Beauty and the Brain

by Duncan, Alice

  “This is a picture, Colin,” Martin reminded him.

  “I still don’t understand why everything has to be wrong just because it’s a picture,” Colin said stubbornly. “No Indian would paint a flower on his tipi.”

  Brenda kind of agreed with him, although she understood Martin’s point of view, too. “Nobody’s going to know,” she said, hoping to forestall another big brangle.

  “That’s not the point.” Colin gave her a hot scowl, which she didn’t appreciate. “Or perhaps it is. Why should the motion-picture medium spread false information when it would be just as easy to do it right? I don’t understand.”

  “Next time,” Martin said. “Next time, we’ll consult you first. We don’t have the time or the money to do it with this picture because everything’s already ready.”

  Brenda could tell Martin was trying to keep his upper lip stiff. She’d bet anything he was about ready to pop Colin a good one, poor guy. Not even Martin’s patience was infinite.

  “Oh, fine,” Colin said, crabby as all get out. “So what if it’s wrong, as long as it’s ready?”

  “Colin, we’ve been over this ground before.” Martin’s voice sounded strained, and he reached for that tuft of hair he tugged when he was under severe stress. Brenda had begun to think of it as his worry lock.

  She decided to step into the fray. What the heck; Colin already found her irritating. Might as well give him one more reason to loathe her.

  “Colin, stop your grousing. You can’t change it now.”

  He turned on her like a fury, so suddenly that she actually stepped back a pace. Peeved with herself, and with him, she braced herself, set her chin, and frowned back at him.

  “Why not?” he said, his voice loud. “Why can’t it be changed? For heaven’s sake, thousands of people are going to see this picture—”

  “More like millions,” Martin murmured under his breath.

  Colin swirled the other way and gaped at Martin. “Millions? Millions! Then for heaven’s sake, you have to change it. Why, the whole world will be laughing at us!”

  Brenda caught Martin’s eye and winked at him, hoping to buck him up.

  “Colin.” Martin was plainly reaching for patience. “You’re wrong. Nobody will know except you and maybe a few other people who’ve learned a little bit about various Indian markings and so forth. Nobody will even notice those tents—”

  “Tipis,” Colin tossed in crossly.

  “Tipis. Nobody’s even going to see them, because the audience is going to be too involved with the story to notice. The only time those tents—tipis, I mean—will be shown is during the post-abduction scene, when the Apache warrior carries Brenda into the village.”

  “Apache warrior,” Colin said in a tone of unutterable contempt. “In the Dakota hills. In tents that look as if they came from a girl’s camp.”

  “Look, Colin, I’m really glad you’re here to help us keep things as accurate as possible, but some things just aren’t possible.”

  “Why not?” Colin threw his arms out, as if piqued beyond bearing. “Why can’t we at least paint some appropriate symbols on the tipis and get rid of those idiotic flowers? Flowers!”

  “Don’t have a spasm, Colin,” Brenda said, not as acerbically as her words might imply, but in a light voice she hoped conveyed a spirit of fun. She turned to Martin. “You know, Martin, that’s not really a bad idea. We can paint over those flowers. They aren’t my idea of Indian artistry, either, if you want to know the truth.”

  Martin frowned, and something that sounded like a cross between a groan and a moan issued from his throat. He didn’t let up on his hair. Brenda feared he’d snatch himself bald if he kept that up. In order to perk him up, she said brightly, “I love to paint. I’d be glad to help.”

  She ignored Colin’s unflatteringly wrinkled nose. The miserable poop. How did he know whether or not she could paint?

  “Well . . .” Martin let go of his hair and began rubbing the bridge of his nose with a finger. “I suppose it won’t delay shooting any. We’re only going to rehearse this afternoon, anyway, and if you really think you can paint over the flowers this afternoon and evening—”

  “Sure we can! I’ll recruit all my friends to help.” Brenda was already sorting out assignments as she spoke. Henry could mix the paint, Eddie could slap white paint over those ghastly flowers, and she and Gil and a few of the others could make new symbols on the tents. Tipis. Whatever they were. Something occurred to her and her smile faded. “Er, what symbols can we use that will look like Apache stuff?”

