So she trudged up the wide, beautiful oak staircase of the Cedar Crest Lodge, went to her room, donned the huge blue smock she wore for messy makeup jobs and other dirty work, and headed downstairs. The Peerless crew had confiscated the screened-in back porch of the lodge for this evening’s activities, and Martin had set up two of the studio’s portable lights. The specialized lights were used for filming and were brighter than normal house lamps. Tonight they’d provide perfect illumination by which to paint the tipis.
She took in a deep, preparatory breath before she stepped onto the porch, prepared for just about anything. If Colin had arrived before her, he might already have stirred the crew to anger or mutiny. Or Martin might have prevailed and kept things calm and steady. Or the Indians might be there, telling them all what to do. She didn’t know what to expect when she opened the door and offered a cheery salute to her Peerless friends.
“Hello, everyone. Are we all ready to fix these tipis?” She spotted Jerry Begay, who was looking at one of the flowered pictographs with scorn. Gil Drew, who’d started daubing white paint over the flowers on another tipi, looked up at her and winked.
She waved back and walked over to stand beside Jerry; she, too, peered at the tipi. “Hi, Jerry. Those flowers are pretty stupid, aren’t they?”
“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate.
“Well,” she said in as sprightly a manner as she could summon, “we’ll get them fixed tonight.”
Jerry grunted. His expression was so generally enigmatic that Brenda never knew if he was grumpy or happy or what. Tonight was no exception.
She heaved a large internal sigh and gave up on the flowers, but she didn’t allow her misgivings to show. Rubbing her hands together in a gesture of enjoyment—falsely assumed—she said, “Do you agree with the pictures Colin did to replace the flowers? There are lots more, if you don’t like those.”
Oh, dear, perhaps she shouldn’t have said that. Colin might take her offer to Jerry as a slight upon his own selections. Piffle, this was like walking on eggshells, and she didn’t like it. She cast a swift glance at Colin and noted with relief that, although he was watching her exchange with Jerry, he didn’t seem huffy.
Jerry shrugged. “They’re all right.”
Faint praise. But she hadn’t expected anything more from this particular source. “Well, then, let’s get at them. Do you need help painting over the flowers, Gil?”
“I don’t think so. My artistic talents aren’t even being tested in this enterprise. Slapping white paint over flowers is quick work.”
He gave his audience a general, all-purpose grin. It was a grin Brenda recognized as one designed to garner approval. Poor Gil. He was such an—actor. Funny she’d never noticed how desperate most actors and actresses were to be loved. Was she like that? She had no idea.
Leroy Carruthers was in a corner mixing paint. “I’ve got the black stuff here, stirred to a fare-thee-well and ready for the artistes.” He splayed a hand over his heart. “I, too, am an artiste, but I shan’t attempt to paint this evening. I,” he said in as grand a manner as Brenda had ever heard, “have four thumbs on each hand and dill pickles where the thumbs should be.”
They all laughed, and Brenda silently blessed the ham for making the atmosphere light. Martin and Colin had begun conversing in the corner opposite Leroy’s. Brenda walked over to join them, bracing herself for unpleasantness.
Squinting hard, she couldn’t detect any rancor issuing from the two men. Not even from Colin, a circumstance that faintly surprised her. She’d have expected him to have become fussy in the hour or so since dinner. He’d been almost pleasant at dinner. She judged he’d apologized to Martin as he had to her, and Martin, ever gracious, would have accepted the apology with generosity and grace and not referred to the afternoon’s squabble again. She took heart. Maybe this wouldn’t be as awful as she’d feared.
“Hello, Martin. Good evening, Colin. Ready to start?”
Martin smiled brightly. “Hey there, Brenda. We sure are. Gil’s working on covering up the flowers, and we have the sketches right here.” He brandished a sheaf of papers. “If we each take a tipi and a sketch, we’ll have this problem corrected in no time at all. I’m sure the tents—I mean, tipis—”
Colin sighed. Eyeing him hastily, Brenda judged he was embarrassed about having made such a stink about tipis versus tents.
