The Brave (20 page)

Just when Ray thought he'd lost it all—career, fiancee, self-esteem, the whole damn shooting match—suddenly here he was, flying high with one of Hollywood's big-shot producers, married to the woman of his dreams and about to become what he'd always known he could be and should be: a real movie star.

He'd never heard back from Jack Warner about what he thought of The Forsaken. The idiot had probably filed the script in the garbage the moment the meeting was over. This was, after all, the same genius who'd turned down Gone with the Wind, saying nobody would want to go see a picture about the Civil War. It gave Ray a twinge of vindictive pleasure to think that the old bastard would doubtless know by now that The Forsaken was happening without him at another studio.

That this should be so was entirely thanks to Herb Kanter and his unwavering belief (and considerable investment) in Diane. It had been the quickest deal Ray had ever known. Once she'd flown back after Christmas and forgiven him and everything between them was okay again, Diane had at last read Steve Shelby's script. She loved it and agreed there was a great part for her. She showed it to Herb who read it that same night and said he loved it too. He got Terence Redfield on board to direct, pitched it to Paramount and bingo: the following day the suits gave them the green light.

Almost the entire crew who'd been geared up for the Gary Cooper picture were simply going to move across to The Forsaken. Poor old Coop had finally pegged out just a couple of weeks ago. Along with the rest of the nation, Ray had mouthed all the right sentiments, of course: what a tragedy, what a terrible loss it was et cetera. But secretly he saw the great man's demise as a blessing, a useful narrowing of the competition.

He later learned that Redfield, the sneaky little shit, had tried to get Steve McQueen or Bill Holden to play Harry—even though the part, the whole movie, for christsake, had been written with Ray in mind. Luckily both these assholes were tied up with other projects and Herb managed to convince Redfield that casting the former Red McGraw as a washed-up rodeo star had the kind of resonance the public loved. Added to which there was great publicity to be had from Ray and Diane being a real-life couple. In this, Herb had already been proved right. Both Louella Parsons and Hedda Hopper had written about it and every paper and magazine that printed their wedding pictures had also mentioned the movie by name. Tipping off those snappers in Las Vegas was the best stroke Ray had pulled in a long time.

The downside was that his fee for the movie was peanuts and the budget and shooting schedule were tight as a rat's ass. This was because there were no big-name stars involved and because Paramount's financial woes were getting worse by the day. For sure, making The Forsaken was going to be tough. But what the hell. It was a movie, a real big-screen movie. Montane and Reed, up there together at last. The thought of it almost gave him a hard-on.

By the time they reached Medicine Springs the sun had gone down and the airstrip was but a dim black scar on the fading red of the desert. As the Lodestar touched down it caught a gust of wind and bounced and lurched sideways and everyone gasped then laughed when it steadied. They climbed out and the air was still hot and Diane stood with her eyes closed, breathing it deeply and saying how she loved the smell of the desert. Ray pretended to agree but in truth it carried too many memories of his drilling days, backbreaking work and eating dirt on some godforsaken Texan plain.

Frank Dawson, the line producer, was waiting to meet them with his assistant and a couple of brand-new Chevy trucks. Ray had never worked with the guy but had heard only good things about him, that he was tough but fair. He was six-foot-six with the chest of a bull wrestler. They all shook hands and Frank put their bags in the back of one of the trucks. Herb had to go straight into a series of meetings and went off with the assistant, saying he'd see them in a couple of hours at the little get-together he'd arranged at the Hungry Horse. Frank would drive them to the motel.

Medicine Springs was a one-street town that squatted forlornly below a dome of red sandstone that Frank Dawson said was a thousand feet tall and was once some kind of sacred place for Indians. There were apparently some ancient rock paintings at the top of it, he said. The town had a hardware store, a Laundromat, a grocery store, a gas station, four bars (including the Hungry Horse) and, by the look of it as they drove through, a world record for the number of mangy dogs. Three times Dawson had to stop and hoot the horn to get the varmints to move out of the road. There were groups of young Indian guys hanging around on the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes. They turned and watched without a flicker of a smile as the movie stars drove by in their gleaming vehicle.

"Are they Indians?" Tommy asked.

"Navajo," Dawson said.

"They don't look very happy."

"They sure don't."

The production had booked every room in town. There were two motels and Dawson assured them they were staying in the nicer one, though this wasn't a word that sprang readily to mind when they pulled up outside. It stood on slightly raised ground at the southern edge of town. There was a big plastic cactus outside and a red neon sign that said Motel Casa Rosa. The last two letters were faulty and kept fizzing and flickering out.

