Cowboy For Hire (4 page)

Charlie noted that Martin’s smile faded when
he said the actor’s name. It came back, big and bright, however,
when he added, “But Miss Wilkes is here. She’s a delightful young
lady, Charlie. I’m sure you two will hit it right off.”

“Glad to hear it.” Charlie hoped she was
pretty. He was a little shy around women, but that was only because
he’d met so few in his life up to now.

They strolled across the dusty ground toward
what looked like an Indian village—all white tents and clutter.
These tents didn’t have pretty pictures painted on them the way the
Indians’ tents did, though.

“We have to make do when we’re shooting in
the country,” Martin explained. “And since this picture will take
longer to film than most, we’ve built ourselves a sort of tent
settlement here. We have most of the conveniences a person will
need. Why, we even have a staff nurse on duty, in case of injuries.
A restaurant in El Monte will deliver food three times a day.
You’ll have your own tent, of course, because you’re one of the
leading characters.”

“That’s right nice of you, Mr. Tafft.”

Martin waved the thanks away. “Please call me
Martin, and we have to take care of our actors,” he said with a
chuckle. “Otherwise, where would we be?”

Since Charlie didn’t know, he didn’t
answer.

“Miss Wilkes has her own tent, too, of
course. She’s the female protagonist in our picture. She’s the one
you’re going to lose to Horace Huxtable, who’s playing the
hero.”

“Yeah?” Charlie didn’t like the sound of
that. He’d never been fond of losing, even in make-believe. “What
did you say her name is?”

“It’s Amy Wilkes really, but we’ve changed
her first name to Amelia, because Mr. Lovejoy’s wife thinks it
sounds more romantic. Mr. Lovejoy is the head of the studio.”

“Oh.” Charlie wasn’t in the habit of thinking
of romance at all—except at certain times when he was susceptible,
and then he took his needs to a discreet establishment in town—and
he’d never even considered the possibility of one name being more
“romantic” than another. Personally, he kind of liked Amy. He
narrowed his eyes and contemplated the mess of tents up ahead,
trying to locate a female who might be Amy—Amelia—Wilkes. Nobody
caught his eye.

They arrived at the first tent, and Charlie
noted with interest that Peerless Studio hadn’t spared any
expenses. These temporary abodes were made out of good, heavy-duty
canvas, and they looked as though they’d last for a century at
least.

“Here’s your new home, Charlie. You can stow
your bag in there.”

The inside of the tent was as impressive as
the outside. “Why, it’s got a whole lot of furniture in it,” he
exclaimed, surprised.

Martin chuckled and rubbed his hands
together. “Nothing but the best for the Peerless cast. Our pictures
have been very well received recently, and we’re sharing the
profits.”

That was a happy circumstance for Charlie. He
slung his carpetbag down next to a bed. Not a mere cot, mind you,
but a bed with springs and a mattress and everything. Kerosene
lamps were set about on small tables, an easy chair and ottoman had
been provided, as well as a bureau, and a washstand complete with a
bowl and pitcher for washing and shaving. Clean linen was stacked
on a table next to the washstand, and a chamber pot had been
provided for his overnight use.

He lifted his eyebrows. “Looks mighty good to
me, Mr. Tafft.” It was a hell of a lot better than what he usually
bunked in on the ranch.

“Glad you think so. The studio maids will
come and clean it every day. But come along now. Let me introduce
you to Miss Wilkes.”

Maids. Imagine that. Charlie guessed he could
act the sissy for a while if he did it in such luxury. Wait until
he told Sam about this.

He hitched up his trousers, glanced in the
mirror attached to the bureau, adjusted his Stetson, decided he was
fit to meet a lady, and followed Martin out of the tent. His eyes
opened wide when Martin began to steer him to a woman seated under
an umbrella in front of another white tent. She was dressed all in
light blue, presumably in deference to the warm weather. She wore a
splendid, broad-brimmed straw hat with a blue flower on it, and she
seemed to be engrossed in writing a letter.

“Holy cow,” Charlie murmured, not having
anticipated Miss Wilkes being such a lovely little thing. “Is that
her? Look at all that hair.” Her hair shone out from under her big
hat like a halo.

“That’s her,” confirmed Martin.

Charlie whipped his stained Stetson from his
head as they approached her. The girl looked up, squinting into the
sun. When she saw Martin, she smiled. When she saw Charlie, she
didn’t.

