As if he hadn’t heard his brother, George went on musingly. “I must admit I was surprised when you agreed to play ball with us today, but you’re pretty good at it. Now, if you’d only learn to talk to the rest of us in a language we can understand, you might even turn human one of these days.”
Colin didn’t know whether to be offended or not, but he had his suspicions. He said crisply, “I am human, for heaven’s sake.”
“You don’t act like it,” George muttered. “At least not very often.”
“Some people never have any trouble understanding me.”
“Brenda.” George nodded wisely, which looked kind of silly for a boy his age, even though he was right. “That’s only because she’s as smart as you are.”
What? Again Colin glanced at Brenda. His lips compressed as he studied her. She? Smart? As in intelligent? H e turned his head and frowned at his brother some more.
“What do you mean by that?”
“What do I mean? Well—” George appeared confused. “I meant what I said. She’s smart. Intelligent. Brainy.” He is eyes narrowed, and he squinted at his brother. “In fact, she might even be a little smarter than you, because got the whole world fooled into believing that she’s not smart at all.”
He nodded at Brenda’s table. “I mean, look at her. She’s over there, laughing and joking and playing slapjack as if she didn’t have a brain in her head. But she must be smart, because she’s been at the top of her profession almost since the day she started, and Martin told me she plans to retire soon. Retire!” George shook his head in wonder. “Can you imagine it? She can’t be much older than I am, and she’s going to retire, and I haven’t even begun to work yet!”
It was on the tip of Colin’s tongue to say something snide about his brother’s choosing to drop out of college, and how that might retard his ambition for retirement, but he didn’t do it and was pleased with himself. It occurred to him that perhaps this sort of restraint was what George meant when he referred to “turning human.” He sighed heavily. Here was something else to ponder in his idle moments.
A bellboy came into the bar, looking around as if he were searching for someone. George saw him and jumped up from the table. “That must be my call.” He hurried over to the boy, who confirmed his assumption, and George went out to the telephone room.
Slowly, Colin rose and followed him. This would be a test of his brother’s suppositions about human behavior as opposed to his own beliefs, which had been based on serious and prolonged study. If his parents were happy to hear from him and Colin would probably be able to discern fake happiness from the real thing, even if he wasn’t the most perceptive man in the world—then he’d have to give George a point for astuteness.
He still didn’t understand it. It would be much easier on him if his assumptions about instincts governing behavior carried over into the human species from the rest of the animal kingdom. Life got so confusing when you couldn’t rely on instincts. Or education. What good was all of his book-learning if it couldn’t even get him into bed with the woman he wanted?
Of course, he’d had no reason even to consider instinct versus learned behavior until he’d met Brenda. She was certainly a predicament in his life. Not unlike a complicated problem in algebra, with several unknowns to solve. Bother. He wished they were both dogs; it would make everything so much simpler.
On that dismal note, he entered the telephone room, where George had already launched into an explanation to their parents about how he’d ended up in California when they’d believed him to be in Pennsylvania.
Although she hid it beautifully, and only because she’d learned her craft well, Brenda’s attention was focused almost entirely on Colin after they entered the bar. She wanted to punish him for taking liberties with her person, so she chose to sit with some of the. Peerless crew at a table apart from the one Colin chose, but she never lost track of him
The bastard didn’t seem to be suffering unduly. She had to make a conscious effort not to grind her teeth. Or heave her root-beer mug at his handsome head. How dare he sit there and talk to his brother while she sat here playing a jolly game of cards with other men. He ought to be eaten up with jealousy, darn him!
She wondered what he and George were discussing. Colin appeared bemused. George was obviously amused. She was glad it wasn’t the other way around, or she’d have feared Colin might be relating his experience in her room, and that would be mortifying.
Darn, but she wished Colin cared for her. She knew he wanted to go to bed with her, but she wanted ever so much more than that. She’d made a vow to herself and to her mother that she wouldn’t succumb to a man before he offered her marriage. Colin would be the perfect man for her if only he wasn’t so—well—imperfect. Actually, the only thing wrong with him was his lack of a marriage proposal. And human understanding.
