Beauty and the Brain

by Duncan, Alice

  Colin frowned, misliking this image everyone seemed to have of him as some kind of inhuman learning machine. He guessed he hadn’t done much to disoblige folks of the notion, but he didn’t like it. “I guess.” he muttered.

  “I asked if you don’t think the picture’s going well.”

  Colin re-speared his Brussels sprout, put it into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. After he swallowed, he said honestly, “I don’t really know. You know more about making movies than I do. I suppose it’s going pretty well, considering the subject matter and the way it’s being treated. At least the tipis don’t have flowers on them anymore.”

  Everyone laughed. Colin hadn’t intended his comment to be humorous, and he didn’t understand their laughter. There was a whole lot about social behavior he didn’t understand. He’d never much cared before. He did now, for all the good it did him. With another frown, he ate two more Brussels sprouts.

  “I think it’s going very well. I’ll be sorry to see Jerry and the rest of our Navajo friends leave tomorrow, but they’ve done a great job.”

  Nodding, Colin said, “Yes, they have.” That is to say, he guessed they had. He didn’t know. Dash it, he didn’t seem to know anything anymore except stuff he’d gleaned from books, and books didn’t offer him any guidance in matters of the heart He meant flesh, not heart. Whatever he meant, it was painfully obvious he’d been dead wrong about mating rituals.

  After dinner, he trudged up the stairs and started down the plush, carpeted hallway to his room. As he passed Brenda’s suite, he paused. He stared at the door, frowning.

  Should he knock? What would he say if she answered the door and asked him what he wanted? He couldn’t very well say he wanted to make love to her.

  He should probably just skip it. She’d surely not appreciate his showing up uninvited, especially if she was trying to get some rest or study a script or something.

  Bother. What to do, what to do . . .

  With a disheartened shrug, Colin walked on down the hallway without knocking on her door. Before he’d reached his own door, he heard someone else knocking at a door behind him. Instantly, he had visions of Gil Drew being received by Brenda en dishabille, and being invited inside to partake of her favors.

  Scowling, he turned and glared down the hall. A bellboy stood before Brenda’s door, a message on a silver tray held in one hand, a gloved fist preparing to knock at her door again. The door remained closed.

  After knocking a second time, the bellboy leaned down and put his mouth near the keyhole. “Miss Fitzpatrick? Miss Fitzpatrick, there’s a cable for you. It’s from New York City, ma’am.” He sounded impressed.

  Colin’s scowl faded, but he was faintly troubled. It wasn’t like Brenda to ignore a knock at her door. She was too nice for that—or too conscious of her image.

  He felt a little mean when the latter thought tiptoed through his head, mainly because he knew it to be merely catty. Brenda had a genuinely gracious manner about her and even though he was mad at her right now, he shouldn’t fail to acknowledge it. God knew where she’d learned it, too, since she couldn’t have had much in the way of training in such matters at home, having been earning her family’s keep practically forever.

  The bellboy knocked one more time, looking more disappointed as the minutes passed and no Brenda came to the door. At last, and with a big, sorry sigh, he leaned over and slipped the cablegram through the crack at the bottom of the door. When he walked away, his shoulders were slightly slumped, Colin could plainly see the boy’s disappointment not to have met the magnificent Brenda Fitzpatrick in person and to have spoken to her and handed her the cable. Unfortunately, Colin knew exactly how he felt.

  “Blast it, I’ll bet she’s only hiding.”

  In truth, he didn’t believe it, but he used it as an excuse to march back down the hall and rap sharply on her door. No answer. He rapped again. Still no answer.

  What the devil had happened to her? Where was she? Was she in there, injured? The notion appealed not at all, although it was more welcome than Colin’s next idea, which was that she’d been so upset by him—or something else—that she’d tried to end it all. He wracked his brain to recollect any signs in her indicating she was so delicately balanced that she’d take an overdose of laudanum or slash her wrists.

  As hard as he tried, he couldn’t conjure an image of Brenda as a suicide. Especially not merely because some unknown scholar like Colin had kissed her.

