxie whispered to Violet.

â€œItâ€™s more of a what, actually. And it means heading to Harlemâ€”to a buffet flat.â€

â€œA buffet flat?â€

â€œCome on along,â€ she said. â€œIf you think what youâ€™ve seen so far is amazing, you wonâ€™t believe this place.â€

*

1:50 a.m.

â€œWhere the hell are we?â€ Moxie asked as they made their way through a small crowd and into what was undoubtedly someoneâ€™s West Harlem home. â€œWho lives here?â€

â€œTwo-finger Flossie.â€ Violet placed her hand on Moxieâ€™s back and gently guided her through the house.

â€œSheâ€™s only got two fingers?â€

Violet leaned in close to her ear. â€œFlossieâ€™s famous for â€˜two fingers of gin and two fingers within.â€™â€ She waggled her first two fingers in unison as though to elucidate.

Moxieâ€™s brain wasnâ€™t working to full capacity. â€œShe puts her fingers in the gin?â€

â€œUnder the circumstances, I sure as hell hope not.â€

Before Moxie could ponder Violetâ€™s meaning further, they arrived in the crowded parlor and stopped to observe the crowd. In the corner, someone was playing ragtime on the piano. The room was filled with people of all races dancing, drinking, and smoking. Two men sat on a plush love seat locked in a tight embrace and kissing deeply. A naked woman was balancing a half-full bottle of gin on her forehead, while several men crouched on the floor throwing dice for cash.

Moxie blinked several times, trying to take it all in. â€œWhy are we here again?â€

â€œWe all have our reasons, sister,â€ Wil answered as she pushed past them and disappeared into the crowd with Julian.

â€œWhat does that mean?â€

Violet set her terrier on the floor. â€œWell, Julianâ€™s here to find himself a man,â€ she explained. â€œPreferably one of his famous back-alley frolics. Wilâ€™s here to make a different type of connection.â€

â€œOh?â€

Violet looked somewhat sheepish. â€œSheâ€™s here to get some cocaineâ€”the â€˜white ladyâ€™ she referred to. As you can see, you can get anything in a buffet flat.â€

â€œSo why are you here? Whatâ€™s your vice?â€

â€œBaked Alaska,â€ she said, one corner of her mouth rising infinitesimally.

Moxie had lost the physical ability to hide her disapproval. Did these people have no scruples whatsoever? â€œBaked Alaska, the dessert? Or is that code for something too? Like having flaming heroin blown into your ass with a straw?â€

â€œNo, itâ€™s the dessert.â€ She paused conspiratorially. â€œBut I like to eat it off a dead hooker.â€

â€œAnd cheesecake just wonâ€™t do?â€

â€œItâ€™s too heavy. Makes me feel bloated.â€

â€œWell, thatâ€™s no good,â€ Moxie said, laughter betraying her words. â€œYou donâ€™t want to feel that way every time you come across a dead hooker.â€

â€œExactly. Thatâ€™s a waste of a perfectly good naked carcass.â€

A tall, dark-skinned man dressed in womenâ€™s clothes and dolled up to the nines approached them, his long false eyelashes fluttering like blossoms in a breeze. â€œDid I hear the word naked ?â€

Violetâ€™s face lit up and she kissed him briefly on the mouth. â€œSweetie, you look fabulous!â€ she told him.

â€œAs do you, sister.â€ He traced her cheek lightly with his slender index finger. â€œHow are things?â€

â€œYou know me. Everythingâ€™s jake. Moxie, meet Lady Dulce La Boeuf. Lady Dulce, this is Moxie Valette.â€

He seemed to study her for a moment as he took her gently by the wrists. â€œHoney, I could just eat cobbler straight out of your ass with a spoon.â€

She froze at both his words and his appearance in a mixture of shock and confusion. â€œIs that a good thing?â€

â€œAbsolutely,â€ he assured her.

â€œDonâ€™t knock it till youâ€™ve tried it,â€ Violet said with a wink. â€œSo, what have we missed tonight?â€

â€œYou missed my singing, you silly bitch. But I suppose Iâ€™ll forgive you.â€

Violet chuckled. â€œMoxie here is a singer too.â€

He tilted his head curiously. â€œIs that so? I like you already, doll face.â€ Despite her initial misgivings, Moxie felt a bit more at ease upon hearing his words. Well, his words coupled with the fact that she was crazy about the beaded ivory dress he was wearing. â€œYou know whoâ€™s upstairs?â€

â€œWhoâ€™s that?â€ Violet asked.

â€œI was just heading up to see Smokey Bender.â€

Violet seemed interested and clapped once. â€œLetâ€™s go up and see him.â€

They started toward the staircase and Moxie leaned forward so Violet could hear her. â€œWho is Smokey Bender?â€

â€œHeâ€™sâ€¦a performer.â€

â€œHmm, why did you hesitate?â€

â€œBecause heâ€™s an acquired taste, so I didnâ€™t want to call him an entertainer. You may not find him entertaining.â€ They reached a room at the top of the staircase filled with people, and the three of them crowded just inside the doorway. â€œThere he is. This will be a treat.â€

â€œWhy is he taking off his pants?â€ Moxie asked in concern. A small, wiry man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties pulled his trousers down and stepped out of them, then folded them neatly and handed them to a woman to his left.

â€œYouâ€™ll see,â€ Lady Dulce murmured.

â€œIs this some genitalia puppet show?â€ Moxie was aghast as the man then did the same with his underwear, turned so he was facing away from everyone, and bent at the waist. He reached out again to the woman holding his clothing, and she handed him a lit cigar. The crowd seemed pleased, and some onlookers clapped and offered words of encouragement.

He inserted the cigar into his rectum and, to Moxieâ€™s amazement, began to draw and expel smoke. The applause grew louder.

Lady Dulce whispered conspiratorially, â€œHow about that?â€

â€œThat is one unbelievable asshole,â€ she answered.

â€œWait until he blows the smoke rings,â€ Violet added.

Moxieâ€™s current inebriated state, coupled with the parade of the bizarre before her, left her unable to distinguish sarcasm from the laws of physics. â€œReally?â€

She laughed softly. â€œNo, not really. But he will extinguish a candle in a minute or two in what will appear to be a very uncomfortable manner.â€

â€œChrist almighty,â€ she whispered, watching him ignite a fart with a cigarette lighter.

Wil and Julian appeared in the doorway then, and Violet signaled them over. â€œLady Dulce, you remember my wonderful friends Urethra Dejeuner and her fiancÃ© Red Nobgobbler, man-about-town.â€

Lady Dulce was clearly amused. â€œHow could I forget?â€

Wil suddenly ducked and tried to hide behind Julian. â€œWhat is it?â€ he asked, scanning the crowd.

â€œItâ€™s D.B.,â€ she answered softly, pressing her back up against his.

Moxie looked at Violet. â€œWhoâ€™s D.B.?â€

â€œAn old conquest of our gal here. Apparently it didnâ€™t end well and, really, when has it ever? Ah, there he is, by the window.â€

Moxie, Lady Dulce, and Julian immediately looked at him in interest, and when the gentleman saw that he was being stared at by not one, but a group of people, his expression changed to one of grave concern. He looked down suspiciously at his fly.

â€œI thought that manâ€™s name was Floyd,â€ Lady Dulce said.

â€œD.B. is a special nickname Wil gave him,â€ Violet explained, her voice breaking with a hint of laughter.

Wil cleared her throat. â€œIt stands for douchebag, because sex with him felt a lot like being flushed out with a bag of lukewarm Lysol.â€

â€œOuch,â€ Lady Dulce whispered.

â€œIâ€™m sure somehow he remembers your evening together more pleasantly,â€ Julian said before taking a sip of his drink.

â€œIt would be hard for him not to, Iâ€™m thinking,â€ Moxie said with a wince. She looked at her new friend in drag. â€œâ€˜Dulce La Boeufâ€™? Is that Italian and French?â€

â€œSi and oui. Loosely, it means sweet meat.â€

â€œOr sweetly, does it mean loose meat?â€ Moxie asked, drunkenly cackling at her pun.

Lady Dulce laughed too and brushed Moxieâ€™s elbow in a familiar way. â€œYou want a drink, doll?â€

â€œOnly if it means I donâ€™t have to see Mr. Cavity here put anything else in his anus.â€

â€œYou have a deal. Come on.â€ He took her by the hand and pulled her out of the room and back downstairs.

Julian raised an eyebrow. â€œAre you just going to let your date leave with the first woman with a penis she meets?â€

Wil was still hiding behind Julian. â€œNow, now, Jules. Not everyone can have the same appreciation of the anal arts that you do.â€ She peeked around him to see what Smokey Bender was doing now. â€œHoly Christ, is that a weasel heâ€™s putting in there?â€

â€œItâ€™s someoneâ€™s mink stole,â€ Violet explained flatly.

Julian grimaced. â€œDoes Smokey reimburse for the cleaning bills?â€

Violet wasnâ€™t paying much attention anymore. â€œSo what do you both think of Moxie?â€

â€œSheâ€™s charming.â€ Wil stole a look to ensure that D.B. had not spied her from across the room.

â€œIâ€™m sure her husband thinks so too,â€ Julian said.

â€œOh, darling,â€ Wil said. â€œYou canâ€™t possibly think that girl is married.â€

â€œNo?â€

â€œAbsolutely not. She just wanted to make sure Vi here didnâ€™t cop a feel.â€

â€œThatâ€™s what I was thinking too,â€ Violet said. â€œHer husband is awfully convenient.â€

Julian raised an eyebrow. â€œOr maybe you just donâ€™t want to believe it.â€

She sighed in frustration as she idly watched Smokey Bender launch a cocktail wiener across the room and the crowd rapidly part to avoid it. â€œI donâ€™t know, Jules. Thereâ€™s something about her that fascinates me.â€

â€œHer jugs, perhaps?â€ he asked. â€œAfter all, what can be more fascinating than a pair of perfect jugs?â€

â€œNo,â€ Wil said. â€œItâ€™s her ass, isnâ€™t it? Wait, no. Her gams. I vote for the gams.â€

â€œBesides all that,â€ Violet explained, â€œI feel drawn to her.â€

â€œAnd her jugs, ass, and gams,â€ Julian added glibly. â€œUnderstood.â€

â€œWell, sister,â€ Wil said. â€œYou only have tonight to make it happen. So why are you standing here watching some fella push hors dâ€™oeuvres out his fanny? Go find her.â€

*

2:40 a.m.

â€œWhere the hell did she go?â€ Violet asked herself in frustration. She and Clitty had been through every room in the house at least once and didnâ€™t see Moxie anywhere. Based on how many people were milling about, however, she wasnâ€™t close to panicking. It would have been easy to miss her in the crowd.

Wil approached her in a room where people were gathering to watch a couple have sex on the floor. â€œHey, Jules seems to have found himself a human almond frappeâ€”all nuts and foam.â€

â€œIs that so? Is he somewhere shamefully lying about how much money he makes?â€

Wil propped her hands on her hips. â€œWell, Iâ€™m fairly certain he canâ€™t be saying too much, what with that fellaâ€™s dick in his mouth and all.â€

â€œI suppose thatâ€™s a good way to avoid awkward conversation.â€

â€œAnd I found your gal while I was at it,â€ Wil said.

â€œTell me she isnâ€™t trapped under a cluster of fornicators.â€

â€œEven better than that,â€ she replied blithely. â€œSheâ€™s downstairs singing a duet with Lady Dulce La Boeuf.â€

Violet stared at her in disbelief, searching for some sign that she was putting her on. â€œSeriously?â€

â€œI wouldnâ€™t miss it, if I were trying to seduce her.â€

â€œPoint taken.â€ She snapped her fingers to call Clitty, whoâ€”along with Wilâ€”fell in step behind her, and headed downstairs. As they rounded the corner at the foot of the stairs, first she heard Moxie, and then she actually saw her. She and Lady Dulce were standing near the pianist, who was playing a song that Violet had never heard before. Their harmony was impressive, even if the lyrics werenâ€™t.

Donâ€™t dare call me a flapper.

Fitzgeraldâ€™s not my man.

Iâ€™m wallowing in the crapper,

because my stocks are in the can.

Now I want to survive,

though I donâ€™t mean to be crass.

It looks like to stay alive

Iâ€™ll have to peddle my ass!

Canâ€™t bear to stand in a breadline.

Hooverâ€™s just not my guy.

Iâ€™m living off of moonshine,

How else will I ever get by?

Now I want to survive,

and donâ€™t think that I donâ€™t have class.

But it looks like to stay alive

Iâ€™ll have to peddle itâ€”

Donâ€™t belittle it.

Wonâ€™t you diddle it?

That should settle itâ€”

Have to peddle my ass!

On the final note, both Moxie and Lady Dulce spanked themselves, and the rowdy audience applauded enthusiastically. Violet walked toward Moxie, clapping and nodding her approval. â€œWell, that was quite a tearjerker.â€

Moxieâ€™s cheeks were flushed, and Violet had no doubt that sheâ€™d had more to drink since sheâ€™d last seen her. â€œI love ballads,â€ she replied, her brown eyes sparkling.

They stood mutely for several moments, until Lady Dulce gave Moxieâ€™s back a playful push, sending her only inches from colliding with Violet. â€œTake a break, doll,â€ he said, nodding to the pianist. â€œIâ€™ve got this number.â€ The dulcet tones on the piano began, and he started singing Irving Berlinâ€™s â€œWhatâ€™ll I Do?â€

â€œDance, sailor?â€ Violet asked.

â€œYouâ€¦and me?â€ Moxie looked self-conscious.

Violet took a step closer so their chests were nearly touching. â€œYou and me.â€ She held her hands out, offering to lead. Moxie looked around at the crowd nervously. â€œIf you think youâ€™re going to get stared at here, sister, youâ€™re sadly mistaken. You could sodomize a monkey right in this room, and all youâ€™d get from these folks would be pointers.â€

Moxie laughed and shrugged off her discomfort. After all, having seen a man do magic tricks with his rectum, dancing with another woman not only seemed innocuous, it felt as respectable as holy sacrament. She placed her right hand in Violetâ€™s outstretched left one, and when Violet grasped her waist and pulled her closer, her breath caught. At some point, Moxie realized that her feet were moving and that she was, in fact, dancing. But she was so tipsy her head seemed filled with a thick fog.

â€œOut of courtesy, Iâ€™d recommend that you stay away from the cocktail wieners,â€ Violet suggested.

Moxie was confused by the unusual advice. â€œIâ€™ll do that. You know, youâ€™re not too bad at this.â€

â€œI do have other talents besides acting.â€

â€œIâ€™ve noticed.â€

â€œIs that so? Do tell.â€

Moxie felt herself blush slightly as her body swayed against Violetâ€™s. â€œWell, youâ€™re quick-witted and intelligent.â€

â€œA clever ruseâ€”nothing more.â€

â€œAnd you can certainly put away the booze.â€

â€œNow thatâ€™s a talent to speak of. But please note that you have had much more to drink this evening than I have.â€ Violetâ€™s right hand moved on Moxieâ€™s hip ever so slightly, but the light caress both startled and excited her.

â€œIâ€”I have?â€

â€œYes,â€ she whispered provocatively near her ear. The sensation gave Moxie chills. â€œAnything else you want to give me credit for?â€

â€œIsnâ€™t it my turn yet?â€

â€œI suppose so. You have a beautiful voice,â€ Violet said, her mouth so close to Moxieâ€™s neck that she could feel her warm breath.

â€œOh.â€

â€œAnd you have got to be one of the sexiest womenâ€”who doesnâ€™t realize sheâ€™s sexyâ€”that Iâ€™ve ever met.â€

â€œCan I add what a smoothie you are to your list?â€ Moxieâ€™s voice sounded deeper and throatier than she would have liked.

â€œMe?â€

â€œOh, most definitely you. You have more lines than a telephone operator.â€

Violet pulled back to look into her eyes. â€œWhile that may be, you really are beautiful.â€

â€œThanks.â€ It was a moment before Moxie realized that Lady Dulce was no longer singing and the song had changed to something upbeat and jazzy. Her head was spinning.

â€œAre you all right?â€

â€œI think I need to sit down.â€

Violet led her back to where Lady Dulce and Wil had perched on a plush leather sofa, preparing even more drinks. Moxie sat next to them, feeling self-conscious that she had just been so intimately entwined with Violet. She slouched into the cushions uneasily. Violet sank into an armchair and snapped her fingers for Clitty, who trotted over and curled into a ball at her feet.

â€œSo, that was nice,â€ Wil said, her voice thick with innuendo. She offered Moxie a glass of an alluring amber liquid. â€œAnd so is this.â€

â€œWhat is it?â€

â€œA sidecar,â€ she explained. â€œYouâ€™ll love it.â€

Violet looked cautious. â€œYou know, it may be a good idea to stop drinking.â€

â€œThis is good,â€ she exclaimed, drinking some more of the tart cocktail.

Violet sighed.

â€œAnd you said youâ€™re not a drinker,â€ Wil said, tapping glasses with her. â€œEven Iâ€™m impressed, kid.â€

Lady Dulce chimed in. â€œThat says a lot. Iâ€™ve seen her drink for over twenty-four hours straight.â€

Wil chuckled. â€œRemember that time the coppers gave us the buzz?â€

As Wil began her tale of bold, drunken debauchery, Moxieâ€™s attention kept drifting elsewhere. Her eyes settled on Violet, who had a rather nice profile, she decided. She really did look like a beautiful movie star. Her face was so striking and expressive, and her light eyes mesmerized Moxie.

What was going on? How did this woman, a stranger, really, draw her in this way? Why was she having to force herself not to stare? Why had she enjoyed that dance more than her last dozen dates? Well, she really hadnâ€™t had much of a sexual history, she mused. It wasnâ€™t like she was able to properly compare the sensations that Violet elicited to the ones her old beaus evoked.

Hell, it had been well over a year since she had even gone on a date. Most of the time the fellas were so dull she didnâ€™t even bother to accept their invitations. The ones she had gotten involved with seemed attracted to her initially, but somehow the relationships always culminated with them pulling out their dick, usually in the most inconvenient locations. Sometimes it took a few weeks for it to happen, sometimes just a few minutes. Every man she had known seemed like a large jack-in-the-box. If you decided to play, at some point it would come flying out at you. And even though you knew what to expect, it somehow always startled you and, in her case, left her wondering what to do with it.

She gazed again at Violet. Was she so different from those palookas Moxie had dated? Violet seemed just as intent on making time with her as all the others had, though she was a slightly better dancer than most.

Good Lord, was she actually considering Violet as a prospective lover? Had the drink, coupled with her abysmal love life, somehow skewed her perspective? When she got up this morning, she knew two thingsâ€”she was not cheap, and she was not a lesbian. What odd turn of events would make those two certainties blur from fact into ambivalence in the span of a day?

Julian reappeared and took a seat across from Violet. He now looked somehow rumpled, and Moxie wondered if he had found what he came here for.

She glanced back to Violet and watched her index finger ever so lightly trace her lower lip as she seemed to take in Wilâ€™s anecdote with interest. Somehow the thought of the touch of that hand, combined with the feel of those lips, intrigued Moxie. Violet was nothing if not sexually charged, and in some way distractingly magnetic.

â€œSo whatâ€™s it like to kiss a woman?â€

All conversation stopped and everyone stared at Moxie with expressions that ranged from amusement to stunned surprise.

Violetâ€™s eyes twinkled as she played with her necklace idly. â€œWell, based on present company, Iâ€™ll assume that question is directed to me.â€

Lady Dulce and Julian looked at each other and shrugged in unspoken agreement.

â€œNot so fast, darling,â€ Wil said, taking a drag from her Chesterfield. â€œIâ€™m sure Iâ€™ve kissed a lot of women.â€

Violet was struggling to stave off laughter. â€œAnd do you remember any of them? Or is this based on what people tell you the next day?â€

â€œAh, yes. Good point.â€ Wil took another sip of her drink and sat back again. â€œGo right ahead, then.â€

â€œKissing a woman is a lot like kissing a man, with the exception of a few fundamental improvements.â€

â€œLike what?â€ Moxie took another sip of her drink.

â€œYou donâ€™t need to worry about being chafed by stubble.â€

Wil licked the rim of her glass briefly. â€œNot from kissing her on the mouth, anyway.â€

â€œYouâ€™re getting way ahead of yourself, toots.â€ Violet looked back at Moxie. â€œWomen also have a certain softness.â€ Her gray eyes took on an intensity that made Moxieâ€™s stomach flutter. â€œThey tend toward more of a slow burn, while men are like dynamite. Once you light the fuse you have maybe ten seconds before they explode.â€

â€œI take umbrage at that,â€ Julian said.

â€œWhich part?â€ Wil asked. â€œThe metaphor, or how long she gave you till detonation?â€

â€œAll of it,â€ he replied. â€œSome of us have a slow fuse.â€

â€œThatâ€™s right, honey.â€ Lady Dulce patted his knee supportively.

Violet put up her hands in mock defense. â€œNow, now, boys. You canâ€™t help the way youâ€™re designedâ€”with all your wares on the outside.â€ She gestured vaguely toward their laps.

â€œVery true,â€ Wil agreed. â€œItâ€™s a bit like having a live grenade in your pants all the time.â€ She looked up to see D.B. approaching her. â€œAnd here comes my little bombardier now.â€

â€œWil, is that you?â€ He appraised her and stood with his mouth open in poorly feigned excitement.

She looked downcast for the first time all evening. â€œUnfortunately, yes.â€

â€œHow have you been? Itâ€™s been ages since weâ€™ve caught up.â€

She eyed him suspiciously. â€œIf by caught up you mean fucked, then yes, it has been a while.â€

He laughed a deep, forced-sounding guffaw, but when he saw that no one else was joining in, he immediately stopped. â€œSay, what are your plans for the rest of the night?â€

â€œPlans?â€ Wil looked desperately to the other members of her party. â€œMy plans for the night.â€

Moxie tried to look earnest. â€œYou did want to go home soon and apply that ointment the doctor gave you.â€

â€œYes, thatâ€™s right,â€ Violet added. â€œBefore the blisters start to ooze.â€

Wil smiled at their quick thinking. â€œAnd how have you been, Floyd? Has anything been red or inflamed?â€

His face fell. â€œWhat?â€

Wil lowered her voice to simulate discretion. â€œDoes it burn at all when you pee?â€

He looked stricken. â€œNo. Are you sayingâ€”?â€

â€œI thought the doctor told you that men donâ€™t always show symptoms,â€ Moxie said, unable to stanch her curiosity regarding how far they might be able to take this charade.

Wil turned to the man and looked reassuring. â€œIâ€™m sure youâ€™re fine. You look plenty healthy.â€

â€œGood night,â€ he spat hurriedly, darting out of the room. They could hear him not too far away shouting, â€œI need my hat and coat now !â€

Wil seemed impressed by Moxieâ€™s clever stratagem. She raised her glass in a toast. â€œQuoth the douchebagâ€”â€

â€œNevermore,â€ they all answered happily in unison, clinking their glasses together.

*

4:05 a.m.

â€œCome on, tomato. Weâ€™re almost there,â€ Violet said as she managed to nudge her apartment door open without losing hold of Moxie, who was so incapacitated from drink that she couldnâ€™t stand unassisted.

â€œWhere are we?â€

After Clitty darted inside, Violet closed the door behind them with her foot and made her way into the bedroom, her arm around Moxieâ€™s waist. â€œWeâ€™re in my suite at the Algonquin.â€

â€œAlâ€¦goneâ€¦what?â€

â€œItâ€™s a hotel, darling. I live here.â€

â€œIs this a come-on?â€

Violet struggled to prop her up so that she was seated on the edge of the bed. â€œAnd what would your husband say to that? What was his name? Pistachio?â€

â€œI donâ€™t have a husband,â€ Moxie said, seeming confused.

â€œWell, earlier you said you did.â€ Violet knelt to remove Moxieâ€™s shoes.

â€œI think youâ€™re mistaken.â€ She wiggled her liberated toes for a moment. â€œThat feels so good. I love toes.â€

â€œYes, theyâ€™re the unsung heroes of our feet. Turn around, so I can get to your buttons.â€

â€œI think youâ€™re trying to undress me, Miss London.â€

â€œ Trying being the operative word. You could actually help a little, you know.â€

â€œIâ€™m not a whore.â€

Violet sighed. â€œWhich is truly a pity, because I could easily run and get my checkbook.â€ She reached around Moxie and unbuttoned her blue evening gown down to the small of her back. She pulled the stitched fabric forward and Moxieâ€™s arms slipped out, but she now sat on the rest of the dress from the waist down. â€œHmmâ€¦Lie back for me, darling. This will only take a moment.â€

â€œWhat about your slow burn?â€ She sagged back across the width of the bed.

Violet tugged the gown from under Moxieâ€™s bottom, over her shapely legs, and then draped it neatly over a chair. When she turned back around, she froze at the sight of Moxie in her chemise, garters, and stockings. â€œDamn, damn, damn,â€ she mumbled. The most beautiful woman sheâ€™d ever met was lying across her bed in her underwearâ€”very sexy silk, no lessâ€”but she was too drunk to actively participate in anything. As though this wasnâ€™t cruel enough, Violetâ€™s train left at 7:45 a.m. â€œLetâ€™s get your head up on the pillow.â€

â€œI canâ€™t move.â€

Violet lay down on the bed next to her. â€œYou need some help?â€

â€œPossibly.â€

â€œWell, you donâ€™t want to sleep lying across the bed sideways like this. Come on, just shift a little.â€ Violet moved over her to guide her up to the head of the bed.

Moxie wrapped her arms around Violetâ€™s neck provocatively. â€œI like you.â€

She smiled. â€œI like you too.â€

â€œI had a really good time tonight. Really good. The best.â€

â€œRemember that tomorrow when it feels like your head has turned inside out.â€

â€œThanks for showing me the town.â€

â€œThanks for coming.â€

â€œCome here,â€ Moxie whispered.

Violet chuckled. â€œI am here.â€

â€œNo, closer. I have something to tell you.â€

Violet moved her face within inches of Moxieâ€™s, and Moxie unexpectedly kissed her. It was slow, deep, and passionate, and Violet enthusiastically kissed her back. The eroticism of Moxieâ€™s movements against her, coupled with the sweet taste of her mouth and the feel of her tongue, was driving Violet mad with hunger.

Abruptly, Moxie pulled away. â€œYouâ€™re right. That was much better than kissing a man.â€

â€œUhâ€¦you need to do any more research on that?â€

â€œI feel funny.â€

â€œSo do I,â€ Violet said, throbbing with unrealized desire.

â€œIs the bed spinning?â€

â€œNo. But letâ€™s get your head on the pillow.â€ She grabbed Moxie and shifted her so that she was lying lengthwise on the bed. Then she kissed her forehead softly before she stood up.

â€œDonâ€™t leave me,â€ Moxie murmured with her eyes closed.

â€œYouâ€™ve got me for a few more hours, doll.â€

Within minutes, Moxie was asleep.

Chapter Two

When Moxie finally awoke, she was racked with a throbbing headache, cottonmouth, nausea, and a generous amount of confusion.

â€œWhat the hell?â€ She looked around and saw this was definitely not her apartment. She was in a large, rumpled bed. A closer inspection revealed that she was in her underwear. She slowly sat up. This room did not look familiar at all, and she didnâ€™t detect another sound from the next room. â€œHello?â€

No one replied.

She struggled to her feet and saw that last nightâ€™s clothes were folded neatly on a chair by the window. As much as she wanted to be dressed again, the bright sunlight through the window currently repulsed her. She mulled on the most painless way to get to the garments, finally settling on turning her head, closing her eyes, and flailing her arms wildly at the drapes to force them closed and shut out the light.

When she was satisfied that a fair amount of sun was blocked, she grabbed her clothes and headed back to the bed. Resting on top of her rolled stockings was a sealed envelope with her name written in flamboyant cursive.

For some reason, the handwriting instantly made her think of Violet, and snippets of the previous evening flooded her brain in no particular order. She sat on the edge of the bed, laid her clothing down, and ran her finger under the flap of the envelope.

Moxie,

I hope you are neither too terribly hungover nor filled with drinkerâ€™s remorse. Sadly, I had to make my train this morning, so I wasnâ€™t able to wait for you to wake up. I very much wished we could have had breakfast together.

Thereâ€™s no hurry on when you need to leave. The apartmentâ€™s paid up through the end of the day. Stay as long as youâ€™d like. Iâ€™ve left a couple dollars for you to get a cup of coffee, a bite to eat, and a cab ride back to your place.

Just so you know, last night was one of the most amazing evenings Iâ€™ve had in quite some time, and Iâ€™d give anything to kiss you again.

Itâ€™s my dumb luck that after six years in this goddamned city, Iâ€™d meet you on my last night in town. You are an astoundingly beautiful and sexy woman.

Iâ€™ll write you from the train.

â€”Violet

Moxie dropped the letter in shock and watched it slowly drift to the floor.

â€œHoly snappinâ€™ assholes!â€

*

On the train to Chicago, Violet was utterly distracted. It seemed that nothing could take her mind off the festivities of the previous evening and a certain fair-haired singer who spent the night in her bed.

She sighed and looked out the window as Clitty twitched in his sleep in the seat beside her. Though she was exhausted, every time she closed her eyes, she imagined that kiss again. The memory of it made her stomach drop like she was on a ride at Coney Island.

Naturally Moxie would kiss her like that and then pass out. It was just her luck. Overcome with sexual frustration, she had gently removed Moxieâ€™s stockings and garter belt, though she might have taken her time, lingered a bit. She fought off a grin at the thought.

She had curled up next to Moxie for a couple hours of sleep, and the feel of her body had been arousing, yet blissful.

â€œSheâ€™s a mystery, Clitty.â€

The terrier continued to dream, his paws jerking unconsciously and his breathing ragged.

â€œNo, donâ€™t try and talk me out of it,â€ Violet said. â€œI know you think I canâ€™t get serious with anyone, but this janeâ€™s different. She sings in that provocative voice and then smiles at me like sheâ€™s an ingÃ©nue. She goes out of her way to tell me sheâ€™s not interested by making up a husband and then hits me with that sockdollager of a kiss.â€

She picked up the business card for the thirtieth time and started flipping it over in her hands. On one side it read Cotton G. McCann, Professional Entertainment Agent, Twelve Years Experience. On the other side, Moxie had written her address and a phone number. GRamercy 5-9881.

â€œWell, Clitty, sheâ€™s not heard the last of us.â€

*

Moxie tried to open the apartment door as quietly as she could, in hopes that Irene was distracted and she could slip in unnoticed. She peeked around the edge of the door and saw her roommate sitting on the sofa holding a book and now staring at her.

â€œJeepers, Moxie. Where have you been all night?â€

She sighed in resignation and entered the room fully, shutting the door behind her. â€œHey, Irene.â€

â€œYou look terrible.â€

â€œI guess that stands to reason. I feel terrible.â€ She sat next to Irene on the couch forlornly.

â€œWhat happened? Were you hit by a freight train?â€

Moxie rubbed her forehead with her hand. â€œI donâ€™t think so.â€

â€œWhat do you mean? You canâ€™t remember?â€

â€œI remember some of it,â€ she said, feeling defensive.

Irene eagerly curled her legs up under her on the sofa and got comfortable. â€œWell, start at the beginning and I bet itâ€™ll all come back to you.â€

â€œA group of people were in the clubâ€”a couple of Broadway actresses and their friendâ€”and they invited me out for drinks with them.â€

â€œAnd you went? But you donâ€™t drink.â€ The volume of her voice rose shrilly.

â€œShh,â€ Moxie hissed, putting her finger to her mouth and wincing.

â€œOh, you went.â€ Irene rolled her eyes. â€œYou definitely went. Who were the actresses?â€

â€œViolet London and Wil Skoog.â€

â€œNever heard of them. What are they in?â€

Moxie squinted as she tried to remember the name of the play. â€œUmâ€¦ Scandals and Lies. â€

It was apparent from Ireneâ€™s expression that she was not familiar with it. â€œSo where did you go?â€

â€œA thousand places, it seemed. We drank champagne at the Luna. We had absinthe at some speakeasy, where Violet and Wil got into a fight with a lady critic. Then we took a cab to some place in Harlem called a buffet flat, where I drank sidecars, sang with a man in a dress, taunted a douchebag, and watched a fella smoke cigars with his ass.â€

Irene seemed stricken mute for a moment, and her mouth hung open. â€œWait, youâ€™re saying thereâ€™s more that you canâ€™t remember? Those are just some random highlights?â€

Moxie considered exactly how she wanted to say this. â€œI think I slept with Violet.â€ Irene sat agog and blinked, but said nothing, her face unreadable. When at least a minute of silence passed, Moxie felt compelled to say something else. â€œAre you okay?â€

â€œYou slept with a woman?â€

â€œMaybe?â€ she replied timidly.

â€œYou arenâ€™t certain?â€

â€œI donâ€™t remember doing anything with herâ€”well, besides dancing.â€

Irene appeared confused. â€œSo what makes you think anything else happened?â€

â€œWaking up undressed in her bed, with this note.â€

Irene took the paper and read it, her lips moving ever so slightly. When she reached the part about the kiss, her eyes opened as big as dinner platesâ€”titillated dinner platesâ€”and her hand flew over her mouth. â€œHotchy botchy!â€ She looked back at Moxie as though she had just suddenly remembered she was there. â€œOh, sorry. Whatâ€™s the last thing you remember?â€

Moxie closed her eyes to think. â€œTaking a taxi with Violet after the others all left to go home.â€

â€œDid you have clothes on in the taxi?â€

â€œOf course I did. What kind of question is that?â€

â€œIâ€™m trying to piece it together deductively, like Nancy Drew would. So you remember being dressed in a cab with this Violet woman.â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œWas she dressed too?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œWas her tongue in your mouth?â€

Moxie scowled. â€œNo.â€ A glimpse of her wrapping her arms around Violetâ€™s neck and beckoning her to come closer flickered into her mind, then disappeared again. Had that actually happened? Or had she dreamed it? â€œWell, not in the taxi.â€

â€œBut it did happen somewhere?â€

â€œUmâ€¦Iâ€™m not sure. It seems like I kissed her. We were on the bed, I think.â€

Ireneâ€™s eyebrows arched and she fanned herself with the letter. â€œMy goodness. So, how was it?â€

Moxie shook her head and ran her hands through her hair. â€œConsidering how blotto I was, Iâ€™m figuring it was horrible for her. No wonder she got on that train without even trying to wake me.â€

Irene cleared her throat. â€œI meant how it was for you. What was it like?â€

â€œOh.â€ Moxie stopped to consider that question.

â€œAs in, if you hadnâ€™t been lit, do you think that you wouldâ€™veâ€¦you knowâ€¦done it? If you saw her again, what would happen?â€

â€œAre you asking me if Iâ€™m a lesbian?â€

Irene tried unsuccessfully to look nonchalant. â€œNancy Drew would recommend that we stick to the known facts.â€

Moxie sank into the back of sofa, dejected. â€œBesides, she left this morning for Hollywood. Iâ€™ll probably never see her again.â€

â€œHollywood? As in, to make movies?â€

â€œYes.â€ Moxie wished her mouth didnâ€™t taste like wallpaper paste. She pondered why that might be and if she had performed some sordid sex act that had that effect.

â€œYou got nookie from a movie star?â€ Ireneâ€™s face lit up.

Moxie was confounded. â€œDoes that change something?â€

â€œYou bet your Sapphic ass it does. Now we know a star.â€

â€œWe?â€

â€œSure. I mean, why shouldnâ€™t something good come of last night?â€

â€œAnd what good are you referring to?â€

â€œWell, everyone in the city says you need to know someone to get a break. Now we do.â€

Moxie massaged her temples in pain and frustration. â€œIrene, I need a bath and some time for my head to stop pounding. It would be nice in the meantime if you could stop plotting how to turn my drunken night of lesbian sex with a stranger to your advantage.â€

â€œSorry.â€

â€œI doubt Nancy Drew would do that.â€

â€œLike in The Midnight Muff Caper ?â€

Moxie groaned and reclined slowly into the sofa cushions. â€œRemind me to sock you in the jaw when Iâ€™m feeling better.â€

*

As Moxie started to sing â€œWhatâ€™ll I Do?â€ into the microphone, she couldnâ€™t help but think of the dance she had shared with Violet as this song played just two nights before. She tried to focus on the lyrics, the low murmur of soft conversation coming from the crowd, the pianoâ€”anything besides that provocative memory that gave her a rush of adrenaline.

As she struggled to get past the sad sentiment of love lost, her stomach lurched when she recalled moving slowly against Violetâ€™s body. She shut her eyes tight as her mind again wandered to what their night of intimacy must have entailed.

Lyrics, for Godâ€™s sakeâ€”focus on the lyrics. Youâ€™re performing, after all.

She opened her eyes to look at the patrons. A few tables back she spied Julian, seated with a rather attractive-looking fellow. He nodded at her in recognition and sipped his drink.

When the song ended, the applause was generous.

â€œThanks so much,â€ she said. â€œIâ€™ll be back for more soon.â€ She took a few more bows and headed over to Julianâ€™s table.

â€œHey there, hotsy,â€ he said affably as he motioned for her to join them. â€œGet that extra set that you wanted?â€ He motioned for her to sit.

â€œI did, yes. Just today, actually.â€ She pulled up a chair. â€œIâ€™m up to three a night now.â€

â€œWell, Violet must have more pull than I thought. Gary, this is Moxie, singer extraordinaire. This is Gary, master sodomite.â€

She examined Gary as she smiled politely. â€œNice to meet you.â€ He had chestnut hair and wore spectacles, and his jaw was prominent and chiseled.

â€œEnchanted,â€ he replied, flashing his perfect white teeth.

Moxie thought she saw Julianâ€™s chest swell a bit with prideâ€”having someone so clean-cut and handsome for his date. â€œWhat do you mean about Violet having pull? Are you saying she had something to do with it?â€

â€œI know our girl had a chat with the owner about you the other night, to put in a good word. It could just be a coincidence, but Iâ€™m sure having a Broadway actress sing your praises canâ€™t hurt. Unless, of course, that Broadway actress is Wil.â€ He tapped a cigarette on the back of his hand before lighting it.

She supposed she owed Violet her thanks, if only she was able to tell her. â€œSo where is Wil tonight?â€

â€œWe just came from seeing her in Scandals and Lies. She was very nearly soberâ€”â€

â€œYou really had to pay attention to tell that she wasnâ€™t,â€ Gary added.

â€œAnd she wasnâ€™t completely unintelligible.â€

â€œOh dear,â€ Moxie said, rubbing her chin. â€œAs good as all that, huh?â€

â€œWhich was a profound improvement from last nightâ€™s show, where she shouted out the word fuck when she tripped over a piece of stage furniture.â€

â€œAn ottoman,â€ Gary said helpfully.

â€œInconsequential.â€ Julian waved his hand. â€œLet us just say that sheâ€™s still settling into the role, and that may require a bit more time.â€

Moxie narrowed her eyes. â€œAnd is the producer willing to give her this settling-in time?â€

Neither man answered right away.

â€œI suppose weâ€™ll see,â€ Julian finally said. â€œYou seem to have fully recovered from the other night.â€ He looked at Gary for a moment. â€œShe bravely decided to go out on the town with Wil, Vi London, and myself. She was a real trouper.â€

â€œYes,â€ she said, with some degree of embarrassment. â€œIâ€™m sure youâ€™ll razz me for this, but yesterday all I managed to swallow was a handful of saltines and some water.â€

Julian chuckled and shook his head. â€œBut youâ€™re better now?â€

She knocked on the table. â€œItâ€™s all silk so far.â€

â€œHmm, what you needed was one of Wilâ€™s eye-openers,â€ Julian said. â€œThat would have set you straight.â€

â€œAnd what exactly is in her eye-opener?â€

Julian began counting on his fingers. â€œSeltzer, lemon, sugar, and gin.â€

Gary looked perplexed. â€œIsnâ€™t that a gin fizz?â€

â€œThat sounds more like an eye-closer,â€ Moxie said.

â€œWell, it depends on how many you have. If you have three or less, itâ€™s an eye-opener.â€

â€œTell me, Julian,â€ she asked cautiously. â€œWhat business are you in that you can see Wilâ€™s play every night of the week?â€

â€œIâ€™m a freelance writer.â€ He lightly flicked the ash from his Lucky Strike.

â€œWhich means heâ€™s unemployed,â€ Gary said.

â€œI have a story coming out in Harperâ€™s next month.â€ His voice dripped with smarmy defensiveness. â€œSo Iâ€™m not unemployed. If youâ€™re good enough at what you do, you can get by doing a ridiculously negligible amount of work.â€

Gary squinted at Julian. â€œSays you. Sounds like laziness to me.â€

Julian coughed indignantly and stared at Gary for what felt like a very long time. Finally, he turned back to Moxie. â€œSo have you heard from our gal Vi?â€

She fought to hide her sudden discomfort. â€œNope. Is she in California yet?â€

â€œI donâ€™t think sheâ€™s due to arrive until tomorrow afternoon, but Iâ€™m sure sheâ€™ll be in touch.â€

â€œYou seem pretty sure of that.â€ She avoided his gaze.

â€œShe seemed dizzy with you, darling. Iâ€™m sure you noticed. I mean, you did give her your address and phone number, after all.â€

Time seemed to come to a screeching halt. â€œI did?â€

*

Irene ran the scalding iron over the peach skirt that was stretched over the ironing board. â€œSo then the bastard leans his chair backward and tries to grab my costume as weâ€™re all starting the finale.â€

Moxie flipped idly through a movie magazine as she listened to her roommateâ€™s story. â€œNo kidding? What did you do?â€

â€œWell, I was already doing a high kick. So I just kicked a little more to the left. I got him right in the jaw.â€

â€œHoly Toledo! What happened then?â€

â€œHe spat out a little blood and scooted his chair back. I never even missed a beat.â€

â€œYou slay me, sister,â€ Moxie said appreciatively. â€œWho knew that being a chorus girl would be such a hazardous job?â€

â€œWell, the owner told me not to kick anyone else in the face. He said it goes against the highbrow atmosphere that heâ€™s established.â€ She slid the skirt around on the board to iron the other side.

â€œThen why did he name the place Jugheadâ€™s Joint? To pull in the opera crowd?â€

â€œAnd how,â€ Irene replied with a sigh.

There was a knock at the door, and Moxie rose to answer it, not wanting Irene to have to set the hot iron anywhere. Mrs. Bennington, the landlady, stood in the hallway looking irritated.

â€œGood morâ€”â€

â€œYou got a letter,â€ the woman blurted out between loud hacking. â€œHere.â€ She pushed an envelope so close to Moxieâ€™s face that she reflexively drew back.

â€œOh, um, thanks.â€ She took it from Mrs. Bennington, who turned and left with no further pleasantries, the sound of her wet cough echoing down the stairs.

The door shut quietly and Irene mumbled, â€œSheâ€™s such a people person. I can see why she chose to be a landlady. Whoâ€™s it from?â€ She looked over her shoulder. â€œHey, Beethoven, didnâ€™t you hear me?â€

Moxie stood stunned, staring at the name in the upper corner of the envelope. â€œItâ€™s from Violet.â€

â€œBunk,â€ Irene declared, carrying the iron with her to look over Moxieâ€™s shoulder.

Moxie held the letter up to her. â€œSee?â€

Irene whistled a low tone. â€œLetâ€™s give it the dust,â€ she said. â€œOpen it.â€

Moxie took a deep, calming breath, tore it open, and began to read silently.

â€œIf you think youâ€™re not going to have to read that out loud, you have another think coming, sister.â€

Grudgingly, Moxie cleared her throat.

Moxie,

As I write this, Clitty and I are bound for Chicago and hoping you are well and have bounced back from your night of overindulgence. Clitty, cheeky bastard that he is, was concerned that your hangover would be so colossally debilitating that you would be unable to function for days. But I reminded him that he is, after all, a dog, and therefore not an expert on these things, though Iâ€™m sure he has seen things that would make some church-going folk spontaneously combust. To his credit, he is very discreet.

