Beauty and the Brain (15 page)

The awful thought that he was trying, in the
only way he knew how, to impress Brenda Fitzpatrick attacked him,
and he groaned softly. Good God, could that be his problem?

He had a feeling it not only could be but
was. What a lowering realization. When he was a child, he used to
sneer at boys who made asses of themselves trying to impress girls.
Now he was doing the same thing, and such behavior was even more
asinine in a man his age than in a boy.

Was he really so little attuned to the
behavioral norms prevailing in society that he was stooping to such
childish tactics?

Yes, he was.

With another soft groan, Colin buried his
head in his hands. And what had he accomplished by behaving thus?
He’d succeeded in alienating practically everyone associated with
the picture, including Martin Tafft, whom he admired greatly, and
Brenda Fitzpatrick, who was the one he’d been trying to impress in
the first place.

“Idiot,” he growled at himself.

Colin continued to flog himself mentally for
the rest of the afternoon. Along about five, as he was trying to
decide which of his drawings would look best on the tipis and
vilifying himself as an unmitigated nincompoop, the front door to
the parlor opened. He didn’t look up, since he was sunk in
self-pity and knew that whoever it was wasn’t interested in
speaking to him.

“Colin?”

He jerked and spun around, nearly tipping
his chair over backwards. He had to grab the table to prevent an
accident. Good Lord, it was Brenda. Had she come in to scold him
some more? He probably deserved it. Because he was anticipating
nothing good from this source, and since he was ashamed of himself
for his earlier behavior, he only nodded at her and said, “You
startled me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Good heavens, the woman was beautiful. Colin
decided it wasn’t kind of God to have spent all of that beauty on
one person. He ought to have spread it out some in order in spare
the rest of humanity these painful episodes. “It’s all right. I was
. . . concentrating on these pictures.” He waved a hand over the
papers on the table and silently called himself a liar. He’d been
mired in remorse and self-pity is what he’d been, and he knew
it.

“Oh, how nice. May I see them?”

At least she didn’t say
can
when she
meant
may
. Realizing this was the fussy Colin passing
another judgment on something nobody in the world but him cared
about, he swore at himself and told himself to stop judging others.
“Of course you may.”

She wafted over to him on a cloud of
femininity. Colin swallowed hard. He’d never realized how difficult
it could be to maintain one’s dignity in the presence of so
tantalizing a creature as Brenda. Determined to redeem himself in
her eyes, if possible—and he doubted it was possible, since he was
stuck in a sinking pit of self-loathing—he said politely, “I’m not
sure which symbols would be best for film. Perhaps Martin can help
us decide.” It hurt to add, “Although you’re familiar with the
industry. I’m sure you can say if one is better than another.
Cinematically speaking, I mean.”

He was an ass. That’s all there was to it.
There was no wrapping it up in clean linen. He was an ass, and that
was that.

“Oh, I like this one.” She held up a paper
and indicated a stylized drawing of a hawk in flight. “It reminds
me of the wide open spaces.”

The Black Hills were about as wide open and
spacious as a railroad boxcar, what with all the trees and boulders
lying about. Colin gritted his teeth and didn’t say so.

“Yes. That’s a good one. I saw it first in a
Chiricahua village in the Arizona Territory”

She turned those huge blue eyes upon him and
he went light-headed. “My goodness, but you’ve done some
interesting things I’d love to hear about some of your
travels.”

He was, to put it mildly, skeptical. No one
was ever interested in his travels. “You would?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve never been anywhere except
cities. Mind you, I’ve traveled quite a bit because of the business
I’m in. And I know New York City like the back of my hand. But I’ve
never had the chance to explore the different cities I’ve been to,
much less explored any of the western territories, although I did
do a show in Denver once. But that’s the closest I’ve ever come to
a frontier. I’m sure they must be fascinating.”

He allowed himself a very small smile. “I’m
sure the westerners who live there would say the same about New
York.”

She laughed. Her laughs played hob with his
senses, and he had to clamp down on his heated reaction to this
one. “You’re probably right.”

He couldn’t manufacture a laugh to save
himself, but he did produce a fairly decent smile. “Oh, yes. I’ve
known many a cowboy who’d love to see a big city like New York or
San Francisco.”

