Beauty and the Brain (7 page)

Whether he believed her story or not, Colin
had to admit that her life had been poles apart from his. “What
about school? Did you manage to squeeze school into your work
schedule?” She spoke well. Perhaps she’d studied after work. Or
before work.

She shook her head, making the light glint
in her hair. She had perfectly lovely hair. This evening she had it
dressed simply, in a poof on top of her head. Pink pearls had been
twined into the soft waves. For some reason, her hair made Colin’s
mouth water.

He was only hungry, he told himself, and
took a bite of beef. It was awfully good.

“No. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to attend
school after my eleventh year.”

“Oh.” Colin couldn’t imagine such a
thing.

She peered up at him slantways and grinned
“You’re scandalized, aren’t you? I’m an uneducated twit.”

Exactly what he was thinking, actually. He
stammered, “Oh, no. Not at all.” Stuffing a bite of beef into his
mouth, he thought frantically. After he swallowed, he said, “You’re
very well-spoken, in fact.”

She threw her head back and laughed that
full-bodied laugh of hers, drawing the attention of several other
diners and embarrassing Colin. Martin smiled at him from the head
of the table Leroy Carruthers looked at him with scant favor from
over the flowers displayed in the centerpiece. Colin took a bite of
his potatoes and wished he didn’t feel so warm.

“Let’s just say I read a lot,” Brenda said
after a moment. “And I’ve done lots of stage work. I guess some of
the grammar and stuff rubbed off.”

“I see.” He felt unaccountably silly. It did
seem a shame, though, that this woman, who obviously had a brain
cell or two to rub together, had been forced to give up her
education for the sake of her family at the tender age of twelve.
“Er, how many people are in your family?”

“Well, let’s see. There’s my mother, of
course, and Bill and Tom. They’re the twins. And then there’s
Kathy, the youngest. She’s only fourteen now, but she’s doing very
well.” Leaning closer to Colin, she said confidentially, “She had
scarlet fever about six years ago and hasn’t been very strong
since. The fever weakened her heart, according to the doctor. But
she seems to be improving all the time. She’s quite a musician.
Plays the piano in church when she’s up to it.”

Colin was no genius when it came to
detecting emotions in people. Indeed, he couldn’t even identify his
own most of the time. But he saw an expression of anxiety pass over
Brenda’s face. Either she was a genuinely superior actress or this
particular part of her story, and her concern on her sister’s
behalf, was true. “I’m sorry to hear it. I hope she will continue
to get stronger.”

“So do I. She’s a sweetie. She deserves to
live in health.” She sipped some of her wine, as if she wanted to
give herself a space of time in which to brighten her mood. When
she spoke again, her tone was lighter. “Anyway, Billy and Tommy are
both at college now. In Philadelphia.”

“Are they? And you’re paying for their
education?”

“Sure. It’s the best way to earn a living
these days, I think. To get an education, that is. Not everyone can
take to the stage like I did. And I wouldn’t really want my
brothers and sister to have to go through the life, either. It’s
too uncertain, and there are pitfalls galore. Anyway, I don’t think
Kathy would ever be able to endure the strain of life in
entertainment.”

Colin blinked at her, wondering again if she
was trying to gain his sympathy for some strange or fell purpose.
He couldn’t think of one to save himself. “Er, well, your
theatrical career must pay well, though.”

“Oh, sure. The pay’s great. But it’s not
what I’d have chosen for my life if I’d been in a position to
choose.”

“No?”

“No.”

Hmmm. He might as well ask. Her answer might
possibly shed some light on his currently befuddled state of mind
regarding her. “What would you like to have done instead?”

She gave him a broad grin, one of the impish
variety that Colin had begun to think of as exclusively hers. “You
won’t believe me.”

Quite possibly. Nevertheless, he said, “Try
me,” and smiled at her.

“I still don’t think you’re going to believe
me, but I’d have loved to be a librarian.”

Good God. She was right. He didn’t believe
her. In fact, her glib and astonishing answer to his question
cinched it all for Colin. She was toying with him for some motive
he couldn’t fathom. But what was it?