Bother. What else was there? Without human understanding, Colin might as well be a mannequin. An empty shell. Granted, his was an appealing shell; still, unless there was a sensitive soul living inside it, it was no good to her.
Well, it might be of some good to her—if she were a different sort of woman.
Irked with herself, Brenda slapped the table before a card had been discarded. Chagrined, she shot a grin around the table. “Sorry, guys. Guess my hand slipped.”
“That’s all right, Brenda,” Gil Drew said. He smiled at her, a little goo-goo-eyed.
Dear Gil. He was so sweet. Much sweeter than some men she could mention. Darn and blast Colin Peters for being such a—such a—such a— She couldn’t think of anything bad enough. What she wanted was for Colin to possess Gil’s easygoing, softhearted disposition while, at the same time, retain his intellectual capacity and interests.
Nothing was ever perfect, darn it all. Brenda knew she was being selfish to want even more than she already had, but she’d truly like to be able to fall in love with a man who would fall in love back. And provide the intellectual stimulation she’d craved all her life.
It was her terrible misfortune to have met Colin Peters and fallen for his brain and his body before she knew what a dreadful person he was. She had a degrading impulse to bury her head in her arms and burst into tears.
To counter it, she slammed her hand down on the next jack to appear on the table. Gil had the same impulse a split second later, and his hand nearly smashed hers flat when it landed on top of it.
Brenda cried, “Ow!” before she could catch herself, then felt guilty because Gil looked dismayed.
He leaped to his feet and rushed to her side. “Brenda! I’m so sorry! Are you all right? Did I hurt you? Oh, my God, I’m sorry!”
She couldn’t help herself. Gil’s concern was so absolutely what she craved from Colin that she hugged Gil. “I’m fine, Gil. Thank you. You didn’t hurt me.”
It was a lie. Her hand stung like fire. But it felt so good to be hugging a man, even if Gil didn’t half measure, up to Colin, that she continued to hug him even after she knew she shouldn’t any longer. She was glad she’d given in to her affectionate impulse when she saw Colin walk back into the bar, catch sight of her in Gil’s arms, wheel about instantly, and leave the bar.
Good. She hoped he was as jealous as all get-out.
Unfortunately, Gil seemed to have misinterpreted her embrace. His was getting a little heated. She gently disengaged herself from his arms. He’d started breathing heavily and was sort of red-faced. When she glanced at the others at the table, they were looking as if they wanted to be elsewhere. Oh, dear. She hoped she hadn’t given Gil a mistaken idea of her own feelings in order to irritate Colin.
Lord, but life could get complicated sometimes. It had been much easier before she’d met Colin. Darn him In an effort to make light of the situation and, with luck, diffuse any misinterpretations Gil might have placed on her actions, Brenda said, “I’m sorry, Gil. I didn’t mean to squish you.”
He licked his lips. “You didn’t squish me.” His voice squeaked.
Intere
sting. When. Colin was aroused, his voice went low and gravelly. She preferred the gravel to the squeak. Naturally. With great annoyance, she decided she needed to have her head examined.
All right. They’d covered that. She’d apologized. If Gil still didn’t understand, she was sorry, but there wasn’t much she could do about it here and now Brenda decided to get back to the game. “Whose turn is it now?”
Ben, Peerless’s first cameraman, cleared his throat. “Um, I think you slapped the jack first, Brenda.”
“Right.” She sat in a flutter of percale. “Let’s get at it.” She started turning over cards. Slowly, Gil returned to his seat. She’d have bet almost anything that he didn’t want to but would have preferred to hug some more. Too bad. She’d had enough of men groping her for on evening.
Perhaps not quite enough.
“Dang!” she said aloud, so irritated with her heightened senses that she could happily have ripped them to bits with her bare hands.
“What’s the matter?” Gil asked, looking worried.
