Mari thought about it as she watched the Indians. They’d stopped whooping and racing, had pulled up their ponies, and milled about in the dust, waiting for the truck to reach them. Now that they were closer, Mari perceived that they didn’t look much like any Indians she’d seen pictured in books. They looked more like white folks painted up to look like Indians.
“Well,” she mused, “I guess if I were Edison, I’d want to keep close tabs on my inventions, too. And if he’s paying those guys to invent for him, I suppose he has a right to their inventions. At least . . . well, I don’t know.” The notion of inventions and rights to creative ideas was a new one to her, and she had no clear opinion on the issue.
“I’m sure I would, too,” Tony agreed. “But his protectionism is going to turn around and bite him on the butt one of these days.”
She glanced at him, sure she shouldn’t want to giggle at his choice of words but finding them funny anyway. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “He’s got everybody annoyed with him. I mean, he’s not just protecting himself. He goes after everyone else’s ideas like some kind of octopus. He snatches anything he can get, patents it, and calls it his own. One of these days, he’ll get his.” He grinned at her. “At least, I hope to blazes he will.”
She considered for a moment then grinned back. “Can’t say as I blame you.”
They started up again. Mari watched through the back window until the Indians and the truck and the camera were out of sight, wondering about the intricacies of making a motion picture. It hadn’t occurred to her that filming from a moving vehicle might not work, although it made sense now that she thought about it. There was a whole lot to this picture-making stuff that she didn’t know beans about. She wondered if Tony knew any more than she did.
“Um, so, did you study the industry before you came out here to help Martin with this picture?” she asked after the Indians faded into the desert behind her.
“Oh, yes. I studied a lot about it.” He frowned. “Can’t say that I had much interest initially, but when my father decided to invest in this picture and asked me to travel out here to watch over his investment, I learned as much as I could.”
“It’s all so new It must be sort of fun to be in at the beginning of a new industry.” Was that a dumb thing to have said? Too late not to say it now.
Tony’s eyes thinned, and he looked sort of like he was frowning. It wasn’t one of the kinds of frowns he directed at her when she irked him, so Mari didn’t get nervous. Yet. After a moment or two, he said slowly, “I guess it’s all right.”
“All right?” Shoot, that was tepid praise. “I thought everybody nowadays was in love with the pictures.”
“Most people are.” He still frowned.
Watching him curiously, Mari said, “But you’re not?”
He shrugged. “Oh, the pictures are all right, I suppose. I’m not really interested in getting involved in them, though. I prefer other business pursuits.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“I don’t know. Things I understand.” He glanced at her and grinned again. His grins were enough to send a girl into a swoon. “I’m interested in mining, actually. Studied mining engineering in college.”
Mari stopped wanting to swoon. “Mining?” Her voice had gone sharp. “What do you mean?”
If he’d come out here to get her mine away from her, Mari’d have something to say about it. Damn him, anyway! How dare he lull her into talking civilly to him and then as much as tell her he aimed to deprive her of her father’s dream?
She told herself to calm down. She told herself he hadn’t said that. She told herself he probably didn’t even want to own the Marigold Mine. Why should he? It was an unproductive hole in the ground.
As if he’d read her mind, he said wryly, “Don’t worry, Mari, I’m not aiming to snatch your mine away from you. I’m only interested in profitable ventures.”
She jerked as if he’d slapped her. “That was a mean thing to say.” True, probably, but mean.
He had the grace to look apologetic. “You’re right. I beg your pardon.”
She sniffed. Restraint blossomed between them once more. Disheartened, Mari wondered if it would always be thus, or if, before the end of this stupid picture, they’d be able to talk to each other as friends. Or at least as acquaintances with no particular grudge between them.
Probably not.
“I’m sorry, Mari.”
She was so startled by the words, which Tony had spoken very softly into the lull, that she whipped her head around to stare at him. She couldn’t believe her ears. After considering asking him to repeat himself, however, she decided against it. He was so darned touchy. Those nerves of his.
