Miner's Daughter

by Duncan, Alice

  Not that it mattered. She didn’t have money to spend on a blouse she didn’t need. Anyhow, what would she wear it with? She didn’t have a skirt that would go with it, and it would look silly with the battered old britches she wore.

  “Then,” Tony said, as if he’d been reading her thoughts, “we’d have to get you one of those skirts.”

  Oh, Lord, Mari hadn’t noticed the skirts. They were so pretty, all bright stripes and patterns. Greens and reds and yellows and blues. They no sooner met the eye than they cheered up the spirit.

  With a sigh, she supposed she might as well not fight the wish to own such charming clothes. She couldn’t afford the blouse or the skirt, so she might just as well want both.

  Which was pretty discouraging, actually.

  “And you’d need a sash to tie everything together,” Tony went on, as if he didn’t know how much Mari yearned to possess the finery he was dangling so casually in front of her.

  She wished he’d stop it. She felt like a bull being baited by somebody flashing a red bandanna in front its eyes. She wanted nice things. She wanted to be attractive, to wear pretty clothes, not to have to work hard for so pitifully little recompense.

  But that wasn’t in the cards God had dealt her. Sometimes she wanted to have a sit-down, heart-to-heart chat with God and ask him why, but she knew that was sacrilegious thinking. God’s will was God’s will, and people had nothing to say about it.

  Still didn’t seem fair.

  Her mind was in such a fluster that she didn’t realize what Tony planned until he turned to the stall keeper and said, “We’ll take these.”

  She returned to reality with a painful thump. “What?” Blast, she hadn’t meant to screech. She could tell neither Tony nor the woman had expected it of her when they both turned and stared at her, the woman with surprise, Tony with thinned lips that denoted to Mari, who’d come to know that expression, burgeoning anger.

  “No need to holler, Mari. I’m paying.”

  “That’s scandalous!” she hissed, becoming angry in her own right. What did this man think he was doing? She’d thought his intentions were honorable, even if he didn’t like her very much. “I’m not going to let you buy me clothes. Why, it’s unheard of!”

  “Nonsense.” His voice was as crisp as burned toast. “If we’re going to be seeing the nightlife in Los Angeles, you’re not going dressed like that.” He cast a scornful glance at her mother’s ancient dress, and Mari’s embarrassment grew to monumental proportions.

  “If,” she said in a voice of stone, “I have to sink to the level of allowing you to purchase my clothes, I’d prefer to skip Los Angeles’s nightlife, thank you very much.” She turned and stalked off several yards, primarily because she couldn’t bear to be so close to those pretty things and to know that in order to possess them she’d have to be at a man’s mercy. She could recall very few times in her life she’d been this humiliated. Damn Tony Ewing!

  Tony watched her march away from him with narrowed eyes and a narrower mind. What was the matter with the chit? Did she think he was going to squire a woman who looked like a tramp around town?

  The stall vendor murmured something to him in Spanish He whipped his head around and stared at her. “I beg your pardon? Er, como?”

  “Se dije, usted le a sentimientos lastimas, es un bruto, y no merete una mujer con tanto espirito.”

  He’d hurt her feelings? He’d acted like a brute? And he didn’t deserve a woman with Mari’s spirit? Tony’s gaze traveled from the shopkeeper, whose chin was tilted up in much the manner as Mari’s, to Mari, who had commenced fingering some crepe-paper flowers. She seemed to like those flowers. Tony experienced a mad impulse to buy out the flower supply on Olvera Street and lay them all at her feet.

  Shoot, he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. He guessed he should have phrased his reasoning more persuasively. He guessed he had been a little rough around the edges. And maybe in the middle as well.

  It was only because he wasn’t accustomed to having to use subtlety when dealing with women. And he’d never had to deal with a woman of Mari’s stamp. Most of the females he’d known thus far had been grasping creatures who believed men owed them everything they wanted.

  Of course, that meant they weren’t anything at all like Marigold Pottersby, whose pride was monumental, especially if one considered her circumstances. Or perhaps she was so damned proud because of her circumstances.