  He shoved his dollop of disappointment away as unworthy. Which still did nothing to account for Brenda’s not answering her door. Such behavior was unlike her. Dash it, was she being deliberately elusive?

  Why would she be elusive? Unless it was to worry him, Colin couldn’t account for it. And really, if he were to be honest with himself, he couldn’t account for it that way, either. He wasn’t important enough in her life for her to want to worry him. Blast it.

  After he quit trying to include himself into a scenario that might account for Brenda’s failure to answer her door, Colin finally came to the conclusion that she’d gone out. But where?

  It was none of his business where she’d gone or what she was doing. Colin knew it, and he turned and started down the hall toward his own room at a steady clip.

  His feet slowed. He stopped walking. Dash it, this was no good at all. He couldn’t get the nagging image of Brenda in some kind of trouble to leave him alone. With a bitter sigh, he knew he’d get no rest this night until he made an effort to discover her whereabouts.

  Of course, if he discovered she was holed up in Gil Drew’s hotel room, he might just have to shoot himself, but that was a risk he’d have to take. Better to know than to continue to suffer this dreadful apprehension. Or perhaps it wasn’t better to know. He guessed he’d find out.

  So, assuming as nonchalant an air as he could summon under the circumstances, when his heart was beating out a rhythm of disquietude and foreboding, he went searching for Brenda.

  She wasn’t in the lobby. She wasn’t in the dining room. She wasn’t in the bar. She wasn’t in the card room. He did discover Gil Drew in the card room and felt minimally better, but not much.

  She wasn’t in the billiard room. She wasn’t in the reading room. She wasn’t in the kitchen—although the entire Cedar Crest kitchen crew turned and gaped at him when he’d looked.

  She wasn’t in either parlor.

  “What’s up, Colin? You look worried.”

  Colin wasn’t pleased when George glanced up from a deep armchair in the front parlor, where he’d been reading a book. Because he didn’t care to have the whole world know his business, Colin answered his brother casually.

  “Couldn’t concentrate on my book so I thought I’d take a walk.”

  “Want any company?”

  The last thing Colin wanted at the moment was company. Unless the company consisted of Brenda. He forced himself to smile “No, thanks I’m . . . considering a philosophical problem.”

  George nodded, as if he were accustomed to his older brother considering philosophical problems. “Have fun.”

  Was George being sarcastic? Probably. Colin couldn’t drum up any indignation at the moment. Perhaps later. He continued his search.

  She wasn’t in any of the hallways. She wasn’t on the porch. She wasn’t anywhere on the grounds.

  “Dash it, where is she?”

  The evening air had turned chilly. Colin crossed arms over his chest, glad for his sack jacket, even if it didn’t provide much warmth. Frowning into the trees he could barely discern by the light of the lodge’s outdoor lamps, he wondered if Brenda had, for some witless reason, wandered off into the woods.

  It would be just like her, the little fool.

  But no. That was unfair. George was right about her, and even Colin couldn’t deny it and continue to consider himself a reasonable man. She wasn’t a fool. She was quite clever, in fact. Maybe—although he wasn’t willing to admit it yet—she was even intelligent.

  Whatever her
brain power or lack thereof, she was still gone. With a soft curse, Colin returned to the lodge, borrowed a blanket and one of those newfangled electrical torches from the concierge, and went outside again. He felt like a fool himself when he deliberately walked into the night-dark woods.

  A sense of panic started to inch itself up Brenda’s spine. With clenched teeth, she crammed it down and stuffed the hole from which it had emerged with brass and grit and a smidgen of fortitude. If she hadn’t been defeated by all the other odds against her in this stupid life, she sure wasn’t going to allow being lost in the woods to dismay her.

  An owl hooted from a nearby tree. To Brenda, it sounded as if the bird were jeering at her. “Liar,” it called to her in Owl, and she sensed it knew she was already dismayed.

  Were the Owls an Indian tribe? she wondered inconsequentially. Where was Colin Peters when you needed him?

  “Get a hold on your nerves, girl. You’re just a bit disoriented. There’s no need to lose your mind yet.”

