He turned again and gazed at the set. He looked unhappy, and Brenda was sorry about that, but honest to God, sometimes you just had to tell a man the truth. Neither of them spoke, and Brenda heard the light spring breeze rustle the pine needles above their heads. The birds chirped merrily. Or perhaps not merrily. Recalling Colin’s lecture about the blue jay and the scarlet tanager, she wondered if the birds were having a huge argument in bird talk, and she just couldn’t understand the words.
“You know,” she said, having been struck by an interesting notion, “sometimes life’s more fun when you don’t know everything.”
He frowned at her, leading her to believe that he wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet. “I don’t believe I know what you mean.”
“I’m sure you don’t. But it’s more fun for me to think that when the birds chirp in the trees, they’re happy and not fighting with each other.”
His brow wrinkled, displaying those two deep ruts above his nose that made Brenda go a little crazy inside. He gazed up into the trees towering over their heads. “Why shouldn’t they be happy?” he asked, as if he were honestly curious.
She shook her head, wondering what it must be like to take every single solitary thing a body said absolutely seriously. She’d have to teach this guy a joke or two one of these days. “I don’t know.”
He was patently puzzled. Brenda didn’t think she could explain if she tried, so she didn’t. She patted him on the arm as if he were a strange little boy instead of a bullheaded, albeit brilliant, young man. “It’s all right, Colin. Why don’t you go back inside the lodge and work on those Indian symbols? All right? Then you can supervise us when we paint them on the tipis.”
Which was something to look forward to—if one enjoyed being pecked to death by a petty martinet as one tried to follow his instructions. God, she’d be glad when this picture was over. She wanted to take Colin Peters by the scruff of his neck and shake him until his brains scrambled and he turned human. He’d be wonderful if he were only human.
“Well . . .”
“Please,” she said, her tone faintly begging. “You’re only succeeding in irritating everyone on the set here, and it’s all to no avail. You’ll be doing all of us, and yourself, too, a big favor by butting out.”
She wasn’t surprised to see his scowl deepen. “I don’t believe that’s true. And even if it is, that’s hardly a ladylike way of expressing it.”
Darn him anyway, the stuffed shirt! “Mercy me. I didn’t know you cared about such things. You astound me.” If she put any more ice into her voice, it would freeze solid before it left her mouth. She added an imperious sniff, hoping to make him feel like the toad he was.
“Oh, very well.” He turned on his heel and started walking back to the lodge, his hands jammed into his pockets. He looked dejected.
Brenda didn’t care. She was beginning to wonder what she’d ever seen in the man. Oh, granted, he was good-looking. And he was smart as a whip and knew everything, and she really, really, really wanted to pick his brains—but not at the price he exacted. She couldn’t stand people who disapproved of everything. She generally chalked such punctilio up to the fusspots knowing nothing about the perils life could fling at a person.
If you’d never been tested by life, you couldn’t expect to understand how difficult it was to uphold society’s strict conventions as one struggled to survive. If he’d ever been down as far as she’d been, he’d learn to appreciate the important stuff and let the rest slide.
“Drat the man,” she muttered. Even though she knew she was right and he was wrong pigheadedly, irrationally wrong—her heart hurt. Fiddle.
“Brenda, may I speak to you for a minute?”
When she turned, she saw Martin approaching, a troubled expression on his face. Hardly surprising. Dealing with Colin Peters and his meticulous demands was enough to trouble anybody. She decided to forget about the ache in her own heart and smiled, because she sensed Martin could use a few smiles today. “Sure thing, Martin. What is it?”
He took her arm and guided her over to a spreading tree. “Listen, I’m beginning to think hiring Colin was a bad idea. He’s brilliant and knows everything there is to know about Indians and so forth, but he doesn’t have the least idea how pictures are made. He’s driving me crazy.”
