He nodded at the Pullman porter and handed him a dime, thinking it a suitable tip. From the look on the porter’s face, he disagreed. Charlie didn’t much care. He wasn’t one to fling money around with abandon—mainly because he’d never had much of it, and he respected it.
A horseless carriage—folks in the know called them simply “machines” these days, or so Charlie had been told—awaited him at the train depot. Charlie had seldom seen an automobile, much less ridden in one, so this part of his adventure was fun. The driver even pressed the rubber horn a couple of times at Charlie’s request. What a noise! A fellow could turn a stampeding herd with one of those things in no time flat.
It took them an hour of bumpy driving to get to the location where One and Only was to be filmed. Charlie snoozed most of the way since the scenery was so boring. The bumps didn’t both him, as he was used to sleeping when and where he could, including occasionally on horseback.
When the car rolled to a stop, he walked onto the set of One and Only with tolerable misgivings. This sissy movie-making stuff didn’t seem like a proper pursuit for a man like him, no matter what that nice fellow, Mr. Tafft, had told him.
On the other hand, he was sick to death of punching ostriches on his brother’s ranch in Arizona Territory. Ostriches were in no respect akin to cattle, and Charlie had been born and bred into the cattle ranching business. In Charlie’s opinion, those huge feathered monsters were a curse from above. He rued the day Sam, his brother, had won that dig-busted bird farm in a poker game.
He wasn’t altogether sure playacting in a moving picture was the precise answer to ostriches, though. While Charlie was as game for a lark as the next fellow, acting didn’t seem like a manly pursuit to him. All that standing around, strutting, waving your arms in the air, grimacing at the camera, being dramatic and silly. Shoot, that sort of stuff was for kids and saps.
But the money was good, and he wanted money badly. For years he’d dreamed of owning his own spread—stocked with cows, not ostriches. This nonsensical movie would pay him more money in a month than he could earn in a year on his brother’s ranch, and Mr. Tafft had told him there was more work available for a good-looking cowboy like him. Charlie had blushed at the time, but he appreciated the information.
“Mr. Fox!” a voice called out.
Turning, Charlie saw Martin Tafft, the man who’d “discovered” him in Arizona. Tafft was a nice fellow and was giving him a friendly wave, so Charlie smiled and waved back. “How-de-do, Mr. Tafft. Right ugly place you got to shot this here movie in.”
Tafft, hurrying over to him, laughed. “Yes, I reckon El Monte is a little arid.”
Whatever that meant. Charlie nodded because he figured it meant the place stank, which it did.
“It’ll look better on film,” Tafft assured him.
Frankly, Charlie didn’t care how it looked on film as long as he got the money he’d been promised. He’d never even dreamed of having such a pile all at once.
Martin took his arm, a gesture Charlie wouldn’t have tolerated in Arizona Territory, where you had to get to know a man before you took liberties. He didn’t object, understanding from things he’d read that picture people were a peculiar and eccentric lot.
“Would you like to meet the rest of the cast?”
Martin’s attitude was genial and outgoing, and Charlie appreciated it. He was downright nervous about this thing he was doing. Not, of course, that he believed he couldn’t do it. After all, how hard could it be to strut around and look like a cowboy? He was a cowboy to begin with. It was only that he’d never stood in any sort of limelight before, and the notion of doing so made him itchy. “Sure,” he said. “Glad to.”
“Horace Huxtable hasn’t arrived yet.”
Charlie noted that Martin’s smile faded when he said the actor’s name. It came back, big and bright, however, when he added, “But Miss Wilkes is here. She’s a delightful young lady, Charlie. I’m sure you two will hit it right off.”
“Glad to hear it.” Charlie hoped she was pretty. He was a little shy around women, but that was only because he’d met so few in his life up to now.
They strolled across the dusty ground toward what looked like an Indian village—all white tents and clutter. These tents didn’t have pretty pictures painted on them the way the Indians’ tents did, though.
“We have to make do when we’re shooting in the country,” Martin explained. “And since this picture will take longer to film than most, we’ve built ourselves a sort of tent settlement here. We have most of the conveniences a person will need. Why, we even have a staff nurse on duty, in case of injuries. A restaurant in El Monte will deliver food three times a day. You’ll have your own tent, of course, because you’re one of the leading characters.”
