Her Leading Man

by Duncan, Alice

  “Gran, please.”

  Christina didn’t raise her voice, but thank God her grandmother desisted in her diatribe. Infinitely grateful to Martin for his support—and he didn’t even know why it was needed yet—Christina swallowed the aching lump in her throat. That toad, Pablo Orozco, might have defeated her, but he’d never make her cry.

  “Um, I still don’t understand.” Paul, who was being remarkably patient under the circumstances, lifted the telegram and flapped it. “What’s all this about medical school? And what’s this about being arrested? I thought Peerless had had that quashed.”

  “What?” Martin’s eyes popped open, and he stood abruptly. “Let me see that, thing.” This time it was he who grabbed the telegram, and from Paul.

  Christina nodded. “They found out, Martin.”

  “Good God. How?” Martin stared with what looked like mounting horror at the message in his hand.

  “Pablo.” Christina spoke the name dully. “He said I’d regret having hit him “

  Martin left off staring at the telegram and commenced staring at Christina. “Good God.”

  “Do you really think he’d do such an underhanded thing?” Paul’s eyes were round and his eyebrows arched like rainbows above them.

  “Of course, he did it,” Gran said grimly. “Who else would have done it?”

  Martin set the message on the dining table, took Christina’s hand in both of his, and exerted a comforting pressure. “I suppose he knew about your arrest. Good God.”

  Christina nodded. “Everyone on the set did.”

  “Good God.” Martin didn’t generally repeat himself, but this was, Christina presumed, an exceptional circumstance. She bowed her head, trying to take in the significance of this latest catastrophe. Someone—she knew it had been Pablo Orozco, because no one else she knew was mean enough to do such a thing—had informed the regents of Los Angeles University that Christina Mayhew, whose admission to their medical school had been granted grudgingly and over strenuous opposition, possessed a criminal record. Peerless had used a lot of money to quash her arrest, but anyone else with a lot of money could have got the information unquashed.

  It had to have been Pablo Orozco. No one else hated her.

  This wasn’t fair. She wanted to stand up and scream it aloud, but she feared her voice would crack, and then Pablo would have won an even greater victory over her.

  “Do you really think it’s Orozco?” Martin asked, sounding stunned.

  Still unsure of her voice, Christina nodded.

  “Who else could it have been?” Gran demanded.”He’s the only truly evil person around.”

  Paul was gazing with fascination at Christina. “Were you really going to go to medical school, Christina?”

  She nodded again.

  “My goodness, what a phenomenal woman you are, my dear. I admire you tremendously, you know.”

  She appreciated the tone of respect in Paul’s voice, but it didn’t do her any good. She murmured, “Thanks, Paul,” then shut her mouth before a sob could escape.

  So suddenly that it made her jump, Martin knelt beside her again. His grip on her tightened. “Christina, I’m going to take care of this. Somehow. I’ll find some way to get this fixed.” He snatched the telegram from the table and shook it.

  He sounded vehement. Christina loved him enough to create a smile for him, but her heart was in the process of cracking in two, and she couldn’t suppress a bitter question. “How? You’ve already poured enough Peerless money into the Los Angeles Police Department to drown a man. If that wasn’t enough, what else can you do?”

  He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.”

  She didn’t believe him. Not that she didn’t believe him, exactly, but she didn’t believe he could help her at this point. That miserable congregation of black crows calling itself the regents of Los Angeles University had positively hated having to admit her to their precious medical school. They’d tried every way they could think of to keep her out, and hadn’t succeeded. And now Pablo Orozco, who was peeved because she’d rejected his slitherous advances, had killed any chance she’d ever have of achieving the only goal she’d ever aimed for in her life. Until she’d met Martin.

  But however much she loved Martin, she knew there’d be a hole in her life forever if she failed to get her medical degree. Not even Martin’s love could fill it.

  Martin sat with a thump, lifted his water glass, and drained it “I’ll do something,” he said “I will, Christina. Try not to lose heart.”

  She figured her smile had gone lopsided when she said, “Too late for that, I’m afraid.”

