Beauty and the Brain (16 page)

She felt like telling him not to be so
darned touchy but restrained herself and merely nodded. “All right,
then. Let’s get started.” She took the sketch of the hawk then
waited until she saw which tipi Colin selected to work on. She took
the one next to his.

“This way, you can tell me if I go wrong,”
she explained when he looked disconcerted at having her nearby.
What was the matter with the man?

“I’m sure you won’t go wrong.”

If Colin got to sounding any more wooden,
they’d be able to use him as a tent pole, Brenda thought sourly.
Nevertheless, as she started painting her hawk with the paint Leroy
Carruthers had mixed, she searched her mind for things to ask him.
She finally decided on the subject at hand. “Um, which picture are
you going to paint?”

His lips were set into a grim line, and he
looked as if he wasn’t enjoying himself. “I’m doing the mountain
and the river.” He didn’t expound upon his statement.

Brenda mentally rolled her eyes. This was
going to be difficult. She didn’t want to fail Martin, but if she
was going to have to drag every single tiny sentence out of Colin’s
mouth, she was going to wear herself out pretty darned quick. “Um,
is that the one with the horizontal zigzag lines and the straight
lines in front?”

“Yes.” He set his lips again and continued
painting, keeping his eyes on the canvas tenting in front of him
and never once looking at Brenda.

Gad. “What tribe is that one from?”

He shrugged slightly. “Several different
tribes use these same symbols. They’re fairly common.”

“Ah.” She was interested in spite of
herself. “Why do you think that is?”

Another shrug. “I suppose because the design
makes sense.”

She set her paintbrush down and scooted over
on her knees to peer at the picture at Colin’s feet. “What do you
mean?”

His hand stilled and he stiffened. Brenda
sighed and went back to her own tent. Tipi. Whatever the heck it
was.

“Well,” he said presently, as if he’d had to
collect his wits before he could answer her, which was ridiculous.
Brenda felt like flinging paint at him “You see that these zigzag
lines look vaguely like mountains? And the straight lines can
easily be seen to depict a river. The symbols are recognizable for
what they are, and I expect that’s what makes them so popular with
different tribes.”

She decided to stay where she was, although
she wanted to see the picture again to make sure she knew what he
was talking about. “That makes sense.”

Silence fell between them. Brenda was
vaguely aware of the others chattering nearby, but she was
primarily concerned with making friends with Colin, so her
concentration on that problem was intense After racking her brain
for a moment, she came up with another question. “Do many tribes
have similar bird pictures? Similar to this one, I mean.”

She heard Colin draw in a deep breath and
release it with what she presumed was annoyance. For Martin’s sake,
she held her temper in check. This situation wouldn’t last long,
she told herself, and she could certainly stand Colin Peters’s
contempt and pickiness for another three or four weeks.

Three or four weeks. She almost groaned
aloud. But no. She could do this. She’d never failed yet to make
friends out of enemies. Not that she’d ever had many enemies

Colin finally answered her question, and her
thoughts scattered like dandelion fluff. “Yes, most tribes depict
birds of one sort or another. Different native cultures have quite
elaborate symbols to depict matters of importance to them, and many
consider birds important.”

“They do?” Again she found herself genuinely
interested. She squinted at the bird on her own tipi. It looked
pretty good, if she did say so herself. “Why are birds
important?”

“Various reasons.”

For a minute, she thought he was going to
leave it at that, and she tried to decide whether to be irked or
not. Then he continued speaking, and she decided to keep her temper
inside for a while longer.

“For one thing, the bird can fly and is
often thereby considered as existing without the limits under which
humans struggle.”

Brenda thought about it as she stroked paint
onto the canvas. “I see,” she said at last. And she did. Failing a
scientific foundation for the phenomena of life, it made sense to
look to beings in nature and to ascribe wondrous properties to
them. “Very interesting.”

She saw Colin’s head whip her way and turned
to see why he was staring at her. He seemed to be studying her face
intently, as if he were trying to determine if she was lying. She
didn’t relish his doubt.

“I found your explanation very interesting,”
she said with a hint of pepper in her tone. “I don’t know why
you’re so darned eager to doubt my curiosity.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“No need to beg.” She was beginning to feel
peevish and tried to curtail her mood’s slide downhill.

