Beauty and the Brain (5 page)

“I see.” Martin considered Colin in silence
for a second.

“Um, I don’t suppose you had much use for
fun when you were growing up?’

“Fun?” Colin had taken to scowling again.
“I’m not sure what you mean. We went to the zoological gardens to
study the animals quite often. And we all enjoyed going to the
Museum of Natural History when we visited my aunt in New York City.
The Boston Symphony is famous for its quality, and we always had
season tickets to hear the symphony.”

“I see.” With an enormous sigh, Martin rose
from his chair. “I’ll tell you what, Colin. If you can try to
remember that this picture we’re doing is only for fun—er, that is,
that it’s fiction, since you don’t understand fun—and doesn’t have
much to do with reality, I think we’ll all be better off.”

Colin didn’t like it. He rose, too. “Well .
. .”

“I promise you that we’ll endeavor to stick
as much to reality as we can, but there are some elements of the
story that just have to be in the picture, and that’s that.” An
idea struck him and he smiled. “Tell you what: You help me in this
picture, and I’ll set you to work on some more ambitious and more
educational Peerless pictures after this one’s over. Will that suit
you? I can almost see a sweeping saga documenting the Indians of
the United States.”

Still frowning, Colin murmured, “I suppose
it will have to suit me, although how you’re going to document
every single tribe, I have no idea. The picture would last hundreds
of hours.”

Martin chose to ignore his assistant’s lack
of gusto and clapped him on the back. “Fine. That’s good. Well,
then, I see you’re all set for dinner. I’d better go upstairs and
change, too.” With another cheery pat on Colin’s back, he headed
toward the door.

Colin watched, him go, his expression dour.
Brenda decided she might as well let her presence be known,
although she expected Colin wouldn’t approve of having been
eavesdropped upon. Not that she couldn’t soothe his nerves in a
minute or two. She was an expert at manipulating the human
male.

She stood and laid the book down upon the
table, making sure she made only a very small rustling noise. As
she expected, the rustle attracted Colin, who swiveled his head and
directed his scowl at the corner. He was surprised to see her, so
she gave him one of her more softly luminous smiles

“I’m sorry, Mr. Peters. It’s improper of me,
I know, but I couldn’t help but be fascinated by the information
you gave to Martin. About Indian abductions, you know.”

He goggled at her for only a moment. Then
his sour expression altered slightly, until he looked more
irritated than angry. “Were you?”

“Oh, yes.” She walked up to him, exuding
charm and grace, and held out her hand, which she placed delicately
on his arm. He looked down at it as if it were a rattlesnake poised
to strike. Brenda thought he was cute as a bug. “And if you
wouldn’t be terribly bored, I’d love to hear more about the
subject.”

“You would?” Clearly he disbelieved her.

Little did he know. While Brenda could and
did read everything she could get her hands on, she preferred
hearing interesting historical facts imparted verbally. Were she a
wealthy man, she’d have been a scholar, and she’d have haunted the
lecture halls. Since she was a woman, and beautiful, she was
limited in her options.

This was one option she didn’t aim to let
pass. “Oh, my, yes.” With a discreet flutter of her eyelashes, she
added, “Would you be very bored if I were, to sit with you after
dinner? In one of the smaller parlors, perhaps? I’m truly eager to
learn about the Indians. For the picture.”

He snorted and then looked embarrassed. “I
beg your pardon, Miss Fitzpatrick.”

She waved his apology away and purred,
“Brenda, please.”

Was it her imagination, or did a faint blush
stain his cheeks? Hmmm. Interesting.

“Yes. Well—well, certainly. I’ll be happy to
talk to you after dinner.” He bowed stiffly. “Now, if you’ll excuse
me . . .”

Liar. He wouldn’t either be happy to talk to
her. But he would be eventually. She’d see to it.

“Thank you so much.” If the smile she gave
him in parting didn’t knock him cockeyed, it sure wasn’t her
fault.

Brenda didn’t succeed in blocking Colin
cockeyed. Although the information might have disappointed her for
moment had she known it, she would have been pleased to learn that
she was right about one thing: It wasn’t her fault.

