Seduction of Moxie

by Colette Moody

  Wil spread more butter on her toast. “I, for one, am finding train travel quite agreeable.”

  Cotton, who looked bedraggled and exhausted, scoffed. “Perhaps the rocking simulates coitus.”

  Wil’s left eyebrow rose defiantly. “No doubt even better than you might simulate it, darling. How purple are your testicles this morning?”

  “You’re a dirty whore.” His eyes were narrow slits.

  “Still smarting a bit then, huh?” Wil’s amusement was obvious.

  “I may have you arrested for assault,” Cotton murmured through gritted teeth.

  Wil seemed unfazed. “I can’t wait to tell the police how you cried like a schoolgirl. I imagine you died a little inside. More syrup?”

  He looked livid. “Fuck your syrup.”

  Wil was clearly not done with Cotton yet. “Hmm, not an altogether unpleasant way to get sticky, I suppose. At least the syrup wouldn’t embarrass itself.” She sipped her coffee and looked at him as though silently daring him to keep speaking to her.

  “How’s the food?” 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. “Um, good? Thanks?”

  “Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea,” Moxie ventured.

  “But it was Mr. McCann who wanted us to be together like a big family,” Violet said. “This is what he wants. Isn’t that so, Mr. McCann? Because if so, we can do everything together until we reach Pasadena.”

  Cotton’s eye twitched as he turned to Violet. “What I wanted was to accompany my star client to Hollywood, unencumbered by lesbian predators”—his gaze shifted to Wil—“truculent harlots”—his eyes moved accusingly to Irene—“or quixotic sycophants. That is not what I’ve gotten.”

  Wil’s expression remained unchanged. “Well, at least you got French toast, jug-butt. You’re welcome. ”

  “Quick, oddal sicky-pants?” Irene scowled. “I can’t say I like the sound of that.”

  “ I don’t think you’re a sicky-pants, kid,” Violet said, the corner of her mouth curving upward. She patted Irene’s hand.

  “Thanks. Hey, by the way, Vi, I read that magazine you gave me last night cover to cover. But I never found the steamy part.” She took another bite of breakfast.

  Violet looked down at her plate guiltily. “Did you read that story about Clara Bow?”

  “The one about her becoming a chanteuse?” Irene asked.

  “Oh,” Violet gasped. “Sorry, I must have misread that. I thought it said she was becoming a cannibal.”

  Moxie bit her lower lip as she tried not to laugh.

  “Those two things aren’t close at all,” Irene muttered as she stabbed her eggs.

  Cotton rolled his eyes. “This may be the longest three days of my life.”

  Wil sinisterly watched him chew. “It just may be, at that.”

  *

  “Go.” Violet frowned at her cards.

  “Thirty-one for two,” Moxie said, setting down a card and moving her cribbage peg up the board.

  “Three for one,” Violet added, setting down her last card and advancing her peg as well.

  Moxie tallied up her hand. “Fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, seven, eight, nine, and one for his nob.” She pointed to the jack of diamonds.

  Violet smiled naughtily. “His nob? This game is absolutely filthy.”

  Moxie laughed. “That must be why you’re so good at it.”

  Violet took the cards and started to shuffle. “Though arguably, nobs are not my specialty.” She grimaced. “Speaking of nobs,” she said, turning around to look at Cotton, who was lying on the settee in the fetal position. “Mr. McCann, is that continuing smell of decay and sewage coming from you? Or does this train route pass through a sulfur mine?”

  “I don’t feel well,” he moaned.

  “Thanks for sharing it with the rest of us,” Violet said. “Dear Lord, I’m opening the windows. You’re making my eyes burn.”

  Moxie had to admit that the stench emanating from Cotton was noxious and fetid. “I’ll go get my perfume. Maybe that’ll help.”

  “Wait,” Violet said, sliding up a window pane. “Is there something else you can use? That may taint Twilight Moon for me forever. And I really like it.”

  Moxie thought for a moment. “I’ll use Irene’s.”

  “Perfect.” 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. “Oh, you’re going to have to stop, Mox. Those two smells combined are vile.” She struggled to swallow.

  “God, you’re right. Somehow adding the smell of flowers and powder has made things even worse.”

  “Perhaps you should head to the water closet, Mr. McCann,” Violet suggested.

  “I’m not leaving you two alone,” he wailed into the upholstery, unmoving.

  “I have to hand it to him,” Violet said. “Few men would risk shitting their pants to ensure that no one anywhere ever had sex. That takes real tenacity.”