With any luck, by the time this reaches you, weâ€™ll have arrived in Los Angeles and Iâ€™ll be on my way to securing a permanent address. Once I have that, Iâ€™ll send it along to you in the hope that at some point youâ€™ll send me a sassy reply.

Let me know if you want any film-star autographs. I imagine I will meet a few celebrities at the studio, though I canâ€™t guarantee that any of them will be worth a tinkerâ€™s damn. (I did promise Clitty that I would help him get a snoot full of Rin Tin Tin, though he may have to settle for Irene Dunne. If so, I would certainly understand his disappointment.)

Iâ€™ve been told that the nightlife in Hollywood makes New York City seem like a convent, so I canâ€™t wait to see how people on the West Coast slowly kill themselves. They say everything out there is granderâ€”so I imagine grand venereal diseases, grand delirium tremens, and an overall grand absence of scruples. How can I possibly be either disappointed or bored?

You know, even though this trip westward makes me feel like Iâ€™m on the precipice of something remarkable, I canâ€™t seem to reconcile that I felt the same way when I was with you.

Well, Iâ€™ll sign off before any further confessions are breached. Do take care.

Thinking of you,

Violet

Once Moxie finished reading the letter aloud, she started rereading it to herself.

Irene walked back to her ironing board slowly, as though she were contemplating the contents. â€œShe has a dog named Clitty?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œDoes that mean what I think it does?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œSo one of her clitties talks? Is that something you can shed some more light on?â€

Moxie glared at her. â€œGo climb up your thumb.â€

Irene just laughed.

Chapter Three

When Violet and Clitty finally disembarked the train in Pasadena, it was early afternoon. She stood on the platform and inhaled the smell of orange groves, unable to remember the last time she was overcome by nature. It certainly wasnâ€™t any time in the last six years. She inhaled again. â€œWell, Iâ€™ll be damned.â€

â€œMiss London?â€

She turned and looked over her sunglasses at a short, sweaty man in a white linen suit. â€œYes?â€

He extended his hand formally. â€œShep Abramsâ€”assistant to T. Z. Walter.â€

â€œNice to meet you.â€ She returned his handshake.

â€œI trust you had a pleasurable trip?â€ Before she could reply, Shep became completely engrossed in summoning a porter to transport Violetâ€™s luggage.

â€œAre we in a hurry?â€ His sense of urgency puzzled her.

â€œ You are. You need to check into your new apartment, then change and be at Mr. Walterâ€™s estate at seven for dinner.â€

She whistled in surprise. â€œAnything else I need to squeeze in tonight? Perhaps bake a seven-layer cake? Broker world peace?â€

He squinted at her, seemingly caught off guard by her sarcasm. â€œHmmâ€ was his only reply.

â€œIs this a formal dinner?â€ Violet asked. â€œIâ€™m not sure I have anything packed thatâ€™s terribly fancy.â€

â€œItâ€™s Mr. Walterâ€™s standard Tuesday-night dinner party, so itâ€™s only semiformal.â€

This new hectic pace already irritated her. The porter arrived with her trunks stacked on a luggage cart, and she slipped him a healthy tip.

The ride in Shepâ€™s roadster from Pasadena to Hollywood lasted forever, and though Violet tried several times to spark healthy discourse, he was not what she would deem a sparkling conversationalist. When she asked about where she would be staying, he merely said, â€œThe Garden of Allah,â€ nothing further. He was probably being sarcastic and could just as easily have said â€œthe moon,â€ â€œpurgatory,â€ or â€œmy ass.â€

Additional questions yielded one-word answers, including those about his employer or lighthearted inquiries about himself. Exasperated, she gave up and concentrated on the scenery, which really was lovely.

When Shep pulled off Sunset Boulevard into a complex, Violet was stunned to see it actually was called the Garden of Allahâ€”a dizzying series of Mediterranean-style bungalows with red tile roofs and an elaborate swimming pool. He informed her that a car would be around to collect her at 6:40, then drove away, leaving her outside the main building with her luggage and her terrier.

Clitty barked sharply as they watched the dust from his wake settle. â€œI agree, boy. He is a tit-faced bastard.â€

She turned back to look at the main building, which was a little dark and foreboding for a hotel. Perhaps it would grow on her. She left her trunks where they were, picked up Clitty, and walked into the office.

Inside, a friendly-looking fellow wearing an odd hat of some kind greeted her. As she reached the front desk, she was surprised to see that his headwear was actually a belted sanitary napkin, cocked like a jaunty chapeau.

â€œGreetings,â€ the man said. â€œChecking in?â€

Violet scrutinized him. He was portly and perhaps in his late forties. More important, he seemed oblivious to the fact that he was sporting a feminine hygiene product on his head as though it were a festive fez. â€œUmâ€¦yes. I am checking in. You work here?â€ She looked around, hoping someone would appear and explain that this man was an escaped mental patient who had wandered in, or maybe the ownerâ€™s son who, after haphazardly falling off the roof many years ago, had never been right since.

His pupils dilated, and he excitedly flipped open the register. â€œYes, do you have a reservation?â€

â€œCurrently, Iâ€™m having a number of them.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s your name?â€

â€œLondon.â€

â€œAh, yes. Miss London, youâ€™ll be in bungalow eleven.â€

Before he could start checking her in, a beautiful young woman with dark red hair entered the office. â€œHey, Lyle,â€ she said.

Violet was perplexed that the odd headgear didnâ€™t seem to faze this young lady. She acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary.

â€œAfternoon,â€ Lyle answered cordially.

â€œMy fridge is on the blink again,â€ she said, drumming her fingers lightly on the desk.

â€œWhatâ€™s the problem now?â€

â€œSame as last time. Itâ€™s not cold inside.â€

Lyle looked momentarily confused. â€œYou went inside it?â€

Again, this show of peculiarity didnâ€™t seem to shake the woman. â€œNo, but my corned beef did. It mentioned it in passing.â€

â€œI see. Iâ€™ll try to find the name of that repairman. Excuse me, Iâ€™ll be right back.â€ He disappeared into a room behind him.

â€œShould I assume this is his usual state?â€ Violet asked her. â€œThe sanitary fedora or the talking food donâ€™t seem unusual to you?â€

â€œOh, thatâ€™s just Lyle,â€ the redhead said calmly. â€œHeâ€™s a little daffy sometimes, sure, but heâ€™s a good egg. Nothing to worry about.â€

â€œSo he wonâ€™t sneak into my bungalow at night and try to make a lampshade out of my lower intestine?â€

She smiled. â€œHe may come in and politely ask you for your lower intestine, but it would be only in the most courteous way.â€

â€œThatâ€™s good news. Iâ€™m Violet London, checking in.â€ She extended her hand and the redheadâ€™s strong handshake surprised her.

â€œNice to meet you. Iâ€™m Ginger Rogers. My mother and I live in bungalow six.â€

â€œIâ€™m in eleven.â€

â€œSinger?â€ Ginger raised an eyebrow appraisingly.

â€œActress. You?â€

â€œActress-dancer-singer.â€

â€œThat certainly improves your odds,â€ Violet said.

â€œI do whatever it takes. If they told me I needed to learn how to juggle live animals, Iâ€™d do that too.â€

â€œWell, based on what Iâ€™ve both heard and seen regarding some casting directors, there are those who might consider that live-animal juggling.â€

â€œYou can say that again, sister.â€

Violet studied her for a moment. Ginger was striking, and if she had met her a week ago, redheads would no doubt be her new favorite thing. But all she could think about now was Moxieâ€”the way she sang, moved, and looked. â€œHave you ever considered going blond?â€

Ginger seemed to ponder this suggestion. â€œYou think it would make a difference?â€ She unconsciously ran her hand through her hair.

â€œIt would be very striking with your features.â€

Lyle appeared from the back with an index card, presumably with the information of the refrigerator repairman on it. â€œIâ€™ve got it, Miss Rogers. Iâ€™ll give him a call presently.â€

â€œThanks, Lyle. Youâ€™re a doll.â€ She turned to Violet before leaving. â€œI appreciate the tip. Iâ€™ll think about it.â€

â€œAnytime,â€ Violet replied. Lyle held her key out to her and handed her a sheet of paper. â€œWhatâ€™s this?â€

â€œThe hours and specials of our restaurant. How long will you be staying, Miss London?â€

â€œIâ€™m not sure.â€ She was still wary. â€œAt least five weeks. Iâ€™m shooting a picture at Pinnacle.â€

â€œThatâ€™s exciting.â€ He straightened his belted pad so that it tilted even more daringly to the left.

â€œYes. Well, thanks. I need to mail a letter.â€ She scrutinized Lyle. â€œCan you take care of it for me?â€ She had serious doubts, but Ginger seemed to trust him.

â€œAbsolutely. I just need two cents for the stamp.â€

After hesitating, Violet produced her letter to Moxie, composed over the last couple days on the train. â€œSay, whatâ€™s the address here?â€

He flipped a book of matches over and set it in front of her so the address was prominently displayed, and she picked up a pen and wrote her name and the Garden of Allah as her return address on the envelope. â€œAnd youâ€™re sure you can take care of this for me?â€ She held the sealed letter out to him.

He nodded violently, and she handed it over in concern, then fished two pennies out of her handbag. â€œIâ€™ll give it my utmost attention,â€ Lyle assured her.

â€œCan someone get my bags?â€

â€œIâ€™ll have the bellboy do it and take them to eleven.â€

â€œWonderful, thank you.â€ She paused on her way to the door. â€œLyle, you have a little something right here.â€ She touched her index finger to the left corner of her mouth.

He rapidly produced a handkerchief and wiped his face. â€œDid that get it?â€

â€œYes,â€ she lied. â€œMuch better.â€

â€œThat would have been embarrassing,â€ he said, adjusting his sanitary-pad belt.

â€œGlad we avoided that!â€ She saluted him as she turned to leave.

*

After checking in, Violet unpacked, showered, and changed into a light blue frock. She then fed Clitty and bathed him in the sink, and he was nearly dry when she heard a car pull up outside. Thankfully a well-built chauffer driving a red Cadillac Fleetwood appeared, rather than monosyllabic Shep.

He opened the rear door for her, and she and Clitty bounded into the backseat. â€œHow are you?â€ she asked as he nodded politely, closing the door.

He slid into the driverâ€™s seat and started to pull out into the street.

â€œDoes Mr. Walter live far from here?â€

â€œHis home is up in the Hollywood Hills.â€

â€œUhâ€¦and where are we now?â€

â€œSherman. Donâ€™t worry, itâ€™s not far.â€

As the car wended its way into the hills, dusk began to settle over the scenery, and Violet took it all in with moderate awe. Everything she had seen of California so far was impressive, and the beauty of the undeveloped hills certainly fell into that category too. She had never lived outside the city, and so much unspoiled countryside made her feel as though she were in a foreign land.

How high would this winding road take her? They seemed to have been heading straight up for quite some time. At a certain point, the dirt road led them to a set of elaborate, heavy iron gates with a large filigree W inscribed into them.

â€œDoes the W stand for â€˜What the hell?â€™â€ she joked.

â€œClose.â€

â€œYou fellas arenâ€™t big on the chitchat out here, Iâ€™m noticing.â€

He glanced in the rearview mirror and their eyes met for a moment. â€œWeâ€™re the hired help, miss.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s your name?â€

â€œFitzhugh.â€ He slowly pulled up the long, circular driveway.

â€œWell, Fitzy, donâ€™t let them treat you like shit. I have yet to see money make someone a better person. In fact, it seems to do the opposite.â€

He politely declined to comment as they slowed to a halt in front of a massive Tudor-style mansion. He exited and came around to open her door.

Clitty trotted out and went to sniff the grass, and Violet rose and stepped out. When Fitzhugh refused to make eye contact with her, she kissed him quickly on the cheek.

He smiled ever so slightly. â€œDonâ€™t let him get the better of you, miss,â€ he whispered.

â€œNo chance of that, Fitzy.â€

She approached the mammoth double doors, scooping her dog into her arms on the way up the steps. Before she could ring the bell, the wood creaked open and an older, balding butler appeared.

â€œPlease enter, miss,â€ he croaked.

â€œThanks.â€

â€œMr. Walter is entertaining in the parlor. Follow me.â€

She did so, scowling at his humorless demeanor. She hoped this wouldnâ€™t be the general mood of the evening, but she supposed they could be as grim as they pleased. That certainly didnâ€™t mean that she had to be that way too.

At the butlerâ€™s direction, she entered and he announced her arrival loudly. Three people sat inside the lavishly decorated room, drinks in their hands. One she immediately recognized as an actressâ€”a petite ingÃ©nue who was a crowd favorite. The other two were unfamiliar gentlemen.

â€œHello,â€ Violet said, approaching them. She set Clitty down on the rug.

â€œHi there, Iâ€™m Sylvia King,â€ the woman said, rising. She wore a shiny cream-colored silk gown and held a long ebony cigarette holder in one hand and a glass of booze in the other. â€œThis is director Henry Childs, and this is the leading man of my next picture, Rex Kelly.â€

Violet nodded politely. â€œNice to meet you all.â€

â€œGoodness,â€ Sylvia said. â€œIs that your little dog?â€

â€œActually,â€ Violet replied, â€œheâ€™s the talent. Iâ€™m just tagging along.â€

â€œOh?â€ Rex asked curiously.

â€œHeâ€™s a ventriloquist,â€ she answered. â€œHeâ€™s actually doing all the talking. Iâ€™m just moving my mouth.â€ She walked over to the bar and poured herself a drink.

Rex appeared offended. Sylvia looked confused and kept glancing back and forth between Violet and Clitty. Henry was the only one of her three new consorts who looked amused at all.

She took a sip of scotch and sighed. This might prove to be a very long evening.

â€œNot so fast,â€ Henry said, approaching her and pointing at her with his cigar. â€œI saw you on Broadway in The Green Hat. You were wonderful.â€

â€œThanks. And I saw your film Never Too Late, which was marvelous.â€

â€œOoh,â€ Sylvia said shrilly. â€œA Broadway actress. Well, la-di-da.â€

Violet looked at her and blinked. â€œAnd I saw you in The Foreign Legionnaire. You should probably stick to comedies.â€

â€œWhat?â€ Sylvia barked, her once-delicate face now twisted into an angry sneer.

â€œJust my opinion, dear,â€ Violet said, feigning a smile. â€œYou have such a comic gift.â€

Henry tried to stifle his laughter with his martini glass.

Before anyone else could comment, T. Z. Walter swept into the room, wearing a monogrammed maroon smoking jacket. â€œAh, I see youâ€™ve all been getting acquainted.â€

He looked like Violet had imagined himâ€”stout, spotty, and balding. She also assumed he was one of those men who felt that scads of money would counteract any and all shortcomings and character flaws.

â€œGood evening, T. Z.,â€ Sylvia cooed, her anger instantly replaced with consummate bootlicking. â€œItâ€™s swell to see you.â€ She kissed him on the cheek.

â€œSylvia, youâ€™re looking lovely tonight.â€ His eyes traveled to Violet. â€œYou must be Violet London.â€

â€œI am,â€ she replied with a genial smile.

â€œI hope youâ€™re worth what weâ€™re paying you,â€ he said, snorting in amusement.

Violetâ€™s inclination toward pleasantries quickly evaporated.

Sylvia rolled her eyes. â€œIf itâ€™s more than a nickel and a stick of Juicy Fruit gum, Iâ€™d say you got rooked, T. Z.â€

Violet fixed her with a look of utter insincerity. â€œEverything they say about you is true. What a pity.â€

Rex exhaled cigarette smoke through an expression of derision. â€œBe happy you donâ€™t have any scenes with her where you have to pretend to be in love with her.â€

â€œThanks for the perspective,â€ Violet said.

T. Z. was clearly amused. â€œAre we ready for dinner?â€

Violetâ€™s host certainly wasnâ€™t very interested in keeping the peace. â€œIf itâ€™s going to move this evening along, then absolutely.â€

As they walked to the dining room, T. Z. noticed the terrier following Violet closely. â€œWhatâ€™s your dogâ€™s name?â€

â€œClitty.â€

He looked baffled. â€œThatâ€™s an unusual name. Is it Norwegian?â€

â€œYes, it is. Heâ€™s half elkhound, actually.â€

T. Z. cocked an eyebrow. â€œReally?â€

These people were so wonderfully gullible. â€œOn his fatherâ€™s side. His mother was a hamster.â€ She paused for effect. â€œIt was a very difficult breeding, as you can imagine. A bit like trying to thread a needle with a sausage.â€

All three gentlemen laughed, but Sylvia crinkled up her nose in disgust. â€œAnimals are filthy.â€

â€œYes,â€ Violet replied. â€œBut weâ€™ll let you eat with us anyway.â€

â€œT. Z., are you going to let this guttersnipe speak to me like that?â€ Her hands moved to her hips indignantly as she reached the dining-room table.

â€œIf the conversation stays this funny, I will.â€

Sylvia looked upset, but clearly not enough to challenge the head of the studio. She meekly sat and spread her linen napkin across her lap.

A server appeared and began pouring wine for everyone.

â€œSo, Violet,â€ Henry said. â€œIâ€™ll be directing you in Manhattan Rhapsody come next week.â€

That was the best news she had received since she arrived in California. Henry was the least offensive person in the room. â€œThat sounds wonderful. I assume the male lead has been cast.â€

â€œWe tried to get Gary Cooper, but he was already committed to another picture.â€

Violet breathed a small sigh of relief. Cooperâ€™s acting was rather wooden and stilted, and a production was only as good as the weakest link. She didnâ€™t need to be filming the majority of her scenes with someone whose acting might distract her from her own performance. After all, she had a lot riding on this first film. â€œSo who did you get?â€

â€œRex here,â€ T. Z. answered.

â€œWhat?â€ Sylvia looked very unhappy. â€œRex is supposed to be filming Love Comes Running with me in two weeks.â€ She looked across the table at the actor. â€œRex? Do you know anything about this?â€

He gazed back at her through half-lidded eyes and sipped his glass of wine. He appeared to loathe her, and Violet understood that feeling completely.

â€œRex?â€ she implored again. â€œAnswer me.â€

â€œSylvia,â€ T. Z. said, ringing the bell to signify they were ready for the first course. â€œRex will make Manhattan Rhapsody with Violet.â€

She looked as though she would weep. â€œSo whoâ€™s starring in Love Comes Running with me?â€

â€œFrank Thatcher,â€ T. Z. said calmly. The server appeared and started ladling out creamy bisque.

â€œFrank Thatcher?â€ she snapped. â€œThat mook? He looks like a harelip troll!â€

Violet was amazed at how this young woman carried on. The New York theater scene would swallow her alive. â€œNow, now. Iâ€™m sure poor Frank is just as unhappy about the whole thing as you are, Sylvia. Have a little sympathy.â€

Sylviaâ€™s eyes flashed. â€œLook hereâ€”â€

T. Z. calmly held his palm up. â€œSylvia, youâ€™ll make this picture with Frank. Thatâ€™s how it will be. And if I say youâ€™ll do thirty more with Frank, youâ€™ll do that too. Now eat your goddamned soup.â€

The air was filled with nothing but the sounds of clinking spoons on china and slurping. Violet grinned mischievously. â€œThis is good, â€ she said, pretending to be talking about the soup.

*

As the butler held open the front door, Rex, Henry, and Violet, with terrier in tow, walked outside.

â€œSo, Rex,â€ Violet said, â€œI suppose Iâ€™ll see you at the studio in the morning for wardrobe fittings.â€

Rex blew cigarette smoke out his nostrils and tossed the lit butt on the ground. â€œYes.â€

Sylvia walked briskly past them all, clearly still irritated. â€œWell, enjoy that. Good night.â€ She stepped into her waiting car, and they watched it drive away down the winding road.

â€œWhat an absolute festering cunt,â€ Violet said, unable to keep her feelings to herself any longer.

Henry chuckled. â€œSheâ€™s just as pleasant to direct, let me tell you.â€

â€œWhenever I have to kiss her,â€ Rex added, turning up the collar of his jacket against the evening breeze, â€œI imagine that Iâ€™m actually strangling her. It makes being that close to her much more bearable.â€

â€œYouâ€™re my hero,â€ Violet said, brushing his shoulder.

For the first time all evening, Rex smiled.

â€œWe should have a good time on this picture,â€ Henry said, walking toward his car. â€œIâ€™ll see you at the studio in the morning and give you the newest revision of the script, Violet.â€

â€œSee you then.â€

Rex walked to where his driver stood with the car door propped open. â€œGood night.â€

She strolled over to Fitzhugh, who dutifully stood near the Fleetwood. â€œI understand you are to be my driver, Fitzy. You didnâ€™t tell me that.â€

â€œYes, miss.â€ He closed the car door once she and Clitty were safely inside. â€œI work for the studio, and youâ€™re my assignment. So Iâ€™ll be chauffeuring you around until they tell me otherwise.â€ He got into the front seat and started the car.

â€œGood. I have to be at the studio at nine in the morning.â€

â€œVery well,â€ he said, pulling out slowly from the circular drive into the street. â€œWhat time shall I collect you?â€

â€œHow about seven thirty?â€

She could see his look of confusion in the rearview mirror. â€œThe studio is closer than that, miss.â€

â€œCall me Vi, Fitzy. I was thinking we could stop somewhere and have breakfast on the way.â€

â€œBreakfast?â€

She took a deep breath. â€œLook, it seems Iâ€™m in for one hell of a roller-coaster ride. It would be nice to have someone come along with me.â€

The silence was palpable as he maneuvered the hilly dirt road.

â€œThereâ€™s a little place right up the road from where youâ€™re staying that poaches a mean egg,â€ he said softly.

â€œSounds wonderful. Now letâ€™s talk about where to find some booze.â€

Chapter Four

Violetâ€™s first day at the studio was tiring, but interesting. Henry, true to his word, delivered a finalized script to her just after she arrived. And praise the gods that he had, because she had so much downtime in between the wardrobe fittings and the hair and makeup tests that she was well on her way to memorizing most of it.

Fitzy had dropped her back off at the Garden of Allah in the late afternoon, and while he was apparently warming to her, he was still far too concerned with propriety and decorumâ€”two words that Violet had little use for.

Oh, her family had tried to get her to curb her natural enthusiasm for both eccentricity and the consecrated wonder that is the female breast, to settle into a life of mundane heterosexual tedium. They had put a great deal of effort into that endeavor, but had ultimately failed. Both of her parents had made it abundantly clear that while she continued to indulge in what they deemed her unholy excesses, they would neither accept nor acknowledge her.

They had magnanimously appended their condemnation by assuring her that once she repented and came crawling back, ready to renounce her religionâ€”Our Lady of the Miraculous Jugsâ€”and her lifestyle, and accept instead their more upstanding credo filled with temperance, obedience, and feigned orgasms, they would again welcome her into their home. What a horrible fucking place to live. She shuddered at the thought of returning.

Bored by the script and craving something engaging, she walked Clitty around the grounds. Ginger was playing Ping-Pong by the pool with another young woman.

Violet waited until the point was over. â€œHi, Ginger. Are you winning?â€

â€œHey, Violet. I am now. This is Mabel, from bungalow fifteen. Mabel, this is Violet London.â€

â€œNice to meet you,â€ Mabel said with minor interest.

â€œYou playing the winner?â€ Ginger asked.

â€œHmm, I suppose itâ€™s not bad exercise.â€ Violet spoke her thought aloud.

â€œIâ€™m working up a sweat,â€ Mabel complained.

â€œThen itâ€™s definitely out,â€ Violet said. â€œThe last time I did something that was good for me, I regretted it for weeks. Iâ€™ll just watch from an unhealthy distance, thanks.â€

â€œSuit yourself.â€ Ginger served the ball.

Violet ambled over to the very large and odd-shaped swimming pool and tried to make out what it resembled. She tilted her head to the side as she took it in.

â€œItâ€™s supposed to be the Black Sea,â€ someone behind her said. She turned to see a man lying in a deck chair by the pool regarding her with what seemed to be amusement. He looked to be of an imposing stature, but reclined as he was, he was anything but. His terry-cloth robe was pulled closed tight, all the way to his neck.

â€œAnd how do you know that?â€ She took a few steps closer to him.

â€œThe woman who had it built told me.â€ He sipped something from a martini glass. â€œDo you know who that is?â€

She shook her head.

â€œAlla Nazimova.â€

Violet studied his elaborately waxed mustache as it curved upward in a friendly way. She was both impressed and surprised to hear the name of such a renowned thespian. â€œReally?â€

â€œItâ€™s true. This used to be her home. When she went broke in the Crash, she sold it and they turned it into a hotel.â€

Violet mulled on that notion for a moment, saying nothing.

â€œYou can walk all the way over here,â€ he said, apparently mistaking her silence for apprehension. â€œIâ€™m quite harmless.â€

â€œThatâ€™s what they all say.â€ Violet raised an eyebrow. â€œIâ€™m beginning to question whether anyone in Hollywood is harmless.â€ She closed the distance between them.

â€œWell, luckily you have a guard dog with you.â€

Violet glanced at Clitty, who had chosen that very moment to sit rather indelicately on her left foot and stare up at her adoringly. â€œHeâ€™s not my guard dog. Heâ€™s my agent. He told me to pack up my things and head west, and here I am.â€

â€œYou always take his advice?â€

â€œAbsolutely. He hasnâ€™t steered me wrong yet, unless you count the time he talked me into perpetrating the St. Valentineâ€™s Day massacre. That may have been a littleâ€â€”she stopped and whispered the rest, as though to be discreetâ€”â€œwell, heavy-handed, if you ask me.â€

He smiled. â€œYou know, I do remember thinking that those killings were so dark and grisly that only a woman could have committed them.â€

â€œSomeone sounds married.â€ She sat on the deck chair beside him.

He sighed. â€œGuilty as charged. Peter Easton.â€ He offered his hand.

â€œViolet London, and this is Clitty.â€

â€œSo not only is he a very sadistic dog, but heâ€™s a naughty one as well.â€ He rubbed the dog between the ears.

â€œI actually may have him beat in the naughty arena, but we try not to be too competitive. So you live here with your wife?â€

His expression immediately darkened. â€œGood Lord, no. Hollywood is a cesspool of sin and depravity. My wife and children are back in Boston, amongst good God-fearing folk.â€

â€œBut the sin and depravityâ€”â€

â€œAre just fine for me, yes. Martini?â€ He pointed to a cocktail shaker beside him and a couple of empty glasses on a tray.

â€œLove one, thanks. What is it that you do out here, Mr. Easton?â€

He shook the concoction, poured the chilled liquid into a glass, and offered it to her. â€œI have the dubious distinction of being a screenwriter. My raison dâ€™Ãªtre is taking an abysmal script and making it borderline mediocre.â€

â€œHmm, I may have seen a few of the films youâ€™ve worked on, as they were all exceedingly mediocre.â€ She took a sip of her drink and gasped. â€œGreat grandmotherâ€™s balls! This may be the driest martini Iâ€™ve ever had. Have you ever heard of a little thing called vermouth?â€

â€œIâ€™ve always been of the mindset that the proper ratio of vermouth to gin is achieved by running oneâ€™s hand over the label on the vermouth bottle just prior to filling the glass fully with gin.â€

â€œThen why call it a martini?â€

â€œMy good woman, a martini is a drink of distinction, while gin is something slurped noisily by hobos and bootleggers.â€

â€œBy that logic, why not just refer to what youâ€™re drinking as the queenâ€™s vagina? That sounds frightfully regal and is almost never slurped noisily by hobos or bootleggers.â€

He looked at her, his eyes filled with laughter. â€œThen the queenâ€™s vagina it shall be. Iâ€™m having a party in my bungalow this evening, which makes it much like every other evening. Perhaps youâ€™d like to stop in and enjoy the queenâ€™s vagina with us.â€

â€œMr. Easton, how can I turn down an offer of such prim grandeur? I havenâ€™t tasted the queenâ€™s vagina in days.â€

â€œSplendid. Iâ€™m in bungalow sixteen. I hope to see you this evening, and frequently after that.â€

Violet liked this man quite a bit. â€œI believe that can be arranged.â€

*

Moxie shuffled up the steps to her apartment building, utterly exhausted. It was after three in the morning, and she had sung her ass off all night. She unlocked the front door as quietly as she could and slipped through the darkened communal parlor.

The only people permitted to live at Mrs. Benningtonâ€™s building were unmarried women, a rule she made very clear when Moxie moved in. About sixteen of them resided there, all aspiring actresses, singers, and dancers of some kind. Some were earning their way as waitresses or cigarette girls until they could get a paying gig, so Moxie felt fortunate to have even secured a job singing.

The one thing Mrs. Bennington wasnâ€™t too picky about, however, was the hours people kept. So as long as Moxie didnâ€™t wake anyone, she could come and go as she pleased.

She paused at the foot of the staircase before beginning her long, tiring journey to the fourth floor. As she stepped, she tried to avoid creaky areas and was fairly pleased that she was, for the most part, successful. Finally at her apartment door, she unlocked it and opened it slowly, in an attempt not to wake Irene.

The dim light from the hallway cast a faint glow into the darkened room. On the small dinette table a few feet in front of her she saw a letter, and her mind lurched for an instant. Could it possibly be from Violet?

She turned on a small lamp and closed the door behind her, striding to the table to examine it. Her name was on the front, written in Violetâ€™s ornate handwriting, and she couldnâ€™t fight the broad smile that came over her as she tried to open the envelope as silently as humanly possible.

This letter was longer than the last, and Moxie sat excitedly at the table and angled herself so that the dim beam from the lamp shone directly onto the paper.

Moxie,

Greetings from the westward-bound Chief. I believe as I write this, I am somewhere outside of Kansas City, but Iâ€™m not completely certain.

How is life treating you? I do hope things are going well at the Luna for you.

By the time you receive this missive, Iâ€™ll be thoroughly ensconced in the Hollywood zeitgeist, though I plan to keep my eyes open and my mouth shut (as opposed to keeping my mouth open and my eyes shut, which is a much more common way to work your way to the top in this industry but, sadly, just not my style).

Actually, come to think of it, Iâ€™ve never been terribly good at the mouth-shutting part, but as I get older, I am getting better at the part where I at least regret whatever I just said that was either very inappropriate, scandalously untoward, or, in some particularly candid moments when the planets are aligned, both of those things. Remorse must count for something, right? Perhaps not enough to negate the verbal atrocity, but itâ€™s certainly better than nothing, I would think.

I have to say that I am finding rail travel particularly tedious. For example, no one has publicly launched anything from their anus this entire trip, though, for a time yesterday in the dining car, it did sound as if an elderly man a few tables over was making a valiant attempt to. Nor has anyone engaged in any type of spectator sex act, not even the garden-variety, humdrum, man/woman kind.

The people onboard seem quite dour, actually. This morning at breakfast, I sat with a woman who for some reason did not want to hear my story about the night that Wil got so drunk that when she was overcome inextricably in a fit of laughter and unable to catch her breath, she peed herself. The woman just kept mumbling something into her pancake stack and asking me to be quiet. I found it all exceptionally rude, as I hadnâ€™t even reached the part about her stripping down naked and trying to play the spoons with her ass cheeks, which really is the highlight of that story, as you can probably well imagine. The ass is, after all, a remarkable piece of engineering, but its musicality lies elsewhere. Itâ€™s simply not designed to play the spoonsâ€”or even the tuba, for that matter.

Clitty, however, seems to be taking this high-speed jaunt in stride. He has gone out of his way to try to make eye contact with every poor bastard in the dining car every time we pass through, in the hopes that they will share a morsel with him. I swear to God, earlier today I could have sworn I saw him suck in his cheeks in a superficial attempt to look like a hungry stray. When no one fell for his ploy, he promptly shat, as though editorializing what was clearly the breakfast of the walking dead. I, for one, applauded him.

Goodness, there has been a great deal of ass-talk in this letter. I would apologize for it, but upon rereading, those seem to be the best parts. Instead, Iâ€™ll advise you to wallow in the delicious assiness of this correspondence. Let it enfold you in its warm embrace.

Have you noticed that Iâ€™m just prattling on about nothing now? When all sense and courtesy should have dictated that I close this letter long before the mention of public sex acts, asses playing tubas, or Clittyâ€™s act of civil disobedience, I clearly chose to continue.

Why, you ask? Well, I suppose that Iâ€™m having a hard time telling you good-bye.

Since I left New York, our communication has been, by necessity, one-way. Iâ€™ll not mail this without including my new address on the envelope, in the hopes that youâ€™ve been thinking of me even a fraction of the amount that Iâ€™ve been reflecting on both you and the night we met.

If you havenâ€™t been, and if my letters to you have become a nuisance, this is your chance to say so. I wonâ€™t contact you again unless I first hear from you. If you want to continue this correspondence and see where it may take us, you need only reply to this letter. To be certain, I would be elated if you chose to do so.

I do miss the sound of your voice and the gentle ease of your laughter. I hope to hear from you soon.

Violet

Moxie set the letter down as she finished reading and stared for a moment at the wall. What the hell was happening? Why was she so euphoric to hear from Violet?

She had, after all, spent only one evening in this womanâ€™s company. It wasnâ€™t as though they had known each other for years.

She drifted back to that night, now exactly a week ago. In fact, it was probably right around this time of morning when they hadâ€¦well, when they had done whatever it was that they did.

Moxie flinched again at the realization. She had mentally pictured every imaginable sexual act and position, trying to spark some shred of a memory from that evening. Honestly, she was a little concerned at how much time she was spending pondering that event. Her imagination lingered there more and more.

She closed her eyes to replay a few of her favorite scenes. She imagined Violet over her, undressing her as their mouths met hungrily.

In a flash, they were both naked and glistening with sweat as Moxie rode Violet, their bodies moving rhythmically and with tremendous urgency.

Another flash and Moxie was lying on the bed, her legs dangling over the side, as Violet knelt on the floor before her, bringing her to climax with the prowess of her nimble mouth.

Her eyes flew open as her own carnal visions shocked her back into reality.

â€œChrist,â€ she whispered, putting her face in her hands. She was becoming an emotional mess. True, those thoughts highly aroused her, and she was slowly beginning to accept that fact. But these ruminations had begun to intrude frequently into her consciousness, and they were astoundingly distracting.

She had always been a romantic and had cared more for love than for sex. It was just unfortunate that love had never happenedâ€”nothing beyond fleeting infatuation or fancy. Perhaps she had sabotaged herself with her natural standoffishness. But despite her reclusive disposition, Moxie had never wanted anything as much as she had wanted to be cherished.

Instead, Moxie had been an object of lust. The dates in her past had been filled with stilted conversation, punctuated by awkward sexual fumbling. In fact, her minor experiences with sex didnâ€™t merit any fantasies or daydreams. They simply hadnâ€™t been that great. Now she found herself compulsively cycling through various erotic mental interludes with a woman she had spent only a matter of hours with. It was as though Violet had turned on a switch somewhere inside her.

If only she could remember what they did when they slept together. At least then, she wouldnâ€™t have to speculate. What if she continued to guess like this? Soon sheâ€™d be imagining one of them bound and swinging from a chandelier while the other smeared her own body with maple syrup and Sen-Sen.

She closed her eyes to mull on this scene further, then slapped her forehead in irritation. She cursed this new low threshold for titillation she had developed.

Picking up the letter, she began to read it again. She chuckled as she counted just how many references to ass there had been in the letter, and she let it enfold her in its warm embraceâ€”well, as much as that was possible.

She examined the return address that looked to be hastily scrawled.

â€œThe Garden of Allah,â€ she muttered. What an intriguing name. She brushed the lettering with her fingers and contemplated what would happen if she did reply to Violet, as well as what would happen if she didnâ€™t.

Chapter Five

Violet poured brandy, triple sec, and lemon juice into a cocktail shaker over ice, covered it, and shook it vigorously.

â€œGood Lord, Vi,â€ Peter said. â€œYouâ€™re not mixing that drink, youâ€™re thrashing it.â€

She poured the frothy concoction into a glass. â€œI like my sidecars somewhat demoralized.â€

â€œExactly how I like my women,â€ Peter murmured into his gin.

â€œThat says so much about you.â€

Fitzhugh sat in a chair in the corner of Peterâ€™s bungalow, smoking a cigar with great zeal, and Violet turned her attention to him. â€œDid you want a refill, Fitzy? I made plenty.â€ She rattled the ice in the shaker at him as an added temptation.

â€œI donâ€™t think so, Vi,â€ he answered. â€œAny more of those, and I wonâ€™t be able to drive the car back.â€

â€œFair enough.â€ She stepped away from Peterâ€™s makeshift yet fully stocked bar and took a seat in the armchair between them, feeling momentarily pleased with herself. In ordinary circumstances, these two men would probably never have drinks together, but now, thanks to her, the class system was momentarily suspended. Violet always liked things best when everyone was on equal footing. She had been in town for just under two weeks, and she already felt like the great regulator. â€œSo, Peter, did you actually go to work today?â€

â€œI did. Youâ€™d have been proud of me.â€ He looked out the window at the last vestiges of sunlight hanging in the sky. â€œBut of course it just brought regret.â€

â€œWhat happened?â€ Fitzhugh asked, leaning forward.

â€œYouâ€™ll never believe the script Iâ€™ve been assigned. Itâ€™s a complete travesty.â€

â€œ The House at Pooh Corner ?â€ Violet asked.

â€œIf only it were that good. They have given me Husbands and Wives, apparently the next vehicle for William Haines. Iâ€™m just not sure if heâ€™s cast as a husband or a wife. Iâ€™ll have to march in tomorrow and tell them I wonâ€™t do it.â€

Violetâ€™s good humor started to fade. â€œWhy on earth not?â€

â€œPlease, Vi, the manâ€™s a degenerate. I wonâ€™t be able to write dialogue thatâ€™s supposed to come out of his mouth. God only knows what, or who, heâ€™s had in there.â€

She blinked at him for a moment and drew in a deep breath. â€œYou complete fucking hypocrite.â€

He appeared stunned. â€œWhat?â€

She looked to Fitzhugh, whose expression had rapidly changed to alarm and concern. Heâ€™d just have to be concerned, damn it. â€œPeter, do you really think you have the moral high ground here? Let me make sure that I have the complete picture. You sit here in this bungalow, living the life of a bachelor, with your dick in every mid-priced whore and naÃ¯ve starlet whoâ€™s simple enough to believe your empty promises of furthering her career, and youâ€” you dare judge someone? With your wife and children sequestered three thousand miles away and your liver full of gin, you honestly hold your lifestyle superior to a homosexualâ€™s? You think youâ€™re too good to write for someone because of the kind of sex he has? Let me explain a few things to you, Mr. Easton. It would benefit you to start measuring people by the things that really matter. Are they honest? Compassionate? Trustworthy? Or are they bigoted, close-minded, and cruel?â€

She stood, setting her drink on the coffee table gently and straightening her dress with her palms. Clitty rose too, poised to go wherever she did.

â€œViâ€”â€ Peter began.

â€œMull on that.â€ Her extended palm signaled that she was done listening to him. â€œAnd do make sure you take into account that, by your definition, I too am a degenerate and apparently therefore worthy of your scorn and derision. So go ahead, but I refuse to sit here for it.â€ She strode to the door and opened it. â€œI hope to see you bright and early Monday morning, Fitzy. Good night, gentlemen.â€

The door shut softly, leaving the two men to ponder her disclosure.

As Violet walked rapidly back to her place, she was livid, completely incensed that someone she had been developing such a pleasant friendship with had said something so callous and intolerant. She wished she had shouted everything she had just said, but that wasnâ€™t in her. When she was happy, she was lighthearted and calm. When she was angry, she was stoic and grave.

She did possess the passion to really scream at someone. Somewhere along the line, no doubt amongst the many altercations with her parents, she had learned that it was better to simply shut down emotionally and walk away. That was how she was able to deal with most things. To become enraged would give people power over her. To look them squarely in the eye, tell them â€œbullshit,â€ and then leave gave her the upper hand.

As she entered her bungalow, she saw a piece of mail had been slipped under the door. A closer look revealed it was from Moxie, and she was unable to suppress a smile. â€œYour timingâ€™s getting a whole lot better, toots.â€

She sat on the sofa, and Clitty jumped up to sit beside her. Slowly, she slid her finger under the envelope flap and prepared herself for whatever Moxie had decided to write.

Violet,

To say that Iâ€™ve thought about writing you a hundred times may be an understatement, so letâ€™s agree that the number is somewhere between a hundred and five thousand. Every time I considered not replying to your last letter, I experienced an overwhelming sadness. And every time I considered replying, I wondered what I would say and exactly what it would mean.

The truth is that I want very much to correspond with you. I love getting your letters. Iâ€™ve never really received mail before so, yes, it has a certain novelty. But the stories of your comically tawdry exploits must unquestionably surpass what passes for a standard letter these days.

This may shock you, but most of us just muddle through our lives without a constant parade of anal artists, public fornicators, ass musicians, and pancake-eating corpses vying for our attention. Iâ€™m still not certain exactly what quality you possess that attracts these kinds of people, but it wouldnâ€™t be truthful if I said that I didnâ€™t find it fascinating, in a bizarre, carnival-sideshow sort of way.

I suppose I should try and catch you up on things here. Julian has started coming into the Luna a couple times a week. Heâ€™s almost always on the arm of a fella named Gary, whoâ€™s fairly easy on the eyes.

According to Julian, Wil is a hairâ€™s breadth away from getting canned from Secrets and Lies. Apparently her drinking (and God only knows what else) is becoming increasingly detrimental to her performance. She drinks to steel her nerves, does poorly because sheâ€™s sozzled, and then gets even more nervous for the next nightâ€™s performance, so she has a little more. I donâ€™t know if youâ€™ve spoken with her since your arrival in California, but perhaps you could contact her and offer her some consolation or advice. Itâ€™s ironic that a woman who seemed so self-possessed when I met her can deep down be filled with such self-doubt.

I got my third set at the Luna, and I hear that I may have you to thank for that. I appreciate anything you may have told my boss to make him consider it. So far, things are going well. While Iâ€™m busy now, and the moneyâ€™s better, I worry that I may be running myself ragged. Cotton, my agent, says heâ€™s trying to get someone from the Kasbah to come out to see me perform in the hopes that I can transition from upscale juice joint to upscale supper club. It would be fantastic if that happened, if just for the shift in clienteleâ€”to work for people who werenâ€™t necessarily criminals. After the supper club, who knows? Perhaps I could even put out a record.

For the first time Iâ€™m starting to feel like my life may not have limits. Things are really looking up for me, and somehow meeting you seems to be a part of that sensationâ€”perhaps the catalyst.

I do think of you, quite a bit, and I recall our night on the town every day in some fashion or another. Iâ€™d be a fool to say that I completely understand my feelings for you, but I do know that somewhere mixed in with the trepidation, anxiety, and confusion is a good deal of appreciation, elation, and amusement.

In no way could I consider you a nuisance. There is a strange void that your letters somehow help to fill. They make me laugh and feel significant, so please keep writing them.

Tell me how the film is going and how your co-stars are. How has Clitty been enjoying it out there? (I mean the dog.) Have you been able to convince the powers that be to modify the ending? When might you be coming back to New York? Anytime soon?

Well, Iâ€™ll close this. Iâ€™m apparently finally running out of words.

Regards,

Genitalia Finkelstein

Violet sighed and leaned back on the sofa. â€œClitty, Iâ€™m falling in love with this woman.â€ She reached over and scratched his back. â€œWhat the hell am I going to do?â€

*

After Violet mailed her reply to Moxie, she and Clitty spent some quality time playing fetch amongst the jacaranda trees outside her bungalow.

In her peripheral vision, she saw Peter approaching her, and she sighed loudly, not wanting to reopen that particular can of worms.

â€œVi?â€

She turned to him, feeling a mixture of irritation and dread.