Because, while Brenda was extraordinarily
adept in her own behavioral adaptations, so was Colin at his.
Always a quiet person, even as a child, he’d had ample time to
study the care and feeding of human animals, with the majority of
whom he had nothing whatever in common.

He’d long ago ceased believing that an
attractive, vibrant woman, by some fluke of nature, might be so
desperately attracted to him that she’d spend an entire evening—or
even a meal—hanging on to his every word and gesture. He was not,
however, unaccustomed to pretty women using him as bait as they
trolled for more likely candidates to reel into their creels.

By this time, in his thirty-first year,
Colin could no longer be crushed by such behavior. He understood
that each species exhibited its own mating customs, and he accepted
this one as part of the human mating ritual. Some human females
played upon the vanity and jealousy of some human males as a means
of luring them into their sticky webs.

He’d been used as a tool for exciting
jealousy before. He knew that he was good-looking enough to make it
not entirely impossible for a pretty woman to want to meet him. He
also knew that after the initial introduction and subsequent
conversation were concluded, there wasn’t a woman in the universe,
save a few too ugly to find anyone else, who wasn’t bored to tears
by his interests and his enthusiasm for them.

Therefore, when he found himself sitting
next to Brenda Fitzpatrick at dinner that night—Martin had reserved
a large table for the primary staff and stars of the motion
picture—he was prepared to fight his personal attraction to her
tooth and nail.

It wasn’t going to be easy, however. She was
even more beautiful this evening than she’d been this afternoon.
Her evening gown of pink silk brought out the shell pink blush of
her cheeks and, since it was high-waisted and low-necked, it
revealed a tantalizing expanse of creamy skin.

Colin steeled his nerves and vowed to keep
his masculine instincts under control. It would be fatuous, and he
knew it, to allow himself to develop a silly crush on her.

Fortunately, since he lived primarily in his
brain and paid little attention to the world around him, even when
that world contained an object as alluring as Brenda. Fitzpatrick
and it was only inches away from him, he succeeded admirably. He
was unwittingly abetted in this cause by the male lead in
Indian
Love Song
, Leroy Carruthers. Carruthers hadn’t achieved fame
and fortune on the Broadway stage, but he had a tremendous
appeal—according to Martin Tafft—on film This was a very good thing
for Carruthers in Colin’s estimation since, while the actor was a
handsome, upright, and noble-looking fellow, his voice sounded sort
of like that of a toy poodle that had lived next door to Colin’s
family as he grew up.

“I love the premise of this picture,
Martin,” Leroy yipped at one point.

He had a habit of making
ahs
out of
his
rs
, as if he were some kind of American aristocrat; a
Boston Brahmin, perhaps. Colin had met the type before. At once he
admitted to himself, since his academic integrity had bled into the
rest of his life, that for all Colin knew, Leroy was an American
aristocrat from Boston or somewhere else. The good Lord knew, there
were lots of them running around these days. Cattle barons, land
barons, railroad barons, merchandising barons, and oil barons
seemed to be popping up all over the place. Maybe Leroy was a son
of one of those robber barons.

“Fancy,” Carruthers continued, squeaking
away as if he figured everyone didn’t notice his voice, “a
beautiful woman”—he lifted a glass to Brenda, who smiled and lifted
hers in return “captured by a lovesick savage—”

Colin snorted. Brenda turned her head
quickly and peeked at him. He pretended not to notice.

“—and then rescued by so unlikely a fellow
as a college professor on holiday from Harvard.” Carruthers laughed
uproariously, reminding Colin of a hyena he’d seen in a menagerie.
“Not, of course, that the public won’t understand from the moment
they see me in the role that the professor is an adventurous sort.”
He preened himself like a parrot, running his fingers over his
pencil-thin mustache and smiling a benevolent and superior smile.
Colin grimaced before he could stop himself.

He didn’t realize Brenda had leaned over to
whisper in his ear until he felt her warm breath on his cheek and
caught the faintest hint of her perfume, a subtle and seductive
floral scent. He jumped only slightly and gripped the table, hoping
she hadn’t noticed.

“He’s really an ass, isn’t he? But he’s kind
of a nice guy, once you get to know him.” Her delicate laugh seat a
ripple of hot shivers tingling up Colin’s spine.