“That’s right nice of you, Mr. Tafft.”
Martin waved the thanks away. “Please call me Martin, and we have to take care of our actors,” he said with a chuckle. “Otherwise, where would we be?”
Since Charlie didn’t know, he didn’t answer.
“Miss Wilkes has her own tent, too, of course. She’s the female protagonist in our picture. She’s the one you’re going to lose to Horace Huxtable, who’s playing the hero.”
“Yeah?” Charlie didn’t like the sound of that. He’d never been fond of losing, even in make-believe. “What did you say her name is?”
“It’s Amy Wilkes really, but we’ve changed her first name to Amelia, because Mr. Lovejoy’s wife thinks it sounds more romantic. Mr. Lovejoy is the head of the studio.”
“Oh.” Charlie wasn’t in the habit of thinking of romance at all—except at certain times when he was susceptible, and then he took his needs to a discreet establishment in town—and he’d never even considered the possibility of one name being more “romantic” than another. Personally, he kind of liked Amy. He narrowed his eyes and contemplated the mess of tents up ahead, trying to locate a female who might be Amy—Amelia—Wilkes. Nobody caught his eye.
They arrived at the first tent, and Charlie noted with interest that Peerless Studio hadn’t spared any expenses. These temporary abodes were made out of good, heavy-duty canvas, and they looked as though they’d last for a century at least.
“Here’s your new home, Charlie. You can stow your bag in there.”
The inside of the tent was as impressive as the outside. “Why, it’s got a whole lot of furniture in it,” he exclaimed, surprised.
Martin chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “Nothing but the best for the Peerless cast. Our pictures have been very well received recently, and we’re sharing the profits.”
That was a happy circumstance for Charlie. He slung his carpetbag down next to a bed. Not a mere cot, mind you, but a bed with springs and a mattress and everything. Kerosene lamps were set about on small tables, an easy chair and ottoman had been provided, as well as a bureau, and a washstand complete with a bowl and pitcher for washing and shaving. Clean linen was stacked on a table next to the washstand, and a chamber pot had been provided for his overnight use.
He lifted his eyebrows. “Looks mighty good to me, Mr. Tafft.” It was a hell of a lot better than what he usually bunked in on the ranch.
“Glad you think so. The studio maids will come and clean it every day. But come along now. Let me introduce you to Miss Wilkes.”
Maids. Imagine that. Charlie guessed he could act the sissy for a while if he did it in such luxury. Wait until he told Sam about this.
He hitched up his trousers, glanced in the mirror attached to the bureau, adjusted his Stetson, decided he was fit to meet a lady, and followed Martin out of the tent. His eyes opened wide when Martin began to steer him to a woman seated under an umbrella in front of another white tent. She was dressed all in light blue, presumably in deference to the warm weather. She wore a splendid, broad-brimmed straw hat with a blue flower on it, and she seemed to be engrossed in writing a letter.
“Holy cow,” Charlie murmured, not having anticipated Miss Wilkes bein
g such a lovely little thing. “Is that her? Look at all that hair.” Her hair shone out from under her big hat like a halo.
“That’s her,” confirmed Martin.
Charlie whipped his stained Stetson from his head as they approached her. The girl looked up, squinting into the sun. When she saw Martin, she smiled. When she saw Charlie, she didn’t.
“Miss Amelia Wilkes,” Martin said with a great show of merriment, “please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Charlie Fox, who will be starring in One and Only with you and Mr. Huxtable.”
She eyed him up and down, just like a city snob, held out her hand, which was, Charlie noted, gloved, and said in a chilly voice, “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Fox.”
Abashed and annoyed by her frigid demeanor, Charlie decided to lay on the cowboy act. Why not? The little prig. He’d had such high hopes for her, too. He grinned, took her hand, pumped it vigorously, and said, “Likewise. I’m damned glad to meet such a pretty gal as you, Miss Wilkes.”
Miss Wilkes flinched and drew herself up straight, as if she’d taken offense. Since that was what Charlie had intended her to do, he was satisfied.
He didn’t, however, understand why Mr. Tafft, who up until now had seemed happy, groaned softly under his breath.
