Seduction of Moxie (2 page)

“What exactly are you proposing?”

“Tomorrow I’m taking the Burlington to Chicago, and from there, the Twentieth Century Limited
the rest of the way to New York City. I’ve been hoping to find a talented singer or dancer who’d make the rest of the trip with me.”

Moxie’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. “Make the trip with you…and then what?”

“I need a new talent to sell, and New York’s the place to make it happen. Surely you want to play bigger and better clubs than this one.”

She looked around at the congested dive she’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 Red’s was a horrible job to settle for. The prospect of performing for high society—hell, for people who didn’t have dirt under their fingernails—tempted her.

“You probably have a father or husband to consult first. I understand that.”

“Actually, I don’t have either.”

His brow furrowed. “Well, you have some family, don’t you?”

“No, it’s just me these days. The decision’s all mine.”

Cotton’s face took on a serious expression. “Then what do you have to lose?”

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. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, a sweet little Midwestern dish who’s been bringing the house down here at the Luna Lounge for the last few weeks—Miss Moxie Valette.”

The crowd cheered as Moxie appeared on the stage and the pianist began to play the introduction to Cole Porter’s “What Is This Thing Called Love?”

“Hot damn!” Violet sputtered as she focused on the singer before her. “Get a load of that tomato.”

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

“Don’t exaggerate,” Violet said. “This is only the fourth time since breakfast.”

Moxie began to sing the lyrics slowly, her sultry tones quickening Violet’s pulse. While Wil’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.

“Hey, sister,” Wil said, poking her with her elbow. “You got apoplexy? Have you swallowed your tongue?”

“No. I was imagining her swallowing my tongue.” She grinned. “And I have to say it was working for me.” The gorgeous blonde in the shimmering, deep blue gown seemed contradictory—while her young face conveyed purity and virtue, her deep voice exuded a carnal sensuality that made Violet’s temperature rise.

“Well, as they say, the fifth time’s the charm. We’ll just have to get her over here to meet you. After all, it is your night.”

“It’s your night too,” 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. “Don’t worry, I plan to get mine tonight too, doll.” She called the waiter over, flailing her arm eagerly. “Darling,” she said with a broad, insincere smile. “We need a bottle of whatever you have that’s sparkling.”

“I’m sure something can be arranged,” 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 hadn’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.

“What’s your name, handsome?” Wil asked the waiter, her hand brushing the top of his in a way that was too casual to be inadvertent.

“Fred.” He blushed slightly.

“Fred, darling,” she said. “Do you think you could send the canary over our way when her set is done? We’d like to extend our compliments.”

He seemed petrified of her advances, but nodded rapidly.

“And bring a shot of whatever she drinks too,” Violet added. “Let her know it’s on us.”

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

“Look at you,” Wil joked, “buying the lady a drink. Very smooth, Vi.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Well, if I’m going to become a big star, I need to learn how to make time with all the hot numbers, right?”

“Stick with me, kid. I’ll show you everything I know.”

“I’ll settle just for what you can remember,” Violet said. “Got your eyes on the waiter, do you?”

Wil took a drag on the delicate tip of her cigarette holder. “Fred? Oh, we’re old friends. He understands me in ways no other man can.”

“You know he’s queer, right?”

Wil exhaled in frustration. “Fuck, another one?”

“Afraid so, sister.”

“And how exactly do you know this? You’ve seen him at your local chapter meetings, have you?”

Violet nodded. “Yup, he usually brings the crullers.”

“Damn, it! The tight pants should have tipped me off.”

“That, and maybe the way he sashayed to and from our table.” Violet turned to direct her attention back to Moxie. She was now performing an upbeat jazzy number that Violet hadn’t heard before, and Moxie’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.

“Julian!” Wil called merrily.

Violet turned to see Wil’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.

“How are you, Violet?” he asked, sitting across from her. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Thanks, Julian. It’s good to see you.” She smiled brightly.

“Are you ready for a night of nonstop sin and depravity?” Wil asked him.

“Why else would I have agreed to meet you, darling?” 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. “Here you are, ladies.” He set the bucket down and began to open the bottle. “Will you be needing a third glass?”