  “Cotton is nothing if not tenacious. That and, of course, rotten inside.”

  The door to the drawing room opened, and Wil and Irene entered.

  “And that’s when she put her hand on my thigh,” Wil said. “And slid it all the way up.”

  “Barbara Stanwyck?” Irene gasped. “Really?”

  Violet sighed. “Wil, are you still telling that story?”

  “Of course, darling. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you weren’t sober when you met Barbara Stanwyck, and you got all that information secondhand.”

  Wil shut the door behind her. “Are you trying to say that Barbara Stanwyck wouldn’t want to grope me while I’m drunk?” She stopped and sniffed the air. “What the fuck is that? It smells like a unicorn took a shit in here.”

  “Sadly, there was no magic or fairy dust involved.” Violet pointed behind her with her thumb. “It’s Shamus O’Anus back there.”

  “By all that’s holy, man. Take that somewhere else.” Wil put her hand over her nose. “That’s not a natural smell. It’s like a mixture of brimstone, gardenia, and despair.”

  “Hey,” Irene called. “What’s my perfume doing out here?”

  Moxie handed the bottle back to her. “We thought it would help, but somehow it’s taken something horrible and turned it into an abomination.”

  “Is he just going to lie there stinking?” Wil asked.

  Violet’s thumb lightly grazed her lips as she appeared to contemplate something. “Look, I’m going for a walk.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Moxie said quickly.

  “Then so will I,” Cotton warbled.

  Violet put her hands up. “No, you stay here, Moxie. We can take turns breathing the clean air. If we both go, he’ll just straggle along, releasing his mustard gas when we least expect it.”

  “But I thought we were having lunch soon in the dining car,” Moxie said, disappointed that Violet didn’t want her along.

  “Start without me. I’ll catch up with you before long.”

  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. “You sickening bastard. Do you think as long as we don’t hear it, we won’t notice?”

  “No,” he croaked. “I just don’t care.”

  *

  “Come on,” Irene coaxed as she, Wil, and Moxie made their way to the dining car. “I’m starving. ”

  “Can’t we just wait another few minutes?” Moxie asked. “Violet’s been gone almost an hour, and I’m sure she’ll be back any time now.”

  “Then she can meet us there,” Wil said. “I can’t sit in that ass coffin any longer. I’m certain it’s shortened my life. Luckily, we all
know I don’t care about things like that.”

  “I’m glad you said that so I didn’t have to,” Moxie replied.

  When they arrived in the dining car, they sat at a table for four.

  “And I can’t tell you how happy I am that the angel of death agreed to stay behind.” Wil perused the menu.

  “We should take something back for him to eat,” Moxie suggested. “I’ve never seen him so under the weather.”

  “I’m so hungry I want to order everything,” Irene said. “Then I think about Mr. McCann and what’s coming out of him. Maybe I’ll just get some soup and crackers.” Irene set the menu down and looked up. “Hey, isn’t that Violet over there?”

  Moxie spun around. “Where?”

  “Right over there—” Irene started to point.

  Wil knocked Irene’s hand down. “The hunger must be making you hallucinate.” She sounded irritated.

  Moxie squinted as she continued to peer through the crowd. “Yeah, I don’t—” 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 couldn’t hear their conversation. “Who the hell is that ?”

  “Nice job, sicky-pants.” Wil slapped Irene’s arm. “Is there anything else you’d like to destroy? Maybe smother a kitten?”

  Irene stared at her. “I didn’t know,” 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 blonde’s cigarette. The blonde steadied Violet’s hand until the tobacco was aflame, then pulled it even closer to blow the match out. The gesture seemed decidedly intimate. “Wil, do you know who that woman is?” She didn’t try to keep the anger from her voice.

  “What woman?”

  Moxie jerked her head back to glare at Wil, who was perusing her menu nonchalantly. “The one sitting with Violet, pawing her like a cougar with a pork chop.”

  “Hmm?” Wil asked innocently.

  “Her.” Moxie pointed. “There. The one with that I’ve-been-around-the-block look.”

  “Um.” Wil stared at them across the car. “Her sister.”

  “She doesn’t have any siblings.”

  “Her cousin?”

  “She didn’t mention she had a cousin traveling on the train,” Moxie countered, tiring of this game.

  “Yeah,” Irene said, scowling. “That’s weird.”

  Moxie felt her eyelid start to twitch. “You know, Wil, for an actress, you’d think you’d be a better liar.”

