Seduction of Moxie

by Colette Moody

  “So, Fitzy, have I missed anything beyond the standard daily moral decay?”

  “Your agent has been trying to reach you about your next picture for Pinnacle. Did you have a good jaunt to New York?”

  Violet couldn’t suppress a grin. “It was the best fucking train trip ever.”

  Moxie blushed slightly.

  The loud pop of the cork surprised everyone, and Wil made quick work of filling a glass for each passenger. “Ladies, let us all toast to our success out here. To bright lights and free booze.”

  “Wait, Wil,” Violet said. “Isn’t that what you just left in Manhattan?”

  “Good point. Then to trees, movie contracts, and free booze.”

  “Hear, hear,” Irene added.

  They clinked their glasses together as the fragrant smell from the orange groves washed over them.

  *

  “Wow.” Irene couldn’t contain her excitement and wonder at the passing view of Hollywood as they drove to Sunset Boulevard.

  “See that little bungalow?” Violet pointed out the limo window.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s where Charlie Chaplin molested his first underage girl.”

  Irene’s face fell. “What? The little tramp?”

  “Chaplin?” Wil asked. “Or the girl?”

  Moxie elbowed Violet in the side. “Can you try a little harder not to disillusion her before we even get out of the car?”

  “I guess you don’t want to stop and read the commemorative plaque, then,” she said, twisting the corner of her mouth wryly upward.

  “Perhaps another time,” Moxie whispered in amusement.

  “Hey, while we’re sightseeing,” Wil said, “can we see where Clara Bow lost her dignity? That must be out here somewhere.”

  Irene seemed irritated by this turn in the conversation. “You guys are pretty glib about other people’s careers. I bet you’d feel differently if it were yours.”

  “Perhaps,” Violet replied. “But try and remember what I told you, Irene. People out here are just folks, like you and me. They aren’t royalty.”

  “I’ll try— Jumpin’ cats! Is this where we’re staying?”

  The limo turned into the driveway in front of the big house at the Garden of Allah.

  “It is,” 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.

  “By the way, Vi,” Fitzhugh said. “Peter says he’s having a little soirée tonight to welcome you all.”

  “Wonderful. What time?”

  “Seven.”

  “Done. We’ll see you there?”

  Fitzhugh smiled warmly as he started to remove their bags from the car and set them in the driveway. “You will.”

  “Thanks for the ride, Fitzy.” Violet blew him a kiss before walking into the front office, the others following. “Good day, Captain,” Violet called to the plump man behind the counter. “I’ve brought you some new guests who need to check in.”

  “Captain?” Irene asked Moxie softly.

  “Captain Napkin,” she whispered. “I’ll have to tell you that story later.”

  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. “Miss London. Welcome home. And how many bungalows will you ladies require?” He snapped open the register with a flourish.

  “I think just one,” Wil said. “Nice necktie, Blinky.”

  “Thank you kindly.” He straightened the cup closest to his chin. “I’ll give you bungalow ten, so you can be near Miss London.” Lyle handed Wil a fountain pen. “If you could just enter your information on line three, please, I’ll have your bags taken there for you.”

  Violet motioned for Moxie to follow her back several feet from the counter. “I figure you can stay with me in eleven. There’s plenty of room, provided you’re comfortable with that arrangement.”

  Moxie’s libido sprang to life, and she bit her lower lip and smiled flirtatiously. “Oh, I’m very comfortable with that.”

  Violet looked at her with unconcealed lust. “That’s good to hear, because I have a surprise for you.”

  Moxie couldn’t break eye contact with her. “You have a real penchant for surprises, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Violet brushed a strand of Moxie’s hair back behind her ear. “Know what else I have a penchant for?”

  “Hmm, does it have to do with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Am I naked?”

  “You are, yes.”

  “And is someone being pleasured?”

  “You’re really good at this game,” Violet said.

  “Well, I can do more than just fill out a mean crossword puzzle.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Wil approached, her expression one of confusion. “Ladies, let’s go.”

  “What’s wrong?” Violet asked.

  “I don’t think that fella’s drunk,” Wil whispered discreetly.

  “No, he’s not.”

  “I was okay with the lingerie cravat when I just thought he was lit,” Wil explained. “Stone-cold sober, it’s kinda creepy.”

  “Fair enough.” Violet faced Lyle. “Thanks so much, Captain. See you later.”

  Lyle nodded politely. “Good day to you all.”

  Moxie looked around curiously. “Where’s Irene?”

  “She’s waiting outside,” Wil said. “She thought he was subtly trying to entice her to rub her breasts on him.”

