A Rare Breed (27 page)

"So what was Yolanda like? What did you say to her?" Then he asked rhetorically, "What does one say to The Yolanda?"

Brit turned around. Maybe Michael was just curious about her experiences, after all. His questions made her realize that he was impressed with Yolanda's status. She was, indeed, a TV star, something Brit had lost sight of during their canyon journey. Most people didn't think of Yolanda's routines as a performance and her writing as a job. They, including Michael, thought of her as being just glamorous and automatically funny.

"Yolanda was . . . just fine. In the beginning, she expected certain things. Especially Rudi, her husband. He hovered over her like a nanny making demands for his spoiled brat. But there were no conveniences for anyone; we were all the same down there. When they realized that, they came around. Yolanda was great." Brit smiled to herself, remembering their fun.

"I can't imagine her sleeping on the ground and eating from a can."

"She volunteered to help the cook and got pretty creative with dried and canned stuff. She even made a special meal for my birthday. There were nopalitos from the local cacti." Brit chuckled warmly. "And Rudi made a big pancake with a candle. It was . . . great."

"You had a party down there?"

"It was a very creative. We had to make the best of what was available to us. Yolanda and Rudi like to party. Actually, they're caring, congenial people." Brit paused. "But when we reached the top yesterday, the media besieged us. Yolanda was the only one who felt at ease, so we let her have them."

"I noticed you didn't have much to say."

Brit shook her head. "And then things happened so fast, we never even got to say goodbye."

"You came together as strangers. Maybe it's just as well that you parted the same way."

"But we weren't strangers when we parted. Far from it. We'd lived together and-" Brit gritted her teeth and a knot formed quickly in her stomach at Michael's glibness. Had she and Jake parted as strangers? She certainly didn't think so. Did they mean nothing more to each other than that? It hurt her to consider it. But sitting here, talking with Michael about it wouldn't do a thing except make her more miserable. This was between her and Jake. And apparently, he was satisfied with them going their separate ways.

"And what?" Michael waited for her to finish her sentence.

But Brit changed the subject. She had to get out of here; had to get busy, before Michael wanted more from her, wanted what she was not capable of giving. "Say, Michael, according to the shooting schedule, they're filming some scenes this afternoon on Long Ago and Far Away. Why don't we go over to the studio and watch?"

"You want me to go along?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Okay," he agreed as he considered the prospects. "It'd be fun. We might even see some stars."

The producer was a short, busy man. Shorter than Brit, Isaac Holtzbach was so energetic, he could hardly sit still. His desk was overrun with a mountain of papers and the phone rang incessantly, interrupting their conversation at least a dozen times.

Holtzbach sprang from sitting to standing while talking to her and Michael, anxiously pacing the tiny space behind his desk when he was on the phone. Each conversation bounded strangely from one subject to another with no coherence or transition, so that most of the time, it made absolutely no sense to listen to him. He used the same technique when talking to them until Brit's mind was a blur trying to keep up with him.

He was animated and spoke with his hands as well. "Avalon is perfect for this role. Why she's Bonnie, herself, reincarnate. You're going to love her, just love her, Brit. And Julio Riva is her Indian lover—eh, eh, whatsisname."

"Knife Wing," Brit answered, aggravated that the man couldn't remember the hero's name. He made her nervous.

"Yeah-yeah-yeah. Knife Wing." His voice dwindled away and he held up one finger to them while he answered the phone again and began jabbering into the speaker.

Brit squirmed and gave Michael a weary glance while Holtzbach paced and jumped subjects. She had never felt so out of place in her life. Was this the man who held Long Ago and Far Away in the palm of his hand? She shuddered to think it was true.

Holtzbach halted his telephone diatribe, hung up as abruptly as he had begun and continued his conversation with Brit as if there had been no interruption. "Riva's Mexican, but he looks Indian. So, you want to meet him? He's one handsome dude. He's doing the scene this afternoon where he plays the flute. And Bonnie gives him the first kiss. Come on and we'll watch."

Brit perked up. This was what she needed, to watch the action of the actual movie. The flute scene was one of her favorites. Right away, she thought of Jake and the night he played for her by the campfire.

Before they could leave the office, the door swung open and a man with a baseball cap on backwards and wearing a black tank top with a skull and crossbones on the front burst into the room. He looked beyond, or through, Brit and addressed Holtzbach with a pointing finger that punctuated each loud, angry exposition.

"Avalon cannot act! She cannot kiss! She cannot walk across the street with a natural motion, much less climb onto a horse without falling off the other side! Either she goes or I do!"

Holtzbach smiled hugely. "Come on, Laird-baby. Take it easy, easy. You'll stir your blood pressure up again. I’ll talk to her."

"I've talked to her and it's useless. She's a brick wall. Maybe you want to delay production while someone gives her acting lessons."

"Now, now, now, that won't be necessary. I'm sure that she—"

The man called Laird interrupted. "I'm not waiting around for her to get the hang of this. Dump her by tomorrow, Isaac. I mean it!" And he wheeled around and left.

Brit blinked. Had she seen what she thought she had? It was crazy.

"The director, Laird Sutcliff," Holtzbach said in a low voice, ushering them out of his office. "My wife's cousin. Trouble with a capital T. But don't you worry about this movie. I won't let him interfere with the production. I'll calm him down, and he’ll do a great job. Everything depends on Avalon, and of course, Julio. But they're great together. You’ll see."

"Isn't the director the most important person around here?" Brit asked, alarmed by the bizarre behavior and explosive display of the director of her movie. "Doesn't he steer everything in the movie, make it work or not?"

"Well, yes, of course. But Laird's a temperamental jackass. This project means so much to him. He wants to get everything just right, and of course, so do I. But he's a perfectionist, and you know how impossible they can be. Don't you worry your pretty head about a thing."

