The man they chose was actually English, but his Western accent was so perfect that no one would have known. For years he had been a Shakespearean actor at Stratford-on-Avon, and two years before he had decided to come to New York and start doing commercials, because he was tired of demanding roles with too little pay. Now he was advertising soft drinks, men's underwear, and a line of tools in national commercials that were paying him a handsome wage. He had shoulders from one side of the room to the other, a handsome angular face that was good-looking but not too pretty, deep blue eyes, and dark reddish-brown hair. He looked totally the part, and every man in America would want to identify with him and their wives would dream of the car being advertised, in the hopes that the cowboy in the commercial might somehow appear at the wheel. He was exactly what they needed for the commercial, and the only thing that amused Samantha, as she told Charlie, was that their new Western hero was decidedly gay.
“Does he look it?” Charlie looked worried.
“Hell no, he's an actor. And he is gorgeous!”
“Well, do yourself a favor, don't fall in love with him.”
“I'll try not to.” But the best part was that she liked him. His name was Henry Johns-Adams, and if nothing else he would be good company on the trip. He was extremely well-read, terribly polite, very cultured, and he seemed to have a good sense of humor as well. It would be a real relief from some of the self-centered, undisciplined egomaniacs she had had along on other shoots. “You coming west with us, Charlie?”
“I don't know, Sam. I hate to leave Mellie. If she has the baby by then, it'll be okay. If not, I may have to send two of my assistants. Can you manage?”
“If I have to.” And then with a gentle smile, “How's she feeling?”
“Fat, exhausted, fed up, bitchy. But I love her anyway. And it's almost over. The baby's due at the end of next week.”
“What are you going to name him?” She hadn't gotten off his back about it being a boy again.
“Her. And you'll see. We're not telling what we're going to name her. It's a surprise this time.”
“Come on, tell me, Charlie. Charlotte, if it's a girl?” She loved to tease him and he pinched her behind as he shook his head and disappeared.
As it turned out, Mellie had the baby that weekend, a week early for a change and a girl this time, finally. The surprise was that they named her Samantha. When Charlie told her in the office on Tuesday after the Fourth of July weekend, there were tears in Sam's eyes.
“Do you mean it?”
“Sure I do. Want to come see her?”
“Are you kidding? I'd love to. Mellie's not too tired?”
“Hell no. The fourth one's easy. It sounds disgusting but she walked out of the delivery room. Freaked me out, but the doctor said it was okay.”
“It makes me nervous just hearing about it.” Like all women who have never had children, Samantha was amazed by the entire process and the whole mystique.
They went to the hospital together at lunchtime, and Mellie looked happy and healthy and glowing in a lace-trimmed pink bathrobe, with pink satin slippers, a huge grin on her face, and the tiny pink and white baby nestled in her arms. For a long moment Sam said absolutely nothing. She just stood and stared at the delicate bundle, her eyes riveted to the baby's face.
“She's so beautiful, Mellie.” Sam said it in a whisper, in tones of awe, and Charlie chuckled from where he stood just behind her.
“Yeah. But we would have named her Samantha even if she'd been ugly.” Sam turned around and made a face at him. It dispelled the enormity of the moment, and Sam's sudden longing for what she could never have, the miracle of childbirth and her own child. Lately she had seldom let her thoughts wander in that direction, but for the first time in a long time, as she stood there gazing down at the new baby, she felt her heart ache for the lost dream.
“Want to hold her?” Melinda looked lovelier than Sam had ever seen her. There was a kind of quiet glow that seemed to emanate from the very depths of her soul and at the same time envelop the baby as it lay precious and protected in its mother's arms.
“I don't think so.” Sam shook her head and sat down on a corner of the bed, her eyes still riveted to the small child. “I'd be afraid to break her.”
“They're tougher than they look.” It was the claim of every mother. “Here… try it.” Without warning, Melinda dropped the baby into Sam's arms and settled her there as they all watched the baby stretch, curl herself up again, and then smile. She was sound asleep as she lay there, and Sam could feel the baby's warmth in her arms.