  Violet chuckled as they walked back out to the driveway. “If that’s subtle, I’d love to see her idea of something overt.”

  “There you are, Reeny,” Wil said to Irene, who was seated on their luggage. “Good news. None of us rubbed anything on him.”

  “As tempting as it was,” Violet added.

  “Is this what they’re all like out here?” Irene asked as she jumped up.

  Violet squinted into the sun as the bellboy came out to gather their bags. “That depends on who they are. But so far, he’s the only one I’ve met since I’ve been here who wears women’s undergarments on the outside. ”

  “Feel better now?” Wil asked Irene as they followed the bellboy around the right side of the main house.

  “Hey, Vi. Welcome back.”

  They all turned to see a young blonde seated by the pool about thirty yards away, waving at them.

  “Hey, Ginger,” Violet called back. “You went blond after all?”

  Ginger laughed and ran her hand through her hair. “Turns out the studio had the same idea you did.”

  “You like it?”

  “You know, I think I do. You’re a pretty smart cookie, Vi. See you around.”

  Violet nodded. “See you.”

  “Who is that ?” Moxie said in a hushed tone.

  “Just a nice kid who lives over in six with her mother.”

  “A nice kid?” Moxie eyed the woman’s curvy figure in a black bathing suit.

  “Sure.”

  “And you recommended that she color her hair?”

  “It was just a suggestion. But you wear it so much better, baby.”

  “What a brilliant observation.”

  Violet tapped her temple. “Well, I am a smart cookie.”

  “Among other things.”

  When they got to bungalow ten, both Irene and Wil seemed elated to be somewhere they could rest that wasn’t moving and didn’t share space with Cotton. They hastily disappeared inside, with Violet reminding them about meeting at Peter’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.

  “This is quaint,” Moxie said, once the bellboy left.

  “Thanks. I built it with my own two h
ands.”

  Moxie moved across the room, stepped into Violet’s arms, and kissed her. “You do have extraordinary hands. I can attest to that.”

  Violet nibbled Moxie’s earlobe. “That’s sweet of you to say. You do much to keep them occupied.”

  “Christ, Vi. You make me want you so much.”

  Violet’s hands slowly traveled down Moxie’s shoulders to her breasts, then to her hips. “Show me.”

  “Oh, I will. But first, where is my surprise?”

  “This feels a little like extortion.”

  “Considering that what you’re currently feeling is actually my ass, are you saying my ass feels like extortion?”

  “Not at all. Your ass feels more like sunshine.”

  “That’s such—”

  “Poetry?”

  “Crap.”

  “You have a very discerning ear.” Violet walked over to the kitchen. “Let’s see if Fitzy came through. Ah, he did. What a good man.” She returned to the room with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  “This is your surprise?”

  “If you recall, I promised you some champagne to celebrate your success.”

  “That’s not what we had in the limo?”

  Violet popped the cork dramatically. “Oh, no. That was to celebrate our arrival.” She filled the glasses and handed one to Moxie.

  “You sure do like to celebrate.”

  Violet took a sip, then set her glass down. “I like to consider my life a series of transitions between celebrations.” She moved closer to Moxie and kissed her neck.

  “Mmm, let’s transition right now,” Moxie groaned, putting her drink on the table.

  Their mouths met urgently, and Moxie ran her fingers through Violet’s dark tresses while Violet struggled to unbutton Moxie’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.

  “You’re very helpful,” Violet said between kisses.

  “It’s pure selfishness,” 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. “Lie down.”

  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. “What’s that for?”

  “I was just thinking what it might taste like to drink you in.” She tilted the bottle above Moxie’s stomach, but stopped before any liquid spilled out. “Are you game?”

  “It’ll be cold.”

  Violet smiled wickedly. “And bubbly. And very, very tasty.”

  Moxie thought for a second. “Do it.”

  The effervescent liquid landed on her breasts and abdomen, and Violet wasted no time in moving her tongue along Moxie’s erect nipples, at the same time drinking in the small puddles she encountered along the way.

  “Mmm, it tingles.” Moxie groaned as she raked her fingers through Violet’s hair.

  Violet moved up to kiss Moxie, and Moxie savored the taste of the champagne that Violet had just drunk from her skin. “I need more,” Violet said, her eyes darkened with desire.

  “Oh, yes.”

  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 experienced—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.

  “God,” Moxie gasped. “Mmm, faster.”

  Violet accelerated the movement of her tongue along Moxie’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 Violet’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.

  “So would you recommend the champagne?” Violet asked before tasting Moxie’s mouth again.

  “It depends.”

  “On?”

  Moxie ran her hands up Violet’s back. “On 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.”

  “I have an idea,” Violet said. “Let’s go to bed.”