â€œPardon me,â€ he said softly. His eyes nervously darted from her face to the ground and back again. â€œI need to get this off my chest. You owe me nothing, but Iâ€™d appreciate it if youâ€™d let me apologize.â€

She took the ball from Clitty and tossed it again, and the little dog took off after it. â€œGive it a try. Iâ€™m mildly curious.â€

â€œThank you. First, let me say that I have never felt quite so small as I did after you left last night. Iâ€™ve always considered myself to be both liberal and humane, and you showed me that I am neither. If I made you feel ashamed, Iâ€™m sorry.â€

She squinted at him as Clitty dropped the ball at her feet. â€œI donâ€™t feel ashamed, Peter. That seems to be the critical point youâ€™re missing.â€ She threw the toy back out past the trees. â€œI donâ€™t have anything to feel ashamed about.â€

â€œYesâ€”â€

â€œShame should be reserved for occasions when youâ€™ve hurt someone. Iâ€™m just living. I donâ€™t have time to worry about what some homespun, folksy neighbors think about my choices. I mean, God only knows whoâ€™s sucking Pastor Stevensonâ€™s cock when his wife is at the temperance meetings, and whoâ€™s spanking the schoolmarm with a steel-wire brush. What even remotely gives them the right to judge me?â€

He cleared his throat nervously. â€œI have worded it poorly.â€

â€œYou have, yes.â€

â€œWhat I meant was that I had no right to say such things, to belittle you in that way.â€

â€œAgreed, though obviously itâ€™s not just me whoâ€™s belittled. Itâ€™s everyone who gets lumped into a category for one thing or another and then treated like utter shit for it.â€

â€œUnderstood. I am very sorry. I behaved terribly.â€

â€œI mean, how would you feel if everyone judged you because of your dreadful mustache?â€

â€œI love my mustache,â€ he said softly, beginning to stroke it gingerly with both hands.

â€œAnd as a consenting adult, you should be permitted to do so in the privacy of your own home, without anyone casting aspersions on you for it.â€

He seemed to relax slightly at her humor. â€œYou really think itâ€™s dreadful?â€

â€œIt resembles the tightly packed bundles that Clitty pushes through his colon. But I only share that observation because you asked. Iâ€™m far too polite to simply volunteer something so tactless.â€

â€œClearly.â€ He paused. â€œCan I buy you a drink, Vi? Make it up to you?â€

She smiled. â€œI believe you may, sir.â€

*

Cotton took a long drag on his cigar. â€œLook, this is no easy feat, kid.â€

Moxie looked at him closely, in the hopes of determining if he was lying. â€œBut itâ€™s just taking so long. I mean, how much coercion does it take to get a fella to go see a show? Itâ€™s not like youâ€™re trying to talk him into castration.â€

â€œShh.â€ Cotton brought his flattened hand down slowly, signaling for her to lower her voice.

Moxie looked around the parlor of her apartment building where they sat. No one nearby seemed to be paying them any attention whatsoever. Was this one of Cottonâ€™s many ploys to regain control of the conversation? â€œWhat?â€

â€œLook, you act like I havenâ€™t been on my dogs all day and night working to get you places. I got you that third set at the Luna, didnâ€™t I?â€

She studied him suspiciously. â€œHmm, howâ€™d you do that, anyway?â€

â€œWith my nose to the grindstone, thatâ€™s how. I campaigned for weeks on your behalf with the management there. They didnâ€™t tell you?â€

â€œMust have slipped their minds,â€ Moxie said in a monotone. The more Cotton talked, the more she wished heâ€™d stop, and the less she tended to believe him.

â€œLook, Iâ€™ve got Brownâ€™s word that heâ€™ll be by the Luna to see one of your sets next Saturday. Heâ€™s going to be out of town this coming weekend. Thatâ€™s the only reason this is taking so long.â€

â€œOkay, Cotton. Iâ€™ll be ready for him.â€ She was starting to wonder if getting the manager of the Kasbah to come by and see her perform would ever happen, and she was quickly tiring of this conversation with her self-congratulatory agent. Cotton represented a number of people now, and he had more clients to consider than just her. But lately, even though he seemed to be putting less effort into her career, he still managed to take credit for anything good that came her way.

â€œMake sure you wear a fancy dress that knocks him on his ass.â€

â€œHow fancy?â€

â€œAs high class as you can stand, sister. Youâ€™ve got to really get all dolled up, you know? You need to look upscale if you want an upscale gig.â€

Now she was officially irritated. â€œI donâ€™t look upscale?â€

â€œYou look like a singer in a gin joint. You need to seem like you just dropped in from a swanky dinner party at a Manhattan penthouse, like you shit diamonds.â€

â€œAnd will you be fronting me the jack for said diamond-shitting dress?â€

He looked put out. â€œWhat, you canâ€™t borrow one from someone? There must be fifty dames living here with you.â€

She sighed. â€œSure, Ebenezer. Iâ€™ll just ask the countess on the third floor if I can borrow her tiara while Iâ€™m at it.â€

Mrs. Bennington approached her, making a disgustingly vile sound as she snorted something from her sinuses into her mouth. Moxie tried to ignore it.

â€œYou got another letter,â€ she rasped, tossing the envelope into Moxieâ€™s lap where she sat on the divan.

â€œThanks,â€ she murmured, though the woman had already turned to leave.

Cottonâ€™s brow furrowed. â€œWho is that from?â€

She smiled as she regarding the writing on the outside. â€œA friend of mine out West.â€

â€œSince when do you have friends out West?â€

â€œWhy do you want to know? So you can figure out what I can borrow from her? Want me to see if she has some upscale shoes?â€

He rolled his eyes. â€œYou know, I donâ€™t get any kind of gratitude from you. If it wasnâ€™t for me, youâ€™d be mopping up urine in a clip joint in the middle of nowhere.â€ He expelled cigar smoke dramatically.

Moxie was no longer interested in this conversation. She had a letter to read, after all. She decided to just skip to the end of this all-too-familiar conversation in order to speed things along. â€œYes, Cotton. You are wonderful yet I mistreat you. I am a selfish bitch, and you ejaculate rainbows. I get it.â€

He stared at her. â€œEjaculate rainbows?â€

â€œOr something like that, yes. Iâ€™ll find something to wear before next Saturday.â€ She stood and kissed him on the cheek. â€œThanks for stopping by.â€ She scurried up the staircase, leaving him alone in the parlor looking completely bewildered.

Once she was contained within the relative safety of her apartment, she opened the letter.

Miss Genitalia (Genny) Finkelstein,

I received your letter tonight and I was touched and delighted by both the gesture, as well as the sentiment within. Iâ€™ve been holding my breath since I mailed that last letter to you, wondering if I would hear back. And while things have obviously progressed hereâ€”the shooting is more than half completed nowâ€”with regard to you, time has stood still for me.

So let me catch you up on the last couple of weeks here in Hollywood. The accommodations that the studio arranged for me are a perfect matchâ€”private bungalows nestled amidst nature and lunatics, which happen to be two of my favorite things to sit and observe.

The front desk is diligently manned by Captain Napkin, as I call him, and Iâ€™m sure that over the phone, without any visual cues, he may come off as only slightly deranged. Good for him that he doesnâ€™t allow his dementia to interfere with his conscientiousness. He is a very hard worker; itâ€™s just that sometimes his â€œworkâ€ includes wearing menstrual accoutrement on his head or periodically liberating pieces of garbage from the residentsâ€™ trash, burying them in shallow graves, and performing tiny funerals. I caught him saying a few words over an empty anchovy tin and some coffee grounds the other day.

Incidentally, I donâ€™t know what you mean when you say that I attract odd and eccentric people. Perhaps you can provide an example?

Other residents here have shown themselves to be both kind and unkind to varying degrees, which makes them very much like New Yorkers, but with a healthier glow about them.

Manhattan Rhapsody is progressing ahead of schedule. My leading man is Rex Kelly, a fella who might be slightly more engaging were he not abusing morphine so regularly. The director, Henry Childs, is marvelous, though he wasnâ€™t exactly sold on my suggestion that my character have an epiphany, renounce her worldly possessions, and devote the rest of her life to working for charities. When he said we would need to gin up that ending a bit, I suggested that perhaps in addition to her work in soup kitchens, she could have lots of anonymous, back-alley sex with random hobos. Remarkably, he seemed to consider this possibility.

Itâ€™s astounding to me that a protagonist who embarks on a long spiritual journey is only considered interesting while sheâ€™s sucking someoneâ€™s cock. I canâ€™t wait to see what Hollywood adds to a film of Helen Kellerâ€™s life story. Perhaps theyâ€™ll try to imply that her blindness was brought on by syphilis, the deserved precipitant of an infancy filled with immorality and depravity. Surely you know how promiscuous babies raised in the South can be.

Regardless, itâ€™s safe to say that the ending of the film is still very much in question. At this point, Iâ€™d settle for my character to merely not end up with some rich douchebag, to coin Wilâ€™s term of endearment. I mean, what personal progress is there in that?

Speaking of Wil, Iâ€™m concerned about her, based on your updates from Julian. Iâ€™ll try to get in touch with her before she slurs (or urinates) herself right out of the best job sheâ€™s ever had. But I find that Broadway actresses are a difficult species to get hold of, especially the ones who spend a good deal of time unconscious in random places. This habit makes them much less inclined to answer the phone.

I know it may not seem like it, but Wil really does want to be a success. I think she battles self-doubt more than she would ever admit and, worse, that self-doubt wins a hell of a lot of the time. Should you hear anything else, or actually see her, please let me know how sheâ€™s doing.

Congratulations on getting that third set. Iâ€™d love to take credit for it, but all I did was talk to the manager and tell him how fabulous you were. Youâ€™re the one who actually went through all the effort of being fabulousâ€”much more difficult in my mind than just talking about it.

Keep me posted on what happens with the Kasbah. But remember that youâ€™ve got â€œit,â€ doll, that special something that sets you apart. You have a face like an angel and a singing voice that could give a jellyfish a hard-on. I canâ€™t imagine thereâ€™s anyone out there who wouldnâ€™t be able to see and appreciate that fact.

Lord knows Iâ€™ve been missing both your face and your voice, and all the delicate goods stowed below them. I have to confess that I think about you a great deal as well. And while I canâ€™t really say that trepidation and confusion were even remotely what I hoped to conjure in you, it warms me no end to know that thousands of miles away, you may be looking into the same night sky that I am, wishing just as much that we were in the same place.

Iâ€™d love to take this opportunity to continue fawning over you, Moxie, to tell you how absolutely amazing and beautiful I think you are, but I worry that Iâ€™ll just exacerbate your anxiety and perhaps drive you away. Do know that as much as you enjoy getting my letters, yours evoked the same feelings in me, and it cheered me at a particularly low ebb. It was more helpful than you know.

Iâ€™m not sure when Iâ€™ll get back to New York, but at this point I hope itâ€™s soon. With at least two more weeks of shooting, I already feel as though Iâ€™ve been here for ages. All I know for certain is that I canâ€™t leave until filming concludes, so I just try to make no mistakes in the hope that will move things along quicker.

Clitty misses you (and so does the dog).*

Thinking of you fondly,

Vi

*I simply couldnâ€™t let you be the only one to use that joke, and I must admit that I laughed so hard when I read it in your letter that I very nearly spotted. Consider the above usage to be just a humble homage to yours.

Moxie laughed and brought the stationery to her nose, inhaling deeply. She wasnâ€™t sure what the paper smelled like exactly, but it contained a faint trace of something floral.

When Irene suddenly walked into the apartment, Moxie self-consciously jerked the letter away from her face and tried to look nonchalant.

â€œWhat are you doing?â€

â€œNothing,â€ Moxie answered quickly. â€œJust reading.â€

Irene cocked an eyebrow. â€œDid you get another letter?â€

â€œI did.â€

Irene scurried eagerly to the sofa to sit beside her. â€œOoh, letâ€™s see.â€

â€œItâ€™s kind of personal.â€

â€œPersonal? Are you kidding?â€ Irene looked more surprised than hurt.

â€œWell, itâ€™s just that I wrote herâ€”â€

â€œYou did?â€

â€œAnd this is her reply.â€

â€œMoxie, what gives? Are you and this dame getting serious?â€

â€œNoâ€¦maybe. Oh, I donâ€™t know!â€ She ran her hand through her hair in frustration. â€œIrene, I donâ€™t know whatâ€™s going on, except that I love talking to her and struggling to keep up with her breakneck quips. Sheâ€™s fun and smart, and I really like the way she makes me feel.â€

Irene whistled a long, descending tone. â€œYouâ€™re a real mess, sister. You know what you need?â€

â€œA manicure?â€ She glanced at her fingernails.

â€œClose. You need a man.â€

Moxie scoffed. â€œWhat are you talking about?â€

â€œLook, if youâ€™re really worried about how you feel and which path you might be taking, then you should walk down both roads before you decide, right?â€

â€œIâ€™m worried where your road may lead me, Irene. Perhaps into the woods at night.â€

â€œAw, applesauce,â€ Irene said with a dismissive wave of her hand. â€œBefore you decide that men arenâ€™t your cup of tea, you need to suck on the teabag a little.â€

â€œYou use the most disturbing metaphors.â€

â€œWell, you get my meaning. Look, Iâ€™ve got a fella whoâ€™s perfect for you.â€

Moxie rolled her eyes and groaned. â€œHere we go.â€

â€œHeâ€™s a friend of Tom,â€ she said, referring to the gangly man she sometimes went out with. â€œWe could double-date, if you like. It doesnâ€™t get any safer than that.â€

â€œIâ€™ll think about it. But first I need a pen and paper.â€

Chapter Six

Moxie sat at the table with her chin in her hand, pushing the food on her plate around idly with her fork as the man across from her, her date for the night, continued to drone on. She glanced back up to him politely, feigning interest, before she looked over at Irene, who clearly was avoiding looking her in the eye.

She wasnâ€™t sure how she had let Irene convince her that this double date was a good idea. She had insisted that Tomâ€™s friend Noel was a wonderful match for Moxie, that he was a smart, engaging gentleman. Now she was starting to realize that Irene based her definition of a gentleman solely on where he peed. If Noel had to choose a public restroom, he was more likely to visit the one that read Gentlemen than the one marked Ladies.

She glanced back at him.

â€œAnd so I told him no dice,â€ he was saying as she started paying attention again. He laughed awkwardly.

â€œThen what happened?â€ Moxie asked.

â€œWhat do you mean?â€

â€œAfter that, once you said no, what did he do?â€

Noel seemed confused by this line of questioning. â€œUm, he walked away.â€

â€œOh. So that was the end of the story.â€

â€œWell, yes,â€ he stammered. â€œI must have told it wrong.â€ The scraping of utensils on plates punctuated the awkward silence among them. â€œSo, what is the name Moxie short for?â€

Moxie wondered if she had misheard him. â€œWhat?â€

â€œIâ€™m sure itâ€™s something exotic,â€ Noel said, cutting his meat with his knife and fork. â€œIs it something foreign?â€ He suddenly looked horrified. â€œYouâ€™re not foreign, are you?â€

â€œI sure am,â€ she said. â€œMy full name is Sharamoxatolia.â€ She made sure to trill her tongue as much as possible.

â€œGoodness! Where are you from?â€ Noel was plainly stricken by the notion that Moxie might hail from some barbaric locale beyond the States, and she found it telling that he made no attempt to hide his rampant prejudice. If Violet had been there, she would have mocked him mercilessly for his jaundiced eye.

â€œIstanbul.â€ Moxie lacked both the will and the desire to stop making him uncomfortable. Who else might he find threatening in a foreign sort of way? It came to her in a flash. â€œJust like Theda Bara.â€ She watched excitedly as his face registered the dismay she had hoped for at the mere mention of the famous film star known as â€œThe Vamp.â€ Just a few years prior, Hollywood moguls had labored to ensure that Bara represented everything they thought was wrong with Eastern countries, and clearly Noel had been paying attention.

â€œWow,â€ Noel said. â€œDo you know her?â€

Irene looked disgusted. â€œI thought Theda Bara was from Cincinnati.â€ She looked to Tom, who, as usual, said absolutely nothing.

Moxie ignored Ireneâ€™s contribution to the conversation. â€œOf course I know her. Our parents were friends. Theda showed me how to fry cats.â€

Noelâ€™s face seemed to drain completely of its already pale color. Moxie could barely keep a straight face.

â€œAnd she was why I got a bone in my nose,â€ she added, taking a sip of water. â€œAll the neighborhood girls wanted to be like her.â€

â€œThey do that in Istanbul?â€

â€œNoel,â€ Irene finally interjected, â€œjump on the trolley and stop being so gullible.â€

He looked at Moxie suspiciously. â€œOh, I get it. You never had a bone in your nose at all, did you?â€

She put her hands up in surrender. â€œYou got me. We didnâ€™t pierce our noses, but every summer solstice, we did sacrifice a goat to Kreplik, the god of thunder.â€

â€œExcuse us, fellas.â€ Irene stood suddenly. â€œMiss Turkish Delight and I need to powder our noses. Weâ€™ll be right back.â€

The intense focus in Ireneâ€™s glare impressed Moxie, who rose to follow her toward the ladiesâ€™ room. Just before they went inside, Irene spun to face her and unloaded. â€œWhat are you doing? Youâ€™re toying with Noel like a cat with a mouse. This is not what we agreed to.â€

Moxie had reached her breaking point. â€œYeah yeah yeah, â€˜sampling the tea.â€™ Well, let me tell you something, sister. This guyâ€™s teabag tastes like ashes and ass crack, and Iâ€™m sending it right back to the kitchen.â€

â€œYouâ€™re not giving him a chance.â€

â€œAre you kidding me? If I wasnâ€™t giving him a chance, I wouldnâ€™t have listened to his sixty tedious stories, not one of them with a beginning or end. I would have gone home after he implied that all women in show business are whores. And I most certainly would not have pretended not to be livid when he told me that I had no right to mourn my fatherâ€™s passing because Jesus knows best and the Lord is my daddy now. Iâ€™ve given this man more of a chance than he will ever deserve over the course of his lifetime. I canâ€™t believe Iâ€™m wasting my night off with thisâ€¦this douchebag.â€ Vi was right. That really was the perfect word.

Irene seemed stunned, her anger defused. â€œOkay, so this particular tea is a little bitter. But just because you have one bad mouthful, donâ€™t throw out the teacup.â€

â€œBut I shouldnâ€™t have to keep slinging it back either.â€ Feeling empowered, Moxie stood up straight. â€œIâ€™m leaving.â€

â€œWait, you canâ€™t just leave us all here at the restaurant. What will Tom and I say to Noel?â€

â€œTell him I donâ€™t feel well and need to go home. Itâ€™s all true.â€

â€œBut we didnâ€™t even get to dessert.â€

â€œYou know, there are a million things Iâ€™d rather be doing than sitting here trying to force something that doesnâ€™t feel right. I appreciate you trying to help me get my head straight, Irene, but this isnâ€™t making anything better.â€ She smiled and kissed her on the cheek. â€œIâ€™ll see you at home.â€

Moxie walked out without even a backward glance.

â€œShit,â€ Irene muttered. Moxie was right about Noel. He certainly was irritating and dull. But she had hoped Moxie simply needed to get back on the horse, so to speakâ€”back out into the dating worldâ€”and that might end this troubling obsession with a strange woman living on the other side of the world.

She shook her head and tried to imagine what it would be like to meet someone and, in the course of a single evening, be so powerfully drawn to them that she completely lost her marbles. That had certainly never happened to her, but she wasnâ€™t convinced that it couldnâ€™t. And as much as she was worried about Moxie and concerned about her choices, she couldnâ€™t help but feel a small sense of wonder at the sheer romanticism of her situation.

Of course Moxie and Violet would probably never see each other again. Things never happened like that, at least not to anyone she knew. She just needed to be there for Moxie. Maybe Noel was a complete washout, but New York was a big place and must have a fella or two who could make Moxie feel the way Violet did.

Irene might have been a lot of things, but one of her good adjectives was devoted. Sheâ€™d try to make sure Moxie worked through all this. And sheâ€™d do her best to ensure that Moxie received all the consideration, respect, and class she was due.

She clapped her hands and turned to go tell Tom and Noel that Moxieâ€™s period had come unexpectedly; sheâ€™d just bled through the ass of her dress and had therefore gone home.

*

Home from the studio earlier than she expected, Violet walked eagerly to the front desk, wondering what Lyle might be doingâ€”perhaps conspicuously sporting a dildo that protruded from his forehead as though he were a plump sex unicorn. She was thoroughly disappointed to see him doing nothing of the sort and wearing a well-pressed suit jacket and tie.

â€œGood afternoon, Miss London.â€

â€œHello, Captain. I was wondering if I got any mail today.â€

â€œActually, you did.â€ He turned and poked through a small stack of papers, retrieving a letter in a familiar-looking envelope. â€œHere you are.â€

She verified the return address and was thrilled to see it was indeed from Moxie. Not wanting to waste any time, she walked to the divan in the front office and got comfortable, then tore open the envelope impatiently.

Vi,

I received your latest letter today, and I have to say it was a wonderfully welcome distraction from talking to my agent, Cotton. He has finally managed to get the manager of the Kasbah to agree to see one of my sets next Saturday night, but I somehow have to come up with a dress that makes me look like I donâ€™t need a gig at the Kasbahâ€”a predicament that strikes me as nothing short of ironic.

At any rate, wish me luck that not only can I find something absolutely breathtaking to wear for about a nickel, but that I also donâ€™t fall on my face when the music starts. I almost wish I didnâ€™t know he was coming. And the fact that I have over a week to stew on it is making me a nervous wreck.

Your description of the place where youâ€™re staying was absolutely hilarious. It made me wish I was there to see the nature, the morbid employee with the menstruation fetish, as well as, of course, you.

My roommate Irene is, at this very moment, lecturing me that Iâ€™m letting myself get too drawn into your â€œdark, Sapphic charmsâ€ and that I should be more interested in finding a nice fella whoâ€™ll want to treat me to dinner. She insists she has the perfect man for me, but itâ€™s hard to take Ireneâ€™s counsel after having met her beau, Tom. Iâ€™ve seen him many times and he has yet to do or say anything that would imply that he has even a spark of a personality. I think she likes Tom for letting her always be the center of attention, almost as much as she likes having someone to take her out places and pay. But I canâ€™t imagine that they have much to talk about, just as I am unable to understand what would possibly make her willing to have him touch her. I mean, if Tomâ€™s kisses are as exciting as he is, she must worry about nodding off while theyâ€™re necking, though politeness forbids me from asking her that question. However, if she continues haranguing me, that may change.

Iâ€™m sorry to hear of your difficulty finding someone in Hollywood who isnâ€™t more interested in salacious titillation than telling a story that could be considered inspirational. I was inclined to send someone out your way who could show the corrupt studios what it was to have principles and conviction, someone who could bring some sincerity and ethics to that town, but then I remembered that Iâ€™m in New York City, and thereâ€™s no one like that here either.

That being said, at the risk of contradicting myself, I so want to see the movie about the woman who has a generous heart of gold by day, but by night has copious indiscriminate sex with a parade of random hobos. Youâ€™ve definitely piqued my interest, and I think you may have been holding out with that particular gem. Who wouldnâ€™t be instantly drawn into the humanity of a story like that? This gal sure is.

I did notice that your last missive had some small pockets of sentiment that were both sweet and plaintive, and those seem to be the parts that I keep rereading for some reason. If those are your dark, Sapphic charms that Iâ€™ve heard so much about recently, then perhaps they are dangerous. If nothing else, the words certainly steal my breath, and I find myself wanting to believe them, yet wanting not to at the same time.

Of course, there are the other parts of your letter that go beyond sweet, past flirtatious, and dive right into bawdy. And yes, I reread those passages too. I may not know entirely what I want, but Iâ€™m no fool, for Godâ€™s sake. Iâ€™ve never had anyone say those kinds of things to me before, and if youâ€™re worried theyâ€™re driving me away, then this prompt reply to you should confirm thatâ€™s not the case.

It wholly puzzles me that I can feel like I miss you when Iâ€™ve really spent only a matter of hours in your company. But many times over these past few weeks Iâ€™ve wished that I could meet you for drinks, though perhaps coffee would be safer. And I imagine that if you hadnâ€™t already shared that you are, in many ways, feeling the same, I would likely have questioned my sanity.

After all, I donâ€™t have a lot of ties with people. I have no living family members, no lengthy friendships or suitors. Itâ€™s completely beyond my nature to trust easily and even more so to put credence in something like chemistry or kismet. I therefore remain bewildered and doubtful, though less so, I find, with each successive note from you.

So Iâ€™ll take this opportunity to cynically ask that you please not view me as some type of grand sociological experiment or, still worse, as a challenge to be conquered. If you are ever not utterly certain of your words, please donâ€™t write them. Though I have never known you to show me anything but the utmost regard, I simply need you to understand that whatever this is that weâ€™re sharing, itâ€™s more to me than a trifle.

Well, Iâ€™ve gone and gotten serious, which was the last thing I intended when I sat down to pen this letter. I do hope that things are going well for you and that your film finishes both soon and to your liking.

Iâ€™m looking at the night sky and thinking of you,

Moxie

Violet stopped reading and stared at the floor. Moxie had chosen to be remarkably candid, even though she had probably a thousand reasons not to be. As a result, Violetâ€™s pulse beat loudly through her body like a tympani.

â€œHey, Captain,â€ she finally said to Lyle. â€œI need to make a long-distance phone call.â€

She smiled wryly when he came around the desk and she saw that he wasnâ€™t wearing pants.

Chapter Seven

It was still what Moxie considered to be early in the day when Mrs. Bennington pounded on her apartment door. Within a moment, both Moxie and Irene had thrown on their robes and anxiously darted to answer it and see what was wrong.

â€œMrs. B.â€ Irene yawned. â€œIs anything wrong? What time is it?â€

â€œItâ€™s ten a.m.,â€ she answered gruffly. â€œAnd thereâ€™s a colored lady downstairs who says sheâ€™s your tailor, Moxie. Says she has some dresses to bring you. But I wanted to check first, â€™cause something about her donâ€™t seem right.â€

Moxie tried to blink away the sleep so she could process this odd situation. Perhaps Cotton had come through for her after all. â€œThis must be for Saturday night,â€ she said. â€œPlease have her come up, Mrs. Bennington.â€

The landlady was clearly still not completely at ease with this course of action, but she snorted in acceptance and shuffled back to the staircase.

â€œYou have a tailor?â€ Irene asked, shutting the door.

â€œI knew Cotton was being purposely obtuse.â€ She hastily changed out of her nightgown and threw on undergarments and a light frock that sheâ€™d be able to easily slip in and out of, if she should need to try things on for size.

When another knock came, Moxie nearly ripped the door off its hinges in her excitement. In the doorway stood Lady Dulce La Boeuf, in glorious drag, holding at least half a dozen evening gowns on wooden hangers.

â€œSweet meat!â€ she said, immediately hugging Lady Dulce tight.

â€œHiya, doll face.â€ He seemed just as happy to see her as she was to see him and rubbed her back with his free hand.

Irene reappeared newly dressed and seemed completely flabbergasted by the sight in her entryway. She appeared ill at ease with their visitor, and her gaze darted skittishly back and forth between Lady Dulceâ€™s face, large hands, and still larger feet. â€œWow.â€

â€œWhat are you doing here?â€ Moxie asked cheerfully, ushering her guest inside.

Lady Dulce looked coy. â€œI got a call last night from someone who said you had something special going on Saturday night that you need to look absolutely divine for. And as we all know, divine is right up my alley.â€

Moxie tried to suppress her smile but assumed she was failing. Why had she even considered this was Cottonâ€™s doing? This was a wonderful, thoughtful surpriseâ€”not his style at all. No, this little endowment absolutely screamed of Violet.

â€œUm, hello,â€ Irene mumbled meekly, still looking baffled.

â€œWhere are my manners?â€ Moxie asked. â€œIrene Cavendish, my roommate, confidante, and general nag, this is Lady Dulce La Boeuf, chanteuse extraordinaire and master of part-time femininity.â€

â€œEnchanted,â€ Lady Dulce said with a coquettish tilt of the head.

â€œDitto,â€ was all Irene managed in response.

â€œSo youâ€™re up early.â€ Moxie took the gowns and hung them on the door trim. â€œHow about I make us all some coffee?â€

â€œDoll, Iâ€™m not up early, Iâ€™m up late. So a cup of joe would be great, thanks. This is a cute little place you have.â€

â€œThank you. Have a seat while I start the percolator.â€

Both Lady Dulce and Irene sat in the front room as Moxie busied herself in the small kitchenette.

â€œSo, how do you two know each other?â€ Irene finally asked.

â€œTwo-finger Flossieâ€™s.â€

Moxie chuckled as she eavesdropped on them, realizing that Lady Dulceâ€™s answer only begged more questions. An even longer silence ensued.

â€œShe only has two fingers?â€ Irene finally asked, just as Moxie rejoined them.

â€œThatâ€™s what I thought when I first heard of her,â€ she said. â€œYouâ€™d probably be happier not knowing the real answer.â€

Irene looked out blankly, seeming to consider this option. Suddenly her face registered complete shock. â€œOhh,â€ she murmured.

â€œI appreciate you stopping by,â€ Moxie said. â€œEspecially since you havenâ€™t even been home yet.â€

â€œI thought about going home, but being here in this outfit made more sense. If a skinny colored man showed up here with dresses for you, they probably wouldnâ€™t let me up.â€

â€œAnd for future reference,â€ Moxie asked, â€œwhat name does he go by?â€

â€œMilton,â€ he said flatly. â€œFrankly, heâ€™s a little boring, which is why itâ€™s so much more interesting to be Lady Dulce.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure Iâ€™d like Milton just as much,â€ she said, putting her hand on his and looking at him with affection.

For an instant, he appeared touched, then somehow uncomfortable. â€œYes, well, while that coffeeâ€™s brewing, let me show you what I brought you.â€ He stood and went back to where the gowns hung. â€œI had a bit of a challenge finding something your size. As you can see, Iâ€™m a bit moreâ€¦statuesque.â€

Moxie laughed and gestured toward her breasts. â€œTrue, but Iâ€™ve got these to help keep a dress up.â€

Lady Dulce paused dramatically. â€œYouâ€™re a little bitchy when you first get up, arenâ€™t you?â€

Irene huffed. â€œTrust me, itâ€™s not just when she first gets up.â€

*

When Saturday finally arrived, Moxie was still nervous, but she had to admit that with the shimmering ice blue dress on loan from the lovely Lady Dulce, she felt like a million bucks.

She did her best to perform as though it was any other day and no one in particular was in the audience. It pleased her when Lady Dulceâ€™s male persona (aka Milton) slipped in and took a seat at Julianâ€™s table during her final set. She had begged him to come, since he was so instrumental in helping her get prepared. He had been noncommittal, but she gave the doorman a heads-up to expect him, just in case.

As far as her performance, it had gone very well. The audience picked up on the energy in the air and was more attentive than normal, speaking less during her vocals and supplying plentiful applause.

When she finished, she was overwhelmed with relief that she had nothing to be nervous about any longer. She scanned the crowd, generally pleased at both the enthusiastic response and the fact that some of her friends had come to cheer her on, something she was not accustomed to.

The only thing amiss was Violetâ€™s absence, and though Moxie tried to push that thought aside, not wanting to sour the sweet taste of the moment, she felt it was wrong that she wasnâ€™t there. Violet was the one person whom she really wanted to share this moment with and wanted to make proud.

â€œMoxie,â€ Cotton said, breaking into her thoughts. â€œIâ€™d like you to meet Theodore Brown, manager of the Kasbah.â€ He extended his hand to lead her from the stage and to their table. â€œTheodore was very impressed with your singing.â€

Theodore Brown was younger than Moxie expected, and while he was a bit swarthier than she had pictured him to be, he was attractive. Unfortunately his expression didnâ€™t convey the kind of admiration for her that Cotton had just verbalized. In fact, he looked as though he smelled bad cabbage. â€œNice to meet you,â€ she said unsurely.

â€œYes,â€ he replied briefly, his countenance impassive.

â€œExcuse me,â€ a man in a gray pinstriped suit interjected. He extended a business card to her that read:

EDWARDS PHELPS

TALENT SCOUT PINNACLE PICTURES

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

â€œUm, hello,â€ Moxie said, unable to contain her surprise. She handed it to Cotton, whose eyebrows arched.

â€œIâ€™d like to talk to you, young lady,â€ Phelps said. â€œI think Pinnacle might be able to make you a very attractive deal.â€

â€œThen youâ€™ll want to talk to me,â€ Cotton said quickly. â€œIâ€™m her agent.â€

Theodore cleared his throat in a very affected way, no doubt to remind everyone that he was still standing there. Cotton seemed to regard him in a slightly different way now and patted his back dismissively. â€œYes, it was good to see you, Theodore. Weâ€™ll catch up later.â€ When Theodore did not immediately leave, Cotton extended their contact further by actually shoving him away.

Phelps looked amused. â€œWhy donâ€™t you both step over to my table so we can talk?â€

*

The next day, Moxie was still elated. As she folded her clothes, she hummed a cheery tune.

â€œHey, Moxie,â€ someone called from outside her door.

She poked her head out to look into the hallway and saw a resident from a second-floor apartment. â€œHi.â€

â€œTelephoneâ€™s for you.â€

Like most apartment buildings, Moxieâ€™s had a single telephone that everyone shared. Theirs was in the parlor downstairs, and she energetically headed down the four flights of stairs.

She picked up the candlestick base and held the receiver to her ear. â€œHello?â€

â€œHey, tomato. I hear you knocked them on their asses last night.â€

The familiar voice made Moxieâ€™s stomach lurch, and she instantly sat in the armchair behind her. â€œVi?â€

â€œYes, itâ€™s nice to hear your voice again.â€

Moxie was ill equipped to handle Violetâ€™s provocative tone, and she closed her eyes for a moment to help her focus. â€œYours too. Last night went really well. It seems Iâ€™m forever owing you for something or other.â€

â€œYou donâ€™t owe me a thing, toots. All I did was make sure your talents were suitably showcased.â€

â€œOh, they were showcased, all right,â€ Moxie replied with a sultry chuckle. â€œYou definitely would have approved of my dress.â€

â€œHmmâ€¦I wasnâ€™t talking about those talents, but while weâ€™re on that subject, what did your dress look like?â€

â€œIce blue, beaded, low-cut, thigh-high slit up the side.â€

Violet gasped at her stark description, which pleased Moxie. She was brazenly flirting with Violet, but it made her feel so damn sexy, she just couldnâ€™t resist. After all, she and this woman had already made love, she kept telling herself. Her aptitude for affecting Violet both empowered and excited her.

â€œShall I assume that you approve?â€ she asked seductively.

â€œSo very, very much,â€ Violet answered hoarsely. â€œMy spies tell me you got an offer from Pinnacle.â€

â€œYeah, about that. Itâ€™s a remarkable coincidence that the night I planned to be all dolled up and singing my heart out, a scout from your studio just happened to be in the audience.â€

â€œI had less to do with that than you might think. I heard one of the joes on the set talking about casting a singer for a small role in a new picture. They wanted someone with a fresh face and gams from here to there and back again, and I immediately thought of you.â€

â€œAnd did he pick Saturday night on purpose? Or was that just chance?â€

Violetâ€™s voice took on a sheepish quality. â€œWell, it seemed like a good time for them to stop by, and I figured if he didnâ€™t think you were right for the part, he could just quietly leave and youâ€™d never know the difference. Youâ€™d have someone else in the audience who might make you an offer. But clearly that wasnâ€™t the case. You obviously bowled him over as much as I expected you to.â€

â€œI guess so,â€ she said, unable to hide her glee. â€œThey want me to travel to Hollywood for a screen test. I leave in a week.â€

â€œCongratulations. I canâ€™t think of anyone who deserves it more.â€

â€œThanks, Iâ€™m a little nervous,â€ she whispered. â€œTraveling all the way to California and then performing for studio executives.â€

â€œYouâ€™ll be great.â€

â€œWhen are you coming back to New York, anyway? You wonâ€™t be arriving just as Iâ€™ll be leaving, will you?â€

â€œIâ€™ll wait for you,â€ Violet said softly, and the words gave Moxie a sudden chill.

â€œReally?â€

â€œI wouldnâ€™t want you to be out here all alone. You can stay here at the Garden of Allahâ€¦with me.â€ Moxie suddenly couldnâ€™t swallow. â€œProvided thatâ€™s what you want,â€ Violet added.

Moxie recognized the familiar anxiety fluttering through her gut that she had been dealing with on and off for the last month. â€œWell, it would be nice to spend some time with you.â€

â€œ Manhattan Rhapsody should be done filming in a few days, so I can show you around town.â€

â€œWe can see the sights?â€

â€œAbsolutely.â€

â€œLike what?â€

â€œIâ€™m sure there are some things. Iâ€™ve spent most of my time either at the studio or at the Garden.â€

Moxie laughed. â€œAnd the city hasnâ€™t asked you to do any tourism radio spots yet?â€

â€œHmm, it is odd that I havenâ€™t heard back from them, now that you mention it. And the Temperance Union isnâ€™t returning my calls either.â€

â€œPerhaps for the same reason. That would be like making you the national spokeswoman for penises.â€ A woman who lived on the fifth floor, sitting within earshot, suddenly looked at Moxie in horror. â€œWhat?â€ she asked her confrontationally. The woman turned away, but still looked disturbed.

â€œSpeaking of penises,â€ Violet was saying.

â€œWhat an unexpected way for you to start a sentence.â€

â€œI donâ€™t like it any better than you do, but your last letter said your roommate was trying to set you up with a fella.â€

Moxie winced. â€œAh, yeah.â€

â€œI couldnâ€™t help but wonder if she convinced you.â€

â€œShe did. It didnâ€™t go well.â€

â€œOh? Care to share the details?â€ Violet sounded interested, but Moxie couldnâ€™t read anything else into her question.

â€œHe was a sap through and through, and I couldnâ€™t stand his company one more minute, so I actually left the three of them at the restaurant and came home.â€

â€œThat is particularly bad if you didnâ€™t even make it through the meal. I suppose next time you could always try Wilâ€™s method and feign death.â€

â€œIâ€™d prefer there not be a next time.â€

â€œIf you want to get technical, so do I.â€

Moxie grinned. â€œIs that so?â€

â€œIâ€™d be lying if I told you it didnâ€™t bother me.â€

â€œI suppose youâ€™re leading a monastic existence out there amidst all the movie stars and beautiful dames?â€

â€œActually, I am.â€

â€œNo young ingÃ©nues to educate?â€ Moxie asked playfully. â€œNo sun-kissed breasts to fondle?â€

The woman from the fifth floor was staring again. â€œWhat?â€ she barked.

â€œNot a one.â€

â€œIâ€™m shocked.â€

â€œI know, I know. But see, Iâ€™ve met this incredible woman back in New York who has me completely dizzy. I canâ€™t concentrate on anything but her.â€

Moxieâ€™s pulse started to race, but she couldnâ€™t resist seeing where this conversation would go. â€œDo tell.â€

â€œSheâ€™s gorgeous, with a voice so sultry that when she speaks, I melt like butter. Sheâ€™s all I think about.â€

â€œAnd what kind of thoughts are you having?â€

â€œAbout how her dark eyes sparkle when she finds something funny, and the sexy way her lips move when she sings.â€

â€œViâ€”â€

â€œHer wonderful sense of humor, her silky blond hair, and how her perfume smells like bergamot. How her mouth tastes sweet, like cherry brandy. And God, the way she kisses. Sheâ€™s an exceptional kiâ€”â€

â€œMy, but you have been deep in thought, havenâ€™t you?â€

â€œMore than you know.â€ Violetâ€™s voice had become so deep and tinged with arousal that it threatened to seep through the phone and be Moxieâ€™s undoing.

â€œNo wonder you canâ€™t concentrate.â€ Her voice cracked. â€œYou must be taking thirty cold showers a day.â€

â€œIt is somewhat debilitating. So you have no such distractions? You donâ€™t think of me at all?â€

â€œI wouldnâ€™t say that.â€

â€œSo what would you say, Moxie? Do you ever imagine me touching you?â€

Her mouth was suddenly parched and somewhat numb. â€œYes.â€

â€œAnd do you sometimes think about touching me?â€

â€œYes.â€ Moxieâ€™s answer was barely a whisper.

â€œWhat about me tasting you?â€

â€œOh, God, yes.â€ The bitch from the fifth floor glared at her again. â€œDo you mind?â€ she implored in irritation as she put the phone to her chest to muffle her voice.

â€œThatâ€™s nice to hear,â€ Violet said softly. â€œIâ€™m relieved Iâ€™m not the only one whoâ€™s sexually frustrated.â€

â€œWell, I was just fine before you called. So itâ€™s clearly all your doing.â€

Violet laughed. â€œAnd I was fine before I met you, so I have to disagree. But I challenge you to try and prove your case.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure youâ€™d like that.â€

â€œThat I canâ€™t deny. But as much as Iâ€™d love to sit here and continue to listen to your voice become more and more seductive, I have to meet a couple of friends for a round of golf.â€

â€œYou play golf?â€

â€œNot well, but Iâ€™ve tried a time or two, yes. I find itâ€™s even better when I take my hip flask.â€

â€œYou might say that about just about anything.â€

â€œVery true.â€

â€œIâ€™m glad you called,â€ Moxie said sincerely. â€œIâ€™ve missed talking to you.â€

â€œThatâ€™s very mutual. When I see you, I owe you a bottle of champagne to celebrate your success.â€

â€œHmm, it seems to me thatâ€™s how all this got started.â€

â€œWe can celebrate that too.â€

Moxie cleared her throat. â€œIâ€™m planning on staying sober, just so you know.â€

â€œThatâ€™s admirable,â€ Violet said, her amusement audible. â€œItâ€™s important to have goals.â€

â€œHave a good golf game.â€

â€œAnd you have a nice trip out West.â€

â€œIâ€™ll write when I have my itinerary, but Cotton says Iâ€™ll probably leave next weekend sometime. Will you meet me at the station?â€

â€œIâ€™d meet you anywhere, doll.â€

Moxie felt jittery again. â€œThanks.â€

â€œAnd feel free to wear that dress from last night the day you arrive.â€

â€œIâ€™ll think about it.â€

â€œSo will I, sugar. Thatâ€™s part of the problem.â€

â€œIâ€™ll see you soon. And thanks again.â€

â€œYouâ€™re welcome.â€

â€œBye, Vi.â€

â€œBye.â€

Moxie hung the receiver up and sighed deeply. The whore from the fifth floor was finally gone. Pity she hadnâ€™t left before all the steamy talk.

She fanned herself for a moment with her hand. The effect Violet had on her was inexplicable. And while she was impatiently looking forward to seeing her again, the notion of being alone with her in a bungalow with a bottle of champagne absolutely petrified her.

Chapter Eight

â€œAnd thatâ€™s when I told him to pipe down and kiss my ass,â€ Irene said, a trace of the bitterness still in her voice.

Moxie whistled a descending tone in surprise as she wrestled with her false eyelashes in the mirror. â€œJumping cats, sister. How long did he suspend you for?â€

â€œA week. I guess Iâ€™ll be living on rainwater and dust until then.â€

â€œNext time, try to think of that before you crack wise to the boss.â€

Irene looked disgusted. â€œIt would be a hell of a lot easier if he wasnâ€™t such aâ€”â€

â€œDouchebag?â€ Moxie suggested helpfully, watching Irene in the reflection.

â€œExactly! Cold, unpleasant, and intrusiveâ€”thatâ€™s him to a T.â€

â€œIâ€™ll make sure I pass along to Vi and Wil that you heartily approve of their term. Though Iâ€™m proud to say that I met the original douchebag. The others are just pale imitations.â€

Ireneâ€™s expression changed slightly. â€œWhatâ€™s your plan when you get to Hollywood? Are you going toâ€¦lookâ€¦herâ€¦ up ?â€ The intent of her inflection was obvious.