“Fred,” Wil said, “you’re always so considerate. That’s why I love you so.” She turned to Julian magnanimously. “What did you want to drink, darling?”

“I’ll take a gin rickey, Fred.”

“Very good, sir.” The waiter pushed the cork out of the bottle with his thumbs, and it finally burst out with a jubilant pop.

“Music to my ears,” Wil remarked happily as Fred began to pour the champagne.

“Does it remind you of your cherry?” Violet raised her newly filled glass.

“I think you overestimate Wil’s memory,” Julian added. “Wasn’t that back during the Trojan War?”

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

“Fred and I are in love,” Wil explained to Julian. “We’re going to be married.”

Julian casually pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from his jacket pocket. “You don’t mind that he’s queer?”

“I told you,” Violet said, pointing her index finger decisively.

“We plan to have one of those open marriages,” Wil said. “Provided that he never stops bringing me whatever I ask for, I can look past his preference for men.”

“How progressive,” Violet commented.

*

After Moxie’s set ended, Fred approached her backstage and touched her shoulder lightly. “Swell show.”

She smiled at the compliment as she dabbed her face with a handkerchief. “Thanks. That’s always nice to hear.”

“Well, 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.”

Moxie’s gratification quickly evaporated. “Hmm. Did the offer seem seedy?”

He laughed. “It’s probably a lot of things. But I don’t think any of them are seedy.”

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 couldn’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.

“All right, Fred. You’ve piqued my curiosity. Table nine, you said?”

He nodded.

“Just bring my usual drink.”

“You got it.” 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 there—certainly not what she had expected. As she got closer, she observed that the woman with the dog was watching her intently. The woman’s straight black hair was cut in a bob, a bit like Louise Brooks’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 way—red-haired and animated—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.

“…and I told him, ‘Darling, you need to get that away from my vagina’—oh, hello there,” she said, suddenly noticing her.

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

The other woman at the table smiled, her smoky eyes alight with something. Perhaps amusement? Despite Moxie’s natural suspicions, the brunette’s expression and demeanor put her slightly at ease. “No, 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.”

Moxie remained wary, as she always did. For her, guarded and vigilant were a way of life. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“Do have a seat. I’m Violet London, and these are my friends Wilhelmina Skoog and Julian French.”

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 Violet’s lap. “And who is this?”

“Ah, this is Clitty.” Violet held up the dog’s paw to simulate a friendly wave.

“That’s an unusual name.” 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. “Yes, it’s short for Clitoris.”

Apparently Moxie was not the only one with a filthy mind. “Uh…Why would you name your dog that?”

“Well, it seemed appropriate,” Violet replied, scratching Clitty’s head between the ears. “I mean, he has a beard.” She playfully tugged the animal’s protracted chin hair. “And he wants to be rubbed all day long.”

“But does he want to be licked?” Wil asked.

“Lord, Wil,” Julian interjected, exhaling smoke from his nostrils. “I hope you’re not offering.”

“Hardly, darling. It’s far too early in the evening for me to have lowered my standards that much.” She looked at her watch. “I won’t settle for less than a human for another three hours.”

Fred reappeared and set a bottle of Dr. Pepper in front of Moxie. “Here you go.”

“That’s what you ordered?” Violet asked.

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Well, you should have some champagne with us,” Violet said. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

“Oh? What for?”

“Well,” Violet said, “I’ve been cast in a movie. And I leave tomorrow on the next train to Hollywood.”

Moxie was awestruck. This woman was a film star? “That’s wonderful!”

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

Violet continued. “And that leaves my understudy here ready to step into the leading role of
Scandals and Lies
on Broadway.”

“Ah, that’s why your name sounded familiar. You’re Violet London, the Broadway actress.” Moxie was thrilled not only to meet a successful actress, but one she had actually heard of. It was easy to see why Violet’s career was flourishing. She had an easy charisma about her—an affability that drew in others.

“For the rest of tonight I am, at least.”

“Wil, you really should do something about your name,” Julian said. “Wilhelmina Skoog neither rolls lightly off the tongue nor looks attractive on a marquee.”

“Yes,” Violet said. “You should choose something sexy.”

Wil snorted, apparently indignant that her friends would make such a suggestion. “Well, tragically, your Clitoris is taken.”