  “The man’s a toad,” Gran grumbled. “He ought to be shot.”

  “Or at least hit with a cane,” Christina said, trying for a light note. When she saw a militant gleam come into her grandmother’s eyes, she put a restraining hand over her grandmother’s and hastened to say, “I didn’t mean it, Gran. If you hit him again, he might do something even worse than this.”

  “What could be worse than this?” Gran asked.

  Christina didn’t know, so she didn’t answer.

  “Well, upon my word,” said Paul, who was generally eloquent and eschewed clichés. “I never liked Orozco, but I didn’t think he’d deliberately try to sabotage someone’s career.”

  “I guess now we all know.” Christina sucked in a deep breath, reached for her napkin, flapped it open, and spread it across her lap. “Here comes our lunch. I suppose we all still have to eat.”

  She wouldn’t allow Pablo Orozco’s treachery to send her into a melancholy. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d dumped her straight into a mind-numbing, stomach-churning, gut-wrenching depression. She’d eat every single spoonful of her cucumber soup and bread and butter, even if she had to go to her room and regurgitate it all after lunch.

  Damn Pablo Orozco. Damn him to hell.

  “I know you’re upset, Christina, but try not to worry yet.”

  Martin’s voice edged past the fury, pain, and panic in her heart. She glanced at him sharply. Try not to worry? Who was he kidding? Her life had just been hit by a freight train and demolished.

  Yet she knew he loved her and meant his words to soothe her. She tried to smile, but wasn’t sure how successful her attempt turned out. “Thanks, Martin. I’ll try.”

  She knew he didn’t believe her when he shook his head. He looked terribly worried, but at least he wasn’t pulling on his hair. Yet.

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it again. “Listen, darling, we’ve still got that last scene to film. We’ll do it tomorrow. Then, before I start editing Egyptian Idyll, I’ll get to work on your problem. I’ll take care of it somehow. Believe me.”

  She shook her head before she could stop herself. “Oh, Martin, you’re so nice. But I’m afraid they aren’t going to listen to you. The regents hated me even before this happened.”

  He looked grim and gave her hand another squeeze. “They’ll listen to me.” He sounded grim, too. “I’ll see to it.”

  Christina loved him very much. Even if she felt as if Pablo Orozco had just successfully managed to blow her life’s goals to oblivion.

  Nineteen

  Martin tried to keep his mind on filming that afternoon, but Christina’s unhappiness and Orozco’s perfidy kept intruding themselves. He wished he could lay into Orozco with his bare fists. Martin prided himself on his degree of civilized good form, but he understood now, as he never had before, why men sometimes took pleasure in beating the tar out of each other.

  He’d love to get his hands around Pablo Orozco’s skinny, phony Latin lover’s neck, after blackening both of his eyes and bloodying his nose. He’d squeeze it until the bastard’s eyes bugged out and his tongue turned purple. Martin rubbed his eyes hard, trying to wipe out the pleasant image he’d created in his mind’s eye. He still had work to do, damn it.

  “Good job, Paul!” he shouted. “Get the stunt man in now, and we�
��ll film your death scene.”

  A man who resembled Paul Gabriel from a distance trotted onto the set. Paul gave his seat in the chariot to him, and Martin lifted his megaphone. “You set to go, Ben?” Ben, the cameraman, stood under a date palm about a hundred feet from him.

  Ben lifted his hand in a go-ahead signal, and Martin shouted, “Action!”

  As the camera cranked and the horses started trotting across the ground in front of a couple of palm trees, Martin, who seldom let his attention stray from the scene being filmed, allowed his gaze and his mind to wander to Christina. She’d flatly refused to go up to her room after lunch and rest, saying she’d be damned if she’d let Pablo Orozco know how upset she was.

  Martin admired her grit. She’d managed to compose her face, although he understood how much her insides must be churning. He felt truly rotten for her. He knew what she was going through. The image of himself in a comparable situation wasn’t all that hard to imagine.