“—will be dry by tomorrow, and we’ll be able to film the abduction scene early in the day.”
“Good.” Brenda smiled at Colin. “Are we using the same pictures you showed me this afternoon, or have you chosen others?”
“I brought the ones you chose,” Colin said stiffly. “I didn’t think you wanted my interference.”
She felt like telling him not to be so darned touchy but restrained herself and merely nodded. “All right, then. Let’s get started.” She took the sketch of the hawk then waited until she saw which tipi Colin selected to work on. She took the one next to his.
“This way, you can tell me if I go wrong,” she explained when he looked disconcerted at having her nearby. What was the matter with the man?
“I’m sure you won’t go wrong.”
If Colin got to sounding any more wooden, they’d be able to use him as a tent pole, Brenda thought sourly. Nevertheless, as she started painting her hawk with the paint Leroy Carruthers had mixed, she searched her mind for things to ask him. She finally decided on the subject at hand. “Um, which picture are you going to paint?”
His lips were set into a grim line, and he looked as if he wasn’t enjoying himself. “I’m doing the mountain and the river.” He didn’t expound upon his statement.
Brenda mentally rolled her eyes. This was going to be difficult. She didn’t want to fail Martin, but if she was going to have to drag every single tiny sentence out of Colin’s mouth, she was going to wear herself out pretty darned quick. “Um, is that the one with the horizontal zigzag lines and the straight lines in front?”
“Yes.” He set his lips again and continued painting, keeping his eyes on the canvas tenting in front of him and never once looking at Brenda.
Gad. “What tribe is that one from?”
He shrugged slightly. “Several different tribes use these same symbols. They’re fairly common.”
“Ah.” She was interested in spite of herself. “Why do you think that is?”
Another shrug. “I suppose because the design makes sense.”
She set her paintbrush down and scooted over on her knees to peer at the picture at Colin’s feet. “What do you mean?”
His hand stilled and he stiffened. Brenda sighed and went back to her own tent. Tipi. Whatever the heck it was.
“Well,” he said presently, as if he’d had to collect his wits before he could answer her, which was ridiculous. Brenda felt like flinging paint at him “You see that these zigzag lines look vaguely like mountains? And the straight lines can easily be seen to depict a river. The symbols are recognizable for what they are, and I expect that’s what makes them so popular with different tribes.”
She decided to stay where she was, although she wanted to see the picture again to make sure she knew what he was talking about. “That makes sense.”
Silence fell between them. Brenda was vaguely aware of the others chattering nearby, but she was primarily concerned with making friends with Colin, so her concentration on that problem was intense After racking her brain for a moment, she came up with another question. “Do many tribes have similar bird pictures? Similar to this one, I mean.”
She heard Colin draw in a deep breath and release it with what she presumed was annoyance. For Martin’s sake, she held her temper in check. This situation wouldn’t last long, she told herself, and she could certainly stand Colin Peters’s contempt and pickiness for another three or four weeks.
Three or four weeks. She almost groaned aloud. But no. She could do this. She’d never failed yet to make friends out of enemies. Not that she’d ever had many enemies
> Colin finally answered her question, and her thoughts scattered like dandelion fluff. “Yes, most tribes depict birds of one sort or another. Different native cultures have quite elaborate symbols to depict matters of importance to them, and many consider birds important.”
“They do?” Again she found herself genuinely interested. She squinted at the bird on her own tipi. It looked pretty good, if she did say so herself. “Why are birds important?”
“Various reasons.”
For a minute, she thought he was going to leave it at that, and she tried to decide whether to be irked or not. Then he continued speaking, and she decided to keep her temper inside for a while longer.
“For one thing, the bird can fly and is often thereby considered as existing without the limits under which humans struggle.”
Brenda thought about it as she stroked paint onto the canvas. “I see,” she said at last. And she did. Failing a scientific foundation for the phenomena of life, it made sense to look to beings in nature and to ascribe wondrous properties to them. “Very interesting.”