“Miss Amelia Wilkes,” Martin said with a
great show of merriment, “please allow me to introduce you to Mr.
Charlie Fox, who will be starring in
One and Only
with you
and Mr. Huxtable.”

She eyed him up and down, just like a city
snob, held out her hand, which was, Charlie noted, gloved, and said
in a chilly voice, “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Fox.”

Abashed and annoyed by her frigid demeanor,
Charlie decided to lay on the cowboy act. Why not? The little prig.
He’d had such high hopes for her, too. He grinned, took her hand,
pumped it vigorously, and said, “Likewise. I’m damned glad to meet
such a pretty gal as you, Miss Wilkes.”

Miss Wilkes flinched and drew herself up
straight, as if she’d taken offense. Since that was what Charlie
had intended her to do, he was satisfied.

He didn’t, however, understand why Mr. Tafft,
who up until now had seemed happy, groaned softly under his
breath.

* * *

Amy had taken one look at the tall, lanky man
walking next to Mr. Tafft and known he was Charles Fox, the second
leading man in
One and Only
. He had to be. Nobody could be
that perfect for a part and not play it.

She instantly became heart-knockingly
nervous, which rather surprised her, as she’d never experienced any
particular attraction to cowboys before. Many of her friends had.
One of them, Harriet Fulton, had even spent several weeks at a dude
ranch in Wyoming one summer. Hettie had always been a bit of a
flibbertigibbet with more money than sense, however, and Amy had
secretly deplored such frivolous romantic fancies.

That was before she’d seen Charlie Fox, and
her attitude toward cowboys underwent a sudden unanticipated and
sensational change during which her heart sped up, her palms began
to perspire, her mouth went dry, and she became inexplicably
breathless. Also suddenly and unexpectedly, she felt a tremendous
urge to impress him.

So really, she decided in an effort to
explain her lamentable manners, if one boiled the phenomenon down
to its barest essence, it was Mr. Fox’s fault that she’d behaved
like that, because he was the most stunning man she’d ever
seen.

Innately honest, Amy knew she was shirking
the truth.

What had really happened was that she’d taken
one look at him, and her wits had flown straight out of her head.
She’d pretended to be what Mr. Tafft had been trying to turn her
into: a cultured, sophisticated woman of the world. Thus perhaps
she had “put on airs,” as her aunt often said of some of the
inmates at the Orange Rest. In reality, the pose was nothing but an
act. It was protective coloration, a silly effort on Amy’s part not
to be taken as an inexperienced boob.

Amy did not, however, appreciate Mr. Fox’s
language, even if she had come across as a tiny bit uppity. Amy
Wilkes didn’t approve of profanity, and wouldn’t have even if the
speaker had been ten times as good-looking as he. Not that such a
thing was possible. She also didn’t know what to say now.

Fortunately, Martin Tafft seemed adept at
conciliating uncomfortable situations. He laughed easily and said,
“I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”

Amy considered his positive attitude both
optimistic and quite sweet under the circumstances. Since she
figured she ought to, she smiled, hoping her smile looked like a
sophisticated one and not an inane one, which was what it felt
like.

Martin rubbed his hands together and turned
to survey the tent village that Peerless had created in the
wilderness. He appeared extremely proud of his studio. “We’ve got
all the luxuries of home here, by gum. It’ll be a great movie,
too.”

“Sounds like it,” Charlie said in a deep
baritone that drawled deliciously and reminded Amy of her aunt’s
best and most expensive orange blossom honey.

Amy had never encountered a real drawl in the
flesh before. She still didn’t know what to say, so she tried to
appear cool and collected. She noticed Charlie eyeing her
slantwise, and hoped she was making a good impression. Above all
things, she didn’t want anyone to find out that she was an
unworldly rube who’d never been anywhere or done anything.

Recalling Vernon Catesby’s disapproval, she
wondered if he’d been right, if this experience was going to damage
her character. What a sobering thought. Charlie spoke then,
forestalling further development upon that morose theme.

“I think this here moviemakin’ thing’ll be a
whole lot of fun, Martin.”

“I hope so.” Martin’s voice was a hearty,
clipped counterpoint to Charlie’s more lengthy, less grammatical
syllables. He heaved a happy sigh. “We’re going to have a cast
meeting tomorrow morning, and I’ll distribute the scripts.”