  And she was right, too: none of this was her fault. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born with a powerful brain into a family that encouraged all of its members—not just its males—to set high goals for themselves and then achieve them. It wasn’t her fault that her father was a physician who’d instilled in her a yearning to help and heal people. It wasn’t her fault she’d been given the gift of a healing touch. Martin firmly believed she possessed such a gift. He even believed it would be a shame if the world never profited from it.

  Damn Pablo Orozco. He hadn’t returned to the set yet. Martin wondered if he was afraid to show his face for fear Grandmother Mayhew would beat him up. If, of course, Christina was correct and it had been Pablo who’d ruined her chances at the university . . . Maybe the university had discovered her criminal record on its own.

  But that was nonsense. There was no reason for them to investigate the possibility that an applicant might have a record. Particularly not an applicant like Christina, whose father was an alumnus and whose academic record was outstanding.

  Besides all that—Martin huffed angrily—criminal record be hanged. She’d been arrested for committing an act of peaceful civil disobedience. She’d been locked up for trying to accrue unto women the same rights granted to white men from birth. That didn’t sound so darned criminal to Martin.

  He comprehended with a start that he was becoming almost as much of a militant feminist as Christina herself. The sudden understanding made him smile

  “Martin!”

  With another start, he realized Ben had shouted his name more than once. Instantly Martin focused his attention on the scene, which had progressed way past the chariot’s accident and Pharaoh’s brother’s fall, broken neck, and death. In fact, Paul’s stand-in was lying face down in the dirt, the horses had started munching whatever desert grasses they could find, and the chariot’s wheels had stopped spinning, Martin knew not how long ago, but it wasn’t mere seconds.

  In a hurry, he yelled, “Cut! Sorry, folks. My mind wandered for a minute there.”

  Paul’s stand-in pushed himself to his feet with a grunt audible even to Martin, who was yards away, and commenced sneezing the dust out of his nostrils. Martin was ashamed that he’d let his personal problems interfere with his job. Such a thing had very rarely happened; he swore it wouldn’t happen again.

  After tomorrow he could devote his entire attention to Christina and that damned university.

  And Pablo. He intended to focus some attention on Pablo Orozco, as well. If he could manage it. And if he determined for certain that Pablo was responsible for Christina’s troubles, the actor would never pull another stunt like this. In fact, if Martin could manage it, Pablo Orozco would be looking for another line of work entirely. The picture industry didn’t need slimy creatures like Orozco sullying it. Pictures got enough bad press already.

  After what seemed like several centuries, but which was only a couple of hours, Martin called “Cut!” for the last time that day.

  Ben and his assistant cameramen stopped cranking. Paul Gabriel, looking tired and dusty and out of sorts, bellowed, “Thank God! “

  Christina’s grandmother muttered, “Amen to that.”

  Christina herself guessed she was glad that she’d finally have Martin to herself for a little while, although she feared they’d only talk about her disappointment, and she was sick of thinking about it. With a sigh, she stood and folded her fan. The box of dates Paul had given her, and upon which she and her grandmother had made such inroads that morning, still sat, now neglected, on the table between the two ladies. Christina picked it up, although the idea of eating a date at the moment made her stomach hurt.

  The idea of eating anything at all, especially dinner, gave her an even greater qualm. She’d do it though, in order to keep Pablo Orozco from knowing how much he’d hurt her.

  “I wonder if your young man will be able to do anything about that damned university.”

  Christina glanced at her grandmother. She’d been wondering the same thing—and coming up blank. What could Martin do? The crows had cawed. She was done for. “I don’t know.”‘

  Gran struggled to her feet, using her cane as a lever. “Grmph. Well, he’s a smart fellow. I imagine that if anyone can do it, he can.”

  Staring in shock at her usually disapproving and disagreeable grandmother, Christina felt like sticking a finger in her ear and cleaning it out. Had Gran honestly said something nice about someone? Hoping she’d heard correctly, she said, “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Gran gave a sharp nod before hobbling off in the direction of the resort. “I know I’m right. I only hope he has enough clout and money to make those idiots at the university change their collective minds.”