She smiled at him and lied, barefaced, “Not a thing, sweetie.” Damn Colin Peters to perdition. He could go straight to heck and take his darned hands and that other thing of his with him.
Again, she wanted to cry.
As for Colin, his internal temperature went from boiling to freezing and back again at least sixteen times after he left the bar and before he thrust the lodge’s double doors open so hard they slammed the walls on either side. He stormed across the porch and down the steps, without the least idea where he aimed to go.
It didn’t matter. One direction was as good as any other in his current state of misery.
She was hugging that measly little pipsqueak of art actor! She was hugging him hard!
Had she hugged Colin, who’d been playing the mating game by all the rules? No! She’d chosen that little, arrogant puppy of an actor! An actor, for the love of heaven!
Brenda Fitzpatrick, who had fed him that big line about being interested in intellectual pursuits, who’d claimed to be interested in learning all about “the Indians”—whatever “the Indians” were—had rejected Colin and taken up with that puny carbuncle of an actor. An actor. Good God. Colin could hardly stand it.
Chapter Fifteen
It took Brenda a long time to shake Gil Drew off her tail after the slapjack game ended. She even sank to using subterfuge in order to dodge his attentions.
Smiling sweetly, she fluttered her eyelashes. “Thank you so much, Gil, but I really don’t feel like going to dinner quite yet. I’m very tired and think I’ll lie down for a while.”
Obviously disappointed, Gil said, “Can I call for you later? I don’t mind waiting.”
Brenda didn’t like to lie, but she knew that lies were necessary, both professionally and personally, sometimes. She considered this one of those times. “Thanks, sweetie. I’m going to eat in my room tonight. This picture’s almost done, and I have to read some more scripts to see what I want to do next.”
Gil reminded her of a chastised puppy when his head drooped, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and he looked at her with his big, brown, plaintive eyes. His eyes weren’t nearly as lovely as Colin’s, darn and blast it. Brenda felt an illogical urge to shriek at the top of her lungs and yank on her hair, as Martin sometimes did when the stress of picture-making got to him.
Gil saw her to the door of her room. Brenda knew he wanted to kiss her, but she made a point of shaking hands with him She felt like a rat—and it was all Colin’s fault.
Innately honest, she knew that wasn’t the truth. She’d used Gil because she’d been upset by Colin, and that wasn’t fair to poor Gil. At the moment, however, she couldn’t drum up the energy to think about how to take care of the Gil situation. Her concentration was focused exclusively on Colin. Who didn’t deserve it, the lout.
She had to be alone to contemplate. If she couldn’t get away by herself, she feared she’d go nuts. Therefore, as soon as Gil had shuffled off down the hall, looking discouraged and making Brenda feel guilty, she put on a dark cloak and some sturdy walking shoes, tiptoed down the hall in the opposite direction from the lobby, scuttled down the service stairs, and exited the Cedar Crest Lodge by the back door. With the hood of her cloak pulled up over her head to hide her distinctive blond hair, she hoped she looked relatively anonymous. She didn’t think anyone saw her as she made her escape. As soon as she’d made her way past the first few trees, she hung her cloak on a branch because she was too warm with it on.
A late spring afternoon in the mountains was enough to brighten anyone’s spirits. Brenda, who was normally happy and calm, perked up after a very few minutes of walking among the tall pines and firs, the cedars and sycamores. She loved the scent of the forest and the small animals that scurried here and there, busy about their business.
How much less complicated was, say, a chipmunk’s life from her own. Chipmunks didn’t worry about finding mates for themselves. They didn’t care if their mates loved them or were smart or could teach them all about Indians. They didn’t care about anything but operated on instinct. Relying on instinct made much more sense: to her in her present chaotic mental state than the stupid way human beings went about things.
On the other hand, she really didn’t know for a fact about the chipmunk way of life. For all she knew, chipmunks went through tortures of unrequited love, just as humans did.