“She's so tiny!”
“No, she's not!” Mellie laughed. “She weighs eight and a half pounds!”
But a moment later the brand-new Samantha discovered that she was hungry and awoke, looking for her mother, with a yowl. The elder Samantha returned her to the safety of Melinda, and a few minutes later she and Charlie went back to the office, as Samantha felt again how much was missing in her life. It was one of those times when the fact that she was sterile weighed on her like a boulder on her guts.
And then, as she stopped in the doorway of her office, she remembered and called out to Charlie. “Does this mean you're coming west with me?”
He nodded, smiling, “I would have had to anyway.”
“How come?” She looked surprised.
“Just to be sure you don't rape our cowboy!”
“Not likely.” She grinned at him and disappeared into her office. The agony of seeing the baby subsided slightly, though it didn't leave her completely for the rest of the day.
“Everybody ready?” Charlie looked at them with a broad grin, and then bowed at the entourage and waved them onto the airplane. They were traveling on a commercial airline to Arizona, but there were so many of them, it seemed as though they had bought out most of first class. There were seven people from the production company, and in addition Sam, Charlie, their two assistants, Henry Johns-Adams—the English actor—and his friend. To add to the mountain of luggage and equipment and miscellaneous crates and boxes. Henry and his roommate had brought along their dog, a tiny white poodle named Georgie, which Samantha prayed would not manage to dart underneath the feet of any horses. If it did, it was so little that it would probably be all over, and most likely so would the shoot.
In addition they were being met in Arizona by a makeup person and a hairdresser, both of whom had been workin in L.A. and would continue on with the group from Crane, Harper, and Laub for the rest of the trip.
“Think they got all our luggage?” Henry's friend whispered to Samantha nervously, and she convinced him that it was assuredly all on the plane. “But there's so much.”
“They're used to it. Besides”—she smiled reassuringly—“this is first class.” As though that made a difference, as though they wouldn't just as easily lose one of his matched Vuitton suitcases as they would one of the crew's pieces of Samsonite luggage or one of the zillion-dollar pieces of equipment. And once again she realized what a great deal of work she'd have on this journey. Having thought up the concept, almost completely written the ads herself, found the locations, cast the leading man, organized the troupes, selected the production house and approved their bid, what she was going to do now, for the next two weeks, in four different locations, was reassure everyone that they would be fed soon, it would only take a few more takes, the weather would be cooler tomorrow, the air conditioning in the hotel would be repaired by noon, and the food couldn't possibly be this bad in the next town. And having a nervous gay boyfriend and a French poodle along wouldn't help anything. On the other hand Henry Johns-Adams had already proven to be even tempered, amusing, and a good sport, and Sam was hopeful that he would keep both his lover and his pet in line. She didn't mind his being gay, but she was a little uptight about having him bring his little entourage. Nonetheless, he had insisted, and they wanted him badly enough to have brought his mother and fourteen of his dearest friends.
The drinks on the plane helped everyon
e's nerves and their spirits. Charlie was in grand form and entertained them all, and finally, half an hour out of Tucson, they all relaxed. They had no work to do that day. They Were going to drive a hundred and fifty miles to their location, in three rented station wagons, with all the equipment, and then they'd all have a good dinner and a good night's sleep and get to work bright and early the next day. Sam's ranch hours were about to stand her in good stead, because she figured that she'd be up every morning by four thirty. And every night, for an hour or two after work, she had a plan. She had already made up the list of additional people she wanted to talk to, and after working on whichever ranch all day, she'd hang out with the ranch hands for a while and just chat. Maybe one of them had worked with Tate somewhere, maybe one of them would know a link—a relative, an old employer, someone who might know where he was by now. It was worth a try. Anything was. As the plane lowered its landing gear Samantha smiled to herself, feeling hopeful. You never knew, maybe one of these days she would walk onto a ranch, look up at a tall handsome cowboy leaning against a fence post, and it wouldn't be a stranger this time. It would be Tate, with those green eyes, and the gentle smile, and the mouth that she so loved.… Tate.…
“You okay, Sam?” Charlie had tapped her arm, and when she turned in surprise, he was looking at her strangely.
