“Wallace?” Peter nearly choked on his libation. “She went out with Wallace?”
Moxie narrowed her eyes. “Why? What’s wrong with him? You were the one who put them together, after all.”
“He wasn’t meant for her to date, ” Peter explained. “He was just someone for her to talk to until she—”
“Regained her senses?” Wil suggested.
“Exactly,” Peter said. “The man is a complete clod.”
Moxie was concerned again, but in a new way. “What do you know of Wallace, Peter?”
The question seemed to catch him off guard. “I believe he’s a Protestant.”
Violet rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s a relief. How about some information that might actually be helpful, Peter? His last name? A profession? Where he lives?”
Peter closed his eyes, seeming to plumb the depths of his memory, but he opened them again and shook his head in resignation. “Sorry.”
“When did you meet him?” Moxie asked.
“The night you all arrived,” he replied weakly.
Violet’s irritation was becoming more apparent. “How did he end up in your bungalow, Peter?”
“Someone brought him,” he said confidently.
“Who?” Moxie asked.
“That tall fellow with the mustache who was drinking gimlets.”
Moxie tried to calm herself and covered her mouth with her clenched fist. “You don’t know his name either?”
“But I do remember what he was drinking,” Peter said smugly.
Violet stood and set her drink down. “Well done, Sherlock. Now if only you could remember his hat size, we could blow this case wide open.”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to gather everyone’s personal information before they could come in,” Peter replied tersely.
After a moment of awkward silence, Wil spoke. “The good news is Irene can easily outrun that lug.” When everyone turned toward her in incredulity, she appeared to nearly have a moment of self-awareness. “What? That’s not a good thing?”
At that moment, Irene entered, animated and elated. “Hey, everyone. The party’s here tonight?”
“Irene, where have you been?” Moxie’s relief mingled with her chagrin.
Irene’s face lit up. “I was with a certain fella.” She sat beside Moxie on the sofa and coyly bit her lower lip.
“You see?” Peter said, reclining back into the chair. “She was having the time of her life.”
“I was.” Irene seemed giddy.
“With Wallace?” Wil asked in disbelief.
Irene scowled momentarily. “Who? Oh, that mook I met at Peter’s party?” She began to laugh into her hand.
“Then who?” Violet finally asked.
“Well,” Irene said, “Bette called and asked me to meet her at Universal yesterday so I could try out as a chorus girl in a new picture.”
“Where was I when she called?” Wil was clearly disappointed.
Irene looked annoyed at the question. “Passed out by the pool. There was no waking you. Believe me, I tried. So I had to leave you behind.”
“Mmm, I’d be completely sunburned if I hadn’t been fully clothed,” Wil replied, as though she’d found her silver lining.
“And underneath that busboy,” Violet added. “At any rate, Irene, how did it go?”
Irene cleared her throat. “The audition, not so hot. The director said something about the size of my can, so I took a page from Wil’s handbook and socked him right in the sack.”
“Attagirl,” Wil said, lifting her glass with a wink.
Violet’s expression did much to dampen their celebration. “Wait, you punched a director in the balls?”
“I sure did,” Irene said proudly. “As hard as I could.”
“Empowering, isn’t it, Reeny?” Wil asked.
Peter stood and began to refill the shaker with gin and ice. “I had no idea that the potency of testicles was an endowment so easily transferred to others.”
Irene inhaled deeply. “At first, I didn’t feel empowered at all. I got all angry and hysterical, and I ran out of there, bawling.”
“No pun intended,” Wil added, waggling her empty glass at Peter from across the room.
“But then a guy stopped me right outside,” Irene said. “He asked me to dinner and told me that he liked my spunk.”
Peter walked back and poured a fresh cocktail for Wil, handing Irene a full glass as well. “Are you sure he wasn’t offering you some of his spunk?”
“Peter, please tell me that line has never worked for you,” Violet said.
“I’m jotting it down now,” he said, picking up a pencil. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
The corner of Violet’s mouth rose slightly. “Remember to find out how much bail is before you call, darling.”
Peter chuckled. “I always do.”
Moxie hushed them both. “So, Irene, you went out to dinner with this fella?”
She nodded wildly. “And how. We went to this swanky place called the Polo Lounge and had the fanciest dinner I’ve ever eaten.”
“The Polo Lounge inside the Beverly Hills Hotel?” Peter’s eyebrows were raised.
“Um, yeah. That’s the one.”
Moxie was a little surprised. “Not to pry, Irene. But is that where you were all last night and today?”
Wil sat forward in interest. “If I wasn’t so proud of you, my little protégée, I’d be jealous as hell.” She slapped Irene on the thigh playfully. “So, Goodtime Reeny, what’s his name?”