The evening progressed more smoothly after
that, although Brenda continued to find it difficult to converse
with Colin. It was as if, having decided he’d behaved badly earlier
in the day, he didn’t want to open his mouth now.

Colin Peters was turning out to be a very
difficult man.

“Yes,” Colin said to Martin, who was
critically surveying the tipis set up in preparation for filming.
“They look much better now.”

It was the morning after the painting party,
and Colin still felt edgy, embarrassed, and uncomfortable. He’d
vowed to keep his opinions to himself unless they were asked for,
but already he was finding his vow challenging to keep.

For one thing, he still deplored the
nonsense of mixing up tribes when it would have been so easy to use
the right ones. Or, if the only Indians they could find who were
willing to appear in the picture were Navajos, the least they could
have done is shoot the silly picture in Arizona or New Mexico.

Too expensive, probably, he thought glumly.
This mountain was near enough to the Los Angeles-based Peerless
Studio as to be economically feasible to use as a stage set.
Rather, a motion-picture set.

For another thing, he resented the notion of
any Indians at all riding into a settled town and carrying off one
of its citizens for no reason. Even if the citizen abducted was as
lovely as Brenda.

Granted such a notion held a certain
appeal—Colin sometimes thought life must have been simpler in the
old days, when knights kidnapped their brides—it still wouldn’t
have happened. Never. Ever. Not even during the very height of the
Indian wars.

But, as he’d discovered to his distress and
mortification, the script was written and nobody was going to
change it for the sake of historical accuracy or his scholarly
objections. He wished he’d never made them, because now he felt not
merely unwelcome but stupid. It was a new experience, feeling
stupid, and he didn’t like it.

“All set, Martin? Hello there, Colin.
Beautiful day, isn’t?”

Colin turned at the sound of Brenda’s cheery
voice and almost fell over backwards in shocked dismay. Good God,
she looked like a ghoul!

She noticed his astonishment and laughed
gaily. “Isn’t the makeup ghastly? Dead white with black accents
isn’t very flattering, is it?”

Actually, she’d probably look beautiful in
black-face. He didn’t say so. Striving to achieve a smile as easy
as hers, he said, “Er, yes. I mean, no.” Dash it, he was blundering
like a noddy. In a last-gasp effort, he blurted out, “I wasn’t
expecting it.”

“It does look a little odd for everyday
viewing, doesn’t it?” Martin chuckled. His spirits were high this
morning, too. Colin figured he was glad to be getting on with
things, and a stab of guilt made his innards cramp. He’d really
made a pain of himself yesterday.

“White makeup looks better on celluloid than
regular makeup—or no makeup,” Brenda explained. The twinkle in her
eyes increased markedly. “Gee, it’s so seldom I get to clarify
anything for you. It usually works the other way around.”

She would have to say that, wouldn’t she? A
little awkwardly, Colin said, “Nonsense.”

“Is it?”

She didn’t wait for his answer but turned to
Martin. Colin appreciated her restraint, since he had no idea what
to say. “Are we ready to start filming?”

“Yes, indeedy.” Martin rubbed his hands
together and looked pleased with the day and with everything in
it.

The day was fine; Colin had to grant that.
The mountain air was crisp and clean. Small animals chattered in
the trees and birds chirped in a frenzy of spring fever. The greens
and golds of the mountains cape appealed to Colin’s senses. It was
one of the few times he’d noticed he had any. He’d seldom taken
time to observe the world around him; today his lack of prior
interest seemed a shame Not that most of the world was as beautiful
as this. It still undoubtedly held things that would be of interest
to him. He’d have to pay closer attention to his surroundings in
the future.

Jerry Begay, clad in some sort of buckskin
garment that, Colin assumed, the costume department had judged to
be of generic Indian design, walked over to them. He nodded to
Colin and Martin and smiled at Brenda. Colin was nonplussed by the
smile. Jerry must feel at ease with Brenda. How strange. Colin
himself turned into a fumbling dolt whenever he was in her company.
This was all very discouraging.

“Hello, Jerry. Ready to kidnap me?” Brenda
smiled happily and shook Begay’s hand.