“San Francisco’s a nice place. Very lively,
and the people are friendly.”

“Yes, I found the same thing.”

Whoopee. He’d discovered one thing they had
in common: San Francisco. Perhaps they should celebrate.

Ass. He was an ass.

Still smiling, she resumed studying the
sketches he’d made, eventually pulling out five of them. “I think
these would look best.” She shot him a quick glance. “Mind you, I
don’t know anything about Indians, but if they’re compatible,
they’d look great in the picture.”

Dash it, she was worried about him throwing
another tantrum over authenticity. As if authenticity mattered a
toss. “They’re compatible.” Because he couldn’t seem to stop
himself, he amended, “That is to say, they’re all symbols common to
various southwestern tribes, although they don’t all come from the
same one.” Now why, he asked himself bitterly, had he felt
compelled to deliver that miniature lecture? It wasn’t as if anyone
cared.

“Oh? Which ones are from which tribes?”

She sounded interested, and Colin didn’t
believe it. Rather stiffly, he said, “You needn’t humor me, Brenda.
I know I behaved badly, and I’m sorry I’ll apologize to Martin as
soon as I see him.”

“I’m not humoring you!” She eyed him for a
moment. “You know, Colin, there are some people in the world
besides you who are genuinely interested in these things. You’re
not the only one.”

“Oh?” That was news to him.

“Indeed. Why do you think I asked you to
explain about the Indians before?”

He had no idea, actually, unless it was to
make the other men on the set jealous. He opted not to tell her so.
“Um . . . I guess I hadn’t considered why you asked.”

She shook her head, as if she could,
scarcely conceive of so obtuse a scholar. “It’s because I want to
know, Colin. I find such things fascinating. I didn’t have the
opportunity to attend school after my twelfth year, and I—well, I
know it sounds dramatic, but I can’t help that—I thirst for
knowledge. If you’d be willing to instruct me in some of these
things, maybe I can reciprocate.”

“Reciprocate?” This sounded scary “How?”

She winked at him “You’ll find out.”

And that, as they say, was that. His heart
had commenced hammering like a Mescalero war drum, and he sensed a
trap not unlike that set for soldiers riding a box canyon with
Indians perched on cliffs surrounding them, prepared to pick them
off like ducks on a pond. It was no use warning himself. Colin
succumbed. “Very well,” he said with as much firmness as he could
summon. “I’ll be happy to teach you whatever you want to know.”

“Likewise.” Brenda stuck out her hand. “It’s
a deal.”

And, although he couldn’t even begin to
imagine what she knew that he’d want to learn, Colin shook her
hand.

After a delicious meal in the Cedar Crest’s
main dining room, during which she chatted amiably with Martin and
tried to draw Colin out, Brenda went for a short walk around the
building. She was steeling her nerves to tackle those stupid tipis.
And Colin. The prospect held no appeal.

During dinner, Colin had been almost
amiable, although he didn’t speak much. Which was probably just as
well, since he seldom seemed to have anything to say unless he was
correcting something somebody else had said. She chuffed into the
darkness. If it were anyone else supervising the tipi painting,
Brenda would be looking forward to it. She enjoyed stuff like this:
getting together with friends and tackling projects.

In this case, she was dreading it. Why, oh
why, couldn’t Colin be just a little more human? He was so
handsome. And he was so exactly what Brenda had always dreamed
about in a man—except that he was a stuffed shirt and an old poop,
and he didn’t like her. She considered this combination of
characteristics monumentally unfair.

Nevertheless, after she’d walked around the
lodge twice, listened with pleasure to the owls hooting in the
trees and the rustle of the breeze among the leaves, she knew she
had to do it. She’d promised Martin she’d try, and she’d never
broken a promise yet.

So she trudged up the wide, beautiful oak
staircase of the Cedar Crest Lodge, went to her room, donned the
huge blue smock she wore for messy makeup jobs and other dirty
work, and headed downstairs. The Peerless crew had confiscated the
screened-in back porch of the lodge for this evening’s activities,
and Martin had set up two of the studio’s portable lights. The
specialized lights were used for filming and were brighter than
normal house lamps. Tonight they’d provide perfect illumination by
which to paint the tipis.

