Beauty and the Brain (17 page)

She called to Martin, “Are we ready? Shall I
start fanning myself?”

“Just a minute.” Martin scurried over to the
cameraman, who’d set up his equipment in front of the porch. The
two men held a brief conversation. Then Martin trotted over to the
mounted Navajos, waiting in the trees a few yards from the porch.
He looked pleased when he returned to the chairs. “All right, we’re
almost ready. Find your mark, Brenda, and we can go.”

“Right-o.”

Colin marveled at her good humor. Even when
she got mad—as, for example, when she was scolding him for being a
fusspot—she didn’t hold on to her anger. Offhand, Colin couldn’t
recall ever having met such a sunny-natured woman He hadn’t
expected her to possess such a quality, mainly because she was so
lovely. Colin had always believed beautiful women were spoiled and
unpleasant. It pained him to admit that Brenda Fitzpatrick seemed
to be neither.

Lord, it was difficult having one’s
preconceived notions knocked about like this. Because he was
feeling uncharitable and cross, he folded his arms over his chest,
slid down in his chair, and stared balefully at the porch.

Brenda took her mark, which had been chalked
on the porch floor, leaned against the railing, and commenced
fanning herself. She looked for all the world like a southern belle
resting after dancing her feet off at a plantation hall. She also
looked darned near irresistible, and Colin wished she didn’t. Dash
it, this experience was difficult enough without his lusting after
the leading lady.

“Good!” Martin called to Brenda. “Remember
to look startled when you hear the hoof beats.”

“You bet,” Brenda said.

“Isn’t she wonderful’?” Martin murmured.

Colin figured the question to be rhetorical,
so he didn’t answer. He’d have had to agree, however. She really
was remarkably wonderful. As an actress, of course.

Martin stood, lifted his megaphone, and
shouted into the trees. “Ready, Jerry?”

Jerry uttered a grunt, which both Colin and
Martin assumed was consent. Martin called, “All right, then.
Action!”

The cameraman started cranking, the camera
commenced its ear-shattering clatter, sprockets chunked out onto
the ground as the scene progressed, and Colin watched it all with
interest. Jerry Begay, leading his pack of fellow Navajos, clad in
costumes native to no Indian tribe Colin had ever studied and
riding horses no self-respecting Navajo would ever ride, let out a
whoop and rode into the camera’s range. Colin’s frown of
disapproval deepened as the action unfolded.

Brenda, apparently hearing the sound of the
horses—although how anyone could hear anything at all over the
noise of the camera was a mystery to Colin—drew herself up and
peered off as if into the distance. She lifted a hand to her
forehead to shade her eyes, which was idiotic as this scene was
supposed to be taking place at night, and drew herself up further.
Her face assumed an expression of dismay that gradually altered
into one of terror. She opened her mouth and let out a scream that
sliced through the air like a knife.

Colin winced. Darn it, she was supposed to
be acting; she didn’t need to shriek like a banshee for real.

The horses rode up to the porch and the
Indians pulled them to in a cloud of dust. Brenda began backing up,
which was also stupid. Why didn’t she just open the door and escape
inside the building? Colin, recalling his vow, didn’t ask.

“I hope that’s not too much dust,” Martin
muttered. He called to Brenda and Jerry, “Good! Good! Keep, it up.
Jerry, try to look more menacing.”

Colin grunted but didn’t speak. He was proud
of his reserve. He shook his head when Jerry plastered an
expression of evil intent on his broad brown face. The Indians,
Colin noticed, hadn’t been forced into wearing white makeup, but
they’d had their own natural reddish-brown complexions enhanced a
good deal. Colin disapproved. Such magnifications of the
differences among people could only lead to further
misunderstandings and bigotry.

Again, he held his tongue.

“Excellent! Wonderful!” Martin sounded as if
he were overjoyed with Jerry’s altered expression.

Colin rolled his eyes.

Brenda, meanwhile, had lifted an arm and was
holding it in front of her in a fending-off gesture. Colin thought
contemptuously that any female who acted this stupidly deserved to
be kidnapped and run off with. Except, who’d want her?