“I reckon,” said the phlegmatic Navajo. He
cocked a dark eyebrow at Martin. “Shall we mount up?”

The so-called Indian tribe was supposed to
ride into the town, capture Brenda while the townspeople screamed
in horror, and then scurry back to their camp. The abduction was to
take place on the vast front porch of the Cedar Crest Lodge, which
was almost more ridiculous than if they’d snatched her from a
street. Colin didn’t say so, although he had to bite his tongue to
keep silent.

“Right,” said Martin. “Let me get over to
the porch. Remember to have everybody on horseback keep to the
grassy places until you get to the porch, because we don’t want the
horses kicking up a lot of dust and interfering with the camera’s
focus. When you get to the porch, it’s all right to churn up some
dust, because it’ll make the scene look ominous.”

Ominous. Good God. Colin peered at Jerry,
eager to see his reaction to these instructions.

“Right.” Jerry turned and walked away.

Hmmm. Colin guessed he wasn’t surprised.
Jerry Begay had learned to expect idiocy from white men.

“I’ve heard that Indians are silent and
inscrutable,” Brenda murmured, “but I didn’t believe it until
now.”

Colin couldn’t help himself. He said, “They
are neither silent nor inscrutable. Jerry Begay is a fine man who
feels out of place here among a group of white people with whom he
has nothing in common. He, and most in his culture don’t show their
emotions to strangers.” He shut up then, sensing he’d said
enough—if not more than enough.

He expected some kind of sarcastic retort
from Brenda. Martin was too kind to resort to sarcasm. Colin was,
therefore, taken aback when Brenda peered at him musingly and said,
“Hmmm. I guess that makes sense. Sure. I’d be silent and
inscrutable, too, if I were plunked down in the middle of a Navajo
village.”

“Er, yes,” he said. “That’s the point
exactly.” And he was astounded she’d understood it so quickly. One
of these days, he’d have to remember she wasn’t a featherheaded
imbecile.

She nodded and walked off to take her place
on the porch. Martin, who had seemed uneasy at Colin’s comment,
relaxed after he heard Brenda’s, “All set, Martin!”

He said, “Come on, Colin. Let’s go over to
the porch. It’s always exciting to get the first scene in the
can.”

Colin knew that
in the can
was a term
used in the motion-picture industry to signify having captured
something on celluloid. He understood why the term had come into
use, since movies, after being shot, edited, spliced, and whatever
else needed doing, were shipped to picture houses in flat cans. One
can contained a reel. A reel consisted of a thousand feet of film,
and it was only recently that moviemakers had begun creating what
they considered works of art using more than one reel of film.
Colin didn’t know much about art, but he was withholding judgment
on the issue. He had his doubts.

In justice it must be said, however, that
Peerless was doing a good deal to promote the industry, and Colin,
ever just, gave Peerless its due. Peerless was among the first
studios to make what were termed “feature” films, longer pictures
that told a full story. They still primarily produced split-reel
shorts, which most often consisted of a comedy on one half of the
reel and a short drama or a series of scenic views on the other,
but they were making great strides in longer pictures.
Indian
Love Song
was an example of the latter. Colin rather crossly
thought that it wasn’t going to enhance Peerless’s reputation
any.

But then, he was probably wrong about that.
His experience with public taste wasn’t vast, but he wasn’t
impressed with the few examples he’d seen so far. The public would
probably lap up this nonsensical feature film like hot
chocolate.

He was feeling crabby and depressed when he
and Martin reached the trees a few feet from the Cedar Crest’s
front porch. Martin’s chair was there awaiting him, and Colin
noticed another chair placed near Martin’s. “I had them get a chair
for you, Colin. You can see how we do this.”

Ashamed of himself for his earlier unkind
thought, Colin muttered, “Thanks,” and sat on the chair next to
Martin’s. He renewed his vow to keep mum and not complain.

Almost at once, his vow was challenged.
Brenda stood on the porch in a frilly gown that made her look as if
she’d just stepped onto the porch from a fancy dress ball to take
the air. Were Jerry and his bunch supposed to capture her in
that
? He had to chomp down hard on the inside of his cheek
to keep from asking.