She took in a deep, preparatory breath
before she stepped onto the porch, prepared for just about
anything. If Colin had arrived before her, he might already have
stirred the crew to anger or mutiny. Or Martin might have prevailed
and kept things calm and steady. Or the Indians might be there,
telling them all what to do. She didn’t know what to expect when
she opened the door and offered a cheery salute to her Peerless
friends.

“Hello, everyone. Are we all ready to fix
these tipis?” She spotted Jerry Begay, who was looking at one of
the flowered pictographs with scorn. Gil Drew, who’d started
daubing white paint over the flowers on another tipi, looked up at
her and winked.

She waved back and walked over to stand
beside Jerry; she, too, peered at the tipi. “Hi, Jerry. Those
flowers are pretty stupid, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate.

“Well,” she said in as sprightly a manner as
she could summon, “we’ll get them fixed tonight.”

Jerry grunted. His expression was so
generally enigmatic that Brenda never knew if he was grumpy or
happy or what. Tonight was no exception.

She heaved a large internal sigh and gave up
on the flowers, but she didn’t allow her misgivings to show.
Rubbing her hands together in a gesture of enjoyment—falsely
assumed—she said, “Do you agree with the pictures Colin did to
replace the flowers? There are lots more, if you don’t like
those.”

Oh, dear, perhaps she shouldn’t have said
that. Colin might take her offer to Jerry as a slight upon his own
selections. Piffle, this was like walking on eggshells, and she
didn’t like it. She cast a swift glance at Colin and noted with
relief that, although he was watching her exchange with Jerry, he
didn’t seem huffy.

Jerry shrugged. “They’re all right.”

Faint praise. But she hadn’t expected
anything more from this particular source. “Well, then, let’s get
at them. Do you need help painting over the flowers, Gil?”

“I don’t think so. My artistic talents
aren’t even being tested in this enterprise. Slapping white paint
over flowers is quick work.”

He gave his audience a general, all-purpose
grin. It was a grin Brenda recognized as one designed to garner
approval. Poor Gil. He was such an—actor. Funny she’d never noticed
how desperate most actors and actresses were to be loved. Was she
like that? She had no idea.

Leroy Carruthers was in a corner mixing
paint. “I’ve got the black stuff here, stirred to a fare-thee-well
and ready for the artistes.” He splayed a hand over his heart. “I,
too, am an artiste, but I shan’t attempt to paint this evening. I,”
he said in as grand a manner as Brenda had ever heard, “have four
thumbs on each hand and dill pickles where the thumbs should
be.”

They all laughed, and Brenda silently
blessed the ham for making the atmosphere light. Martin and Colin
had begun conversing in the corner opposite Leroy’s. Brenda walked
over to join them, bracing herself for unpleasantness.

Squinting hard, she couldn’t detect any
rancor issuing from the two men. Not even from Colin, a
circumstance that faintly surprised her. She’d have expected him to
have become fussy in the hour or so since dinner. He’d been almost
pleasant at dinner. She judged he’d apologized to Martin as he had
to her, and Martin, ever gracious, would have accepted the apology
with generosity and grace and not referred to the afternoon’s
squabble again. She took heart. Maybe this wouldn’t be as awful as
she’d feared.

“Hello, Martin. Good evening, Colin. Ready
to start?”

Martin smiled brightly. “Hey there, Brenda.
We sure are. Gil’s working on covering up the flowers, and we have
the sketches right here.” He brandished a sheaf of papers. “If we
each take a tipi and a sketch, we’ll have this problem corrected in
no time at all. I’m sure the tents—I mean, tipis—”

Colin sighed. Eyeing him hastily, Brenda
judged he was embarrassed about having made such a stink about
tipis versus tents.

“—will be dry by tomorrow, and we’ll be able
to film the abduction scene early in the day.”

“Good.” Brenda smiled at Colin. “Are we
using the same pictures you showed me this afternoon, or have you
chosen others?”

“I brought the ones you chose,” Colin said
stiffly. “I didn’t think you wanted my interference.”