“Huh?” She still looked startled.
“I've been talking to you for about ten minutes.”
“That's nice.”
“I wanted to know who you want to drive the other two cars.” She quickly brought her mind back to business and gave instructions, but it wasn't what she was thinking about as they landed and her eyes lingered on the horizon, wondering if by the next day, or the day after, she would have found him.… Tate, are you there? She wanted to whisper the words, but she knew that there would be no answer. There was no way of knowing. She just had to keep looking. But that was why she was here.
They were among the first off the plane, and she organized the group quickly, picking up the station wagons, assigning drivers, handing out maps, buying boxes of sandwiches for the trip, giving out vouchers for their motel in case they arrived separately from each other in the three cars. She had thought of everything, as she always did.
In the car she drove she had Charlie, the hairdresser, the makeup artist, the star, his boyfriend, the poodle, and all the Vuitton luggage. The equipment, the crew, and the assistants went in the two other cars.
“All set?” Charlie looked around behind him and then handed out cans of cold fruit juice. It was hotter than hell in Arizona, and they were all relieved to be in an air-conditioned car. Henry was in the process of telling funny stories about being on tour in England, the boyfriend had kept them all in stitches with tales of what it had been like to discover he was gay in Dubuque, the hairdresser and makeup girl had plenty of stories to tell about their recent trip to L.A. to coif and paint a noted rock star, and the trip went along pleasantly until they reached the hotel. Here, predictably, unfolded the first drama. The hotel owner didn't allow dogs, didn't think much of Henry's friend, looked with horror at the hairdresser's flaming-red hair with the little blue punk fringe across the front, and scowled horribly at “them ugly brown bags.” Henry's friend almost caressed his beloved Vuitton and threatened to sleep in the car if he had to, but he was not leaving the dog. A hundred dollar bill, which would appear on the expense account as tips and miscellaneous, helped grease the way for Georgie to stay in the hideous turquoise vinyl splendor of the hotel too.
“You look beat, Sam.” Charlie sprawled on a couch in her room and watched her pore over a sheet of notes on a clipboard. She looked up with a grin and threw a crumpled ball of paper that hit his left ear.
“You must be kidding. Me? Why would I look tired? I'm just dragging around the country with a bunch of eccentrics and a French poodle. Why should I be tired, Charlie?”
“I'm not tired.” He looked virtuous and she made a face.
“No wonder. You never work.”
“That's not my fault. I'm only the art director, here to make sure that the film is artistically beautiful. It's not my fault you're an ambitious bitch and you want to be C.D.” He had only been kidding, but suddenly Sam looked serious as she sat down on the bed.
“Is that what you think, that I want to be C.D.?”
“No, my love.” He smiled gently at her. “I don't really think that's what you want. But I think it's what you'll get. You're damn good at what you do. In fact, much as I hate to admit it, sometimes you're brilliant. And Harvey knows it, and the clients know it, and I know it, and everyone in the business knows it, and sooner or later you're going to get yours. Either someone will hire you away at a salary even you can't resist, or Harvey will retire, as he keeps threatening to do, and you'll wind up the C.D.” Creative Director … it was an awesome thought.
“I don't think that's what I want. Not anymore.”
“Then you better do something about it while you still can, before it just comes at you and happens and it's too late to stop it.” And then, after he thought about it for a moment, “What do you want, Sam?”
She looked at him for a long time and then sighed softly, “Oh, Charlie, that's a long story.”
“I had a feeling it would be.” His eyes didn't waver from hers. “There was someone in California, wasn't there? On the ranch?” She nodded. “So what happened?”
