Cowboy For Hire (36 page)

“Discretion?” The word fell out of his mouth
on a breath of air. “Discretion?”

“Yes.” She glanced around. “Oh, Lord, they’re
all staring at us.”

When she turned her head and peered up at
Charlie, she found him staring down at her as if he’d never seen
her before. She hardly blamed him; she’d never felt like this
before. Taking his arm, she whispered, “Please, Charlie, let’s talk
about it later. I—I can’t right now. Anyhow, we’ve got to get back
to the set.”

“I see.” He took a step away from her and
glanced down to her hand gripping his arm. “So, it’s all over? Is
that what you’re telling me?”

Through gritted teeth, Amy hissed, “I won’t
talk about it now. I can’t. There are too many people standing
around.”

“I see. It didn’t mean anything—that’s what
you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it? You thought I was rich, I’m
not, and it’s all over now. I get it.”

“Stop it!” she said. “I can’t talk about it
now!”

“I see.”

She saw him lick his lips, and then she
glimpsed an expression of anguish enter his eyes. She wanted to
grab the knife out of his scabbard and stab herself. That couldn’t
hurt any worse than this.

He was going to hate her now; the only man
she supposed she’d ever love—and who loved her back—was going to
hate her. And all because she was a moral coward and a spiritual
invalid. Because she’d allowed a childhood experience to ruin her
life.

And she couldn’t help it. “Charlie—”

“No. That’s all right. I see it all now.”

She sucked in air. “Good. I’m glad you see.”
Her voice had gone as cold as the blood in her veins.

Charlie turned and walked away from her, and
Amy felt her heart crack in two.

* * *

It took two more days to finish the filming
of
One and Only
. Charlie went through the motions as if he
were walking in his sleep. Somehow he managed to convey the
impression that nothing in the world was wrong with him, but it
wasn’t true.

He was crushed. Vanquished. Brought low. Made
miserable by the one person in the world who he believed would lift
him up and create brightness in his life forevermore.

Fat damned chance. He should have remembered
that first impressions are often correct ones, and that he’d pegged
Miss Amy Wilkes as a prim and prissy female who didn’t care about
anything but money and appearances the first moment he’d set eyes
on her. His initial impression had been confirmed with a vengeance
when they saw each other outside Martin’s Pierce Great Arrow before
Martin drove them back to the Peerless lot. She’d as much as told
him she didn’t want him now that she knew the ranch in Arizona
wasn’t his but belonged to his family.

Not for Amy Wilkes a young man starting out
in life. Hell, o. Charlie Fox, whose prospects were as good as any
man’s but who hadn’t achieved his goals in life yet, wasn’t good
enough for her. She’d probably go back to that rich banker in
Pasadena and settle down. Or find one of those slimy lounge lizards
from a big city somewhere; the rich, old farts who went after the
chorus girls.

He knew he was being irrational. After all,
while Amy might have pulled the wool over his eyes and made him
believe she was really interested in him—hell, she’d said she was
in love with him—she’d never given any indication that she’d
succumb to anything but a proper marriage. At the moment, however,
he was bitter. He couldn’t seem to stop these unkind thoughts from
holding sway.

As the last few scenes of the picture were
shot, he watched her, trying not to be obvious about it. She
appeared much as usual. That first day after the glorious hour of
love they’d shared, she’d looked tired and down-pin. The next day,
and the days following that, however, she’d looked just fine. She’d
looked as if she’d never had anything more to do with Charlie Fox
than a shared sandwich in the chow tent.

He could hardly stand it.

“Your scene’s next,” Martin said, startling
Charlie, who hadn’t heard him walk up. “Are you all right?”

He glanced at Martin and frowned. “Sure, I’m
all right. Why? Do I look sick or something?”

Martin jerked back a bit at Charlie’s tone,
which was savage. “Er, no. Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you don’t
look well. There’s just … well, it’s only that you haven’t seemed
quite as happy as usual these past few days, and I wondered if it’s
anything I could help with.”

Crap. The poor man, one of the nicest fellows
Charlie’d ever met, was trying to help him out of his dismals, and
Charlie’d snapped him off. Criminy, unrequited love was a real pain
in the ass. In fact, it stunk, and Charlie hated it.