  “They shouldn’t be Apache,” Colin ground out through his teeth.

  “Yes, yes, I know. But you’re just going to have to accept the fact that we’re going to be wrong in this particular instance.” It annoyed her when people refused to face reality. Hell’s bells, she’d been facing reality since she was twelve years old. Now she was rich. There was a lot of good to be gained from playing the cards as God dealt them to you instead of whining about not having been dealt a better hand. She’d have to try to explain that concept to Colin one of these days, if he ever climbed down from his high horse long enough to listen.

  Chapter Seven

  Rehearsal went fairly well, except that Colin kept interrupting the action to explain why, they were doing everything wrong and to offer suggestions as to how it could be made right.

  Martin almost understood Colin’s feelings on the matter, but he understood even better that Colin wasn’t helping to bring about the completion of the motion picture. He wasn’t doing much for its quality, either. Martin knew how to make movies; Colin knew history. Martin was beginning to believe the two milieus were incompatible.

  “No, no, no!” Colin cried at one point, rushing up to Martin and yanking on his arm. He looked horrified, and Martin thought at first that an accident had occurred. He ought to have known better.

  The actors stopped what they were doing, which was faking an abduction. Jerry Begay, for whom this was an embarrassing proposition—Martin could clearly discern that he felt not merely silly but preposterous, pretending to kidnap Brenda—let go of her faster than a normal man could sneeze. Brenda straightened with a sigh, put her fists on her hips, and stared at Martin and Colin with a resigned expression on her face.

  Martin thanked God it was Brenda, and not a dozen other actresses he’d worked with, who was playing this part. She was the only one Martin knew who’d put up with this sort of nonsense without throwing a temper tantrum.

  “What is it this time, Collin?” He tried to keep the annoyance he felt from creeping into his voice, because he truly did honor Colin’s knowledge. If the man could only learn to curb his insistence on applying his knowledge to every situation he encountered, this would go a lot faster.

  “It’s ludicrous to have Delsin fall from his horse.” Delsin was a young cousin of Jerry Begay. “He’s a superb horseman. And so were the Sioux.”

  Martin took a deep breath and counted to five. He wasn’t mad enough yet to go all the way up to ten. “They aren’t supposed to be Sioux. They’re supposed to be Apaches.”

  “Oh, God.” Colin stabbed a finger to the nosepiece of his glasses, then raked his fingers through his hair as if he were sliding into despair. “This is impossible.”

  “I’m sorry, Colin. You get to repaint the tents—”

  “Tipis! They’re tipis!”

  Martin sighed. “You get to repaint the tipis. But I’m afraid we’re just going to have to differ about what tribe these people are supposed to be from.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference anyway. No Apache would fall off his horse, either, unless he’d been shot from its back.” He glowered at the scene he’d stopped. “And they don’t use saddles, either.”

  “No saddles. We can take care of that in a jiffy.” Martin, pleased to concede this point and hoping it would mollify Colin enough to leave him alone for a while, waved to a member of the crew. Take the saddles off the Indians’ horses, Sam!”

&n
bsp; Sam returned a small salute and went off to do Martin’s bidding.

  “No falling off the horse.” Colin still looked unhappy.

  Martin heaved a gusty sigh. “I’m sure we can shoot the scene and keep Delsin on his horse. It was supposed to be a moment of comic relief in the middle of a huge catastrophe.”

  Colin’s eyes were squinched up tight, and his frown looked as if it had been shellacked into place. Martin got the impression that Colin had never encountered comic relief in his life until now and wished he hadn’t this time, either. He probably wouldn’t recognize a joke if it bit him on the butt, and he undoubtedly watched one-reel comedies with an eye to catching mistakes.

  Martin could envision it. No, no! You can’t fry an egg on as sidewalk! It’s not only unsanitary, but city sidewalks never really get that hot! He shook his head to clear it of irrelevancies.”

