Beauty and the Brain (25 page)

This was getting pretty sticky for Brenda,
who was unused to being involved in other families’ confessionals.
“I think I’d better change for my next scene,” she said abruptly.
“I’m glad you two are talking again.”

Fiddle, should she have said that? Too late
to call it back now. She hurried off, glancing over her shoulder to
see the two Peters brothers staring after her, George smiling,
Colin with an expression on his face she’d never seen before, and
which made her blood race.

Mercy and goodness, whatever did this
mean?

The last scene with the Navajos went well.
Brenda was pleased, although she felt slightly ridiculous the
entire time the cameras cranked. She knew good and well that while
blond sausage curls were all the rage these days in the pictures,
they were pretty silly if anyone involved with
Indian Love
Song
wanted to be taken seriously.

Which, of course, they didn’t, or they’d
have had her filmed with dirty, straggly hair and smudged cheeks.
Brenda knew, if the Peerless folks didn’t, that it took many hours
and a lot of skill to create her hairstyle. No woman could achieve
the effect if she’d been captured by savages and set to work as a
slave for them. She was surprised Colin hadn’t already interrupted
the filming with several thousand grouchy words on the subject.

But Colin didn’t say a solitary thing. He
only watched the scene being filmed from under a tree several yards
away. He seemed different suddenly. No longer did he stand as stiff
as a poker and glare with disapproval at everything. Instead, he
looked as nearly casual as Brenda imagined he could look. He leaned
against that tall fir tree, his arms crossed over his broad chest,
one leg propped against a log, his dark hair ruffled in the spring
breeze, looking more like a pirate than ever. He looked as if he
might stride across the clearing and claim her as some kind of
prize.

It was all new and titillating to Brenda,
who didn’t understand. What in mercy’s name had happened to him? He
seemed a totally different person. He seemed—human. Earthy.
Approachable. Provocative. Arousing.

Oh, dear. Whatever had wrought this change
in him, it was probably a very bad thing for her. Almost, she
wished for the old Colin back. That one was safe. This one
was—dangerous.

“I don’t remember if I’m supposed to hit you
now or wait until you drop the bucket.”

Jerry’s words startled Brenda, and she
realized it was the first time in her entire career that she’d
allowed her mind to wander when she was supposed to be working. She
glanced at him, holding her bucket close to her chest and feigning
fear. Jerry was doing a great job. He looked as savage as a quiet
man like him could look. “Um, I don’t think it matters. You can hit
me before and after, if you want to look really mean.”

“Sure. Why not?” Jerry gave her a hideous
scowl and swung at her, missing by the proverbial mile.

“Great!” Martin called from the sidelines.
“Wonderful expressions, you two. Be sure you get close enough to
make it believable, Jerry. Brenda, you were great! The way you
staggered was superb!”

Superb, was it? Well, good. She dropped the
bucket she’d been carrying and cowered away from Jerry, who walked
up to her like a panther stalking its prey and let fly with another
open-handed swing. Brenda jerked her head sideways, as if his hand
had hurt her cheek when it hit, and cried out in mock pain. She
pretended to stumble and fall next to her bucket

“Jeeze, did I hurt you?” Jerry sounded
horrified.

It was all Brenda could do not to laugh.
Bless Jerry Begay for taking her mind away from Colin. “Good
heavens, no, Jerry. I’m acting.”

“Good. Jeeze, you scared me.” No one would
have known it, since his expression didn’t alter.

Neither did Brenda’s. She lifted her arm as
if to ward off another blow and continued to cower pitifully. “Want
to have one last baseball game this afternoon?” she asked suddenly,
the thought having just occurred to her. “You guys have to leave
tomorrow, and it’d be fun to play another game.” That would
distract her mind from Colin, too. The more things she could find
to fill her day and her thoughts, the better. Especially if they
didn’t involve Colin. She knew he didn’t like to play games.

“Sure. Sounds good to me.” Jerry reached
down and clamped a hand on her arm as if he aimed to heave her into
a fire.

“Wonderful!” Martin yelled from the
sidelines. ‘You two are perfect!”