“He left me.”
“Oh, shit.” And right after John too. No wonder she had looked so rigid and unhappy when she had come back. “For good?”
“I don't know. I'm still looking for him.”
“Don't you know where he is?” She shook her head, and he looked sad for her. “What are you going to do?”
“Keep looking.” She said it With quiet determination and he nodded.
“Good girl. You're a strong lady, you know that, Sam?”
“I don't know, love.” She smiled and sighed again. “Sometimes I have my doubts.”
“Don't.” He looked at her almost proudly. “I don't think there's anything you couldn't pull through. Remember that, kiddo, if the going ever gets too rough.”
“Remind me.”
“I will.” They exchanged a warm smile and Sam was glad that he had come with her, he was the best friend she had, and it made the trip more fun to have him to joke with and laugh at and talk to, and behind all the clowning, there was a warm and intelligent man. It pleased her, too, to know that she had his respect and Harvey's. At first when she had come back from her months oh the ranch, she had been aware that she was having to prove herself again, not only as assistant creative director, but as a person, as their friend. And now, in such a short time, she knew that she was back in the circle of their respect and affection. That meant a lot to her, and she stood up and went over to kiss Charlie on the cheek.
“You haven't told me anything about my namesake lately.”
“She's great. Brushing her teeth, tap dancing, doing the laundry.”
“Oh, shut up, you jerk. I'm serious. How is she?”
“Cute as a button. Girls sure are different from boys.”
“You're very observant, dear. By the way, are you hungry yet? I'm starving, and we have to shepherd all our little darlings to dinner at the taco joint down the street or they're going to bitch and moan.”
“That's what you're giving them for dinner? Tacos?” He looked shocked. “I'm not sure little Mr. Vuitton will like that, not to mention the poodle.”
“Don't be nasty. Besides, in this town I doubt if there's anything else to eat.”
“Wonderful.”
But as it turned out, they all had a marvelous time, eating tacos, drinking beer, and telling jokes that got increasingly raunchy as they got more and more relaxed and more tired, and eventually the whole group went back to the hotel and went to bed. Charlie waved a last good night to Sam as he disappeared into his room, and she spent another half hour going over her notes to herself for the next day, and then, yawning, she
turned off the light.
It was six o'clock the next morning when they got together for breakfast. And seven thirty when they finally made it to the ranch. They had decided not to shoot a sunrise on the first day, but to settle for full day shots, and eventually try for a sunset. But it was almost noon by the time everything was set up to the film crew's satisfaction and they were fully rolling with Henry Johns-Adams riding a good-looking black mare, which made Samantha long for Caroline's Thoroughbred stallion. This was no Black Beauty Henry was riding, but she was a pretty horse and would look good on film. She had a pleasing gait as they cantered again and again over the same hills, filming take after take, but the horse was as even tempered as her rider, and by the end of the day everyone was tired, but there were no frayed tempers. They were a good group to work with, and Samantha was pleased with the way it was going. She went over to talk to the ranch foreman and thanked him for letting them film on the ranch. She had already sent flowers to the ranch owner's wife and a case of bourbon to her husband, in addition to what they were paying per day in order to film there. But now she handed the foreman several bottles too, and he looked pleased with the gift and chatted with her. He was even more impressed when he learned that she had spent most of the year working on a ranch in California, and for a little while they discussed ranch business and horseflesh and cattle, and Sam felt almost as though she had come home. After a while she happened to mention Tate Jordan, wondered if he'd met him, and said that there was a commercial she wanted to use him in, if he ever crossed the foreman's path. She described him as a fine man and someone she respected a great deal. Out of respect for Tate's sentiments about ranch people knowing about his relationship with her, she didn't let on about that. The foreman took her card and assured her that he'd be happy to let her know if he came across Tate, and after that she went back to the others and drove one of the bulging station wagons back to the hotel.
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