  “Any Indian from a horse-riding culture falling from a horse without intense provocation is simply inaccurate. I don’t see anything funny about it,” Colin said, confirming Martin’s suspicions.

  “Delsin can keep his seat on the horse,” Martin said. “If he can do it without a saddle.”

  “Of course he can. He’s an expert horseman. All of what we now call the Plains Indians—although there were really no such tribes extant until the white man came—can ride without saddles. They’re probably the finest horsemen in the world. Well, except for some Hungarians.”

  Martin cut Colin’s lecture short by saying hastily, “I’m sure that’s true.” Although he was nearing the end of his patience, Martin managed to achieve a conciliatory tone.

  Colin nodded and didn’t continue his lecture, an example of forbearance of which Martin approved. He was afraid to ask, but he did so anyway, somewhat tentatively. “Um, anything else?” He’d rather get it all out and over with now, before Colin stopped the action again. Rehearsal would go on all day at this rate.

  “There’s lots more, but I suppose there’s nothing to be done about any of it at this late date. I really do wish I’d been consulted about what should go into a picture containing any of the American Indian cultures before the work had gone this far.”

  “Me, too,” Martin muttered. He squinted at the set, saw that Sam was taking care of the saddles with the help of Delsin, and noticed Brenda watching him and Colin. He sent her a wry smile, knowing she’d understand his frustration with the way things were progressing. She was a most sympathetic person, and infinitely practical.

  Which gave him an idea.

  Maybe he could sic Brenda on Colin. Humanize him a little bit. If anybody could do it, it was Brenda. Even if she only persuaded him not to interrupt rehearsals every five seconds, she’d be doing Martin a great favor. He waved to her, and she waved back and started walking toward them.

  When Martin glanced at Colin, he noticed that his frown had intensified as he gazed at Brenda. What the heck was going on here? No man ever frowned at Brenda. She was too lovely to be frowned at, and too agreeable to be disliked.

  Leave it to Colin to be contrary. Martin was tugging on his favorite hank of hair when Brenda reached his side.

  Poor Martin. Brenda could tell he was nearly at the end of his tether. And, while she admired Colin for his devotion to historical accuracy, she deplored his interference in this case. After all, it was only a picture. “I see we did something else of which you disapprove, Colin,” she said when she got close enough to be heard. “You’re going to have to stop interfering, you know, or we’ll never get this thing done.” She spoke lightly, but she meant every word.

  “Would that be so great a tragedy?”

  “Mercy, Colin, you sound even grumpier than usual today. And yes, it would be a tragedy, because Peerless studio would lose a lot of money if the picture didn’t get made, and that would mean a lot of people would be out of employment, you and I wouldn’t get paid, the Indians wouldn’t get paid, and none of the rest of the staff would get paid.

  “I’m sure Martin and Mr. Lovejoy will take greater pains to achieve historical accuracy in future Indian pictures, but this one’s ready to roll, and it’s impossible to alter most of the scenes now.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  She eyed him for a moment, then turned to Martin. “Do you want to explain the business to him, or would you like me to do it?”

  Looking as if he couldn’t take any more, Martin said, `You do it. I’ve got to go over the next scene with Al.” Al was Peerless Studio’s premier set designer. Brenda figured Martin wanted to make sure Al hadn’t included flowers on anything other than the tipis.

  She smiled sweetly at Colin. “Where would you like me to begin, Colin? With the financial aspects of making pictures, or the duty owed to financial investors, or the hundreds of jobs the pictures are providing to workers, or what?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned some more. He looked remarkably like a pouty adolescent. “You needn’t explain anything to me, thank you. I understand the business end of it. It’s only that I deplore all of the inaccuracies.”

  “I know you do. We all know you do by this time, believe me. But you’re causing delays, and that’s not fair to any of us, even your precious Indians.”

  “They aren’t my precious Indians.”

  “Whatever they are, they’re as irked by your interference as everyone else.”

  He stood still, fuming, and didn’t speak. Brenda felt a little like a schoolyard bully, but he really did need to know that his behavior wasn’t admired.