  “No one ever said I was a good actress.” Wil’s eyes were still glued to the bill of fare.

  A waiter appeared, looking friendly and attentive. “Ladies, good afternoon. What may I bring you to drink?”

  “Lemonade.” Moxie couldn’t match the man’s pleasantness and didn’t really care.

  While Wil and Irene placed their orders, Moxie looked back over to Violet’s table and saw that both ladies were gone. “Did you see them leave?” she blurted as the waiter walked away.

  “Who?” Wil asked.

  “Violet and that whore.”

  Wil merely blinked. “Well, maybe if you had been a little more accommodating, she wouldn’t have to pay someone else for it.” When Moxie only glared back, Wil acquiesced. “Just kidding. I doubt she’s actually paying her for it.”

  Irene leaned closer to Wil. “You’re not helping at all, ” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

  Wil looked moderately contrite. “Sorry, but I’m not very good at this. People don’t invite me places because I’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.”

  “Are you going to go look for her?” 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. “I’m going to have lunch,” she snapped. “And it’s going to be the best fucking meal I’ve ever had.”

  “Mmm, yum,” 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 Irene’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 object—or God forbid, a live one—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.

  “I’m such a dope,” 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 Violet’s face was alarmingly near hers.

  “Did you miss me?” Violet kissed Moxie hungrily before she was able to form a reply.

  Moxie didn’t want to kiss her back, but somehow her lips didn’t receive that directive from her pride, where it originated. Their mouths moved against each other and Violet nibbled Moxie’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 Violet’s body because, goddamn it, she was angry.

  Violet moved her lips to Moxie’s throat, her teeth gently grazing Moxie’s exposed shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she breathed, continuing her tour of Moxie’s neck.

  “Hmm?” 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.

  “Why aren’t you participating?” Violet asked, her voice throaty with passion.

  “I’m mad at you.”

  Violet’s gaze bore into Moxie’s, her gray eyes darkened with ardor. “Why?”

  “I saw you with that woman,” Moxie replied softly, “in the dining car. You two seemed very familiar.”

  Violet grinned ever so slightly. “I don’t know her. She’s just some actress who’s doing me a favor.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not hear about your anonymous favors. Call me old-fashioned.”

  “Not sexual favors.” Violet’s eyebrows arched. “I 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 can’t stand. She said she completely understood, that all agents are bastards, and that she wouldn’t tell him where I was on the train.”

  “So you—”

  “Missed lunch because I was hastily moving our belongings in here, while Mr. McCann was cloistered in the water closet. I wasn’t having a tryst with someone else.”

  A wave of relief washed over Moxie, instantly replaced with romantic giddiness, a much better complement to her barely controlled lust. “You must be very…hungry.” The desire in her voice sounded foreign to her.

  Violet’s eye’s softened. “I’m fucking famished,” she said, her mouth once again descending on Moxie’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 didn’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. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

  In one moment, Moxie was on top of Violet, and in another, her tongue was in Violet’s mouth. The sound of Violet’s moan spurred on Moxie’s confidence, and she let her right palm travel to Violet’s breast, awed by the sudden stiffness of her nipple.

  Violet covered Moxie’s hand with her own, urging her to knead the tender flesh even harder. Quickly, Violet turned her attention to unbuttoning Moxie’s dress. “I love how you touch me.”

  Moxie was overwhelmed by Violet’s admission and gazed at her as she moved her fingers provocatively down to Violet’s waist. “I’ve thought about this moment so much.”

  “Tell me what you’ve imagined.”

  “When I’m fantasizing about you? About us?”

  Violet’s look was smoldering. “Yes. Give me every detail.”

  “Well,” Moxie said self-consciously, “more often than not, you…well, you sort of…take me.”

  “Take you?” Violet rolled Moxie onto her back so that she was straddling Moxie’s thigh. “And what do I do to you?” She ground slowly against her as her hands caressed Moxie’s hips.

  Moxie felt breathless at the bold promise that Violet might do whatever she asked of her. “You make love to me with your incredible mouth,” she whispered, brushing Violet’s lips reverently with trembling fingers.

  Violet suddenly appeared as though she wanted to devour Moxie whole, her eyes half-lidded with passion. “Really?”

  “Like there’s no tomorrow.”

  When Violet began unbuttoning Moxie’s dress again, the incidental brush of her fingers made Moxie’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 Moxie’s bare breasts, tracing it with her tongue. “And when I take you, am I gentle?” she asked, then increased the force to illustrate another option. “Or rough and urgent?”