He lifted an eyebrow. He didn’t like the way she’d said you as if she couldn’t imagine anything less plausible than an attractive woman being subverted by him. Hell, women were always plying their wares on him, trying to get him into compromising situations so he’d be forced to marry them. This female didn’t know with whom she dealt, if she believed women to be immune to him, Tony Ewing. Damn her anyhow.
“No? Then why hesitate?” He forced himself not to grind his teeth, but to smile in a winning way.
“Here’s the lemonade. Nice and cold”
Both Tony and Mari jerked at the sound of Martin’s voice, cheerful and obliging. Tony turned and found Martin at his elbow, holding out a frosty glass full of lemonade to Mari. He saw Mari blink several times, as if she’d been as startled as Tony by Martin’s arrival.
Which was stupid. They’d both known Martin would be returning with lemonade for Mari.
“Um, thank you very much, Mr. Tafft,” Mari said after a quick overhaul of her emotions. She even managed a gracious smile as she accepted the glass and sipped. “Mmm, this is good. It really hits the spot”
Martin beamed at her for a second, then swept a hand out. “Sit down. Sit down! Tony and I were just going over the shooting schedule.”
“The shooting schedule?” Mari sat, looking puzzled.
From which, Tony deduced she was unfamiliar with the language of picture making. He tried to clarify. “That’s the order in which the scenes will be filmed.”
“Oh.” She frowned at him, as if to tell him she didn’t care to have him explaining things to her. Too bad for her.
Mari didn’t know about any of this. She watched a bunch of actors walk over and clump around the mine’s entrance. They all carried picks on their shoulders and had their white makeup smudged to make them look like people who actually worked for a living, instead of actors. Mari, who’d been a miner all her life, had never seen a miner look like that, but she held her tongue. It was apparent that motion-picture folks didn’t go in much for reality.
At the moment, she sat on a folding camp chair under one of the umbrellas that had been set up to protect the cast and crew from the blistering sun. She’d been impressed by how early these people got up to work. She’d assumed they’d all sleep in and let the better part of the morning pass before they did anything. But they’d all started gathering at least an hour and a half earlier. Mari had joined them about twenty minutes ago. She’d left Tiny in the cabin to prevent any misunderstandings.
Nothing happened.
The actors shuffled around. A couple of them lowered their heavy picks to the dirt. Some of them peered into the distance, toward the town of Mojave Wells, as if they were anticipating someone’s arrival. Mari wondered who they were waiting for. She craned her neck and looked, too, seeing nothing but the barren desert stretching for a mile or so in all directions. So she sat back again, ready to wait some more.
For several minutes a whole lot of nothing ensued. Grumbles swelled from the cluster of actors/miners. Mari crossed her arms over her chest and sweated along with them, although she at least was protected by the umbrella’s shade.
If whoever it was the actors were waiting for was late, she didn’t blame them for getting huffy. It was too darned hot to stand around doing nothing.
After talking amongst themselves for some minutes and probably melting all that ugly makeup off their sweaty faces, the actors finally decided they needn’t suffer heatstroke while waiting for whoever wasn’t here. They began straggling over to the line of chairs and umbrellas. Several of them saluted Mari politely. She smiled back.
A young man, breathing heavily, flung his pick to the ground, collapsed into a chair, and said, “I hate this heat.”
“It’s mighty hard to take, all right,” Mari agreed. To make him feel better, she added, “It’s cooler inside the mine.”
“Hunh! I wouldn’t know. And I may never find out if the director doesn’t show up pretty soon.” He sounded crabby and irritable.
For that matter, Mari herself was feeling a trifle antsy. She wasn’t accustomed to hanging around twiddling her thumbs, waiting for people to show up. She’d worked independently all her life, and she’d worked like the devil—for all the good it had done her. She didn’t like having to wait for idlers to make an appearance in order to begin her workday.
Shoot, if she hadn’t rented the Marigold to Peerless, she’d have had half a day’s work done by this time. She squinted up at the sun and estimated the time to be somewhere around nine o’clock. Way past time for any respectable person to get to work.