â€œSheâ€™s picking me up at the station.â€

â€œWow, you didnâ€™t waste any time, did you? So are you twoâ€¦?â€

Moxie sighed and faced her. â€œIâ€™ve asked myself that question about six thousand times, and the best that I can tell is, I donâ€™t know the answer.â€

â€œWell, what do you want? You must know that.â€

Moxie paused to consider Ireneâ€™s question. â€œI want things not to be so complicated. I want to be able to meet someone and then actually spend time together to determine if theyâ€™re the one for me or not. I want to not question my sanity when I feel a spark of attraction for someone.â€ She paused again before she continued with more conviction. â€œI want to remember any sexual encounters I haveâ€”fondly, I might add. To not spend my time trying to imagine what naughty thing got done and to whom. To make up my mind between either trying to control my body and its reactions or just giving in and letting whatever this is overtake me. Mostly, I want to keep feeling the way she makes me feel.â€

Irene scowled. â€œWhy, when you speak from the heart, is it some poetic monologue, and when I do it, I get suspended from work for a week?â€

â€œWhat am I ready for? Perhaps thatâ€™s the more important question I need to answer.â€

â€œOoh, good one. So?â€ Irene got comfortable on the sofa as though preparing for an engrossing ghost story.

â€œIâ€™m not sure. She affects me. Just hearing her voice over the phone the other day made me a total wreck. I feel like I have to see her again, if nothing more than to see if this is real or not.â€

â€œAnd what if it is? Real, I mean?â€

Moxie shrugged. â€œI havenâ€™t worked all that through yet.â€ She turned back around to apply her eye shadow. â€œMaybe I need a chaperone, so things donâ€™t end up like they did last time.â€

â€œWell, Iâ€™m free for the next week.â€

â€œWould you really want to go?â€

â€œTo Hollywood? Are you daffy? You bet your ass I would! Just give me twelve seconds to pack.â€

â€œI donâ€™t have the jack for your train ticket, but if I did, Iâ€™d definitely be dragging you with me in the morning.â€ Irene looked dejected. â€œBut why donâ€™t you come with me tonight to the Luna? I can at least pull that off.â€

â€œYeah?â€

â€œSure. Itâ€™ll cheer you up. Iâ€™ll even buy you a drink.â€

â€œYou sound like a movie star already. What should I order?â€

â€œHmm, do you like licorice?â€

*

Wil sat in her small apartment, taking long drags from her cigarette and staring at the red neon sign outside her window as it perpetually flashed â€œvacancy.â€ How could anything be so monumentally and constantly vacant? She snapped back to reality long enough to realize that she had not been listening to the radio program that was playing, and she contemplated standing and crossing the room to turn the goddamned thing off, but that seemed like so much trouble when she could just keep ignoring it.

A knock at the door made her rethink the effort of rising. â€œWho is it?â€

â€œYour fairy godmother, child,â€ a muffled female voice said.

â€œJulian?â€ She walked to the door and opened it, surprised to see Violet leaning in the door frame, her arms crossed and her terrier at her feet. â€œWhere the fuck did you come from?â€ Wil blurted, looking out into the hallway to see if anyone else was waiting there to surprise herâ€”perhaps her dead grandmother.

Violet seemed amused. â€œWell, my parents like to tell a story involving a stork, but personally Iâ€™m dubious.â€

â€œNo, I mean I thought you were in California. Did they kick you out?â€

â€œOf the entire state? Based on the Californians Iâ€™ve met so far, I canâ€™t fathom what Iâ€™d have to do to make that happen. Thanks,â€ she said, pushing her way into the unkempt apartment. â€œIâ€™d love to come in. Good God, Wil, is the maid buried in here somewhere?â€

â€œIs that what that scratching sound was?â€ Wil shut the door after Clitty pranced inside behind his master.

â€œThis must be what they mean when they say good help is hard to find. Check under that pile of shit in the corner.â€

â€œHave a seat,â€ Wil said in resignation. She watched as Violet tried to find a piece of furniture not covered with rumpled garments, papers, or piles of trash.

â€œWhat guarantee do I have that thereâ€™s really a chair under there?â€

â€œIs my personal deep-seated suspicion good enough?â€

â€œHas it ever been?â€ Violet unceremoniously shoved a heap of junk from the armchair onto the floor, then sat. â€œIâ€™d like to ask how youâ€™re doing, but my keen sense of intuition has answered that for me.â€

Wil grunted in response.

â€œYou spending the evening alone?â€

â€œJust me, Amos nâ€™ Andy.â€

Violetâ€™s expression softened. â€œWhat happened to Scandals and Lies ?â€

Wil took a deep breath to steady herself. â€œThat asshole director recast it.â€

â€œWhy?â€

She drew in the last bit of blaze from the remains of her cigarette, exhaled through her nose, then stubbed the butt out brutally in the ashtray to her left. â€œI fucked it all up.â€

â€œHow do you mean?â€

â€œI mean I balled up everything, but good.â€ She was frustrated and more than a little embarrassed. â€œI spent so much time blotto that I couldnâ€™t remember my lines. And after getting shown the door there, I canâ€™t get an audition anywhere else in town.â€

â€œSo youâ€™re in a bind, huh?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know what Iâ€™m going to do, Vi.â€ She ran her fingers through her hair.

â€œI do.â€

â€œWhat do you mean?â€

â€œLook here, sister. Youâ€™re Wil Skoog, one of the best goddamned actresses I know. Youâ€™re not going to let this get you down.â€

â€œIâ€™m not?â€

â€œAbsolutely not. Youâ€™re going to take this personal setback and learn from it.â€

â€œI hate learning.â€

Violetâ€™s eyelids dropped slightly. â€œWhich is why youâ€™re living in this life-size anus with just a radio for company. Surely you must see the correlation.â€

â€œCan you please get to the point? Youâ€™re cutting into the time I set aside to wallow in self-pity.â€

â€œLook, Wil, Iâ€™m here to make you an offer.â€

â€œWhat kind of offer?â€

Violet removed a train ticket from her handbag. â€œThis is a ticket for you to leave with me on the morning train to Chicago, then on to Hollywood.â€

Wil was stunnedâ€”unable, for possibly the first time in her conscious life, to speak.

â€œBut hereâ€™s what I need from you,â€ Violet continued. â€œYou need to pull yourself back together. If you come with me to Los Angeles, youâ€™re coming to act, not to see what your bodyâ€™s saturation point for cocaine and gin is. You need to remember how talented you are.â€

â€œYouâ€™re taking me back with you?â€ she finally whispered, feeling more emotional than she could remember being when it wasnâ€™t written into stage directions.

â€œYup, youâ€™re stuck with me, toots.â€

â€œYou already knew about the play?â€

â€œI talked to Julian, yes. Heâ€™s very worried about you.â€

â€œIâ€™ve been such a dope. I canâ€™t tell you how much I appreciate this, Vi.â€

â€œGood. Now get packed. When youâ€™re done, weâ€™re heading to the Luna. Thereâ€™s a certain blonde there I mean to surprise.â€

*

Irene sat at a table near the stage while she waited for Moxieâ€™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 couldnâ€™t he do the same for her?

â€œDo you know any movie stars?â€ she asked, trying for what felt like the hundredth time to start a conversation with him.

â€œI havenâ€™t done much in the film industry,â€ he said. â€œPersonally, I think itâ€™s on its way out.â€

â€œYeah?â€

â€œCome on, now, movies with sound?â€ Cotton scoffed as he lit his cigar. â€œJust a flash in the pan. Itâ€™s only a matter of time before America tires of film and goes back to its true love, vaudeville.â€

Irene furrowed her brow as she considered this possibility. â€œGee, I sure hope not,â€ 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.

â€œNah,â€ she muttered aloud. â€œIt couldnâ€™t be.â€

*

â€œVi, you made it after all.â€ Julian rose to kiss her cheek. â€œAnd you brought a creature of the night.â€

â€œYes, on both counts,â€ Violet replied. â€œThanks for getting me Moxieâ€™s itinerary.â€

â€œIt was simple, darling. She canâ€™t shut up for a second about this trip. By the way, Violet, this is Gary.â€

â€œNice to meet you.â€ She extended her hand.

â€œWhat can I get you?â€ a waiter asked.

â€œWhereâ€™s Fred?â€ Wil questioned. â€œIâ€™d like to see his perfect little ass. Can that be arranged?â€

The waiter looked uncomfortable. â€œFredâ€™s off this evening, maâ€™am.â€

â€œWell, then, letâ€™s see your ass. Spin for me, darling.â€

Violet smiled, feeling encouraged by the return of Wilâ€™s playfulness, then completely amused when the lad did hesitantly turn around, his arms stretched out awkwardly.

â€œSplendid,â€ Wil said. â€œYouâ€™ll more than do. Whatâ€™s your name?â€

â€œUmâ€¦Ira.â€

â€œHow wonderfully Jewish. Tell me, are you circumcised, Ira?â€

Violet intervened, marveling at how quickly playful inevitably seemed to cross the boundary to inappropriate. â€œIra, might you bring us a bottle of champagne and four glasses?â€

He nodded and darted away.

â€œCelebrating?â€ Gary asked.

â€œI hope to be soon,â€ Violet replied. â€œYou boys donâ€™t mind drinking champagne with us, do you?â€

They both shook their heads. â€œGood God, Vi,â€ Julian said over the rim of his rickey. â€œYou look absolutely tanned. How the hell did that happen?â€

â€œPass out naked by the pool just once, and this is what you get.â€

â€œThat sounds absolutely decadent.â€ His voice was tinged with titillation.

â€œIf only it were true.â€

â€œDamn,â€ Julian murmured.

â€œThe truth is they have a fat load of sun there, and it bakes you like a soufflÃ©. Thereâ€™s no escaping it, even at night.â€

â€œThat sounds horrible.â€ Julian shook his head.

â€œItâ€™s not as bad as all that. California is bright, clean, and unspoiled.â€

â€œSo itâ€™s the exact opposite of Wil,â€ he added, unable to stanch getting his amusement at her expense.

â€œMy, my,â€ Wil said, eyeing Julian warily. â€œYouâ€™ve been such a busy bee, Jules. Providing itineraries and reporting to everyone on my state of well-being.â€

His amusement vanished. â€œDo you intend to tell me that youâ€™d rather be back in that ratâ€™s nest, living on potted meat and Chesterfields, than here with us, planning a trip to Hollywood?â€

â€œWell, if by with us, you mean with you, then I might have to consider that option for a moment.â€

â€œCome on, Wil. Youâ€™re not really upset, are you?â€ he asked.

â€œI would have appreciated you talking to me first. Instead of having Vi travel a million miles on a camelâ€™s back.â€

His expression softened. â€œDarling, accept that sometimes talking to you is neither appealing nor productive.â€

â€œThank you, you fat-assed queen.â€

â€œYouâ€™re welcome, you insufferable cunt.â€

Violet glanced at Gary, whose mouth was hanging open and who seemed completely bewildered by this strange amalgam of thoughtfulness and abuse. â€œSo touching,â€ she said. â€œIf one of you strikes the other, I may not be able to suppress my tears.â€

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, Violetâ€™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,

Iâ€™ll never know.

My reservations dissolve

For wanting you so.

When your hand brushes mine,

My pulse gets to racing,

Like Iâ€™ve had too much wine,

Iâ€™m dizzy and aching.

How you melt my resolve,

Iâ€™ll never know.

My reservations dissolve

For wanting you so.

When the music stopped, the place broke into enthusiastic applause, though Violet found herself somewhat catatonic.

â€œViolet.â€ Julian strained to be heard over the crowd. â€œYou look like a wolf ready to devour a sleeping lamb.â€

â€œIs it wet in here, or is it just me?â€ She saw no empathy from anyone at the table. â€œI really need to start socializing with someone whoâ€™s attracted to women. When did the champagne arrive?â€

â€œRight after your jaw hit the floor, darling,â€ Wil said, pouring Violet a glass.

â€œSheâ€™s absolutely gorgeous, Wil.â€ She took a sip.

â€œIâ€™ve heard this number before, sisterâ€”in this very place. So do what you need to do to get her out of your system.â€

â€œIâ€™m not sure I can get her out of my system, but I canâ€™t think of anything Iâ€™d rather do than try.â€

*

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 brunetteâ€™s lap was a terrier and not a fuzzy handbag?

When the redhead slapped the waiterâ€™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 â€œBut Not for Me.â€

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 Violetâ€™s presence, she felt different performing for herâ€”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 wasnâ€™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 wasnâ€™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.

Moxieâ€™s roommateâ€”what was her name?â€”was standing and clapping vigorously as well. â€œWasnâ€™t she great?â€ she shouted toward him. He nodded in response, but didnâ€™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.

â€œWhereâ€™s she going?â€ he asked no one in particular, standing now for no reason and feeling quite foolish.

â€œOh, wow,â€ the roommate said.

â€œWow, what?â€

â€œI guess that is her at that tableâ€”Violet London, I mean. The Hollywood actress.â€

This wasnâ€™t making any sense. â€œWho is?â€

â€œAt that table back there. The one with the dark hair. Sheâ€™s been writing Moxie from Hollywood.â€

â€œSo thatâ€™s the friend out West?â€

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. â€œWhere did they meet?â€

â€œHere, I think.â€ She was eyeing their reunion closely for some reason. Something didnâ€™t feel right.

â€œSay, whatâ€™s the deal with this doll, anyway?â€

The irritation in his voice must have startled her, because she suddenly snapped her head back nervously. â€œI dunno. Itâ€™s not like theyâ€™re having sex or anything.â€ 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.

â€œWhat the hell are you gabbing about?â€ he barked.

â€œI mean, how could they have sex?â€ she stammered, then laughed awkwardly. â€œWhat would they do, right?â€

Her discomfort and her veiled attempt at muddying the waters set off all kinds of warning bells in Cottonâ€™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 couldnâ€™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 Violetâ€™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 couldnâ€™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.

â€œHi,â€ Moxie rasped, the beginning h sound seeming interminable. She internally cursed just how far from smart and sassy she had deviated.

â€œHey there,â€ Violet replied, her voice brimming with sensuality. â€œYou were amazing.â€

The compliment, and perhaps the way it was delivered, meant more to Moxie than she anticipated. â€œThanks.â€ She nodded amiably to the others seated around the table. â€œVi, what are you doing here?â€

Violet smiled. â€œEveryone keeps asking me that. But I think I know the answer.â€ She placed her index finger to her lower lip in mock contemplation. â€œIs it because the concept of my not being here is illogical?â€

â€œHow did you know I wasnâ€™t on my way already? My itinerary must have arrived long after you left.â€

â€œA magic fairy told me.â€

Wil turned to Julian. â€œYouâ€™re magic now?â€

The corners of his mustache shifted upward slightly. â€œDid I forget to mention that?â€

â€œSo I guess youâ€™re not picking me up at the station,â€ Moxie said.

â€œEven better,â€ Violet replied. â€œNow Wil and I can just ride the train west with you.â€

â€œWilâ€™s coming?â€

Wil looked only slightly offended. â€œIâ€™ll do my best not to embarrass you, darling.â€

Violet turned to Wil. â€œWhatever you do, try not to shit in the dining car. They really take issue with that.â€

Wil scowled. â€œShould I be writing all this down?â€

â€œSo,â€ Moxie said slowly, â€œwhen things get dull, just pack up the carnival and take it along with you?â€

â€œPerhaps I had other, ulterior motives.â€ Violetâ€™s eyebrows twitched twice suggestively.

â€œOh? Like what?â€

Violet abruptly changed the subject. â€œDid I mention that your opening number, your whole show really, was quiteâ€”â€

â€œProvocative?â€ Julian suggested.

â€œArousing?â€ Wil proposed.

Gary decided to give it a try. â€œJazzy?â€

Everyone turned to him quizzically.

â€œJules,â€ Wil asked, â€œwhere did you find this guy, the Salvation Army?â€

â€œItâ€™s closer to the salivation army, darling,â€ he answered smugly. â€œYou should stop by sometime and pick up a saliva soldier for yourself.â€

Moxie was anxious to bring the conversation back to where it had been a moment ago. â€œSo, the song, the show, you were sayingâ€”â€

â€œIt was very, very sexy.â€ Violetâ€™s words were little more than a throaty whisper.

Moxie was pleased at that observation, and her face was radiating heat for some reason. â€œNoticed that, did you?â€

Violet took a small step toward her, so they were dangerously close. â€œI did. Every bit of me noticed.â€

â€œIs that so?â€ She felt an unfamiliar mixture of excitement and fear. Looking into Violetâ€™s eyes, she saw what she could only interpret as intense desire.

â€œCan I buy you a drink?â€

â€œI might be amenable to that,â€ Moxie said as she pulled up a chair at the table. â€œBut only one this time.â€

Wil frowned. â€œYou sadden me, darling. I saw such potential in you.â€

â€œWell, the last time we all went out, things kind of got away from me.â€

â€œWe refer to that phenomenon as vespers,â€ Julian explained.

Wil poured a glass of champagne for Moxie. â€œMostly because itâ€™s punctuated by lying prostrate at the toilet and periodically calling out to the Lord.â€

Moxie took a sip, enjoying its effervescence. â€œOh, well, perhaps I wasnâ€™t as bad off as I thought I was.â€

Violet covered Moxieâ€™s hand with her own. â€œItâ€™s very good to see you.â€

The intimate contact between them was unsettling, yet thrilling, and Moxie turned her hand over to caress Violetâ€™s palm with her own. â€œIâ€™ve been thinking about our phone conversation.â€

â€œSo have I.â€ Violetâ€™s index finger slowly traversed the valley between Moxieâ€™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.

â€œShit.â€ Her attraction had overpowered her.

Violet seemed to be studying Moxieâ€™s response closely. â€œDo you have any plans tonight?â€

â€œSorry to interrupt, but Miss Valette needs to cut this evening short.â€

Moxie looked up to see Cotton standing at the table, and she jerked her hand away from Violetâ€™s reflexively. â€œI do?â€

He looked at her sternly. â€œYes, itâ€™s getting late.â€

â€œEveryone, this is my agent, Cotton McCann. Cotton, this isâ€”â€

â€œYes. Enchanted.â€ His disinterest was evident. He pulled her to her feet. â€œBut we really must be going, since we have such an early departure tomorrow morning.â€

â€œWe?â€ Moxie asked suspiciously.

â€œYes, Iâ€™ll be joining you, and so will Ida.â€

â€œYou mean Irene?â€

â€œThe one Iâ€™ve been sitting with. Whoever she is.â€

Moxie was confused. â€œWhen did you decide this?â€

Cotton stared at Violet in what appeared to be a silent challenge. â€œRecently. Itâ€™s best for you to be surrounded by people who are looking out for your best interest.â€

Wil polished off her drink. â€œJust a liâ€™l tip from me to you, mister. I hear you should avoid shitting in the dining car.â€ She winked at him.

He seemed disgusted, but Moxie wasnâ€™t sure if it was what Wil said or how she said it that generated his disdain. â€œGo get changed, Moxie.â€

When Violet looked to Moxie to gauge her response, Moxie discreetly motioned back toward the stage. This either meant that Violet should venture backstage to meet her or that she had a neck disorder. Violet dropped her chin to show understanding.

â€œOkay, thanks again for coming out, everyone,â€ Moxie said before departing.

Violet studied this man, this Cotton McCann. She tried to suppress her anger, but that had never been her forte.

He was still trying to stare her down for some reason. â€œYouâ€™ll find Iâ€™m very protective of my clients, Miss London.â€

It interested her that he knew her name without first being introduced. â€œThatâ€™s an admirable quality, unlike pomposity or antagonism, which are decidedly less so.â€

His eyes narrowed. â€œYou look like one of those Hollywood deviant types to me.â€

â€œLooks can be so deceiving,â€ she replied with a calm that belied her emotions.

â€œYeah?â€

â€œAbsolutely, because you look like a fat, manipulative, bombastic chiseler, but Iâ€™m sure you simply make a terrible first impression.â€

Wil beamed. â€œI love it when she gets like this.â€

â€œI can see why,â€ Julian replied. â€œEven I want to fuck her right now.â€

A muscle in Cottonâ€™s cheek began to spasm. â€œLook here, you cheap piece of Christmas trashâ€”â€

â€œNo, Mr. McCann, stop right there.â€ Violet had now officially reached her breaking point. â€œI donâ€™t know who you think you are or how you cultivated such an asinine and misguided sense of entitlement. You think you can just pull out your dick and swing it around like a hammerâ€”â€

â€œNice metaphor,â€ Julian interjected.

â€œâ€”and everyone will kowtow. But this Violet isnâ€™t shrinking, if you get me, not by a long shot. So go flex your muscle for some meek tomato whoâ€™s too enraptured by the promise of stardom to care that you are a complete ballsack. And when youâ€™re done with all that, jump up my ass.â€

A look of incredulity washed over Cottonâ€™s face, no doubt exacerbated by Wil, Julian, and Gary all spontaneously breaking into applause.

â€œThanks,â€ Violet mumbled, picking up her dog. â€œNow, if my adoring public will excuse me, I need to take Clitty to the little terrierâ€™s room.â€

She walked off, headed toward the restrooms, and, feeling fairly certain that no one was looking, she ducked back toward the dressing rooms. There seemed to be only two rooms dedicated to the entertainment staff. One was empty, and the other had the door closed. Feeling lucky, she set Clitty down on the floor and knocked.

Before she even had a chance to pull her hand back completely, the door flew open to reveal Moxie, wearing a blue silk peignoirâ€”implying to Violet that underneath, the dress was gone and who knew what she had on now. Moxie smiled and tugged her into the room by the hand. As Clitty followed, she checked the hallway suspiciously before shutting the door and locking it.

â€œExpecting G-men?â€ Violet asked.

â€œNo, but I wasnâ€™t expecting you either, and look what happened.â€ Moxie boldly closed the distance between them.

â€œIâ€™m like a bad penny.â€ Violet tentatively reclaimed Moxieâ€™s hand. â€œWhere were we?â€

Moxieâ€™s tone took on a more seductive quality. â€œLetâ€™s see. You had told me how sexy I was.â€

â€œI had, yes.â€ Violet moved closer, and now their faces were only inches apart. â€œAnd you were saying youâ€™d been thinking about that day we talked on the phone.â€

â€œYou were very naughty.â€

â€œYou seem to bring that out in me.â€

â€œWhy is that exactly?â€

â€œBecause I want you so much.â€

â€œOh, baby.â€ Moxieâ€™s words were nearly a whisper, but they were all the invitation Violet needed, and she leaned forward and kissed her.

What started as gentle and hesitant rapidly became urgent and all-consuming. Moxieâ€™s right hand moved to the nape of Violetâ€™s neck, while the other one slid around her waist. Their tongues moved against each other as Violet reached beneath the blue silk, praying to God that Moxie really was naked under there. Almost as tantalizing, Moxie had stripped down to her underwear, and Violetâ€™s finger brushed the satin of a stray garter belt.

When Moxie moaned, Violet thought she would explode from the sexual energy coursing through her. â€œGod, you smell so good.â€

â€œTwilight Moon,â€ Moxie murmured, her mouth beside Violetâ€™s ear. â€œMy perfume. You said that you liked it.â€

â€œKnow what else I like?â€ She nibbled on Moxieâ€™s neck, and the sound of her ragged breathing told her that the enjoyment was mutual. Emboldened, she brushed her thumb over Moxieâ€™s breast lightly through her brassiere and the nipple stiffened instantly.

â€œMmm. I love how you touch me.â€

â€œI havenâ€™t even started yet.â€ Violet kissed her again, consumed with hunger.

A loud knock startled them both, and they separated.

â€œMoxie? Itâ€™s me, Cotton. Can I come in?â€

Moxie looked panic-stricken. â€œUmâ€¦just a moment.â€ She readjusted her dressing gown, glanced in the mirror, and wiped off her smeared lipstick with her thumb.

Clitty, on the other hand, was completely confounded by the disembodied voice behind the door and pawed at it before letting out a staccato yip.

â€œWhat was that?â€ Cotton asked.

Clitty yipped again.

Violet bent down and picked him up to silence him.

â€œHiccups,â€ Moxie called, wincing immediately at such a horrible lie.

â€œCan I come in yet? I need to talk to you.â€

Moxie put her finger to her lips silently, then slipped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.

â€œWhy are you out here not completely dressed? Letâ€™s go back in the dressing room, for Godâ€™s sake.â€

â€œYou donâ€™t want to go in there. Iâ€™d hate for you to see what the other girls have done. Itâ€™s a real mess. Lots ofâ€¦period things everywhere.â€

â€œOh.â€ He appeared repulsed. â€œLook, I think Iâ€™ve gotten rid of that London woman for the evening.â€

â€œYou have?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know what youâ€™re thinking, falling in with a group of queers and boozehounds, but luckily for you, I was here to step in. You have a career to think of, after all.â€

â€œI realize that, butâ€”â€

â€œDonâ€™t ruin it before it even gets started. You were fantastic tonight. Better than Iâ€™ve ever seen you. Youâ€™re on your way up. Eileen saidâ€”â€

â€œIrene.â€

â€œâ€”she thought that woman might even be on the train tomorrow.â€

â€œShe might.â€

â€œWhich is exactly why weâ€™re coming along too. You need to focus on your screen test and think about your future. Now finish changing and meet me out front. I told Irisâ€”â€

â€œIrene.â€

â€œâ€”that Iâ€™d take you both home.â€

She blew her bangs out of her eyes while she considered this predicament. â€œAnd if I asked you not to go to any trouble?â€

â€œI saw how that woman was pawing you. If I left you here, I wouldnâ€™t get a bit of sleep tonight.â€

â€œNeither would I,â€ she muttered in frustration.

â€œExactly. Iâ€™ll see you out front. And get a wiggle on.â€

She watched him walk away and tried to collect herself. â€œShit.â€ She took a deep breath and reentered the dressing room, where Violet sat, her dog in her lap and her chin in her hand. â€œDid you hear any of that?â€

â€œNot really. Something about periods and boozehounds. The rest was a bit muffled.â€

â€œJust as well.â€

Violet stood and deposited Clitty in the chair. â€œWhy, oh why, is your agent such a bastard?â€ She let her hands rest on Moxieâ€™s hips as she kissed her throat.

â€œHe thinks heâ€™s looking out for me.â€

Violet continued tasting her neck and earlobe. â€œMore like looking out for his vested interest in you.â€

â€œMmmâ€¦what?â€

â€œI said come back to my hotel with me.â€

Moxieâ€™s head was spinning and her groin was tightening. She had never felt this kind of raw desire before, and it was debilitating. â€œI canâ€™t.â€

â€œWhy not?â€

â€œCottonâ€™s driving Irene and me home. Heâ€™s waiting for me outside now.â€

Violetâ€™s tongue probed Moxieâ€™s ear, and her whispered reply gave Moxie chills that vibrated throughout her body. â€œIâ€™ll send a taxi to your place to get you after he drops you off. Heâ€™ll never know.â€

She struggled to form words. â€œExcept heâ€™s also picking me up in the morning to take me to the train. God, your tongue is soâ€¦mmm.â€

â€œThis tongue can be yours for the rest of the night, and it takes requests.â€

Moxie tried to snap out of the erotic fog that was wrapping around her and clouding her mind. â€œThatâ€™s a very attractive offer, to be sure. But I canâ€™t tonight.â€

â€œMoxieâ€”â€

â€œShh.â€ She traced Violetâ€™s lips lightly with her fingers. â€œThings are moving a little fast for me. In the last half hour Iâ€™ve discovered that you traveled across the country and were in the audience without telling me, that my agent doesnâ€™t approve of you or anyone you know, that both he and my roommate are now coming along on my train trip to Hollywoodâ€”but only to keep me from youâ€”and, most importantly, how very much I love your mouth. Thatâ€™s quite a bit for me to absorb, wouldnâ€™t you say?â€

Violet nodded slowly.

â€œThen give me tonight to work through everything, okay? We have the next three days together and, after that, however long Iâ€™m in Hollywood.â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry. I didnâ€™t mean to make you crazy.â€

â€œYou canâ€™t help it,â€ Moxie joked. â€œItâ€™s just something you do.â€

â€œI guess Iâ€™ll go, then, and see you in the morning.â€ She kissed Moxie once more, this time softly and reverently. â€œGood night.â€

Before Moxie could catch her breath and even consider replying, Violet and her dog were gone.

She sat down and rubbed her forehead with the heel of her palm as she pondered the unexpected turns the evening had taken. As right as being with Violet felt, she couldnâ€™t shake the fear that there was some truth to what Cotton had told her. He was an opportunist of epic proportions, that was certain. But he had also pulled her out of obscurity in that lousy Nebraska dive and pointed her toward success.

Maybe she did need to focus on her future and her career first.

But holy crap, Violet got her so hot. When she was with her, she couldnâ€™t think about anything but the surging waves of arousal that Violet evoked, and how wet and tingly she felt. She wanted her so badly that she was amazed she had the resolve to send her away. Or was it fear?

She started to change her clothes, all the while wondering what the hell she would do when morning came.

Chapter Ten

â€œAll right,â€ Cotton said authoritatively. â€œIâ€™m going to go get tickets for Ivyâ€”â€

â€œIrene,â€ Moxie and Irene said in unison.

â€œâ€”and me. Donâ€™t go anywhere. Donâ€™t talk to anyone. Just wait here until I get back. Got me?â€

Moxie rolled her eyes, nodded, then took in all the activity in the bustling concourse of Grand Central Terminal. Even though she had been in New York City over seven months, the grandeur of the architecture and the size of the crowds awed her as much as they had the day she arrived.

She casually scanned the crowds for a glimpse of Violet. â€œI canâ€™t believe you sold me out,â€ she muttered to Irene. â€œComing along on this trip so you can spy on me for my agent.â€

â€œIâ€™m not spying. Mr. McCann says he only wants whatâ€™s best for you. And just last night, you said you didnâ€™t know what you wanted.â€

Moxie winced. Irene had a point. â€œIt would be nice to be treated like an adult able to make her own decisions and not like some fat girl who canâ€™t be left alone in a sweet shop because she might fondle all the fondant.â€ She wiggled her fingers.

Irene cocked an eyebrow. â€œWell, perhaps you would be treated like someone who could make her own decisions, if youâ€™d make one.â€

â€œLook, this is a little more complicated than deciding which shoes go with which bag.â€

â€œAre you the shoes or the bag?â€

Moxie glared in response until a tap on her shoulder prompted her to turn.

â€œHey, tomato,â€ Violet said with a grin.

Moxie felt her face light up. â€œHey, yourself. I was worried you wouldnâ€™t make it.â€

â€œI had a little problem getting Lady Chatterley here up and dressed this morning.â€ She motioned to a very weary-looking Wil. â€œIt seems she and a certain waiter had an illicit encounter last night that has made her a little, shall we say, sleep-deprived.â€

â€œA waiter from the Luna?â€ Moxie asked conspiratorially. â€œWhich one?â€

â€œThe circumcised one,â€ Wil replied. â€œAnd let me go on record by saying that he has completely reformed my perception of Judaism.â€

â€œSo he made you see Moses?â€ Violet asked.

â€œThat may very well be what happened, though we may have broken a commandment or two.â€

â€œWell, if it was only two, thatâ€™s a slow night for you, sister,â€ Violet said.

â€œHoly cats.â€ Ireneâ€™s shock was evident.

â€œOh, sorry. Wil, Violet, this is my roommate Irene.â€

â€œYouâ€™re the spy?â€ Wil blurted.

â€œIâ€™m not spying! Iâ€™m just here to helpâ€¦and to get a free trip to Hollywood.â€ She looked at Wil and Violet. â€œIâ€™m really not a bad person.â€ Her attention moved to the floor, where a little brown dog sat staring up at her attentively. â€œIs this Clitty?â€

â€œHis reputation precedes him, apparently,â€ Violet said. Irene knelt down to pet him, and Violet took the opportunity to share a smoldering look with Moxie. â€œYou look lovely.â€

â€œThanks. You look hungry.â€

The left corner of Violetâ€™s mouth rose slightly, but her gaze stayed smoldering. â€œYes, I was just imagining warm, moist flapjacks.â€

Moxie surged with heat from this provocative playfulness. â€œThe kind that are sticky and sweet?â€

â€œDefinitely that kind. So messy you have to lick your fingers when youâ€™re done.â€

Wil groaned. â€œGood Lord, all this pancake talk is making me horny. Can you two just fuck and get it over with?â€

â€œHotchy botchy!â€ Irene stood up quickly.

â€œWhatâ€™s all this?â€ Cotton said, returning to the group with a sneer. â€œI thought I said not to talk to anyone.â€

â€œWil and Violet arenâ€™t just anyone, â€ Moxie replied in irritation.

â€œYes,â€ he snapped. â€œTheyâ€™re, in fact, the ones I wanted you to avoid.â€

â€œButâ€”â€

â€œCome on.â€ He pulled her toward the train by her forearm. â€œThis is precisely why Iâ€™m here. Letâ€™s board now.â€

Moxie turned and looked at Violet apologetically as she was briskly led away.

â€œHey, wait for me,â€ Irene called. â€œIt was nice meeting you,â€ she said awkwardly as she hurried after them.

â€œWow,â€ Violet said as she watched them board the train.

â€œYou know what that was?â€ Wil asked.

â€œWhat?â€

â€œDouchebaggery, of the highest degree.â€

â€œI would have to agree.â€

â€œIt looks like you might have to work a little for this one, sister.â€

â€œHmm, and you might have to help me.â€ She picked up her dog.

â€œWell, I do owe you. And you know I canâ€™t tolerate douchebags.â€

â€œYou canâ€™t cotton to Cotton?â€

â€œCount me in, doll.â€

Violet smiled. â€œI was hoping youâ€™d say that.â€

*

Moxie was chagrined, though not at all surprised, that Cotton had made sure she and Irene were sharing a double bedroom. She had surmised that Irene would be her constant chaperone.

Nonetheless, the way she was being treated still bothered her. Sure, Cotton kept droning on about what was best for her career and how sheâ€™d thank him later. But she was still reconciling the astounding effect that Violetâ€™s presence had on her and the novelty of this kind of powerful desire. It was rather comical that after years of singing songs about passion and longing, she had never felt what she had been crooning about, until now.

What had she felt with her old beaus? It didnâ€™t remotely compare to this. Back then, she found it harder to say yes to them than no. She had to really concentrate to rebuff Violetâ€™s advances and then almost immediately experienced a series of regrets that oscillated between hunger and misgiving.

She dutifully spent the first couple of hours of the trip in the communal drawing room that all four bedrooms in her railroad car shared. But after she realized she had read the same page of her book about sixteen times and still didnâ€™t have a damn clue what it said, she sighed and stood.

â€œWhat?â€ Irene asked.

â€œIâ€™m just jittery. I need to go for a walk.â€

â€œOh, no, you donâ€™t. Mr. McCann said weâ€™re supposed to stay here.â€

Moxie put her hands on her hips. â€œWhat did he promise you?â€

â€œHuh?â€

â€œDonâ€™t play dumb with me, girlie. What did Cotton offer you so youâ€™d stick to me like glue?â€

Ireneâ€™s face fell. â€œHe said heâ€™d get me a screen test when we got to Hollywood if I kept you and Violet apart.â€ The words spilled out as though the confession was a relief.

â€œAnd you believed him?â€

Suddenly something slid under the door.

â€œWhatâ€™s that?â€ Irene picked up the envelope. â€œItâ€™s for you.â€

â€œIs that from Violet?â€

â€œNo.â€ She flipped it over and read the name on the back. â€œItâ€™s from someone named Fanny Hertz.â€ She handed it over to Moxie, who was laughing. â€œWhatâ€™s so damned funny? Whoâ€™s Fanny Hertz?â€

â€œMine does.â€ She tore the missive open and slid out the folded paper inside.

Darling,

I realize that youâ€™re sequestered, but I miss your company terribly. Could you possibly slip away? Iâ€™m in bedroom 8, and Wil is next door at 7, but Iâ€™ll be getting a bite in the dining car soon.

Come by to see me, or meet me for lunch. Your choice.

Vi

â€œWhat does it say?â€ Irene asked.

â€œNothing.â€ Moxie folded the note back up and slipped it under the neckline of her dress. â€œJust welcoming me aboard. But Iâ€™m getting hungry. Letâ€™s change and head over to the dining car in a bit.â€

*

When Irene and Moxie arrived at the dining car, it was apparent that idea had occurred to many of the other passengers as well.

â€œWow, itâ€™s packed in here,â€ Irene said.

â€œThereâ€™s Vi. Letâ€™s sit with her.â€ She pulled Irene across the car.

â€œAre you sure itâ€™s food youâ€™re hungry for?â€

â€œViolet,â€ Moxie said in feigned surprise. â€œWhat a coincidence. Is it okay if we sit with you?â€

Violet looked up calmly from her newspaper, a copy of the New York World-Telegram. â€œCertainly, ladies,â€ she replied, almost in disinterest. â€œAh, the crossword puzzle.â€

As Moxie took the seat next to Violet, she was surprised and a little disappointed by Violetâ€™s cool response. She tried not to frown as she watched Violet borrow a pen from a waiter. â€œWhereâ€™s Wil?â€

â€œSleeping,â€ Violet answered as she started the puzzle.

â€œRecovering from last night still?â€ Irene took a seat across from them.

â€œGetting ready for tonight. Thereâ€™s a whole trainload of men she hasnâ€™t slept with yet, and Wil has very lofty goals.â€

â€œSheâ€™s like a machine,â€ Irene said, with a tinge of awe in her voice.

Violet looked at her in amusement. â€œShe isâ€”a well-oiled, foul-mouthed, gin-swilling, dick-licking machine.â€

â€œGod bless her.â€ Moxie touched her water goblet to Violetâ€™s glass.

â€œAnd God bless Tiny Tim,â€ Violet toasted back, taking a drink.

Moxie coughed into her water. â€œIs Wil sleeping with him too?â€

â€œTo some, itâ€™s a crutch,â€ Violet teased. â€œTo Wil, itâ€™s a dildo.â€

The waiter took that very inopportune time to return to the table, but if he overheard the conversation, his expression didnâ€™t show it. â€œCan I get you ladies anything?â€

â€œIâ€™d like a cup of coffee,â€ Irene said.

â€œTea, please,â€ Moxie added.

â€œAnd you, miss? Would you care for another lemonade?â€

Violet nodded, though she grimaced slightly as the waiter departed.

â€œNot your first choice, huh?â€ Irene asked.

â€œLemonade wasnâ€™t even in my first hundred choices, no. But sometimes you just have to make do.â€

Moxie lowered her voice slightly. â€œYou and Wil didnâ€™t bring any libations with you?â€

â€œYou bet your ass we did, toots. But Iâ€™m saving them until I can really use them.â€

Cotton suddenly loomed over their table with a look of disapproval. â€œAh, here you are. I should have known.â€

â€œLike now, for instance,â€ Violet said matter-of-factly.

Cotton squinted at Violet. â€œMoxie, why is it that every time I turn my back, when I next see you, youâ€™re with thisâ€¦person?â€ He gestured dismissively toward her.

â€œThanks for acknowledging my species,â€ Violet said, her voice devoid of discernable emotion. â€œIt sounded like it challenged you.â€

Moxie huffed in annoyance. â€œAs you can see, Cotton, itâ€™s very crowded. Violet was nice enough to let us sit at her table.â€

Cotton pulled out the remaining chair across from Moxie and got comfortable. â€œWhereâ€™s the other floozy? The redhead?â€

Violet didnâ€™t look up from her crossword puzzle. â€œResting, but Iâ€™ll make sure I convey to her your regards. Sheâ€™ll no doubt be touched to be in your thoughts so fondly.â€

He sneered. â€œAw, applesauce.â€

Violet shifted to Moxie. â€œSay, are you any good at these?â€ She waggled the newspaper.

â€œCrossword puzzles? A little, I guess.â€

â€œThis oneâ€”five letters, goddess of love.â€ Violet paused for a moment and in the blocks wrote M-o-x-i-e.

â€œThat doesnâ€™t seem right,â€ Moxie said softly.

â€œI think it is, because from the i I get this.â€ She wrote I-w-a-n-t-y-o-u in 19 Down.

â€œAhâ€ was all Moxie could rasp out. â€œI see.â€

â€œWhat did you order?â€ Irene asked as she perused the menu.

â€œRoast beef. I recommend it.â€ Violet returned her attention to the puzzle. â€œSo, a twelve-letter word that means a nighttime activity.â€

â€œUh.â€ Moxie was too distracted to process the clue.

She watched Violet write M-y-m-o-u-t-h-o-n-y-o-u in 24 Across. â€œThere.â€

â€œYes!â€ Moxie blurted a little too quickly. She was relieved to see Cotton and Irene were still discussing lunch options. â€œThatâ€™s definitely it.â€

â€œHmm, eight lettersâ€”a honey-like substance.â€

Moxie pulled the pen seductively from her hand and scribbled y-o-u-r-l-i-p-s in the blocks.

â€œYou are good at this,â€ Violet said.

â€œI hate to interrupt your literary consortium,â€ Cotton said, â€œbut do you know what youâ€™re ordering yet, Moxie?â€

Violet ignored him, taking the pen back. â€œTwenty-nine Down. Nine letters, meaning ever-watchful.â€ She filled the blocks with d-o-u-c-h-e-b-a-g.

Moxie struggled not to laugh. â€œYes, Cotton. I do.â€ She nodded.

â€œGood,â€ Irene said. â€œBecause Iâ€™m hungry.â€

Moxie reclaimed the pen and wrote S-o-a-m-I in 36 Down before handing it back.

Violet completed 42 Across with T-e-l-l-m-e. She extended the writing implement as though daring Moxie to take it from her.

Moxie was feeling up to the challenge, and she filled the puzzle blocks with Y-o-u-m-a-k-e-m-e-a-c-h-e.

Violet tore the pen from her hand and scrawled â€œMeet me in bedroom 8â€ at the top of the puzzle.

She wrote â€œIâ€™ll tryâ€ beside it, prompting Violet to jot â€œTry very, very hardâ€ in a shaky script.

At that moment, Cotton sneezed.

â€œFuck you,â€ Violet said innocently.

â€œThankâ€¦â€ He caught himself in the midst of reflexively thanking her for a blessing. â€œNever mind.â€ He continued to glower, while Violet avoided his eye contact.

â€œSo,â€ Irene said awkwardly. â€œWhatâ€™s the news today?â€

â€œNot much different from yesterday, Iâ€™m afraid,â€ Violet replied. â€œPoverty is still crippling the vast majority of the population, and shockingly, President Hooverâ€™s sage policy of telling people to pull themselves up by their bootstraps somehow still isnâ€™t working.â€

â€œYouâ€™re blaming the president for the Depression?â€ Cotton asked, his voice laden with derision.

â€œNo, but I am blaming him for not doing a goddamn thing about it, while around him, people are starving.â€

He sighed. â€œThis is why women should never have been given the vote.â€

Moxie could feel it coming, and she inwardly braced for the gathering storm. â€œOh, shit,â€ she whispered, glancing nervously at Irene.

â€œBecause you prefer empty-headed, closed-mouthed little dishes who fetch your pipe, bake pies, and lie back and daydream of someone more attractive than youâ€”long enough for you to ejaculate into her orifice of choice? Does a woman who not only understands current events but has opinions about them really threaten you that much?â€

â€œMe? Threatened by a woman? Ha!â€

Her gaze narrowed. â€œThen why are you here, guarding Moxie like sheâ€™s made of gold bullion?â€

Cotton said nothing but looked livid as the waiter arrived with drinks and a plate of crusty bread.

â€œBread,â€ Irene proclaimed. â€œThank God.â€ When the waiter studied her strange response she added, â€œI really love bread.â€ She stuffed a small piece in her mouth as though to further illustrate her statement.

â€œYes, miss,â€ the waiter said coldly. â€œSir, may I get you a beverage?â€

Cottonâ€™s head was in his hands. â€œI suppose a gin would be out of the question,â€ he said weakly.