“Er, no. Sorry, Martin. I didn’t mean to let
my bad mood out into the open.”

Martin eyed him for a moment, then shook his
head. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m right here. You’re a
good fellow, Charlie, and I hope nothing’s gone amiss with you and
… well, with you and any of your fellow cast members.”

Dang, did everybody on the whole blasted lot
know about him and Amy? Charlie thought about it for a second or
two and decided they probably did. Super. He’d always wanted his
deepest personal ordeals out there entertaining the masses.

He said, “Thanks, Martin,” and took his place
on the set. He did appreciate Martin’s concern. He’d sooner poke
out his eye with a branding iron than admit to how stupid, how
utterly gullible and ridiculous he felt.

Taken advantage of by a city girl—and all
because he’d believed her to be something other than a city girl.
He’d thought she was a real, honest, down-to-earth person
underneath her starch. What a blamed fool he was.

He even tried to hate her, but couldn’t
manufacture so much as an ounce of antipathy. Mostly, he just felt
rotten. And, although it pained him to acknowledge it because the
knowledge made him feel like an idiot, if he suddenly came into a
fortune, he’d chase her down and propose again on the spot.

Which meant, he concluded, that there was no
hope for him whatsoever, and the sooner he took himself back to
Arizona Territory and got away from these blasted motion picture
people, the better off he’d be.

It therefore came as an unpleasant shock when
Martin cornered him on the final day of shooting and begged him to
act in “just one more cowboy picture, Charlie. Please? You’ll be
doing me the biggest favor of your life. We need you, Charlie.
There’s nobody else we can use. There’s nobody else as good as
you.”

Aw, hell. “I dunno, Martin. I’m not keen on
doing another picture.”

Martin pleaded. Charlie demurred. Martin
pleaded harder. Charlie declined. Martin begged. Charlie, although
his heart was weakening, kept his tone of voice firm, knowing he
really didn’t want to work in another picture. Then Martin made him
one last offer.

“We’ll pay you well for it, Charlie. We’ll
pay you three times what you made on this picture. Imagine it.”
Martin waved his arms in the air as if conjuring the studio’s
largess right then and there. “You’ll be a wealthy man. And I swear
to you, we’ll never ask again—unless, of course, you want to be in
more pictures. There will always be roles for you. You look better
on celluloid than any other actor I’ve seen.”

“Yea?” Charlie felt his left eyebrow—the one
that doubted everything—arch like a rainbow.

Martin said, “I know, I know, it sounds like
I’m spinning moonshine, but I’m not. You haven’t seen the daily
rushes, but I have. You’re going to be a star, Charlie, whether you
want to be one or not. If you want to hide your light away in the
deserts of Arizona Territory, so be it, but I’m begging you to
consider making one more picture with Peerless.”

“Well….”

Martin clutched at his arm. Charlie was too
accustomed to the ways of movie folks by this time to mind. “It’s
financial on our part, too, Charlie. It’s because you’re so good.
Mr. Lovejoy, who’s a genius at this sort of thing, thinks
One
and Only
is going to take off like no picture has done since
The Great Train Robbery
. He’s sure it’s going to be the
making of Peerless. He’s also sure that if you’ll star in a
follow-up Peerless feature, the picture-going public will flock to
see it. You see, this will set Peerless up better financially than
anything else he can think of. You’ll be doing Peerless a
tremendous favor, and Peerless aims to pay well for your
consent.”

“Well, shoot, if you put it that way….”
Charlie fell. With a heavy heart, he resigned himself to another
month or so of living in California.

It probably wouldn’t be too bad. They
discussed the matter further, and Martin said the filming would be
done in and around Los Angeles. That being the case, Charlie
wouldn’t have to run into Amy anywhere.

His heart gave an enormous twinge at the
knowledge, and he wondered if he’d hurt forever or if he’d
eventually get over being in love with Amy Wilkes. Or even, failing
that, if he’d develop scabs over his open wounds that would protect
him at least a little bit from the everlasting pain of losing
her.

Not that he’d ever had her. She’d wanted a
man well set up in the world and had believed him to be the one. He
wasn’t, and she’d scooted off like a spooked longhorn in a
lightning storm.