The reception area was about ten feet square, painted a pale green and lit from the ceiling by a single fluorescent box. There was a small Mexican woman with sad eyes behind the desk. She nodded and smiled when Dawson introduced Ray and Diane, saying they were the movie's main stars who'd just flown in from Hollywood.

"Jesus, Frank," Ray whispered while she turned to get the keys. "This is the nice place?"

"I think I said nicer. You should see where I'm staying."

They were in rooms six and seven, the woman told them as she led them around to the rear of the building, the best rooms they had, with a linking door and mountain views. There was also a view of a rusty yellow bulldozer standing in a deep pit, piled around with earth. The woman announced proudly that this was to be the swimming pool.

"Terrific," Ray said.

Something scuffled as the woman opened the door. The room was small and hot and dingy, the screens at the window torn. On a midget-sized table stood a big bouquet of flowers and a basket of fruit. There was a card from Herb, wishing them luck for the shoot.

"That's so sweet," Diane said. "Thank you."

A cockroach scurried out from the fruit and disappeared over the edge of the table. Diane didn't notice but Tommy did and gave Ray a look.

"Frank," Ray said. "Can I have a word? Diane, why don't you show Tommy his room?"

Dawson followed him outside again and the two of them stood facing each other at the edge of the pit. Ray lit a cigarette and didn't offer one.

"Did I get the date wrong? Is it April first?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Is this some kind of joke? What are you doing, putting us in a shit-hole like this?"

"Ray, this is the best accommodation available. Sometimes it can be a little basic when you're on location. You have to make allowances."

"Allowances! We've got a kid with us, for christsake! Did you see that roach? The goddamn place ought to be condemned. And don't tell me what it's like being on location, as if I'm some kind of wet-eared kid."

For a long moment the two men stood staring at each other. The motel woman was watching. Dawson was the first to blink.

"I'll have a word with Herb."

"Yeah. You do that, pal. We're not staying here, okay? You got that?"

Diane said that he'd been too harsh, but Ray told her she didn't understand how the movie business worked. These guys were paid to squeeze every goddamn cent and did this kind of thing to test you, to see what they could get away with. If you didn't stand up to them they walked all over you. You had to show them right from the start that they needed to treat you with respect.

Sure enough, within twenty minutes, Herb Kanter was on the phone saying he was sorry and that he was already trying to sort out somewhere better for them. A car for their personal use was on its way to them and would it be okay if Leanne, the girl they'd hired to be Tommy's nanny, came to see them first thing in the morning?

"Anything you need, Ray, please don't hesitate. Just call me."

"See what I mean?" Ray said when he hung up.

THE HUNGRY HORSE STOOD on its own halfway along Main Street. Its front was coated with whitewashed adobe and it had slatted swing doors like a Wild West saloon. The interior was gloomy and smelled of spilled beer and smoke with undertones of things it was best not to think about but out the back was a pleasant enough courtyard with a jacaranda tree and long wooden tables and benches and strings of colored lights. The food was basic—steaks and ribs and burgers and a chili con carne hot enough to make smoke come out of your ears.

Presiding over this from his bar stool throne beside the jukebox that stood on the back porch was a cadaverous Norwegian who, for unknown reasons, called himself Chico and everybody else either hombre or senorita. There were signed pictures on the walls of him embracing various uncomfortable-looking minor celebrities. Palpably thrilled that, for the first time in years, a movie had come to town, Chico made everyone on The Forsaken feel welcome. And as there was no real competition for fifty miles or more, the Hungry Horse had quickly become the main social haunt for cast and crew.

It was here that Herb had hosted the party that first weekend. Ray and Diane had been toasted and feted and Terry Redfield had made a short but generous speech, welcoming everybody and telling them what a privilege it was to be working with such talent. Ray, after too many tequilas, had responded in kind but at much greater length and Diane had needed to tug his coattail to get him to sit down.

Now, a week later, the photograph of Ray and Diane with Chico already in pride of place behind the bar, everyone was here again. Tomorrow was a rest day and the mood was both lively and relaxed. Chuck and Tony, two of Cal's wranglers, had brought along their guitars and were playing country songs and the latest rock-and-roll hits. They'd even played "Running Bear" for Tommy before he slumped against Diane's shoulder and fell asleep. Leanne had just taken him back to the house. The boy had been spending every day with Cal and the wranglers, helping out with the horses. He was having the time of his life and came home so blissfully tired he could barely stay awake for his supper.