As Martin had begun tearing at his hair, Brenda didn’t doubt him for a moment. And she was sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Martin. I know you need assistance. I guess we were all hoping that Colin would turn out to be the help you needed, but he’s turning out to be a hindrance.”
“You can say that again.”
She didn’t bother.
“Um,” Martin continued, “I wonder if you’d be willing to do me a favor, Brenda.”
“Sure.” She lifted her eyebrows in inquiry. “What is it?”
“You might not like it,” he temporized.
She shrugged. “We’re friends, Martin. Friends help friends.”
“Thanks.” He appeared sincerely touched by her simple statement of fraternity. “But—well, I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship by what I’m going to ask you to do.”
Brenda was beginning to be alarmed. In order to make herself feel better, she asked jokingly, “Good Lord, Martin, you’re not going to ask me to assassinate the fool, are you?”
Her question shocked Martin so much, he actually gave a start of surprise. “Good God. No!”
She laid a hand on his arm, sorry she’d shaken him His nerves must really he on edge if he could no longer recognize a joke when he heard it. “I didn’t mean it, Martin. Just ask your favor, and I’ll tell you if I’ll do it or not.”
“Good. I mean, thank you.” Martin took a deep breath. “Listen, I know you won’t want to do this, but—well—” He stopped speaking, as if he’d suddenly forgotten all the words he’d ever known. Then, in a rush, he asked his question. “Will you please take Colin in hand and try to calm him down?”
It was Brenda’s turn to be startled. Her mouth opened, but Martin forestalled speech by hurrying on.
“You see, you’re the only person I know who has the delicacy to take the matter in hand without crushing the poor guy. He’s not a bad fellow, you know. He just needs to be—well—socialized, or something. He needs to loosen up and learn not to take everything as if it were a life-or-death problem.”
Her opinion exactly. “Hmmm.” She still didn’t know about this. It sounded mighty tricky to her. “He doesn’t like me much, you know.” The knowledge made her furious. It also made the ache in her heart throb.
“Nonsense. He’s just never met a beautiful woman before and doesn’t know how to act around you. I’ve known men like him before. When they’re young, all the other children tease them about being brains, and when they grow up, they’ve never learned how to behave around women. You can teach him.”
Poor Martin. He sounded desperate. Still Brenda hesitated. This sounded like a mighty shaky endeavor. “I don’t know . . .”
On the one hand, Martin was asking her to do what she’d been wanting to do ever since she met Colin: hang out with him. She could, with Martin’s blessing, ask Colin questions until the cows came home, if she did as Martin asked her. On the other hand, she didn’t like rejection and rebuff any better than anybody else on earth, and she had a feeling that, if she did this favor for Martin, she was going to experience both before she wore down Colin’s defenses—if she ever did.
She’d been telling herself she could wear him down for a couple of days now, but that was before she’d realized what a tough nut Colin could be. Now she wasn’t sure.
Dammit, of course she could wear the man down! She was an expert, for heaven’s sake.
But did she want to? It would be tough. He would be tough.
What did that matter? Martin needed her. Martin was her friend. Brenda tried never to let her friends down.
She heaved a pine-scented sigh. “Oh, all right. I suppose he can’t hate me any more than he already does.”
> Martin’s relief was palpable. “Bless you, Brenda.” He eased up on his hair and smiled. “And he doesn’t hate you, you know. He finds you as delightful as we all do. It’s only that he doesn’t know how to express himself. I have a feeling he mistrusts his emotions.”
“If he has any to mistrust.”
“I’m sure he does.” Martin appeared doubtful. “Somewhere.”
“Hmmm.” Brenda went back to the rehearsal in a less sunny mood than was customary for her.
Colin sat in the front parlor of the Cedar Crest Lodge, gloomily staring at the pieces of paper in front of him. He’d drawn several symbols that could be painted on the tipis. He should be happy to have scored this one small victory. He wasn’t happy at all.