* * *

The very last scene to be shot was one in
which Amy and Horace Huxtable were supposed to ride off into the
sunset together, staring at each other mooney-eyed from the saddles
of their respective horses. Martin was worried about the scene but
he hesitated to ask Charlie to keep an eye on Huxtable.

“Charlie’s been acting really strangely these
past couple of days,” he confided in Karen, who looked worried
herself.

“He’s not the only one. Amy’s been in a real
blue mood.”

Karen gave Martin a glance he could only
consider significant. Unfortunately, he couldn’t figure out what it
was meant to signify. “Er, do you think they … had a fight or
something?” He’d noticed that they’d become chummy and then that
their relationship had cooled off since their stay at the Royal El
Montean. “Um, a lover’s quarrel, perhaps?”

“Yes, I do,” Karen said with none of Martin’s
hedging. That was one of the reasons he liked Karen—she never beat
around the bush.

“I see.” Martin realized he’d begun tugging
at his favorite tuft of hair and let it go. He wished he wouldn’t
do that. “Well, I want somebody to watch Huxtable during this last
scene. It’ll be his last shot at Amy, and I don’t trust him.”

“Nobody trusts him,” Karen said grimly. “I’ll
talk to Charlie.”

Relief swept Martin from tip to toe. “Thanks,
Karen. That’s be swell.”

She marched off like a general aiming to give
his troops a good dressing-down, and Martin grinned. Good old
Karen. Nothing daunted her—at least not for long. He hoped Benjamin
Egan was up to her weight.

Charlie saw Karen coming, knew she was aiming
at him with some purpose in mind, and wished he’d thought to
conceal himself. She was bold enough to ask him about what had gone
wrong between him and Amy, and he didn’t want to talk about it. Not
to anyone.

He hadn’t thought fast enough to hide,
though, and anyway, there wasn’t much of anything to hide
behind—not to mention the fact that hiding was the epitome of
cowardice—so Charlie faced her with a smile. He trusted it didn’t
look as fake as it felt. He even initiated conversation, and gave
himself a mental pat on the back.

“Howdy, Karen. Fine day.” It was probably the
worst day of his life, but he didn’t feel like going into that.

“Hello, Charlie.”

She came to stand beside him, turned, and
observed the scene with him. They both watched as Amy, in her split
skirt, heaved herself up into the saddle after a couple of tries.
No matter how much she practiced, she’d never be any kind of a
horsewoman. Charlie tried to take some satisfaction from the fact,
but couldn’t drum up an iota. He sighed, and wished he’d controlled
himself when Karen shot him a look.

“Listen, Charlie,” she began. “I don’t know
what’s happened between you and Amy, but I’m sure it’s only a
misunderstanding.”

Like hell
. He said, “Hunh.”

“I know, I know, it’s none of my
business.”

Right
. He said nothing.

“But the truth is that I care about both of
you, and I know Amy thinks the world of you.”

Like hell she did.
He didn’t say
anything.

She shifted irritably. “Oh, very well, don’t
speak to me about it. Amy won’t talk about it, either. And that’s
your privilege—both of you. But if you’d only talk to each other,
you could probably fix things in a minute.”

“Like hell. She won’t talk to me, either.”
Dagnabbit, he hadn’t meant to say that. Charlie squeezed his lips
together and wished his uncle Bill were here to toss a few old-time
adages at him. He could use a couple. Unfortunately, the only one
that came to his mind at the moment was
Some things just ain’t
funny.

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

Charlie noticed that Karen’s eyes were
squinty, and she looked as if she were thinking hard. He didn’t
want to hear any more about Amy today. Or ever, for that matter. It
hurt too much. Because he figured Karen was just winding up to spew
more platitudes at him, he spoke first.

“Listen, Karen, I’m sure you mean well, but
there’s nothin’ anybody can do about this. If you have something to
say, please just say it and get it over with. I’m not going to talk
about it, so you’ll be doing a solo.”

She looked up at him for a minute, frowning,
then said, “I won’t bother you, then, Charlie. I’m very sorry,
though.”

He nodded, unwilling to test his ability to
talk. He feared he might cry, and then what would his uncle Bill
say? He heard Bill say
A man can pretty much always stand more
than he thinks he can
, but right this minute, Charlie didn’t
think he believed it.