He scanned the table, looking for personable
men. Except for Martin and Carruthers, there didn’t seem to be any.
The others were either old and gray or young and callow.

Not that Brenda Fitzpatrick would be the
first woman who wanted to snare herself a rich old husband or a
virile young lover, Colin supposed, but the fellows seated at the
table were so—so— Well, they weren’t suitable. The old ones were
too old, and the young ones were mere boys. He turned to look at
her, and the possibility that she might have a yen for a wealthy
old husband or a simpering young lover irked him. Surely she wasn’t
so conniving.

Besides, none of the men or boys dining with
them this evening would need such provocation as Brenda might, be
exciting by paying attention to Colin. If she crooked her little
finger, they’d all come running. She didn’t need Colin to achieve
success with any of them.

What could it be what could it be?

“Don’t forget,” she said, jarring him and
returning his attention to her, “we’ve got a date after dinner.
You’re going to tell me all about the Indians.”

The Indians. Honestly. She didn’t really
expect him to buy into that one, did she?

Nevertheless, he’d already committed
himself. He smiled. “Of course. The Indians.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

Right. Colin refrained from uttering a
sarcastic snort only with difficulty.

Brenda was frustrated when she went upstairs
to bed that night. She neither liked nor was accustomed to feeling
this way. Oh, it was true she’d finagled Colin Peters into sitting
with her after dinner and discussing Indians, but their
conversation hadn’t satisfied her.

For one thing, he’d been remarkably
disinclined to speak with her at all. She’d detected his reluctance
clearly in the rigid lines of his body, his stilted manner of
speech, and in the way his lips pursed when she asked questions. It
was as if he found her not merely boring and stupid, but pesky as
well.

While Brenda was too sensible to be arrogant
about her looks—after all, they weren’t her fault—she wasn’t used
to men being as indifferent to her feminine charms as Colin seemed
to be. She’d spent most of her life marketing her looks, for
heaven’s sake, and, until Colin Peters came along, she’d been very
successful at it.

It had been an annoying evening. Oh, sure,
she’d learned a lot about the Gabrielino Indians, but she didn’t
want to know about them. She wanted to know about the Indians who
were supposed to take her character captive in
Indian Love
Song
.

When she’d told Colin so, he’d looked
aggrieved and superior and said there were no such Indians. She
didn’t believe him. She’d even argued with him about it, but he was
adamant. He even got huffy.

“Never, in all of the chronicles about
Indian culture that I’ve perused, have I read of such a thing,” he
said grimly. “And in all of the interviews I’ve conducted, I’ve
never heard of it, either.”

“But surely Indians took people
captive.”

“Of course they did.” He was getting
snappish.

“So why do you say that this particular
capture is incredible?”

“Because it is.”

“But why?”

“It’s utterly nonsensical.”

Which still didn’t tell her why the scenario
was so incredible and nonsensical. She’d been grateful when Martin
had turned up, because she’d been on the point of becoming almost
as testy as Colin. But Martin was a great gun, and he bought her
and Colin a drink, and they’d ended up being civil to each
other.

There was no doubt in the world that Colin
Peters puzzled her, though He was everything she’d ever wanted to
be herself. He was, as well, everything she could imagine ever
wanting in a man—and he apparently desired to have nothing
whatsoever to do with her.

Was it because she was an actress? Surely
not. Brenda had never met a man anywhere who wouldn’t have been as
happy as a cat in cream to have her on his arm. Men were so simple.
So predictable. So—so—so unutterably stupid about such things.

If she were stuck with an empty-headed,
brainless, ornament of a man, she’d be bored sick in a minute. But
she was a woman, and women were more sensible than men. Men seemed
to go out of their way to secure feebleminded female decorations
unto themselves. She’d been hiding her own brain long enough to
have figured out that aspect of the masculine character.

“Bother,” she muttered as she slid out of
her evening gown. The gown had been a success, at any rate,
although she knew she’d look good draped in a sheet. She never
failed to thank the good Lord for giving her looks, because she
knew they were the only thing that had saved her and her family
from a life of grinding poverty.