  “Dammit,” he grumbled. “Here. Wrap ‘em up.” He tossed the woman behind the counter several dollars without counting them and hurried off to unruffle Mari’s feathers. She heard him coming, turned, armed herself with a bunch of flowers, and glared daggers at him.

  “Listen, Mari,” he blurted out before he’d reached her. “I didn’t mean what I said back there.”

  She said, “Ha,” and hugged the flowers closer to her bosom.

  It occurred to Tony that if he played his cards right, she might eventually hold him close to her bosom. He told himself not to be stupid. Theirs was a business relationship and nothing more.

  If he felt a tiny stirring of lust in his loins for the girl, it was only because he was a man and she was a goddess. That is to say— Good God, Mari was about as far from being a goddess as she was from being a plutocrat. What he’d meant was that he was a man and she was an attractive woman. That’s it. That’s all. End of story.

  “Honest,” he went on. “I mean it. It was a lousy thing to say, and I’m sorry. But I really think you ought to allow Peerless to buy you something to wear besides—” Dammit, he’d gone and done it again: talked himself into a hole. He heaved a gusty sigh. “I mean, look at it this way,” he continued. “Don’t you think you owe it to Peerless to look your best?”

  “No.”

  No? No? Well, hell, now what? He recalled Martin telling him about several new magazine ventures featuring stories and photographs of motion-picture actors. He decided to use them to forward his cause.

  “Listen, Mari, there’s going to be a lot of publicity about this picture. It’s the most ambitious project Peerless has yet tackled. Motion Picture Story Magazine is going to do a big spread about Lucky Strike. Martin told me they’re sending a photographer and a staff writer to Mojave Wells to take shots of the cast and the location and to write a story about the whole thing. They’re making a big deal out of it.”

  “So what?”

  In spite of her tone, which was ice cold, and the words, which were clipped, Tony began to take heart. Her eyes no longer exuded loathing; they actually seemed to contain a modicum of interest. He decided to fan the flame, if it was there. “So what? So they’re going to make a big deal out of you, too.”

  “What?”

  Now she sounded horrified, and Tony wished he had an extra set of legs, so he could kick himself for being a clumsy ass. He drew in another breath and expelled it harshly. “You’re the female star of the picture, Mari, and a brand-new one. It’s part of the excitement to have you playing opposite Reginald Harrowgate, who’s already famous. They’re going to want to write a whole lot about you and take lots of pictures.”

  The flowers hit a counter with a smack, and her fists went to her hips. “Nobody told me anything about all of that!”

  Tony eyed her. “Oh, come on, Mari. You don’t expect me to believe you’ve never seen a movie magazine, do you?” He didn’t buy it.

  “I don’t give a hang what, you believe!” Her voice had risen. “When you and Martin came to my door and asked to rent my mine, you never said anything about sticking my face up all over town.”

  “The nation,” Tony muttered, peeved. “Peerless’s influence extends to the entire nation by this time.”

  She gasped, irritating Tony’s already rattled senses. “Don’t tell me you didn’t anticipate public interest,” he demanded, “because I really won’t believe that one!”

  “But-but—” She seemed to run out of steam. Lifting her arms and letting them drop in a gesture of futility, she murmured, “
But, honest, Tiny—I mean, Tony—”

  Tony gritted his teeth.

  “I never even thought about . . . about-publicity. Photographs. Stuff like that.”

  Her eyes started glittering. Tony watched them with dawning horror. Good God, she wasn’t going to cry, was she? Tony hated when women cried at him. He never knew what to do. What’s more, he’d assumed the only females who used tactics like tears were conniving bitches. No matter how much she aggravated him, he couldn’t convict Mari of being one of those.

  He made sure his voice sounded sympathetic when he spoke again. “I’m sorry about that, Mari, but it’s a fact of this business.”

  “Oh, God.” She sounded as if despair had completely overwhelmed her. Turning around, she covered her face with her hands and bowed her head. He wasn’t sure, but he feared she might have succumbed to her urge to bawl.