She saw Colin’s head whip her way and turned to see why he was staring at her. He seemed to be studying her face intently, as if he were trying to determine if she was lying. She didn’t relish his doubt.
“I found your explanation very interesting,” she said with a hint of pepper in her tone. “I don’t know why you’re so darned eager to doubt my curiosity.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“No need to beg.” She was beginning to feel peevish and tried to curtail her mood’s slide downhill.
The evening progressed more smoothly after that, although Brenda continued to find it difficult to converse with Colin. It was as if, having decided he’d behaved badly earlier in the day, he didn’t want to open his mouth now.
Colin Peters was turning out to be a very difficult man.
“Yes,” Colin said to Martin, who was critically surveying the tipis set up in preparation for filming. “They look much better now.”
It was the morning after the painting party, and Colin still felt edgy, embarrassed, and uncomfortable. He’d vowed to keep his opinions to himself unless they were asked for, but already he was finding his vow challenging to keep.
For one thing, he still deplored the nonsense of mixing up tribes when it would have been so easy to use the right ones. Or, if the only Indians they could find who were willing to appear in the picture were Navajos, the least they could have done is shoot the silly picture in Arizona or New Mexico.
Too expensive, probably, he thought glumly. This mountain was near enough to the Los Angeles-based Peerless Studio as to be economically feasible to use as a stage set. Rather, a motion-picture set.
For another thing, he resented the notion of any Indians at all riding into a settled town and carrying off one of its citizens for no reason. Even if the citizen abducted was as lovely as Brenda.
Granted such a notion held a certain appeal—Colin sometimes thought life must have been simpler in the old days, when knights kidnapped their brides—it still wouldn’t have happened. Never. Ever. Not even during the very height of the Indian wars.
But, as he’d discovered to his distress and mortification, the script was written and nobody was going to change it for the sake of historical accuracy or his scholarly objections. He wished he’d never made them, because now he felt not merely unwelcome but stupid. It was a new experience, feeling stupid, and he didn’t like it.
“All set, Martin? Hello there, Colin. Beautiful day, isn’t?”
Colin turned at the sound of Brenda’s cheery voice and almost fell over backwards in shocked dismay. Good God, she looked like a ghoul!
She noticed his astonishment and laughed gaily. “Isn’t the makeup ghastly? Dead white with black accents isn’t very flattering, is it?”
Actually, she’d probably look beautiful in black-face. He didn’t say so. Striving to achieve a smile as easy as hers, he said, “Er, yes. I mean, no.” Dash it, he was blundering like a noddy. In a last-gasp effort, he blurted out, “I wasn’t expecting it.”
“It does look a little odd for everyday viewing, doesn’t it?” Martin chuckled. His spirits were high this morning, too. Colin figured he was glad to be getting on with things, and a stab of guilt made his innards cramp. He’d really made a pain of himself yesterday.
“White makeup looks better on celluloid than regular makeup—or no makeup,” Brenda explained. The twinkle in her eyes increased markedly. “Gee, it’s so seldom I get to clarify anything for you. It usually works the other way around.”
She would have to say that, wouldn’t she? A little awkwardly, Colin said, “Nonsense.”
“Is it?”
She didn’t wait for his answer but turned to Martin. Colin appreciated her restraint, since he had no idea what to say. “Are we ready to start filming?”
“Yes, indeedy.” Martin rubbed his hands together and looked pleased with the day and with everything in it.
The day was fine; Colin had to grant that. The mountain air was crisp and clean. Small animals chattered in the trees and birds chirped in a frenzy of spring fever. The greens and golds of the mountains cape appealed to Colin’s senses. It was one of the few times he’d noticed he had any. He’d seldom taken time to observe the world around him; today his lack of prior interest seemed a shame Not that most of the world was as beautiful as this. It still undoubtedly held things that would be of interest to him. He’d have to pay closer attention to his surroundings in the future.