Speaking of looks . . . She glared at her
reflection in the mirror, squinting hard. Was she losing her looks?
Was she getting old? Wrinkled? Did she have crows’ feet? Was there
something physically wrong with her, to account for Colin remaining
so completely unimpressed?

No. Darn it, there wasn’t a single thing
wrong with her. She looked just as good as ever.

So why was it that Colin Peters, the only
man she’d met in a jillion years to whom she’d even consider
getting close, seemed immune to her physical allures? It was all
very irritating, and she vowed that she’d try harder in the
morning.

“No such Indians, my eye,” she grumbled as
she toweled her face dry after washing it in the sink. Thank God
for money and running water, which was so much easier to wash with
than ewers and pitchers. One never managed not to drip, and those
chintzy oilskin squares most hotels placed on the floor were never
big enough.

After slathering cream on her face to keep
her complexion soft, she sank into her bed. It had been made up
with silk sheets especially for her by the hotel management,
because she was a star. If they only knew, she’d as soon sleep on
percale because the fabric didn’t slip so much.

Cradling her head in her cupped hands, she
stared at the ceiling. “There’s got to be some way to get him to
climb down from his high horse. He probably thinks I’m nothing but
a pretty face.”

And why shouldn’t he? She’d cultivated that
very image for half of her life. Anyway, so what? Men didn’t care
about anything beyond a pretty face, so why should her own pretty
face be a drawback in her attempt to get Colin Peters to teach her
everything she wanted to know about Indians?

Shoot, this wasn’t fair. Why should her
success in one aspect of her life play hob with another one?

“He’s not getting rid of me that easily,”
she vowed to the ceiling and to herself. “And I’m going to turn him
into a human being, too. I can do it. Heck, after creating myself,
I reckon I can create a human being out of a brick.”

On that cheery note, she turned over and
shut her eyes, only to sit up straight in bed a second or two
later, a horrible thought having struck her.

“Good God! Maybe he’s a fairy!”

Feeling deflated, she sank back onto her
pillows, turned over, and decided Colin Peters could go straight to
hell.

Two open flatbed trucks rattled into the
lodge yard at four o’clock the following afternoon. Brenda ran
outside to meet the Indians in the trucks, curious to get to know
them. She’d never met an Indian before.

“Oh, there you are, Brenda.” Martin smiled
at her, and the two of them walked to the yard where the motorized
trucks were going to be unloaded.

“Howdy, Martin,” said she, getting into the
spirit of a picture about the Wild West. “I hope you’re putting
these fellows up in the lodge and not making them sleep in tents or
something.”

“Brenda.” Martin offered her a fake frown of
injury. “You know me better than that. Peerless honors all of its
actors, even the Indians.”

Even the Indians
. Brenda felt a slice
of bitterness cut into her heart. “That’s very nice of Peerless,”
she said, her voice betraying only a little of the acidity she
felt. “I’ve noticed that about Peerless. They’re even nice to
women, of all unworthy creatures.”

Martin’s brows creased, and she felt kind of
mean. Never, in the few years she’d known him, had she experienced
anything but respect and friendship from Martin Tafft. And she had
to admit that he’d never treated her any worse than a man—or any
better, for that matter, which was almost more of a test of a
person’s basic integrity than the other way around. She appreciated
people who considered women equal to men.

They weren’t, though. Women were infinitely
superior to men, if only because they had to battle so hard to
achieve the same rewards that were handed out to men as a matter of
course. She never brought the subject up because she knew it would
be ridiculed, and she’d be considered an oddball.

She didn’t need a charge of eccentricity to
be lodged against her at this point in her life. Maybe when she
retired, she could recline in her huge house amid her immense
wealth and enormous library and make snide and cynical comments
about how, the world worked. But at this point she needed the world
and all of its imperfections, because they worked to her
advantage.

Colin was already standing beside the
trucks, scowling at the Indian men who were disembarking when she
and Martin arrived. Because she was still annoyed with Colin, both
for snubbing her last night and for perhaps being a man who
preferred men to women, she walked over and stood next to him.