  Talking to herself didn’t help. In fact, the sound of her voice seemed eerie in the darkness of the forest. It also seemed to startle the animal life surrounding her. From rattling her with its chatter and hoots, it suddenly terrified her with its silence. Darn it. She wished she’d kept her big mouth shut.

  But she was either walking around in circles or she’d headed in the wrong direction entirely. She hadn’t seen anything that looked familiar for a very long time, and now that the sun had set, she could hardly see anything at all. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to recognize her own mother if she appeared in front of her.

  Or a bear.

  The thought of a bear materializing out of the gloom made the blood thunder in her brain and fear scream in her head.

  Until she thought about the possibility of a mountain lion, and then she froze in her tracks. Good God, a mountain lion might jump at her from the limb of a tree, mightn’t it?

  She glanced up and saw nothing. She glanced around at ground level and saw nothing.

  In fact, she couldn’t see anything at all.

  Sweet Lord, she was lost. She was lost in the forest at night, and nobody but God knew where she was. God and the devil.

  Darn it. Why had she chosen now, of all inconvenient times, to think about the devil?

  Maybe she was being punished for having carnal thoughts about Colin Peters.

  Nonsense. God had created human beings. He’d installed a sexual nature along with everything else in the mix with which He’d gifted the human body. Surely He wouldn’t have done that if He hadn’t expected that sexual nature to kick in from time to time. How else could the human species survive?

  She felt no carnal urges at the moment. All her sensations were occupied in being frightened. Darn it, why hadn’t she noticed the sun getting low on the horizon? Easy enough to answer: she couldn’t see the horizon from here, in the middle of a bunch of trees.

  A city girl, she was unused to trees, although she’d read a lot and, therefore, knew a tree when she saw one. And she’d visited the mountains before, for various jobs. She was sure she’d read once or twice about what one should do if one found oneself lost in the woods. Now, what was it? Was one supposed to stand still and wait for rescue or keep walking? She couldn’t remember.

  All right, so she didn’t know what to do. Obviously, her sense of direction, which was pretty good when she was in familiar surroundings, had deserted her. She didn’t know which way north, south, east, or west was. Even if she’d brought a compass with her, she wouldn’t have known in which direction to walk, since she didn’t know where she was. She’d not even be able to see the compass by this time. She’d seldom felt this stupid.

  Which was nothing to the purpose. It wouldn’t do her any good to berate herself at the moment. That could wait.

  Although she didn’t like to think about needing one, she considered whether or not she had anything with her that might constitute a weapon.

  No. She didn’t. She wasn’t even wearing a hat with a pin in it She wasn’t wearing a hat at all.

  Bother. Perhaps she should arm herself with a stick. She wished she’d thought about a stick before it got too dark to see. Did she have any matches? She seldom carried any, but she searched through all the pockets in her clothes in hope. Her hope came to naught.

  The night air was getting chilly, too. But had she thought to bring along a wrap? Even a shawl? No, she hadn’t. She’d hung her cloak on a tree branch and merrily trotted off to get herself lost in the woods without giving it another thought.

  In fact, she couldn’t recall ever feeling so helpless, and she didn’t like the sensation at all. Where was the moon? Where were the stars? If only she had a little light, she might be able to find a stick, if not her way back to the lodge.

  She decided she’d be better off standing still and waiting for—for what? For some large, hungry animal to maul her? To freeze to death?

  Nonsense. One couldn’t freeze to death in the springtime, could one? She recalled reading somewhere about hypothermia and wished she hadn’t.

  So she shouldn’t stand still. She should walk. If she walked, even if she walked around in circles, she’d keep warmer than if she stood still.

  Actually, her feet hurt, and she’d as soon not stand at all, but sit. But if she sat, she’d surely get chilled all the way through, and that was no good. She might also be a better target for the large, hungry animal stalking her. Wouldn’t she? Or would an animal be more likely to he attracted by movement?

  Feeling completely melancholy and overwhelmed, and wishing she’d read more about large beasts of the forest, Brenda nearly succumbed to tears before her staunch nature reasserted itself and told her not to be a simpering ninny. No matter where she was at the moment, she was both alive and close to the Cedar Crest Lodge. No large hungry animal would roam this close to a human habitation, would it?

