Beauty and the Brain

Book #2 in the “Dream Maker” Series

Alice Duncan

Beauty and the Brain

Copyright © 2001 by Alice Duncan

All rights reserved.

Published 2001 by Kensington Books

A Ballad Book

Smashwords edition December 16, 2010

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http://aliceduncan.net

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San Bernardino Mountains,

California, 1907

Martin Tafft sucked in a deep breath of
fresh mountain air and thanked his lucky stars that this picture
wasn’t being filmed in the desert. He was sick to death of
deserts.

Indeed, Martin felt exceptionally cheerful
these days. His good mood had carried him into these gorgeous
mountains, and he was eager to begin production of the latest
Peerless Studio offering to the world of culture:
Indian Love
Song.

Life was grand—even if he was too busy to
cultivate close friends other than those he’d had for years and
those with whom he worked. He occasionally wished he had a romance
in his life, except that he didn’t have time for one He didn’t
dwell on the absence of love and intimacy; it seemed silly to do so
when he reflected upon the gratifying aspects of his life.

Peerless Studio had produced a string of
smash-hit feature motion pictures. Peerless’s stature in the infant
industry had grown by leaps and bounds, until it was now right up
there with Biograph and Vitagraph when it came to producing quality
products. And he, Martin Tafft, who for several years had been
required to do pretty much everything that needed to be done in his
studio’s production efforts, from finding locations to acting as
wet nurse to temperamental actors, now had himself a research
assistant.

He smiled at said assistant, Colin Peters.
“Isn’t this fresh air invigorating? I really enjoy the mountains.”
Feeling expansive, he thumped himself on the chest. “Springtime in
the Sierras, Colin. You can’t beat it.”

Colin pushed his thick spectacles up his
nose. They had a tendency to slip, as Martin had noticed before.
“Actually, these aren’t the Sierras, Mr. Tafft. We’re presently in
a range called the San Bernardinos.” He pointed into a clump of
trees in a direction Martin presumed was vaguely downhill. “That’s
San Bernardino down there. The town.”

Undaunted, Martin went on. “Ah, but you
can’t beat the natural beauty of these mountains.” Martin, who had
grown up in Pittsburgh, where there was precious little of nature
left, appreciated natural beauty when he saw it. “Look there!” He
pointed at a couple of birds that had just flown, chirping madly,
out of a tall cedar tree. “Why, even the birds are playful!”

Colin cleared his throat self-deprecatingly.
“Er, actually, I believe that blue jay—the larger bird, you
see—just tried to steal an egg from that scarlet tanager’s nest.
Birds don’t generally play with each other. Life’s too precarious
for them out here in the wild.”

Martin’s smile twisted slightly askew As
much as he appreciated Colin, who was a bright and enthusiastic
fellow and a joy with whom to work, Martin found him a trace too
literal sometimes. His scholarly nature had come as something of a
surprise to Martin, since Colin looked like a well-built, muscular
young man. Martin hadn’t anticipated so unemotional a personality
as Colin’s to be housed in such a hearty, masculine shell.

“These are the moving pictures, Colin,” he
said gently. “The San Bernardinos can belong to any old mountain
range we want them to, and the birds can play if we say so.”

“I see.” Colin frowned a little and scanned
the scenery.

Martin didn’t know how a person could remain
unmoved by the pristine beauty sprawled all about them, but Colin
seemed to be managing nicely. Martin sighed. He was still happy. He
saw a short-tailed chipmunk sitting on a rock, clutching an acorn
in its paws and darting glances all around. The thing looked
darling to Martin, but he chose not to point the animal out to
Colin, fearing he would predict the beast’s doom from its charming
behavior.

“In that case,” Colin went on after a short
period of thought, and startling Martin, who’d forgotten what
they’d been talking about, “I suppose these would be the Black
Hills, since this picture is supposed to be set in the
Dakotas.”

“Right.”

“I see.” Colin pushed up his glasses again.
He didn’t smile. Martin gave up trying to lure his assistant into
thinking about anything but work. Far from gloomy, Colin had yet to
exhibit anything resembling lightness of spirit, and Martin
considered that something of a shame. His own cheer remained
unabated, and he clapped Colin on the back.

Colin, not anticipating the blow, took a
startled step forward.

After expelling another, rather more
heartfelt sigh, and feeling a good deal of sympathy for Colin,
Martin said, “I believe the rest of the crew and the cast have
assembled. Let me introduce you to everyone. I’m sure you’ll find
them all very agreeable to work with.”

“Yes. I see.” Colin sounded unconvinced.

Martin’s natural enthusiasm overcame his
sympathy for his dull assistant, and he took Colin’s arm. “This
will be a super picture for Peerless. It has all the elements in it
that the public craves.”

Colin nodded gravely. His glasses slipped a
little.

Continuing with zest, Martin went on,
“Indeed. The public is wild about cowboys and Indians these days.
We’re going to give them cowboys, Indians, a beautiful woman,
danger, romance—why, we’ve got everything in this picture. We’re
even throwing in an absentminded professor, so there will be an
element of comedy.” Martin hoped Colin wouldn’t take the last part
amiss.

He didn’t seem to. “So I understood from Mr.
Lovejoy.”

“Yes. The title of the picture is wonderful,
too.” Martin chuckled. He liked this whole picture a lot.
“
Indian Love Song.
It has a good deal of zing to it, doesn’t
it?”

“Um, yes. I’m sure it does.”

Oh, dear. Martin shook his head, wondering
what it would take to draw Colin Peters out of the dusty realm of
academia and into the modem world. A shotgun, perhaps.