Brenda pretended to stagger to her feet, her
face contorted as if she were in awful pain. “Great. As soon as
this scene’s done, I’ll get the teams organized.” She’d play this
time and not simply serve as manager and umpire. That would wear
her out and keep her mind occupied at the same time. She felt
better about life at once.

“That’ll be fun.” This time Jerry pretended
to shove her hard, and she pretended to stumble and sprawl on the
ground once more

“Perfect! Wonderful! You two are doing a
superb job! The public is going to love this one!”

Martin’s enthusiasm tickled Brenda. She
pretended to flounder in the dust for a moment or two, picked up
her fallen bucket, gazed up at Jerry in terror, and crept to her
feet as if the spirit had been beaten out of her.

Poor Jerry. It really wasn’t fair that he
and his people should be portrayed as such barbarous fiends when
they were only people, like everybody else in the world. But this
was what the public craved, she supposed, and this was how she
earned her keep, so she’d do it. And Jerry’d do it. And the
misconceptions about Indians would grow and become entrenched in
the public’s mind as moviemakers continued to crank out these silly
pictures.

She was depressing herself again. What was
wrong with her today? She caught sight of Colin, leaning against
that tree and gazing at her like a satyr about to pounce on a
nubile virgin, and she sighed.

Oh, yes. She remembered now.
That’s
what was wrong with her.

Colin noticed that Brenda had sent Jerry
over to ask him if he wanted to join in the baseball game and
grinned to himself. She hadn’t come to ask him herself.

It was working. His act was working. Maybe
acting wasn’t such a nonsensical pastime after all.

Not that it was entirely an act. The truth
had struck him shortly after she’d stormed away from him earlier in
the day, and he’d been nearly knocked cockeyed by it. He shouldn’t
have been. After all, he, above most men, should have recognized
what was happening

He and Brenda were performing a mating
ritual! He’d initially believed it was only she who was doing the
dance, but he’d been wrong. They both were. That was why they
struck sparks off each other every time they talked. Only the
mating game in human beings was more complicated than it was for
other species. Colin wasn’t a naturalist, as his parents had wanted
George to be, but he knew a little bit about almost everything, and
he’d studied biology.

For instance, if he and Brenda were dogs, he
and she would have started out by sniffing each other, and would
have mated by this time. If they were birds, he’d have strutted and
preened and fluffed his fine feathers in front of her, she’d have
pretended indifference, and they’d have mated by this time. If they
were cats, he’d have been howling under her window and had boots
thrown at him by the other lodge visitors—and they’d still have
mated by this time.

But they were human beings, and human beings
weren’t so simple, dash it. Human beings seldom really knew what
they were doing as they performed this particular rite, preferring
to think of mating as something other than a natural act, and one
that required thought. Which was probably a good thing, or folks
would be copulating all over the place—and with perfect strangers
half the time. That was no way for the world to run.

However, he lusted for Brenda. She might
lust for him or she might not, but he had a notion that she did.
Otherwise, why should he upset her so? It sounded like biology at
work to him, and he’d made up his mind to give in to it. Why should
he be the only male animal not to achieve satisfaction of a sexual
nature when the call was so loud? Dash it, he was a normal, virile
male.

And Brenda was an actress.

Actresses were loose women, weren’t they?
Not that Brenda seemed particularly loose, but she probably was.
They all were. Weren’t they?

For some reason, the thought of Brenda being
a loose woman who would mate with any old male who came into view
and sniffed around her didn’t sit well with him. He figured he was
only being silly. Any time Colin got jealous of his brother George,
he knew it was time to act. So he was acting.

“What team is Brenda going to play on, or is
she going to be manager and umpire again?” He tossed the baseball
in the air and caught it, reminding himself of Jerry Begay when
he’d first stepped out of the truck several days before. His
decision to seduce or be seduced by Brenda had given him an odd
sort of confidence, and he discovered himself behaving like any
other, beer-guzzling, baseball-mad American man. He’d even noticed
himself swaggering a few minutes ago. How odd.

“She said she was going to play today,”
Jerry told him casually.

How could any man be casual around Brenda?
It didn’t seem possible. “I see. Where’s she getting the people to
play on the teams? Lots of the extras have already been shipped
out.”