â€œThey amended the Constitution because of dirty boozehounds like you,â€ Violet snapped, waggling her finger at him. â€œWaiter, might I be moved to a different table, please? This man offends my delicate sensibilities.â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry, miss. I donâ€™t believe there is anywhere else for you to sit right now.â€

â€œI understand,â€ she said, touching the waiterâ€™s hand softly. â€œYouâ€™ve been very kind. Who would I speak to about having him removed from the train?â€

â€œHey,â€ Cotton shouted.

â€œThat would be the conductor, miss.â€

â€œThanks so much. If he continues to bother me, Iâ€™ll be sure to report him.â€

The waiter nodded and left the table hurriedly.

â€œWhat about my drink?â€ Cotton called after him. His attention snapped back to Violet. â€œLook here, bitch, that wasnâ€™t funny.â€

â€œIt wasnâ€™t meant to be,â€ she replied flatly. â€œIt was meant to demonstrate two things to you. First, just because youâ€™re a white man of means, youâ€™re not superior to anyone. I donâ€™t answer to you, and you donâ€™t control me. If I want you gone, I can make it happen. Secondly, I donâ€™t like you. And the more time I spend in your company, the stronger that feeling gets.â€

â€œI will not be spoken to in this manner,â€ he spat.

â€œYou will, and you just were. Try to remember just how shitty it feels the next time you do it to someone else.â€ Violet stood and picked up her dog from beneath the table. â€œLadies, Clitty and I would love to stay and continue discussing politics with you, but your lunch guest is a hinky bastard, something Clitty has very little tolerance for. Good day.â€

As Violet walked out of the dining car, Moxie was crestfallen. So much for spending time together.

â€œIf Iâ€™d known that was all it took to make her leave, Iâ€™d have beenâ€”what was it? hinky?â€”as soon as I sat down.â€ He looked smug.

â€œOh, you were,â€ Irene said, stirring her coffee. â€œTrust me.â€

â€œWhat is hinky, anyway?â€ he asked her.

â€œA shifty ass,â€ Moxie answered.

Cotton began to hum to himself.

*

When Wil finally stirred and ventured into her semi-private drawing room, it was well into the afternoon. Violet was slumped in a chair, dejected and bored.

â€œGood Lord, has some ecclesiastical militia invaded us?â€

Violet shifted her eyes left, studying her for a moment, but otherwise did not move.

â€œTsk, tsk.â€ Wil sat across from her and began to brush her hair. â€œIâ€™ll take a guess and say that things with Moxie have not progressed as you hoped.â€

â€œIf that means not one damn bit, then your guess is right on the money, doll.â€

â€œIs she waffling?â€

â€œNot that I can tell. Itâ€™s her entourage thatâ€™s gumming up the works. Theyâ€™re always with her.â€

Wil looked sympathetic. â€œAnd her agent seems to be a real rank piece of meat.â€

â€œI need to get them out of the way.â€

â€œDo you want to shove them off the train?â€

â€œI do, though obviously that canâ€™t be the plan.â€

â€œItâ€™s exciting, thoughâ€”planning to rub someone out. Makes me feel like Iâ€™m from Chicago.â€

Wilâ€™s elation bothered Violet. â€œLetâ€™s try and devise something slightly less lethal.â€

â€œWell, thereâ€™s always the old standby.â€

â€œYou mean fuck him?â€

â€œExactly! Iâ€™ll charm his cock right into my hand.â€

â€œHmm, Iâ€™m not sure you want that particular cock anywhere near you, Wil.â€

â€œWell, thatâ€™s why I said my hand and not anywhere, you know, good.â€

Violet chuckled. â€œI donâ€™t doubt your seductive prowess, but earlier he referred to you as the other floozy. He may not be as willing as your average joe.â€

â€œWhat? Goddamn it, Iâ€™m the floozy, and he better believe it.â€

â€œWell, you may be handicapped by your association with me, coupled with his abysmal personality.â€

Wil looked resolute. â€œMadam, I have yet to meet a heterosexual man who doesnâ€™t want a slice of this pie, if you get me.â€ She pointed to her genitals.

â€œOh, I get you, all right. Subtlety is not your strong suit. Would you like to wager?â€

â€œYou know I would.â€ Wil managed to look confident and promiscuous at the same time. â€œWhat are the stakes?â€

Violet considered the question. â€œHow about a night on the town?â€

â€œWhich consists of what?â€

â€œWinnerâ€™s choice,â€ she said with a grin.

â€œThat sounds very attractive. You have a bet, darling.â€

â€œWil, you donâ€™t know how much I want you to win.â€

â€œUntil you just proposed the stakes, I wanted you to win.â€

â€œCompletely understandable. He is, after all, a douchebag of the highest degree.â€

â€œVice-chancellor Douchebag,â€ Wil announced regally.

â€œIs that higher than Monsignor Douchebag?â€

â€œYes, but below Cardinal Douchebag.â€

â€œSo whatâ€™s the plan, sister? All this waiting is killing me.â€

*

Moxie flipped over three more cards and sighed. She wasnâ€™t even paying attention anymore, and how sad was that? What did it mean when you faked a game of solitaire, for Godâ€™s sake? â€œCâ€™mon, Irene. Iâ€™m dying in here. I just need a little walk.â€

â€œI know where you want to walk to. Nancy Drew has you all figured out.â€

â€œSo youâ€™re not bored at all?â€

â€œAre you fooling? Iâ€™m going out of my flipping skull. â€ She blew her bangs out of her eyes dramatically.

There was a knock from outside, and Moxie practically tripped as she leapt up to answer the door. Opening it revealed Violet and Wil.

â€œHi there,â€ Violet said smoothly, lounging against the doorjamb.

â€œHi,â€ Moxie whispered, her voice suddenly leaving her.

Wil pushed the door open farther with her foot. â€œWe thought it might be pleasant to pass the time with you three.â€ She glanced into the drawing room. â€œWhereâ€™s Prime Minister Douchebag?â€

â€œIn his compartment, one car back.â€ Moxie happily stepped aside to let her guests enter.

â€œHe has a bum stomach or something,â€ Irene answered. â€œApparently travel food bothers him.â€

â€œPity,â€ Wil said insincerely as she reached deep into her cleavage to retrieve a silver flask. â€œBecause I brought some brandy.â€

Violetâ€™s eyes brimmed with amusement. â€œAnd sheâ€™s warmed it already, for your convenience.â€

â€œNo extra charge,â€ Wil added. â€œIâ€™m full service all the way.â€

â€œWho would dare dispute that?â€ Violet asked.

Moxie retrieved some glasses and set them in front of Wil, who began to pour.

â€œGee, Iâ€™ve never had brandy before,â€ Irene said, somewhat hesitantly.

Wil held a shot out to her. â€œAphroditeâ€™s nectar.â€

She took it and stared into the amber liquid. â€œSounds fancy.â€

â€œNearly as fancy as we are,â€ Violet said, holding her glass aloft.

Irene took a sip, and after a moment her eyes flew open wide. â€œHoly mackerel!â€

â€œNow close your eyes,â€ Wil advised, â€œand inhale through your mouth.â€

â€œIs it supposed to burn?â€

Violet sat down and watched Irene intently. â€œThatâ€™s a sign of quality, sister.â€

â€œYes, the burn is bliss,â€ Wil said.

Moxie leaned in closely to Violet so she could whisper. â€œYouâ€™re not going to make her sick, are you?â€

â€œNo, Wilâ€™s just a distraction. Though admittedly, she tends to have greater success distracting those with a penis.â€

â€œAs I would imagine.â€

Violet stayed close to Moxieâ€™s ear, but didnâ€™t speak right away, causing Moxieâ€™s body to react to her nearness. â€œYou didnâ€™t come to my room,â€ she finally said.

â€œI wanted toâ€¦want to.â€

â€œYou know.â€ The raspiness of Violetâ€™s hushed tone made Moxieâ€™s breath catch in her chest. â€œIâ€™m fairly certain Iâ€™ve reached whatever my physical limitations are for sexual frustration.â€

â€œI know what you mean.â€

â€œWhat are we going to do about this?â€

Moxie exhaled sharply. â€œI havenâ€™t a fucking clue, but whatever it is, it needs to happen soon.â€

Violetâ€™s expression fluctuated between humor and ardor. â€œOnce Wil has entranced your gal with her booze and stories, letâ€™s slip out of here.â€

â€œCotton will be by in a little over an hour to take us to dinner.â€

â€œIâ€™ll tell Wil to hurry.â€

Chapter Eleven

â€œAnd he was so big, I had to tell him to scram,â€ Wil said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Irene gasped. â€œThat can happen?â€

â€œSadly, yes. And Iâ€™ll have you know this snatch is not what most people would consider petite. Iâ€™ve had some fairly large things in there. Comfortably,â€ she added with a nod.

â€œSo what did you say to him?â€

â€œThat he was joking if he thought I had a goddamn orifice that could accommodate that. After all, Iâ€™m not a fucking manhole.â€

â€œYou said it, sister,â€ Irene said, sipping from the flask again.

Behind them, Violet and Moxie sat beside each other, waiting for just the right moment to slip out of the room.

â€œCome on,â€ Violet said softly.

â€œIs it wrong that I want to hear the rest of this?â€ Moxie asked, intent on Wilâ€™s tale of enormous genitalia.

Violet snaked her tongue lightly up Moxieâ€™s ear. â€œIt is, yes,â€ she murmured. â€œSo wrong that I think you may need to be punished.â€

â€œLetâ€™s go,â€ she said suddenly, picking up Clitty in one hand and pulling Violet into a standing position with the other.

They crept out the drawing-room door, nearly colliding with an older couple who were on their way toward the rear of the train.

Politely letting them pass, Violet was suddenly panicked to see Cotton making his way through the same door they were en route to. Taking advantage of his distraction when he yielded to the old couple, she yanked Moxie in the opposite direction and through the door that led toward the front of the train.

As the door closed behind them, they froze. â€œDo you think he saw us?â€ Violet asked.

â€œIf he did, weâ€™ll know in about ten seconds.â€ Moxie looked around. â€œWhere are we?â€

â€œLooks like the baggage car.â€ Violet took Clitty from Moxie and set him on the floor. She then tugged Moxie into the corner behind a large stack of luggage. Before Moxie was able to say anything, Violet covered Moxieâ€™s mouth with hers and laced her fingers through Moxieâ€™s hair possessively.

Their tongues entwined, and Violet felt a fresh rush of desire as the kiss deepened and became more urgent.

â€œWe donâ€™t have long,â€ Violet said quietly. â€œAnd there are so many places on you that I want to taste.â€ She ventured down Moxieâ€™s slender neck and grazed the tender flesh there with her teeth.

â€œGod,â€ Moxie groaned, her fingers moving along Violetâ€™s waist. â€œIs this one of them?â€

â€œYes.â€ Violet caressed Moxieâ€™s breast through her dress, and the nipple grew taut and erect beneath her palm. â€œAnd so is this,â€ she added, bringing her mouth down to the breast to intensify the response. With the barrier of fabric in place, she boldly bit the soft tissue beneath to ensure that she got the reaction she wanted.

â€œOh!â€

Violet brought her face back up within inches of Moxieâ€™s. â€œShh. You canâ€™t make any noise.â€

â€œButâ€”â€

â€œSilence.â€ It was a whispered command, and coupled with Violetâ€™s ardent gaze, Moxie heeded her with no further urging. Violet deftly pulled up the linen of Moxieâ€™s dress to gain access to her thighs and marvelously round ass. Skimming over garters and stockings, Violet felt her heart nearly stop when she realized Moxie wasnâ€™t wearing anything beneath her garter belt, and she had full, unimpeded access to where she most wanted to be.

She guided Moxie back a step, so she was now pressed up against a large steamer trunk. â€œSit up here,â€ she commanded, and in one nimble movement, Moxie was seated before her, her dark eyes level with Violetâ€™s.

The kissing resumed with greater urgency as Violet moved her fingers skillfully along the inside of Moxieâ€™s shapely thighs and was rewarded with the most astounding wetness. Moxieâ€™s desire felt so hot and slick that Violet couldnâ€™t suppress a throaty murmur of approval. â€œIâ€™d say you want this as much as I do,â€ she rasped, continuing to stroke her.

Moxie nodded and ground her hips against Violetâ€™s hand.

This was certainly not how Violet had envisioned their first timeâ€”Moxie draped over some strangerâ€™s luggage in the baggage carâ€”but at this point, she would take whatever opportunity she was given. God knew she doubted her ability to wait much longer.

Violet knelt and began kissing her way up Moxieâ€™s thighs. When her tongue reached their juncture, she couldnâ€™t suppress a smile at the way Moxie tasted, suffused with passion and need.

Moxie was obviously still trying to be silent, though she wasnâ€™t completely successful. As she gyrated against Violetâ€™s mouth her breathing was ragged, punctuated by soft staccato moans.

The sound of the door sliding shut startled them both.

â€œHello?â€

â€œFuck,â€ Violet mouthed, her frustration blurring with homicidal fantasies surrounding whoever that voice belonged to. She looked at Moxie and held up her index finger as a signal for her to stay still for a moment.

â€œIs anyone in here?â€ the male voice asked again.

Clitty barked happily. Violet rolled her eyes that her dog was so damn friendly.

â€œWell, hey there. Who do you belong to?â€

Violet quickly stood as the sound of footsteps approached them, and she helped Moxie pull down her dress.

â€œHello?â€ he asked again.

â€œSo you see, rainbows are simply light refracted by moisture,â€ Violet said in her best college-professor voice.

Moxie had her chin in her hand as she tried to feign fascination. â€œWow.â€

â€œOh,â€ Violet said, turning to the train porter holding Clitty, who had appeared around the corner. â€œHello. We didnâ€™t hear you.â€

â€œWhat are you doing in here?â€

â€œWe were just going over the basics of hydrometeorology,â€ Violet replied.

He looked completely confounded. â€œUm, is this your dog?â€

Moxie hopped up and took Clitty from him. â€œYes, we came in looking for him. Thank you.â€

â€œYou arenâ€™t supposed to be in this area.â€ He scowled.

â€œWeâ€™re very sorry,â€ Moxie said. â€œWeâ€™ll be going now. Thanks again for finding him for us.â€

Violet followed Moxie into the next car, and when she saw no one in the corridor, she backed Moxie against the wall and put her palms flat on the walls on either side of her.

â€œSo you study science in your free time?â€ Moxie asked, her voice husky.

â€œActresses arenâ€™t all fluff and quim, you know.â€ Their mouths were excruciatingly close.

â€œIs that so?â€

Violet smiled. â€œActually, I have a photographic memory. If I read it once, itâ€™s with me forever.â€

â€œReally?â€

â€œHow do you think I remember all those lines? Now, would you like to tell me why you arenâ€™t wearing any underpants?â€

â€œWell, since lunch, the crossword puzzle, Iâ€™ve been a little distracted.â€

â€œUh-huh.â€

â€œAnd honestly, they just kept getting wet. So I took them off. I was hoping to cool off a little.â€

â€œThat may be the best fucking reason for anything that Iâ€™ve ever heard.â€

â€œI love your mouth,â€ Moxie said softly.

â€œAnd it loves yourâ€”â€

The door of Moxieâ€™s drawing room flew open, causing them both to jump.

â€œThere you are,â€ Cotton announced, as he, Wil, and Irene stepped into the hallway. â€œIâ€™m afraid to ask what you two were doing.â€

Moxie grinned weakly. â€œHydronumeralzoology.â€

â€œIs that what the kids are calling it these days?â€ Wil joked.

â€œI needed to get something in the baggage car,â€ Violet explained. And tragically, she still needed to get it, and badly.

â€œGoodness,â€ Moxie said brightly, â€œis it already dinnertime?â€ She placed Clitty on the floor.

Cotton looked nonplussed. â€œI was only able to secure a table for two tonight. But Iâ€™m sure you ladies will fare just fine.â€ He directed Moxie to head toward the dining car, and as she did so, he turned to glare at the remaining women.

Wil, Irene, and Violet stood with only each other for company as Wil sighed. â€œI want you to know, Vi, this bet is going to be very unpleasant for me.â€

â€œI understand,â€ Violet said. â€œBut youâ€™d better get hot on it, sister, or I might just implode.â€

â€œDo you two have dinner plans?â€ Irene asked.

â€œMy dinner plans were rudely interrupted,â€ Violet answered in irritation.

Will looked pleasantly surprised. â€œDo tell.â€

â€œThe appetizer was incredible.â€

Irene looked confused. â€œThereâ€™s food in the baggage car?â€

â€œFinger food?â€ Wil asked.

â€œThat was just the first course. I was well into the second.â€

â€œYouâ€™re making me hungry,â€ Irene said dejectedly.

â€œYes,â€ Violet replied. â€œUnfortunately my appetite isnâ€™t sated either.â€

*

Cotton sawed his knife through the piece of well-done steak on his plate while Moxie waitedâ€”waited for him to start lecturing her.

So far, they had been seated, had ordered, and been served their dinner without anything more than pleasant small talk about menu items and railway amenities. She knew something was brimming under the surface, and Cotton was no doubt biding his time for just the right moment to erupt.

â€œMoxie, we need to discuss your career.â€

Ah, here it was. She tried to stifle a smug smile as she loaded her fork with mashed potatoes. â€œDo we?â€

â€œI was hoping I wouldnâ€™t have to spell all this out for you,â€ he began quietly. â€œBut obviously my subtlety has been ineffective.â€

â€œYou were being subtle?â€

He pressed on without responding. â€œI realize youâ€™re a young, Midwestern, homespun girl.â€

â€œDonâ€™t forget corn-fed.â€

â€œYouâ€™ve probably never been exposed to people like this before.â€

Moxie arched her eyebrows in curiosity and continued to chew.

â€œThere are women out there, predators, who will want to do things to you.â€ He dropped his voice to a whisper. â€œSexual things.â€

She shifted in her chair, clamping her thighs together in the hope that things down there would stop throbbing and, with any luck, begin to air-dry. Cottonâ€™s mention of women wanting to do sexual things to her was not aiding her in this endeavor.

â€œI donâ€™t mean to offend or upset you,â€ he said, apparently interpreting her fidgeting as discomfort with the topic itself.

â€œI appreciate that, Cotton.â€ She needed Violetâ€™s mouth on her again. That had been the most incredible and erotic sensation she had experienced in her entire life. How did she do those things? It was like some of her body parts were enchanted. Oh, Cotton was still speaking.

â€œI believe this London woman to be one of these seducers.â€

â€œAnd what experience do you have with predators and seducers?â€

He looked suddenly uncomfortable. â€œIâ€™d rather not say.â€

â€œYouâ€™re starting to sound paranoid.â€

His jaw tightened, and a muscle in his cheek twitched. â€œIâ€™m speaking from experience. I know, because thatâ€™s what happened to my wife.â€

â€œYou never mentioned being married.â€

â€œI like to pretend that I never was.â€ He continued cutting his meat and did not meet her gaze.

â€œWhat happened?â€

He didnâ€™t respond right away, and Moxie simply waited.

â€œWe were only married a few years. I traveled quite a bit for my job.â€

â€œWho was it?â€

â€œMy brotherâ€™s wife.â€

â€œOh, my. How did you find out?â€

â€œOne evening my train was canceled due to snow. I returned home and found them in the act.â€

Moxie pressed her legs together tight. She knew it was wrong to find her friendâ€™s heartbreaking story arousing. â€œWhat were they doing?â€ she asked without thinking, in a voice that sounded too husky to be hers.

â€œWhat?â€ He seemed caught off guard by her candid question. â€œWell, they werenâ€™t playing pinochle. Letâ€™s just leave it at that.â€

â€œPerhaps there was an innocent explanation.â€

He scowled. â€œAn argument that she tried to make. Cake frosting doesnâ€™t just fall into oneâ€™s vagina. Such an action defies the laws of physics.â€ He seemed to notice that he was speaking quite loudly and he shrank into his chair.

â€œMmm, that is very tragic.â€ She could not believe how wet she was. Just when she hoped sheâ€™d be able to concentrate on something innocuous, to force herself to think of something other than Violetâ€™s dexterous hands stroking her to wondrous climax, suddenly she heard stories of frosted lesbian muff parties. It was like a cruel conspiracy. If she hadnâ€™t been so incredibly horny, she might even have laughed about it. Her clit thrummed like a plucked bow string. â€œShit,â€ she murmured.

â€œAt any rate, I think I know what Iâ€™m talking about.â€

â€œPerhaps they were just sharing a recipe.â€

â€œWhat they were doing was giving in to insanity.â€

â€œI donâ€™t know that cake frosting is crazy, per se. Messy, certainlyâ€”â€

â€œI even offered to try and overlook her indiscretion, if she simply promised never to see my sister-in-law again. And of course get psychiatric care for her dementia,â€ he added almost as an afterthought as he took a sip of tea. â€œShe declined. Can you believe that?â€

â€œShocking.â€ She hoped her incredulity had not seeped into the word as it fell from her lips. Moxie was now finding this conversation disturbing in a whole new way. â€œCotton, Iâ€™m sure that was difficult to bear.â€

â€œVery.â€

â€œSo you divorced.â€

He nodded.

â€œPerhaps you should have suggested the cake frosting first.â€

â€œI beg your pardon?â€

â€œWell, then perhaps she neednâ€™t have looked outside her marriage forâ€¦baked goods.â€

â€œIâ€™m a good Christian, Iâ€™ll have you know.â€ He appeared horrified. â€œThatâ€™s no way for married people to behave.â€

â€œYes, you wouldnâ€™t want anyone to enjoy it,â€ she mumbled into her water glass.

â€œMoxie, I see you as the daughter I could have had, if my filthy slattern of a wife hadnâ€™t destroyed both our marriage as well as my brotherâ€™s, by rutting with my whore of a sister-in-law.â€

â€œUm, thank you?â€ She supposed there had been a compliment in there somewhere, amid all the bitterness.

â€œI donâ€™t want to see you led down the primrose path, a path of carnal destruction. Hollywood will never tolerate that kind of sin and depravity.â€

She furrowed her brow in confusion. â€œWhich Hollywood are you talking about?â€

â€œThe one weâ€™re en route to.â€

Moxie started counting on her fingers. â€œFatty Arbuckle, William Desmond Taylor, Barbara La Marr, Jeanne Eagels. Any of those ring a bell? Itâ€™s probably not because they shared a pew with you at high mass.â€

â€œExactly. You should learn from their examples.â€

â€œSo you think they were all anomalies? Everyone else in Los Angeles is God-fearing and temperate?â€

â€œLook, youâ€™re too green to see how much sense Iâ€™m making.â€

â€œIs that the problem?â€ She took another mouthful of food from her fork.

â€œYes. But Iâ€™m not going to let you fail.â€ He seemed to have missed the sarcasm in her voice.

â€œCotton, I realize that you see me as naÃ¯ve. But Iâ€™ve been on my own long enough to know the score.â€

â€œEveryone thinks they know the score, doll. But only some really do.â€

â€œAnd youâ€™re one of the ones who does?â€

He beamed. â€œLike the back of my hand.â€

*

Violet, Wil, and Irene had decided to retreat to Violet and Wilâ€™s drawing room and order their dinner in, and after the meal Wil had changed into something navy blue and slinky, and was applying her makeup in the large mirror while the other two watched.

â€œIâ€™m telling you,â€ Wil asserted as she fussed with her mascara, â€œI saw her do it. I was there.â€

Irene looked stunned. â€œShe actually managed to get a note out of a clarinet with her vagina?â€

â€œGranted, it wasnâ€™t the best version Iâ€™ve ever heard, but it was discernibly â€˜FrÃ¨re Jacques.â€™â€

â€œThe French are amazing, â€ Irene declared.

â€œWait until you hear how she plays the cello,â€ Violet said.

Wil turned to address them both. â€œEuropeans have a way of making you feel like you have a lazy twat. I mean, I can only do about six things proficiently with mine. Most Europeans are no doubt into double digits.â€

â€œAre you counting predicting the weather in your six?â€ Violet asked as she tossed a ball for Clitty to retrieve.

â€œYes. And Iâ€™m also including that it can measure things up to sixteen inches long with reasonable accuracy.â€ She turned back to the mirror and reviewed her appearance quickly. â€œSpeaking of, Iâ€™m off, darlings.â€

â€œWhere are you going?â€ Irene asked.

â€œVi and I have a little bet that needs settling.â€ She turned to Violet. â€œGive me about five minutes, doll. Then you should be in the clear.â€

â€œI do admire your confidence,â€ Violet said with a smile.

â€œJudging by what Iâ€™ve seen,â€ Wil said, â€œyouâ€™ll need to work fast. He doesnâ€™t strike me as a marathon man, if you get my drift.â€

â€œCanâ€™t you try and go slowly?â€ Violet asked.

Wil rolled her eyes. â€œWeâ€™ve been over this before. What you do and what I do are like apples and oranges, darling.â€

â€œFair enough. But canâ€™t you take some extra time to peel yours?â€

â€œSometimes I barely get it off the tree, sister,â€ Wil said with a wink.

Violet stood. â€œMaybe itâ€™s how youâ€™re plucking your fruit. At times you need a light touch so you donâ€™t, you know, bruise the goods.â€

A wicked expression crossed Wilâ€™s face. â€œYou canâ€™t get the juice without squeezing.â€

â€œWell, you donâ€™t squeeze apples. Theyâ€™re plenty juicy as is. Thatâ€™s why they make such tasty pie.â€

â€œYou have a bigger sweet tooth than I have, darling. Wish me luck.â€

â€œAll I have,â€ Violet said as Wil stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind her.

â€œYou know,â€ Irene shook her head, â€œI never really know what the two of you are talking about.â€

Violet smiled. â€œThis should help you. Whenever youâ€™re uncertain, weâ€™re talking about sex.â€

â€œSo, most of the time.â€

â€œIâ€™d say anywhere between seventy-five to ninety-eight percent of it, yes.â€ She sat back down and resumed her game of fetch with Clitty.

â€œI can see why Moxie has so much fun with you. I donâ€™t mean fun, â€ she amended quickly, stretching the last word out for several seconds. â€œThough maybe I do. But I donâ€™t want any fun, at least not the kind where I wake up somewhere else naked. I mean, what girl doesnâ€™t like to have a little fun? Good, wholesome, clothes-wearing fun. But I like men, and I want to keep it that way, if itâ€™s all the same to you.â€

Violet simply blinked at her. â€œAre you having some kind of spell? Speaking in tongues?â€

â€œIâ€™m okay.â€

â€œThatâ€™s a relief.â€ She took a sip of her drink.

â€œDo you know any famous people in Hollywood?â€

â€œThat depends on how you define famous.â€

â€œUm, people I might have heard of.â€

â€œOh, then no.â€

â€œWell, who did you make your movie with?â€

â€œRex Kelly.â€

â€œWow! Is he really as suave as he is in the movies?â€

â€œNo.â€

â€œIs he as sexy?â€

â€œNo.â€

â€œAs tall?â€

â€œSure, heâ€™s tall.â€

Irene scowled. â€œWhatâ€™s wrong with him?â€

â€œHeâ€™s just not very exciting.â€

â€œOh.â€

â€œBut maybe thatâ€™s because heâ€™s high all the time. Perhaps we should give him the benefit of the doubt. Letâ€™s assume he would be much more interesting if he werenâ€™t constantly in a state of self-sedation.â€

â€œOh.â€ Irene was even more dejected. â€œDid you meet anyone else when you were out there?â€

â€œSylvia King. One night at a dinner party.â€

â€œSheâ€™s a doll. I saw her in Daddyâ€™s Little Girl and she was adorable.â€

â€œDid you see her in Much Ado About Nothing ? I believe she played the role of nothing.â€

Ireneâ€™s face fell. â€œIs something wrong with her too?â€

â€œAfter I called her a cunt, I reconsidered and realized that itâ€™s an insult to cunts.â€

â€œAn insult toâ€”â€

â€œAnd since Iâ€™m quite fond of the cunt in both feature and form, Iâ€™ll have to think of another way to describe her thatâ€™s not quite as flattering.â€

â€œBut she always plays such a sweet young girl. I canâ€™t believe sheâ€™s really that bad.â€

â€œSheâ€™s an oozing pustule on the buttock of humanity.â€

Irene looked at Violet for a moment. â€œWow.â€

â€œA walking and talking piece of feces.â€

â€œWhat about Mary Pickford? Did you meet her? Maybe attend some big party at Pickfair with her and Douglas Fairbanks?â€

â€œNope, sorry.â€

Irene seemed to be getting slightly frustrated. â€œSo just the dope fiend and the turd?â€

â€œIrene, you may be getting your hopes up too high. Sometimes famous people are just people whoâ€™ve been allowed to be more self-indulgent or hedonistic than the rest of us.â€

â€œAnd you and Wil seem pretty hedonistic already.â€

â€œExactly. So imagine Wil with no limits at all.â€

At precisely that moment, Wil came back into the drawing room, looking decidedly irritated and dejected.

Violet glanced at her wristwatch. â€œYou didnâ€™t make it to five minutes.â€

â€œLetâ€™s just say thereâ€™s something unmanly and decidedly un-American about Ambassador Douchebag.â€

As disappointed as Violet was, she had to laugh. â€œIâ€™ll be the judge of that. Tell me how you approached him.â€

Wil flopped down on a chair and reached for her cigarette holder. â€œI knocked on his door, pushed my way in, and gave him my signature come-on line.â€ She propped her right leg over the arm of the chair, either unaware or simply indifferent to the fact that her skirt was now splayed open.

â€œOh, God, no,â€ Violet said. â€œYou didnâ€™t.â€

â€œItâ€™s never missed before.â€

Ireneâ€™s eyebrows curved upward in curiosity. â€œWhatâ€™s your signature come-on line?â€

Wil inhaled the smoke from her Chesterfield and exhaled it dramatically. â€œI like to fix the fella with a sultry look, narrow my eyes slightly, then say, â€˜Iâ€™ll bet you like snatch.â€™â€

Violetâ€™s face was in her hands, as she slowly shook it from side to side.

â€œWhat?â€ Wil asked.

â€œAnd what did he say?â€ Violet looked up at her, unable to cloak her incredulity. â€œAfter you broke the ice in such a demure, sophisticated way?â€

â€œWell, darling, he said something terribly unkind about my snatch in particular, so after I kicked him the balls, I left.â€

Violet was momentarily unable to speak.

â€œYou kicked someone in the balls?â€ Irene finally asked.

â€œDonâ€™t worry,â€ Wil assured them. â€œI was prepared for this. Weâ€™re just going to move on to plan B.â€

â€œPlan B?â€ Violet said. â€œIs that where you shove a stick of butter up his ass and hit him with a skillet?â€

Wil grinned. â€œNo, doll. Thatâ€™s plan C.â€

Violet stood and walked over to the table under the window, picking up the stationery there. â€œIrene, do you mind taking a letter back to Moxie tonight?â€

â€œNot at all.â€

*

It was well past the shank of the evening when Irene returned to her drawing room, a magazine folded under her arm.

Moxie sat reading a book as Irene flopped into a chair across from her. â€œSo you are sober enough to remember which room is ours.â€

â€œIâ€™m plenty sober, sister. I had a couple of drinks, but that was hours ago.â€

â€œWhere have you been?â€ Moxie closed her book and set it in her lap.

â€œI had dinner with Wil and Violet in their room.â€

Moxie felt a pang of envy and tried not to let it show. â€œOh, howâ€™d that go?â€

â€œTheyâ€™re a couple of real live wires. I can see why you have such a good time with them. Wil even tried to seduce some poor joe on a bet.â€

â€œYes, I saw that disaster firsthand.â€

â€œYou were there?â€ Irene seemed in awe.

â€œYes. Cotton was right here with me.â€

â€œHoly Toledo. What did he think of all the hubbub?â€

Moxie paused before answering, unsure of what Irene was asking. â€œWell, I had the steward bring him some ice. Heâ€™s still trying to reduce the swelling.â€

Ireneâ€™s mouth fell open but nothing immediately emerged. â€œYou mean heâ€™s the sap she kneed in the goods?â€

â€œNo other. I assumed you knew that part.â€

Irene looked at the floor for a moment. â€œWhen Wil and Violet get to chinning, I only catch every third sentence or so. Their conversations are more like rounds from a Tommy gun.â€

â€œVery bawdy ones, yes. They require some getting used to, but believe me, itâ€™s well worth the effort.â€

â€œOh, I almost forgot.â€ Irene lowered her voice to a whisper. â€œVi asked me to give you this.â€ She pulled a sealed envelope from her magazine and handed it to Moxie.

â€œThanks.â€ She didnâ€™t bother to hide her eagerness as she ripped it open and began poring over the now-familiar script.

My darling Moxie,

To say the Fates have again conspired to keep us apart does two things. One, it makes me sound very poetic, which certainly doesnâ€™t hurt in my endeavor to make you want to sleep with me. Two, it absolves your roommate and that rigidly puckered rectum that you call an agent of any and all blame.

Now, upon spending some time with Irene, I have found her to be quite likeable and realize that she is just an unwitting pawn in the rectumâ€™s grand planâ€”a bit like a diaper, to extend the metaphor. What your diaper of a roommate has agreed to do, while less than I had originally hoped, is to take you this letter. Sadly, Iâ€™m afraid this may be my only opportunity to communicate with you before we change trains in Chicago.

That being said, this missive is meant to pick up where we left off. To relieve some of your tension, so to speak. I want to tell you exactly how I want to touch you and how the taste of you has lingered both in my mind and on my lips like a fine wine. I need so much to drink in more of you. My tongue craves your wetness, my fingers ache to fill you, and I burn to once again feel your hips move hungrily against me, seeking release.

So fold this up and slip it somewhere discreet, excuse yourself to a private place where you wonâ€™t be disturbed, and let me give you the climax you were cheated out of earlier.

â€œHoly shit,â€ Moxie rasped. She flipped through the remaining two pages, her eye catching random words like lick, stroke, and nipple.

â€œWhat is it?â€ Irene asked.

â€œJust aâ€¦headache coming on.â€ She folded the letter and slid it into her cleavage.

â€œMaybe you should lie down. We have another four hours or so before we get to Chicago.â€

â€œWhat about you? Are you going to sleep at all?â€ She tried to sound nonchalant.

â€œI donâ€™t think so.â€ She again lowered her voice. â€œDonâ€™t tell Mr. McCann, but Vi gave me this movie magazine to read. She said there was something really spicy in here, but she wouldnâ€™t tell me what it was. Iâ€™m trying to find it.â€

â€œAh, then maybe I will take that nap.â€ Moxie closed the door to the bedroom before Irene could ramble any more.

Chapter Twelve

â€œYouâ€™re not serious,â€ Violet said.

Cotton stood in the train drawing room before Violet, Moxie, and Irene, holding his suitcase in one hand and an icepack to his groin with the other. â€œCompletely.â€ He dropped his bag, which landed with a loud thud. â€œThis is the face of determination.â€ He gestured toward his fixed jawline.

â€œAnd those are the bruised balls of arrogance.â€ Violet pointed to his crotch.

â€œCotton,â€ Moxie said, â€œis this really necessary?â€

â€œSince I canâ€™t trust anyone here, I simply visited the ticket counter and told them what I wanted. They were more than happy to give us accommodations beside each other so we can all share a drawing room. Moxie, youâ€™re still sharing a room with Irmaâ€”â€

â€œIrene,â€ they all corrected in unison.

â€œâ€”and the other three rooms go to the rest of us,â€ he continued without acknowledging them. â€œChoose whichever room you please, Miss London. Because either way, Iâ€™ll be watching you like a hawk.â€ He resolutely picked up his luggage, stalked into a bedroom, and shut the door.

Irene glanced into the double bedroom to her left. â€œI guess this one is ours.â€ Taking her bag, she left Violet and Moxie alone in the drawing room.

â€œSo,â€ Violet said slowly. â€œDid you find some time to yourself?â€

â€œI did. Iâ€¦took a nap.â€ A small smile tugged at Moxieâ€™s lips.

â€œWas it a satisfying nap?â€

â€œYes. All three of them were.â€

Violet exhaled loudly. â€œYou must have been very weary.â€

â€œOh, God, I was. I still am.â€

â€œIâ€™m quite tired myself,â€ Violet said softly.

Moxie ran her index finger sensuously over the back of Violetâ€™s hand. â€œWe should do something about that.â€

â€œWe should. Every time I see you I become completely exhausted.â€

â€œIâ€™ve never wanted to rest so badly in my life.â€

The door to the drawing room opened loudly, and Wil strolled in with her bags. â€œHere I am, darlings.â€

â€œAt last,â€ Violet said. â€œI was worried youâ€™d miss the train.â€

â€œI had that errand to run for plan B,â€ Wil said, stacking her suitcases.

â€œAnd?â€ Violet asked.

â€œComplete success.â€

Moxieâ€™s eyebrows furrowed. â€œWhatâ€™s this about?â€

Wil removed a mirror from her handbag and began to check her makeup. â€œDonâ€™t worry about it, sister. I had to pop out and find a stick of butter and a skillet.â€

Moxie now looked even more concerned. â€œThatâ€™s a troubling admission.â€

â€œRelax,â€ Violet said. â€œItâ€™s not what it sounds like. Wilâ€™s just trying to help us get more rest.â€

â€œSo youâ€™re saying that Iâ€™m better off not knowing?â€

Wil took a step closer to them. â€œTrust me, toots. If I didnâ€™t need to know, I wouldnâ€™t have told me.â€

Violet blinked. â€œWhat confidence that logic instills.â€

â€œSo where are we?â€ Wil asked with a chuckle.

â€œHere,â€ Violet replied. â€œThe Right Honorable Helmut Von Douchebag arranged for all five of us to share a drawing room.â€

â€œThat hinky little fart,â€ Wil said, propping her hands on her hips. â€œSo how are his oysters?â€

Violet grinned. â€œHappily, I havenâ€™t seen them. But if his wobbly gait and the icepack heâ€™s still carrying mean anything, you may possibly have turned them to marmalade. What did he say to you to elicit such brutality?â€

Wilâ€™s eyes narrowed. â€œI canâ€™t recall.â€

Violet turned to Moxie and cocked an eyebrow.

â€œFrom what I overheard, he told her heâ€™d sooner put his member in a hot waffle iron and douse it with acid before subjecting it to her arid, syphilitic box.â€

Violet whistled a low tone. â€œWow. Not much room for misinterpretation there.â€

â€œSo you can see how those would be his final words while in possession of a functioning scrotum, canâ€™t you?â€ Wil asked. When neither of them answered, she shrugged. â€œItâ€™s very clear to me. Iâ€™m only sorry I didnâ€™t make him cough up blood.â€ She looked at the four attached doors. â€œWhich room is his, anyway?â€

â€œThat one,â€ Moxie said, pointing.

â€œThen Iâ€™ll be in here.â€ Wil carried her bags into the room farthest from Cottonâ€™s. â€œSee you two in the morning.â€

Violet leaned close to Moxie. â€œWait an hour and then come to my room,â€ she whispered.

â€œHow about half an hour?â€

â€œFifteen minutes?â€

Cotton emerged from his room, wearing a smoking jacket and carrying a book. â€œYou can quit your murmuring,â€ he said as he sat down. â€œIâ€™ll be sitting out here all night.â€

â€œWhat?â€ Moxie asked. â€œWhy?â€

â€œBecause Iâ€™ll not have my top act ruined before she gets to Hollywood.â€

Violet leaned on the wall and crossed her arms in defiance. â€œYes, all the really big stars wait to get ruined after they get to Los Angeles.â€

Moxieâ€™s eyes brimmed with indignation. â€œThat canâ€™t be nearly as enjoyable.â€

â€œIt all depends on your preferred method of ruination.â€ Violet gazed at Moxie and lingered on her breasts.

â€œYou look very tired,â€ Moxie said, the innuendo heavy in her voice.

â€œI am. I could rest for hours.â€

â€œMmm, so could I.â€

Cotton coughed. â€œWhat are you two prattling about? Go to sleep if youâ€™re tired.â€

Violet continued to study Moxie in hunger. â€œWell, good night.â€

â€œYou too,â€ Moxie said, though neither made a move toward her room.

â€œDo you mind controlling your dog?â€ Cotton snapped.

Violet saw that Clitty was playfully tugging on Cottonâ€™s slipper, though it was still on his foot, and she couldnâ€™t suppress her smile. â€œCâ€™mon, Clitty.â€ She snapped her fingers and he trotted over to her side. â€œSee you in the morning,â€ she told Moxie softly, then walked into the remaining bedroom.

Moxie watched Violet as she shut the door, then shuffled over to the doorway of her room. â€œGood night, Cotton,â€ she said as she turned her back to him. â€œYou douchebag,â€ she mumbled.

*

In the morning, when Violet and Clitty ventured back into the drawing room, she felt refreshed, though still sexually frustrated, and took great pleasure in the sight of Cottonâ€”rumpled, ungroomed, and miserable looking, propped in a chair with his eyelids barely open.

â€œGood morning,â€ she called, smiling cruelly. â€œMy goodness, but you look a mess. You really should try and get some sleep, Mr. McCann.â€

He looked at her through bleary eyes without turning his head. â€œHarpy.â€

â€œThough I doubt that sleep will make you any less of a dick,â€ she said, sitting beside him and crossing her legs. â€œThat, sadly, may be out of all our hands.â€

Seeming uncomfortable with her proximity, he stood and stretched. â€œIâ€™m going to change. Try to stifle your deviant urges while Iâ€™m gone.â€

â€œIf only I could control my base and vulgar feminine wiles.â€ She batted her eyelashes several times in rapid succession, prompting his sneer.

Cotton hadnâ€™t been gone more than a few seconds when Wil entered, closing the door to her room behind her.

â€œYou just missed your favorite scrotum,â€ Violet said.

â€œHe hasnâ€™t had breakfast yet, has he?â€

â€œDoubtful. He sat outside our doors all night to keep Moxie and me apart.â€

Wil snorted. â€œThat fat gink. Letâ€™s order breakfast for everyone, and we can launch plan B.â€

â€œWhich is?â€

Wil reached into her handbag and pulled out a glass bottle with a cork stopper. â€œThis,â€ she replied, shaking it.

â€œCalomel? Isnâ€™t that a laxative?â€

â€œSome call it that.â€ Wil stroked the glass lovingly. â€œI prefer the term ass grenade. â€

â€œSounds dangerous.â€

â€œNo, silly. What about the word grenade implies danger?â€ Wil slipped the bottle back into her bag.

â€œCould this kill him?â€

Wil paused. â€œI donâ€™t think so. Now, it may make him want to die. Does that count?â€

â€œYouâ€™re sure this will just keep him out of our hair? I donâ€™t want to be charged as an accomplice to any kind of maiming or murder.â€

â€œIâ€™ll only give him one dose. And once he spends a day or so shedding his lower intestine like a snakeskin, Brigadier General Douchebag will be back to his day-to-day job of flushing out vaginas with irritating regularity.â€

Violet sighed. â€œThen Iâ€™d better order breakfast.â€

Wilâ€™s face lit up. â€œIâ€™d like French toast.â€

*

When Moxie and Irene came out of their bedroom, Moxie was flabbergasted to see Cotton, Wil, and Violet seated together around a table in the drawing room, eating breakfast together.

â€œGood morning?â€ Moxie said. â€œDo I know you people?â€

â€œHey,â€ Violet said warmly. â€œWe decided to order breakfast. We got you two omelettes and coffee. I hope thatâ€™s okay.â€

â€œI love omelettes,â€ Irene squealed, scurrying over and pulling up a chair.

Moxie approached more slowly as Violet poured Irene a cup of coffee. â€œSo has everyone buried the hatchet?â€

â€œOh, God, no,â€ Wil answered.

Cotton shook his head as he chewed a piece of toast. â€œNo, I still want to repeatedly strike them.â€

â€œItâ€™s very mutual.â€ Violet glared at Cotton dramatically over the brim of her coffee cup.