* * *
Amy had taken one look at the tall, lanky man walking next to Mr. Tafft and known he was Charles Fox, the second leading man in One and Only. He had to be. Nobody could be that perfect for a part and not play it.
She instantly became heart-knockingly nervous, which rather surprised her, as she’d never experienced any particular attraction to cowboys before. Many of her friends had. One of them, Harriet Fulton, had even spent several weeks at a dude ranch in Wyoming one summer. Hettie had always been a bit of a flibbertigibbet with more money than sense, however, and Amy had secretly deplored such frivolous romantic fancies.
That was before she’d seen Charlie Fox, and her attitude toward cowboys underwent a sudden unanticipated and sensational change during which her heart sped up, her palms began to perspire, her mouth went dry, and she became inexplicably breathless. Also suddenly and unexpectedly, she felt a tremendous urge to impress him.
So really, she decided in an effort to explain her lamentable manners, if one boiled the phenomenon down to its barest essence, it was Mr. Fox’s fault that she’d behaved like that, because he was the most stunning man she’d ever seen.
Innately honest, Amy knew she was shirking the truth.
What had really happened was that she’d taken one look at him, and her wits had flown straight out of her head. She’d pretended to be what Mr. Tafft had been trying to turn her into: a cultured, sophisticated woman of the world. Thus perhaps she had “put on airs,” as her aunt often said of some of the inmates at the Orange Rest. In reality, the pose was nothing but an act. It was protective coloration, a silly effort on Amy’s part not to be taken as an inexperienced boob.
Amy did not, however, appreciate Mr. Fox’s language, even if she had come across as a tiny bit uppity. Amy Wilkes didn’t approve of profanity, and wouldn’t have even if the speaker had been ten times as good-looking as he. Not that such a thing was possible. She also didn’t know what to say now.
Fortunately, Martin Tafft seemed adept at conciliating uncomfortable situations. He laughed easily and said, “I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”
Amy considered his positive attitude both optimistic and quite sweet under the circumstances. Since she figured she ought to, she smiled, hoping her smile looked like a sophisticated one and not an inane one, which was what it felt like.
Martin rubbed his hands together and turned to survey the tent village that Peerless had created in the wilderness. He appeared extremely proud of his studio. “We’ve got all the luxuries of home here, by gum. It’ll be a great movie, too.”
“Sounds like it,” Charlie said in a deep baritone that drawled deliciously and reminded Amy of her aunt’s best and most expensive orange blossom honey.
Amy had never encountered a real drawl in the flesh before. She still didn’t know what to say, so she tried to appear cool and collected. She noticed Charlie eyeing her slantwise, and hoped she was making a good impression. Above all things, she didn’t want anyone to find out that she was an unworldly rube who’d never been anywhere or done anything.
Recalling Vernon Catesby’s disapproval, she wondered if he’d been right, if this experience was going to damage her character. What a sobering thought. Charlie spoke then, forestalling further development upon that morose theme.
“I think this here moviemakin’ thing’ll be a whole lot of fun, Martin.”
“I hope so.” Martin’s voice was a hearty, clipped counterpoint to Charlie’s more lengthy, less grammatical syllables. He heaved a happy sigh. “We’re going to have a cast meeting tomorrow morning, and I’ll distribute the scripts.”
“Scripts?” Amy could have kicked herself for sounding bewildered. She cleared her throat. “Er, isn’t the picture silent?”
Martin laughed, but since it wasn’t a condescending laugh, Amy didn’t take exception. “Yes, indeed, Miss Wilkes. The picture’s silent, but we like the cast to have a script—more of a story line, really—to follow. So you’ll know what the story’s about and what to expect You know, it helps everyone get into the emotional spirit of the thing. Wouldn’t want you smiling when you’re supposed to be crying, now, would we?”
She nodded and was pleased to see that Charlie did, too. Maybe she wasn’t the only ignoramus on the Peerless lot.
Martin continued. “After a short rehearsal—just to let everyone get to know each other—Miss Wilkes will have her first costume fitting.”