Which, for some incomprehensible reason, spun her mind around to Tony Ewing. She heaved a sigh and wished it hadn’t.
After the jacket debacle, she’d had dinner with him at the Mojave Inn. Fortunately, Mrs. Nelson had offered chicken and dumplings on the menu last night, so at least they could cut the meat. It actually hadn’t tasted half bad. The Nelsons bought their chickens from Mari, which supplemented her meager income, and she’d had an illogical sense of satisfaction to know that Tony Ewing was helping to support her, even in this little way and without knowing it.
More surprising, she’d enjoyed herself. Every time she remembered the evening, a shock of amazement smote her. Imagine, enjoying herself in Tony Ewing’s company. It didn’t make any sense. Especially since they’d spent most of the evening taking verbal swipes at each other. She grinned now, recalling the various strikes and parries each had executed. She’d had a hard time getting to sleep afterward, because her senses had been zinging from the stimulation of the evening’s conversation.
The throb of a motorcar in the distance jogged her thoughts and propelled her to turn and look again. Finally. A car was coming, all right. Mari wondered if it contained Tony Ewing.
Exasperated, she told herself to get her fancies under control. She hated when she entertained useless daydreams, because they only led her to be dissatisfied with her life. And, since there wasn’t much she could do about it, she’d decided long since that she didn’t need the aggravation of unfulfilled daydreams plaguing her.
Most of the actors playing miners rose from their camp chairs and squinted into the distance. Mari asked the young man who’d spoken to her, “Is it the director?”
He shaded his eyes and peered off into the distance, reminding Mari of a big-game hunter on the African veldt surveying the bush for lions.
Ack. There went her imagination again. She gave herself a mental smack on the back of the head to capture her attention.
“I can’t tell,” her companion said after a moment or two of observation. “Probably.”
“Too bad he’s late,” she offered, hoping it would make him feel better to know someone else disapproved of the director’s rudeness.
“I’ll say It’s too hot to play these games.”
These games? Whatever did the young fellow mean? Mari didn’t ask, supposing the reference to “games” pertained to the pictures. Although she really didn’t care a whole lot, she’d as soon not broadcast her ignorance to the world. She offered a neutral grunt, and hoped the young man would consider her to be on his side.
“By Jupiter, it’s not the director. It’s Martin!” the young man cried.
Mari got up and peered at the motorcar, too. “Weren’t you expecting him?”
“Oh, sure, but not today. I thought he was going to drive to L.A. and get some costumes for the leading lady.”
L.A.? The leading lady? That was her! Oh, my. Mari’s heart sped up. “Um, what’s L.A.?” she asked, because she was curious.
“L.A.?” The young man turned and looked at her as if he believed her to be joshing him
She wasn’t. Rather stiffly, she said, “I’ve never heard of it.”
He laughed. Mari didn’t find anything amusing about not knowing something, and she deplored people who ridiculed other people’s ignorance. Before she could say so, the young man said, “It’s short for Los Angeles. That’s what all the picture folks call it.”
“Oh.” L.A. Los Angeles. That made sense.
The car rumbled onto the plot of land that had been marked off as the Peerless set, and the actors began ambling over to talk to Martin. Mari discounted as a touch of indigestion the stab of disappointment that struck her when she saw Tony wasn’t with him.
She’d never been troubled by indigestion in her life.
Something was wrong with the picture, though She heard a couple of “Sorrys” and one or two “That’s too bad,” as she approached Martin. He saw her, and she thought she saw relief enter his eyes. “Oh, good. I’m so glad you’re here, Miss Pottersby.”
He was? How nice of him to say so. “What’s the matter, Mr. Tafft?”
This time she heard several people exclaim, “Mr. Tafft?” as if they’d never heard his name before. She glanced around, frowning.
Martin gently took her arm. “Don’t pay any attention, Miss Pottersby. Everyone calls me Martin. Picture making is pretty casual. In fact, I’d be pleased if you’d call me Martin.”
“Oh. Sure. Everybody calls me Mari.” In fact, except for the Peerless people, nobody ever called her Miss Pottersby.