Moxie took a seat beside them. â€œOh.â€

â€œOf course,â€ Violet said, â€œthat doesnâ€™t mean we canâ€™t all sit down and have a civil meal together.â€ She put a covered plate in front of Moxie and removed the lid to reveal a steaming, cheesy three-egg omelette. â€œHow did everyone sleep? That is, those of us who chose to sleep.â€

Wil spread more butter on her toast. â€œI, for one, am finding train travel quite agreeable.â€

Cotton, who looked bedraggled and exhausted, scoffed. â€œPerhaps the rocking simulates coitus.â€

Wilâ€™s left eyebrow rose defiantly. â€œNo doubt even better than you might simulate it, darling. How purple are your testicles this morning?â€

â€œYouâ€™re a dirty whore.â€ His eyes were narrow slits.

â€œStill smarting a bit then, huh?â€ Wilâ€™s amusement was obvious.

â€œI may have you arrested for assault,â€ Cotton murmured through gritted teeth.

Wil seemed unfazed. â€œI canâ€™t wait to tell the police how you cried like a schoolgirl. I imagine you died a little inside. More syrup?â€

He looked livid. â€œFuck your syrup.â€

Wil was clearly not done with Cotton yet. â€œHmm, not an altogether unpleasant way to get sticky, I suppose. At least the syrup wouldnâ€™t embarrass itself.â€ She sipped her coffee and looked at him as though silently daring him to keep speaking to her.

â€œHowâ€™s the food?â€ Violet asked, in a transparent attempt to break the tension.

Irene looked as though she was torn between continuing to eat and bursting into tears. â€œUm, good? Thanks?â€

â€œPerhaps this wasnâ€™t the best idea,â€ Moxie ventured.

â€œBut it was Mr. McCann who wanted us to be together like a big family,â€ Violet said. â€œThis is what he wants. Isnâ€™t that so, Mr. McCann? Because if so, we can do everything together until we reach Pasadena.â€

Cottonâ€™s eye twitched as he turned to Violet. â€œWhat I wanted was to accompany my star client to Hollywood, unencumbered by lesbian predatorsâ€â€”his gaze shifted to Wilâ€”â€œtruculent harlotsâ€â€”his eyes moved accusingly to Ireneâ€”â€œor quixotic sycophants. That is not what Iâ€™ve gotten.â€

Wilâ€™s expression remained unchanged. â€œWell, at least you got French toast, jug-butt. Youâ€™re welcome. â€

â€œQuick, oddal sicky-pants?â€ Irene scowled. â€œI canâ€™t say I like the sound of that.â€

â€œ I donâ€™t think youâ€™re a sicky-pants, kid,â€ Violet said, the corner of her mouth curving upward. She patted Ireneâ€™s hand.

â€œThanks. Hey, by the way, Vi, I read that magazine you gave me last night cover to cover. But I never found the steamy part.â€ She took another bite of breakfast.

Violet looked down at her plate guiltily. â€œDid you read that story about Clara Bow?â€

â€œThe one about her becoming a chanteuse?â€ Irene asked.

â€œOh,â€ Violet gasped. â€œSorry, I must have misread that. I thought it said she was becoming a cannibal.â€

Moxie bit her lower lip as she tried not to laugh.

â€œThose two things arenâ€™t close at all,â€ Irene muttered as she stabbed her eggs.

Cotton rolled his eyes. â€œThis may be the longest three days of my life.â€

Wil sinisterly watched him chew. â€œIt just may be, at that.â€

*

â€œGo.â€ Violet frowned at her cards.

â€œThirty-one for two,â€ Moxie said, setting down a card and moving her cribbage peg up the board.

â€œThree for one,â€ Violet added, setting down her last card and advancing her peg as well.

Moxie tallied up her hand. â€œFifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, seven, eight, nine, and one for his nob.â€ She pointed to the jack of diamonds.

Violet smiled naughtily. â€œHis nob? This game is absolutely filthy.â€

Moxie laughed. â€œThat must be why youâ€™re so good at it.â€

Violet took the cards and started to shuffle. â€œThough arguably, nobs are not my specialty.â€ She grimaced. â€œSpeaking of nobs,â€ she said, turning around to look at Cotton, who was lying on the settee in the fetal position. â€œMr. McCann, is that continuing smell of decay and sewage coming from you? Or does this train route pass through a sulfur mine?â€

â€œI donâ€™t feel well,â€ he moaned.

â€œThanks for sharing it with the rest of us,â€ Violet said. â€œDear Lord, Iâ€™m opening the windows. Youâ€™re making my eyes burn.â€

Moxie had to admit that the stench emanating from Cotton was noxious and fetid. â€œIâ€™ll go get my perfume. Maybe thatâ€™ll help.â€

â€œWait,â€ Violet said, sliding up a window pane. â€œIs there something else you can use? That may taint Twilight Moon for me forever. And I really like it.â€

Moxie thought for a moment. â€œIâ€™ll use Ireneâ€™s.â€

â€œPerfect.â€ Violet opened the remaining three drawing-room windows.

Moxie reappeared, spritzing the perfume liberally about the room.

Violet sat back down, and as the fragrances began to mingle in the air, a horrified look came over her face. â€œOh, youâ€™re going to have to stop, Mox. Those two smells combined are vile.â€ She struggled to swallow.

â€œGod, youâ€™re right. Somehow adding the smell of flowers and powder has made things even worse.â€

â€œPerhaps you should head to the water closet, Mr. McCann,â€ Violet suggested.

â€œIâ€™m not leaving you two alone,â€ he wailed into the upholstery, unmoving.

â€œI have to hand it to him,â€ Violet said. â€œFew men would risk shitting their pants to ensure that no one anywhere ever had sex. That takes real tenacity.â€

â€œCotton is nothing if not tenacious. That and, of course, rotten inside.â€

The door to the drawing room opened, and Wil and Irene entered.

â€œAnd thatâ€™s when she put her hand on my thigh,â€ Wil said. â€œAnd slid it all the way up.â€

â€œBarbara Stanwyck?â€ Irene gasped. â€œReally?â€

Violet sighed. â€œWil, are you still telling that story?â€

â€œOf course, darling. Why wouldnâ€™t I?â€

â€œBecause you werenâ€™t sober when you met Barbara Stanwyck, and you got all that information secondhand.â€

Wil shut the door behind her. â€œAre you trying to say that Barbara Stanwyck wouldnâ€™t want to grope me while Iâ€™m drunk?â€ She stopped and sniffed the air. â€œWhat the fuck is that? It smells like a unicorn took a shit in here.â€

â€œSadly, there was no magic or fairy dust involved.â€ Violet pointed behind her with her thumb. â€œItâ€™s Shamus Oâ€™Anus back there.â€

â€œBy all thatâ€™s holy, man. Take that somewhere else.â€ Wil put her hand over her nose. â€œThatâ€™s not a natural smell. Itâ€™s like a mixture of brimstone, gardenia, and despair.â€

â€œHey,â€ Irene called. â€œWhatâ€™s my perfume doing out here?â€

Moxie handed the bottle back to her. â€œWe thought it would help, but somehow itâ€™s taken something horrible and turned it into an abomination.â€

â€œIs he just going to lie there stinking?â€ Wil asked.

Violetâ€™s thumb lightly grazed her lips as she appeared to contemplate something. â€œLook, Iâ€™m going for a walk.â€

â€œIâ€™ll come with you,â€ Moxie said quickly.

â€œThen so will I,â€ Cotton warbled.

Violet put her hands up. â€œNo, you stay here, Moxie. We can take turns breathing the clean air. If we both go, heâ€™ll just straggle along, releasing his mustard gas when we least expect it.â€

â€œBut I thought we were having lunch soon in the dining car,â€ Moxie said, disappointed that Violet didnâ€™t want her along.

â€œStart without me. Iâ€™ll catch up with you before long.â€

Before Moxie could ask Violet where she was headed, she was already out the door, Clitty not far behind her.

Wil nudged Cotton with her knee before she retreated to the other side of the room. â€œYou sickening bastard. Do you think as long as we donâ€™t hear it, we wonâ€™t notice?â€

â€œNo,â€ he croaked. â€œI just donâ€™t care.â€

*

â€œCome on,â€ Irene coaxed as she, Wil, and Moxie made their way to the dining car. â€œIâ€™m starving. â€

â€œCanâ€™t we just wait another few minutes?â€ Moxie asked. â€œVioletâ€™s been gone almost an hour, and Iâ€™m sure sheâ€™ll be back any time now.â€

â€œThen she can meet us there,â€ Wil said. â€œI canâ€™t sit in that ass coffin any longer. Iâ€™m certain itâ€™s shortened my life. Luckily, we all know I donâ€™t care about things like that.â€

â€œIâ€™m glad you said that so I didnâ€™t have to,â€ Moxie replied.

When they arrived in the dining car, they sat at a table for four.

â€œAnd I canâ€™t tell you how happy I am that the angel of death agreed to stay behind.â€ Wil perused the menu.

â€œWe should take something back for him to eat,â€ Moxie suggested. â€œIâ€™ve never seen him so under the weather.â€

â€œIâ€™m so hungry I want to order everything,â€ Irene said. â€œThen I think about Mr. McCann and whatâ€™s coming out of him. Maybe Iâ€™ll just get some soup and crackers.â€ Irene set the menu down and looked up. â€œHey, isnâ€™t that Violet over there?â€

Moxie spun around. â€œWhere?â€

â€œRight over thereâ€”â€ Irene started to point.

Wil knocked Ireneâ€™s hand down. â€œThe hunger must be making you hallucinate.â€ She sounded irritated.

Moxie squinted as she continued to peer through the crowd. â€œYeah, I donâ€™tâ€”â€ Suddenly, she saw Violet, seated at a table for two with an attractive young blonde. They were laughing about something, but were far enough away that Moxie couldnâ€™t hear their conversation. â€œWho the hell is that ?â€

â€œNice job, sicky-pants.â€ Wil slapped Ireneâ€™s arm. â€œIs there anything else youâ€™d like to destroy? Maybe smother a kitten?â€

Irene stared at her. â€œI didnâ€™t know,â€ she whined.

Moxie adjusted her chair so she could watch Violet without the physical discomfort of turning completely around. Her chest tightened as Violet held a long wooden match to light the blondeâ€™s cigarette. The blonde steadied Violetâ€™s hand until the tobacco was aflame, then pulled it even closer to blow the match out. The gesture seemed decidedly intimate. â€œWil, do you know who that woman is?â€ She didnâ€™t try to keep the anger from her voice.

â€œWhat woman?â€

Moxie jerked her head back to glare at Wil, who was perusing her menu nonchalantly. â€œThe one sitting with Violet, pawing her like a cougar with a pork chop.â€

â€œHmm?â€ Wil asked innocently.

â€œHer.â€ Moxie pointed. â€œThere. The one with that Iâ€™ve-been-around-the-block look.â€

â€œUm.â€ Wil stared at them across the car. â€œHer sister.â€

â€œShe doesnâ€™t have any siblings.â€

â€œHer cousin?â€

â€œShe didnâ€™t mention she had a cousin traveling on the train,â€ Moxie countered, tiring of this game.

â€œYeah,â€ Irene said, scowling. â€œThatâ€™s weird.â€

Moxie felt her eyelid start to twitch. â€œYou know, Wil, for an actress, youâ€™d think youâ€™d be a better liar.â€

â€œNo one ever said I was a good actress.â€ Wilâ€™s eyes were still glued to the bill of fare.

A waiter appeared, looking friendly and attentive. â€œLadies, good afternoon. What may I bring you to drink?â€

â€œLemonade.â€ Moxie couldnâ€™t match the manâ€™s pleasantness and didnâ€™t really care.

While Wil and Irene placed their orders, Moxie looked back over to Violetâ€™s table and saw that both ladies were gone. â€œDid you see them leave?â€ she blurted as the waiter walked away.

â€œWho?â€ Wil asked.

â€œViolet and that whore.â€

Wil merely blinked. â€œWell, maybe if you had been a little more accommodating, she wouldnâ€™t have to pay someone else for it.â€ When Moxie only glared back, Wil acquiesced. â€œJust kidding. I doubt sheâ€™s actually paying her for it.â€

Irene leaned closer to Wil. â€œYouâ€™re not helping at all, â€ she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

Wil looked moderately contrite. â€œSorry, but Iâ€™m not very good at this. People donâ€™t invite me places because Iâ€™m sensitive or help them feel better. They invite me places because I tell great stories and have a tendency to drink too much and lift my skirt.â€

â€œAre you going to go look for her?â€ Irene asked Moxie.

Moxie considered the possibility. The train was large, so searching for Violet might prove arduous, not to mention frustrating. Ire was welling inside her. No, she refused to dash off to find Violet like her little dog. Moxie was better than that, and she deserved more. â€œIâ€™m going to have lunch,â€ she snapped. â€œAnd itâ€™s going to be the best fucking meal Iâ€™ve ever had.â€

â€œMmm, yum,â€ Wil said.

Chapter Thirteen

Wil, Irene, and Moxie started back to their drawing room with considerably less excitement than they left it. Most of the lunchtime conversation had revolved around Wil and Ireneâ€™s attempt to engage in diversionary small talk, with little success.

Moxie shuffled down the passageway behind them, too distracted and troubled to even feign interest in whatever they were discussing now. No doubt Wil was recounting how some star had inserted some inanimate objectâ€”or God forbid, a live oneâ€”where it was never meant to go.

How had she let things end up this way? How did she not see this coming? Violet had seemed so enamored of her, so attentive. She had claimed that while in Hollywood she had been unable to think of anyone but Moxie, yet when faced with an opportunity to spend time together, Violet had consciously chosen to be with someone else.

â€œIâ€™m such a dope,â€ she whispered to herself.

Before she could curse herself further, someone reached out and pulled her by the wrist from the corridor and into a stateroom. By the time Moxie realized what was happening, she was pinned up against a closed compartment door, and Violetâ€™s face was alarmingly near hers.

â€œDid you miss me?â€ Violet kissed Moxie hungrily before she was able to form a reply.

Moxie didnâ€™t want to kiss her back, but somehow her lips didnâ€™t receive that directive from her pride, where it originated. Their mouths moved against each other and Violet nibbled Moxieâ€™s lower lip.

It was all Moxie could do to slide her arms behind her own body to trap them against the door. She warred with her desire not to let them roam Violetâ€™s body because, goddamn it, she was angry.

Violet moved her lips to Moxieâ€™s throat, her teeth gently grazing Moxieâ€™s exposed shoulder. â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€ she breathed, continuing her tour of Moxieâ€™s neck.

â€œHmm?â€ Moxie was finding it difficult to maintain her steely resolve. Sure, she was irate and hurt. But in some perverse way, the power of those raw emotions seemed to blur with the intense carnal yearning that Violet evoked in her. Moxie had never imagined she could have enraged, bitter sex, but now she was starting to see things differently.

â€œWhy arenâ€™t you participating?â€ Violet asked, her voice throaty with passion.

â€œIâ€™m mad at you.â€

Violetâ€™s gaze bore into Moxieâ€™s, her gray eyes darkened with ardor. â€œWhy?â€

â€œI saw you with that woman,â€ Moxie replied softly, â€œin the dining car. You two seemed very familiar.â€

Violet grinned ever so slightly. â€œI donâ€™t know her. Sheâ€™s just some actress whoâ€™s doing me a favor.â€

â€œIf you donâ€™t mind, Iâ€™d rather not hear about your anonymous favors. Call me old-fashioned.â€

â€œNot sexual favors.â€ Violetâ€™s eyebrows arched. â€œI talked her into switching rooms with me. I told her that I had a slightly larger room that shared a drawing room with an agent whom I canâ€™t stand. She said she completely understood, that all agents are bastards, and that she wouldnâ€™t tell him where I was on the train.â€

â€œSo youâ€”â€

â€œMissed lunch because I was hastily moving our belongings in here, while Mr. McCann was cloistered in the water closet. I wasnâ€™t having a tryst with someone else.â€

A wave of relief washed over Moxie, instantly replaced with romantic giddiness, a much better complement to her barely controlled lust. â€œYou must be veryâ€¦hungry.â€ The desire in her voice sounded foreign to her.

Violetâ€™s eyeâ€™s softened. â€œIâ€™m fucking famished,â€ she said, her mouth once again descending on Moxieâ€™s.

They no longer had any reason to wait or hold back. At last they were able to act on their insatiable craving.

Highly aroused, Moxie barely considered the fact that she didnâ€™t really know what she was doing. She mentally kicked any reservations into the back of her mind, to the left of her indulgence and just behind her lust. She brazenly pushed Violet backward onto the narrow bed, then locked the door. â€œLetâ€™s see what we can do about that.â€

In one moment, Moxie was on top of Violet, and in another, her tongue was in Violetâ€™s mouth. The sound of Violetâ€™s moan spurred on Moxieâ€™s confidence, and she let her right palm travel to Violetâ€™s breast, awed by the sudden stiffness of her nipple.

Violet covered Moxieâ€™s hand with her own, urging her to knead the tender flesh even harder. Quickly, Violet turned her attention to unbuttoning Moxieâ€™s dress. â€œI love how you touch me.â€

Moxie was overwhelmed by Violetâ€™s admission and gazed at her as she moved her fingers provocatively down to Violetâ€™s waist. â€œIâ€™ve thought about this moment so much.â€

â€œTell me what youâ€™ve imagined.â€

â€œWhen Iâ€™m fantasizing about you? About us?â€

Violetâ€™s look was smoldering. â€œYes. Give me every detail.â€

â€œWell,â€ Moxie said self-consciously, â€œmore often than not, youâ€¦well, you sort ofâ€¦take me.â€

â€œTake you?â€ Violet rolled Moxie onto her back so that she was straddling Moxieâ€™s thigh. â€œAnd what do I do to you?â€ She ground slowly against her as her hands caressed Moxieâ€™s hips.

Moxie felt breathless at the bold promise that Violet might do whatever she asked of her. â€œYou make love to me with your incredible mouth,â€ she whispered, brushing Violetâ€™s lips reverently with trembling fingers.

Violet suddenly appeared as though she wanted to devour Moxie whole, her eyes half-lidded with passion. â€œReally?â€

â€œLike thereâ€™s no tomorrow.â€

When Violet began unbuttoning Moxieâ€™s dress again, the incidental brush of her fingers made Moxieâ€™s skin tingle in anticipation. Their tongues hungrily fused as they stripped their clothing off and flung it aside until they were completely naked.

Violet pressed her mouth to a rosy nipple of Moxieâ€™s bare breasts, tracing it with her tongue. â€œAnd when I take you, am I gentle?â€ she asked, then increased the force to illustrate another option. â€œOr rough and urgent?â€

Moxie arched her back. â€œOh, youâ€™re urgent, and use your teeth. Oh, shit. Just like that.â€

Violet pulled away for a minute. â€œAnd whatâ€™s my tongue doing? Is it staying up here?â€

â€œNo. Your tongue isâ€¦doing what it was doing in the baggage car.â€

Violet slid her hand down between Moxieâ€™s thighs. â€œSo you want it down here?â€ she asked, beginning to stroke her with two fingers.

â€œOh, my God, yes! There.â€

â€œSo you want me to stop doing this?â€ Violet put her mouth back on Moxieâ€™s erect nipple, now licking it in perfect rhythm with the movement of her hand against Moxieâ€™s slick clitoris.

â€œNo, wait. Donâ€™t stop. Thatâ€™s soâ€¦mmm.â€

Violet needed no further coaxing, and she followed Moxieâ€™s instructions as closely as possible. She was urgent, and she was definitely using her teeth.

Moxieâ€™s hips rocked in time with Violetâ€™s ministrations, and their pace quickened as Violet moved her lips over to Moxieâ€™s other, heretofore neglected, breast. It was clear that Moxie was close to orgasm, and though she contemplated putting it off, it had already been delayed far too long, days and weeks too long.

When Moxieâ€™s climax came, Violet savored every moment of itâ€”Moxieâ€™s head thrown back, her suddenly rigid body, and her deep, guttural growl.

Moxieâ€™s chest heaved as her hands moved to her flushed face. â€œI donâ€™t think Iâ€™ve everâ€”what are you doing?â€

Violet slowly descended farther down Moxieâ€™s body, pausing to kiss Moxieâ€™s stomach on her way south. â€œI canâ€™t stop thinking about how you taste, and how you thrust against my tongue when youâ€™re in my mouth.â€

â€œShit,â€ Moxie hissed.

â€œYouâ€™re not the only one with fantasies, sugar.â€ This time, Violetâ€™s movements were slow and deliberate. She kissed and licked Moxie everywhere, but lingered in the areas that made Moxie moan and, more strikingly, spew profanities.

Moxieâ€™s fingers threaded through Violetâ€™s hair, and she began to caress Violetâ€™s scalp, subtly directing her. Again, Violet followed the trajectory that Moxie set, and when she boldly slipped a finger into Moxieâ€™s vagina, she didnâ€™t slow her mouthâ€™s pace.

When Moxieâ€™s second orgasm hit, it seemed to last longer than the first, and Violet struggled to keep pressure directly on Moxieâ€™s clitoris to maximize it. Once it abated, Violet moved back up the bed, her eyes locking with Moxieâ€™s.

â€œThat was incredible,â€ Moxie gasped, kissing Violet deeply. â€œI want to make you feel this way.â€

â€œMmm, I second that motion.â€

Moxie traced her fingertips lightly down Violetâ€™s jawline and neck, to her breasts. â€œCan I ask you something?â€

â€œAnything.â€

â€œIâ€™m a little embarrassed by this question.â€

Violet slid beside her on the bed and propped her head on her right fist. â€œItâ€™s all in the wrist, if you really want to know.â€

Moxie squinted her eyes and turned on her left side to face her directly. â€œUm, thatâ€™s good information to have, Iâ€™m sure. But I was wondering what Iâ€¦or rather, if I reciprocated that first night we were together.â€

â€œReciprocated?â€

â€œI mean, did I make youâ€”â€

â€œSweetheart, what do you think happened that night?â€

Moxie grimaced. â€œWell, Iâ€™ve imagined something very similar to what you and I just did.â€

Violet tried not to smile, but had a feeling she wasnâ€™t completely successful. â€œYou donâ€™t remember any of it?â€

â€œI think I remember you kissing me.â€

â€œActually, you kissed me.â€

â€œSo I initiated everything?â€ Moxie asked, looking self-conscious.

â€œHoney, that was everything.â€

â€œWhat?â€

â€œGranted, without a doubt, that was the best kiss Iâ€™ve ever received.â€

â€œSo we didnâ€™tâ€”â€

â€œYou told me you liked me. Then you planted one on meâ€”it made me see fucking starsâ€”and you fell asleep.â€

â€œYou mean I havenâ€™t been a lesbian all this time?â€

Violet brought her index finger up to her mouth. â€œI donâ€™t know, you taste a little like a lesbian.â€

Moxie looked stunned, as though she had seen the dead rise and begin to spank each other. Violet felt a pang of guilt for being so glib.

â€œWhy did you assume we had already been intimate?â€

â€œThe note you left me sounded veryâ€¦and besides that, when I woke up my clothes were off.â€

Violet brushed Moxieâ€™s chin with her thumb. â€œI didnâ€™t want your dress to wrinkle.â€

â€œOh. So you were just being nice?â€

â€œWell, I was also dying to see you in your underwear.â€ Violet ran her hands along Moxieâ€™s waist to the small of her back. â€œYou didnâ€™t disappoint, by the way.â€

Moxie laughed. â€œThanks. Did I do anything else that night that I should know about?â€

â€œThere was that bum on Fifty-second Street whom you tried to entice to suckle at your breast by baring a nipple and shouting â€˜free milk.â€™â€

â€œWhat?â€

â€œNo, wait. That was Wil. Sorry.â€

â€œThank God. So nothing else? I didnâ€™t lift up my skirt in Times Square for passersby?â€

â€œNo,â€ Violet replied in amusement.

â€œOr offer to sing along with anyone who played a spirited ditty with a random body part?â€

â€œNot that I recall. The only other noteworthy thing you did that night was get me to fall for you.â€ Violet leaned closer. â€œAnd make me want you so badly.â€

â€œI did that?â€ Moxieâ€™s face was only inches from Violetâ€™s.

â€œOh, yes,â€ Violet whispered, still slowly massaging Moxieâ€™s waist and buttocks. â€œAnd Iâ€™ve ached for you ever since. I need you to touch me, love.â€

Moxie kissed her, tracing Violetâ€™s breasts, stomach, and the curve of her hip with her fingers. â€œLike this?â€

â€œMmm, thatâ€™s a very nice start.â€

â€œTell me what to do.â€

Violet brought Moxieâ€™s fingers to her lips, where she could nibble and lick them while Moxie watched, entranced. With great deliberation, Violet drew Moxieâ€™s wet digits down her naked body, lingering on her left breast before continuing down her abdomen. â€œDo you want to keep going?â€

Moxie only nodded, seeming mesmerized.

Violet continued to gently direct Moxieâ€™s hand, guiding it between her legs and moving it sensually up and down. â€œCan you feel what you do to me?â€

â€œGod, yes.â€

Violet shifted onto her back, pulling Moxie with her so that Moxie now straddled her right thigh. â€œTouch me the way you touched yourself last night. I want to feel exactly what you felt.â€

Their mouths met, this time more insistently as Moxie began to stroke Violet in small, tight circles. As Moxie ground her pelvis against Violet, Moxieâ€™s slick wetness on Violetâ€™s skin was driving Violet crazy, and she began to rock her own hips in response.

Moxie briefly broke their hungry kiss as she continued her attention to Violetâ€™s clitoris. â€œHow is it that when Iâ€™m touching you, Iâ€™m so close to coming?â€

The question, coupled with the breathless way Moxie asked it, sent a surge of raw desire through Violet that brought her that much closer to climax. â€œWait for me,â€ she rasped.

â€œIâ€™m not sure I can.â€ Moxie continued riding Violetâ€™s thigh.

â€œIâ€™m so close.â€

â€œOh, baby, please.â€

Moxieâ€™s desperate plea put Violet over the edge, and as the waves of rapture flooded her, she felt Moxie tremble above her, succumbing to her own release. Moxieâ€™s body sank against Violetâ€™s as they both tried to catch their breath.

â€œHave I mentioned,â€ Violet said, â€œwhat a pleasant surprise it is that you climax so easily?â€

â€œYouâ€™re not the only one whoâ€™s surprised by that. If Iâ€™d known sex could be like this, Iâ€™d have been having it constantly.â€

Violet ran her fingers languidly through Moxieâ€™s hair as she held her close. â€œYou should make a resolution to start doing that.â€

â€œHaving constant sex?â€

â€œWith me,â€ Violet added. â€œThatâ€™s a very important element of the proposed resolution. One that you shouldnâ€™t overlook.â€

â€œIs that what you want, Vi?â€

â€œAmong other things.â€

Moxie shifted slightly and stared for a moment at Violet before speaking. â€œOther things like what?â€

â€œYou, Mox. I want you in my life, exclusively, and I selfishly want you to want the same.â€

â€œOh, I do.â€ She kissed Violet softly. â€œBut what will we do about Cotton?â€

â€œYou know, he ultimately works for you. You could tell him to butt out orâ€”â€

â€œIâ€™ll fire him?â€

â€œI was going to say youâ€™d sic Wil on him.â€ Violet chuckled. â€œBut firing him might be more humane.â€

â€œYou know, I underestimated Wilâ€™s vindictiveness.â€

â€œAnd you donâ€™t even know the half of it.â€

â€œIâ€™m happy to leave it that way.â€ She snuggled against Violet again. â€œYou know, we should do something for that nice woman who agreed to switch rooms with you.â€

â€œWithout whom none of this would have been possible.â€

â€œWhat was her name? Do you remember?â€

â€œUm, I think it was Davis. Yes, Bette Davis.â€

*

Cotton walked as slowly as he could from the water closet at the end of the train car back to the drawing room. He had never in his life been as ill as he had been for the last twenty-four hours. As though the horrible cramping and gas had not been bad enough, he had been cursed with a need to void his bowels almost every fifteen to twenty minutes, though void seemed like a vast understatement for something with the force of a fire hose. Worst of all, he was now reduced to limiting even simple movement, like bending or stretching, for fear that something ungodly would happen when he exerted himself.

He opened the door to the drawing room with deliberate caution and was surprised to see Wil, Irene, and some doe-eyed blonde playing cards.

â€œAll hail, Caesar Bagodoucheus,â€ Will said, not even looking up from her hand before she discarded. â€œHowâ€™s the anus, chief?â€

He was angry all over again. â€œWho is this? Where are Moxie and the dyke?â€

The blonde scowled as she drew a card. â€œYou werenâ€™t exaggerating. Heâ€™s every bit as offensive as you described.â€

â€œShocking, isnâ€™t it?â€ Wil asked.

â€œRummy,â€ Irene called, excitedly putting down all her cards.

Wil looked irritated. â€œYou bitch.â€

â€œHey. You said youâ€™d stop calling me that if I kept playing.â€

â€œSorry. Youâ€™re right. I take that back.â€

The blonde finished adding the score and set her pencil down. â€œIrene, youâ€™re now ahead by fifty-five.â€

â€œTwat,â€ Wil spat.

Irene pouted. â€œHey!â€

â€œWhat?â€ Wil asked innocently. â€œThatâ€™s what you yell when someone leads by any number divisible by eleven. Donâ€™t you know the rules?â€

â€œI didnâ€™t realize this was twat rummy,â€ the blonde said.

Wil smiled. â€œDarling, thatâ€™s the only kind of rummy I play.â€

â€œWho the hell are you?â€ Cotton repeated.

â€œTo you, Iâ€™m Miss Davis,â€ she answered, shuffling the cards, then dealing them. â€œWho the hell are you?â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry,â€ Wil said. â€œWhere are my manners?â€ She gestured to Cotton. â€œBette, this is everything thatâ€™s wrong with men.â€

Bette put her cigarette in her mouth as she began to sort the cards in her hand. â€œIn that case, weâ€™ve already met.â€

Irene laughed to the point of snorting.

â€œWhat the hell are you giggling at?â€ Cotton snapped. â€œAnd where are Moxie and Violet?â€

â€œThey traded rooms with Bette,â€ Irene replied, adding her discard to the pile.

â€œWhat? But you were supposed to keep an eye on them!â€

Irene didnâ€™t even look up. â€œBette here is a contract player at Universal Studios. When we get to Hollywood, sheâ€™s promised to introduce me to some important people.â€

He wasnâ€™t following her. â€œHuh?â€

â€œI donâ€™t need you and your intimidation,â€ Irene clarified. â€œSo stuff it up your ass, pal.â€

Wil drew a card. â€œI donâ€™t know, â€™Reeny. Itâ€™s been a very busy orifice lately.â€

Bette exhaled smoke through her nose. â€œDo you mean him? Or are you actually talking about his rectum?â€

Wil seemed to ponder the question. â€œAs much as I can imagine referring to Cotton when I say itâ€™s been a very busy orifice, I meant his toxicâ€”â€

â€œShut up!â€ They all stared at Cotton, though the disdain in their eyes was apparent. â€œI am sick of every one of youâ€”your sarcasm and your base crassness.â€

Bette turned back to her cards. â€œWil, you didnâ€™t mention what a blustering nance he was.â€

â€œDidnâ€™t I? It must have slipped my mind.â€

Cotton couldnâ€™t take any more of being spoken about as though he wasnâ€™t even in the room. â€œThatâ€™s it! Iâ€™m done with all of you. Good luck trying to get your pathetic careers off the ground. You wonâ€™t get any help from me.â€ He looked directly at Bette. â€œEspecially you, you bug-eyed bitch. Youâ€™ll never get anywhere with that face.â€

He stormed into his room, slamming the door. As he lay on the bed, he felt no remorse for his outburst. Those women didnâ€™t know who they were dealing with.

Chapter Fourteen

One at a time, all five women descended the train steps, finally arriving at the final stop of Pasadena. Violet set Clitty down in the grass so he could frolic and tend to natureâ€™s impulses.

â€œMy God,â€ Moxie said. â€œItâ€™s beautiful here.â€

â€œYou think that now,â€ Bette answered with a throaty laugh, lighting her cigarette. â€œWait until they start feasting on you like locusts.â€

Moxieâ€™s face fell. â€œUmâ€”â€

â€œAnd latch on to you until youâ€™re nothing but a dried husk,â€ Bette continued.

â€œWhat a picturesque backdrop youâ€™ve painted,â€ Violet said.

â€œGood Lord.â€ Wil extended her hand before her brow to block the bright sunlight. â€œLook at all thoseâ€¦what do you call those things that you vomit and pass out under?â€

â€œTrees,â€ Violet replied.

â€œAh, yes. Thatâ€™s right.â€

â€œWhat have you been vomiting and passing out under since youâ€™ve been in the city, Wil?â€ Moxie asked.

â€œMen.â€ She adjusted her skirt.

â€œWil, congratulations on keeping your legs together and your wits about you this entire trip,â€ Violet said sincerely. â€œI realize it may have been difficult for you at times.â€

Bette smiled. â€œEspecially with that agent.â€

Wil put her hands over Ireneâ€™s ears. â€œWatch your language, madam. We try not to use the A -word.â€

â€œEspecially since Moxieâ€™s A -word happens to be such an A -word,â€ Violet added.

â€œWell, as horrid as that man and his emanations were, I did manage to have a lovely time,â€ Bette said. â€œIt was by far the best twat rummy Iâ€™ve ever played. But now I must be going.â€ She hugged the others and bid them farewell.

â€œI can give you a lift, Bette,â€ Violet said. â€œMy driver is here.â€

â€œThanks, Vi. But I have a ride waiting too. Heâ€™s right over there.â€ Bette pointed to a convertible coupe. â€œSo youâ€™re all staying at the Garden of Allah?â€

â€œAs long as theyâ€™ll have us,â€ Wil said.

Bette removed her cigarette from her mouth as she chuckled. â€œClearly youâ€™ve never stayed there before. Iâ€™m not sure thereâ€™s anyone they wouldnâ€™t have.â€

Violet put her hand on Wilâ€™s shoulder. â€œAnd in that way, the Garden of Allah is very much like Wil.â€

Wilâ€™s eyes narrowed. â€œAre you channeling Julian or something?â€

â€œAs a tribute to him,â€ Violet explained, â€œI couldnâ€™t let a golden opportunity to call you a whore slip by untried.â€

Wil sighed. â€œIt does make me miss him.â€

â€œWell,â€ Bette said, â€œI know where to reach you all. Good luck.â€

â€œWhereâ€™s Cotton?â€ Moxie asked, as they all waved good-bye to Bette.

â€œIâ€™m not sure,â€ Violet replied. â€œBut thereâ€™s our car. We should probably get in it before Mr. McCann appears and sees Clitty.â€

Moxie frowned. â€œWhy?â€

Violet gestured to the two porters carrying their bags which car was hers. â€œClitty may have left a souvenir of sorts in Mr. McCannâ€™s shoe.â€

â€œA souvenir?â€ Irene asked. â€œLike what?â€

â€œItâ€™s smaller than a breadbox,â€ Wil hinted. â€œAnd it smells like shit.â€

â€œOh.â€

â€œHiya, Fitzy.â€ As he waited dutifully holding the rear door open, Violet grabbed his chin and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. â€œLadies, may I present Fitzhugh, driver to the stars and currently slumming it with me. Fitzy, this is Irene, Wil, and Moxie.â€

â€œItâ€™s a pleasure, ladies,â€ he said as they all piled in. â€œAre you headed to the Garden, Vi?â€ He started the engine.

â€œYes, thanks.â€ Violet set Clitty on the seat beside her.

â€œWait,â€ Moxie said. â€œWe canâ€™t leave without Cotton. How will he find us?â€

â€œSheâ€™s serious, isnâ€™t she?â€ Wil looked incredulous.

â€œIt would seem so,â€ Violet answered.

â€œWe canâ€™t just leave him.â€

They all stared at each other in silence.

â€œThe hell we canâ€™t.â€ Irene banged her fist twice on the upholstered roof of the vehicle. â€œLetâ€™s go!â€

â€œWell, Iâ€™m sure heâ€™ll be fine,â€ Moxie mumbled softly.

â€œOf course he will. Heâ€™s not a child, after all,â€ Wil said. â€œEven if he does shit his pants like one.â€

When there were no further protestations, Fitzhugh pulled into the street, headed toward Los Angeles.

Violet caught Fitzhughâ€™s gaze in the rearview mirror. â€œDid you manage to get hold of some contraband, Fitzy?â€

â€œI couldnâ€™t look you in the eye if I hadnâ€™t, Vi. Check under the blanket.â€

Wil pulled the blanket to her left away to reveal a bucket filled with an iced bottle of champagne and several glasses. â€œHoly shit! Weâ€™re not even there yet, and itâ€™s already like heaven.â€ She started fiddling with the cork.

â€œSo, Fitzy, have I missed anything beyond the standard daily moral decay?â€

â€œYour agent has been trying to reach you about your next picture for Pinnacle. Did you have a good jaunt to New York?â€

Violet couldnâ€™t suppress a grin. â€œIt was the best fucking train trip ever.â€

Moxie blushed slightly.

The loud pop of the cork surprised everyone, and Wil made quick work of filling a glass for each passenger. â€œLadies, let us all toast to our success out here. To bright lights and free booze.â€

â€œWait, Wil,â€ Violet said. â€œIsnâ€™t that what you just left in Manhattan?â€

â€œGood point. Then to trees, movie contracts, and free booze.â€

â€œHear, hear,â€ Irene added.

They clinked their glasses together as the fragrant smell from the orange groves washed over them.

*

â€œWow.â€ Irene couldnâ€™t contain her excitement and wonder at the passing view of Hollywood as they drove to Sunset Boulevard.

â€œSee that little bungalow?â€ Violet pointed out the limo window.

â€œYeah.â€

â€œThatâ€™s where Charlie Chaplin molested his first underage girl.â€

Ireneâ€™s face fell. â€œWhat? The little tramp?â€

â€œChaplin?â€ Wil asked. â€œOr the girl?â€

Moxie elbowed Violet in the side. â€œCan you try a little harder not to disillusion her before we even get out of the car?â€

â€œI guess you donâ€™t want to stop and read the commemorative plaque, then,â€ she said, twisting the corner of her mouth wryly upward.

â€œPerhaps another time,â€ Moxie whispered in amusement.

â€œHey, while weâ€™re sightseeing,â€ Wil said, â€œcan we see where Clara Bow lost her dignity? That must be out here somewhere.â€

Irene seemed irritated by this turn in the conversation. â€œYou guys are pretty glib about other peopleâ€™s careers. I bet youâ€™d feel differently if it were yours.â€

â€œPerhaps,â€ Violet replied. â€œBut try and remember what I told you, Irene. People out here are just folks, like you and me. They arenâ€™t royalty.â€

â€œIâ€™ll tryâ€” Jumpinâ€™ cats! Is this where weâ€™re staying?â€

The limo turned into the driveway in front of the big house at the Garden of Allah.

â€œIt is,â€ Violet said slowly.

Moxie was awestruck as well. The place was nothing if not impressive with its beautiful Spanish bungalows, shady trees, and exotic-looking vegetation. Once they came to a stop, Fitzhugh opened the door and they all poured out.

â€œBy the way, Vi,â€ Fitzhugh said. â€œPeter says heâ€™s having a little soirÃ©e tonight to welcome you all.â€

â€œWonderful. What time?â€

â€œSeven.â€

â€œDone. Weâ€™ll see you there?â€

Fitzhugh smiled warmly as he started to remove their bags from the car and set them in the driveway. â€œYou will.â€

â€œThanks for the ride, Fitzy.â€ Violet blew him a kiss before walking into the front office, the others following. â€œGood day, Captain,â€ Violet called to the plump man behind the counter. â€œIâ€™ve brought you some new guests who need to check in.â€

â€œCaptain?â€ Irene asked Moxie softly.

â€œCaptain Napkin,â€ she whispered. â€œIâ€™ll have to tell you that story later.â€

As Lyle turned to greet then, Moxie quickly realized that the garment around his neck was not a silky ascot, but a brassiere for a rather busty woman. â€œMiss London. Welcome home. And how many bungalows will you ladies require?â€ He snapped open the register with a flourish.

â€œI think just one,â€ Wil said. â€œNice necktie, Blinky.â€

â€œThank you kindly.â€ He straightened the cup closest to his chin. â€œIâ€™ll give you bungalow ten, so you can be near Miss London.â€ Lyle handed Wil a fountain pen. â€œIf you could just enter your information on line three, please, Iâ€™ll have your bags taken there for you.â€

Violet motioned for Moxie to follow her back several feet from the counter. â€œI figure you can stay with me in eleven. Thereâ€™s plenty of room, provided youâ€™re comfortable with that arrangement.â€

Moxieâ€™s libido sprang to life, and she bit her lower lip and smiled flirtatiously. â€œOh, Iâ€™m very comfortable with that.â€

Violet looked at her with unconcealed lust. â€œThatâ€™s good to hear, because I have a surprise for you.â€

Moxie couldnâ€™t break eye contact with her. â€œYou have a real penchant for surprises, donâ€™t you?â€

â€œI do.â€ Violet brushed a strand of Moxieâ€™s hair back behind her ear. â€œKnow what else I have a penchant for?â€

â€œHmm, does it have to do with me?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œAm I naked?â€

â€œYou are, yes.â€

â€œAnd is someone being pleasured?â€

â€œYouâ€™re really good at this game,â€ Violet said.

â€œWell, I can do more than just fill out a mean crossword puzzle.â€

â€œDonâ€™t I know it.â€

Wil approached, her expression one of confusion. â€œLadies, letâ€™s go.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€ Violet asked.

â€œI donâ€™t think that fellaâ€™s drunk,â€ Wil whispered discreetly.

â€œNo, heâ€™s not.â€

â€œI was okay with the lingerie cravat when I just thought he was lit,â€ Wil explained. â€œStone-cold sober, itâ€™s kinda creepy.â€

â€œFair enough.â€ Violet faced Lyle. â€œThanks so much, Captain. See you later.â€

Lyle nodded politely. â€œGood day to you all.â€

Moxie looked around curiously. â€œWhereâ€™s Irene?â€

â€œSheâ€™s waiting outside,â€ Wil said. â€œShe thought he was subtly trying to entice her to rub her breasts on him.â€

Violet chuckled as they walked back out to the driveway. â€œIf thatâ€™s subtle, Iâ€™d love to see her idea of something overt.â€

â€œThere you are, Reeny,â€ Wil said to Irene, who was seated on their luggage. â€œGood news. None of us rubbed anything on him.â€

â€œAs tempting as it was,â€ Violet added.

â€œIs this what theyâ€™re all like out here?â€ Irene asked as she jumped up.

Violet squinted into the sun as the bellboy came out to gather their bags. â€œThat depends on who they are. But so far, heâ€™s the only one Iâ€™ve met since Iâ€™ve been here who wears womenâ€™s undergarments on the outside. â€

â€œFeel better now?â€ Wil asked Irene as they followed the bellboy around the right side of the main house.

â€œHey, Vi. Welcome back.â€

They all turned to see a young blonde seated by the pool about thirty yards away, waving at them.

â€œHey, Ginger,â€ Violet called back. â€œYou went blond after all?â€

Ginger laughed and ran her hand through her hair. â€œTurns out the studio had the same idea you did.â€

â€œYou like it?â€

â€œYou know, I think I do. Youâ€™re a pretty smart cookie, Vi. See you around.â€

Violet nodded. â€œSee you.â€

â€œWho is that ?â€ Moxie said in a hushed tone.

â€œJust a nice kid who lives over in six with her mother.â€

â€œA nice kid?â€ Moxie eyed the womanâ€™s curvy figure in a black bathing suit.

â€œSure.â€

â€œAnd you recommended that she color her hair?â€

â€œIt was just a suggestion. But you wear it so much better, baby.â€

â€œWhat a brilliant observation.â€

Violet tapped her temple. â€œWell, I am a smart cookie.â€

â€œAmong other things.â€

When they got to bungalow ten, both Irene and Wil seemed elated to be somewhere they could rest that wasnâ€™t moving and didnâ€™t share space with Cotton. They hastily disappeared inside, with Violet reminding them about meeting at Peterâ€™s for the evening.