Jerry crept toward her, a tomahawk in his
hand. Colin sat up straight. A tomahawk? Good God. He sank back in
his chair and didn’t protest, although everything inside him
rebelled at the notion of a Navajo, pretending to be an Apache,
operating on the home ground of the Sioux, carrying a tomahawk to
kidnap a white female who obviously lived on a plantation in
Georgia or somewhere equally southern. Lord, this was awful.

Brenda cried out some phrases that were
supposed, Colin imagined, to be protests. She looked the part of a
panic-stricken belle, although her words belied her act. “Good,
Jerry,” she said, still looking horrified. “Bend forward a little
more. It’ll look more creepy that way.”

Jerry grunted and lifted his tomahawk. Colin
could scarcely bear to watch.

“Good,” Brenda said, although her appearance
of terror didn’t alter. “Now I’m going to scream a little bit more.
Don’t be alarmed.”

She did as she’d warned them. Jerry didn’t
flinch, although Colin did. The woman had a shriek like a train
whistle, and it hurt his ears. Poor Jerry, who was even closer to
her than Colin, must be suffering greatly.

But Jerry didn’t seem to mind. He stalked
Brenda until she was flat up against the wall of the lodge. Then he
let go of a volley of Navajo. Colin hoped the camera wasn’t aimed
at his face or the whole world would know these weren’t Sioux. Or
Apaches.

No. That was silly. Only scholars like
Colin—or Indians from the respective tribes—would know the
differences in the speech patterns of the Navajo and Sioux. Or
Apaches. God, he couldn’t stand much more of this.

Brenda let out another squawk when Jerry
threw his tomahawk aside—another irregularity that would have
earned him low marks in any Indian tribe in the world—and plucked
her right up off the porch. He flung her over his shoulder and ran
across the porch, down the steps, and to his horse. The horse
whickered nervously. There again, Colin thought sourly, was a
mistake. Indian ponies were trained to within an inch of their
lives and would never balk at anything their masters did.

He sighed. Nobody else cared. He had to keep
that mind or he’d go crazy.

Jerry flung Brenda onto the horse and leaped
up behind her as effortlessly as if he did such things every day.
Now
that
was a demonstration of riding skill of which Colin
approved. It was the first time in the whole picture he’d had
occasion to applaud.

Other cast members, led by Leroy Carruthers,
poured out of the door, pretended to be aghast by what had
happened, and started yelling and screaming. Leroy and a couple of
the other men fired blanks at the escaping Indians, heedless of the
possibility of hitting horses or the woman they were supposed to be
protecting. Colin forced himself to keep his eyes open and watch.
This was terrible.

Martin, he noticed, was enjoying himself
hugely. He kept calling out encouraging words to Brenda and Jerry
and the other Indians. Colin watched him with interest. He truly
did love this industry. If only he loved historical accuracy as
much, Colin might be happy, too. Not, of course, that anyone cared
if he was happy.

He was getting maudlin. He sat up straighter
and watched the band of Indians race off into the woods on their
sluggish mounts. He reminded himself that nobody but him cared if
the horses were sluggish.

“Good!” Martin shouted. “Great! I think
we’ve got it on one take! Perfect!”

He rushed over to the cameraman, who gave
one last crank of the camera, which spat out one last sprocket and
stopped cranking. He shook out his arm as if it hurt, which it
probably did. Curious, Colin heaved himself out of his chair and
joined the two men in time to hear their conversation.

“What do you think, Ben? Was the dust level
all right?”

“I think it’ll be fine,” Ben, the cameraman,
said. “We’d better look it over before we put it in the can, but I
think it’s a good take.”

Martin nodded enthusiastically. “Good. Good.
Do you think we should do another take just in case?”

Ben shook his head. “Naw. Let’s see this one
first. I think it’ll be fine.”

“Great.” Looking as pleased as punch, Martin
lifted his megaphone and bellowed into the woods. “Great job, Jerry
and the rest of you. Brenda, you were wonderful. You can come out
now. As soon as we do the shot with Leroy on the porch, we’ll move
the camera to the Indian village and shoot that scene next.”

A bunch of people leading horses and Brenda,
still atop one of the beasts, ambled out of the woods. Brenda was
laughing happily, evidently at something one of the Navajo had
said. The whole group of them was smiling.