He gifted her with a broad smile. He had a really nice smile. He was a mighty good-looking man, actually. Mari couldn’t figure out why he, who was nice and polite and exuded gentlemanliness, should leave her unmoved, while Tony Ewing, who was rude and impolite and exuded sarcasm, made her want to leap on him and kiss him to within an inch of his life.
Oh, dear.
“Thanks, Mari,” Martin said. “Say, we’ve had a disaster this morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” Her heart plummeted. Could something have happened to Tony? Food poisoning, maybe? Terror gripped her momentarily.
“Yes, it’s a pain in the neck.”
Hmmm. That didn’t sound too bad. If Tony had died, surely Martin would have been more upset than this. “Oh?”
“Our director, John Gilman, has taken sick. I don’t know what’s the matter. He was fine yesterday. Today he’s sick as a dog.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. Do you need the name of a doctor?”
“Mrs. Nelson got the doctor for us, thanks. But now it looks as though I’m going to have to take over the direction of this picture.”
“Oh.” Mari had no idea on earth what a director did or didn’t do in connection with a motion picture. “Is that a problem for you?”
Martin heaved a big sigh “I guess I can handle it. But it means I’ll have to spend all my time here, and won’t be able to do other things I’m supposed to do. Which brings me to you.” He smiled again, winningly.
Mari felt her heart, which had calmed down considerably since she and Martin had begun talking, speed up again. “Me?” She pointed to her chest.
“I’m afraid so. Say, Mari, would you be able to go to Los Angeles with Tony today? I was going to go myself and bring the costumes back to the set, but now I’m going to be stuck here. Since Tony’s never dealt with costuming before, I think it would be easier on everyone if you were to go with him
“Go with him? To Los Angeles? Me?” Mari decided she was babbling and shut her mouth. After swallowing, licking her lips, and taking a deep breath, she tried again. “I’m sorry, Martin. But . . . you want me to go to Los Angeles with Mr. Ewing? For costumes?”
“I’m really sorry about this, Mari.” He looked as though he meant his apology sincerely. “It’s only that Tony’s so new at this.”
“And I’m not?” She tried not to sound as bewildered as she felt.
His quick grin reassured her “Sure, I know you’re new to the pictures, too, but you’d be doing me a big favor if you’d go with him. That way, you can try on anything that needs to be tried on. If alterations have to be made, we’ll know right away. I spoke to the costumer on the telephone a couple of weeks ago—as soon as we knew you’d be playing the part, in fact—and I’m sure she’s got everything under control, but . . .” He gazed at her pleadingly.
“And you think if I go with him, there won’t need to be alterations?” Mari wasn’t sure about this, since most of her clothes came to her secondhand, but there seemed to be something slightly askew with Martin’s reasoning here.
“What I meant was that, since Tony doesn’t have my experience, he won’t know, without you there, if things need to be altered. I’ve done this so many times, I’m pretty good at judging fits without the actors there.”
“Oh. Yes, I see.”
His eyes took on a pleading cast, not unlike Tiny’s eyes when he was longing for something he couldn’t reach. Which didn’t happen often. “So, can you do it?”
Mari swallowed again. “Um, sure. I guess I can go.” Whatever would she do with Tiny? “How will we get there?”
“Tony’s machine “
Mari didn’t know much about the sophisticated life, but she knew that a “machine” was a motorcar. “He has one?”
“Sure. It’s big and comfortable, too, so at least you won’t be bumping around in a horse-drawn cart or anything.” He laughed his friendly laugh.
Los Angeles. Mari had never even dreamed about traveling all the way to Los Angeles. Why, it was miles and miles away. It was, by her standards, a big city. A metropolis, even. Mari felt like a yokel when she ventured as far as San Bernardino. She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel in Los Angeles—and with Tony Ewing. It sounded scary.
“Um, well . . .”
“Please? You’d be doing me a tremendous favor.” Martin seemed to think of something and added brightly, “Say, I know you weren’t expecting to have to travel in connection with your employment for Peerless. How about I tack on another hundred dollars if you make the trip?”