  “You think you can control yourself now to make it all the way to the next room without ravaging me?”

  “Perhaps, if we hurry.” Violet stood and pulled Moxie to her feet.

  “Wait. Bring the bottle.”

  Violet smiled broadly. “Yeah?” She grabbed the champagne bottle by the neck.

  “Turnabout is fair play.”

  “What if I want to play dirty?” Violet asked.

  “We’ll talk about that after I make you come.”

  *

  By the time Moxie and Violet reached bungalow sixteen, they were worn out. Not only had Moxie never really enjoyed sex until she’d had Violet as her partner, but she hadn’t realized just how often you could have it. She’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.

  “That’ll get you nowhere with Peter.”

  “Knocking?”

  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 d’oeuvres.

  “Here we are.” Wil appeared from around the corner with Irene. “Good timing. Hot dog! Food and gin.”

  “Violet!” a tall, plump man with an arresting handlebar mustache called from the corner. “We’ve missed you. How have you been?”

  “Hitting on all sixes.” Violet crossed the busy room and gave him a quick kiss and hug. “Peter, may I present my traveling party. This is Irene Cavendish—dancer, Wil Skoog—actress, and Moxie Valette—singer extraordinaire. Ladies, this is Peter Easton, writer of marginal screenplays.”

  “Charmed.” Peter took Moxie’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “So you are the renowned Moxie.”

  Moxie felt slightly uncomfortable with Peter’s attention. “That’s me.”

  “I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” he said, releasing her. “I’m interested to hear you sing so I can hear the choir of seraphim that Violet described.”

  Moxie looked at Violet accusingly. “Did you embellish slightly?”

  “Not at all.” Violet shook her head in amusement. “I just said that you made me see God, nothing more.”

  “Well, if you want to summon any deities,” Peter began, “you’re more than welcome to do a number here. I’m sure we’d all love to get a little religion.”

  Moxie cleared her throat. “Maybe a little later, but I’d love a drink, if you’re got one.”

  He laughed loudly. “If I’ve got one?” He walked over to his bar, pieced together with liquor crates and plywood, but visibly stocked to the hilt. “What would you like, doll? I can do it all.”

  “Peter prides himself on the fact that he knows every cocktail in existence,” Violet explained. “He insists he can’t be stumped.”

  “Is that so?” Wil asked.

  He smiled. “Test me.”

  Wil crossed her arms defiantly. “How about a Ward Eight?�
��

  “I’m a New Englander, for Christ’s sake. Rye whiskey, lemon juice, and grenadine.”

  It was apparent that Wil was taking this challenge to heart. “French seventy-five?”

  “Gin, Cointreau, champagne, and lemon juice.”

  “A Charlie Chaplin.” She moved her hands to her hips.

  His mustache angled upward. “Sloe gin, apricot brandy, and lime juice.”

  Wil’s eyes narrowed. “A pompous bastard.”

  Peter’s smugness visibly left him. “Um, how do you make that?”

  “Put a lemon twist in your ass and shake.” Wil raised her eyebrow defiantly.

  Violet laughed. “You know, Wil, I would have thought that you, of all people, would be able to appreciate Peter’s talent.”

  “Just because he knows them doesn’t mean he can mix them.”

  “What’s your poison?” Peter appeared as though he wanted to start over with her.

  One corner of Wil’s mouth curved up. “Just to properly test your mixing skills, mind you, how about a Floradora?”

  Peter’s eyes glimmered with humor as he grabbed a bottle of gin and began the concoction. “I love a woman who’s a challenge.”

  Violet sighed. “Not the first word that typically comes to mind when describing Wil.”

  Wil propped her elbow on the bar. “Don’t listen to her, Pete. She’s recently sleep-deprived, if you follow me.”

  Peter glanced at Violet and Moxie with brazen amusement. “Oh, I think I do. Floradoras for all of you, ladies?”

  “Please,” Irene said.

  “Excellent.” He stirred up a pitcher. “Have you ladies met Harpo?” Peter nodded to his left as he continued to add ingredients.

  Irene froze. “As in—?”

  “How are you?” Moxie asked the actor as she shook his hand. “I’m Moxie.”

  “Nice to meet you.” His voice was much deeper than Moxie would have guessed it to be, since he never spoke in his films. “You staying at the Garden?”

  “I am, yes. With Violet. Do you live here as well?”

  Harpo nodded and pointed with his thumb. “I’m in eighteen.”

  Irene still sputtered unintelligibly, and Moxie took pity on her. “This is my friend Irene.”

  “Huhhhh,” Irene rasped, the syllable lasting a ridiculously long time.