The house Herb had found for them was just along the road from the ranch that was the movie's main location and where most of the shooting was taking place. It was small and spartan but a much better place for them to be than the Casa Rosa. Herb himself was staying in a smaller house half a mile down the road. Both of the houses and the ranch too belonged to some property tycoon from Flagstaff, who was no doubt as happy as Chico that Hollywood had come to town.

Diane was happy too. She'd only had two beers but they'd gone straight to her head. It was good to be working again and she'd had a great week. Apart from the heat. It was hotter here than any place she'd ever been, well over a hundred degrees by midmorning. The house had no air-conditioning and if you stepped out without shoes, the soles of your feet almost sizzled like steaks. But at least it was a dry kind of heat and in the evenings there was generally a breeze.

She was sitting at the end of one of the long tables with Herb and John Grayling who was playing her husband in the movie. He was blond and handsome, like an old-fashioned matinee idol which was probably why Ray had taken against him. Diane liked him a lot. He was always friendly and funny and had an endless supply of indiscreet stories about the stars he'd worked with. He'd just had them in fits with one about the day he got trapped wearing only a towel in a hotel elevator with Lana Turner and an amorous chimpanzee.

Scurrilous stories aside, Johnny Grayling was a fine actor. He and Diane had already done two important scenes together and there had been a palpable charge between them. Diane hadn't seen the dailies but Terry Redfield and Herb were thrilled. Sadly, there was nothing like the same enthusiasm for Ray's work.

They weren't happy with anything he did. Terry demanded take after take of almost every shot. Only this evening poor Ray had again come home in a rage, saying if it went on much longer he'd end up strangling the guy. Diane hugged him and tried to soothe him, telling him it was early days and it would all work out but this only seemed to make him madder.

The two of them had been so very happy these past months, happier than they'd ever been. But for the past two days he'd been sullen and brooding and had barely spoken to her or to Tommy. And last night, when she said she was too tired to make love, he'd stormed out of the house in a fury and didn't come back until just before dawn. She had no idea where he'd gone.

"Come on, Diane, let's dance."

Chuck and Tony had started to play "Let's Twist Again" and Johnny was on his feet beside her, holding out his hand. Diane laughed and got up and he led her out onto the little patch of baked earth that passed for a dance floor. They were the first couple out there but soon four or five others took the cue and joined them. Johnny wasn't much of a dancer and pretended to be even worse, just to make her laugh.

Diane looked around for Ray but couldn't see him anywhere. He'd already had a lot to drink and had been getting loud. She could also tell from his eyes that he was more than a little stoned. He knew how much she hated him smoking pot and he'd promised many times to stop. Instead he just sneaked out and did it on the quiet. Which was probably what he was doing right now. He had a brown paper bag of the stuff hidden in his suitcase under the bed along with the snub-nosed revolver that for some reason he always traveled with too, even on their marriage trip to Vegas. He said you never knew what might happen.

She spotted him now, coming into the yard through the gate that led to the parking lot. He was with Denny, his new best buddy, one of the construction crew, a young guy with straggly hair and a leather vest, who never seemed to take off his sunglasses. It wasn't hard to guess that they'd been smoking. Ray saw her dancing with Johnny and she waved but he looked away without a smile. Instead he walked over and said something to Tony and Chuck and they stopped what they were playing and started up again with "Johnny B. Goode." It might have been funny were it not for that mean look in his eyes. Johnny just smiled.

"Do I detect some kind of message from the master?"

"I can't think what you mean."

It was just like that night at Herb's when he'd been jealous of her dancing with Bill Holden. But she was damned if she was going to let herself be bullied out of having a good time. She took hold of Johnny's hands and they started to jive. He was a lot better at this than he was at the twist and soon they had all the moves going and people noticed and started to clap and whoop.

Diane knew Ray was watching but she didn't care.

"And... action!"

Ray came out of the barn carrying the saddle and walked over to the corral with the camera tracking along beside him, just a few feet away. The horse was tied to the rail and when he got there he had to swing the saddle over its back. That was when Diane's character, Helen Dearborn, called out his name and he had to turn and look at her. It was an important moment in the story, the first time Harry laid eyes on the woman he was going to fall in love with. And it was Ray's first big close-up. Diane was standing off camera, ready to deliver the line—again. This was the fifth take.

"And cue Helen."

"You must be Harry," Diane said.

Ray turned and gave her the look, tightening his jaw muscles and slightly lifting an eyebrow. He'd seen Gary Cooper do it many times. Cary Grant too. It wasn't quite a double take, more a slow registering of what a beautiful woman his brother was married to.

"And cut," Terence Redfield said.

He stepped out from behind the camera.