“Mr. Lovejoy certainly seems to understand
popular tastes,” Colin ventured after ‘a moment.

From that telling sentence, Martin deduced
that poor Colin didn’t. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, since
they were nothing at all alike, Martin liked Colin a lot.

“Phin is a genius,” he said simply. “He has
an absolutely infallible grasp of what the public wants.” Plus, he
was rich, which was a great advantage when one journeyed into
untried business territory.

“I’m a trifle concerned about how the
Indians in this picture will be depicted,” Colin murmured. His
voice was so soft, Martin barely heard it.

“That’s your department,” Martin said
cheerfully. “You get to tell us what to do.” Eyeing his assistant
and remembering one or two of his stuffy college professors, he
amended, “Within certain boundaries, of course. After all, we have
to stick to the story.” He laughed with what he hoped sounded like
unconcern.

“Yes.” A double vertical dent appeared above
Colin’s nose. He looked troubled.

“Phin would never do anything that wasn’t of
the highest moral and ethical caliber, Colin.”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Phineas Lovejoy, financial genius behind
Peerless Studio and Martin’s best friend from boyhood, had
discovered Colin for Martin. If anything had been needed to cement
their friendship forever and ever, it was this. Martin had been
getting physically worn out from doing all the legwork for
Peerless. Not that he didn’t enjoy it. Nor did he resent the
necessity for his energy being spent in so many different
endeavors. Not at all. Martin believed wholeheartedly in the future
of Peerless, and in the motion pictures themselves.

But he was human, and his physical resources
weren’t infinite. He did, in fact, get to feeling run down from
time to time. After making twenty moving pictures for Peerless
back-to-back, he was darned tired. Since it was his job to find
actors, locations, food, lodging, horses if necessary, and, in the
case of this particular picture, a tribe of Indians for Peerless’s
use, and since he was a perfectionist, he worked constantly. He was
very, happy to relinquish his research duties to an employee.

Therefore, sensing a twinge of doubt in his
new assistant and believing he knew what had caused it, he hastened
to eliminate it “Think of it, Colin! This is your opportunity to
educate the public about the Indians.”

“Which Indians?”

Martin looked at him, feeling as blank as he
undoubtedly appeared. “Why, the ones in this picture.”

“I see.” Colin nodded again.

Martin, perceiving a grave lack of
imagination in his companion, gave it up. Not everyone held his
views on motion pictures. Martin saw the emerging industry as
something close to the salvation of mankind.

What better way to prove to the residents of
the world that, underneath all their surface differences, men were
alike everywhere? How better to show people that we all have the
same desires, aspirations, and goals for our lives? How else to
show the world that everyone in it deserved to live a life free
from strife, hunger, and war? How better to show people where areas
of famine, drought, flood, and other pockets of need were? After
all, if no one knew where want lurked, no one could help the
wanters, could they?

Ever since Martin had become involved with
Phineas Lovejoy in setting up and operating Peerless Studio, he’d
felt himself to be on a mission. The world had been damaged enough
by megalomaniacal dictators, separatist fear-mongers, socialists,
anarchists, and so forth. Martin’s plan was to create universal
understanding among the world’s people. That would put a kink in
the Kaiser’s tail! Pompous, strutting, insufferable—He realized
he’d become sidetracked and shook his head to clear it.

“I’m sure you’ll find the leading lady of
our picture a delight. Her name is Brenda Fitzpatrick”

“I see.”

Colin’s enthusiasm was liable to get him
into trouble if he didn’t try to curb it, Martin thought
ironically. “She’s a lovely girl. Modeled hats and gowns in New
York City before she was picked up by a company doing musical
comedies on Broadway. Got a great voice, although, of course, we
won’t be able to exploit that in a silent picture.” He laughed
again. Colin didn’t.

Martin went on. “She’s been very successful
on Broadway. I’m sure when you meet her, you’ll understand why.
She’s a true beauty.” Because he wanted to stir his companion, if
only a little bit, Martin winked. He tried to make it a lascivious
wink but, having had little to do with lasciviousness in his life,
wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“Oh.”

At first Martin thought he’d failed to
instill even a tiny degree of intrigue about Miss Fitzpatrick in
his assistant. Then he saw a dull red flush spread over Colin’s
neck— and he felt guilty, both for trying to disconcert Colin and
for even hinting .that Brenda wasn’t what she should be.

Because she was. Bright, charming, not
unlike one of those splendid peonies they had back east, Brenda was
a real brick. There wasn’t a hint of temperament about her. “But
she’s a fine girl. An upstanding girl. I understand she’s been
supporting her family for some time, because her father became ill
and died when she was a young girl.”

“Hmmm. Too bad, that.”

“Yes. But she’s so pretty that it wasn’t
hard for her to get modeling jobs. And then the stage came along.”
It sounded romantic and exciting to Martin.

“I see,” said Colin.

Martin was very, very glad when the two of
them exited a stand of sycamore and incense cedar trees and saw the
lodge where the cast and crew were to be housed during the filming
of
Indian Love Song
.

Colin feared Martin must think him a stodgy
old thing and regretted it. But Colin couldn’t help it. He was who
he was. Most of his life had been spent inside his head and at
various schools and universities. He’d achieved his bachelor’s
degree at Boston College before he was sixteen years old, a
master’s degree in philosophical history at Harvard when he was
nineteen, and completed the work for his Ph.D., creating in the
process a philosophical and anthropological masterpiece, according
to his professors, in the history and significance of modem
philosophical thought in the study of native anthropology in the
western United States last June.