Irene looked as though she were about to explode. “Howard Hughes.”
Violet looked at Moxie with wide eyes. “As in, Hell’s Angels, Howard Hughes?”
“That’s the one,” Irene practically shouted.
“Isn’t he with United Artists?” Peter asked. “What’s he doing on a lot at Universal?”
“Did you see any ID before you touched his cock?” Wil asked.
Irene’s face fell. “What are you all saying?”
Violet approached her slowly. “Just that in a town like this one, sometimes people are not always what, or who, they present themselves to be.”
Irene scoffed and stood back up, setting down her untouched drink. “You’re all screwy. I need to get ready for my date.”
“You’re going out with him again tonight?” Moxie asked.
“You bet I am.”
“Why don’t you bring him with all of us?” Moxie offered. “We’re going to dinner to celebrate.”
Irene’s mouth formed an O shape. “What are we celebrating?”
“I got the part in the picture,” Moxie said happily.
Irene squealed as she hugged her. “That’s great.”
“Now tell her the bad news,” Wil said.
Moxie pulled back slightly. “Oh, Cotton’s coming along.”
Irene immediately looked less jubilant. “Oh. That’s too bad. I’ll catch up with all of you tomorrow.”
Violet pointed casually to Irene. “If I told you that he reeked in a completely different way, would that make you reconsider?”
Irene’s expression softened. “You could tell me he smelled like lilacs and was made of kittens, and I wouldn’t reconsider. Besides, he’s probably figured out by now that I took his luggage.”
“ You took Cotton’s luggage?” Moxie coughed.
Wil snorted indignantly. “See? I told you it wasn’t me. I don’t know why you never believe me.” She casually poured the contents of Irene’s martini into her own glass.
Violet crossed her arms. “I think it’s partially because you frequently get so blotto you can’t remember what you’ve done and said.”
“Well, yes,” Wil replied meekly. “But that’s not the same as lying. If I remember doing it, for Christ’s sake, I admit it.”
“Honorable,” Violet said.
“You’re goddamn right it is.” Wil belched.
Chapter Sixteen
Violet sat on the set, brushing Clitty’s c
oat as he sat dutifully in her lap, enduring it. “What is this back here? Is this crusty caviar? Who have you been socializing with?” 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. “Do you promise to devote that kind of attention to my clitty later?”
Violet nodded slowly as she stared at Moxie hungrily. “Though I’m hoping that yours isn’t smeared with fish roe like this one is.”
“I do what I can to prevent that.”
“A good rule to live by, really. Fish was never meant to go some places. You look like you got some good news.”
“I did. Mr. Walter said that he saw a rough cut of Love Comes Sailing and that I lit up the screen.”
“I’d say that’s a good thing.” Violet continued Clitty’s grooming.
“He’s offered me a speaking part in a new picture.”
“And by speaking part he means?”
Moxie’s excitement seemed unabated. “I’m in only one scene, but I have a whole page of dialogue.”
“Who are you playing?”
“The nightclub singer.” She coughed self-consciously.
Violet ran her tongue over her teeth quickly. “Ah. But this time you’re the talking nightclub singer,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “And are you singing in it too?”
“Yep.”
“Congratulations, sweetheart.”
Moxie relaxed into the chair. “Thanks, I’m already planning tonight’s celebration.”
Violet arched her eyebrows. “That sounds promising. Will nudity be involved?”
“Count on it.”
“Do I need to RSVP?”
“Not to be presumptuous, but I was assuming you’d attend. I’ll be hard-pressed to find someone to stroke repeatedly to climax this late in the day.”
Violet stopped her brushing to focus on recovering the breath that suddenly evaporated from her lungs. “I’d hate to leave you in a bind, love. You can definitely count me in.”
“I love your dependability, Vi. It’s such an admirable trait. So, how’s it going here?”
Violet sighed. “Once again, we’re all waiting for Sylvia.”
“She’s quite the prima donna, isn’t she?”
“Mox, as always, you’ve found a very tactful and delicate way to phrase it.”
“Because if you were to describe her, you would say—”
“That she’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.”
Moxie pulled her sunglasses out of her handbag and put them on, relaxing back in the chair. “I’m glad to hear that you two have made up.”
“Yes. So how is Goodtime Reeny doing?”
Moxie winced. “I 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.”
“I had no idea he was so ubiquitous these days. It shows a shockingly unacceptable lack of imagination amongst our resident degenerates.”
“And then she stopped at the pharmacy for a malt and met Louis B. Mayer there.”
Violet rolled her eyes. “Oh, no.”