  Tony didn’t know whether to trust her or not. On the one hand, he couldn’t conceive of Mari Pottersby being untruthful, especially about something like this. On the other hand, what had she expected?

  She was a smart cookie. Surely she knew moving pictures were the latest, greatest fad, and not merely in the United States. The whole world was falling under the influence of the pictures and picture actors. Why, Tony wouldn’t be at all surprised if public adulation lifted Mari out of her blasted mine and into some upper stratosphere of fame and glamour.

  The notion didn’t sit particularly well with him, since he liked her the way she was.

  That is to say . . . dammit, he wished he’d stop getting his thoughts all kinked up like this. He admired her fighting spirit. That’s what he liked about her. Even though that same spirit had got in his way more than once. He feared if she ever became rich and famous, she’d change, and that would be too bad. At least, he thought it might be. It could be.

  “Listen, Mari . . .” He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. He felt very awkward. “Um, are you crying?”

  “No!”

  Now he really didn’t believe her. The one word had been so thick, he’d barely understood it. Some unfamiliar compulsion overtook his good sense, and he reached out to place his hands gently on her shoulders. For a second, she stiffened up like cement setting then let her shoulders sag.

  “Say, Mari, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you like this. I figured you already knew that you’d be in for a bunch of publicity hounds coming after you.”

  He heard her suck in a ragged breath. “I probably should have realized it,” she whispered. “But I didn’t. I’m really stupid, aren’t I?”

  Stupid? Well . . . “No. Heck, no You’re not stupid. Just—” Great, now what? “Just innocent.” Yeah, that was good. And truly, Tony supposed it wasn’t stupid of her not to have anticipated publicity. She’d had her mind wrapped around money, not fame. She’d been so desperate to keep that blasted mine working.

  He gently tugged her around and into his arms. She felt very good there. Swell, even. “Please don’t cry, Mari.”

  “I’m not crying!”

  Yeah. Right. He patted her on the back, attempting be brotherly about it, but hampered by the fact that didn’t feel at all like a brother. He felt like drawing her away to some flowered bower and making delicious love to her.

  She’d scratch his eyes out if he even tried such a maneuver. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  He kept patting and murmuring into her glorious hair. She kept not speaking. At last she heaved a fierce sigh, which lifted her bosom and pressed it into his chest, much to his delight, and tried to pull away from him. He held on for as long as he dared but eventually had to release her. She didn’t lift her head to look at him, and he reached out to tilt her chin up. That uplifted chin of hers had irked him so often, he later marveled that he’d made the gesture.

  “Better?” he asked softly.

  “I think so.” She yanked a handkerchief out of her pocket and tackled her eyes with vigor.

  “Will you let Peerless buy you a nice outfit to wear to dinner in Los Angeles?”

  Another sigh, deeper and more soulful than the prior one, escaped her. “I suppose so.” Her tone let him know what she thought about letting other people buy her things.

  A tiny tug—virtually a mere pinch—of irritation swept through Tony. It was ludicrous for this impoverished chit to balk at receiving gifts from a company with as much money as Peerless. What did she think Peerless wanted from her in return? They only wanted her to act in a movie. The studio wasn’t going to compromise her, blast it.

  Now if it had been Tony who was offering to clothe her, it might have been different. He’d probably really enjoy compromising her, as a matter of fact.

  But, he told himself, he was only doing this for Peerless. For the sake of the studio’s newest acquisition. If one could call human beings acquisitions. One of the amendments to the Constitution had put a halt to that sort of thing fifty years and more ago, hadn’t it?

  He silently hollered at himself to stop quibbling. Mari Pottersby had become a valuable commodity to the Peerless Studio. It was worth it, both to Peerless and to Tony Ewing, whose father’s money he was supposed to be watching, to clothe her appropriately. So she wouldn’t disgrace the studio. Or his father’s money. Or something like that.

  More heartily than he felt inside, he said, “Great. Let me just go pick up those things.”

  Racing back to the stall—he didn’t trust Mari not to change her mind due to an excess of pride—he shook his head when the stall keeper tried to give him change back, grabbed the package she’d wrapped up for him, and rushed back to Mari. She was fingering the crepe-paper flowers she’d slammed down on the counter and looking gloomy.