How did she do that? Colin wondered. How in
the name of mercy did she manage to put everyone, even a tribe of
Navajo Indians on foreign soil, at ease? He’d never seen anything
like it in his life.

He discovered he envied Brenda Fitzpatrick
her way with people and could hardly believe it of himself.

When the camera next began cranking, Brenda
watched Colin rather than Leroy Carruthers after the first few
minutes. She wondered if Colin would recognize himself in
Carruthers’s character. It was painfully obvious to her that the
actor had modeled his actions on Colin’s.

If Colin did recognize himself, she hoped he
wouldn’t be dreadfully offended. After all, although Carruthers was
acting like an intellectual stuffed shirt and an impossible purist
in this scene, he was eventually going to become the hero of the
picture.

“Gadzooks!” Carruthers cried as he did a
comedic double take. “Have those beastly savages actually male away
with the love of my life? Horrors!”

Everyone watching him laughed. Everyone but
Colin.

Brenda saw his eyes narrow, his arms cross
over his chest, and an expression of suspicion creep over his
elegant features. Oh, dear, she hoped he wouldn’t be too upset.

“Egad, what to do? What to do?” Carruthers
continued, running across the porch and peering off into the
distance like a flustered scientist watching an experiment
dissipate. “Should I grab a horse and follow my darling into the
mysterious blackness? Or should I, the quintessential absentminded
professor, think about it for a year or two and then take some kind
of action?”

More laughter. Increased dubiousness from
Colin. Brenda gnawed on a knuckle and continued watching him. He
must have felt her intense concentration on his person, because he
turned his head and sent a quick glance her way. She smiled at him
and wiggled her fingers in a hello gesture. He didn’t respond, but
frowned harder and turned to watch the end of the scene.

“Good!” Martin called through his megaphone.
“Great, Leroy! Perfect characterization!”

“It should be,” Carruthers responded, still
in character. “I patterned it after the real thing.”

Oh, dear. Brenda wished he hadn’t said that.
Scrutinizing Colin closely, she couldn’t detect whether he
understood the meaning behind the actor’s comment or not. He was
smart enough to catch on, but she didn’t know if he had the social
intuition to do so. She’d met other men—most men, in fact—who
wouldn’t recognize themselves when acted on stage if they were
given a magnifying glass, a mirror, and a hundred years of study in
which to do so.

Suddenly Colin turned around and walked over
to her. She was so surprised, she barely had time to produce a
serene smile for his benefit. She didn’t want him to know how
worried she was He’d certainly not thank her for fretting about his
feelings being wounded. She said, “Leroy’s a wonderful actor, isn’t
he?” because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I guess,” Colin muttered.

Put out by his tepid response, Brenda said
“I think he’s captured the moment very well.” She didn’t say
anything about Carruthers’s characterization, which he’d also done
very well.

“Hmph. I wouldn’t know, never having been in
that position before.”

“That’s the whole point” she said dryly
“That’s what acting is. Actors interpret scenes and behave as they
believe a normal person would behave under the same circumstances.
I mean, one doesn’t have to discover a dead body to understand the
horror such a discovery would evoke in a sensitive person. Or even
an insensitive one,” she added trenchantly because his attitude
irked her. As usual.

Martin called out, “Great! You’re doing
great, Leroy! Now go and tell the others the girl’s been
snatched!”

“I suppose so.” Colin appeared
unconvinced.

They both watched Carruthers without
speaking for a moment. The grinding clamor of the camera filled the
air, and the, sound of sprockets chunking onto the earth gave a
curious rhythm to the ungodly noise. The actor yanked open the
lodge doors and pretended to give an alarm to the rest of the
participants of the ball. Several more actors in evening costume
ran out onto the porch and began milling around, some wringing
their hands in consternation, some peering off into the
distance.

“Perfect!” Martin shouted. “Wonderful! Look
scared, ladies! Remember, everybody’s best friend has just been
abducted by Indians! Explain it all to them, Leroy!”

Carruthers started an animated depiction of
someone telling a tale of awful importance to the other actors. He
did a great job, looking to Brenda exactly as she’d expect Colin to
look in the same circumstances. Only more ebullient. Brenda
couldn’t imagine Colin flinging his arms around in that
uncontrolled manner.