Brit worried. Tension between brothers-in-law who worked on her movie sounded like potential disaster to her. And neither seemed to have the integrity of the story at heart. It was obvious to her that they both wanted to control, and that was a frightening prospect.

Wide-eyed and curious, Michael and Brit followed Holtzbach to the set. They came from a polite world where people's opinions mattered. They had entered a world of rudeness and ruthless power struggles. The way Brit saw it, all of this hassle was
so each one could make an indi
vidual contribution to the movie. But this was Bonnie's story, and Brit was here to see that it remained so. She couldn't let herself lose sight of that.

Holtzbach pointed a spot where they could stand and watch the performances, yet remain out of the way. Brit was quickly taken with the handsome Julio who held the lovely Avalon in a passionate embrace.

"Cut! Cut!" yelled the director.

Just like in the movies, Brit thought, delighted.

But this director was like none she had ever imagined. "Do you call that a kiss? Let me show you!" And he lunged between the couple, grabbed Avalon and bent her backward in a long, involved kiss.

"Hey!" Julio grabbed the director's shoulder and hauled him away from the struggling actress.

Brit feared, for a moment, that there would be a fight between them. She had, after all, experienced the quick explosion between Frank and Rudi after the crash in the canyon.

"You're impossible!" Avalon shrieked, running from the set, sobbing.

"No, honey, you've got that backward," Laird called after her. "You're the impossible one!"

Julio stalked away sullenly.

"Damn! He's screwing up everything," Holtzbach mumbled, adding something about "back later." He disappeared with Laird, leaving Brit and Michael alone to poke around the set for the next hour.

When filming resumed, Laird seemed more subdued. Avalon was not in sight, and Julio
brought out the flute.

"Great," Brit whispered to Michael. "This part's going to be good." She was disappointed that she hadn't had the chance to meet everyone yet, but things had been disorderly today. There would be other times, she reassured herself. As soon as the flute music began, Brit knew it was wrong. All wrong. She could not stand by and let it continue. She had an obligation to the truth.

Slipping to the director's side, she said, "Excuse me, Mr. Sutcliff, but this isn't the way it would be. It's all wrong."

Laird glared at her for a long second, then turned his horse-face toward the set, ignoring her.

Brit frowned. After a confused pause, she insinuated herself in front of his view of the set. "Excuse me, but I don't think this is the way it would be."

"And who are you?" he muttered between clenched teeth.

"I'm Brit Bailey. Bonnie was my great-grandmother and I — "

"I don't care if you're Bonnie, herself. Get out of my face."

Brit was not intimidated. "I'm an advisor for this movie and — "

"Who says?"

"Pardon me?"

"Who says you're an advisor?"

Brit was astonished. No one had informed the director of her role around here? She had been gone and completely forgotten. Well, she wouldn't stand for this. "Mr. Holtzbach hired me," she said, confident that his name would clear the way for her.

"Holtzbach can go to hell," Laird said.

Brit swallowed, momentarily stunned. She quickly decided to abandon the producer and simply state the facts. "In the first place, Knife Wing wouldn't be sitting on the trading post roof, playing his flute like that. This isn't Fiddler on the Roof. He wouldn't have been performing. He would play it in tribute to the world around him."

Laird folded his arms. "You're nuts. A real nut cake. Get out of my way."

"No!" Brit stood her ground. "I'm here to advise. I have to make sure Bonnie's story is right."

"Preposterous! It's as right as it'll ever get! Get out!"

Michael took her arm, but Brit jerked away and continued to face Laird. "And another thing. Native American flute music doesn't sound like a jazz clarinet jamboree. It sounds like . . ." her voice softened, "like the wind and the coyotes and the ancient spirits."

Laird stared at her. Silence blanketed the set. Everyone stared at her. Brit looked around and spotted Holtzbach. "Have you ever heard Native American flute music?" she called. "It doesn't sound like this. Tell him. Get it right."

Laird turned to Holtzbach and motioned toward Brit. "Would you get this nut cake out of here?"

"I'm afraid she stays," Holtzbach said, approaching. "It's in the contract. But we'll work it out. Maybe she's right, Laird. This is a little too commercial. Seems to me, it should have more of an eerie sound, like . . ."

"Like nature," Brit added enthusiastically. "Like the animals. And the birds. It's a beautiful, rather exotic sound, like none other."

"We can do that," Holtzbach said. "Give us twenty-four hours, and it'll be done."

Laird balked. "You have flipped, Isaac. You let everyone tell you how to make this movie. Everyone but me."

"Okay, Laird, what do you think?"

"I think it doesn't matter how it sounds. He plays the flute to entice her. And it works. Embrace. Kiss—if we can find an actress who can do that." He clapped his hands together. "Cut. End of scene. Fade to black."

"No!" Brit gritted her teeth. "He has no intention of enticing her with the flute. He plays for himself and his relationship to his world. Bonnie must prove that she deserves to join his world, that she cares as much about his different world as she cares about him." Brit stopped. Both the director and producer were staring at her. So was Michael. And what was she saying, anyway? Who was she talking about? Bonnie? Or herself?

"She's got a minor point," Holtzbach said after a moment. "We'll study it, Brit."

"Study, hell!" Laird exclaimed. Defeat was apparent in his face and he hated it. His day had not gone well, and he was furious. Furious at everything and everyone.

"I want ... I want this to be right," Brit tried to explain. "It's important that Bonnie's story be accurate. There have been enough misconceptions about Native Americans out of Hollywood. I want her story to be truthful, which means different from the others."

Michael took her elbow. "Come on, honey. Let's go. Let them handle it. They know how."

"No, they don't." Brit ignored him and stood her ground.