Jerry Begay, clad in some sort of buckskin garment that, Colin assumed, the costume department had judged to be of generic Indian design, walked over to them. He nodded to Colin and Martin and smiled at Brenda. Colin was nonplussed by the smile. Jerry must feel at ease with Brenda. How strange. Colin himself turned into a fumbling dolt whenever he was in her company. This was all very discouraging.
“Hello, Jerry. Ready to kidnap me?” Brenda smiled happily and shook Begay’s hand.
“I reckon,” said the phlegmatic Navajo. He cocked a dark eyebrow at Martin. “Shall we mount up?”
The so-called Indian tribe was supposed to ride into the town, capture Brenda while the townspeople screamed in horror, and then scurry back to their camp. The abduction was to take place on the vast front porch of the Cedar Crest Lodge, which was almost more ridiculous than if they’d snatched her from a street. Colin didn’t say so, although he had to bite his tongue to keep silent.
“Right,” said Martin. “Let me get over to the porch. Remember to have everybody on horseback keep to the grassy places until you get to the porch, because we don’t want the horses kicking up a lot of dust and interfering with the camera’s focus. When you get to the porch, it’s all right to churn up some dust, because it’ll make the scene look ominous.”
Ominous. Good God. Colin peered at Jerry, eager to see his reaction to these instructions.
“Right.” Jerry turned and walked away.
Hmmm. Colin guessed he wasn’t surprised. Jerry Begay had learned to expect idiocy from white men.
“I’ve heard that Indians are silent and inscrutable,” Brenda murmured, “but I didn’t believe it until now.”
Colin couldn’t help himself. He said, “They are neither silent nor inscrutable. Jerry Begay is a fine man who feels out of place here among a group of white people with whom he has nothing in common. He, and most in his culture don’t show their emotions to strangers.” He shut up then, sensing he’d said enough—if not more than enough.
He expected some kind of sarcastic retort from Brenda. Martin was too kind to resort to sarcasm. Colin was, therefore, taken aback when Brenda peered at him musingly and said, “Hmmm. I guess that makes sense. Sure. I’d be silent and inscrutable, too, if I were plunked down in the middle of a Navajo village.”
“Er, yes,” he said. “That’s the point exactly.” And he was astounded she’d understood it so quickly. One of these days, he’d have to remember she wasn’t a featherheaded imbecile
.
She nodded and walked off to take her place on the porch. Martin, who had seemed uneasy at Colin’s comment, relaxed after he heard Brenda’s, “All set, Martin!”
He said, “Come on, Colin. Let’s go over to the porch. It’s always exciting to get the first scene in the can.”
Colin knew that in the can was a term used in the motion-picture industry to signify having captured something on celluloid. He understood why the term had come into use, since movies, after being shot, edited, spliced, and whatever else needed doing, were shipped to picture houses in flat cans. One can contained a reel. A reel consisted of a thousand feet of film, and it was only recently that moviemakers had begun creating what they considered works of art using more than one reel of film. Colin didn’t know much about art, but he was withholding judgment on the issue. He had his doubts.
In justice it must be said, however, that Peerless was doing a good deal to promote the industry, and Colin, ever just, gave Peerless its due. Peerless was among the first studios to make what were termed “feature” films, longer pictures that told a full story. They still primarily produced split-reel shorts, which most often consisted of a comedy on one half of the reel and a short drama or a series of scenic views on the other, but they were making great strides in longer pictures. Indian Love Song was an example of the latter. Colin rather crossly thought that it wasn’t going to enhance Peerless’s reputation any.
But then, he was probably wrong about that. His experience with public taste wasn’t vast, but he wasn’t impressed with the few examples he’d seen so far. The public would probably lap up this nonsensical feature film like hot chocolate.
He was feeling crabby and depressed when he and Martin reached the trees a few feet from the Cedar Crest’s front porch. Martin’s chair was there awaiting him, and Colin noticed another chair placed near Martin’s. “I had them get a chair for you, Colin. You can see how we do this.”
Ashamed of himself for his earlier unkind thought, Colin muttered, “Thanks,” and sat on the chair next to Martin’s. He renewed his vow to keep mum and not complain.
Beauty and the Brain Page 12