  Good heavens, what did this mean? Christina was so amazed by her grandmother’s attitude toward Martin that she almost forgot to walk to the resort herself. She stood there, stunned, for a moment before her grandmother’s snappy, “Come along, child. What are you standing there for?” galvanized her into action. She trotted to catch up with Gran, even though the weather was far too hot for trotting.

  Because she was still thunderstruck, she said, “I’ve never heard you say anything nice about anyone before, Gran. You must like Martin.” She realized she shouldn’t have admitted it when Gran glowered at her.

  “Nonsense! I speak the truth at all times, Christina Mayhew. You may not like plain speaking, but I won’t lie for anybody.”

  “Right.”

  Gran could call it plain speaking if she wanted to, but Christina thought her grandmother often went way beyond the bounds of plain speaking, often landing perilously close to slander. She didn’t say so, knowing that to do so would only provoke the old woman and make her more difficult than she already was—if such a thing was possible.

  She heard footsteps behind them and glanced over her shoulder to find Martin hurrying to catch up with them. Her heart lightened, and she stopped to wait for him. It wasn’t as difficult for her to produce a smile now as it had been at lunch.

  “Ladies! May I walk with you?” Martin was panting by this time.

  “Of course you may.” Christina held out her hand to him, glad he’d bothered to rush after her in this ghastly weather. “How’d it go? The scenes looked very good from where we sat. Paul’s death agony was quite thrilling. And I’m sure nobody will ever guess that the fellow who fell out of the chariot wasn’t really Paul.”

  She didn’t want to confess such a thing to Martin or Gran, but as she’d watched the scene being filmed, Christina had enjoyed imagining it was Pablo Orozco writhing there on the desert floor, his neck broken. Hmm. Was one able to writhe when one’s neck had been broken? Christina didn’t think so. Still, it made for a darned good scene, and she was no longer so quick to disparage art when it didn’t adhere strictly to the truth. The truth was sometimes too blasted painful.

  “Thanks.” Martin looked as if her praise had tickled him. “Paul’s a very good actor. He’s also a good sport.”

  “Unlike some
actors you could mention,” Christina couldn’t resist saying.

  Martin sighed and said, “Right.”

  “I agree. He’d be good on the stage, except for the problem of his voice.”

  “Heh!” Gran interjected.

  They continued to talk about trivialities as they made their way to the resort. Christina and Martin held hands the whole way, even though it was a sweaty business. Martin’s hand in hers made her feel as though her life hadn’t turned entirely dismal, and Christina didn’t mind a little sweat.

  Martin politely opened the door so that the two Mayhew ladies could enter the building before him. Christina had no sooner set foot in the doorway of the lobby than she stopped dead in her tracks.

  There, smirking at her, looking superior and smug, his arm still in a cast and the bandage white on his head, stood Pablo Orozco.

  She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to ignore him. She also wanted to scream at him and then shoot him. Instead, she stood as if she’d been turned to stone, frozen with surprise, and didn’t say a word.

  Grandmother Mayhew wasn’t so burdened. She took one look at the actor and spat out, “You miserable villain!”

  “What? What’s the matter?” Martin, who hadn’t yet spotted Orozco, hurried inside the resort, almost bumping into Christina, who couldn’t make herself move to save herself. “Good God.”

  “Why, if it isn’t the great Christina and her dearly beloved,” Orozco said, sneering up a storm.

  Mrs. Mayhew lifted her cane and made as if to charge him The threat of violence jolted Christina out of her stupor, and she grabbed her grandmother’s shoulder.

  “Don’t do it, Gran. He’s not worth it.”

  “Did you get a telegram today, perhaps, Christina dear?” Still sneering, Orozco walked up to her and bowed. “I understand your precious school isn’t eager to have criminals dirty their hallowed halls. They were quite interested in the story of your own brush with the law.”

  Martin, who had been standing behind Christina with his hands on her shoulders—probably to keep her from lunging at her enemy, although she hadn’t even considered doing such a thing—dropped his hands, and stepped away from Christina. In a voice the likes of which Christina had never heard issue from his beloved throat, he snarled, “If you weren’t a cripple, Orozco, I’d flatten you here and now.”