“Apparently, he was bald and fat, but that was where the similarity ended.”
“Well, why wouldn’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?”
“Irene gets it now,” Moxie assured her. “She sees how this town works. But I think she’s feeling a little gullible and depressed.”
Violet set both the brush and Clitty down on the ground. “Unfortunately Wil isn’t faring too much better. Since her agent dropped her, she hasn’t gotten a single audition. Well, one that she was conscious for.”
“She just needs a new agent.”
“If only it was that simple. Do you think Cotton would agree to represent her?”
Moxie laughed loudly, unintentionally snorting.
“And for the same reasons, neither will mine,” Violet said.
“What she really needs is an agent who will never meet her.”
“Or someone eccentric enough to appreciate her hedonistic and somewhat abrasive idiosyncrasies.”
“Or just too high to care.”
“Good thinking,” Violet said with a grin. “We don’t want to leave out the dope fiends.”
“I’m sure they make exceptional agents.”
“They can’t all be surly asses, like yours is.”
“And praise the Lord for that,” Moxie said. “I wonder if anyone staying at the Garden can help Wil.”
“You know, Peter would be more than happy to do a little entertaining for a good cause, or for a few good causes.”
“A few?”
“Sure. We can celebrate your new role, cheer up sicky-pants, and see if we can find Wil a thoroughly indiscriminate agent.” Violet was counting on her fingers.
Moxie sat back in her chair again, letting the sun warm her. “I love that you delude yourself into thinking that Peter’s parties require a reason.”
“It makes the debauchery feel more noble.”
*
Sylvia King sat in her dressing room while her hair stylist continued to work on her curls. “Jesus Christ, are you done yet, Arthur?”
“I hope so,” he said, teasing her curls with a comb. “But so far today, I’ve thought I was done three times already.”
“If you’d concentrated on making me look beautiful instead of bloated, you would have been done.” Sylvia glanced into the mirror and rolled her eyes. “All right, let’s just end this torture. I suppose that’s good enough.” She stood and posed for a moment in the mirror. “But come with me to the set so you can touch me up between takes.”
Arthur clutched his comb tight to his chest and nodded at her. “Yes, Miss King.” As she marched outside to the set, he submissively fell in line behind her.
Sylvia didn’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 America’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 didn’t seem interested in what she had to say.
A production assistant whose name escaped her approached nervously. “Sylvia, it’s about time. The director has been cursing you for the last half hour.”
“Tell him that I’ve been cursing him for the last two weeks.”
He stared at her. “Are you ready to shoot the scene?” His voice was devoid of emotion.
“Of course. As soon as I look over the script.”
The little man seemed agitated. “You mean you don’t know your lines?”
Sylvia glared back. “If you people didn’t keep changing them every day, I’d know them by now, wouldn’t I?”
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.
“Sylvia!”
She looked up to see Leo angrily striding toward her. She vowed that she would not allow him to intimidate her.
“What’s this I hear about you still not being ready to shoot the scene?”
/> “As I told your little minion,” she said in irritation, “I can’t learn the script when you keep changing it daily.”
“Violet has no problem with the updates,” he said, his eyes narrowing.
“Please, no one would notice if she was getting it wrong. It’s not like the eye is exactly drawn to her. I would imagine that the audience won’t even realize she’s in this film.”
A muscle in his cheek began to spasm violently, and Sylvia was drawn into its freakish dance. “Look here,” he rasped, his voice lowered. “Don’t think you’re so goddamn special that I won’t have you replaced on this picture, because I damn well will if you continue to give me cause.”
She blinked once at him. “Your breath smells.”
“Don’t…fuck…with me, Sylvia,” he said malevolently. “You’re not running this set. I am.”
“Ha,” she blurted. “You wouldn’t want me to go to T. Z. about this, Leo.”
“You think he’s not aware of the problem you’ve become? If you decide to press this issue, you’ll be relegated to making the shittiest B movies ever wiped onto a piece of paper.”
“What?” Was he actually threatening her?
“You heard me. Don’t think we won’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 I’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.”
She was unable to speak, and Leo turned and walked back to the camera crane.
“Wow,” Arthur whispered as he adjusted Sylvia’s hair.
“Shut up,” 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 Violet’s lips intimately. Sylvia gasped as Violet kissed the woman’s finger and the two shared a rather sultry look. “Arthur!”
“Hmm?” He continued to comb.
“Who is that woman over there?”
Arthur squinted. “Where?”
“Over there with Violet London—the blonde.”
“Oh. You know, I’ve seen her on-set before, but I’ve never spoken to her. She may be a contract player.”
Seduction of Moxie Page 21