  Not unless it sensed an easy meal.

  “Darn it,” she muttered, becoming more and more annoyed with herself. She’d never been a sissy before. She’d never been lost in the woods before.

  “Stop it!”

  She heard a rustling in the woods and froze. Oh, Lord, had she roused some sleeping beast with her voice? Why hadn’t she just shut up and kept walking? Or standing? Or sitting?

  Darn, she wished she knew what to do.

  The rustling noise didn’t stop. It seemed to be getting closer. Oh, sweet heaven, what was it? Throwing caution to the wind, Brenda felt around for a tree and tried to find a branch she could break off. Perhaps she could ward the beast off with a bushy branch.

  Darn it, this one was a pine tree. There weren’t any bushy branches on pine trees—and even if there were, they were too far over her head for her to reach any of them.

  Maybe she should climb a tree. Another tree. One with branches. Frantically, she hurried past the pine tree, holding her arms out in front of her in an effort to feel her way since she couldn’t see.

  Ow! There was a tree. Some kind of tree. She’d just crashed into it. It was the kind with bushy branches. Not quite heartened, she felt around the tree, trying to find a branch she could break off. She found a branch, but it was pretty thick. It wouldn’t break when she yanked on it, and it wouldn’t break when she tried to twist it. All she got for that particular effort was a painfully scratched palm. Growing angry with the fates as well as herself, Brenda threw herself at the branch, hoping her weight would break it off.

  It almost did, but not quite. This wasn’t fair. It was too unkind of the fates to stick her out here in the wilderness all by herself and not even allow her to break a branch with which to defend herself against wild beasts.

  Furious, she heaved herself at the branch again. It broke with a hideous cracking sound, and she and the branch fell to the ground. It was a painful, prickly experience, and it didn’t improve Brenda’s mood. She didn’t pause to consider all her scrapes and bumps, however, but jumped to her feet, clutching the branch by its sappy broken en
d. She’d never get that stuff out of her clothes—not to mention her broken flesh. Bother.

  The noise didn’t stop. Weren’t wild animals supposed to be afraid of loud noises? That branch, breaking and her falling on top of it had made a terrible racket. Why was the beast still heading her way? A horrible thought struck her—or, rather, another horrible thought. What if the creature headed her way was some sort of maniac who lived in the mountains and preyed on lost people and so forth? She’d read about men who, crazed by war or general everyday nonsense, took to the woods and lived in the wild. It would be just her luck to meet one now.

  The noise kept coming. It was getting closer. Desperately, Brenda cried out, “Stop! Whoever you are, stop right there! I’m armed!” With a bushy tree branch. Oh Lord. Oh, Lord.

  It had a light with it, whatever it was. She wasn’t comforted, although she supposed a light did exclude hungry animals. It didn’t leave out maniacal mountain men.

  She cried, “Stay where you are, or I’ll shoot!” With her bushy tree branch. God, if she survived this night, she’d give a thousand dollars to charity. She swore it.

  “Brenda?”

  It knew her name! Oh, God! This was worse than she’d feared.

  “Brenda, is that you? Where the devil have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

  She squinted into the darkness, thinking the voice sounded vaguely familiar. And, while it sounded irked, it didn’t sound as if it meant to roast her on a spit over an open fire or do her other harm. Too terrified to hope, she didn’t answer, afraid it might be some sort of trick.

  But that was stupid. How could it be a trick? Nobody knew she was out here. She still didn’t speak.

  The voice came again. “Where are you? For the love of God, say something, so I’ll know where you are! You were an idiot to stay out after dark, dash it. It’s not safe.”

  Colin! It was Colin! Brenda almost lost control and burst into tears, she was so overjoyed to know it was he who’d come to rescue her.

  Then it registered on her consciousness that he’d called her an idiot. Her terror turned to rage in an instant. “Is that you, Colin?” Before anything, Brenda was an actress. She pitched her question at a mellifluous tone.