Miner's Daughter (16 page)

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.

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.

Madame Dunbar’s studio consisted of a suite
of rooms in the upstairs of her magnificent home on the corner of
Foothill Boulevard and Maiden Lane. The house was a palace to
Mari’s eyes. She suspected it would seem so to anyone who’d lived
her life in a one-room cabin. It took all her strength of will not
to tiptoe around the edges of the carpeting for fear of doing
something hick-like. She was very ill at ease.

Also, it was embarrassing to have Tony
staring critically at her every time she walked out of the dressing
room into the fitting parlor, clad in another costume she was
supposed to wear in
Lucky Strike.
One of the ensembles
consisted of trousers and an old plaid shirt, not unlike the
clothes Mari wore on a daily basis. For some reason, while she’d
never been embarrassed to be seen clad thus in Mojave Wells, today
she felt like a flaming idiot when she had to parade in front of
Tony and Madame Dunbar.