“My goodness! A costume fitting?” Again, Amy felt a spurt of annoyance at letting her ignorance show. Naturally, she’d wear costumes suitable for the cowboy picture; it was just that she hadn’t anticipated all of these new aspects so abruptly accruing to a life that had, until a few days ago, been totally predictable from dawn to dark, every day. Even Vernon’s visits, which were taken by all to be precursors to his and Amy’s married life together, were predictable.
Which was exactly the way Amy wanted it. She didn’t want or need excitement or spontaneity. The last unanticipated thing to happen in her life had been her parents’ deaths, and that was plenty enough for her.
“Absolutely,” Martin said with his beaming smile. “A dressmaker named Madame Dunbar, from your own hometown, has contracted to do the costumes for this picture.”
“Oh, My goodness.” She’d never heard of Madame Dunbar. That’s probably because Amy, whose family was perfectly respectable but not lavishly wealthy, had always made her own clothes. She’d never admit it in front of Martin Tafft and Charlie Fox.
“She’s a wonder, Madame Dunbar is. I’m sure you’ll look stunning as a cowgirl.”
A cowgirl. Oh, dear. Amy smiled gamely. “I do hope so.” She noticed Charlie looking her up and down as if he were assessing the merits of her feminine charms. Feeling herself heating up and hating it, she drew upon her waning store of dignity and offered him a frosty stare.
“Aw, hell,” Charlie said, making Amy blink. “I’ll bet any damned man here a ten-sot that you’ll look dandy in britches, Miss Wilkes. Jim-dandy!”
Horrified as much by what he’d said as the way he’d said it, Amy gasped. “Britches? You mean trousers?” She would die. She would positively die if she were forced to wear men’s trousers in front of a camera.
Vernon was right. She was doomed. Vernon probably wouldn’t want anything to do with her after this.
“No, no, no,” Martin said hastily. “No trousers, Miss Wilkes. Our heroine is a lady. She wears skirts and dresses.” He gave Charlie a dirty look.
Charlie grinned, as guileless as the new dawn. Amy, watching them both, wondered if Charlie had tried to upset her on purpose because she’d been behaving a teensy bit stuffy. She was too relieved about the trousers to ask him. She was so relieved, in fact, that she ve
ry nearly fainted from her sudden exhalation of breath.
Tomorrow, she vowed, she wouldn’t lace her corset so tightly. This desert weather was less agreeable than the weather in Pasadena. Or perhaps she was feeling another effect from her attempts to appear cosmopolitan and fashionable.
At the moment, Amy didn’t feel at all modish or urbane. In fact, she wished she were back at the Orange Rest Health Spa, drinking her uncle’s orange juice, and doing something she understood.
A gong sounded in the distance, and Martin turned quickly. As if seizing an opportunity to extricate the three of them from a ticklish situation, he said, “There’s the luncheon bell, Miss Wilkes. Please allow Mr. Fox and me to escort you to the chow tent.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I believe I’ll freshen up first. I’ll be along in a minute. You two go on ahead.” She didn’t want to try walking alongside Charlie Fox before she’d loosened her stays. She’d die of humiliation right here in the wilds of El Monte if she fainted in front of him.
“Hell’s bells, ma’am,” Charlie said with a big grin. “You already look as fresh as a damned daisy.”
Amy gaped up at him for a moment, appalled. Whatever had she gotten herself into here? She feared for her sanity. Not to mention any claim she’d ever had to propriety.
* * *
Charlie strolled along next to Martin Tafft, whistling under his breath. He wondered if he’d overdone the cowboy routine with Miss Wilkes, and pondered whether to be ashamed of himself of not. His ma would have whupped him upside the head if she’d heard him cuss in front of a lady. Heck, any one of his brothers would have done the same thing if his ma hadn’t been handy.
But, ding-bust-it, she’d been so unfriendly and cold, and she was so danged pretty, and those huge blue eyes of hers had opened so wide, and he’d wanted to kiss her so badly, and she’d irked him so much with her haughty manners, that his funny bone had taken over and he’d let her have it.
She’d probably never speak to him again. Fudge. Charlie kicked a clump of creosote, and the pungent, oily smell of the shrub kissed his nostrils, reminding him or Arizona, soothing her nerves a trace.
Cowboy For Hire Page 3