Jerry, a phlegmatic individual, shrugged. “I
dunno. I expect she’s using the crew.”

“I expect so.” Colin saw his brother walking
toward him, called out, “George!” and threw the ball at him. It
wasn’t a very good throw, and he was disappointed. Perhaps this
typical American male pose required practice. George caught the
ball anyway.

“Are you going to play, Colin?” George
looked happy. Colin didn’t wonder at that. George was now working
in pictures, thanks to Brenda.

“Yes, I’ll be playing.”

“Good. I don’t remember you ever playing
baseball when we were kids. You were always hanging out in museums
and libraries and stuff like that.”

He had to say that, didn’t he? Colin didn’t
frown; he didn’t want anyone seeing how much George’s comment irked
him. Far better to assume superiority. “I suppose I was. How else
was I supposed to get my doctorate?”

George sighed. “That’s right. You’re a
doctor now, aren’t you? Gee, Colin, I think that’s swell. I’d never
be able to do that. I’m not smart enough.”

Although pleased, Colin wouldn’t admit it.
“Nonsense. You merely have other interests.”

Looking astonished, George blurted out,
“Well, yeah, I always thought so. But I never thought you’d admit
it.”

Dash it, was his little brother determined
to make him look a fool? Colin frowned at George. “Don’t be
silly.”

George shrugged.

“All right, everybody, let’s form our
teams!”

Brenda stood under a sycamore tree, wearing
that silly New York Giants baseball cap and looking more beautiful
than any woman had a right to look. George trotted over to her, and
Colin saw her point to a large pine free on the other side of the
clearing, where Martin and several of the Peerless crew members had
already gathered.

So, Colin thought, she’s going to play with
the Indians. “Where do you want me, Brenda?” He knew where he
wanted himself to be, and he gave her a slow, seductive smile to
let her know it, too.

She blushed, and Colin was pleased with
himself. He’d never acted the dashing rake before. The pose was
rather enjoyable. It would be even more enjoyable if it bore fruit.
So to speak. He frowned and decided he’d have to use some kind of
protection if his plan worked.

“Why don’t you play with the Peerless folks,
Colin?”

“I’d rather play with the Indians.” He’d
rather play with her, actually.

She frowned. He got the distinct impression
she was trying to put distance between the two of them, and he was
reminded of the mating dance of a certain genus of duck. The female
duck always played hard to get, even going so far as to nip her
prospective mate on the tail—but she always succumbed in the
end.

When he’d agreed to work for Peerless this
summer, he never figured the job would prove to be so
educational.

“Very well,” she said, her tone slightly
peevish. “Come on.”

He grinned to himself as he sauntered over
to stand at her side.

“
Slide
!” Martin bellowed, forgetting
for the moment that he was rooting for the wrong team. But Brenda
absolutely delighted him, and he wanted her to score. She’d socked
a whopper into the trees and then raced like a rabbit around the
bases. Now, with her blond hair streaming and her skirt hiked up
nearly to her waist, showing an undoubtedly shocking display of
pantaloons and petticoats, she was headed for home base.

The cameraman who played left field had
found the ball in the woods and, for once, lobbed it in a straight
line to the center fielder, Gilbert Drew. Leroy Carruthers, today’s
pitcher, who probably ought to be distressed that he’d pitched a
home-run ball, was shouting and laughing and generally making a
spectacle of himself—and nobody cared. They were all having too
much fun.

The Navajos, whom Martin had never seen
animated at all, had jumped up from their benches, hurried to home
base, and were now shouting, rooting for Brenda. Even Colin Peters,
much to Martin’s amazement, was hollering and cheering. He stood at
home plate, too, clapping his hands, encouraging Brenda in to
score.

Unless she sped up or slid, though, she’d
probably not beat the ball. There was always the chance that George
Peters, who was the Peerless Cowboys’ catcher, would drop the ball,
but he didn’t look awfully clumsy to Martin. In fact, the boy had
thus far shown himself to be a talented, even a gifted, artist, and
Martin was pleased as punch that he’d decided to try for work in
the pictures. Peerless could use him, especially with the
magnificent epics the studio had planned for future
productions.