Dash it, why was he being so unconscionably persnickety about this silly motion picture? He didn’t care one way or the other, really, if Martin and his company depicted Indian life accurately. For heaven’s sake, the picture was a piece of fiction.
The awful thought that he was trying, in the only way he knew how, to impress Brenda Fitzpatrick attacked him, and he groaned softly. Good God, could that be his problem?
He had a feeling it not only could be but was. What a lowering realization. When he was a child, he used to sneer at boys who made asses of themselves trying to impress girls. Now he was doing the same thing, and such behavior was even more asinine in a man his age than in a boy.
Was he really so little attuned to the behavioral norms prevailing in society that he was stooping to such childish tactics?
Yes, he was.
With another soft groan, Colin buried his head in his hands. And what had he accomplished by behaving thus? He’d succeeded in alienating practically everyone associated with the picture, including Martin Tafft, whom he admired greatly, and Brenda Fitzpatrick, who was the one he’d been trying to impress in the first place.
“Idiot,” he growled at himself.
Colin continued to flog himself mentally for the rest of the afternoon. Along about five, as he was trying to decide which of his drawings would look best on the tipis and vilifying himself as an unmitigated nincompoop, the front door to the parlor opened. He didn’t look up, since he was sunk in self-pity and knew that whoever it was wasn’t interested in speaking to him.
“Colin?”
He jerked and spun around, nearly tipping his chair over backwards. He had to grab the table to prevent an accident. Good Lord, it was Brenda. Had she come in to scold him some more? He probably deserved it. Because he was anticipating nothing good from this source, and since he was ashamed of himself for his earlier behavior, he only nodded at her and said, “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Good heavens, the woman was beautiful. Colin decided it wasn’t kind of God to have spent all of that beauty on one person. He ought to have spread it out some in order in spare the rest of humanity these painful episodes. “It’s all right. I was . . . concentrating on these pictures.” He waved a hand over the papers on the table and silently called himself a liar. He’d been mired in remorse and self-pity is what he’d been, and he knew it.
“Oh, how nice. May I see them?”
At least she didn’t say can when she meant may. Realizing this was the fussy Colin passing another judgment on something nobody in the world but him cared about, he swore at himself and told himself to stop judging others. “Of course you may.”
She wafted over to him on a cloud of femininity. Colin swallowed hard. He’d never realized how difficult it could be to maintain one’s dignity in the presence of so tantalizing a creature as Brenda. Determined to redeem himself in her eyes, if possible—and he doubted it was possible, since he was stuck in a sinking pit of self-loathing—he said politely, “I’m not sure which symbols would be best for film. Perhaps Martin can help us decide.” It hurt to add, “Although you’re familiar with the industry. I’m sure you can say if one is better than another. Cinematically speaking, I mean.”
He was an ass. That’s all there was to it. There was no wrapping it up in clean linen. He was an ass, and that was that.
“Oh, I like this one.” She held up a paper and indicated a stylized drawing of a hawk in flight. “It reminds me of the wide open spaces.”
The Black Hills were about as wide open and spacious as a railroad boxcar, what with all the trees and boulders lying about. Colin gritted his teeth and didn’t say so.
“Yes. That’s a good one. I saw it first in a Chiricahua village in the Arizona Territory”
She turned those huge blue eyes upon him and he went light-headed. “My goodness, but you’ve done some interesting things I’d love to hear about some of your travels.”
He was, to put it mildly, skeptical. No one was ever interested in his travels. “You would?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve never been anywhere except cities. Mind you, I’ve traveled quite a bit because of the business I’m in. And I know New York City like the back of my hand. But I’ve never had the chance to explore the different cities I’ve been to, much less explored any of the western territories, although I did do a show in Denver once. But that’s the closest I’ve ever come to a frontier. I’m sure they must be fascinating.”
He allowed himself a very small smile. “I’m sure the westerners who live there would say the same about New York.”