"Once more, please, folks."

The makeup woman stepped in again to dab the sweat from Ray's face but Redfield asked her to give them a minute. He put his arm around Ray's shoulders and led him aside a few paces so that nobody else could hear. Ray was seething but trying not to show it. This was the first scene he and Diane had done together and this jumped-up little shit was clearly out to humiliate him in front of her. Redfield still had his arm around him, like he was some goddamn father figure or mentor.

"Ray, that was better, but—"

"It's okay, you told me a hundred times already. Less is more, right?"

"It's not just that. All I want is for you to be yourself. She's a stunning, beautiful woman. The look you're giving her is maybe a little, well..."

"A little what?"

"Well, maybe just... a little too much."

"Right. Less is more."

Over Redfield's shoulder Ray could see everyone, including Diane, pretending not to look, chatting as if nothing special were going on here, studiously ignoring them. Even Tommy, who was helping Cal with the horse, was avoiding his eyes. But the air around them hummed with tension.

"The thing is, Ray. You've got such a powerful, expressive face; all you—"

"Don't give me that bullshit."

"I'm sorry. All I'm trying to say is—"

"Listen, I'm not some fucking kid, okay?"

"Don't be like that, Ray."

"Don't be like what? You've been on my back ever since we started. All that patronizing shit about how this isn't TV. I mean, who do you think you are, Cecil fucking B. DeMille?"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Ray."

"Listen, pal. I know you didn't want me in the first place—"

"That's not—"

"I know, okay? But at least you could try just treating me with a little respect."

Nobody was pretending not to look anymore. The whole unit was openly staring. Ray felt like he was in high school. Redfield turned and quietly summoned Joel Davis, the first assistant director, who walked toward them.

"Joel, let's take an early lunch, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Joel called the break and told everyone to be back on set in an hour.

"Let's both cool down and talk about this later," Redfield said.

"Whatever you say."

"Ray, trust me. It'll be okay."

"Yeah, sure."

Redfield walked away and Ray stood for a moment with his head down, glaring at his boots and at his shadow on the red dust. Then he swung a leg and kicked a rock that went skidding off across the corral.

His trailer was hot as hell and he took off his shirt and lay on his back on the couch and stared for a long time at the ceiling. One of the catering girls knocked on the open door and came in with his usual steak and salad and a glass of orange juice and Ray thanked her and said just to leave it, he wasn't hungry.

He couldn't take much more of this shit. Maybe he should just walk, tell them he quit. Over the years he'd worked with scores of directors, some good, some bad and some downright hopeless. He'd gotten along with nearly all of them. He wasn't what people liked to call difficult. He could take direction. In fact he'd always been open to suggestion, welcomed it even, was always happy to take good advice on board. But never, not in all those years, had any of them gone so far as to challenge his talent or undermine his technique like this little fuck seemed set on doing.

There was clearly some other agenda and Ray couldn't figure out what it might be. Maybe it was something to do with Diane. They all had the hots for her, the riggers, the wranglers, that little faggot Grayling who couldn't keep his hands off her last night. Even Herb Kanter. Every goddamn one of them. You could see their tongues hanging out every time she breezed by. Maybe that was what Redfield was up to. Directors always wanted to screw their leading ladies, after all, and often did. If the male lead hadn't got there first. The little shit probably figured if he could get Ray out of the way, make life so unpleasant for him that he walked, he might be in with a chance. Well, fuck him. Walk? The hell he would.

"Ray?"

It was Tommy at the door.

"Hi, son. Come on in."

He swung his legs off the couch and sat up. The boy had quite a tan. Ray patted the couch and Tommy came and sat down beside him.

"How're you doing? Got those horses sorted out?"

"Yes."

"How's that Leanne girl shaping up?"

"She's okay. She's nice."

"What with you spending all day with Cal, I guess she doesn't have a whole lot to do, huh?"

"I suppose not. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sure. Why?"

"I don't know. You didn't look very happy just now. With Mr. Redfield."

"Oh, I'm okay, buddy. Sometimes people have different ideas and things can get a little tense. It'll all sort itself out. Where's your mom?"

"Having something to eat with Mr. Redfield. She said to tell you she'd be coming over in a minute."

"Oh. Well, thanks for doing that."

They were silent for a moment, Tommy staring into space, kicking the heels of his new cowboy boots against the couch. Ray suddenly felt bad about not having paid the kid much attention these past days.

"How about the three of us taking a ride this evening?"

"Cal and I are going up the mountain to see the rock paintings."

"Oh, okay."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you came too."

"We'll see."

"I'd better go now."