“Um, that’s all right,” she said, although she might have been lying. She wasn’t sure.
“No, it’s not.”
Oh. Well, that settled that, she guessed. She didn’t know what to say now.
He solved that problem. “I didn’t mean to say anything unkind about your mine. It wasn’t polite, and I apologize. I know how much it means to you.”
That was nice of him. “Thank you.” For some reason she couldn’t fathom, her throat tightened. She’d have said more, but was afraid she’d blubber and embarrass herself.
The motorcar purred along for another few minutes. Neither Mari nor Tony spoke. Finally, Tony heaved a big sigh and said, “Listen, Mari, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I don’t want to fight anymore. Do you suppose we can try to get along?”
Well, now, she wasn’t sure about that. She’d sure like to get along with him. She could imagine all sorts of uses for a rich friend like Tony Ewing. Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite picture herself fitting in with his city pals.
That was stupid. He wasn’t asking her to join his crowd. She eyed him thoughtfully, and said, “Sure. I suppose so. I guess we have been kind of snapping at each other since we met, haven’t we?”
“You could call it that.”
She had a feeling he was remembering the rock incident and her lips tightened. That hadn’t been her fault, darn it
“Anyhow, I’d like to bury the hatchet, if that’s all right with you. Maybe we could just start over.”
Maybe they could. Then again . . . Mari said, “Sure. All right.” It was worth a try, she supposed.
He turned the full glory of one of his beautiful smiles on her, and Mari had to swallow hard. “Good. I hope you’ll allow me to take you out to dinner in Los Angeles. I’ve spent a good deal of time there these past several months, and I’ve found where all the important picture people hang out. It might be fun for you to see where the stars do their glittering at night.”
She blinked at him “But . . . but I thought we weren’t staying there overnight.”
He turned to face the road ahead of them again, still smiling. “Changed my mind.”
As he began whistling a jolly tune, Mari’s mind started churning out all sorts of scenarios. None of them were very flattering to Tony’s character, but they sounded like a good deal of fun to her.
Which went to show that she was only inches away from being a fallen woman.
It was a lowering reflection, and Mari hoped neither her father nor her mother was watching her from above.
Chapter Eight
Mari’s first impression of Los Angeles wasn’t one of awe. Far from it. From her perspective, it was a dull brown city much like San Bernardino, only bigger and full of orange groves. Just a little bit bigger, though. It was mostly crops and cows and cactus, like everything else in the vicinity.
“Doesn’t look like much so far, does it?”
She turned to see if Tony was laughing at her, or if he’d been making an honest statement of fact. She gave him the benefit of the doubt. “No, it sure doesn’t.”
After thinking for another few seconds, she decided to say something else. Maybe he’d laugh at her. Maybe he wouldn’t. Ever since he’d made an overture of detente back there on the desert, they ha
dn’t been sniping at each other nearly as much as before. Mari decided an experiment was worth the effort. “Um, I’d sort of been hoping for something more grand.”
He smiled, but he didn’t laugh. “If you want grand, you’re going to have to head east. L.A.’s pretty much a desert town now. If it’s ever going to grow up to be a big city, it’ll have to find a good source of water somewhere.”
She surveyed the dusty town and nodded in agreement. “You’re probably right. I guess water’s the most important thing, if a city expects to prosper.”
Still, Mari could see a glimmer of prosperity here and there. One or two big houses with elegant grounds hove into view and impressed the heck out of her. She wouldn’t mind living in a house like one of those. They were castles compared to her tiny shack.
As they drove deeper into the city itself, she noticed a good deal of what she recognized as Spanish influence prevailing. Many of the buildings were low white structures and had tile roofs. Soon they were driving alongside a sprawling plaza with a huge church at one end.
“Want to stop and look around? This is a good place to get something to eat, too, if you like Mexican food.”
“I’d like to look around, but I don’t know if I like Mexican food or not. I’m used to my own cooking.”