She laughed. Her laughs played hob with his senses, and he had to clamp down on his heated reaction to this one. “You’re probably right.”
He couldn’t manufacture a laugh to save himself, but he did produce a fairly decent smile. “Oh, yes. I’ve known many a cowboy who’d love to see a big city like New York or San Francisco.”
“San Francisco’s a nice place. Very lively, and the people are friendly.”
“Yes, I found the same thing.”
Whoopee. He’d discovered one thing they had in common: San Francisco. Perhaps they should celebrate.
Ass. He was an ass.
Still smiling, she resumed studying the sketches he’d made, eventually pulling out five of them. “I think these would look best.” She shot him a quick glance. “Mind you, I don’t know anything about Indians, but if they’re compatible, they’d look great in the picture.”
Dash it, she was worried about him throwing another tantrum over authenticity. As if authenticity mattered a toss. “They’re compatible.” Because he couldn’t seem to stop himself, he amended, “That is to say, they’re all symbols common to various southwestern tribes, although they don’t all come from the same one.” Now why, he asked himself bitterly, had he felt compelled to deliver that miniature lecture? It wasn’t as if anyone cared.
“Oh? Which ones are from which tribes?”
She sounded interested, and Colin didn’t believe it. Rather stiffly, he said, “You needn’t humor me, Brenda. I know I behaved badly, and I’m sorry I’ll apologize to Martin as soon as I see him.”
“I’m not humoring you!” She eyed him for a moment. “You know, Colin, there are some people in the world besides you who are genuinely interested in these things. You’re not the only one.”
“Oh?” That was news to him.
“Indeed. Why do you think I asked you to explain about the Indians before?”
He had no idea, actually, unless it was to make the other men on the set jealous. He opted not to tell her so. “Um . . . I guess I hadn’t considered why you asked.”
She shook her head, as if she could, scarcely conceive of so obtuse a scholar. “It’s because I want to know, Colin. I find such things fascinating. I didn’t have the opportunity to attend school after my twelfth year, and I—well, I know it sounds dramatic, but I can’t help that—I thirst for knowledge. If you’d be willing to instruct me in some of these things, maybe I can reciprocate.”
“Reciprocate?” This sounded scary “How?”
She winked at him “You’ll find out.”
And that, as they say, was that. His heart had commenced hammering like a Mescalero war drum, and
he sensed a trap not unlike that set for soldiers riding a box canyon with Indians perched on cliffs surrounding them, prepared to pick them off like ducks on a pond. It was no use warning himself. Colin succumbed. “Very well,” he said with as much firmness as he could summon. “I’ll be happy to teach you whatever you want to know.”
“Likewise.” Brenda stuck out her hand. “It’s a deal.”
And, although he couldn’t even begin to imagine what she knew that he’d want to learn, Colin shook her hand.
Chapter Eight
After a delicious meal in the Cedar Crest’s main dining room, during which she chatted amiably with Martin and tried to draw Colin out, Brenda went for a short walk around the building. She was steeling her nerves to tackle those stupid tipis. And Colin. The prospect held no appeal.
During dinner, Colin had been almost amiable, although he didn’t speak much. Which was probably just as well, since he seldom seemed to have anything to say unless he was correcting something somebody else had said. She chuffed into the darkness. If it were anyone else supervising the tipi painting, Brenda would be looking forward to it. She enjoyed stuff like this: getting together with friends and tackling projects.
In this case, she was dreading it. Why, oh why, couldn’t Colin be just a little more human? He was so handsome. And he was so exactly what Brenda had always dreamed about in a man—except that he was a stuffed shirt and an old poop, and he didn’t like her. She considered this combination of characteristics monumentally unfair.
Nevertheless, after she’d walked around the lodge twice, listened with pleasure to the owls hooting in the trees and the rustle of the breeze among the leaves, she knew she had to do it. She’d promised Martin she’d try, and she’d never broken a promise yet.
Beauty and the Brain Page 11