Because he figured he ought to say
something, he gasped out, “Er, yes. I’m sure you’re right.”

When he turned his head, he found her
grinning at him as if she understood his exact state of mind.
Which, dash it, she probably did. She was an expert at these sorts
of petty flirtations. “About which part?”

He blinked and pushed his glasses, which
hadn’t slipped, farther back on his nose. “I beg your pardon?”

“The ass part or the nice guy part? Which
part are you sure I’m right about?”

She’d ended her sentence with an about,
which was something Colin customarily couldn’t tolerate, but her
question rather amused him in spite of her grammatical
construction. He smiled back at her, hoping he didn’t look like a
smitten blockhead. “Both, actually.”

Her smile broadened, and she winked at him.
“Good answer. You’re a real smoothie, Colin.”

He was a real
what
? Too astonished to
think for a moment, Colin dipped his spoon into his consommé bowl
and only then remembered the bowl was empty. Dash it, he was
allowing this woman to disconcert him, and he didn’t approve. He
knew better than this. While he understood very little about women
as people, he was wise to one or two of their wiles, and he
recognized this one. She must have her eye on Martin or one of the
members of the cast, and she was using him to promote jealousy in
the object of her desire. Could it be Leroy Carruthers?

Colin eyed Carruthers from across the table.
At present, Carruthers was simpering and gesturing and carrying on
in his high, squeaky voice like a caricature out of a Dickens
novel. Colin glanced again at Brenda, who was occupied in gazing
demurely at her empty soup bowl and pressing a crease into her
napkin.

No. Colin couldn’t believe that Brenda
Fitzpatrick, who must have her choice of any man in the universe,
would use him, Colin, as a tool to attract Leroy Carruthers. She
was probably after Martin.

Anyway, unless Colin missed his guess,
Carruthers was most likely after Martin, too. As Colin wasn’t one
to make caustic conjectures about his fellow human beings, having
been victimized in that regard himself, he recognized this one as
another effect of Brenda Fitzpatrick’s influence. He really needed
to guard himself better.

He started contemplating his impending study
of the Gabrielino Indians of Southern California’s San Gabriel
Valley, and managed to distract himself until the fish course
arrived. When the white-sleeved waiter gently slid his plate onto
the table, Colin stared at the defunct piscine creature laid in
front of him, and his brain didn’t immediately recognize it as his
own personal dinner. “My goodness, I had no idea their culinary
skills had progressed to such an extent,” he murmured, thinking of
the Gabrielinos.

“I beg your pardon?”

Startled out of his fishy concentration,
Colin realized what he’d done and felt his neck warming. It seldom
annoyed him when things like this happened, but in this case he
wished he’d kept his mind focused more on dinner and less on the
Gabrielinos. He turned and offered Brenda a small smile. “I’m
sorry, Miss Fitzpatrick—”

“I thought we’d agreed to call each other
Brenda and Colin,” she said in a soft, silky voice that still held
a trace of New York, although it was less noticeable this evening.
Apparently, she’d studied voice and could be New Yorky or not,
depending upon her whim at any given moment.

“Had we?” Colin took a deep breath,
wondering if it would be stupid to fight with her over the question
of names. Probably. He allowed his smile to get a tiny bit bigger.
“I believe you’re right. I’m sorry, Brenda, but my mind had
wandered to a research project I’ll be starting in the fall.”

Her eyes opened wide. My goodness, they were
blue. As blue as the sky on a clear day. As blue as the Pacific
Ocean in the fall, when the sun shone full upon it. As blue as—good
God, whatever was he thinking? “Er, yes, actually. Really. That’s
what I was thinking about.”

“You’re doing a research project on
cooking?” She looked puzzled.

Colin was puzzled, too. “Cooking?”

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. It was a
lovely brow. White, smooth, sort of glowy in the soft light of the
lodge’s magnificent dining room chandeliers. Mentally, Colin shook
himself

“I guess I misunderstood you. I thought you
said something about culinary development.”

He understood now. She wasn’t stupid after
all. Rather, her stupidity couldn’t be proven by this particular
conversational lapse, since it was his. “Oh.” He forced a small
chuckle. “I see what you mean. No. That was a slip of the tongue.
My tongue. That is to say—”