She glanced at him sharply when he chuckled, but he didn’t look disparaging, so she decided not to get indignant. He turned the automobile down a brick-paved road lined with stalls where everything from hats and belts to turkeys and chickens to apples and oranges was being sold. Mari asked curiously, “Is this market day?” Thursday was market day in Mojave Wells, but it wasn’t nearly as elaborate as this. On Thursdays a few outlying farmers brought their vegetables and chickens to town. This looked sort of permanent.
“I think every day’s market day here. This will give you a chance to see if you like the cooking in these parts. They use a lot of beans and rice and chilies. I find it tasty. Not at all like what we’re used to on the East Coast.”
The only thing Mari could think of that she knew for certain came from back east was a kind of shellfish called a lobster. She’d heard folks rave about lobsters, but she didn’t imagine she’d ever get a bite of one. “I expect that’s so. I suppose different parts of the country use whatever grows there.”
“Right.”
“And what’s easy to cook.” She cleared her throat and wished she’d stop feeling like such a hick. “We use lots of beans in Mojave, too. It’s because they keep when they’re dried, and it’s hard to keep stuff cold there. Dried beans don’t spoil.”
He parked the automobile under a shady peppertree—Mari knew it was a peppertree, because she’d seen them in San Bernardino—and its engine rattled to a stop. “That makes sense. It must be hard to keep things like milk and eggs fresh in that insufferable heat.”
“It is for me,” she admitted. Of course, if she had a few extra dollars, she might be able to afford a better place to live, with electricity and fans and electrical iceboxes and things like that.
There she went again. She hated when she started wishful thinking, because it led to nothing but unhappiness, and she couldn’t afford that any more than she could afford electricity. To distract herself, she surveyed the busy street and noticed large flowered pots with huge bouquets of bright flowers. The flowers didn’t look real to her, but they were lovely. “Gee, it’s pretty here.”
“I like it, too.”
There were lots of people in Los Angeles, at least in this part of it. Most of them were strolling or lounging, a sensible concession to the heat, which, while nowhere near as extreme as in Mojave Wells, was still intense. Women in white cotton dresses and men in white cotton shirts and pants spoke Spanish to each other. Many of them eyed Tony’s motorcar with interest. A few children, barefoot and also clad in white cotton, walked over and stood several yards away, peering at the newfangled contraption as if they’d like to come nearer but didn’t dare. Mari smiled at them.
Tony noticed her smiling, opened his mouth to ask her what was funny, understood the small gesture she made with her hand, and turned to behold the children. He smiled, too, and Mari’s heart flipped over.
He gestured for the children to come closer. After exchanging looks of trepidation, they did so, grinning shyly. Mari clasped her hands and watched, intrigued to see Tony interact with children with whom he had nothing whatever in common.
“Want to see the car?” he asked softly.
The children conversed in Spanish for a moment, then one little boy, bolder than his mates, stepped forward, removing a huge straw hat and bowing. “Si, senor. The car.” His accent was thick as molasses. Mari was charmed
Her state of charm transformed into one of astonishment when Tony opened the front door of the motorcar and said, “Es un Pierce Arrow Grande. Quieren, um, ver a dentro?”
The little boy nodded. He, too, appeared surprised that Tony could speak his language, if only a little bit, and he smiled in appreciation. With a gesture, he called his friends over.
Mari moved closer to Tony. “I didn’t know you could speak Spanish.”
Smiling and watching the children peer with fascination inside his amazing machine, Tony shrugged. “I don’t know it very well, but I’m good with languages. I never took Spanish in school, but it’s hard to avoid it here in California.” He squinted down at her. “At least, I haven’t been able to avoid it.”
She flushed. “We don’t have so many Spanish folks in Mojave, I guess.”
“Probably not. Los Angeles was originally settled by the Spanish. I reckon that’s why so many still live here.”
“Probably.”