Another hundred dollars? Mari couldn’t conceive of a person’s having the financial wherewithal to fling a hundred dollars around for no better reason than because another person had to take a trip to Los Angeles.
She flapped her hand in the air, feeling stupid and greedy. “There’s no need for that. You’re paying me plenty already.”
“Nonsense. I know you can use the money, and I’m asking a big favor. Please accept the money.”
Bother. She sure could use the money. For a moment or two her pride fought with her needs. Eventually pride lost. “Well . . . okay, I guess. But you really don’t need to do that. I don’t mind going to Los Angeles.” Or, if she were to speak the language of the movies, L.A. A tiny bubble of excitement caught up with the ache of fear in her chest.
A motor trip to a fairly big city. With Tony Ewing, the most handsome, albeit the most aggravating, man she’d ever met. Scary, indeed. And very, very intriguing.
“That’s swell.” Martin’s smile seemed less forced, and Mari could tell he was relieved that she’d capitulated. She felt kind of guilty about worrying him. “Tony will be here as soon as the doctor sees John. Can you be ready to leave today?”
“Today?” Good heavens. “Um, sure. I don’t know why not.” Except for Tiny. She gasped when she remembered her dog. “Oh!”
“What’s the matter?” Martin started looking worried again
She felt silly. How could she forget Tiny? “Um, I forgot about my dog. I don’t suppose I can take him with me?”
From the look on Martin’s face, she knew she couldn’t. She hoped this wasn’t going to prevent the trip to LA. All of a sudden she really wanted to go.
“I’ll be glad to feed him for you.”
He wouldn’t be glad, and Mari knew it from the tone of his voice. He was such a nice man. To make him less sorry he’d offered, she said, “You can keep the hundred bucks if you take care of him.” What the heck. A hundred here, a hundred there. What was it to Mari?
She couldn’t believe she’d actually thought that. A hundred dollars to Mari Pottersby was akin to a million to Tony Ewing. But, since she’d yet to see a single penny of Peerless money, it felt sort of like throwing confetti around or making deals with play money.
“Don’t be silly, Mari. I’ll be happy to feed Tiny for you.
I’ll even take him for a walk, if he needs it. And you deserve the money. You’re being asked to do way more than the contract calls for.”
She eyed Martin for a long moment. “Um, you don’t need to walk him. He can walk himself if you open the door.”
“Do you think he’d run away if I didn’t go with him?” Martin looked worried.
Mari sighed. Where would he run to? There was nothing around here. “Oh, no. He always comes back.” Often with a jackrabbit carcass carried proudly in his huge jaws. Mari decided Martin didn’t need to know that much. City folks made a big to-do over the jackrabbits, but they were really only pests. Mari approved of her dog’s willingness to eliminate vermin.
“Good. I’d never forgive myself if I lost your dog.”
How sweet. Mari smiled at him. “Well, then.” She knew she was going to accept. She didn’t know why she was even pretending to hesitate.
Martin said, as if trying to persuade her, “It will only take a day. It takes several hours to get there, and you’ll be an hour or so at the costumer’s place, and then you can turn around and come right back.”
She nodded. That’s what she’d feared. She’d be going to a real city for the first time in her life, and she wouldn’t even get to see it. She sighed “Sure, I’ll do it.”
“Great. That’s great. Thanks, Mari.
“Sure, Martin. No problem.”
The rumble of a distant motor propelled them both to turn around and investigate. Another motorcar, followed by a gigantic plume of dust, headed toward the Marigold Mine.
Martin shaded his eyes. “That must be Tony.”
And there, in a nutshell, was Mari’s problem Darn it.
Chapter Seven
Tony waited impatiently for Mari Pottersby to hug her outrageous dog and join him in the motorcar. He frowned at the pair, which he could scarcely discern in the gloom of the cabin, unable to understand the bond between them. It seemed silly for a young woman as pretty and sprightly as Mari to bestow all of her affection on a dumb animal.
He could not, therefore, account for the yearning that attacked him at odd moments to rush out and buy himself a dog. A big dog. A friendly dog. A dog to walk with and talk to. A companion. A loyal friend. Perhaps a Great Dane.
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