“Scripts?” Amy could have kicked herself for
sounding bewildered. She cleared her throat. “Er, isn’t the picture
silent?”

Martin laughed, but since it wasn’t a
condescending laugh, Amy didn’t take exception. “Yes, indeed, Miss
Wilkes. The picture’s silent, but we like the cast to have a
script—more of a story line, really—to follow. So you’ll know what
the story’s about and what to expect You know, it helps everyone
get into the emotional spirit of the thing. Wouldn’t want you
smiling when you’re supposed to be crying, now, would we?”

She nodded and was pleased to see that
Charlie did, too. Maybe she wasn’t the only ignoramus on the
Peerless lot.

Martin continued. “After a short
rehearsal—just to let everyone get to know each other—Miss Wilkes
will have her first costume fitting.”

“My goodness! A costume fitting?” Again, Amy
felt a spurt of annoyance at letting her ignorance show. Naturally,
she’d wear costumes suitable for the cowboy picture; it was just
that she hadn’t anticipated all of these new aspects so abruptly
accruing to a life that had, until a few days ago, been totally
predictable from dawn to dark, every day. Even Vernon’s visits,
which were taken by all to be precursors to his and Amy’s married
life together, were predictable.

Which was exactly the way Amy wanted it. She
didn’t want or need excitement or spontaneity. The last
unanticipated thing to happen in her life had been her parents’
deaths, and that was plenty enough for her.

“Absolutely,” Martin said with his beaming
smile. “A dressmaker named Madame Dunbar, from your own hometown,
has contracted to do the costumes for this picture.”

“Oh, My goodness.” She’d never heard of
Madame Dunbar. That’s probably because Amy, whose family was
perfectly respectable but not lavishly wealthy, had always made her
own clothes. She’d never admit it in front of Martin Tafft and
Charlie Fox.

“She’s a wonder, Madame Dunbar is. I’m sure
you’ll look stunning as a cowgirl.”

A cowgirl. Oh, dear. Amy smiled gamely. “I do
hope so.” She noticed Charlie looking her up and down as if he were
assessing the merits of her feminine charms. Feeling herself
heating up and hating it, she drew upon her waning store of dignity
and offered him a frosty stare.

“Aw, hell,” Charlie said, making Amy blink.
“I’ll bet any damned man here a ten-sot that you’ll look dandy in
britches, Miss Wilkes. Jim-dandy!”

Horrified as much by what he’d said as the
way he’d said it, Amy gasped. “Britches? You mean
trousers
?”
She would die. She would positively
die
if she were forced
to wear men’s trousers in front of a camera.

Vernon was right. She was doomed. Vernon
probably wouldn’t want anything to do with her after this.

“No, no, no,” Martin said hastily. “No
trousers, Miss Wilkes. Our heroine is a lady. She wears skirts and
dresses.” He gave Charlie a dirty look.

Charlie grinned, as guileless as the new
dawn. Amy, watching them both, wondered if Charlie had tried to
upset her on purpose because she’d been behaving a teensy bit
stuffy. She was too relieved about the trousers to ask him. She was
so relieved, in fact, that she very nearly fainted from her sudden
exhalation of breath.

Tomorrow, she vowed, she wouldn’t lace her
corset so tightly. This desert weather was less agreeable than the
weather in Pasadena. Or perhaps she was feeling another effect from
her attempts to appear cosmopolitan and fashionable.

At the moment, Amy didn’t feel at all modish
or urbane. In fact, she wished she were back at the Orange Rest
Health Spa, drinking her uncle’s orange juice, and doing something
she understood.

A gong sounded in the distance, and Martin
turned quickly. As if seizing an opportunity to extricate the three
of them from a ticklish situation, he said, “There’s the luncheon
bell, Miss Wilkes. Please allow Mr. Fox and me to escort you to the
chow tent.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I believe I’ll
freshen up first. I’ll be along in a minute. You two go on ahead.”
She didn’t want to try walking alongside Charlie Fox before she’d
loosened her stays. She’d die of humiliation right here in the
wilds of El Monte if she fainted in front of him.

“Hell’s bells, ma’am,” Charlie said with a
big grin. “You already look as fresh as a damned daisy.”

Amy gaped up at him for a moment, appalled.
Whatever had she gotten herself into here? She feared for her
sanity. Not to mention any claim she’d ever had to propriety.