She decided this train of thought might well lead to depression, so she discarded it. There were so many beauties up here in the mountains. Brenda enjoyed Southern California; she’d been toying with the idea of buying home here and sending for her mother. No matter what happened, Brenda was determined to care for her mother.
A scarlet tanager shot out of a tree near her, and she smiled at it. While she missed the bluebirds of her home state of New York, she loved the birds up here. Especially those noisy, squawky blue jays. They had balls, those birds, and Brenda admired them for it. She had balls, too.
With a frown, she decided having balls was probably not a very feminine trait. Perhaps she should try to be less one of the boys and more of a soft, simpering lady.
But then she’d have men falling all over her. She had enough trouble with that sort of nonsense already.
No. She’d chosen the wisest course to follow. Her very success should have taught her as much by this time.
Except that her success had fallen short with Colin.
“Bother!” She heaved a pinecone at a tree and kept walking. The day had been perfectly gorgeous, and she didn’t pay much attention to the fading sunlight as the afternoon crept on toward evening. The trees surrounding her cut out a lot of the sun’s brightness anyway. It wasn’t until she realized she was having trouble seeing the trail that, with a start, she decided she’d better turn around and head back to the lodge.
When Brenda didn’t come downstairs to have dinner with the rest of the Peerless folks in the dining room, Colin silently cursed to himself. Trust Brenda to thwart his desires in this selfish way. All he wanted to do was gaze at her, for heaven’s sake. He hadn’t planned on touching her again.
Well . . . eventually, he wanted to touch her. But not tonight. Tonight he only wanted to look at her, as one might look at a spectacular painting or something. Colin had never had much truck with art, but he’d heard people say that gazing at great works of art lifted the spirit and elevated the mind. He’d feel uplifted and elevated if he could peer at Brenda for a while. But no. She was even going to deprive him of that much pleasure.
He was feeling very grumpy when Gil Drew showed up. Then he felt even grumpier. Gil had a cheery greeting for everyone. Colin eyed him dourly, wondering if he’d received more than a mere embrace from Brenda. If she preferred that callow blockhead to him, Colin would just—he would just— He didn’t know what he’d do. Nothing, probably, but he’d feel really, really bad.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t waltz over to Gil and ask him if he’d bedded the beautiful Brenda. Such things we
ren’t done in polite society. Not, he thought nastily, that a motion-picture crew could be accounted as polite society. He eyed Gil with disfavor as the actor joined Martin and both men walked over to Colin. It was all Colin could do to force himself to smile at them. He wanted to punch Gil Drew in his shiny pink baby’s face.
“Howdy, Colin,” Gil said.
Colin wondered if the actor were being deliberately offensive, then told himself not to be ridiculous. Rather formally, he said, “Good evening.”
“Gil said Brenda’s having dinner in her room,” Martin told him. “Why don’t you join us at our table, Colin?”
He didn’t want to. He wanted to storm upstairs, batter down Brenda’s door, and ask her why she was hiding in her room. Was she ashamed of having made love to the silly Gil Drew all afternoon after she’d rejected Colin?
Good God, he was losing his mind.
“Thanks, Martin. Don’t mind if I do.” He heard the strain in his voice as he smiled and lied.
Neither Martin nor Gil seemed to notice. George joined them, and the four men headed to a table next to a window, where they would have had a wonderful view of the forest if it had been daytime. As it was, the lodge’s electric outdoor lighting illuminated a few of the closest trees
The woods appeared mysterious and enchanting, and whatever that annoying thing was in Colin’s chest—the thing that had been acting up ever since he’d met Brenda—gave a painful twinge. He just wanted to be with her, dash it, and he might as well quit lying to himself about it.
There had to be some way to get her. He only had to think about it harder.
“Don’t you think so, Colin?”
He realized Martin had spoken to him and started, dropping a Brussels sprout he’d just speared with his fork. “Don’t I think what?” he asked, deciding in an instant that it would be useless to pretend he’d been paying attention.
Martin chuckled. “Mind in the clouds again, eh? Or in the books, rather, I imagine.”
Beauty and the Brain Page 22