Violet, Moxie, and Clitty continued to eleven, and though both of them were just as tired as Irene and Wil, the excitement of spending more time alone with each other trumped their fatigue.

â€œThis is quaint,â€ Moxie said, once the bellboy left.

â€œThanks. I built it with my own two hands.â€

Moxie moved across the room, stepped into Violetâ€™s arms, and kissed her. â€œYou do have extraordinary hands. I can attest to that.â€

Violet nibbled Moxieâ€™s earlobe. â€œThatâ€™s sweet of you to say. You do much to keep them occupied.â€

â€œChrist, Vi. You make me want you so much.â€

Violetâ€™s hands slowly traveled down Moxieâ€™s shoulders to her breasts, then to her hips. â€œShow me.â€

â€œOh, I will. But first, where is my surprise?â€

â€œThis feels a little like extortion.â€

â€œConsidering that what youâ€™re currently feeling is actually my ass, are you saying my ass feels like extortion?â€

â€œNot at all. Your ass feels more like sunshine.â€

â€œThatâ€™s suchâ€”â€

â€œPoetry?â€

â€œCrap.â€

â€œYou have a very discerning ear.â€ Violet walked over to the kitchen. â€œLetâ€™s see if Fitzy came through. Ah, he did. What a good man.â€ She returned to the room with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

â€œThis is your surprise?â€

â€œIf you recall, I promised you some champagne to celebrate your success.â€

â€œThatâ€™s not what we had in the limo?â€

Violet popped the cork dramatically. â€œOh, no. That was to celebrate our arrival.â€ She filled the glasses and handed one to Moxie.

â€œYou sure do like to celebrate.â€

Violet took a sip, then set her glass down. â€œI like to consider my life a series of transitions between celebrations.â€ She moved closer to Moxie and kissed her neck.

â€œMmm, letâ€™s transition right now,â€ Moxie groaned, putting her drink on the table.

Their mouths met urgently, and Moxie ran her fingers through Violetâ€™s dark tresses while Violet struggled to unbutton Moxieâ€™s dress without the luxury of looking at what she was doing. Moxie, wanting to move this frustrating undressing part along, began to remove her own clothes.

â€œYouâ€™re very helpful,â€ Violet said between kisses.

â€œItâ€™s pure selfishness,â€ Moxie murmured, pulling her dress over her head and tugging down her underpants.

Within minutes they were both naked and hungrily exploring each other, though still standing in the living room. Violet pulled away long enough to nudge Moxie over to the sofa. â€œLie down.â€

Moxie did as she was told, and she felt like she might explode from the desire coursing through her. She raised her eyebrow when Violet picked up the champagne bottle before moving toward her. â€œWhatâ€™s that for?â€

â€œI was just thinking what it might taste like to drink you in.â€ She tilted the bottle above Moxieâ€™s stomach, but stopped before any liquid spilled out. â€œAre you game?â€

â€œItâ€™ll be cold.â€

Violet smiled wickedly. â€œAnd bubbly. And very, very tasty.â€

Moxie thought for a second. â€œDo it.â€

The effervescent liquid landed on her breasts and abdomen, and Violet wasted no time in moving her tongue along Moxieâ€™s erect nipples, at the same time drinking in the small puddles she encountered along the way.

â€œMmm, it tingles.â€ Moxie groaned as she raked her fingers through Violetâ€™s hair.

Violet moved up to kiss Moxie, and Moxie savored the taste of the champagne that Violet had just drunk from her skin. â€œI need more,â€ Violet said, her eyes darkened with desire.

â€œOh, yes.â€

Before Moxie knew what had happened, chilled champagne was running into her belly button and between her thighs, where Violet met the fizzy tsunami with her tongue. It was a sensation unlike any other Moxie had ever experiencedâ€”cold, but infused with a pronounced heat. Wherever the liquid met her genitals felt electric, and she was thankful Violet fervently licked the bubbly away before it segued from erotic to uncomfortable.

â€œGod,â€ Moxie gasped. â€œMmm, faster.â€

Violet accelerated the movement of her tongue along Moxieâ€™s labia, and for Moxie, a different kind of fire rapidly replaced the heat that the alcohol sparked. She rocked her hips to try to increase the pressure from Violetâ€™s mouth, and slid her hands to her own breasts and began to massage them as her orgasm slowly built.

When pleasure and release finally racked her body, she cried out and her vision became only kaleidoscopic color. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing as Violet moved above her and kissed her.

â€œSo would you recommend the champagne?â€ Violet asked before tasting Moxieâ€™s mouth again.

â€œIt depends.â€

â€œOn?â€

Moxie ran her hands up Violetâ€™s back. â€œOn whether or not I get a rash. Though even if I did, after how amazing that was, I might find it hard to be mad at you.â€

â€œI have an idea,â€ Violet said. â€œLetâ€™s go to bed.â€

â€œYou think you can control yourself now to make it all the way to the next room without ravaging me?â€

â€œPerhaps, if we hurry.â€ Violet stood and pulled Moxie to her feet.

â€œWait. Bring the bottle.â€

Violet smiled broadly. â€œYeah?â€ She grabbed the champagne bottle by the neck.

â€œTurnabout is fair play.â€

â€œWhat if I want to play dirty?â€ Violet asked.

â€œWeâ€™ll talk about that after I make you come.â€

*

By the time Moxie and Violet reached bungalow sixteen, they were worn out. Not only had Moxie never really enjoyed sex until sheâ€™d had Violet as her partner, but she hadnâ€™t realized just how often you could have it. Sheâ€™d have been more content at that moment to sleep, but Violet seemed excited to see her friend Mr. Easton. And since he was supposedly throwing a party in their honor, it would have been rude not to attend.

Moxie put her hand up to knock, and Violet pushed it away.

â€œThatâ€™ll get you nowhere with Peter.â€

â€œKnocking?â€

Violet picked up Clitty, then opened the door and stood off to the side so Moxie had a clear view of the carousing. She was astounded at all the people. Over forty were stuffed into a rather small room. A man in the corner played the clarinet quite well. All had a drink in their hands, and a server was milling through the crowd holding a platter filled with hors dâ€™oeuvres.

â€œHere we are.â€ Wil appeared from around the corner with Irene. â€œGood timing. Hot dog! Food and gin.â€

â€œViolet!â€ a tall, plump man with an arresting handlebar mustache called from the corner. â€œWeâ€™ve missed you. How have you been?â€

â€œHitting on all sixes.â€ Violet crossed the busy room and gave him a quick kiss and hug. â€œPeter, may I present my traveling party. This is Irene Cavendishâ€”dancer, Wil Skoogâ€”actress, and Moxie Valetteâ€”singer extraordinaire. Ladies, this is Peter Easton, writer of marginal screenplays.â€

â€œCharmed.â€ Peter took Moxieâ€™s hand and kissed her knuckles. â€œSo you are the renowned Moxie.â€

Moxie felt slightly uncomfortable with Peterâ€™s attention. â€œThatâ€™s me.â€

â€œIâ€™ve heard quite a bit about you,â€ he said, releasing her. â€œIâ€™m interested to hear you sing so I can hear the choir of seraphim that Violet described.â€

Moxie looked at Violet accusingly. â€œDid you embellish slightly?â€

â€œNot at all.â€ Violet shook her head in amusement. â€œI just said that you made me see God, nothing more.â€

â€œWell, if you want to summon any deities,â€ Peter began, â€œyouâ€™re more than welcome to do a number here. Iâ€™m sure weâ€™d all love to get a little religion.â€

Moxie cleared her throat. â€œMaybe a little later, but Iâ€™d love a drink, if youâ€™re got one.â€

He laughed loudly. â€œIf Iâ€™ve got one?â€ He walked over to his bar, pieced together with liquor crates and plywood, but visibly stocked to the hilt. â€œWhat would you like, doll? I can do it all.â€

â€œPeter prides himself on the fact that he knows every cocktail in existence,â€ Violet explained. â€œHe insists he canâ€™t be stumped.â€

â€œIs that so?â€ Wil asked.

He smiled. â€œTest me.â€

Wil crossed her arms defiantly. â€œHow about a Ward Eight?â€

â€œIâ€™m a New Englander, for Christâ€™s sake. Rye whiskey, lemon juice, and grenadine.â€

It was apparent that Wil was taking this challenge to heart. â€œFrench seventy-five?â€

â€œGin, Cointreau, champagne, and lemon juice.â€

â€œA Charlie Chaplin.â€ She moved her hands to her hips.

His mustache angled upward. â€œSloe gin, apricot brandy, and lime juice.â€

Wilâ€™s eyes narrowed. â€œA pompous bastard.â€

Peterâ€™s smugness visibly left him. â€œUm, how do you make that?â€

â€œPut a lemon twist in your ass and shake.â€ Wil raised her eyebrow defiantly.

Violet laughed. â€œYou know, Wil, I would have thought that you, of all people, would be able to appreciate Peterâ€™s talent.â€

â€œJust because he knows them doesnâ€™t mean he can mix them.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s your poison?â€ Peter appeared as though he wanted to start over with her.

One corner of Wilâ€™s mouth curved up. â€œJust to properly test your mixing skills, mind you, how about a Floradora?â€

Peterâ€™s eyes glimmered with humor as he grabbed a bottle of gin and began the concoction. â€œI love a woman whoâ€™s a challenge.â€

Violet sighed. â€œNot the first word that typically comes to mind when describing Wil.â€

Wil propped her elbow on the bar. â€œDonâ€™t listen to her, Pete. Sheâ€™s recently sleep-deprived, if you follow me.â€

Peter glanced at Violet and Moxie with brazen amusement. â€œOh, I think I do. Floradoras for all of you, ladies?â€

â€œPlease,â€ Irene said.

â€œExcellent.â€ He stirred up a pitcher. â€œHave you ladies met Harpo?â€ Peter nodded to his left as he continued to add ingredients.

Irene froze. â€œAs inâ€”?â€

â€œHow are you?â€ Moxie asked the actor as she shook his hand. â€œIâ€™m Moxie.â€

â€œNice to meet you.â€ His voice was much deeper than Moxie would have guessed it to be, since he never spoke in his films. â€œYou staying at the Garden?â€

â€œI am, yes. With Violet. Do you live here as well?â€

Harpo nodded and pointed with his thumb. â€œIâ€™m in eighteen.â€

Irene still sputtered unintelligibly, and Moxie took pity on her. â€œThis is my friend Irene.â€

â€œHuhhhh,â€ Irene rasped, the syllable lasting a ridiculously long time.

Harpo tilted his head slightly and put up his hand to wave. â€œHiya.â€

Peter mercifully shoved a glass in Ireneâ€™s hand. â€œIt seems like this isnâ€™t your first drink tonight, tomato. But enjoy it anyway.â€

â€œMy God,â€ Wil said after tasting her drink.

â€œYou like it?â€ Peter handed the remaining two to Moxie and Violet.

â€œIt beats a punch in the quim.â€ Wil took another sip.

â€œFrom Wil, thatâ€™s a rousing endorsement,â€ Violet said.

Harpo shifted uncomfortably and pointed to Wil. â€œAre you with her?â€ he asked Irene.

â€œNnnurrr,â€ Irene burbled.

â€œSee ya around,â€ Harpo said, disappearing into the crowd.

Ireneâ€™s wide eyes grew even larger. â€œWhhaayyy.â€

Moxie took a few steps toward Violet and brushed her back to get her attention. â€œI donâ€™t think your stars-are-simple-folk chat had the effect on Irene that you may have hoped.â€

Violet looked at their catatonic friend. â€œHmm. Is she salivating?â€

â€œNot yet. Is there something we can do for her?â€

â€œShe just needs to relax. Maybe if we introduce her to a schlub sheâ€™ll feel more at ease.â€

â€œA schlub?â€

â€œSure, let me ask Peter.â€ Violet whispered something in Peterâ€™s ear that made him look at Irene, then snort. He nodded, then receded into the crowd. â€œHeâ€™s going to take care of it.â€

â€œHeâ€™s not going to set her up with some sap, is he?â€

â€œHopefully not,â€ Violet said, â€œbut clearly she needs someone a little more her speed.â€

â€œIf she wants to be able to speak at all, she does.â€

Peter returned, pushing a short, nebbishy fellow in front of him. â€œLadies, this is Wallace. Wallace, this is Moxie, Violet, and Irene.â€

Wallace blinked three times and bowed.

â€œWally, darling,â€ Wil said, approaching him with her hand extended. â€œIâ€™m Wil Skoog.â€

â€œHello,â€ he stuttered, neglecting to take her hand.

Wil frowned. â€œSay, youâ€™re not in the later stages of syphilis, are you? You seem a little squirrelly.â€

â€œHuh?â€

Peter laughed. â€œHow about you kids take a seat over here and get acquainted?â€ He snapped his fingers impatiently at the couple seated on his love seat. â€œCome on, folks. People need to sit.â€ They quickly leapt up, and Peter directed Irene and Wallace to take their place. â€œThatâ€™s just fine. Wallace, what are you drinking?â€

â€œUhâ€”â€

â€œIâ€™ll get you a refill.â€ Peter dashed back to the bar.

Moxie shook her head and took a sip of her Floradora. â€œHeâ€™s not much of a matchmaker, but he makes a hell of a drink.â€

Violet shrugged. â€œIt beats a punch in the quim.â€

Chapter Fifteen

Violet sat quietly in the back of a darkened room on a Pinnacle soundstage, watching Moxie audition for Henry Childs. As Moxieâ€™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 Moxieâ€™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 couldnâ€™t see the directorâ€™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. â€œThat was great.â€ He turned to the back of the room and put his hand across his brow to search the darkness for Violet. â€œYou werenâ€™t kidding, Vi. This doll is dynamite.â€

â€œWhen have I ever steered you wrong?â€ 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. â€œMoxie, thank God Iâ€™ve finally found you.â€

Moxieâ€™s expression was decidedly less pleased. â€œOh, hello.â€

â€œWhere did you go?â€ He sounded desperate. â€œI looked for you on the train and you were gone. Did you know someone shit in my shoe?â€

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 Moxieâ€™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.

â€œCan I help you?â€ Henry was clearly nonplussed by this man, who could still plausibly be labeled a lunatic.

â€œWho the hell are you ?â€ Cotton barked.

Henry scowled. â€œSince this is a closed set, perhaps you should explain who you are, Mac.â€

â€œUncle.â€ Violet put her hand on the small of Cottonâ€™s back. â€œHow did you get in here? Where is your nurse?â€

â€œWhat the hell are you talking about?â€ Cotton tried to recoil from her touch.

â€œIâ€™m sorry, Henry,â€ Violet said softly, trying to lead Cotton out of the room. â€œThis is my Uncle Douchâ€¦ay.â€

â€œUncle who?â€ 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. â€œUncle DuChÃ©,â€ she repeated, more confidently this time. â€œOur family is French. Uncle, youâ€™ve interrupted Moxieâ€™s audition with director Henry Childs.â€ She emphasized Henryâ€™s name as much as she could, in the hope that Cotton would recognize the name.

Cottonâ€™s brow creased. â€œHenâ€”â€

â€œâ€”ry Childs, yes.â€ Violet nodded slowly.

Cotton slicked his hair back, apparently unaware of how little he actually helped his appearance. â€œOh, allow me toâ€”â€

â€œWait in the hall?â€ Violet shoved Cotton toward the door more forcefully now. Clitty trailed her closely. â€œBut of course, mon oncle. Certainement. Weâ€™ll just leave you two to chat.â€ She smiled at Henry and Moxie.

Once the door shut behind them, Cottonâ€™s acquiescence immediately dissolved. â€œStop pushing me, you shrew!â€

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

His face fell. â€œBut Iâ€™m her agent.â€

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

â€œWell, you bitches left me at the train station,â€ he said through clenched teeth. â€œI 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.â€ He sighed. â€œThis vast, expansive, labyrinthine lot.â€

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 Cottonâ€™s bags, but she felt no need to voice this hunch. â€œSo where have you been staying the last two days?â€

â€œA dingy place on Hollywood Boulevard called Los Reyes de Armas.â€

â€œAnd this?â€ Violet pointed to the large golden stain on his shirt.

â€œWas deposited on me by a drunken waiter a day and a half ago. But I have nothing to change into.â€

â€œAs much as this pains me, mon oncle, â€ she said, arching an eyebrow in wonder, â€œIâ€™m going to help you.â€

â€œWhat?â€

â€œCâ€™mon.â€ Violet gingerly tugged his elbow. They walked outside where Fitzhugh sat in the limo, reading the newspaper. â€œHey, Fitzy. I have a little favor to ask. Dâ€™ya mind?â€

Fitzhugh got out of the driverâ€™s seat, folding the paper and tossing it back through the open car window. He looked Cotton up and down and whistled solemnly. â€œIs he the favor?â€

She nodded. â€œHeâ€™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 itâ€™s for me.â€

â€œBut what about the audition?â€ Cotton asked, seeming somewhat ambivalent.

â€œTrust me. Youâ€™re doing the best possible thing for Moxie right now. Now, go meet Emma and let her help you. And donâ€™t be a dick to her, please. Weâ€™ll come by your hotel tonight at seven to pick you up and take you to dinner. Hopefully weâ€™ll have good news to celebrate.â€

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.

â€œYouâ€™re invited to dinner too, Fitzy.â€

â€œDo you need me to come back and collect you?â€

She shook her head and smiled. â€œIf you could just help my filthy friend here, thatâ€™s more than enough. When heâ€™s all gussied up, drop him back at Los Reyes de Armas on Hollywood Boulevard and then come by the Garden for drinks.â€

He winked at her. â€œConsider it done, Vi.â€

â€œThanks.â€ As Violet watched the limo slowly pull away, she contemplated Cottonâ€™s weary form as it sagged against the back window. She supposed he wasnâ€™t completely horrid.

â€œHiya, tomato.â€ Moxie was standing behind her, a broad grin on her face.

â€œMy goodness, a sexy stranger, come to tempt me. Youâ€™re beautiful enough to be an actress. Are you one?â€

Moxieâ€™s chin dropped, but her smile remained radiant. â€œI am, yes.â€

Violet swept her into a fast embrace and spun her excitedly. â€œThatâ€™s wonderful.â€

â€œI donâ€™t have any lines,â€ Moxie quickly said. â€œIâ€™m playing the nightclub singer.â€

â€œSo you do a number?â€

â€œActually, I do two. â€ Moxieâ€™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. â€œWhatâ€™s the picture?â€

â€œ Love Comes Sailing. â€

â€œAnd whoâ€™s in it?â€

â€œGloria Swanson.â€

â€œHmm, you might want to keep your distance from her.â€ Violet gestured with her head that they should start walking.

â€œAnd why is that? Worried I might fall for her charms?â€

â€œNot as much as Iâ€™m worried about all the powerful people she knows. Rumor has it that until recently she was Joe Kennedyâ€™s mistress, and in exchange he was managing her career.â€

â€œThe financial mogul?â€

â€œThe very one. When do you start filming?â€

â€œIâ€™m supposed to be back Tuesday morning for wardrobe fittings. Hey, where are we going?â€ Moxie asked. â€œAnd whereâ€™s Fitzhugh?â€

â€œI sent him off on an errand to help our poor Uncle DuChÃ© properly groom himself. Weâ€™re now headed to T. Z. Walterâ€™s office. I have an appointment to see him about my next picture.â€

â€œHmm, and then?â€

Violetâ€™s voice was suddenly soft and raspy. â€œThen we take a cab back to the Garden, where I can spend a few hours making love to you.â€

Moxieâ€™s forward motion stopped the instant Violet finished the sentence, and she exhaled loudly. â€œMmm.â€

â€œDoes that mean yes?â€

â€œIt means that I find it mildly infuriating that when Iâ€™m with you, you make sure that I can never have on dry underpants.â€

Violet couldnâ€™t hide her amusement. â€œIs it wrong if I take some perverse pride in that gift?â€ They started walking again.

â€œIt depends.â€

â€œOn?â€

â€œWhether or not I get to make you come in my mouth.â€

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. â€œIâ€™m almost certain that can be arranged,â€ she said with some difficulty. â€œEven though I know youâ€™re just trying to make me wet before I have to go talk to the head of the studio.â€

Moxie began her trek again. â€œBe that as it may, doll, that doesnâ€™t mean itâ€™s not my plan for the evening.â€

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

â€œMe either,â€ Moxie said, her eyes sparkling. â€œItâ€™s a nice surprise, isnâ€™t it?â€

â€œEvery day is like Christmas morning.â€

*

â€œSo, Violet, I suppose you want to know about the new movie.â€ 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.

â€œShall I try and guess?â€

He seemed indulgent. â€œSure. Go ahead.â€

â€œIs it a romantic comedy?â€

â€œNope.â€

â€œA dramatic war picture where my fiancÃ©â€™s plane goes down and I have to courageously press on?â€

â€œCloser, but no.â€

â€œOoh, a period piece where I get to wear a bustle?â€

â€œNo, sorry.â€ He picked up a script from his desk and handed it to her.

Violet glanced at the title. â€œ September Moon ?â€ Interested, she started flipping through the manuscript.

He stood and began to pace, his hands behind his back. â€œItâ€™s a drama, but itâ€™s about a love triangle.â€

â€œIâ€™m the dark, bad girl, arenâ€™t I?â€

He chuckled. â€œWell, yes.â€

â€œHave you already cast the leading man and the sweet, good girl?â€

T. Z. cleared his throat nervously. â€œThe male lead will be Frank Thatcher.â€

â€œOkay, and the other actress?â€ Violet repeated skeptically. He clearly looked like he didnâ€™t want to tell her. â€œChrist, T. Z. Itâ€™s Sylvia, isnâ€™t it?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œAre you punishing me? I thought you were pleased with my work in Manhattan Rhapsody. â€

â€œI was, Violet. Very much so.â€ He rubbed the back of his head. â€œI was afraid you would see this as a bad thing.â€

â€œThis isnâ€™t a bad thing?â€

He grinned awkwardly. â€œNot at all.â€

â€œSo casting me in a film with the one person in Hollywood who openly despises me is actually a boon?â€

T. Z. sighed. â€œLook, Vi, Sylvia King is the biggest star at this studio.â€

â€œPerhaps if youâ€™d stop telling her that, sheâ€™d behave a little less like anal discharge.â€

He plodded on, undeterred. â€œAnd 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.â€

Violet scratched her cheek as she closed the script on her lap. â€œHow long will I need to be conciliatory? This wonâ€™t be the start of a long series of films called The Homewrecker, where I repeatedly steal Sylviaâ€™s man, will it?â€

He laughed nervously again. â€œIâ€™ll promise you right now, that it wonâ€™t be.â€

â€œBut can you promise me that I wonâ€™t have to make other pictures with her?â€

â€œYou know I canâ€™t, Violet.â€

She exhaled loudly and looked out the window. Surely there must be a way to make this ordeal betterâ€”more enjoyable. â€œDo I get to really dirty him up?â€

â€œWho?â€

â€œSylviaâ€™s love interest.â€ Violet skimmed through the script again. â€œHer husband, it says here. Do I thoroughly taint and debauch him? Desecrate their wedding vows, perhaps in their own bed?â€

â€œWould that make this role more appealing to you?â€

She smiled malevolently and nodded. â€œI 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?â€

â€œWell, yesâ€”â€

â€œWhat if, instead, I go insane and kill her?â€

T. Z.â€™s jaw slackened. â€œWhat?â€

â€œWe 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.â€

â€œBut Sylviaâ€™s character is the one who doesnâ€™t commit adultery.â€

â€œThatâ€™s what gives it the surprise ending. Or maybe she kills her husband and then gets the death penalty.â€

â€œYou really have a dark side, Vi.â€

â€œTell me that some small part of you wouldnâ€™t relish making that change.â€

His mouth opened, but after a moment of silence, he closed it again. â€œI canâ€™t say that.â€

*

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

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.

â€œMox, Iâ€™m sure Irene is just fine.â€ Violet patted Moxieâ€™s thigh comfortingly.

â€œI hope so,â€ Moxie replied, almost absently. â€œI mean, sheâ€™s not a bumpkin by any stretch of the imagination, but sheâ€™s never stayed out all night before.â€

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

â€œI donâ€™t know,â€ Moxie said. â€œShe has a beau back in New York, but heâ€™s horrible, really. Spending time with Tom is a bit like having someone read Leviticus to you in Latin.â€

Violet squinted. â€œInexplicable, yet you still feel dirty?â€

â€œNo,â€ Moxie replied. â€œThat was obviously a bad metaphor. I meant he was terribly boring.â€

â€œWell, then,â€ Peter said, â€œperhaps sheâ€™s finally met a man who was able to show her a good time. Maybe thatâ€™s all this is.â€

â€œI canâ€™t believe she didnâ€™t take me with her,â€ Wil muttered. â€œI am nothing if not fun.â€

â€œSay, Wil,â€ Violet said. â€œDidnâ€™t you mention that Irene was talking about seeing that fellow from the party the other night? What was his name?â€

â€œWallace?â€ Peter nearly choked on his libation. â€œShe went out with Wallace?â€

Moxie narrowed her eyes. â€œWhy? Whatâ€™s wrong with him? You were the one who put them together, after all.â€

â€œHe wasnâ€™t meant for her to date, â€ Peter explained. â€œHe was just someone for her to talk to until sheâ€”â€

â€œRegained her senses?â€ Wil suggested.

â€œExactly,â€ Peter said. â€œThe man is a complete clod.â€

Moxie was concerned again, but in a new way. â€œWhat do you know of Wallace, Peter?â€

The question seemed to catch him off guard. â€œI believe heâ€™s a Protestant.â€

Violet rolled her eyes. â€œWell, thatâ€™s a relief. How about some information that might actually be helpful, Peter? His last name? A profession? Where he lives?â€

Peter closed his eyes, seeming to plumb the depths of his memory, but he opened them again and shook his head in resignation. â€œSorry.â€

â€œWhen did you meet him?â€ Moxie asked.

â€œThe night you all arrived,â€ he replied weakly.

Violetâ€™s irritation was becoming more apparent. â€œHow did he end up in your bungalow, Peter?â€

â€œSomeone brought him,â€ he said confidently.

â€œWho?â€ Moxie asked.

â€œThat tall fellow with the mustache who was drinking gimlets.â€

Moxie tried to calm herself and covered her mouth with her clenched fist. â€œYou donâ€™t know his name either?â€

â€œBut I do remember what he was drinking,â€ Peter said smugly.

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

â€œI didnâ€™t know I was supposed to gather everyoneâ€™s personal information before they could come in,â€ Peter replied tersely.

After a moment of awkward silence, Wil spoke. â€œThe good news is Irene can easily outrun that lug.â€ When everyone turned toward her in incredulity, she appeared to nearly have a moment of self-awareness. â€œWhat? Thatâ€™s not a good thing?â€

At that moment, Irene entered, animated and elated. â€œHey, everyone. The partyâ€™s here tonight?â€

â€œIrene, where have you been?â€ Moxieâ€™s relief mingled with her chagrin.

Ireneâ€™s face lit up. â€œI was with a certain fella.â€ She sat beside Moxie on the sofa and coyly bit her lower lip.

â€œYou see?â€ Peter said, reclining back into the chair. â€œShe was having the time of her life.â€

â€œI was.â€ Irene seemed giddy.

â€œWith Wallace?â€ Wil asked in disbelief.

Irene scowled momentarily. â€œWho? Oh, that mook I met at Peterâ€™s party?â€ She began to laugh into her hand.

â€œThen who?â€ Violet finally asked.

â€œWell,â€ Irene said, â€œBette called and asked me to meet her at Universal yesterday so I could try out as a chorus girl in a new picture.â€

â€œWhere was I when she called?â€ Wil was clearly disappointed.

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

â€œMmm, Iâ€™d be completely sunburned if I hadnâ€™t been fully clothed,â€ Wil replied, as though sheâ€™d found her silver lining.

â€œAnd underneath that busboy,â€ Violet added. â€œAt any rate, Irene, how did it go?â€

Irene cleared her throat. â€œThe audition, not so hot. The director said something about the size of my can, so I took a page from Wilâ€™s handbook and socked him right in the sack.â€

â€œAttagirl,â€ Wil said, lifting her glass with a wink.

Violetâ€™s expression did much to dampen their celebration. â€œWait, you punched a director in the balls?â€

â€œI sure did,â€ Irene said proudly. â€œAs hard as I could.â€

â€œEmpowering, isnâ€™t it, Reeny?â€ Wil asked.

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

Irene inhaled deeply. â€œAt first, I didnâ€™t feel empowered at all. I got all angry and hysterical, and I ran out of there, bawling.â€

â€œNo pun intended,â€ Wil added, waggling her empty glass at Peter from across the room.

â€œBut then a guy stopped me right outside,â€ Irene said. â€œHe asked me to dinner and told me that he liked my spunk.â€

Peter walked back and poured a fresh cocktail for Wil, handing Irene a full glass as well. â€œAre you sure he wasnâ€™t offering you some of his spunk?â€

â€œPeter, please tell me that line has never worked for you,â€ Violet said.

â€œIâ€™m jotting it down now,â€ he said, picking up a pencil. â€œIâ€™ll let you know tomorrow.â€

The corner of Violetâ€™s mouth rose slightly. â€œRemember to find out how much bail is before you call, darling.â€

Peter chuckled. â€œI always do.â€

Moxie hushed them both. â€œSo, Irene, you went out to dinner with this fella?â€

She nodded wildly. â€œAnd how. We went to this swanky place called the Polo Lounge and had the fanciest dinner Iâ€™ve ever eaten.â€

â€œThe Polo Lounge inside the Beverly Hills Hotel?â€ Peterâ€™s eyebrows were raised.

â€œUm, yeah. Thatâ€™s the one.â€

Moxie was a little surprised. â€œNot to pry, Irene. But is that where you were all last night and today?â€

Wil sat forward in interest. â€œIf I wasnâ€™t so proud of you, my little protÃ©gÃ©e, Iâ€™d be jealous as hell.â€ She slapped Irene on the thigh playfully. â€œSo, Goodtime Reeny, whatâ€™s his name?â€

Irene looked as though she were about to explode. â€œHoward Hughes.â€

Violet looked at Moxie with wide eyes. â€œAs in, Hellâ€™s Angels, Howard Hughes?â€

â€œThatâ€™s the one,â€ Irene practically shouted.

â€œIsnâ€™t he with United Artists?â€ Peter asked. â€œWhatâ€™s he doing on a lot at Universal?â€

â€œDid you see any ID before you touched his cock?â€ Wil asked.

Ireneâ€™s face fell. â€œWhat are you all saying?â€

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

Irene scoffed and stood back up, setting down her untouched drink. â€œYouâ€™re all screwy. I need to get ready for my date.â€

â€œYouâ€™re going out with him again tonight?â€ Moxie asked.

â€œYou bet I am.â€

â€œWhy donâ€™t you bring him with all of us?â€ Moxie offered. â€œWeâ€™re going to dinner to celebrate.â€

Ireneâ€™s mouth formed an O shape. â€œWhat are we celebrating?â€

â€œI got the part in the picture,â€ Moxie said happily.

Irene squealed as she hugged her. â€œThatâ€™s great.â€

â€œNow tell her the bad news,â€ Wil said.

Moxie pulled back slightly. â€œOh, Cottonâ€™s coming along.â€

Irene immediately looked less jubilant. â€œOh. Thatâ€™s too bad. Iâ€™ll catch up with all of you tomorrow.â€

Violet pointed casually to Irene. â€œIf I told you that he reeked in a completely different way, would that make you reconsider?â€

Ireneâ€™s expression softened. â€œYou could tell me he smelled like lilacs and was made of kittens, and I wouldnâ€™t reconsider. Besides, heâ€™s probably figured out by now that I took his luggage.â€

â€œ You took Cottonâ€™s luggage?â€ Moxie coughed.

Wil snorted indignantly. â€œSee? I told you it wasnâ€™t me. I donâ€™t know why you never believe me.â€ She casually poured the contents of Ireneâ€™s martini into her own glass.

Violet crossed her arms. â€œI think itâ€™s partially because you frequently get so blotto you canâ€™t remember what youâ€™ve done and said.â€

â€œWell, yes,â€ Wil replied meekly. â€œBut thatâ€™s not the same as lying. If I remember doing it, for Christâ€™s sake, I admit it.â€

â€œHonorable,â€ Violet said.

â€œYouâ€™re goddamn right it is.â€ Wil belched.

Chapter Sixteen

Violet sat on the set, brushing Clittyâ€™s coat as he sat dutifully in her lap, enduring it. â€œWhat is this back here? Is this crusty caviar? Who have you been socializing with?â€ 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. â€œDo you promise to devote that kind of attention to my clitty later?â€

Violet nodded slowly as she stared at Moxie hungrily. â€œThough Iâ€™m hoping that yours isnâ€™t smeared with fish roe like this one is.â€

â€œI do what I can to prevent that.â€

â€œA good rule to live by, really. Fish was never meant to go some places. You look like you got some good news.â€

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

â€œIâ€™d say thatâ€™s a good thing.â€ Violet continued Clittyâ€™s grooming.

â€œHeâ€™s offered me a speaking part in a new picture.â€

â€œAnd by speaking part he means?â€

Moxieâ€™s excitement seemed unabated. â€œIâ€™m in only one scene, but I have a whole page of dialogue.â€

â€œWho are you playing?â€

â€œThe nightclub singer.â€ She coughed self-consciously.

Violet ran her tongue over her teeth quickly. â€œAh. But this time youâ€™re the talking nightclub singer,â€ she said, trying to sound upbeat. â€œAnd are you singing in it too?â€

â€œYep.â€

â€œCongratulations, sweetheart.â€

Moxie relaxed into the chair. â€œThanks, Iâ€™m already planning tonightâ€™s celebration.â€

Violet arched her eyebrows. â€œThat sounds promising. Will nudity be involved?â€

â€œCount on it.â€

â€œDo I need to RSVP?â€

â€œNot to be presumptuous, but I was assuming youâ€™d attend. Iâ€™ll be hard-pressed to find someone to stroke repeatedly to climax this late in the day.â€

Violet stopped her brushing to focus on recovering the breath that suddenly evaporated from her lungs. â€œIâ€™d hate to leave you in a bind, love. You can definitely count me in.â€

â€œI love your dependability, Vi. Itâ€™s such an admirable trait. So, howâ€™s it going here?â€

Violet sighed. â€œOnce again, weâ€™re all waiting for Sylvia.â€

â€œSheâ€™s quite the prima donna, isnâ€™t she?â€

â€œMox, as always, youâ€™ve found a very tactful and delicate way to phrase it.â€

â€œBecause if you were to describe her, you would sayâ€”â€

â€œThat sheâ€™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.â€

Moxie pulled her sunglasses out of her handbag and put them on, relaxing back in the chair. â€œIâ€™m glad to hear that you two have made up.â€

â€œYes. So how is Goodtime Reeny doing?â€

Moxie winced. â€œI 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.â€

â€œI had no idea he was so ubiquitous these days. It shows a shockingly unacceptable lack of imagination amongst our resident degenerates.â€

â€œAnd then she stopped at the pharmacy for a malt and met Louis B. Mayer there.â€

Violet rolled her eyes. â€œOh, no.â€

â€œApparently, he was bald and fat, but that was where the similarity ended.â€

â€œWell, why wouldnâ€™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?â€

â€œIrene gets it now,â€ Moxie assured her. â€œShe sees how this town works. But I think sheâ€™s feeling a little gullible and depressed.â€

Violet set both the brush and Clitty down on the ground. â€œUnfortunately Wil isnâ€™t faring too much better. Since her agent dropped her, she hasnâ€™t gotten a single audition. Well, one that she was conscious for.â€

â€œShe just needs a new agent.â€

â€œIf only it was that simple. Do you think Cotton would agree to represent her?â€

Moxie laughed loudly, unintentionally snorting.

â€œAnd for the same reasons, neither will mine,â€ Violet said.

â€œWhat she really needs is an agent who will never meet her.â€

â€œOr someone eccentric enough to appreciate her hedonistic and somewhat abrasive idiosyncrasies.â€

â€œOr just too high to care.â€

â€œGood thinking,â€ Violet said with a grin. â€œWe donâ€™t want to leave out the dope fiends.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure they make exceptional agents.â€

â€œThey canâ€™t all be surly asses, like yours is.â€

â€œAnd praise the Lord for that,â€ Moxie said. â€œI wonder if anyone staying at the Garden can help Wil.â€

â€œYou know, Peter would be more than happy to do a little entertaining for a good cause, or for a few good causes.â€

â€œA few?â€

â€œSure. We can celebrate your new role, cheer up sicky-pants, and see if we can find Wil a thoroughly indiscriminate agent.â€ Violet was counting on her fingers.

Moxie sat back in her chair again, letting the sun warm her. â€œI love that you delude yourself into thinking that Peterâ€™s parties require a reason.â€

â€œIt makes the debauchery feel more noble.â€

*

Sylvia King sat in her dressing room while her hair stylist continued to work on her curls. â€œJesus Christ, are you done yet, Arthur?â€

â€œI hope so,â€ he said, teasing her curls with a comb. â€œBut so far today, Iâ€™ve thought I was done three times already.â€

â€œIf youâ€™d concentrated on making me look beautiful instead of bloated, you would have been done.â€ Sylvia glanced into the mirror and rolled her eyes. â€œAll right, letâ€™s just end this torture. I suppose thatâ€™s good enough.â€ She stood and posed for a moment in the mirror. â€œBut come with me to the set so you can touch me up between takes.â€

Arthur clutched his comb tight to his chest and nodded at her. â€œYes, Miss King.â€ As she marched outside to the set, he submissively fell in line behind her.

Sylvia didnâ€™t understand how this had happened to her. In all the films she had made for Pinnacle, she had never been given a picture this horrible or a role this unattractive. She was rightfully considered Americaâ€™s darling, so why T. Z. had thought she was right to play a meek woman whose husband has an affair behind her back and ends up being killed by him to be with his mistress completely escaped her.

Even worse, the mistress was being played by Violet London, that brash, filthy-mouthed whore who seemed more interested in being disrespectful than really sitting down and learning from a pro how Hollywood worked. The notion that a man would choose her over Sylvia was, in a word, ludicrous. Though no matter how much she argued that point with T. Z., he didnâ€™t seem interested in what she had to say.

A production assistant whose name escaped her approached nervously. â€œSylvia, itâ€™s about time. The director has been cursing you for the last half hour.â€

â€œTell him that Iâ€™ve been cursing him for the last two weeks.â€

He stared at her. â€œAre you ready to shoot the scene?â€ His voice was devoid of emotion.

â€œOf course. As soon as I look over the script.â€

The little man seemed agitated. â€œYou mean you donâ€™t know your lines?â€

Sylvia glared back. â€œIf you people didnâ€™t keep changing them every day, Iâ€™d know them by now, wouldnâ€™t I?â€

He sighed and walked away, heading over to speak with the director, Leo Graham, a man known as much for his directness and intensity as for the pictures he made. Sylvia felt fairly certain that T. Z. had purposely assigned Leo to this picture to try to control her. She reached for her script and grinned to herself at how disappointed they would both be.

â€œSylvia!â€

She looked up to see Leo angrily striding toward her. She vowed that she would not allow him to intimidate her.

â€œWhatâ€™s this I hear about you still not being ready to shoot the scene?â€

â€œAs I told your little minion,â€ she said in irritation, â€œI canâ€™t learn the script when you keep changing it daily.â€

â€œViolet has no problem with the updates,â€ he said, his eyes narrowing.

â€œPlease, no one would notice if she was getting it wrong. Itâ€™s not like the eye is exactly drawn to her. I would imagine that the audience wonâ€™t even realize sheâ€™s in this film.â€

A muscle in his cheek began to spasm violently, and Sylvia was drawn into its freakish dance. â€œLook here,â€ he rasped, his voice lowered. â€œDonâ€™t think youâ€™re so goddamn special that I wonâ€™t have you replaced on this picture, because I damn well will if you continue to give me cause.â€

She blinked once at him. â€œYour breath smells.â€

â€œDonâ€™tâ€¦fuckâ€¦with me, Sylvia,â€ he said malevolently. â€œYouâ€™re not running this set. I am.â€

â€œHa,â€ she blurted. â€œYou wouldnâ€™t want me to go to T. Z. about this, Leo.â€

â€œYou think heâ€™s not aware of the problem youâ€™ve become? If you decide to press this issue, youâ€™ll be relegated to making the shittiest B movies ever wiped onto a piece of paper.â€

â€œWhat?â€ Was he actually threatening her?

â€œYou heard me. Donâ€™t think we wonâ€™t make an example of you. Your job is to listen to the studio, not the other way around. Now, you have five minutes to get your lines down for this scene, or Iâ€™m suspending you from the production and replacing you with someone who takes her job a little more seriously. You can explain to T. Z. why you were fired.â€

She was unable to speak, and Leo turned and walked back to the camera crane.

â€œWow,â€ Arthur whispered as he adjusted Sylviaâ€™s hair.

â€œShut up,â€ she snapped, opening the script, then glanced across to the other side of the set. Violet was seated next to an attractive blond woman. They were laughing together, and when they stopped, the blonde kissed her index finger and pressed it to Violetâ€™s lips intimately. Sylvia gasped as Violet kissed the womanâ€™s finger and the two shared a rather sultry look. â€œArthur!â€

â€œHmm?â€ He continued to comb.

â€œWho is that woman over there?â€

Arthur squinted. â€œWhere?â€

â€œOver there with Violet Londonâ€”the blonde.â€

â€œOh. You know, Iâ€™ve seen her on-set before, but Iâ€™ve never spoken to her. She may be a contract player.â€

â€œWell, leave my goddamn hair alone and go find out who she is.â€

â€œWhat? Why?â€

â€œJust do it. And donâ€™t let on that I want to know. Be sneaky.â€

He looked confused. â€œAll right.â€

Sylvia forced herself to look over her lines as Arthur slipped through the crew and began to chat with Violet and her admirer. He returned just as Leo was calling everyone to places.

â€œWell?â€ Sylvia asked.

â€œI was right,â€ Arthur said conspiratorially. â€œShe is an actress for the studio.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s her name?â€

â€œGenny Finklestein.â€

â€œGood Lord.â€ Sylvia rose and straightened her skirt. She looked up and saw both women looking at her, smiling and waving. So much for not letting on who was asking. â€œWell, someone should tell her that sheâ€™ll need to change that.â€ She smiled to herself at the power of this newfound knowledge.

*

â€œAbsolutely not,â€ Cotton spat.

Moxie crossed her arms defiantly. â€œWhy not?â€

â€œBecause the studio will never approve, thatâ€™s why.â€ He nodded his thanks to Peter, who appeared and handed him a drink before disappearing back into the crowd gathered in his bungalow. â€œA woman cannot accompany another woman to a film premiere.â€

Violet raised an eyebrow. â€œI would think it would cause a real buzz. Isnâ€™t that what youâ€™re always talking about?â€

Cotton appeared irritated by this line of logic. â€œBuzz is having people talk about your dress, or how beautiful they think you are, not trying to imagine which one of you is the man.â€

Violet huffed, indignant. â€œNo doubt if I took you to the premiere as my escort, Mr. McCann, they might wonder the same thing.â€

â€œNo,â€ he replied, ignoring the barb. â€œAnd Iâ€™m sure T. Z. Walter would agree. Moxieâ€™s Hollywood career is just getting started. I wonâ€™t have her labeled a lesbian. Her public needs to see her as young, glamorous, available, and profoundly heterosexual.â€

Wil poked her head over Cottonâ€™s shoulder. â€œDid someone call me?â€

Cotton scowled. â€œNo, I would have said gin-soaked, abusive, foul-mouthed, and sexually indiscriminate if I had been referring to you.â€

Moxie turned to Violet. â€œHeâ€™s starting to fit right in, isnâ€™t he?â€

â€œIt brings a tear to my eye,â€ Violet said.