  Feeling inspired and not caring if Mari appreciated the gesture or not, Tony grabbed the big bouquet, threw some more money at that stall’s vendor, and shoved the bouquet into Mari’s arms. “Here. Take these. If you say one word about not wanting me to buy them for you, I swear I’ll turn you over my knee and paddle your behind.”

  Which didn’t sound like a half-bad idea.

  Fortunately for him, Mari didn’t know his mind had wandered onto a sordid path. She even gave him a weak smile and said, “Thank you, Tony.”

  He grinned at her gratefully, and not merely because she hadn’t called him Tiny. “You’re more than welcome. Now, let’s get some lunch. I’m famished.”

  “Okay. Thanks “

  He led her to a restaurant with an outdoor patio that he’d discovered on one of his earlier jaunts onto Olvera Street. They decided to take their noon meal inside, since the air was cooler in there and stirred by electrical fans. He noticed how much more fun it was to explore new scenes with a companion. Even a companion like Mari, who was apt to argue with him every time he opened his mouth, beat the tar out of venturing into new territory solo.

  Actually—he wasn’t sure it was a good idea to admit it—he’d rather be in Mari’s company than anyone else’s.

  Damn. That was silly. He didn’t mean it.

  His confused thoughts scattered upon the arrival of a waiter. With a smile for Mari, he said, “I can recommend the tacos and the chiles rellenos. Haven’t had anything else.”

  “My goodness, I’ve never even heard of most of this stuff. I know what an enchilada is, I. think.”

  “Oh, yeah, I had one of those, too. They’re good.”

  “I think I’ll have the . . . Oh.”

  Bother, now what? Tony sighed and peered at Mari, who looked stricken, with her menu clutched to her chest. Her eyes were huge and beautiful in the dim indoor light. He tried not to allow his vexation to seep into his voice. “What is it, Mari?” Tact. He had to remember he needed to use tact with this prickly female.

  She lowered the menu and swallowed. From the expression on her face, she’d just received a message filled with tragedy and doom—it must have been delivered telepathically, since Tony knew damned well nothing physical had happened.

  “I don’t have any money.”


  He stared at her for at least thirty seconds before a “Good God” leaked out of his mouth.

  That made her chin tilt up, her eyes thin, and her mouth pinch into a straight line. At once, Tony scrambled to recover lost ground. “I mean, that’s not a problem. I have plenty of money.”

  “I don’t expect you to pay for my lunch.”

  He couldn’t help it; he rolled his eyes in exasperation. It was the wrong thing to have done. Naturally. What was the right thing to do with this cantankerous female? “Listen, Mari, I don’t care what you expect. My expectations for myself are every bit as great as yours are for you. Whether you want to admit it or not, I am a gentleman. I asked you to dine with me. The gentleman always pays.”

  “But—”

  To stop her, he pointed a finger right at her nose. Her eyes crossed, and she blinked. “And don’t you even think about arguing with me. You’ve come to Los Angeles on business. It’s my business to see that you’re fed, clothed, and housed appropriately for as long as you’re working for Peerless. And don’t forget it again.”

  There. He felt better now. Although he withdrew his hand and stopped pointing at her, he didn’t drop his tough-guy attitude. He saw her swallow again, prayed briefly that she wouldn’t fight him on the luncheon issue, and breathed an internal sigh of relief when she said only, “Oh. All right. I guess I understand.”

  Thank God. He wondered how long her new understanding would last. He wasn’t optimistic.

  Chapter Nine

  Mari changed into her new duds at the costumer’s studio. Madame Dunbar’s place wasn’t actually in the city of Los Angeles. Rather, it was located in a foothill community called Altadena, which was north of Pasadena, which Mari’d never heard of either, so it didn’t make any difference.

  Altadena and Pasadena were both gorgeous places, full of grand homes and magnificent vistas. Orange groves and poppy fields abounded, and the San Gabriel Mountains loomed over them all as if keeping a kindly watch on things.