The small flock of children investigated Tony’s car with care and respect. It didn’t look to Mari as if any of them dared do more than touch the plush leather of the seats, and none of them tried to climb inside or sit on a fender. They were awfully cute.
After a few minutes, Tony said something to the boy who’d assumed the position of leader of the group, and the boy nodded eagerly. Reaching into his pocket, Tony pulled out some coins and handed them over to the boy, who accepted them with thanks.
Taking Mari’s arm, Tony said, “There. I asked them to watch the machine while we stroll around for a little while and get some lunch. I’m hungry.”
How enterprising of him to enlist the natives in his cause. Although she wasn’t sure it was a good thing, Mari’s respect for Tony’s ability to deal with people outside his rich eastern set rose a few points. She also wondered why he hadn’t been so tactful with her when they’d first met.
Then again, she’d been in a relatively sour mood that day herself. Maybe he’d taken his cue from her. It wasn’t a possibility that sat well with her, and she shelved it for the nonce. Much better to enjoy the day, his company, and these fascinating new surroundings than dwell on her possible shortcomings.
“This is Olvera Street,” Tony said. “I understand it’s the oldest street in Los Angeles. That church is pretty old, too, I hear. All the Spanish settlements were built around churches, or so I’ve been told. When I took the train out here, it stopped in Santa Fe, in the New Mexico Territory, and it’s the same there. All activities centered around the church and the plaza.”
“My goodness.” A few of the women she spotted wore gaily colored skirts. Pretty painted pottery stood beside doors, and Mari saw that her impression of the flowers had been correct. They seemed to be made out of crepe paper. They were sure pretty, and she considered making some to enliven her own dismal corner of the world. Crepe paper was cheap, and she could find sticks to tack the flowers onto, probably. Her mood edged up.
They walked past a stall where a woman sold striped capes and cunningly painted statues of saints. Mari wished that her father was alive, and that she had some money. He’d have loved to have one of those cape things
The thought both saddened and gladdened her. She liked thinking of her father as a dear man who adored bright colors and funny jokes. It was much preferable
to thinking of him as a lousy businessman with a single-minded mania for the Marigold Mine. She paused and fingered a striped cape. “It feels like heavy cotton,” she murmured.
“Probably is.” Tony, smiling at the woman behind the stall’s counter, lifted one of them down for Mari to inspect more closely. “See? I imagine they use wool and cotton both. Wool for the winter, and cotton for summertime. I think they’re called serapes.”
He glanced an inquiry at the stall’s proprietress, who nodded and smiled, showing a glimmer of gold-filled teeth.
“Serapes? I’ve heard that word.”
“That old miner we saw by the side of the road was wearing one.”
“Oh, yes, I remember now.” She was surprised Tony did, though. She guessed she hadn’t given him enough credit. He really did pay attention to the rest of the world. She’d assumed, from their first few encounters that he sat on his throne in his ivory tower and scorned those of his fellows who weren’t as lucky as he was. Maybe she’d been a little hard on him.
“You ought to get one of these blouses, Mari.”
His words captured her attention with a jolt, and she turned to gape at him. He held out a pretty white cotton blouse with a white ruffle around the neck and decorated with colorful embroidered flowers. She looked from the blouse to him and knew she was blushing. Blast it.
She’d love to have that blouse. Mari, who’d never had any clothes to speak of except hand-me-down trousers and shirts from the church basement sale and the two dresses she’d inherited from her mother, had always tried not to want things. Wanting things only led to wishful thinking, which led to dissatisfaction, and she didn’t need it. She also didn’t need a pretty white blouse.
“I can’t use it,” she said, wishing she sounded more like she meant it. “I mean, what would I do with a white blouse in a mine?” She managed a laugh.
He shrugged “I don’t suppose you’d wear it in the mine. Here. Let’s see if it fits.”
Mari jumped several inches when he held the blouse up to her shoulders. She was mortally embarrassed but didn’t want to show it. The vendor was beaming at her, and Tony was smiling, and she couldn’t figure out what she was supposed to do.
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