Wil scowled. â€œIt makes my ass twitch.â€

â€œIt does what?â€ Cotton asked.

â€œRelax,â€ Violet assured him. â€œThat just means that Wil has now moved you into a category heretofore only occupied by mimes, panhandlers, and carnies.â€

Wil inhaled deeply through her cigarette holder before expelling the smoke dramatically. â€œDonâ€™t forget Apache dancers, darling. I canâ€™t stand those fuckers.â€

â€œWith any luck, Mr. McCann, Wil might soon elevate you to the equivalent of, oh, say, a pimp or a pederast.â€ Violet took a sip of her drink.

â€œOr an agent, â€ Wil said, her tone rife with denunciation.

â€œIâ€™m all atwitter in anticipation.â€

â€œCotton,â€ Moxie began, â€œwhat if Violet and I were sisters?â€

Wilâ€™s face contorted as though she had just smelled something rancid. â€œJust how small a town are you from, sister?â€

â€œNo, I mean if we told people we were sisters. Then we could socialize together and no one would care, like Lillian and Dorothy Gish.â€

â€œYou realize that if we want to go to the premiere together badly enough, weâ€™ll somehow make it happen, donâ€™t you?â€ Violet said casually. â€œI would think that if youâ€™ve learned anything about us by now, Mr. McCann, itâ€™s that we are not easily dissuaded.â€

Cotton stroked his pencil-thin mustache with his thumb and forefinger while he considered her point. â€œLook, if you each take a date, a male date, then I suppose thereâ€™s no reason why you canâ€™t go together. But youâ€™ll need to make some kind of an effort to appear to be attracted to whichever man you bring. Walk on his arm. Pose for pictures with him.â€ He paused and looked directly at Moxie. â€œMoxie, if you wish, I will be your escort for the evening.â€

Moxie looked at him blankly. â€œI thought I was supposed to seem attracted to my date.â€

Violet laughed. â€œSheâ€™s got you there, mon oncle. â€

Cotton appeared only mildly hurt. â€œThen let me see what I can do. Iâ€™m sure I can get you both very prominent, masculine bachelors.â€

â€œThat sounds horrible,â€ Violet said.

â€œSpeak for yourself,â€ Wil replied, shoving Violet behind her. â€œI want one. Can I give you a list of what Iâ€™m looking for in a man while youâ€™re at it?â€

Cotton looked stunned. â€œWealthy and breathing?â€

â€œOh, good.â€ Wil breathed in relief and patted his shoulder. â€œYouâ€™ve already got it. Donâ€™t forget me, darling.â€

â€œBelieve me, Iâ€™ve tried.â€

â€œMen who donâ€™t know me just love me,â€ Wil added.

â€œAnd speaking of men who donâ€™t know you, did you talk to Mr. Dickover yet?â€ Violet asked.

â€œI started to, but I just couldnâ€™t get past how funny his name is.â€

â€œWil, Mr. Dickover is interested in being your new agent. This is hardly the time to be so juvenile.â€

â€œDid you know he goes by Ace ?â€ Wil asked the group, clearly amused.

â€œAce Dickover?â€ Cotton asked.

Moxie turned to Violet, biting her lower lip to keep from laughing. â€œYou want Wil to sign a contract with Ace Dickover ?â€

Violet seemed to acquiesce. â€œDo you think itâ€™s a sign?â€

â€œA sign?â€ Wil asked. â€œItâ€™s a fucking billboard, darling.â€

Irene approached the group, looking more cheerful than she had for several days. â€œHey, kids,â€ she said with a wave. â€œCan anybody vouch for that fella over there in the corner?â€

Moxie peered through the crowd and saw a gangly, fair-haired man with a mustache and Vandyke beard, propped leisurely against the wall. â€œI donâ€™t think I know him.â€

â€œMe either,â€ Violet said. â€œHey, Peter. Câ€™mere.â€

After handing out freshly mixed drinks to the two women in front of him, Peter made his way over from his bar. â€œYes?â€

â€œDo you know that guy over there?â€ Violet tried to gesture nonchalantly with her head.

â€œWho, Joe?â€

â€œThe blond fella in the pinstripe suit,â€ Irene explained.

Peter smiled. â€œYes, thatâ€™s Joe Kilkenney. Heâ€™s a screenwriter. Not doing too badly either.â€

â€œHowâ€™s that?â€ Irene asked.

â€œHe just adapted one of his own novels for MGM. So heâ€™s no slouch.â€

Moxie spoke softly to Irene. â€œWhy do you ask?â€

â€œHeâ€™s a tall drink of waterâ€”the eelâ€™s hips,â€ Irene replied loudly. â€œI just wanted to make sure he was on the up-and-up, you know? That he wasnâ€™t just some drugstore cowboy.â€

â€œWhat do you think of him now?â€ Violet asked.

Irene smiled. â€œWell, now I can go back and answer his question.â€

Moxie eyed her carefully. â€œWhat question?â€

â€œHe asked me my name. I told him Iâ€™d get back to him.â€

Violetâ€™s hand moved to her mouth, perhaps to hide her amusement. â€œHopefully he doesnâ€™t think you didnâ€™t know the answer and had to go find out.â€

â€œYou should have said Ace Dickover.â€ Wil snorted.

Irene laughed too. â€œWil, what a horrible joke.â€

â€œThatâ€™s what I thought. Wait until you meet him,â€ Wil added.

Chapter Seventeen

â€œWil, are you decent?â€ Violet walked into Wil and Ireneâ€™s bungalow trying to make as much noise as possible, in case she unwittingly interrupted anything embarrassing. She had already learned that lesson the hard way.

â€œYou know the answer to that question,â€ came a depressed murmur from Violetâ€™s left.

â€œWil?â€ Violet asked again, perplexed that the voice apparently had come from an empty couch.

â€œIâ€™m down here.â€

Violet approached the phantom voice hesitantly, relieved to see that Wil was lying behind the couch on the floor, wearing only her stockings, brassiere, and slip. â€œDare I ask?â€

â€œI was hoping you could tell me. â€ Wil ran her hand over her face.

Violet extended her arm and pulled Wil unceremoniously to her feet. â€œI need you to pull yourself together.â€

â€œWhat time is it?â€ Wil rasped, opening her mouth several times and grimacing, as though trying to identify some familiar taste.

â€œNoon.â€

â€œGood Lord, itâ€™s early.â€ She rubbed her eyes miserably.

â€œFor Bela Lugosi perhaps. For us humans, itâ€™s the shank of the day.â€

Wilâ€™s brow furrowed. â€œDid you and I have sex last night?â€

â€œNot last night, or ever.â€

â€œBecause my mouth tastes suspiciously like snatch.â€ Wil stuck her tongue out as though contemplating the flavor further.

Violet sighed in irritation. â€œIf you like, Iâ€™ll try and help you piece together your last twenty-four hours, but that will need to wait.â€

â€œFor what?â€

â€œI have an audition for you,â€ Violet replied, her eagerness returning.

â€œReally?â€ Wil looked shocked.

â€œReally. 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.â€

â€œOoh, what did she say to him?â€

â€œSomething 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.â€

Wilâ€™s eyebrows rose, but she said nothing.

â€œAnyway, as we were less than a week into filming, they want to immediately recast her partâ€”try and cut their losses. I told them I knew the perfect undiscovered ingÃ©nue.â€

â€œAnd who would that be?â€

Violet looked at her incredulously. â€œYou, you silly bitch.â€

â€œMe, an ingÃ©nue?â€ Wil held her arms out to her side and turned her palms upward. â€œHave you not been paying attention?â€

â€œThatâ€™s why they call it acting, â€ Violet explained. â€œSo 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 strangerâ€™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.â€

â€œHmm, but what if I actually came here for the genitalia?â€

Violet glared. â€œGet in the damn shower.â€

Wil tried to keep a straight face, though quickly gave up. â€œThanks, Vi.â€

â€œUh-huh.â€

â€œIt will only take me a few minutes to get ready.â€

â€œGood. Fitzyâ€™s outside waiting to take us to the studio. We can go over the scene in the car.â€

*

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. â€œWould you like to go ahead and order now, Miss Parsons?â€

She sighed. â€œI suppose so. Bring me the club sandwich, will you?â€

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.

â€œDo you have any idea how long youâ€™ve kept me waiting, Sylvia?â€ She made no attempt to hide her annoyance as she drummed her fingers on the table.

As Sylviaâ€™s face split into a sinister grin, Louella was instantly unsettled by the sudden transformation of Americaâ€™s darling into this arcane nucleus of villainy.

â€œTrust me, Louella, this scoop will be worth it.â€

*

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

â€œYouâ€™re not helping my concentration,â€ Moxie said softly, closing her eyes as Violetâ€™s mouth descended on her exposed shoulder.

â€œYou did little for mine all evening, love. I couldnâ€™t stop staring at your curvy deliciousness.â€

Moxie chuckled, then with surprising dexterity, she found the key and put it in the lock before turning around in Violetâ€™s arms, putting her hands around Violetâ€™s neck, and kissing her back. â€œI didnâ€™t really enjoy watching you on the arm of that preening ass all evening,â€ she murmured against Violetâ€™s mouth.

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

â€œI want you,â€ Violet groaned. Her palm caressed Moxieâ€™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, Ireneâ€™s date Joe, Fitzhugh, and Peter. â€œOh, fuck.â€

â€œMmm, yes,â€ Moxie replied eagerly.

â€œNo,â€ Violet whispered, gesturing toward their company with her head.

â€œHmm?â€ Moxie turned, her back still against the door, and tried to feign delight. â€œOh, hello, everyone. Look at all of youâ€¦here in our bungalow. Howâ€”â€

â€œIll-timed,â€ Violet said.

â€œYes.â€ Moxie stepped all the way inside.

Irene seemed oblivious to the comment. â€œHow was the premiere? Were there just gobs of stars there?â€

Moxie took a seat beside Irene on the sofa. â€œI suppose so.â€

â€œAnd where are your virile escorts?â€ Wil lit a cigarette.

Violet shut the door and sighed. â€œJudging by how they were eyeing each other, Iâ€™m guessing theyâ€™re somewhere ejaculating.â€

Wil smiled. â€œItâ€™s never a party until someone does.â€

Violet crossed her arms. â€œWould it be impolite to ask how you all got in here?â€

â€œWe bribed Captain Napkin,â€ Wil replied. â€œHe let us in, in exchange for a small token.â€

Moxie grimaced. â€œDo I want to know what?â€

â€œProbably, since it was a pair of your underpants,â€ Wil said casually.

â€œWhat?â€ Moxie was unable to verbalize anything else.

â€œRelax,â€ Wil said. â€œItâ€™s nothing perverted. Theyâ€™re for him to wear on his head. I made sure to pick a pair I thought would flatter him.â€

â€œYouâ€™re such a good friend,â€ Violet said.

â€œIf only that were true,â€ Wil replied.

Fitzhugh cleared his throat. â€œUnfortunately, thereâ€™s a reason weâ€™re here, Vi.â€

Violetâ€™s eyebrow arched. â€œA reason beyond rifling through our underwear?â€

â€œSadly, yes,â€ Peter said.

â€œWhat is it?â€ Moxie asked. â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€

Fitzhugh handed over a copy of the Los Angeles Examiner, folded over to a particular page. â€œYou need to read Louella Parsonâ€™s column from this morning.â€

Violet took the newspaper, sat on the arm of the sofa, and began to read aloud. â€œWhat 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?â€

A hush fell over the group before Wil finally turned to Moxie. â€œYouâ€™re Jewish?â€

â€œNo,â€ Moxie replied, her chest tightening. â€œBut I know just who might think I am.â€

Violet gritted her teeth. â€œSylvia King, that disease-ridden, worm-eaten bag of spume.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure sheâ€™s just angry about Wil replacing her in September Moon, â€ Moxie said, her mind still reeling.

â€œJust as angry as I am that she is a vengeful, poisonous succubus,â€ Violet said.

Moxie took the newspaper from Violetâ€™s hand. â€œI wonder if Cotton has seen this yet.â€

Violet exhaled loudly. â€œThe fact that Iâ€™m still alive implies that he hasnâ€™t.â€

Peter leaned forward, stroking his mustache. â€œVi, youâ€™d better call your agent and figure out a way to deny this before it ruins you.â€

â€œIâ€™m not going to deny it, Peter.â€

He seemed incredulous. â€œWhat? An item like this could end you in this town.â€

Violet stood and began to pace. â€œBut itâ€™s true. Itâ€™s not as though itâ€™s libelous.â€

â€œBut Vi,â€ Irene said, â€œyouâ€™re not going to let Sylvia King destroy your career, are you?â€

Violet looked at the floor for a moment, as though she was considering the question. â€œI hope not. But the last thing Iâ€™m going to do is pretend that Iâ€™m something that Iâ€™m not, career be damned.â€

â€œWhat are you saying?â€ Moxie asked.

â€œWhat Iâ€™ve said my whole lifeâ€”that Iâ€™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.â€

â€œOr baggage car,â€ Wil added.

Violet continued without missing a beat. â€œActing 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.â€

Joe finally spoke, the cadence of his voice soft and metered. â€œWell, yes. It should be immaterial, but it isnâ€™t. When people hear youâ€™re a lesbian, that will be all they need to decide that youâ€™re wanton and depraved.â€

â€œTheyâ€™ll run you out of town on a rail, Vi,â€ Peter said.

â€œThen so be it,â€ Violet declared glibly. â€œBut 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. Itâ€™s possible that this will just blow over, unnoticed.â€

Ireneâ€™s brow furrowed. â€œBut what about Moxie?â€

Violetâ€™s expression took on a grave, pensive quality. â€œSheâ€™s unidentified and in the clear, for now.â€ She turned to address Moxie directly. â€œIf you donâ€™t want to be seen publicly with me, Iâ€™ll understand.â€

Moxie was stunned. â€œWhat?â€

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

After Violet disappeared into the bedroom Wil sat dejectedly in an armchair. â€œWell, shit.â€

â€œWhat are you going to do, Mox?â€ Irene asked.

â€œIâ€™m not sure.â€ Moxie shook her head slowly. â€œI guess I need to talk to Cotton.â€

â€œI think we all know what heâ€™ll tell you,â€ Wil said.

Moxie dragged her hand through her hair. â€œYeah, I know. Listen, I need to make sure Violetâ€™s okay. Iâ€™ll be right back.â€

As Moxie vanished into the back bedroom too, Irene was overcome with concern for them both. â€œThis is terrible,â€ she said softly, trying not to be overheard by Moxie or Violet. â€œIsnâ€™t there anything we can do?â€

Joe put his arm around Irene protectively. â€œNot now that the column has already come out. Itâ€™s reprinted in papers all over the country.â€

â€œSadly, I think Viâ€™s right,â€ Fitzhugh said. â€œAll we can do is try to make sure that the press doesnâ€™t find out about Moxie and try to ruin her too.â€

Peter sipped his martini. â€œYes, we can certainly do that. But thatâ€™s not all we can do.â€

â€œNo?â€ Joe asked.

Peter shook his head as he grinned nefariously.

â€œPeter, darling,â€ Wil said, her voice sounding hopeful. â€œYour menacing look is making me thoroughly wet.â€

Chapter Eighteen

Violet wasnâ€™t surprised when she received word to report to T. Z. Walterâ€™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.â€™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.

â€œAh, Violet. Iâ€™m glad you came straightaway,â€ T. Z. said, sweeping into the room surrounded by plumes of smoke from his pipe.

â€œCall it morbid curiosity,â€ Violet said, her chin on her fist.

â€œDo you know what I want to talk to you about?â€ He sat on a velvet settee across from her.

â€œI just might. Is it black and white and sometimes masquerades as real journalism?â€

T. Z. drew thoughtfully on his pipe. â€œThe whole townâ€™s abuzz.â€

â€œI wish I were.â€

â€œWe can respond one of two ways to this rumor, Vi. We can either ignore it and hope it goes awayâ€”â€

â€œA personal favorite of mine.â€

â€œOr we can put you out front and center, with a virile young man on your arm.â€

Violet scowled. â€œI definitely prefer the first one.â€

â€œVi, we have to head this rumor off as soon as possible.â€

â€œHead it off, or off its head?â€

â€œBoth,â€ he said with a nod. â€œThe studio or, rather, I have spent a lot of money on youâ€”a bundle. You could say I have a vested interest in your career and its success. Would you say thatâ€™s fair?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œIn a couple of weeks, Pinnacle is having a large, formal studio party. You, as a Pinnacle star will, of course, attend.â€

Violet was becoming very skeptical. â€œOkay.â€

â€œYouâ€™re going to bring, as your escort, Hollywoodâ€™s most eligible bachelor. Hell, you can even pick him. You name him, and Iâ€™ll get him for you.â€

â€œI donâ€™t know, T. Z. Iâ€™m not sure how comfortable I am with this.â€

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

â€œThat last bit seems to be the tricky part.â€

â€œIt always is, doll. Look, I get that this is inconvenient for you, and besides the fact that I think youâ€™re a hell of an actress, I genuinely like you. I donâ€™t want you to have to do anything you donâ€™t want to. I mean, no oneâ€™s asking you to suck this guy off.â€

â€œThatâ€™s a relief,â€ Violet said. â€œOtherwise I might need to renegotiate my contract.â€

â€œAnd you donâ€™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. Youâ€™ve got a picture just released and another one in production.â€

Violet looked at him warily. â€œSo you still want me to finish it?â€

T. Z. stood and began to pace. â€œOf course I do. Iâ€™ve seen the dailies and youâ€™re great in it. Incidentally, soâ€™s that redhead you brought in to replace Sylvia. She has real talent. She could be bigger than Sylvia King ever was.â€

â€œI think so too,â€ Violet replied slowly.

â€œSo it would be a shame if this film ended up not getting finished because we couldnâ€™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, youâ€™ll need to do what Iâ€™m asking.â€

*

Cotton sat on the sofa in Moxieâ€™s bungalow with a decidedly smug look on his face. â€œDidnâ€™t I tell you this would happen?â€

Moxie bit her lower lip. â€œCotton, can we please get past your superior self-righteousness?â€

He sighed. â€œFine. But it should be duly noted that I ultimately was right about this. The only good news is that the press doesnâ€™t know that you and Violet are involved.â€

â€œYet.â€

His eyebrows arched dramatically. â€œYet? Are you insane? You need to break off this dangerous tryst right now, before itâ€™s made public.â€

Moxie shook her head. â€œI wonâ€™t do that.â€

â€œWhy the hell not?â€

â€œBecause Iâ€™m happier than Iâ€™ve ever been in my life, Cotton.â€

â€œOf course you are. Youâ€™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?â€

â€œNo, thatâ€™s not it at all. I want to be with Violet, in every way. This isnâ€™t about what she can or canâ€™t give me.â€

â€œSo are you deluded enough to think that you can be romantically involved with this woman and still work in this town?â€

She smiled. â€œOne manâ€™s delusion is another manâ€™s optimism.â€

Cotton leaned forward, his hands on his knees. â€œAll right, look. Iâ€™ve told you how I feel.â€

â€œMany times.â€

â€œObviously, I havenâ€™t had any success in keeping you two apart.â€

Moxie considered this point. â€œLetâ€™s say you had limited success, because for a time, your intervention was intensely aggravating.â€

â€œRegardless, letâ€™s focus on what can be done to protect and further your career.â€

â€œOkay. That sounds suspiciously reasonable.â€

â€œIâ€™m told there is a Pinnacle Studio party in the works.â€

Moxie nodded. â€œThere is, in a couple weeks. Mr. Walter is making Violet go with an escort.â€

â€œExcellent.â€ Cottonâ€™s face brightened. â€œYou shall do the same.â€

Moxieâ€™s only response was to sigh deeply.

â€œAnd weâ€™re going to take it a step further.â€

â€œWhich is?â€

â€œWeâ€™re going to announce your engagement at the party.â€

â€œWhat? Thatâ€™s just one step forward? The U.S. infantry doesnâ€™t march this fast!â€

Cotton put up his hands in a calming manner. â€œWhich is exactly the point. It makes it clear to everyone that youâ€™ve obviously been dating this man for quite some time and are therefore not spending your time dallying with Violet London.â€

â€œYouâ€™re completely insane.â€

â€œNot at all, Moxie. Itâ€™s called a lavender marriage, and itâ€™s helped more than a few troubled celebrities in your particular dilemma.â€

â€œA lavender marriage? And where will we get my fiancÃ©, Cotton? From the Montgomery Ward catalog?â€

â€œWhat makes a lavender marriage work is finding someone who will benefit as much from the union as you will,â€ he said, his voice filled with innuendo.

â€œIâ€™m still not following you,â€ she admitted in irritation.

â€œAn actor whoâ€™s rumored to be queer. You two get married and tongues no longer wag about either of you.â€

Moxie cringed at the sudden realization. â€œYou already have someone in mind, donâ€™t you?â€

â€œI do. In fact, he was your date to Friday nightâ€™s premiere.â€

She buried her face in her hands. â€œTell me you havenâ€™t discussed this with him yet.â€

â€œI have, and he and his agent seemed very interested.â€

â€œCotton, this is crazy. I canâ€™t marry someone I barely know when I love someone else.â€ She paused and contemplated her word choice. She did love Violet. She made a mental note to tell her so.

â€œItâ€™s just a formality, I assure you. You can both carry on whatever relationships you please, provided youâ€™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 didnâ€™t. By then, the rumors will have died and the seeds of your fame will have taken root.â€

â€œI just donâ€™t know.â€

Cotton grabbed her hands and held them. â€œMoxie, I know youâ€™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 wonâ€™t hire you back. You really need to decide if you want to be a success.â€

â€œYou know I do.â€

â€œThen stop acting like it doesnâ€™t matter to you and do what needs to be done.â€

*

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 shouldnâ€™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 fiancÃ©. â€œExcuse me, Cary. Iâ€™ll be right back.â€

He flashed her a perfect smile. â€œCertainly.â€

As she approached Violet, their eyes met briefly, and desire surged through her from the way Violetâ€™s eyes raked hungrily over her body.

â€œNo tuxedo for Clitty?â€ Moxie asked.

â€œI tried, but I found it difficult to walk with the bowtie on.â€ Violet feigned realization. â€œOh, you mean him,â€ she said, pointing to the terrier.

â€œThat joke just never gets old,â€ Moxie said, laughing. â€œYou look beautiful, by the way.â€ Moxie struggled not to look at Violet like she wanted to devour her.

Violetâ€™s date excused himself, leaving the two of them standing alone. â€œThanks. You look stunning yourself, doll,â€ Violet replied softly.

â€œThis party feels so strange to me.â€

â€œIs it because no one has launched anything from their anus?â€

â€œNo. And Iâ€™ll have you know I had a nightmare about Smokey Bender and a flying squirrel.â€

Violet winced. â€œOuch.â€

â€œIt feels strange because weâ€™re both here but weâ€™re not together.â€

â€œYou realize if T. Z. sees us chatting, heâ€™ll skin us both alive.â€

Moxie eyed Violet appreciatively. â€œI know, but I just wanted to tell you how striking that dress is.â€

â€œI was hoping youâ€™d like it.â€

Two middle-aged women approached the buffet, surveying the elaborate spread and the melting ice sculpture carved in the shape of a swan.

â€œGoodness,â€ the shorter of them said. â€œThis all looks marvelous.â€

The plump, tall one grabbed two plates and handed her friend one. â€œHere, Frieda.â€

â€œI canâ€™t wait to try this shrimp,â€ Frieda said excitedly, building a mountain of crustaceans on her plate. â€œSo, Claire, did you see that story about Sylvia King?â€

â€œSee it?â€ Claire squealed. â€œIâ€™ve committed it to memory. It just goes to show you that no one is ever as innocent as they seem.â€

Violet and Moxie exchanged curious, concerned looks as they continued to eavesdrop.

â€œAnd how,â€ Frieda replied, stuffing her mouth with several shellfish and chewing with her mouth open. â€œWho knew that Americaâ€™s darling was spending all her time in opium dens to dull the pain of rampant syphilis?â€

Violet began to cough violently, prompting Moxie to slap her repeatedly on the back.

Claire continued to accost the hors dâ€™oeuvres unabated. â€œI heard that T. Z. already released her from her contract.â€

â€œHow could he not ?â€ Frieda asked. â€œThe womanâ€™s an embarrassment.â€

Once Violet caught her breath, she wiped a tear away and whispered to Moxie, â€œThis has all the markings of a Wil Skoog confidence game.â€

â€œI was thinking the same thing.â€

â€œIt has her gin-soaked fingerprints all over it. Sheâ€™s over there, so excuse me while I accuse her. Iâ€™ll be right back.â€

â€œWas that Violet London?â€ Frieda asked her friend. If she had been attempting to whisper or be discreet in any way, she failed miserably.

â€œI think so.â€ Claire looked at Moxie. â€œYou know, young lady, you should be more careful about who youâ€™re seen with.â€

â€œWhat do you mean?â€ Moxie asked.

Claire walked closer to her and lowered her voice slightly. â€œIâ€™m sure you werenâ€™t aware. You seem like a lovely young person. But that woman who was just chatting with you was Violet London.â€

Moxieâ€™s blood pressure began to rise. â€œSo?â€

â€œWell, Iâ€™m not one to talk out of turn,â€ Claire began.

â€œClearly,â€ Moxie said.

â€œBut sheâ€™s notorious.â€

â€œIs that so?â€ Moxie didnâ€™t care even slightly how irritated she sounded.

Frieda nodded excitedly, looking as though she might burst from the excitement of saying something illicit. â€œItâ€™s true. Sheâ€™s a lesbian.â€ 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. â€œGood Lord, no! She never told me. But maybe she simply couldnâ€™t speak because she had my clitoris in her mouth.â€

Both women stared at Moxie.

â€œDear Lord,â€ Claire wheezed. She struggled to swallow the canapÃ© that was now fluttering about in her mouth.

â€œ You are a sick, sick girl,â€ Frieda added, glaring.

Moxie crossed her arms and smiled insincerely. â€œThatâ€™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 youâ€™ve found?â€

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. â€œI refuse to let a perverted whore address me that way.â€

Moxie stood her ground calmly. â€œWhich is fine, you judgmental, sanctimonious bitch, because instead Iâ€™ll address you. And while Iâ€™m at it, Iâ€™ll berate you for your hypocrisy and mock you for your small-minded bigotry.â€ She let her eyes travel down Friedaâ€™s frame with visible distaste. â€œNot to mention that hideous dress.â€ With that, she took Violetâ€™s face in her hands and kissed her deeply for several seconds.

â€œThank God,â€ Wil said. â€œI was starting to think this was the most boring fucking party Iâ€™ve ever been to.â€

Violet pulled back, glancing at the two horrified strangers looking on. â€œUm, having second thoughts about announcing your engagement tonight, sweetheart?â€

â€œWhat makes you say that?â€

â€œYour tongue in my mouth,â€ Violet replied matter-of-factly.

Moxie grinned. â€œI can never get anything past you.â€ She faced Wil somberly. â€œIâ€™m sorry if Iâ€™ve ruined anything for you tonight.â€

Wil seemed amused. â€œDarling, do you know how ironic it is for you to apologize to me about your behavior?â€

â€œYes,â€ Moxie said. â€œIt felt strange coming out of my mouth.â€

â€œWhich is odd,â€ Wil countered. â€œUsually for me, things feel strangest on their way into my mouth. Ladies,â€ Wil said, extending her hand to Frieda and Claire, â€œnice to meet you. Iâ€™m Greta Garbo. I assume youâ€™ve already met my friends Norma Shearer and Jean Harlow.â€

â€œYouâ€™re all disgusting,â€ Claire spat.

â€œWeâ€™ll find out who you are,â€ Frieda said. â€œDonâ€™t you worry.â€

Wilâ€™s smile disappeared. â€œAh, then more to the point, fuck off, pigs.â€

â€œIt was lovely to meet you both.â€ Violetâ€™s sarcasm was pronounced.

â€œLike having a tooth drilled,â€ Moxie added.

Wil waved to them as both Claire and Frieda rushed out of the room. â€œNow have a wonderful evening. Donâ€™t forget to fuck off.â€

Violetâ€™s expression became somber. â€œMox, you do realize the choice youâ€™ve just made?â€

â€œI do, yes.â€

â€œOdds are thereâ€™s no going back.â€

Moxie beamed. â€œI certainly hope not.â€

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. â€œThis is supposed to be it,â€ he said, more to convince himself than anything.

â€œGood,â€ Gary replied. â€œBecause our cab just left us here to die, otherwise.â€

â€œAnd I thought Manhattan was frightening,â€ Julian murmured as he crossed the street to face a large black steel door. Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

An eye-level panel slid open. â€œYeah?â€ came a gruff voice from inside.

Julian glanced back down to the paper. â€œUmâ€¦Urethra Dejeuner sent me,â€ he read.

The massive door unlocked with a clang and swung open. Inside the vestibule, it looked even more like a warehouse, except for a neon sign over a door that led off to the right and read Gennyâ€™s Place. Julian straightened his tie as he and Gary headed inside.

He was stunned when he saw the inside of the club itself, with lots of mission-style dark wood, steel, and stained glass. The light fixtures appeared to be beautiful obsidian works of art, and the bar was long and S-shaped, with people shoulder to shoulder around it.

â€œWow,â€ Gary said above the sound of jazz that the pianist played in the corner.

Julian continued to weave through the crowd. â€œItâ€™s packed.â€

â€œJulian!â€

He turned to see Violet coming toward him through the celebrating throng. â€œVi!â€

When she reached them, she hugged them both and gave them each a kiss. â€œI was worried you two wouldnâ€™t make it before midnight.â€

â€œVi, this place is beautiful,â€ Gary said. â€œWhen I heard you owned a club, I pictured a little hole in the wall under a bridge somewhere.â€

â€œGuarded by a troll?â€ she asked with a grin.

Gary chuckled. â€œPerhaps.â€

â€œThatâ€™s a very New York City perspective, Iâ€™m afraid. We donâ€™t have trolls in LA.â€

Julian looked around at the festive, very queer clientele. â€œThough clearly you have your share of fairies.â€

â€œItâ€™s that damned silent partner of mine, Peter Pan. He keeps bringing them,â€ Violet said. â€œCome on into the back room, fellas, to Wilâ€™s table.â€

Julian was stunned that there was even more to the club. â€œI naturally assumed Wil had a standing table here.â€

Violet slowly led them through the wall of people. â€œOnly because we donâ€™t yet have a safe place reserved for her to pass out.â€

Gary laughed. â€œThat would save so much time and effort.â€

The back room Violet had referred to was another space nearly as big as the front room, though it had a palpably different feel. Out front, the atmosphere was lively, like a beating heart. But back here, it was darker, bluer, and somehow more intimate. Onstage Moxie, looking glamorous, was singing a sultry version of the Gershwin ballad â€œâ€™S Wonderful.â€

Violet paused appreciatively before she snapped out of it and directed Julian and Gary to a large round table up front, near the wall. â€œGentlemen, allow me to do the introductions for the new faces, and for those of us who may have been too drunk the last time we were together to remember who we all are.â€ Already sitting at the table were Wil, Irene, Lady Dulce La Boeuf, and three unfamiliar men. â€œJulian and Gary, this is Peter Easton, screenwriter, and Charles Fitzhugh, chauffeur extraordinaire. And this gentleman is Ireneâ€™s fiancÃ© Joe Kilkenney, a screenwriter much like Peter, only better. I believe you know everyone else.â€ She grabbed a chair for herself.

Wil rose and rounded the table to kiss Julian and Gary. â€œHow was your trip, darlings?â€

â€œThe train was nice, but it rained for days,â€ Gary replied as he took a seat. â€œIt was long, tiring, and wet.â€

Wil returned to her chair and settled in. â€œHmm, the last time I described an evening in those terms, I had spent thirty-six hours straight with a streetcar conductor, an Alsatian, and a freakishly phallic zucchini. It was fabulous.â€

Julian sighed contentedly as a gangly young man arrived to take his drink order. â€œIâ€™ve missed having someone of such questionable virtue to openly mock, Wil.â€ He nodded to the waiter. â€œIâ€™ll have a gin rickey, please.â€

Wil slid a Chesterfield into her cigarette holder. â€œAnd Iâ€™ve missed the way you frequently make me laugh so hard that I pee a little. Did you get checked into the Garden?â€

Gary nodded, his brow furrowed. â€œWe did, but the fella at the front deskâ€”he didnâ€™t seem quite right.â€

â€œWas he wearing womenâ€™s undergarments?â€ Irene asked.

â€œAnd wearing them completely incorrectly?â€ Lady Dulce clarified.

â€œNo,â€ Julian replied. â€œHe seemed completely normal, until he turned around to get us the bungalow key and we noticed a live flower sticking out of his pants, like it was growing from his ass crack.â€

â€œA bird of paradise,â€ Gary added helpfully.

â€œWell, those are very pretty,â€ Violet said weakly. â€œAnd the stems are quite firm.â€

Irene nodded. â€œAnd they donâ€™t have thorns.â€

Julian winced. â€œSo Vi, Gennyâ€™s Place? Who exactly is Genny?â€

â€œItâ€™s a bit of an inside joke,â€ Violet explained. â€œThough for you, Gary, and Peter, it would be an outside joke, if you follow me.â€

Julian scowled. â€œIâ€™m afraid I donâ€™t.â€

Wil leaned forward on the table. â€œAs in, â€˜I wish I could scratch my gennies, but people are looking.â€™â€

â€œHow classy,â€ Peter said, taking a sip of his martini.

â€œGood breeding pervades everything I do, Peter,â€ Violet said.

â€œThat kind of thing canâ€™t be learned,â€ Julian added. â€œLook at Wil, for example.â€

â€œSo, Lady Dulce, how long have you been in California?â€ Gary asked.

â€œAbout a month.â€

â€œThe West Coast seems to agree with you,â€ Julian said.

Lady Dulce beamed. â€œI have to say that working here is definitely a step up from the shit factory I was singing in back East. Though, for the record, you two bastards missed my set.â€

â€œNo doubt you were terrific,â€ Gary said in appeasement.

â€œYou bet your ass I was,â€ Lady Dulce replied. â€œJust ask Ramon Novarro. He was sitting down front, and he loved every minute of it.â€

Peterâ€™s upper lip curled. â€œWell, we donâ€™t need to know exactly how you know he loved it.â€

â€œSpeak for yourself, darling.â€ Wil exhaled the smoke from her cigarette before turning to Lady Dulce. â€œDid you make him come in his pants?â€

Lady Dulce winked. â€œI sure as hell tried.â€

â€œT. Z. is loaning me out to MGM studios next month to make a picture with him,â€ Wil said. â€œIâ€™ll try too, and weâ€™ll see who gets closer.â€

Lady Dulceâ€™s eyes narrowed at the challenge. â€œDeal.â€

â€œWil, explain to me why you havenâ€™t been fired yet.â€ Julian lit a match for his Lucky Strike.

Wil laughed. â€œBelieve me, darling, Iâ€™m just as shocked as you are. Who knew that September Moon would be such a hit? I mean, the character I played was so fucking sweet and pure. I found her utterly tedious, but somehow the public loved her.â€

â€œRemarkable,â€ Julian said.

â€œWhy donâ€™t you tell Gary and Julian how you ended Sylvia Kingâ€™s career, Wil?â€ Violet said, propping her chin on her fist.

â€œOh, they donâ€™t want to hear that boring old chestnut,â€ Wil mumbled.

â€œSylvia King, the dope fiend?â€ Gary asked excitedly.

â€œThatâ€™s the one,â€ Violet said. â€œGo ahead, Wil, Peter.â€

â€œIt was easy, really,â€ Peter explained with less visible compunction than Wil showed. â€œIt seems that when you are a wretched cunt to everyone, itâ€™s very easy to find people who take great glee in getting revenge.â€ He polished off his drink. â€œIn fact, Rex Kelly took it upon himself to make up the part about Sylvia having syphilis. He got a little carried away, apparently.â€

Wil pointed at Violet. â€œYou know weâ€”â€

â€œDid it all for me. Yes, so you say,â€ Violet remarked. â€œIâ€™d like to say itâ€™s the thought that counts, but the thought was actually rather dark and vicious.â€

â€œYouâ€™re welcome,â€ Peter said sarcastically.

Violet sighed. â€œNext time, just get me a card.â€

â€œWould anyone like another drink?â€ the waiter asked.

Peter nodded. â€œI would.â€

â€œNo, thanks,â€ Wil said.

Julian was stunned. â€œDid you just refuse a refill?â€

â€œI did, yes. I have to be at the studio tomorrow for some costume fittings, and Cotton will kill me if Iâ€™m late.â€

â€œYour new agent is Cotton ?â€ Julian sputtered.

â€œYeah,â€ Irene said, clearly amused. â€œAinâ€™t that a shocker?â€

â€œHow did that happen?â€ Gary asked.

â€œWell,â€ Wil said, â€œCottonâ€™s main client was Moxie, and when she decided to stop acting, he realized he needed something I could give him.â€

â€œAn ulcer?â€ Violet suggested.

â€œSuicidal thoughts?â€ Peter said.

â€œGonorrhea?â€ Julian offered.

Everyone paused for a moment, before Wil responded. â€œThat round goes to Julian.â€

â€œThanks,â€ Julian replied, his mustache curving upward slightly. â€œIâ€™d like to thank all the little people, whose constant drinking, carousing, and exceedingly poor judgment have provided endless inspiration.â€

Violet chuckled and shook her head slowly, not realizing until that moment just how much she loved her friends. She rose and straightened her dress. â€œIâ€™ll be right back, everyone. Make sure you order at least two bottles of champagne. Weâ€™ll need to toast at midnight.â€

She walked up the steps and stood in the wings to watch Moxie finish her last number. She loved the way Moxieâ€™s fingers slid provocatively up the length of the microphone as she sang. Who was she kidding? She loved the way anything of Moxieâ€™s moved against any object of choice.

As the song ended, the applause commenced and Moxie took her bows. As she exited the stage, she smiled seductively when she saw Violet waiting for her. â€œHowâ€™d I do?â€

Violet was speechless. â€œYou wereâ€”â€

â€œAll right?â€ Moxie suggested.

â€œI was going to say mouthwateringly delicious.â€

The corners of Moxieâ€™s mouth rose slightly, and her hands went around Violetâ€™s waist. â€œYouâ€™re sweet.â€

â€œSweet wasnâ€™t exactly what I was going for,â€ Violet said breathily.

Moxie gently pushed Violet so that her back was pressed against the wall, then kissed her hungrily. â€œDonâ€™t underestimate the power of being sweet, Vi,â€ she said softly, as she shifted to nibble Violetâ€™s neck. â€œOdds are good that it will get me into bed.â€

Violetâ€™s pulse was racing from the feel of Moxieâ€™s mouth as it made its way to her earlobe. â€œMmm, they do say that whatever you do on New Yearâ€™s Eve, youâ€™ll be doing all year long.â€

â€œWell, I donâ€™t know who they are,â€ Moxie whispered before snaking her tongue into Violetâ€™s ear, â€œbut Iâ€™d hate to disappoint them.â€

â€œGod bless them.â€

â€œSpeaking of them,â€ Moxie said, â€œdid I see Gary and Julian arrive?â€ Her hands began to caress the small of Violetâ€™s back.

â€œYou did. The gangâ€™s all here.â€

â€œItâ€™s going to be a hell of a night.â€

â€œYes. The perfect end to a hell of a year,â€ Violet said, trailing kisses along Moxieâ€™s jawline. â€œAny regrets?â€

Moxie pulled back to look into Violetâ€™s gray eyes. â€œAre you kidding? Do you know what this is?â€

â€œWhat?â€

â€œIâ€™m the water,â€ she said as her lips gently brushed the base of Violetâ€™s throat. â€œAnd youâ€™re the absinthe.â€ Her mouth slowly made its way up to Violetâ€™s neck. â€œThis is the louche.â€

Violet smiled and reverently ran her fingers along Moxieâ€™s collarbone. â€œThat it is.â€

Aperitifâ€”Or the Appendix of Cocktails

Extensive research went into the creation of The Seduction of Moxie, and as such, it was necessary to mix many a classic cocktail. I spent countless hours in this endeavor and will never recount some of the resulting evenings because, frankly, their details now escape me.

I decided to include some of the drinks in this book as a sort of companion piece. A few old favorites have been transcribed, but also some unique creationsâ€” Seduction of Moxie originalsâ€”will hopefully inspire you to indulge in some debauchery of your own.

The Moxie

This subtle yet sweet concoction packs a wallop. Bar games involving the cherry stem are optional, though enthusiastically encouraged.

In a champagne flute, add the following:

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

Â½ tablespoon cherry brandy

1 maraschino cherry

Top with your favorite bubbly. I tend to like this drink on the sweeter side, so I usually use a Demi-Sec or Doux. But feel free to experiment until you get a blend you like.

The Violet London

CrÃ¨me de Violette is a bit tricky to find in your neighborhood liquor establishment, but you may be able to find a few online stores that carry it.

In a cocktail shaker, add the following:

1 ounce gin

1 ounce vodka

4 ounces lemon-lime soda

Â¾ tablespoon CrÃ¨me de Violette

ice

Give the ingredients a good shake and strain into a martini glass. Add a lemon twist or slice to garnish.

The Lady Dulce

While I didnâ€™t intend to create a drink for the fabulous Lady Dulce La Boeuf, this concoction came about one experimental Sunday morning and I thought, â€œYes, this would most certainly hit the spot after a night in the buffet flats.â€ Just be sure youâ€™re not driving out to brunch (or anywhere, really) after having one of these.

To a mug of regular coffee, add the following:

1 tablespoon KahlÃºa

1 tablespoon Frangelico

1 tablespoon CafÃ© BohÃªme

The Pompous Bastard

In a cocktail shaker, add the following:

2 ounces gin

Â½ tablespoon Galliano

Â½ tablespoon Cointreau

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

ice

Give the ingredients a good shake and strain into a martini glass. Add a lemon twist to garnish.

The Classic Gin Rickey

Finding a bartender who could properly craft Julianâ€™s drink of choice was a bit challenging, but after giving the briefest of instructions, I was able to find a few establishments that produced a truly magnificent beverage. Letâ€™s bring about a resurgence of this classic.

In an ice-filled highball glass, add the following:

2Â½ ounces gin

2 tablespoons fresh lime juice

5 ounces club soda

Give the ingredients a brief stir and add a lime wedge for garnish. Itâ€™s also delicious if you add a little simple syrup.

The Bronx

One of Miss Skoogâ€™s favorites, if she had to prioritize her liquid diet.

In a cocktail shaker â…” full of ice, add the following:

2 ounces gin

2 tablespoons fresh orange juice

2 teaspoons dry vermouth

2 teaspoons sweet vermouth

Give the ingredients a good shake and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

The Floradora

In an ice-filled highball glass, add the following:

1 Â½ ounces gin

Â½ ounce fresh lime juice

Â½ ounce framboise liqueur

Top with ginger ale and garnish with a lime wedge.

The Sidecar

In a cocktail shaker â…” full of ice, add the following:

1 ounce brandy

1 ounce Cointreau (or triple sec)

1 ounce fresh lemon juice

Shake vigorously and pour into a cocktail glass rimmed with sugar.

About the Author

Colette Moody is an avid fan of history and politics. When she isnâ€™t doing research or crafting scenes for her next romp of a novel, she can be found doing one or more of the following: watching classic films; sequestering herself in the kitchen eagerly trying to prove that everything does taste better with bacon; meticulously recreating cocktails from the 1930s and â€™40s; or planning her next trip to Disneyland. By day, her alter ego toils at what she fondly refers to as her â€œcrap job.â€ She lives in Virginia with her very naughty dog and her only slightly less naughty partner of ten years.

The Seduction of Moxie is Colette Moodyâ€™s second novel. Her first, also for Bold Strokes Books, was the rollicking pirate tale The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin.

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