  “Listen, Colin,” she said more gently, “I know you’re basically a scholar, and I understand your desire to depict Indian lore honestly on celluloid. But in this case, it’s too late to alter much of the script. By the time a cast goes on location, things are pretty much set in concrete. The most you can do at this point is—well—have the saddles taken off the horses and the tipis repainted.” Which gave her a brilliant idea.

  “I suppose you’re right. I don’t like it, though, because it’s all wrong.” The admission sounded as if he’d had to drag it from his throat in chains

  “I know.” She made herself sound more sympathetic, than she felt. “But you’ll at least have an opportunity to be accurate with the tipis. Why don’t you stop watching the rehearsal, since it obviously upsets you—”

  “I’m not upset!”

  Brenda eyed him thoughtfully. “Right. But you’re not enjoying it much.”

  “No,” he conceded. “I’m not enjoying it. At all.”

  “Well, then, why don’t you spend this rehearsal time making sample designs for us to paint on the tipis? That would be useful, and it would save Martin’s poor hair.”

  Colin took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to be an impediment to the production’s progress,” he said grudgingly.

  “I know.” Brenda kept her own voice low and free of accusation. It wouldn’t do to humiliate the poor man just because he was an egghead and didn’t understand the practicalities of life. “This is the first time you’ve worked on a motion picture, and you’re not familiar with how things are done.”

  He nodded. “With luck, it will be the last time, well,” he said wryly.

  She tilted her head and observed him. He was a stupendously handsome man, for a brain. Not that brainy men weren’t generally handsome, but one didn’t normally associate the one with the other. “It would be a shame to lose your expertise.”

  He snorted. “No one wants my expertise. Obviously.”

  “That’s not true. Or not entirely true, anyway,” she added honestly. “Martin has too much to do already. He really needs assistance. The trouble is, you aren’t of much assistance to him when you interrupt his work all the time.”

  He didn’t like it. He hated it, even. Brenda could clearly discern the rebellious lines around his mouth and eyes. He wanted to holler at her and tell her she was a nitwit and a dunce and that she didn’t know what she was talking about. If he took a minute to think honestly, however, he would have to admit she was rig
ht.

  After another moment or two, during which he was unquestionably stewing, Colin huffed, “You’re probably right. I don’t belong here.”

  “That’s not what I said. I think the pictures need people like you.” Not that there were any other people like him, at least none that she’d met. “But you’ve got to learn to take things a little easier. Relax some. Let some things slide. It won’t kill you to enjoy life a little bit.”

  He huffed again.

  She went on. “I know, the scholar in you rebels at allowing inaccuracies to pass by without comment, but there’s only so much that can be expected of the movies. It’s a brand-new industry. Martin’s the hardest-working man I know, and he tries diligently to make things right. He’s the best, Colin. He really is.”

  “I know he’s a very nice person.”

  “He also knows what he’s doing on a motion-picture set.”

  “I’m sure he does.”

  “And if you’ll give him a chance—work with him instead of against him—I’m sure he’ll be happy to be more accurate in his portrayal of the Indians in future pictures.”

  Colin turned a troubled glance upon her. She was surprised to see that he didn’t look angry anymore. Actually, he appeared distressed. “You know, that’s part of the problem. Right there.”

  “Right where?” she asked, confused.

  “What you said. ‘The Indians,’ is what you said. And there is no ‘the Indians’. That’s the whole problem in a nutshell.”

  “Yes,” she said on a huge sigh. “I recall you saying that before.”

  “It doesn’t seem fair to me that first we steal their land and destroy their livelihood and culture, and then we portray them in an altogether false light. It’s like stealing everything a man owns and then saying not merely that you didn’t really do it, but that, even if you did, it doesn’t matter, because he was wrong to live that way in the first place.”

  Put that way, it didn’t seem fair to Brenda either. She nodded. “But it’s another point that will have to wait to’ be made for another picture. Maybe we can have a parade of tribes in a picture someday or something. Right now we’re trying to make this particular picture, Indian Love Song, and we’ll never get it finished if you don’t let Martin and the rest of us do what we’ve been hired to do.”